Between the lines

page 52

In the dungeon below Timble Tower, with rats running over his boots and bats screeching past his face in the dark, Oliver thought this was a rather ignominious way to end one’s life story.

That is: failing in one’s attempt to rescue a potential bride.

He felt sorry for Seraphima, but he felt even sorrier for himself.

He would never ride Socks again at breakneck speed across a meadow.

He’d never throw a stick for Frump to fetch.

He’d never rule a kingdom.

He’d never feel the rain on his face.

He’d never kiss his true love.

Think on the bright side, Oliver, he schooled himself. He’d never have to worry about going bald. He’d never have to suffer through another meal of liver and onions. He’d never get chicken pox.

He wouldn’t have to feel that horrible little itch on the small of his back, which he couldn’t reach because his hands were tied behind him.

Frustrated, he tried to inch his bound hands up toward the itch, but instead, he only managed to jostle his tunic.

Something clattered to the stone floor.

In the dim light, Oliver squinted. The shark’s tooth that the mermaids had given him. He’d kept it, like a good-luck amulet, in his pocket. After all, it didn’t have much use, unless you were a shark in need of dentures.

Or, perhaps, tied up in the dungeon of a tower.

Falling to his knees, Oliver fumbled for the tooth and managed to roll over it. With careful, small movements, he started to saw through the ropes that were binding him. It felt like it would take forever, and Seraphima didn’t have forever. Any minute now, Rapscullio was going to take her as his own bride.

Oliver felt something scramble up his boot and then along his leg. One of the rats. The rodent, hearing some movement, had decided to get in on the action. Amazed, Oliver held still while the rat chewed through the rope enough for him to use his own strength to burst free.

The tower was too old to have formal cells, so Oliver only had to hoist himself out of the dank, fetid pit where he’d been dumped. Silently, he climbed the circular stone stairs, listening for the sound of Rapscullio’s voice. When he reached the tower room and poked his head inside, however, it was empty.

Or so he thought, until someone leaped onto his back from behind and started beating him around the ears.

In a cloud of tulle and taffeta, he wrestled Seraphima to the ground, pinning her by her wrists. “You’re not Rapscullio!” she gasped.

He grinned. “Disappointed, are you?”

Seraphima shook her head and smiled. She was beautiful when she smiled. Then again, Oliver thought, she was beautiful when she didn’t smile too. “I knew you’d come for me,” she said.

Oliver stared down at her, suddenly convinced that he could slay a hundred men, if necessary. Was that all it took to be brave? Knowing that someone believed in you?

“I have a plan,” Oliver whispered, pulling her to her feet. “But I need your dress to make it work.”