Wedding Bells Won’t Toll for Thee

“It’s time you boys contribute to the good of Catatonia!” King Rupert Dornhoffer shouts at his two belligerent sons.

“I just won the European Championship Chess Tournament,” younger brother Humphrey replies. “That should help Catatonia gain some recognition.”

“Yes. We’re now the destination for little boys who hide in their basement and play with dolls,” King Rupert mocks.

“They were action figures!” Humphrey protests.

Gabriel pushes his smaller brother aside.

“I’m contributing to Catatonia’s popularity. I’m in the gossip columns every day.”

“Yes, for living a lifestyle that would make a porn actor blush. Look boys, it’s bad enough we’re viewed as being out of touch because we have a monarchy instead of a democracy. We need to take advantage of our old-world charm to help bring in tourists.”

Notwithstanding sharing the same last name, the Dornhoffer brothers couldn’t be more different. Stringy Humphrey barely touches 5’ 8” and 140lbs, while Gabriel skies a brawny 6’ 4”. Humphrey takes after his late mother, Queen Histeria, affectionately known as “the mule-faced monarch.” Twenty-two-year-old Humphrey has soft, straight blonde hair, while twenty-six-year-old Gabriel’s has a shoulder-length mane of black hair. Hard-drinking, handsome Gabriel gets his looks from his dashing father, and would rather use his brawn than his brain, while Humphrey has never thrown a punch in his life.

“The marriage proposal I suggested to King Stephan will increase the power of the House of Dornhoffer and provide money for the House of Stone,” King Rupert says.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to buy their little country? Humphrey asks. “It would accomplish the same goal. Besides, there’s nothing that points out what’s wrong with the old-world way of life more than an arranged marriage. If you want one of us to marry Princess Daphne, then let us get a look at each other and get to know each other. If she even slightly resembles a human being, I’m sure one of us will propose.”

Humphrey grins at Gabriel.

“Uh, uh, Hump. Not me.”

“You’ve got the looks, the muscles,” Humphrey teases. “Besides, you’re always the first one to do everything.”

“Not this time, Hump.”

“The choice of the groom will be decided fairly,” King Rupert says. “King Stephan has devised a series of tests to determine which one of you is worthy of his daughter’s hand.”

Dressed in white flowing robes and wearing a turban with a sizable ruby, the bearded, leather-faced King Stefan Stone of Marblehead fits the role of a wizened leader used to getting his way.

One of the half dozen members of his court standing by his side is a placid-looking blonde woman with vibrant blue eyes. She has an inviting figure, the high cheekbones of a model, and the bearing of a future queen. Best of all, she seems to have her eyes on both brothers.

“You each must perform four traditional tasks that will help me to determine if you are worthy of my daughter’s hand,” King Stephan says.

Proudly sticking out his beefy chest, Gabriel says, “Let Hump the amateur take the test first. Then the Princess will see what a real man can do.”

Humphrey, King Rupert, and King Stephan and his court stand on a cliff overlooking Concia, Catatonia’s modest capital.

“I’m not expected to jump from here, am I?” Humphrey asks, looking down at the hundred-foot drop.

“Do you see the bell tower across the way in that church?” King Stephan asks. “Your first task is to hit the bells and make them ring. This will announce your proposal to Princess Daphne and her acceptance.”

“They look like they’re a long way off,” Humphrey says.

“Three hundred fifty feet, give or take the length of a pew,” King Rupert replies. “So, aim well, that’s a five-hundred-year-old landmark.”

“So, where’s my rifle?” Humphrey asks King Stephan.

“Rifle? You’re using a bow and arrow.”

Humphrey tries to stretch the bow back. It slips from his front hand, smashing against his face.

Drawing the bow back again, he drops the oversized arrow. Humphrey drops it four more times before he’s ready to fire.

The bow gets too heavy, forcing Humphrey to lower his aim as he fires his first shot.

It barely goes a yard, hitting one of King Stephan’s ministers in the foot.

