Summer Island - A Prince in Peril

18 - The Story

After much excitement and conversation, the children gathered to hear Peter's story.

"I don't know where to start." Peter seemed a little flummoxed.

"At the beginning!" chorused the others.

"Really, Peter," Zoë added. "You've got to be the world's worst storyteller."

"Well," he began, "it started in Tia's kitchen. It's funny-you would think after all that has happened to me lately, I would be more suspicious of people wanting to take me somewhere."

The rest nodded.

"But I was tired, of everything, and I went with him. As we approached the car he opened the door for me so I would sit in the back seat, which isn't itself out of the ordinary. I'm used to that."

"Why?" asked Dinora.

"Because he's a prince, dummy." Zoë's anger with Dinora had simmered down to mere irritation.

"As soon as I got in the car, I smelled cigarettes. Again, this wasn't out of the ordinary-plenty of people smoke-but for some reason it set me on edge. The man got in, immediately locked the doors and drove down to the end of the lane. When the car slowed, I started to feel nervous. There was something familiar about the scent of the cigarettes. The car stopped and another man came out of the shadows and got in. That's when it all came together. I recognized the second man-he was the one who came to my dorm room. At the same time I realized the man driving was the one with the chloroform. When he held the rag over my nose, I must have smelled his cigarettes too...before I passed out."

"Then what happened?" Seymour urged.

Peter closed his eyes. He had no difficulty picturing the blackness of the car or the silhouette of the driver. He remembered the man entering the car and turning to face him as the car sped off.

"You've caused us no small amount of trouble, Your Highness," the man said, sneering.

Peter felt a shiver run down his spine. Instantly his mind was tumbling, flooded with random thoughts all at once-flashes of his parents dancing at the German Embassy ball: his mother had looked so happy; his father, so regal. Peter thought of a book he still needed to return to one of his professors. He thought of being with Zoë in the attic and how hard it had been to concentrate. Even her black eye hadn't marred her beauty. Her face was exquisite-the kind that inspires artists to paint. He thought of her jumping into the water and shivering in the cave. He regretted not sitting closer to her. He thought of his newfound friends, Tia's good food and sleeping out at Star Rock. Then one image, stronger than all the rest, cleared his mind. He smiled.

"What have you got to smile about?" the man asked indignantly.

Peter didn't answer. He shifted his eyes downwards and tried to stifle his grin. All he could think of was sweet Dinora shouting at them, "This is what separates the men from the boys!"

Now he remembered Mario and his cool logic. Peter took account of the situation, racking his brain for possible means of escape. He thought of a few options but none of them seemed very likely to succeed. As Peter felt the car speeding along the tortuous road, he realized the longer he waited, the harder it would be to escape. My hands are free but the doors are locked. Or are they? Peter afforded himself a quick glance and noticed now they weren't. The cigarette guy had unlocked them to let in his friend and hadn't remembered to lock them again. They underestimated him. It was dark outside and there was a sharp corner coming up. This is it, he thought, it's now or never.

He mustered all his courage and, as the car slowed to take the turn, Peter opened the door. It swung wide and Peter leapt out of the car. His attempt wasn't nearly as graceful as he had pictured or as he had seen in the movies. He tripped and stumbled and fell and rolled. He got up, wincing as pain shot through his ankle. Still, he began to run. But not fast enough. Within moments the two men had caught him and dragged him back to the car.