Roland stood in shadow and stared up at the underside of the immense castle that had floated over his town for as long as he could remember. Streamers of ivy hung down over the edges like green pennants. A mist of tiny droplets blew off the moat from the stiff breeze at the higher elevation.

As he watched, a moss-covered brick fell hundreds of feet and crashed into the roof of a stable on the other side of town. That had been happening far too often for comfort of late. Even at this distance he could hear the panicked screams of horses. He hoped none of them had been hurt.

This was his favorite time of the day – the early evening when the angle of the sun conspired with the mountains in the distance to allow his small house an hour or so of sunshine. His best friend Jacques turned his face to the light as well.

“Jacques,” he said.

“Yes, Roland.”

“I just realized something.”

“What’s that, Roland?”

“If the castle is above us, you know what that means?”

“What Roland?”

“We’re living in the dungeon.”