If someone does not tremble at your name, try writing your name on a board. And hitting him with it.
—THE WARLORD’S PATH TO POWER: AN ANCIENT TOME OF DARIAN WISDOM
“This is where we’re supposed to meet Taylor?” Frederic asked, trying to walk casually as Liam led him along a rugged dirt path near the border of Rauberia.
“Yes,” Liam hissed in a whisper. “Although if you keep asking questions like that, it will totally defeat the purpose of staging our kidnapping.”
Just then Frederic fell to the ground, his legs suddenly bound together by a thick, winding thread. Liam hit the dirt a second later, tied up in the same way. The Gray Phantom leapt out from a crevice in the rocky mountainside, rolling a spool of red thread between his fingers.
“I see you both made it,” the Phantom said. “All the better.”
“Is that you, Taylor?” Frederic asked softly as the Phantom tied his hands together.
“Shhh,” Little Taylor warned from behind the mask. “Rauber has scouts along these trails.”
“But listen, Taylor,” Frederic said. “It occurred to me that Rauber’s men might search us before they throw us into jail, and there’s something I don’t want them to find. In my jacket there’s a small vial of Rapunzel’s tears. You should hold on to it.”
“Rapunzel? The one who heals people?” Taylor said, reaching into Frederic’s jacket and pocketing the vial for himself. “That’s fantastic.”
“People, we’re supposed to be fighting,” Liam whispered. “Darn you, Phantom!” he shouted for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. “You’ll pay for this!”
Taylor tied Liam’s hands and then punched him in the face, knocking him out.
“Hey!” Frederic protested. “You didn’t need to hit him!”
“I know,” said Taylor. He punched out Frederic as well. Because he actually was the Gray Phantom. And he was a brutal madman.
Some of what Little Taylor had told the princes about himself was true. He really was a tailor (though one who got a kick out of “accidentally” poking his customers with needles). And Deeb Rauber really did rob him years earlier. But the theft only made Taylor realize how badly he himself longed to be a criminal. He wanted nothing more than to join the forces of the Bandit King, hoping to someday stand beside Rauber as his loyal number two. But alas, it was not to be.
Whenever the Bandit King had a recruitment drive, Taylor would try to earn himself a place in Rauber’s army. And every time, Rauber would unceremoniously kick him out, scoffing at his choice of weapons before he ever got a chance to show anybody how well he could use them (“A needle and thread? Are you planning to terrify me by knitting a really ugly sweater?”). And the bandits always guffawed. But Rauber’s incessant mocking never deterred Taylor; it only made him more intent on earning the Bandit King’s respect. So he adopted the persona of the Gray Phantom and went on a streak of robbery, murder, and destruction—all to impress Deeb Rauber. Well, and because Little Taylor was an evil, soulless lunatic.
Deeb Rauber sat on his throne, looking a bit more genuinely king-like than usual. He had traded in his typical cotton pants and vest for a sleek black suit emblazoned with gold embroidery. He’d pilfered the outfit ages ago from a young Carpagian prince and, while it was still a tad too large for him, he felt it gave him a more mature look.
Vero was at Rauber’s right hand, as usual, while Lord Rundark and his spike-covered bodyguard, Jezek, also stood by. When Rauber heard that the infamous Gray Phantom had come calling—with a gift for him—he made sure the Warlord was present to see him receive such an important visitor. Dozens of bandit guards looked on eagerly as the throne room’s doors opened and the Phantom entered, dragging the bound-up princes behind him.
“Well, he’s been unnecessarily rough,” Frederic whispered into Liam’s ear. “But at least he got us in.”
“Holy snap!” Rauber blurted when he saw them. “If it isn’t two of the people on my Top Ten Most Hated list. Seriously, look. Here’s the list.” He pulled a list of names from his back pocket and flashed it at them.
“This is a glorious day, men,” Rauber announced, dramatically raising a jeweled scepter above his head. “For I have recaptured two of my archenemies, Prince Lame and Prince Fred-stink.”
“Actually, it was I who captured them,” the Phantom said.
Fig. 28
Heroes CAPTURED
“Ah, yes, the Gray Phantom,” Rauber said, pulling a bug from his hair and flicking it at Frederic. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately. You’ve done some pretty nasty stuff. And now that you’ve brought me these wonderful little presents . . . well, there just might be a place for you in this organization.”
“Do you mean it, sir?” the Phantom asked. “You will take me into your unstoppable bandit army? I can finally serve under the command of the glorious Deeb Rauber?”
“Okay, you’re starting to weird me out,” Rauber said. “Let’s just give you a trial position and see how it goes.”
“Yes!” the Phantom howled. “I finally fight alongside the Bandit King! I, Little Taylor!” He yanked off his mask, revealing his smiling, bespectacled face. “Remember me?”
Liam and Frederic looked at each other in pure terror.
“What is he doing?” Frederic whispered. “He’ll ruin everything!”
“Waitaminute!” Rauber yelled. “You again? The guy with the string? No way. You are not the Gray Phantom.”
“He is not even that good of a tailor,” Vero added. “Medium Taylor does much better inseams.”
“No, really, I am the Phantom,” Taylor insisted. “And I will show you how valuable I can be to you, Bandit King. These two princes think I am working with them.”
“Oh, no; oh, no,” Frederic muttered. “Why is he saying that?”
