|Copies of this unfilmed script can be purchased at
Written by Paul F. Edwards
Second draft - August 27, 1982
This script is of an unfilmed episode.
We have altered the original format for ease of reading.
The Royal Family is there with Greystone, gathered around a huge chest in which is heaped a treasure in jewels and gold of inestimable value.
Oh, all right, then!
She dumps the contents of Geoffrey's leather bag onto the heap. The diamonds glitter as they fall.
But not the bag. I get to keep the bag.
Wordlessly, Baaldorf removes his crown and sets it on top, the capper. Lattinia sobs softly.
There. That's it.
Blackpool comes in and walks to the chest, his eyes riveted on the loot. He fishes a parchment from his pocket and tosses it on the pile.
My signed note. You'll trust me, won't you?
They all regard him with somewhat jaundiced eyes.
What choice do we have? The note says that you and Erik are to go alone to the Cavern of Skulls.
They'll probably kill you.
That thought had occurred to me . . .
You're the best knights in two kingdoms, and if you can't handle it, who can?
Right. Let's get going.
I'll meet you at the horses.
He turns and strides out of the tent. Baaldorf gives Greystone a hearty fatherly hug. Greystone takes Ariel's hand.
Until we meet again, my Lady.
Take good care, okay?
Lattinia comes to him, puts her hands on his shoulders, looks in his eyes.
Oh, Erik, be strong! We're all counting on you, you know that.
She gives him a motherly kiss, then walks with him to the tent door. On the way, she confides, leaning close:
You've got to pull this off, hon. I've made another gigantic bet . . .
I had to double down! Everything I own is in that ransom.
Blackpool is ready to leave, when Vector suddenly materializes.
You! You have the gall to come back to me! After what you tried to do.
Now, contain yourself, please! It was an error of judgment . . .
Judgment? You nearly got me killed!
Oh, come now! I wasn't going to let it go that far.
You blinded me! You provided that cow with a live grenade!
I was angry, I'll admit. But I would never have let any real harm come to you. I simply wanted to illustrate how vulnerable you are -- and will always remain -- without me.
Without you? You can't be serious. I've got things precisely where I want them.
Now, yes. But later . . . ?
Listen, you fool! I don't need your paltry services.
I know all about your little scheme.
Then you know I'm invincible.
To Greystone and company, perhaps. But that deal you made with those Nightstalkers . . . that will cost you dearly.
We understand each other, they and I.
You realize, of course, that when the chips are down, they will betray you.
Ah, but I have this!
He flicks the monocle at Vector. Vector is staggered.
Don't do that! We're having a civilized discussion here!
An amazing little device, eh, Vector?
Yes. In the hands of one who truly knows how to use it!
Blackpool reacts to this.
Let us realign ourselves, my Lord! Together, nothing is a match for us!
You'd love that, wouldn't you? The chance to weasel your way back into the power . . . that is rightfully mine! I don't need you Wizard. Not anymore.
He strides toward the tent door, stops, turns:
By the way . . . ever seen one of these?
He pitches a live grenade to Vector and walks out. Vector grimaces horribly as he catches it. Vector looks at it, momentarily frightened. He passes his hand over it. The grenade disappears. He looks after Blackpool malevolently.
Erik and Blackpool approach cautiously on their horses. The place looks decidedly sinister. Behind them is the horse-drawn cart containing the treasure.
A huge underground room, the only light is coming from the unseen entry, and falls in weird shafts from apertures high above. Bats SQUEAK and dart. A steaming pool BOILS in one part of the floor, exuding strange vapors.
Up on one wall, in chains and shackles, Marko hangs. He is spread-eagle, wrists and ankles secured to solid stone, twelve feet over the BELCHING caldron. Next to him is good Sir Bowdoin, equally helpless. Marko's head is turned toward him.
Now, here's my plan . . .
At that moment, Erik and Dirk enter, wheeling in the heavy treasure chest on the cart. When they are in the center of the room, they stop and look around. On the walls, in addition to Marko and Bowdoin, are the other kidnapped Knights, all of whom are Blackpool's supporters.
Bowdoin, [sic] I knew you'd come through! You better watch it, though, because . . .
From the ceiling, six Nightstalkers drop like vampires. Six more drop and Dirk and Erik are surrounded. The black figures ring them, menacingly.
That's what I was going to tell you . . . Nightstalkers.
Blackpool strides calmly through the circle, stands outside, facing Erik, within.
I'm afraid it's you against us, Greystone. Release my Knights.
A half dozen of the Nightstalkers turn to do it, and as Blackpool gazes at the treasure, enraptured, Erik makes his play.
He bounds over the line of Stalkers, draws his sword and, vaulting up off a stalagmite, he cuts the chain that suspends Marko in a shower of light and sparks. Marko drops heavily to the cavern floor.
Mmmmmhh! That was a rough one . . .
Erik cuts Sir Bowdoin free and the fight is on.
Of the progress of a real Pier Sixer, with our three giving Blackpool and the Stalkers hell for leather. Hard pressed, Blackpool finally frees his own Knights, who promptly dash out of the cave on a dead run.
With Bowdoin wielding his Dunders, Marko crowning the scum with his wrist cuffs, and Erik hashing them up smartly, it is only a matter of time until the Stalkers are defeated and put to flight. Dirk is cornered. He reaches up, touches the monocle; nothing happens.
Marko pulls the cart out, reloaded with its sparkling loot. Erik mounts up alongside a chagrined Blackpool, as does Sir Bowdoin.
I should have know this was all your doing, Dirk. It had that smell about it.
Don't give me any of your moral improvement lectures.
I'm going to turn you over to Baaldorf.
Why don't you just kill me. I'd rather be hanged than bored to death.
Greystone turns his attention to Marko and the treasure, as does Bowdoin. Abruptly, the monocle sparkles around Blackpool's neck.
He is concentrating intensely.
The monocle glows. The ropes that secured Blackpool's hands falls away. He is free. There is a puff of amber smoke and he is gone.
The good guys turn to stare.
Wha . . . ? He was just there!
Let's get out of here.
They head off at speed, with the treasure cart bounding over the stones.
Blackpool is beside Vector, who stands nodding and rubbing his palms together in satisfaction.
Thought you could bring it off alone, didn't you? Didn't need me!
I don't understand . . . I had the monocle . . .
You were in a sacred burial ground, you fool! There's no magic in there. Something you would have known had I been with you. But nooo! You have to do it all yourself.
Never mind that. There's a fabulous treasure riding away from us as we speak. Let's take it.
Certainly. But you can't expect me to pull off a piece of magic like that without the monocle. Give it to me.
Blackpool is torn. He hesitates.
Are you going to stand here and watch them get away? Just let me use it for a second! I'll give it right back!
Blackpool looks at him, then at the treasure. He attempts to use the monocle to no avail.
I can't believe you. There's enough on that wagon to finance four wars. Think of the power.
Blackpool looks at him, still terribly torn.
Very well. If you change your mind . . .
Vector walks away. Blackpool stands alone on the hill, looking down as:
Our heroes ride away, the fortune bouncing along behind them.
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