A long time ago in a faraway land. King Murry ruled for many years. Over time, he discovered that building up alliances did more for his kingdom’s defense and safety than the use of torture. He eventually closed down the torture program. The royal torturer was on the verge of retirement anyway, so he took an early retirement and spent the rest of his days fly-fishing and spending time with his nephew, Adam.
That was ten years ago, and Wise King Murry recently passed and left the throne to his only son, Prince Blaine. Unfortunately, when Prince Blaine returned from Royalty School, he seemed different. He didn’t act like the thoughtful prince he had once been, but was cruel, demeaning, and just an overall jerk-face.
One day Prince, now King Blaine, was exploring his favorite pastime, riding piggyback on Bob, the Royal Advisor. While holding on to Bob with one arm, he threw empty beer cans at widows and orphans. King Blaine was about to peg an orphany looking infant when he saw Della.
Della had beautiful dark hair and soulful brown eyes. Her olive skin shone in the warm spring sun. She sat at a cafe enjoying coffee and a book when she was hit in the face with an empty can of Natural Ice. “What the hell?” She looked up and saw the tall, muscular figure of Bob looking down apologetically. “Um, m’lady, King Blaine wants to say, um, hi.”
Della scrunched her eyes, then saw King Blaine climb down a tiny ladder sewn onto the Back of Bob’s uniform. King Blaine strolled up to Della, grabbed her hand, and licked it. “Ha! I bet you thought you were getting a kiss from the Blai-master. Tell me you love me and maybe I will.”
Della pulled her hand away and wiped it off on her napkin. “No.”
King Blaine’s face turned red. “What do you mean ‘no’? Of course you love me! Everybody loves me. And you love me so much, we will marry tomorrow morning. I proclaim it!” He turned to climb up the Bob ladder when Della repeated.
“You are a sad, repugnant, and spoiled boy. I do not love you. And I will not marry you. Good day, sir.” She said, giving a ‘humph,’ and turning her attention back to her book.
King Blaine slid back down the Bob ladder. His eyes darkened as he approached Della, grabbed the book out of her hand, and tore pages out one by one.
“You Just Messed Up. (rip) You Will Say You Love Me. (rip) You Will Marry Me. (rip) And you, along with any other hotties I meet, will have my children. (rip) “
Della, incensed, met King Blaine eye to eye and grabbed her book. “And if I don’t?”
“You have no choice. Guard! Guard!”
Bob, who was counting his days to retirement, sighed. “Yes, your majesty?”
“Take this wench to the torture dungeon. Torture her until she admits her undying love for me, and tomorrow we wed!”
Bob sighed and explained. “Your majesty, the torture program has been shut down for a decade now. The king commanded it, and for good reason, I might add.”
“Who commanded it?” King Blaine snarled.
“The King had comm-“
“That king is dead, idiot. I am the King now! Re-open it and re-hire the torturer! Now!”
“He had passed, your majesty.”
“Then make his next of kin do it. Who would that be?”
“I believe his only surviving relative is his nephew, Adam. He is the one who built the community library. “
“Whatever. Fine. Shut down the library as of immediately and divert all funds to the torture dungeon.” King Blaine turned back to Della. “And you better love me soon!” He smiled cruelly, climbed up the Bob ladder, and they left.
Della was taken to a dank, musty, and dark dungeon, so basically, a dungeon. Wall sconces lit silvery cobwebs and cast frightening shadows. Della was thrown into a filthy cell and the guards left. She was alone and frightened. But she would not tell that horrible excuse for a king that she loved him, or to wed him. The thought of being married to King Blaine made her skin crawl. Oh, what to do?
She looked around for an escape. Perhaps the cell was so decrepit that she could use something to pull the bars apart? But then what? Was the dungeon door locked? And even if she escaped the torture dungeon, how would she make it out of the castle? And even if she escaped the castle, the kingdom probably had placed a GPS tracker on her horse-drawn Prius. No. It was hopeless.
In the shadows beyond the torchlight, something shuffled.
A while later, the dungeon door opened and a young man entered. He was tall and lanky, with red hair and a nose that could double for a ski jump. He dragged in several enormous trunks. Out of breath, he sat on one and wiped his brow. He didn’t see Della and fell over backwards when she spoke up.
