“I am, in fact, not the least surprised or awed.”
“To the pain means this: if we duel and you win, death for me. If we duel and I win, life for you. But life on my terms.”
“Meaning?” It could all still be a trap. His body was at the ready.
“There are those who credit you with skill as a hunter, though I find that doubtful.”
The Prince smiled. The fellow was baiting him. Why?
“And if you hunt well, then surely, when you tracked your lady, you must have begun at the Cliffs of Insanity. A duel was fought there and if you noted the movements and the strides, you would know that those were masters battling. They were. Remember this: I won that fight. And I am a pirate. We have our special tricks with swords.”
It was 5:53. “I am not unfamiliar with steel.”
“The first thing you lose will be your feet,” Westley said. “The left, then the right. Below the ankle. You will have stumps available to use within six months. Then your hands, at the wrist. They heal somewhat quicker. Five months is a fair average.” And now Westley was beginning to be aware of strange changes in his body and he began talking faster, faster and louder. “Next your nose. No smell of dawn for you. Followed by your tongue. Deeply cut away. Not even a stump left. And then your left eye—”
“And then my right eye and then my ears, and shall we get on with it?” the Prince said. It was 5:54.
“Wrong!” Westley’s voice rang across the room. “Your ears you keep, so that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish—every babe that weeps in fear at your approach, every woman that cries ‘Dear God, what is that thing?’ will reverberate forever with your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means that I leave you to live in anguish, in humiliation, in freakish misery until you can stand it no more; so there you have it, pig, there you know, you miserable vomitous mass, and I say this now, and live or die, it’s up to you: Drop your sword!”
The sword crashed to the floor.
It was 5:55.
Westley’s eyes rolled up into his head and his body crumpled and half pitched from the bed and the Prince saw that and went to the floor, grabbing for his sword, standing, starting to bring it high, when Westley cried out: “Now you will suffer: to the pain!” His eyes were open again.
Open and blazing.
“I’m sorry; I meant nothing, I didn’t; look,” and the Prince dropped his sword a second time.
“Tie him,” Westley said to Buttercup. “Be quick about it—use the curtain sashes; they look enough to hold him—”
“You’d do it so much better,” Buttercup replied. “I’ll get the sashes, but I really think you should do the actual tying.”
“Woman,” Westley roared, “you are the property of the Dread Pirate Roberts and you… do… what… you’re… told!”
Buttercup gathered the sashes and did what she could with tying up her husband.
Humperdinck lay flat while she did it. He seemed strangely happy. “I wasn’t afraid of you,” he said to Westley. “I dropped my sword because it will be so much more pleasure for me to hunt you down.”
“You think so, do you? I doubt you’ll find us.”
“I’ll conquer Guilder and then I’ll come for you. The corner you least expect, when you round it, you will find me waiting.”
“I am the King of the Sea—I await you with pleasure.” He called out to Buttercup. “Is he tied yet?”
“Sort of.”
There was movement at the doorway and then Inigo was there. Buttercup cried out at the blood. Inigo ignored her, looked around. “Where’s Fezzik?”