The Princess Bride

From behind the noisy one, the quiet one said, “Who says-ik?”

Inigo took a step from his stoop, trying desperately to make his eyes focus through the brandy.” ‘Says-ik’? Is that a joke you made?”

The quiet one said, “Played.”

Inigo gave a cry and started staggering forward: “Fezzik, it’s you!”

“TRUE!” And he reached out, grabbed Inigo just before he stumbled, brought him back to an upright position.

“Hold him just like that,” the noisy Brute said, and he moved in quickly, right arm raised, as he had done to Falkbridge.

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Fezzik dumped the noisy Brute into the wagon beside Falkbridge, covered them both with a soiled blanket, then hurried back to Inigo, whom he had left leaning propped against a building.

“It’s just so good to see you,” Fezzik said then.

“Oh, it is… it… is, but…” Inigo’s voice was winding steadily down now. “I’m too weak for surprises” were the last sounds he got out before he fainted from fatigue and brandy and no food and bad sleep and lots of other things, none of them nutritious.

Fezzik hoisted him up with one arm, took the wagon in the other, and hurried back to Falkbridge’s house. He carried Inigo inside, placed him upstairs on Falkbridge’s feather bed, then hurried away to the entrance of the Thieves Quarter, dragging the wagon behind him. He made very sure that the dirty blanket covered both the victims, and outside the entrance the Brute Squad held a boot count of those they had removed. The total came out right, and, by eleven in the morning, the great walled Thieves Quarter was officially empty and padlocked.

Released from active duty, Fezzik followed the wall around to a quiet place and waited. He was alone. Walls were never any problem for him, not so long as his arms worked, and he quickly scaled this one and hurried back through the quiet streets to Falkbridge’s house. He made some tea, carried it upstairs, force-fed Inigo. Within a few moments, Inigo was blinking under his own power.

“It’s just so good to see you,” Fezzik said then.

“Oh. it is, it is,” Inigo agreed, “and I’m sorry for fainting, but I have done nothing for ninety days but wait for Vizzini and drink brandy, and a surprise like seeing you, well, that was just too much for me on an empty stomach. But I’m fine now.”

“Good,” Fezzik said. “Vizzini is dead.”

“He is, eh? Dead, you say… Vizz…” and then he fainted again.

Fezzik began berating himself. “Oh, you stupid, if there’s a right way and a wrong way, trust you to find the dumb way; fool, fool, back to the beginning was the rule.” Fezzik really felt idiotic then because, after months of forgetting, now that he didn’t need to remember any more, he remembered. He hurried downstairs and made some tea and brought some crackers and honey and fed Inigo again.

When Inigo blinked, Fezzik said, “Rest.”

“Thank you, my friend; no more fainting.” And he closed his eyes and slept for an hour.

Fezzik busied himself in Falkbridge’s kitchen. He really didn’t know how to prepare a proper meal, but he could heat and he could cool and he could sniff the good meat from the rotted, so it wasn’t too great a task to finally end up with something that once looked like roast beef and another thing that could have been a potato.

The unexpected smell of hot food brought Inigo around, and he lay in bed, eating every bite Fezzik fed him. “I never realized I was in such terrible condition,” Inigo said, chewing away.