“You may take as many shots as you need,” King Stephan says as he and his court cautiously move away.

Humphrey fires his second arrow. It falls significantly short of the church, tearing the hat off a man walking through the village.

The streets empty as random arrows begin landing in Concia. Police sirens wail as squad cars patrol the streets looking for an archer with poor aim.

An hour later, Humphrey is still trying to hit the church tower.

King Stephan clicks his tongue as if to say, “Tsk, Tsk.”

“We’re running out of arrows. He’s fired over a hundred of them,” King Rupert notes. “May I make a suggestion?”

Humphrey points the cannon at the church steeple. He checks the ten-foot log arrow stuffed in the cannon’s muzzle.

“Think you can ring the bell now, son?” King Rupert asks.

Humphrey pulls the string that fires the cannon.

The arrow erupts from the muzzle, whooshing across the village.

The villagers brave enough to remain on the street whisper to themselves that Concia must be under attack by criminals obsessed with Medieval history.

The arrow hits the bells with a loud BONG!

The bells fall from their perch, crashing onto the church’s expensive stone tile flooring.

“So far, it looks like wedding bells won’t toll for thee,” King Rupert says to his son.

“For your next task, Humphrey, I want you to subdue a giant.”

Humphrey turns to his father. “I hope he means a giant sandwich.”

“Afraid not. King Stephan wants a son-in-law who’s heroic, fearless, and strong.”

“That would be my muscle-headed brother.”

“Don’t worry, Humphrey. I know the perfect giant. He’s eight feet tall.”

“That’s not really a giant, is it?”

“Oh? And how tall are you?”

“He’ll crush me,” Humphrey worries.

“He’s as gentle as a lamb. And for a hundred gold pieces and a keg of wine, he’ll give you a good showing before he swoons.”

The giant, Brian from Breslau, has the pleasing, pudgy features of an adolescent and an equally jovial attitude.

“Make it look good,” Humphrey says, struggling to lift his sword. “And stop smiling!”

Brian dances around Humphrey.

“Who are you, the Jolly Green Giant version of Muhammed Ali?” Humphrey grouses.

“He’s my favorite fighter.”

Humphrey swings his heavy sword at Brian, who easily blocks the blow with his shield.

“I could really use that cannon right now. Okay, Brian, since you like Ali so much let’s take a page out of one of his fights. Do you remember the second fight he had with Sonny Liston?”

Humphrey swings his sword at the spot where the still-dancing giant used to be.

“Yeah. It was a fix. Sonny Liston took a dive.”

“Well, that’s what I need you to do.”

“Huh?”

“Lay down!”

Brian leans forward. Humphrey taps the sword against his cheek with the force of a gnat punching concrete.

Feigning injury, Brian groans, palms his forehead, and topples over.

Humphrey stands next to him, grinning triumphantly.

Approaching the two combatants, King Stephan’s wrinkled expression is awash with doubt. “You beat a giant with a sucker blow, but he doesn’t look very subdued to me. He looks drunk.”

King Stephan moves closer to Brian.

“Wait a minute, I think I know this giant. Yes, it’s Brian from Breslau.”

King Rupert tries to cover up for his son. “No, Your Majesty. That’s Bloody Bjorn from the Badlands.”

King Stephan pokes the giant.

“I know it’s you, Brian.”

Opening his eyes, Brian slowly rises.

“Got rid of the mustache and beard, I see,” King Stephan says.

“They get very scratchy in the summertime.”

“But you still carry the same shield,” King Stephan notes. “And you still reek of wine. That’s how I knew it was you, Brian. This fight was the worst piece of acting since Sonny Liston took a dive against Muhammed Ali.”

“I was just trying to help,” Brian says, swaying.

He clutches his stomach. “All that exercise has made me feel a little queasy.”

The giant lets out a loud, malodorous belch. Gagging, he warns, “Look out below!”

An ocean of regurgitated wine sprays King Stephan and his court.

“You have gained points for creativity, Humphrey, but I’m taking just as many away for the poor result,” King Stephan says, wiping the fetid wine from his face.

