CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

JAIL TIME

A sly, sinister smile cracked on the King’s face. “Bring them to me.” He became bored with his regular sentencing session and wanted something fresh and new.

The hush of the room turned into that of whispers and surprise as the princess and her puppy walked away from the leprechauns and the young boy.

“Papa.” Abby bowed to the ground. “I was wondering how your day is going.”

King Boyce was startled and obviously displeased with his daughter’s question. “It’s just one thing after another, dear. There’s no need for you to worry your little royal head. We’ll discuss my day and your guests at a later time.” He snapped his fingers, and a lackey prostrated himself. “Take Her Royal Highness to her chambers.”

The King waited just long enough for Abby and the lackey to get to the door. “Now would somebody bring me those leprechauns and the boy?”

King Boyce drummed his fingers on his jewel-encrusted throne for the longest time while they brought the intruders to his feet. Malley smiled at the monarch, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything better to do. Alexander stared at Abby, who stubbornly refused to leave.

 “Unhand us. Your Majesty, I send you greetings from Bashore, the Grand Leprechaun. I have a letter of introduction, but my associate—” he pointed to Malley “—lost it.”

Boyce’s eyes narrowed as he sat quietly for minutes, letting the statements sink in before he addressed O’Toole. “How unfortunate for you. I would have guarded such a precious note with my life.” Examining the tips of his fingernails, he continued. “I’m in a giving mood tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” O’Toole continued. “These are indeed in trying times. Please allow my friends and…”

“I’m in a giving mood.” He snapped his fingers. “I will only sentence you to serve twenty years of jail time. I’ll be benevolent and allow you to serve your time in the castle, and I see no reason to chain you to the walls.” He smiled his evil grin. “Next.”

“Daddy, please, they’re my friends.” Abby broke loose from her father’s soldiers.

“Nola, you’re supposed to be in your room. I don’t remember granting you have permission to have friends. Take the prisoners away.”

O’Toole and Malley vanished, leaving Alexander to take the rap.

Nola struggled with the guards, pleading for Alexander’s freedom. It was too late. The King had made up his mind.

“Please, Daddy,” Abby pleaded when she saw the familiar look on her father’s face.

“Nola, don’t make a scene. Try to remember you’re a princess, and a princess does not beg.”

“But—”

“Oh, please, don’t make it any worse than you already have. Take the remaining prisoner to the dungeon and lock my daughter up in her room.” The King walked away, shaking his head. “You might as well arrest everyone else in the chamber. And find those leprechauns.”

                                                                       

Alexander paced his small windowless, stinky cell like a caged feral cat. What was to become of him? He was a thirteen-year-old lad, and he already there was a felony on his permanent record. He was almost sure that this might doom any chance of him getting into college or any future employment. He wondered where they took O’Toole or Malley. He wondered what kind punishment Abby or Nola, whatever her name was, would get for helping. Then again, she deserved any reprimand she got.

A knock interrupted Alexander’s pacing.

 “Lunchtime.” A gruff voice came from the opposite side of the door. A dented silver tray slid through a slot. “Bon appetite, this is most likely your last meal.”

Alexander scrutinized the tray as little cockroaches ran, hiding. His lunch was a small bowl of some greenish mush with a turnip, a burnt muffin, and a half of a glass of water. If this were his last meal, he would go to his execution hungry. There was no way he would eat the turnip goop.

Alexander’s hunger got the best of him. He closed his eyes and forced a heaping spoonful of yuck into his mouth and then he forced himself to swallow. He wished he were dead. It tasted like cold rat soup. At least he imagined that’s what it tasted like, having never eaten a rat before. His stomach agreed with him.

Another knock at the door startled Alexander, and he spilled his water. “Push the tray to the door.” Alexander obeyed the order without hesitation. “Hey, you barely ate your lunch. You need to keep your strength up for tomorrow.” The beady eyes of the guard peered through the slit.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself. Get some rest. You will need a good night’s sleep.”

“Not tired.”

“Suit yourself. It doesn't matter to me. The dragon will eat ya even if you’re too tired to care.”

“Go away. Don’t you have other prisoners to annoy?”

“I’m going. Have a wonderful last day of your life.” The guard shoved a card into the slit. “It’s just a suggestion card, something to help the jailer decide how to handle prisoners sentenced to die in the future. I was only asking because at our last training meeting they taught us to be more considerate of our prisoners’ feelings.”

                                                                                    

There is nothing worse than spending the night in jail worrying about your impending doom. Unless you’re a thirteen-year-old boy with an upset stomach, worrying about your impending doom.

Alexander couldn’t remember how long he’d remained awake. Without a window, he couldn’t tell if it was morning or night. All he knew was that he wished he were at home. His night only got worse when a dull blue light glowed in the middle of the cell. He closed his eyes, expecting to become dragon food at any second.

“I swear Mr. Sighs. You can’t seem to keep out of trouble. What do you want to do about it?”

“O’Toole! I’ve never been so happy to see anyone,” Alexander cried. “Where’s Malley?”

“It’s great seeing you as well. We might want to hold off our reunion for a bit.”

 “A little less talk. You’re there to protect Alexander from the explosion.” Abby’s voice came from the other side of the door. “You guys ready?

“Twelve, nine, eight