“Hello? Are you? I know you!” Della said and pointed at him, in case it might be unclear who she was talking about. “You’re the librarian.”
The young awkward man climbed off the ground and looked, then found his thick glasses, dusted them off, and looked again. “Yes. Um, hi. I’m Adam.” He, of course, recognized Della. She was an avid reader and was always in the library. He smiled, forgetting all about the current situation. “How did you like the last book you checked out? What was it again?”
Della smiled. Despite the awful situation, it was a joy to talk about books and reading. “Adventures in Flirting by Coquettish Rodeo Clown.” Della Blushed
“Oh, that’s a saucy one!” They both laughed. Adam took a ring of keys he had been given and opened the cell door. “I just finished Wuthering Heights.”
Della’s face puckered, as if she had drank a glass of pickle juice. “Oh, I’m sorry. What a piece of trash.”
“The worst, the absolute worst,” agreed Adam, and shivered. He handed Della a small bundle wrapped in paper. “I brought sandwiches in case you are hungry.”
“Famished. Thank you!” Della pointed to the trunks Adam brought in. “What are all these?”
Adam opened a trunk that showed carefully packed books. “When they shut down the library to open this place up again. I grabbed as many books as I could before they took the rest away to the castle. Maybe someday I can rebuild…” he trailed off.
Della sat on a trunk next to Adam.”I’m sorry. The library is- it was a wonderful place.”
“It’s not just the building. They shut down all the programs to help people. Children’s story time. The adult literacy courses. I was about to start an expansion service with a traveling book wagon.”
Della’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! I would love something like that.”
“You know so much about books, you could, if you want, come with me when I take the book wagon around.” They both blushed and smiled, but then Adam remembered. “Well, we could have taken the book wagon, but…”
“King Blaine screwed it up,” said Della.
Adam’s eyes widened, and he looked around. “You can’t say that. What if someone is listening?” Then Adam said loudly, “This isn’t the king’s fault. Nothing is the king’s fault. Ever!”
“Who is going to hear? There are just the two of us here.” But as Della said that, she heard the tiniest rustle amongst the shadows.
“Still…” Adam seemed to shrink away.
Della stood up. “And if nothing is the king’s fault…then who is to blame for this mess?”
Adam looked up at her and tilted his head.
Della blustered. “Me? Me? I was taken prisoner for… Oh, you have got to be kidding me!”
“Well, from what I hear you could have-“
“No. Don’t even start. Don’t talk to me. I’ll me in my…”
“cell?”
“Room!” Della said and stormed away. Then came back and grabbed her sandwich. Then stormed away.
That night Della tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate, what with being trapped in a torture dungeon and what such. She finally fell into a fitful sleep. Early that next morning, or what must have been morning, in the depths of darkness, she again heard rustling, bumps, and voices.
“Hello?” she asked through a dry throat. “Is somebody there?”
Della gasped when she saw a rusty power drill, a red hot iron poker, and a bloodstained pair of pliers hopping toward her. She froze, too terrified to scream. The torture instruments look at her with blinking eyes, then the power drill spoke. “Bonjour. I am Rusty Drill, and these are my colleagues, Haut Poker and Mrs. Crotch-Pliers.” The poker bowed, and the pliers curtsied.
“What is going on?” Della’s voice shook.
Rusty Drill smiled.
-to the tune of “Be Our Guest”
[Rusty Drill:] Ma chere Mademoiselle, it is with deepest pride
and greatest pleasure that we welcome you here today.
And now we invite you to relax, strap into a
chair as the dungeon proudly presents – your torture!
Be our guest
Be our guest
Put our skewers to the test
Tie a stone ’round your neck, cherie
And we provide the rest
Haught poker
Say Bonjour
we live to unnerve
We leave our guests in stitches
But we’re really not malicious
We can sing
We can dance
Interrogation we enhance!
