The Princess Bride

Chapter Eight: Cliffs Of Insanity

Fortunately for all concerned save the sharks, it was around this time that the moon came out.

"There she is," shouted Weseltonian, and like lightning the Australian turned the boat and as the boat drew close the Russian reached out a giant arm and then she was back in the safety of her murderers while all around them the sharks bumped each other in wild frustration.

"Keep her warm," the Australian said from the tiller, tossing his cloak to the Russian.

"Don't catch cold," the Russian said, wrapping Elsa into the cloak's folds.

"It doesn't seem to matter all that much," she answered, "seeing you're killing me at dawn."

"He'll do the actual work," the Russian said, indicating the Weseltonian, who was wrapping cloth around his cuts. "We'll just hold you."

"Hold your stupid tongue," the Weseltonian commanded. The Russian immediately hushed.

"I don't think he's so stupid," Elsa said. "And I don't think you're so smart either, with all your throwing blood in the water. That's not what I would call grade-A thinking."

"It worked, didn't it? You're back, aren't you?" The Weseltonian crossed towards her. "Once woman are sufficiently frightened, they scream."

"But I didn't scream; the moon came out," answered Elsa somewhat triumphantly.

The Weseltonian struck her.

"Enough of that," the Russian said then.

The tiny old man looked dead at the giant. "Do you want to fight me? I don't think you do."

"No, sir," the Russian mumbled. "No. But don't use force. Please. Force is mine. Strike me if you feel the need. I won't care."

The Weseltonian returned to the other side of the boat. "She would have screamed," he said. "She was about to cry out. My plan was ideal as all my plans are ideal. It was the moon's ill timing that robbed me of perfection." He scowled unforgivingly at the yellow wedge above them. Then he stared ahead. "There!" The Weseltonian pointed. "The Cliffs of Insanity."

And there they were. Rising straight and sheer from the water, a thousand feet into the night. They provided the most direct route between Florin and Guilder, but no one ever used them, sailing instead the long way, many miles around. Not that the Cliffs were impossible to scale; two men were known to have climbed them in the last century alone.

"Sail straight for the steepest part," the Weseltonian commanded.

The Australian said, "I was."

Elsa did not understand. Going up the Cliffs could hardly be done; she thought; and no one had ever mentioned secret passages through them. Yet here they were, sailing closer and closer to the mighty rocks, now surely less than a quarter-mile away.

For the first time the Weseltonian allowed himself a smile. "All is well. I was afraid you little jaunt in the water was going to cost me too much time. I had allowed an hour of safety. There must still be fifty minutes of it left. We are miles ahead of anybody and safe, safe, safe."

"No one could be following us yet?" The Australian asked.

"No one," the Weseltonian  assured him. "It would be inconceivable."

"Absolutely inconceivable?"

"Absolutely, totally, and, in all other ways, inconceivable," the Weseltonian reassured him. "Why do you ask?"