by Evan Purcell
Hans was funny. Of course, he had to be. If he didn’t crack jokes so often, who knows how he’d manage to survive in Sarnath.
He had two older brothers, but they were both eaten at a young age. Until recently, he lived in a household of three. His father was a farmer, and his mother sold their vegetables in the town square. Hans tended the fields.
Until recently, that is. Until last month…
Last month, the royal family selected Hans’ father to be this season’s sacrifice. Hans and his mother waited on the docks as the father was lowered into churning, dark waters.
Hans was always afraid of the things that dwelled beneath the waters, but now he saw their power firsthand. His father thrashed and screamed and was very quickly swallowed up. From then on, Hans would have to perform twice his chores on the farm. He no longer had time for jokes.
The first night after his father’s sacrifice, Hans sat in his bed and tried to sleep. He couldn’t. In the wee hours of the morning, his mother walked into his room and sat on his bed. “Hans,” she said. “You have a long day tomorrow. You must sleep.”
“I… I can’t,” Hans said.
She placed her hand on his knee. He always hated that. “Hans, dear. What your father did today was glorious. It was the joy of sacrifice. Never forget that.”
Hans wanted to argue with her. He wanted to ask her how she could dare use the word “joy” after all the screaming and thrashing and death. But he couldn’t argue with his mother, so he simply said, “Yes. The joy of sacrifice.”
The next few weeks were difficult for Hans and the farm. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep up with everything. He wasn’t as strong as his father. He didn’t even understand all the harvesting techniques that his father always talked about. It was becoming very clear that the farm was failing. Hans knew it. His mother knew it.
One morning, Hans saw his mother talking with a stranger in the front yard. He waited by the side of their house, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Eventually, the stranger left, and Hans asked his mother, “Who was that? Is there something wrong?”
They sat down on stacks of hay. Hans’s mother placed her frail hand on his shoulder. “Hans, dear,” she said. “With your father gone, we can’t afford to live here anymore.”
“Mother, are you going to sell the farm?”
“No, dear. I’m going to sell you.”
At first, Hans thought she was joking. But he knew that his mother never joked. He was the funny one in the family, not her.
“But…”
“The royal family is always looking for new servants,” she said.
“Slaves, Mother. They’re looking for new slaves. And besides, the royal family killed Dad. It’s their fault…”
“Hans,” his mother said, “you’re smart, you’re strong, you’re funny. Those attributes are worth a lot of money.”
“But…”
“It’s the only way we can survive. At the end of the month, you will be collected and…” She kept talking, but he didn’t hear anything else. He stared at his feet.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. And he walked back toward the house.
“And remember, Hans. It might be tough, but that’s the joy of sacrifice.”
Hans didn’t sleep that night. Nor the night after that. Nor the night after that. He only had a week left before he was taken away. If he was lucky, he’d be placed as a palace guard. If not… the royal family was not always kind to its people, and that went doubly so for the slaves.
During the third sleepless night in a row, Hans left to spend what little money he had at the nearest pub. He never drank. Honestly, he hated it. But that night, alcohol was necessary.
When he got there, he saw the usual crowd. He recognized two men—Peter and Samuel—sitting by the fireplace. They were both a few drinks past their limit. “Hey,” Hans said.
“Funny Boy!” Peter shouted. He always called him that, ever since Hans showed him his very best pratfall.
“What brings you here, Funny Boy?” Samuel asked. “Haven’t seen you since your pa was eaten.”
“It hasn’t been the best time, actually,” Hans said.
Peter ordered another round for the three of them.
“We were there when he, you know… got sunk,” Samuel said. “Didn’t fight back. You know, I totally would’ve fought back if I were him. But, I don’t know, your old man was always…”
“Listen, Funny Boy,” Peter interrupted. “You gonna see the princess tomorrow?”
“The princess?” Hans had no idea what they were talking about. Sarnath only had one princess, and everyone said that she was as cruel as they come. A beautiful girl, but ruthless. For all he knew, she could’ve been the one who decided to sacrifice his father.
“The whole kingdom’s talking about it, man,” Samuel said. “It’s a contest. You gotta make the princess laugh.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Peter continued. “Anyone can try. All you gotta do is go to the castle tomorrow and do something funny. It should be no problem for you, Funny Boy. If you make her laugh, then she’ll marry you. Can you imagine, marrying into the royal family? It’s… crazy.”
“That’s it?” Hans asked. “There’s no catch?”