And the torture here is never second best
We’re the perfect venue
to twist some sinew
Be our guest
Oui, our guest
Be our guest
toes and nails
stripped away
Or maybe “en flambe”
We’ll prepare and serve with flair
A sanguinary cabaret
You’re alone
And you’re scared
But the table’s all prepared
No one’s gloomy or complaining
While the scalpel’s entertaining
We tell jokes
It’s the Ritz
With my fellow drill bits
[Bits:] And it’s all in perfect taste
That you can bet
[All:] Come on and lift your glass
You’ve won your own free pass
To be out guest
[Rusty:] If you’re stressed
It’s confession we suggest
[All:] Be our guest
Be our guest
Be our guest
[Lumiere:] Life is unfulfilling
For a driller who’s not drilling
He’s not whole without a soul to drill upon
Ah, those good old days when we were useful
Suddenly those good old days are gone
Ten years we’ve been rusting
Needing so much more than dusting
Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills
Most days we just lay around the dungeon
Flabby, fat and lazy
You walked in and oops-a-daisy!
[Mrs Crotch-Pliers:] It’s a guest!
It’s a guest!
Sakes alive, well I’m obsessed!
I’m going to **** you up. I’m going to **** you and then take a **** and shove it **** and ****! Then I’m going to ****
Rusty Drill yelled out, “woah, woah, woah! Where the hell did that come from? Seriously? We had a nice musical number going on there, and then. Like always, Mrs. Crotch-Pliers has to come in and make it all weird.”
Mrs. Crotch-Pliers looks down, embarrassed. “Oh, pardon me. I just get so excited sometimes. And it’s been a long time since I’ve had some nails to pull out. But you have nice nails there, miss.”
“Ummm. Thank you?” Della asks shakily. “It sounds like you all do awful things to people.”
Haught Poker stepped up. “Not at all. We do awful things to awful people. That is our job.” The others nodded.
“Do you think I’m awful?” asked Della.
Haught Poker softened. “It is not for us to say, madam. The torturer decides. But we haven’t seen him in ten years. Quite a long time for a tea break if you ask me!” Haught Poker said with a harrumph.
“Yes. Where is the torturer?” asked Rusty Drill.
Della wasn’t sure what to say, but decided the truth was always best. Her spine went cold when he thought how these things could probably sniff out lies, anyway. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but the torturer. He died a few years ago. I’m sorry.”
The instruments looked to her, then looked down. Mrs. Crotch-Pliers sniffed and Haught Poker offered her a rag crusted with dried blood. She looked up and asked Della, “So who is that young man over there?”
They all looked to see Adam, standing at the cell door, holding two bowls of porridge. He cleared his throat and said, “Um. Here’s breakfast. And what the hell is going on?”
Rusty drill hopped over to Adam, who took a few steps back. “M’sieur! It is a pleasure to meet you. You must be the new torturer! We are here to serve. I am Rusty Drill, this is Haught Poker, and of course Mrs. Crotch-Pliers.”
“Okay. What?” Adam’s head tilted.
Seeing the confusion on Adam’s face, Rusty Drill asked, “May I speak with you privately for one moment?” They went to a far corner of the dungeon and sat. Rusty Drill began. “I take it you are not a torturer.”
“No. I’m a librarian. I am, or was, the torturer’s nephew. Yesterday, the palace guard closed down the library and told me to come here and get to work.”
“Mon Dieu! That is not how to properly run a torture dungeon. I am sorry to hear of your uncle.”
“Thanks.”
“We had many good years together with the torturing and what such. Because I’m a drill.”
“Yes. I kind of figured that part. But now what do I do?” asked Adam.
“Well. I think it is best to start at the beginning.” So Adam told Rusty Drill all about the new king, and how Della was to be tortured into telling King Blaine she loved him. If a power drill could turn red with anger instead of dried blood, Rusty did. “Zut alors! That is not proper torture! You cannot torture someone into loving you! We will not do this!”
“I don’t want to torture anybody, ever. I mean, no offense.”
“None taken, Mon Ami,” said Rusty and nodded.
“But what can we do? The king said he wanted results by this morning!”
“This morning? Now?”
The dungeon door opened and Royal Advisor Bob entered. “Hello Adam. Just checking in to see how it’s going. King Blaine is demanding immediate results.”
Adam hurried over to Bob. “Um, great. Things are going great with the torture.” He looked over to Della and saw that Mrs. Crotch-Pliers was painting Della nails and an Iron Maiden was braiding her hair. “Great with the Torture!” Adam said again loudly. Della, seeing Bob, cried out “Oh, no! Oh, the torture! Oh, deary me!”