King Rupert proudly leads the group through a muddy field, stopping when they encounter a massive group of goats.

The goats are lined up in rows and are standing still.

“They’re not even bleating,” King Stephan observes. “How are you able to control them?”

“Hypnotism,” King Rupert says. “The shepherd had to stare at them for a long time, but they eventually complied.”

Humphrey turns to his father. “This is a little too traditional for me, father. I don’t care how beautiful Princess Daphne is, I’m not having relations with farm animals.”

“Your next task, Humphrey, will test your intelligence,” King Stephan announces. “Count the number of goats.”

“That’s it? I don’t have to milk them or butt heads with them?”

“No, just come up with a total.”

Humphrey surveys the herd. “One hundred twenty,”

King Stephan is impressed. ‘Excellent! How did you come up with the answer so quickly?”

“There are twelve rows of goats with ten goats in each row.”

“Well, you may lack strength, but you are quick on your feet. You can release the goats now, King Rupert.”

King Rupert waves his hand at the shepherd, who yells at the goats. The goats let out a high-pitched sound akin to a human scream. Lowering their heads, they charge at the group.

“Now you’re really going to see how quick I am on my feet,” Humphrey says, hastily retreating.

King Stephan exhales deeply.

“You have not made this easy, Prince Humphrey.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I usually test well.”

“For your fourth and final test, you will race for five miles against your brother.”

“Great. I’ll get to use my recently developed running skills.”

“I know this isn’t the fairest test for you, my son,” King Rupert says. “I’ll try to help you if I can.”

Gabriel gets out to a sizeable lead before he realizes the cost of trying to carry around his muscles. The humidity coming off the hot pavement begins to sap his strength, and no amount of water from helpful spectators can restore his energy.

As he runs through Concia and heads back out of town, a trio of attractive young women pull alongside of him in a Mustang convertible, yelling, “Go, handsome, go!”

Gabriel stops to catch his breath and flexes his muscles.

“You’re way ahead,” one woman comments. “We hate to lose you to another girl, but it looks like you’re gonna win!”

“Who says anything about losing me?” Gabriel retorts. “You girls want to do me a favor that’ll guarantee I win?”

“Sure.”

“Drive me back to the castle.”

Humphrey can feel his legs cramping. He lost sight of his brother half an hour ago and can envision Gabriel celebrating back at the castle drinking wine with his feet up on a table surrounded by half a dozen beyond-gorgeous women.

Ignoring the taunts of “C’mon, slowpoke,” and “You must be running backward” from the villagers, Humphrey takes a breather outside of Concia.

A moped speeds down the road, sputtering to a halt alongside him.

King Rupert pulls off his helmet.

“I’m assuming Gabriel is already back at the castle,” Humphrey says.

“He’s on his way. I saw some female members of his fan club drop him off about half a mile from the finish line.”

“He has a fan club?”

“That’s what you’re taking away from this conversation?” King Rupert asks.

King Rupert reaches into the fanny pack he’s carrying, pulling out a vial.

“Here, drink this.”

Humphrey quickly gulps down the contents of the vial.

“Tasty. What was that?”

“Strychnine and Bailey’s liqueur,” King Rupert answers casually.

“Wait a sec. Strychnine’s poison.”

“Nonsense. We use it on the racehorses all the time The strychnine, not the Bailey’s.”

“A lot of our racehorses have died from heart attacks, most of them while they were still running.”

“Now that you mention it, it’s been a while since one of our steeds has finished a race. Anyway, it should hit you soon. How do you feel?”

Humphrey stamps his feet, naying.

“See you back at the castle!” Humphrey yells enthusiastically, his legs churning like the wheels on a paddle steamer.

Watching his son speed away, King Rupert mutters, “I suppose I should have told him that the potion might cause him to hallucinate, but he’s smart, he’ll figure it out.”

The passing trees become a blur. Humphrey can feel his heart ready to explode through his chest.