“Well…” Samuel said. “The princess has never laughed before. So it’s probably harder than it sounds. But… why not, man?”
“Really?”
“Really,” both guys said.
Hans didn’t have to think about it too much. What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, the princess might be mean and ruthless, but marrying her would be so much better than entering into slavery.
“Where can I sign up?”
The next morning, Hans set out for the castle.
First, he gathered up all the tools he would need: three red balls, multi-colored scarves, and a unicycle. He took everything he’d need for the funniest comedy act he could think of. He was going to juggle atop a unicycle and slowly lose his balance. Then he would fall on his head and—if he timed it perfectly—everything would fall directly on top of him. It wasn’t a dangerous trick, but it always made people laugh.
Next, he said goodbye to his dear mother. He didn’t expect her to cry, so he wasn’t disappointed when she didn’t. She hugged him, though. Hans couldn’t help but think that she was stiff and bony.
“Make me proud,” she said, more like a threat than anything else.
“Of course I will, Mom.”
He turned to leave, but she grabbed his shoulder. “And remember,” she said, “if it doesn’t work out, don’t worry. You’re worth a lot of money.”
“I would do anything to save you,” he said. He meant “us.”
“I know. Make me proud.” When he was halfway down the road, she called out, “Do it for your father!”
He pretended not to hear that last part.
After several hours of walking, Hans’s box of props was starting to weigh down on him. His face was covered with sweat and dust. He wanted to pray to the gods for luck, but he didn’t have an animal sacrifice handy, so he couldn’t.
Finally, he made it to the castle gates. He hadn’t seen the castle this close before, and he felt like an ant staring at a boulder. He stood in its shadow for the longest time, simply looking up, looking at the dark towers that cut into the sky.
Then he stepped onto the drawbridge.
“Halt!” a guard ordered. He wore blue robes and a tall furry hat. His face was lined with scars. “Why do you seek entrance?”
Hans gestured toward the box in his hands. “I am here to make the princess laugh.”
The guard glanced at the contents of the box. Scarves. Balls. A unicycle. “Well, good luck with that.” And he ushered Hans inside.
They quickly passed through the grand hall, so quickly that Hans could barely get a glimpse at the beautiful tapestries of octopi and creatures hanging from the walls. They rounded a corner, then another, and the guard basically pushed Hans into a small room at the edge of a hallway.
The guard left. No instructions. No goodbye.
But Hans was not alone. There were about ten other participants waiting in the room, eligible bachelors of all ages. Some wore face paint. Some had wacky clothing. None of them brought a unicycle, Hans noticed, so that was a plus.
A small man sat on the floor in the front of the room. He trembled, his eyes studying Hans, but only for a second.
And in the back of the room, casually leaning against the wall… were Peter and Samuel, the two guys from the bar. Of course they’d be there, too.
Hans waved awkwardly, but the two men ignored him.
The small man tugged on Hans’s shirt. “Have a seat,” he said. “Who knows how long we have left.”
“Are you… you seem nervous,” Hans said.
The small man smiled weakly. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked.
“Don’t know what?”
“Any suitor who fails to make the princess laugh will be sent to the depths. Or otherwise dispatched.”
Hans gulped.
He spun around and looked at Peter. “Is that true?”
Peter shrugged his massive shoulders. “We didn’t mention that part?”
Hans was starting to have definite second feelings about this. He remembered his mother’s speech about the “joy of sacrifice,” but he couldn’t imagine dooming himself to a watery death for the sake of laughter. This wasn’t right. He wanted to leave.
The door creaked open. “Next!”
The voice didn’t sound like a guard. It was a female voice… and young.
Hans looked toward the half-opened door and saw a beautiful woman peering inside. She had black hair and eyes, which perfectly matched her dark gown. In fact, her only bit of color was the deep red on her lips. She was beautiful in ways that Hans didn’t even know existed.
She was the princess.
“Next!” she said again.
The small man, still shaking, raised his hand. “That would be me.”
“Follow me,” the princess said. And she was gone.
The small man looked behind him once more. His eyes stopped on Hans. Terror. Pure terror. All for the sake of laughter.
The door shut behind him.
Hans waited near the door, straining to hear anything on the other side. He didn’t hear any laughter. He heard a bit of screaming, though. “No! Please! I can do it better! Funnier!” Hans shuddered.
Very quickly, the door opened. Once again, the princess peeked inside. “Next, please.”
