Includes… Dancing on Fire The Boy-King finds a rough crowd at the army camp and introduces himself with some carefully crafted song and dance assisted by the friar, who endorses his enlistment to a top rank. This is met with some derision and demands that this newbie assume latrine duty like every other dick. Not to be daunted, the BK starts his song again while the soldiers poke at him with torches and spears. He is warned again to take his place with no effect. The BK is dancing over the torches thrown under him. The soldiers are backing the BK into the camp's big bonfire. Due to an earlier twist in the plot, the BK is momentarily inflammable. There is a glorious whoosh of fire but the BK steps out unharmed. All the flames took was the Shirley Temple-like golden curls of his hair leaving a clean crew-cut of bright crimson. Amazed by the sight, the soldiers fall in step around him as the BK teaches them how to march on fire to a new song with his themes. The Creeping DicksAs night falls, the Boy-King and the soldiers enjoy their revelry until dropping in exhaustion. No one is on watch and no one notices the sound of an approaching attack. A rival regiment of lads from Dickburg is creeping up on the camp. They whisper about what makes for a good thrashing. Breakfast of Champions When morning comes, the camp wakes to a long line of enemy soldiers shouting "Come and get it!". They pound their shields with their swords. The King's Champion is sent to face them and the Boy-King is told to be his second. The Champion stands out in front and taunts the invaders shouting, "Do you want a piece of this?" The taunting gets louder and ruder but nothing happens. The Boy-King recalls the laughing ghosts. He pulls his sword and stabs the Champion in the back. Both sides are aghast. Using his sword, he begins to fling parts of the Champion at the rival line shouting, "Do you want a piece of this?" Faces wrinkle as the invaders are thoroughly grossed out and confused. Inspired by the Boy-King's tactical improvisation, the army starts to charge at the enemy hurling their own body parts at them. The invaders retreat in horror and disgust.