Bob pulled Adam aside. “Listen, Adam. I don’t like this. Not at all. But if Della doesn’t profess her love for King Blaine and marry him this morning, well. You are to be executed for failure.”
“What?” Two bowls of porridge smashed to the ground.
Della rushed over and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Bob took Della’s shoulders. “You must profess your love for King Blaine right away.”
She crossed her arms and said “No! Never!”
Bob started to argue, but then Adam stopped him. “It’s okay. Della doesn’t have to. I understand what will happen.”
Just then, King Blaine strode in. “All bow to your king!” They all bowed their heads low. King Blaine sauntered over to Della and cupped her chin. “You may rise. And how is my bride this morning? Blushing, I assume?” He smiled, then coughed in her face. Seriously dude, cover your mouth.
“I don’t love you and I will never marry you. Death first!” Della glared at him.
Blaine squeezed her cheek. “Oh, yes. If that’s how you want to play it. There will be death first. Where is this so-called torture librarian? For he is to be put to death!”
Everyone gasped.
Adam stepped forward and King Blaine grinned. “You failed to get my fiancee to say she loves me, which she clearly does.” Adam was looking at him oddly. “Why are you staring at your king like a weirdo?”
Adam asked, “Who the hell are you?”
Everyone gasped.
“I am your king, fool! Who do you think you are to question me? You’re just some low life peasant I’ve never met before.”
“Never met before? I grew up with Prince Blaine. Our families were close. I hadn’t seen him since he left for Royalty School. And I’m not looking at him now. You are an imposter!”
Everyone gasped.
Flustered, King Blaine ordered Adam’s immediate execution and for everyone to stop with the gasping.
Adam stood up straight and stepped forward. “If you are truly King Blaine, what is your father’s name?”
“King Murry, everybody knows that.” Beads of sweat danced on King Blaine’s forehead.
“Okay, but what was your father’s full name?”
“Arrest this man!” bellowed King Blaine.
“I’d prefer to hear your answer first, m’lord,” said Bob, now towering over Blaine.
“His full name was… his name was… “ Blaine turned to run, but Bob easily grabbed the nape of his neck. “Fine, Fine. I give up. I’m not the king.”
Everyone gasped.
“Where is our king?” Bob growled.
“My gang of highway robbers ambushed his stagecoach as he was returning from Royalty School.” An oily smile slid onto his face. “The prince. He’s still alive. I decided to see how long I could deceive you fools, and it went better than planned. I hold your prince hostage. At a location only I know.”
Bob raised the imposter a few more feet in the air. “Tell me where our king is. Now!”
The imposter giggled. “No. Give me everything I want, including this kingdom’s merchandising rights. Then maybe I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you can’t get it out of me.”
Bob smiled darkly. He had clearly seen and done things in his life. “Okay. Have it your way. If you won’t tell us, there is nothing I can do.” The imposter laughed triumphantly, then Bob said, “but we have recently re-opened our torture dungeon, by your own command. I can’t get the information out of you, but they can.”
The imposter’s eyes turned to excited little hopping sounds. Rusty Drill spoke first. “M’sieur Bob. We will be happy to assist in your endeavor!”
“Oh. I was hoping so!” He turned to Adam and Della. “Adam, thank you for revealing this imposter. I will ensure that all the books get properly returned to your now-open library. And Della, I am sorry for how you were treated. I should have spoken up sooner. That was wrong of me, and I hope to set things right when our real king returns. Now you two should get out of here. My new friends and I have work to do.”
Adam and Della say goodbye to Rusty Drill, Haught Poker, and Mrs. Crotch-Pliers, who was practically salivating.
Outside, Della and Adam walked towards the cafe for much needed coffee. The morning sun glittered on the lake. Oh yeah, the kingdom is by a lake.
Della turned to Adam. “So, does the book wagon deal still stand?”
Adam startled, “Absolutely! If you still want to join me.”
Della took his hand, nodded, then, with a mischievous grin, said “but there is one book that won’t be going.” With that, she threw “Wuthering Heights” far into the lake and it sank to the bottom, where it belongs. They laughed and laughed and laughed. Then walked off hand in hand.