Deep Breaths and Deep Trouble

I awoke to the sound of the Sovereign Marshall’s footsteps. They pounded with urgency on the penhouse’s marble floor. “Hello-o?” I called. The gag had dissolved long ago.

The Marshall looked up at me for a moment, frowned, and went back to pacing. I could barely hear that he was muttering to himself. Ha. Even with nearly a day of hanging upside-down, I was still more sane than he was.

“It’s not true…it can’t be. But then…I never did know the intricacies of the mountain, but for such a thing to occur!” The Marshall built himself until he was in a huge rage. He hurled a table across the room, nearly breaking a window. Not a smart idea at this height.

“Deep breaths,” I said. “Need to count to ten?” Okay, so I could only get more hurt doing this, but I needed to blow off some steam myself.

The Marshall actually growled at me. “Judge Dench!” he screamed. Dench came in at once, like the little suck-up he was. “Take Dali . . . put him in the sewers.”

The sewers? Crap.


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