Pledged to Service

The swordsman bowed. "What would you have, milady?"

"Perhaps some olives?"

"At once!" He saluted and ran off, leaping silverware and soup bowls. At the olive bowl, he encountered another thumb-high man. "Avaunt, varlet! The lady desires olives."

"Thou'lt wait thy turn," sneered the other.

"Cad!"

"Poltroon!"

In a flash, both needle-sized swords were drawn. The ensuing duel left an overturned wineglass, a trampled biscuit, and gravy-soaked bootprints behind.

"I could just reach over there," said the lady.

"Nonsense," the swordsman gasped, clasping his wounded side. He extended his sword, tipped with a speared olive. "I shall return with another."

No More Figs

Dame Oreo lay unmoving on the ground, smashed to soggy bits. Hydrox was slumped against the stone wall, clutching his middle to keep his innards from leaking out. Even the endless ranks of the Ahoy family were depleted.

"You are the last, Charles," said the Lady, trailing her sharp little fingers along his cheek. "Yet you're so soft."

He stiffened. "Don't call me that."

The Lady hissed and struck, only to rebound in shock, clutching her hand and its shattered claws.

"I had to change the recipe," Charles said. Servos hummed as he lifted his fists. "Call me... Steel Newton."

A World of Rocking Chairs

"Fetch my blade!" cried Prince Sarib.

The weapon clattered to the tiled floor. Sarib hissed and leapt down after it. It spun several times before he managed to hook one paw through the handgrip. He stalked three-legged for the door.

"Perhaps," suggested his majordomo, "a duel is not the ideal solution? In your current condition?"

"I may be an ensorcelled cat," Sarib spat, "but that man is a flea-bitten dog who dares touch my sister. I shall teach him a lesson regardless!"

Sarib stood in place, shedding angrily. "Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to open the door for me?"