She was fast asleep in the cart. No help from frightful fiends there.
I thought about getting a drink of water—I was pretty dry—and decided it could wait. I wanted to push on while there was still some daylight left. I picked up the poles and got walking, thinking that even a woodshed would look good at this point.
The road curved around the outcrop, then ran straight into the gathering twilight. And up ahead, surely no more than a mile, I could see the lighted windows of a house. As I drew closer I saw a lantern hanging from a post out front. I could just make out that the road forked sixty or seventy yards beyond the house, which was indeed made of brick… like that of the industrious little pig in the story.
A stone-flagged path led up to the front door, but before I used it I stopped to examine the lantern, which gave off a harsh white light that was hard to look at up close. I’d seen one like it before, in Mr. Bowditch’s basement, and didn’t have to check the base to know it was a Coleman, available at any American hardware store. I guessed that the lantern, like Dora’s sewing machine, had been a gift from Mr. Bowditch. A coward gives presents, he’d said.
In the center of the door was a gilded knocker in the shape of a fist. I lowered the cart and heard a scrabbling as Radar made her way down its sloping floor to join me. I was reaching for the knocker when the door opened. Standing there was a man almost as tall as I was, but much thinner, almost gaunt. Because he was backlit by a blaze in the fireplace, I couldn’t make out his features, just the cat on his shoulder and a fine gauze of white hair standing up around his otherwise bald head. When he spoke, it was again hard to believe that I hadn’t stepped into a storybook and become one of the characters.
“Hello, young prince. I’ve been expecting you. You are welcome here. Come in.”
7
I realized I’d left Radar’s leash in the cart. “Um, I think I should probably get my dog’s lead first, sir. I don’t know how she does with cats.”
“She’ll be fine,” the old man said, “but if you have food, I suggest you bring it in. If you don’t want to find it gone in the morning, that is.”
I went back and got Dora’s care package and my pack. Plus the leash, just in case. The man of the house stepped aside and made a little bow.
“Come on, Rades, but be good. I’m counting on you.”
Radar followed me into a neat sitting room with a rag rug on a hardwood floor. There were two easy chairs close to the fire. A book had been laid open on the arm of one. There were a few others on a shelf nearby. The other side of the room was a narrow little kitchen like a ship’s galley. On the table there was bread, cheese, cold chicken, and a bowl of what I was quite sure was cranberry jelly. Also a pottery pitcher. My stomach made a loud rumbling sound.
The man laughed. “I heard that. There’s an old saying, youth must be served. To which might be appended, ‘and often.’？”
There were two places set, and a bowl on the floor by one of the chairs, from which Radar was already drinking noisily.
“You knew I was coming, didn’t you? How did you know?”
“Do you know the name we prefer not to speak?”
I nodded. In stories like the one I seemed to have entered, there’s often a name that must not be spoken, lest evil awake.
“He hasn’t taken everything from us. You saw that my niece was able to speak to you, yes?”
“Through her horse.”
“Falada, yes. Leah also speaks to me, young prince, although rarely. When she does, her communications aren’t always clear and throwing her thoughts tires her even more than throwing her voice. We have many things to discuss, but first we’ll eat. Come.”
He’s talking about telepathy, I thought. It must be, because she surely didn’t phone him or shoot him a text.
“Why do you call me young prince?”
He shrugged. The cat bobbed on his shoulder. “A form of familiar address, that’s all. Very old-fashioned. Someday perhaps a real prince will come, but from the sound of your voice it isn’t you. You’re very young.”
He smiled and turned toward the galley. The firelight shone fully on his face for the first time, but I think I knew already, simply by the way he held out one hand before him as he walked, testing the air for obstacles. He was blind.
8
When he sat, the cat jumped to the floor. Its fur was a luxuriant smoky brown. It approached Radar, and I got ready to grab her collar if she lunged at it. She didn’t, just lowered her head and sniffed at the cat’s nose. Then she lay down. The cat paced in front of her like an officer inspecting a soldier on parade （and finding her sloppy）， then sashayed to the living room. She jumped into the chair with the book on its arm and curled up.