Chapter 44: The Miracle of the Horse Shampoo (With Regard to Its Coefficient of Friction)

"Wh-Who are you?"

"Hahaha, I hardly have the audacity to sully the ears of the Great Sage of the Empire with the name of one so lowly as myself," he said with a mockingly exaggerated bow of respect, his teeth visible behind his wicked smile.

"Mia! Are you okay?!"

The two princes rushed down the stairs, Anne and Dion right on their heels.

"Are you Jem?"

Sion's dagger-eyed stare did not shake the man, who cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

"Judging by the fact that you know my name, I assume you're already aware of the White Crows' plan."

"That's right. Your scheme has been laid bare," said Sion, drawing his sword. "Your friends have all surrendered. I suggest you follow their example."

"Friends, huh..." Jem scoffed at the word and shook his head. "Speaking of which, that reminds me of Graham. I almost pity him, the miserable bastard. A man whose loyalty to his kingdom proved too spicy for the delicate palate of his young, fastidious prince."

Suddenly, they heard a new voice from even further down the underground passage.

"Give it up, man. It's over. Dasayev Donovan is safe. You're the only one left."

Keithwood appeared from the shadows beyond with characteristic nonchalance. Jem, now trapped in the middle, tsked.

"Aw, come on. You even found the secret underground escape route? Prince Sion's one thing, but it looks like even his attendant's reputation is well-earned."

Sion was blocking the stairs. Waiting farther down the passage was Keithwood. Standing between them was Jem. And in the midst of it all, trying her best to sneak away unnoticed, was Mia.

Th-This is my chance. I need to get out of here...

With slow, inconspicuous movements, she turned and began shuffling away, only to feel something cold and metallic at her neck.

"Eek!"

She gasped and straightened, the motion almost lifting her off the ground. The sensation of an unsheathed sword on her skin summoned a flood of memories that ended with the heavy, heartless weight of a falling blade.

"Don't get smart on me now. It doesn't take much to cut through that slim little neck of yours."

Mia nodded with sycophantic zeal, stammering out a string of babble meant to convey obedience before a menacing grunt from Jem caused her to shut up for good. She stood completely still, daring only to blink her eyes every few seconds.

"Don't do anything stupid," warned Sion. "Sunkland won't back the Wind Crows, white or black. Your scheme has already failed. It's over."

"Whoa, whoa, so harsh, Your Highness. All those hurtful words from you might just cause my hand to slip. You wouldn't want any princess heads to roll, now would you?" Jem tapped his sword on Mia's shoulder to illustrate his point. "I've got a lot of pent-up stress from having my plans ruined by this little girl, after all. You might not want to push my buttons."

Mia whimpered and tried to lean away from the blade, but she went a bit too far and almost lost her balance. When she put a foot out to steady herself it landed with a conspicuous splash, followed by the unmistakable sound of liquid steadily dripping into a puddle. Jem stared down at her for a second. Then his lips curled up into a profoundly mocking grin.

"Heh. At the end of the day, the Great Sage of the Empire is still just a kid. Pathetic."

Every last pair of eyes was now focused on Mia — specifically, her skirt, which was wet. There was no doubt in any of their minds that, tragically, she'd soiled herself in her terror.

Any of their minds... except Anne's! Mia's first and most faithful subject immediately figured out what had happened.

No! This smell, it's...

A floral fragrance tickled her nose — one that was surprisingly familiar, as it frequently drifted from her dear mistress's hair.

"The one I got from Abel felt a little more moisturizing," she recalled Mia saying.

That particular shampoo, containing what must be a more oleaginous blend of ingredients, had an oilier texture than most others. The logical corollary of this fact was, of course...

"Milady! Run!"

Anne's sudden cry pierced the silence like a clap of thunder. Everyone froze. Everyone except Mia, whose unshakable trust in her confidante caused her muscles to move on reflex. Time slowed to a crawl as Mia, the sole human actor on a stage of wooden mannequins, shifted her weight onto one leg as she readied herself to dash. Then the pause ended, and everything sped back up.

"Little wench!"

Jem reacted first. Seeing that Mia was trying to escape, he raised his sword and, his rage and hatred for the Great Sage of the Empire flaring in his eyes, put all his malice into a vicious horizontal swing at her neck. Should the blade find its mark, it would surely rend her delicate skin, sever her slender muscle, and slice straight through her spine, only...

Shhhhhlick!

As Mia pushed down with her leg in an attempt to bolt, her foot slammed into the ground and... kept going. It had met with surprisingly little resistance, and the excess momentum caused the entire leg to be flung out behind her.

"Eeek!"

The sudden motion produced by her shampoo-soaked shoes was beyond the ability of even a trained fighter to predict. Her legs flew out from under her as her body lurched forward. Something swished sharply by, mere inches from her head .

"Gyah!"

She fell in a rather unflattering fashion with a loud yelp, but no one faulted her for it.

"You little— Gah! Die!"

Jem dove toward her, sword primed to thrust, but he too stepped in the puddle of shampoo and suffered its wrath. It launched his leg forward, causing the rest of him to topple backwards. His sword landed on the ground out of his reach.

"Milady! This way! Hurry!"

"Eeeek! Eeeeeeek!"

A wild mass of screams and flailing limbs, Mia struggled desperately to get back on her feet and reach Anne, only to slip once again. Her back leg flew upward in an arc. Standing behind her was Jem, back on his feet and dashing at her with his arm outstretched.

"Damn kid, wait till I get my hands on yo— Urk?!"

It was the most unfortunate of coincidences, caused by two people in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mia's heel, which was on an upward trajectory, just so happened to be at the exact height to make contact with Jem's b— No, for the sake of propriety, the exact spot shall remain unmentioned. Suffice to say, though, she'd kicked him in a place where he really felt it.

"Hnnnnnnnnngh!"

With a long, agonized groan, Jem fell to his knees, both hands grasping spasmodically at the location of impact. Dion walked over, his sword drawn but ultimately unneeded.

"Huh... You know, the last thing I would have expected is for the princess to finish you off herself," he said with a drolly raised eyebrow.

Thus fell one of the incident's main conspirators, Jem, to the brilliant footwork of the Great Sage of the Empire, Mia Luna Tearmoon, who shattered his elaborate scheme — and maybe more — with one brutally well-placed kick.