One at a time, the room drained of people. Hans tried not to listen through the door, because he knew what he’d hear. Not laughter, that was for certain. No, he’d hear grown men screaming pitifully as they were grabbed and dragged to the lake.
Hans should’ve been happy for their failure. That meant he was still in the running. But the longer he waited, the more he realized that he was not going to make anyone laugh today. He was certain that he was going to be sacrificed.
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Eventually, there were only two other people left in the room: Peter and Samuel. Hans was now stuck with the two men who got him into this mess in the first place. Samuel sat in the corner and practiced singing, and Peter swung absently through the air with a wooden stick. Neither seemed nervous about their potential deaths.
“What is wrong with you two?” Hans asked.
Samuel stopped singing.
“What?” Peter asked.
“Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”
“Naw, man,” Peter said. “I know I’m gonna win!”
“And I know I’m gonna win!” Samuel added. “So it’s all good.” And he went back to his singing.
Peter took his stick and started tapping against the stone wall.
Tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was such a small sound, but it drove Hans crazy.
“But what if she doesn’t laugh?” Hans asked.
Both men ignored him.
Tap. Tap.
Hans could barely breathe. He pictured his father getting pulled under the churning water. His father never fought back.
Tap-tap-tap.
Finally, he had enough. These two idiots had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into. Worse, they had no idea what they’d gotten him into. And now he was going to go out there, juggle a bit, and then get murdered. He couldn’t… he couldn’t let that happen.
Tap.
Hans stood up and grabbed Peter’s wooden club.
“Hey!” Peter protested.
With one swipe, Hans thwacked Peter across the head. He didn’t realize how hard he’d swung until the blood started gushing down Peter’s face.
“What the…?” Peter stood up long enough to collapse onto the floor. Dead.
A surge of emotions washed over Hans. Surprise. Shock. Anger. But guilt was not one of those emotions. He knew that with Peter gone, he had a slightly bigger chance of getting out of this alive.
“What did you do?” Samuel screamed. He jumped to his feet and dove toward Hans. He was running so fast, he couldn’t stop himself before Hans once again swung the wooden stick. It connected with Samuel’s face, leaving a huge gash across his cheek and nose. A strip of skin dangled.
But Samuel wasn’t going to go down easy. He reared back and punched Hans straight in the gut. Hans didn’t expect that. He doubled over, his feet sliding in the pool of Peter’s blood. He didn’t fall though. And before he knew it, Hans struck again, slicing through the air and ramming against Samuel’s neck.
Samuel fell to the ground.
By now, Hans’s clothes were speckled and ruined. In this flurry of violence, he somehow blamed Samuel for that, too. Before the big guy could pull himself to his feet, Hans bashed him in the face. Again and again.
Samuel made squish noises, but he wasn’t dead. He was too twitchy to be dead.
Minutes past—Hans didn’t know how long—and he just kept beating and beating Samuel until there were flecks of him everywhere. He didn’t hear the door creak open. He thought of his father falling into the lake. His father never fought back, but Hans… Hans would’ve fought back.
Samuel’s head slid away from his body. There wasn’t enough neck meat to keep it connected. Hans stopped and caught his breath.
The princess stood silently behind him.
When he saw her, he realized with horror what he actually looked like. He was covered in blood, a broken stick in his hands, standing amongst the squishy wreckage that had once been his friends.
There was no expression on the princess’s face. Then, slowly, she smiled. Her eyes brightened. And she laughed.
Hard.
She laughed until she had to clutch her stomach muscles and steady herself against the wall. She laughed until tears streamed down her face and her black hair hung wildly all around.
“Your highness?” Hans asked.
The princess stepped forward, careful not to ruin her dress, and clasped both of her small, pale hands around his large, blood-soaked ones. She held him so tightly, and for the longest time, she simply looked at him, at this wonderful man, at the man who made her laugh.
He could see her closely now, and she was certainly as beautiful as he thought. Sure, there was peasant blood in his eyes, and he was a tad woozy from the sudden exertion of double homicide. But he saw her well enough.
Her eyes, as black as night. Her face, as pale and smooth as the reflection of the moon.
She kissed his hands, staining her lips redder. “What is your name?” the princess asked.
For a second, Hans almost forgot who he was. For a second, the only person in the world was this princess. “Uh… Hans. I’m Hans, a… farmer.”
“Well, Hans the Farmer. I want to thank you.”
He looked down at the corpses at his feet. Perhaps one twitched. Or perhaps Hans simply had too much blood in his eyes.
“For…?”
