The Princess Bride: The Sequel

Sweeping thick filaments of hair from his grandson’s face before pinching the boy’s cheeks, Peter shook his head with a smile.

“Sick again so soon, Billy?”

Billy slowly reclined against his headboard, fingers curled around the edges of his quilt blanket.

“Are you gonna read me The Princess Bride again?” he asked, eyeing the gilded edge of the book nestled in his grandfather’s coat pocket.

“Not today, chap. I found something else to read to you, and I think you won’t mind.”

Billy blinked, straightening back up. “Something else?”

“I was dusting off my bookshelves the other day and I found me a book I never thought I’d find again: the sequel to The Princess Bride.”

His grandson’s young features contorted into a look of utter bewilderment, his nose scrunched and his head tilted to the side.

“I thought you only read The Princess Bride when Dad was sick.”

Peter loosed a chuckle.

“Your dad didn’t get sick quite as often as you.”

Peter laid the book down on his lap. He licked his index finger before opening the book, flipping its worn pages to locate the first chapter. The old man then adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

“Do you, Westley, take Buttercup to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, ‘till death do you part?” asked the minister.

Westley heard the encouraging chants of men sitting in the aisles behind him, crewmen of the Dread Pirate Roberts. Sporting unkempt beards and roguish grins, these men were unfamiliar with the traditional customs of weddings, behaving more as they would perhaps in a tavern. Still, a handful of uncouth guests was a small price to pay for his dear friend Roberts’ attendance.

The former farm-boy wasted no time meeting his bride’s eyes and proudly proclaiming, “I do.”

Though the ceremony was not yet complete, one of Roberts’ men took Westley’s vow as a cue to swipe a glass of wine from a nearby table, staining its once-pristine white cloth with drops of dark vermillion as he hastily took a swig. The crewman raised his glass, but his gleeful shouts suddenly turned to bellows of agony before he collapsed to the floor.

Another crewman tapped him with his foot, to no avail. The crewman bent down to observe his comrade’s eyes were still open, so he waved his hand in front of the man’s face.

“Bernard, you will get up at once or consider yourself dead,” Roberts hissed.

“I think there’s a slight problem, Captain,” the other crewman timidly replied.

“And what would that be?”

The other crewman lifted his companion’s massive arm before letting it go, watching it thud back to the ground.

“He’s already dead.”

Roberts rolled his eyes. “Well then, toss him outside! When was the last time you saw a corpse as a wedding decoration?”

The crewman summoned another comrade to help lift the man when they were halted by the groom.

“Wait,” said Westley, consoling his distraught bride in his arms.

“Bring that man to me.”

The men struggled to keep their dead comrade off the ground as they walked, eventually stumbling on top of a startled huddle of wedding guests. That was when the tallest of the wedding guests slowly rose from his chair, crossing the aisle to intercept the dead man’s body, lifting him as one might a basket of bread. Wordlessly he laid the dead man onto the altar, nodding to the newlyweds.

“Fezzik.” Westley acknowledged the giant with a small nod in return. He let go of Buttercup and glanced down at the dead man, noting the purple tinge of his skin. Then he turned back to face his guests.

“Nobody touch or taste the wine. I’ll have my men dispose of it into the sea as soon as possible.”

Roberts cast a sidelong glance at Westley. “You know what killed this crewman?”

“Like the back of my hand,” replied Westley, stepping forward. “Iocane powder.” ***

Westley bid his beloved a final goodbye before boarding Roberts’ fastest ship. Both men turned to face a young crewman of no older than sixteen.

And you’re certain you saw the strange ship head west?”

The boy hastily nodded.

Westley and Roberts exchanged looks.

“West it is,” Roberts affirmed. His crewmen sprung into action, readying the sails for a swift departure.

Roberts, Westley, and Fezzik retreated into the Captain’s chambers, a room comfortable enough for even the famed pirate’s tastes.

“Never a break for me, is there?” Westley wryly commented. “I rescue my beloved from the clutches of Prince Humperdinck, spend my wealth on a grand wedding ceremony, and just narrowly miss assassination. I must be cursed.”

Roberts leaned forward. “I apologize for this disaster. It was probably me they wanted. Being feared throughout the seven seas tends to make you a target.”

Westley smirked. “I believe you.”

Fezzik lightly drummed his fingers on a table.

“The killer could also be on this ship,” he mused.

“Impossible,” replied Roberts. “My crewmen know I am not to be trifled with. The mere thought of betraying the Dread Pirate Roberts would scare them witless.”

“Cut it out, Inigo. You sound like a bad salesman,” said Fezzik. Inigo Montoya loosed a long, heavy sigh.

“I won’t lie, taking over as Roberts was not what I expected it to be. I’m amazed I even managed to attend a wedding with the crew. Was it always this trying when you were the Dread Pirate Roberts?” he asked Westley, who merely shrugged.

“I must’ve hired a better crew.”

Sudden commotion from the deck caught the men’s attentions. They emerged from the chambers to find their vessel side-by-side with a great black ship. A tall, thin man in a cape and large hat pointed his sword toward Inigo, who straightened up.

“You dare challenge the Dread Pirate Roberts?”

“Oh, heavens! I would never!” replied the man. “Why, is he somewhere ahead?”

Westley could hear the cackles and guffawing of the other man’s crew.

Inigo glared. “I am the Dread Pirate Roberts, terror of the seven seas and destroyer of fleets upon fleets.”

“I’m George.”

Inigo and his crewmen looked at each other and blinked.

“Surrender now and prepare to be boarded,” said Inigo, drawing his sword. “I’m sure you know what happens to those who resist the

Dread Pirate Roberts.”

George scoffed. “Your threats are worth less than the change I left upon your mother’s nightstand, Spaniard pirate!”

“Enough threats then.” Inigo turned to his crew, speaking loudly enough for George and his men to hear. “Sink her to the bottom.”

Inigo’s crewmen readied their cannons, but George stood still on his deck, yawning.

“You sure you don’t want to reconsider your position?” called Inigo.

George simply shook his head. “For the crew of the Dread Pirate Roberts, you lot sure are boring. A few years ago you would leap upon my ship and smite me where I stood! Cannons are for cowards and foreigners.”

Inigo’s men stopped in their tracks, silently looking at their Captain with wide eyes.

“If it’s a duel you want…” Inigo met the expectant stares of his crew before returning to George. “A duel you shall have.”

Coolly the Dread Pirate Roberts boarded the neighboring ship, clutching his beloved sword. The other crew slowly backed away, giving the captains plenty of room on the deck. The braying of swords filled the air, each man fiercely swinging at the other, but in the corner of Westley’s vision he spotted another man approaching Inigo from behind. The man unsheathed a small knife, poised to plunge it through the pirate’s back.

Westley wasted no time hopping onto the other ship, striking down the would-be assailant. Inigo then disarmed George, pinning him to a wall.

“Some duel you wanted,” Inigo growled. “I’ve met some of the slimiest men in the seven seas, but they all would tremble to behold your wretchedness. Now tell me why you tried to murder us at a wedding in Florin.”

George spat in his face. “Kiss my ass.”

Without another word, Inigo plunged his sword through the other Captain’s torso. He left George to die on the wooden floor as he returned with Westley to his own ship.

“Roberts, I caught sight of a symbol through one of the windows of their ship,” Fezzik said as he joined Inigo’s side. “They’re from Guilder, the sworn enemy of Florin.”

“Should we take the crew for questioning, perhaps keep them as prisoners until we figure out what’s going on?” suggested Westley.

Inigo’s eyes met Westley’s, dark and hardened.

“The Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

Ben Laurin | Royal St. George’s College | Grade 12