He hears the barking of dogs closing in on him. Two large black Labradors with fiery eyes nip at his ankles. Each of the dogs has two heads.

“Hell hounds!” Humprey exclaims, speeding up. “Nice puppies! Go play with someone else!”

“LUNCH!” the four heads declare in unison.

Humphrey manages to outrace the dogs but becomes increasingly concerned that he’s lost.

Spotting three men standing alongside the road, Humphrey asks them where Castle Dornhoffer is.

Two of the men point forward. The third man, a chubby, nervous type with a skinhead haircut, points in the opposite direction. The man with the bowl haircut and bulldog expression slaps him. “Don’t you know your north from south, chowderhead?”

The man with thick bush hair on the sides of his bald head intervenes, “Hey, leave him alone.”

“Pick two, porcupine,” the man with the bowl haircut says to him, holding up his fingers.

Porcupine chooses the man’s first two fingers.

The man with the bowl haircut eye pokes him.

“Thanks for the help, fellas,” Humphrey says, continuing the race.

Humphrey hopes he’s headed in the right direction because he’s pretty sure he just got directions from the Three Stooges.

He continues to run until he can no longer feel his legs. A flock of crows sitting on a fence shake their heads, giving him the raspberries, as the rest of the world turns into a blur…

Humphrey wakes up in bed, his feet still churning as if he’s still running, an IV drip attached to his arm.

His father’s handsome and reassuring features loom over him.

“Did I win?” Humphrey asks hoarsely.

“Not even close. But I’m immensely proud of you, son. No one else can handle defeat better than you.”

“Swell.”

Humphrey and Gabriel stand before King Stephan as King Rupert pats them affectionally on the back. Gabriel winks at the beautiful woman standing by King Stephan’s side. She blushes, a smile of contentment surfacing.

“You both performed admirably. Prince Humphrey, you showed great intelligence, cunning, and self-preservation. Prince Gabriel, you displayed unparalleled courage and strength, two qualities my future son-in-law must have in abundance. I hereby declare you the winner.”

Turning to Humphrey, Gabriel says, “Looks like I win again, Hump.”

He starts to move toward the beautiful woman but halts when King Stephan holds his hand up.

“There are a few things that you need to know about my daughter. She wants children, lots of children.”

Greedily rubbing his hands together, Gabriel smiles at the woman. “It will be my pleasure to give them to her.”

“It will be difficult,” King Stephan continues. “My daughter believes she is made of glass. Being touched is a traumatic ordeal for her.”

“A shame,” Gabriel replies, looking at the woman. “But I can be equally gentle as I am strong, and I have a heart of glass myself.”

Humphrey feigns gagging, rolling his eyes.

“Daphne also has some… Let’s call them behavioral issues. She got so drunk one night that she got into an argument with a couple as they were leaving a restaurant. She bit their car, tearing off the hood ornament. During a flight to Paris, she yelled at the flight attendants and twerked in the aisle. I also awoke one night to find her standing at the foot of my bed eating a Fudgsicle. We didn’t have any Fudgsicles in the castle.”

“Everyone has their quirks,” Gabriel says dismissively, smiling at the beautiful woman,

King Stephan chuckles. “Oh, you think this lovely woman is my daughter? This is my niece, Eloise. My daughter is in the parlor.”

A member of King Stephan’s court goes to retrieve her.

Moments later, an enormous woman barely squeezes through the doorway, wobbling across the patio on her blubbery legs toward them. She has an oversized nose that could be mistaken for a trunk; wide, crossed eyes, ruffled, bird’s nest-colored hair, and a large gap between her buck teeth. A deep breath confirms she also has an issue with body odor.

“Prince Gabriel, may I present your fiancé, my daughter, Princess Daphne.”

King Rupert catches his son as he faints.

“Is something wrong?” King Stephan asks suspiciously.

“He’s just overcome with joy,” Humphrey replies. “I was thinking, Your Majesty, that we could further strengthen our relationship by having a double wedding. I would like to marry your niece.”

“What do you say, Eloise?” King Stephan asks.

“I do!”