“For amusing me,” the princess explained. “You made me laugh.”
“I’m glad, your majesty.”
“Will you be able to do it again?”
“Um… Of course.”
The princess kissed him on the cheek. “Wonderful!” she said. Then she turned around and screamed, “Guards! Hurry!”
Instantly, two of her royal guards rushed into the room. They pretended not to notice the carnage at their feet, but it was quite obvious to Hans that they sidestepped the larger pieces. They stood at attention in front of the door.
“Thank you, 37 and 52.” She addressed the guards as numbers. If Hans had been sold into slavery, he would’ve been a number, too. “Now please give your weapons to Hans the Farmer.”
Without hesitation, 37 and 52 held out their wooden staffs. Hans collected them.
“Wonderful,” said the princess. “Now Hans, I’ve provided you with two brand new volunteers. Please make me laugh again.”
Hans held a staff in each arm. They were heavy and wooden. They could do some serious damage. They could break bones. Hans knew that the princess wanted him to beat her guards to death.
She watched him, expectantly. When it seemed that he was hesitating, the smile on her face quivered and disappeared.
He couldn’t have that. He would do anything to make his princess smile. So he struck out. He broke bones.
The guards were so well trained, they didn’t scream. And they flinched the minimal amount.
The princess laughed and laughed. She clapped, too.
When Hans was finished and there were two more bodies on the floor, the princess embraced him. They kissed.
“Will you marry me?” she asked. “Will you be my prince?”
This time, he didn’t hesitate. Not for one second.
Trumpeters trumpeted. Drummers drummed. Singers sang with heavenly voices. This was a royal wedding, and it was glorious.
Representatives from all the nearby kingdoms were there. Kings, queens, dukes, the gill-man liaisons from several aquatic realms… It was a lovely gathering of important people.
Hans and his new wife sat at the head of a long banquet table, feasting on cakes and chicken legs and trout. Hans felt very handsome, even amongst all the beautiful royals. The princess held his hand under the table. After the requisite toasts and animal sacrifices, Hans turned toward his wife.
“This is my dream come true,” he said.
She smiled. “It took me so long to find someone like you. I believe we’ll have a very happy… Is that your mother?”
Hans spun in his chair. His mother shoved her way through the palace entrance. A few guards attempted to block her way, but there were so few of them left now. Hans had been living in the castle for almost a month, and the number of guards, servants, and passersby had noticeably dwindled.
“Mom?”
She was wearing her typical gray dress. Before he’d moved into the castle, Hans had never noticed how drab and ugly it looked. She did not belong here. There was a reason she wasn’t invited.
“Hans!” the old woman shouted and ran toward the banquet table.
By now, all the guests—all the very important people and gill men—stared at her. It was disgraceful. Hans couldn’t allow this to happen.
He started to stand up, but the princess squeezed his hand under the table. “Dear,” she said. “Is that your mother?”
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her in…”
“It’s fine,” the princess cooed, but there was a sharp edge to her voice. “I love you, and I know you’ll make the right decision. What do you want to do with that woman?”
His mother reached the table and wrapped her frail arms around Hans’s shoulders. “I knew you’d make it,” she said. “I am so proud of you.”
Many of the guests began to whisper amongst themselves. A few looked as if a stray dog had entered the room.
Hans looked at his wife, then his mother, then his wife.
“The decision is yours,” the princess repeated.
Hans made up his mind. He stood up and clinked his glass. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen and others. This is my dear mother.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. Tenderly. “She’s a peasant, lives on a farm. She taught me everything, including the most important lesson of my life. Mother, do you remember what that lesson was?”
The old woman looked into her son’s eyes and smiled. “No. What?”
Once again, Hans looked at the crowd. “The most important lesson, according to my mother, is the joy of sacrifice. So I’ve decided to give my mother the greatest gift of all. After dinner, we will lower her into the depths, and present her as an offering to the darkness below.”
Everyone burst into applause.
“Hans. No!” the old woman said.
But Hans couldn’t hear her words, because his new wife was laughing so loudly.
Evan Purcell is an American living and working in rural China, a land of ancient traditions, friendly people, and absolutely no cheese in a hundred-mile radius. Except for that last part, he really enjoys his life abroad. He also writes a lot of horror and sci-fi short stories, as well as the occasional romance novel. You can read about his travels and his weirdly eclectic writing at EvanPurcell.Blogspot.com. And if you see him walking down the street, please offer him some American cheese. He misses it so much.