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“Lottie’s been found. It’s all right, Klaus,” he said, pointing at Gretel and Bruder, “these good people found my little girl and brought her home to me. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”
    The sergeant looked very much as if he might cry.
    At that moment the great doors opened once again and a flurry of females entered the hall. Princess Charlotte was at the vanguard of the little group. Gretel noticed the vixen had found time to change into something elegant and simple. She was aware of a burgeoning hatred for the girl, which was quickly blossoming into a full-grown loathing.
    â€œPapa!” Charlotte hurried to kiss her father. Her two sisters, her mother, and a collection of ladies-in-waiting swept along behind her, skirts rustling and swooshing as they came. “Oh, Papa! I was so frightened. Afraid for my very life!”
    â€œThere, there, my child.” King Julian patted her hand with all the weight of a butterfly flapping in her palm. “You’re safe now. Home with your papa.”
    The princess looked at Gretel and Bruder as if she had only just noticed them and shrieked, “Oh! Those heinous villains.”
    Gretel risked opening her mouth. “There she goes again with this ‘heinous’ business. I really must protest.”
    The sergeant leapt at the opportunity to vent his frustration. Or rather, he leapt at Gretel.
    â€œIn the name of King Julian, be silent!” he insisted, flattening her against the floor once more, her nose squished painfully sideways upon a cerise square. Gretel was unsure whether it was the color or the pressure that was making her eyes water.
    â€œI never abducted anyone in my life!”
    The king was beginning to catch up at last.
    â€œThese people, Lottie? These are the ones who kidnapped you?”
    â€œOh, Papa! It terrifies me merely to look upon them!”
    Gretel found it hard to imagine how a piss-drenched old farmer and a woman with a soldier’s foot on the back of her neck could inspire terror in anyone, let alone this determined, untruthful princess who clearly hadn’t a scruple to her name.
    The king hauled himself to his feet, causing several of his attendants to rush to his sides to shore him up. From her unique perspective Gretel could see that his feet were not actually touching the ground.
    â€œOff with their heads!” he commanded. “Clap them in irons! Throw them to the lions! Have them hung, drawn, and quartered! Gouge out their eyes with dragons’ teeth! Burn them alive!”
    The sergeant brightened visibly. “Forgive me, my King,” he boomed, “but which would you like us to do first?”
    King Julian was in his stride now.
    â€œBoil them in oil! Stretch them on the rack! Drag out their entrails with buzzards’ claws! Pull off their ears with salad tongs!”
    The queen stepped in, placing a hand on her husband’s arm.
    â€œDearest, a little lie-down, I think. And perhaps your medication?” She nodded to the aides, who gently bore away their ranting royal master.
    One of the attendants, the one who was more good looking than a person had a right to be, in Gretel’s opinion, paused to speak to the sergeant.
    â€œTake them to the Schloss dungeons,” he said, “and await further instructions.”
    The situation may have been addling Gretel’s senses, but she was fairly certain the man cast her a look of Special Significance before he turned and followed the raving monarch out of the great hall.

THREE
    G retel had never been in a dungeon before and hoped never to be in one again. She was now entirely focused on getting out of the one into which, not an hour earlier, she had been so uncaringly thrown. There was very little natural light, with only a single high window for the sun to find its way through. The torches on the walls of the passageway outside the cell lent some flickering illumination, but most was blocked out by the