“Don’t tease me. A person can only take so much bad news.”
Puck jumped to his feet. “I’m not happy about a lot of things either, you know. Look at me—I’m one of the good guys now. Worse, I’m thinking about your feelings and not about what kind of gunk I can pour over your head,” he complained. “Do you realize how low I’ve sunk? I’m the Trickster King. I’m the shaman of stupidity, the Dalai Lama of dumb jokes, the holy man of horrible pranks.” He sighed forlornly. “Now all of a sudden I’m Mr. Sensitive.”
“Sabrina!” Daphne cried as she raced into the clearing.
Sabrina and Puck rushed to her. “What? Were you attacked?”
“What? No, of course not,” Daphne said. “I think I know how to get one of those doors to open for us. We have to put together a new ending. The horseman’s up on the hill looking for his head. I heard him fumbling around up there.”
“You aren’t suggesting we confront that devil,” Pinocchio said.
“Yes, you have to if we want out of here.”
“Me?” Pinocchio looked at the children. “What does this have to do with me?”
8
fter unwrapping Pinocchio from his prison of duct tape, the children walked back to the shadow-filled road. The air had turned crisp and chilly and Sabrina could see a puff of water vapor whenever she breathed out.
“What do you want me to do?” Pinocchio said. His tone made it clear that he felt very put out by the request.
“Stand here in the road and taunt the Horseman,” Sabrina said.
“And how do I do that?”
“Do what comes naturally,” Daphne said. “Be very annoying.”
“How dare you!”
“Just stand there and call him names,” Sabrina said, ignoring his indignation.
“I hardly think a few insults are going to bother an undead soldier from the depths of the underworld,” Pinocchio whined.
“You’re right,” Puck said. From underneath his hoodie he removed an object wrapped in old rags and handed it to the boy. It was shaped like a small watermelon and smelled foul. “Wave this around.”
“What’s this?”
“The Horseman’s head.”
Pinocchio let out a girlish scream and dropped the head.
Puck scooped it off the ground. “Hey! This is valuable.”
“You had his head the whole time?” Sabrina asked.
Puck nodded.
“Why?” Daphne said, her eyes as big as saucers.
“It’s a souvenir,” Puck said. “I was thinking I’d put it on the mantel above the fireplace.”
“It’s someone’s head!” Sabrina cried.
“It’s a conversation piece,” Puck corrected her, and then shoved it back into Pinocchio’s hands. “And I will want it back!”
Pinocchio held the object as far from his body as he could.
“Just shout that you have it,” Daphne said to the boy. “According to the story, this guy is obsessed with it. He’ll be along pretty fast.”
“Great,” Pinocchio said through a thick layer of sarcasm.
The children scuttled off to hide in the brush and wait. Sabrina watched Pinocchio kicking at pebbles and looking around aimlessly. After several moments, she lost her patience with the boy.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“My job!” he shouted. “I’m the bait!”
“Make some noise. Be obnoxious. Tease him!”
“At least wave the head around,” Puck added.
Pinocchio rolled his eyes and lifted the head over his own. “Hey! Horseman! I got your head. Nah-nah-na-na-nah!” He turned to the children. “Happy?”
“You are worthless,” Sabrina said, marching out into the road. She snatched the head from the boy. “Like this! Hey Horseman! You want your head? Too bad! It’s mine now. I might use it like a soccer ball or sell it on the Internet. But you can have it back if you want it. All you have to do is take it from me!”
Pinocchio growled. “Sorry if I don’t have a lot of experience taunting people with their own body parts.”
“You don’t have a lot of experience doing anything for anyone else,” Sabrina said. “For someone who claims to be an adult trapped in a little boy’s body, you act like a baby.”
“You insolent brat!” Pinocchio said. “If I was big enough, I’d put you over my knee.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Sabrina said.
“Hey! Can’t you hear that?” Daphne said.
“Hear what?!” Pinocchio and Sabrina shouted.
“The horse hooves! He’s coming.”
Sabrina stood for a moment. She could hear the beating of a horse on the road.
“You’re supposed to hold this!” she cried, forcing the head back into his hands.
“It’s too great an honor,” Pinocchio said, slamming it back into her hands. “I insist.”
Just then, the dark, terrifying figure appeared on the road. His silver sword flashed in the moonlight and fire flickered in his horse’s eyes.
“Where’s the door?”
“It should appear any second,” Daphne replied.