Liam closed his eyes. “Because he’s finally telling the truth. He really is the Phantom.”
“They hired me to deliver them to you, believing I would betray you and free them from their cells so they could rob your vault,” Taylor said feverishly.
“Is this for real?” Rauber snickered. “You two goody-goodies were going to try to steal from me? Oh, that’s rich. So, I’m curious: How did you two popcorn brains think you were going to get into my vault. I do keep it locked, you know.”
“They know about the Snake Hole on the roof,” Taylor gleefully explained. “They were going to have a troll distract your lookouts while some of their friends launched themselves over your Wall of Secrecy with catapults. But don’t worry about that—I sabotaged the catapults.”
“You fiend,” Liam spat.
“So, Your Highness,” Taylor said to Rauber, “I believe I have proven my worth. May I now officially count myself among the ranks of your loyal followers?”
Rauber leaned back in his throne and laughed. “Oh, Taylor, you leave me in stitches,” he chuckled. “But seriously, no. Get out. I still can’t get past the needle-and-thread thing. Lamest weapons ever.”
Taylor looked heartbroken.
“Men! Escort this sorry so-and-so from the castle,” Rauber said. He elbowed Lord Rundark. “Get it? Sew-and-sew?”
A dozen bandits approached Little Taylor, but the lithe little man wasn’t going anywhere. He flipped, he kicked, he tangled, he pulled; and just as he’d done at the Stumpy Boarhound, he soon created a pile of much larger men hog-tied on the floor around him.
Lord Rundark stepped toward the panting tailor and applauded. “You are a master of String-Chi,” the Warlord said. “It has been ages since I’ve seen someone with such vicious talent. You shall be part of this bandit army. A general, in fact.”
“Hey, wait!” Rauber jumped up, standing on his throne, and wagging his finger in Rundark’s direction. “You can’t just—” Vero tapped the Bandit King on the shoulder and subtly shook his head. “Um, I mean, you can’t just tell the guy he’s a general without me giving him the official ‘welcome aboard’ sign.” Rauber stuck his thumb up his nose and wiggled his fingers. “There,” he said. “Now you’re a general. I guess.” He made a face at Rundark behind his back.
On the floor, Frederic squirmed over to Liam and whispered in his ear, “This is not going well.”
Vero hoisted the bound princes to their feet and pushed them out the door, with Taylor skittering giddily after them.
“I assume you will cancel this circus now,” Rundark said to Rauber.
“Cancel it? Why?” Rauber asked.
“There is an attack planned against your fortress, and you seek entertainment? Do you care at all what your men think of you?”
“My men think I’m awesome,” Rauber said. “I think your men think I’m pretty awesome, too.” He nodded at Jezek. “What about you, Spike? I’m awesome, right? Anyway, you heard the Phantom: There was an attack planned on my castle—an incredibly stupid one that never would have worked, by the way—but it’s already been sunk.”
“You have no concerns about this invasion?” Rundark was both fascinated and repulsed.
Rauber patted the Warlord on the shoulder (standing on his throne in order to reach). “Rundark, I had no idea you were such a worrywart,” he said, smirking. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell the archers at the front gate not to get spooked if they see a troll. And I’ll put a bunch of extra guards at the back wall to look out for catapults. But the guys I put out there are gonna have to miss the circus; and if they ask about it, I’m telling them it was all your fault.”
Simmering, Rundark walked away with Jezek right behind.
“Only a few hours until the circus, sir,” Jezek said.
“The last few hours in the reign of King Rauber,” Rundark said with a sneer.
The dungeon level of Rauber’s castle was an unholy mix of torture chamber and candy factory. It contained, for instance, literal licorice whips. Its bleak stone floors had been intentionally splashed with syrupy beverages so that your feet made a sticky, ripping sound with every step you took. That alone was enough to drive Frederic crazy as he and Liam were led to their cells. He cringed as they passed a device designed to blow powdered sugar into a prisoner’s eyes, one that dunked you backward into molten caramel, and another that force-fed people spoonfuls of dry cinnamon powder.
They turned and entered a dead-end corridor lined with cramped and clammy stone cells. Standing in the center of the cellblock, waiting for them, was a masked figure, vaguely human in shape but approximately the size of an ogre.
“Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Wrathgar, our dungeon master,” Vero said politely. “He will be, as we say in my country, your host.”
Wrathgar snorted steam from his nostrils.
“Does he have horsetails hanging from his face?” Frederic asked in disbelief.
Vero leaned over to him and whispered, “It is meant to be a mustache. You would be wise not to question it.”
“Leave,” Wrathgar barked at Vero and Taylor as he grabbed the princes by their heads and shoved each of them into his own separate cell and slammed the doors. He tossed his key ring onto a high nail at the dead-end wall of the cellblock and proceeded to stand there breathing. Both Liam and Frederic shrank, wondering how anyone could make the simple act of breathing so terrifying.
“Oh, hey, I almost forgot,” Taylor said to Vero as they made their way back upstairs. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small glass vial. “Magical healing tears from Rapunzel herself,” he said. “You think the Bandit King would want these for his treasure collection?”
“Perhaps.” Vero took the vial from him, tucked it into his own vest, and flashed a gentlemanly smile. “Have no fear. I will take care of this for you.”