Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 16 - Warrior Princess

I paced from one wall to the other, into the bathroom, out of the bathroom, onto the bed, off the bed. My objective was simple: rescue myself before Lenny could. There was only problem: logic.

First I had to slip beneath the radar. But having already concluded I'd never make it home by myself, somehow I had to coerce Bobbert into keeping his promise to take me home. Having a sword would have been really handy. Darn you, Brunhilda. Instead I would have to karate-chop the goons, take their guns, and knock them unconscious. How hard could it be? I'd seen it a hundred times on TV. Only if I'd seen it a hundred times, the average moleperson must have seen it a thousand times. They knew all my American secrets.

Plan B … I couldn't think of a Plan B. So as five o'clock approached (time for dinner with Duthbert), with the metal bar in my hands, I waited by the door, wondering if I’d have the stomach to do it. But no one ever came. I didn’t even get a bucket of shrimp with which to pass the time. Duthbert must have been really mad at me, which wasn't a good sign if I was going to get the most out of my remaining two days of quasi-freedom. I had to lull him into a false sense of security, even if that meant being flirtatious.

Ew.

Hungry and miserable, I confess, I turned on the TV.

There was a really cute documentary about kittens on Animal Planet. Then I realized I was watching stolen TV. In response to my conscience, I flipped through the channels, just to see what I would be denying myself, when I noticed some molepeople on channel fifty-eight. It was the Molemania Network, showing an office drama. A shaggy moleman in a blazer had just pulled out a gun.

“He has a gun!” cried an astute-looking molewoman in a business skirt.

“Don’t move,” barked the guy with a gun. “I’ve got a gun.”

“We better do what he says,” said another guy, his eyes wide, “or he might shoot us with his gun.”

It was intense stuff. But just when I thought the action had reached a climax, an elevator opened, and out came a moleman who was covered in blue makeup.

“A monster!” cried the molewoman.

“Raar!” said the monster.

Now the guy with the gun had to decide whether to pursue his criminal agenda or to team up with the others to save themselves from the monster. Meanwhile the monster got a hold of the molewoman and, with his clumsy claws, tore her shirt from side to side, transforming it into a suggestive belly shirt. Then, with the girl in his arm, he went on a rampage. The guy with the gun shot in vain. The monster was impervious to bullets.

I turned off the TV and went to bed.

* * *

Someone was knocking at my door. It was six-thirty AM. With no morning light pouring through my window, I felt like night had never come at all. Still, I had to be strong. I reached over to the nightstand for the metal bar, and –

“Hey,” said Gold Mouth, throwing open the door. His eyes fell to the blunt object in my hand, which I quickly dropped. Then he turned to the heap of a yellow dress on the floor. “Duthbert wants you to wear that.”

“Sorry, but I don't stoop to immodesty.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can tell that fat, old ...” What are you doing, Ann? You need to be flirtatious, remember? But this was a matter of principle. And yet, how was a girl to go about choosing the right when her only choices were bad and worse? “... I mean, that … beautiful … guy … that I'll just be a moment.”

They just stared at me.

“Some privacy, please?”

* * *

I took my seat as gracefully as a princess, pulling forward the hem of the horrible dress, trying in vain to cover my jeans. Thoughmy underlying clothes were soiled and stinky, and though the tiny dress restricted my ability to breathe, at least I was modest.

From the other end of the table, Duthbert was looking me over, frowning

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” The guy had toned down his wardrobe to a semi-formal blazer and a bit of hair gel.

“You don’t have anything in human size, do you?”

“No.”

I was so hungry, the thought of grubby root stew with worms was almost bearable. “Is someone going to say a blessing?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to say it?”

“No.”

I was sensing some bad vibes. Come what may, I had to please my host, so I lifted a silver lid, grabbed a steaming ball of … something … and bravely chewed it. Whatever it was, it crunched in the most horrible way imaginable. Getting a better look at the steaming dish, I realized I was staring at beetles. Duthbert was still frowning at me as I coughed up the stuff into a napkin.

“It's good,” I said, wiping the beetle juice from my cheek.

“Have you made up your mind yet?” he asked with the same impatience as in the day before.

“Umm …” This was even harder than I'd imagined. “I'm … certainly considering you.”

His frown didn’t budge. “Why?”

“Because you're … somewhat … attractive.”

He downed a mug of something green, studying me. “You’re putting me on.”

Despite all my rehearsal, I was in no way prepared for this. “No I’m not.”

“Hmm.” His smug smile wasn't helping. “Tell me more.”

I found myself habitually pulling forward the hem of my dress. As awkward as the situation was, perhaps I was on to something with this pseudo schmaltziness. Against giant Germans and goons with guns, I stood no chance. But if in a feigned romance, Duthbert and I could go somewhere alone, as frightening as the thought was, escape just might have been a possibility. “Well, I'd like to get to know you better, but it’s hard to make up my mind with so many distractions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was hoping I could spend more time with … you.”

Again he studied me, his eyes suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

I couldn’t stand the aftertaste of beetles any longer. Breaking character just a bit, I voraciously downed some water before continuing. “I’ll prove it to you. Let’s go somewhere private … somewhere relaxing … as far away from the city as possible.”

Duthbert began on his first beetle, chewing thoughtfully. He downed three of them before replying, “I know just the place.”