“Um. You’re right,” said Tiffany. “Time goes slowly here. It’s been…a bit longer.”
“A hundred years? Don’t tell me it’s a hundred years! Something magical has happened and it’s a hundred years, yes?”
“What? No! Um…nearly a year.”
The boy’s reaction was surprising. This time he looked really frightened. “Oh, no! That’s worse than a hundred years!”
“How?” said Tiffany, bewildered.
“If it was a hundred years, I wouldn’t get a thrashing when I got home!”
Hmm, thought Tiffany. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she said aloud. “Your father has been very miserable. Besides, it’s not your fault you were stolen by the Queen—” She hesitated, because this time it was his expression that gave it all away. “Was it?”
“Well, there was this fine lady on a horse with bells all over its harness, and she galloped past me when I was out hunting and she was laughing, so of course I spurred my horse and chased after her, and…” He fell silent.
“That probably wasn’t a good decision,” said Tiffany.
“It’s not…bad here,” said Roland. “It just keeps changing. There’s…doorways everywhere. I mean, entrances into other places…” His voice tailed off.
“You’d better start at the beginning,” said Tiffany.
“It was great at first,” said Roland. “I thought it was, you know, an adventure? She fed me sweetmeats—”
“What are they, exactly?” said Tiffany. Her dictionary hadn’t included that one. “Are they like sweetbreads?”
“I don’t know. What are sweetbreads?”
“The pancreas or thymus gland of a cow,” said Tiffany. “Not a very good name, I think.”
Roland’s face went red with the effort of thought. “These were more like nougat.”
“Right. Go on,” said Tiffany.
“And then she told me to sing and dance and skip and play,” said Roland. “She said that’s what children were supposed to do.”
“Did you?”
“Would you? I’d feel like an idiot. I’m twelve, you know.” Roland hesitated. “In fact, if what you say is true, I’m thirteen now, right?”
“Why did she want you to skip and play?” said Tiffany, instead of saying, “No, you’re still twelve and act like you’re eight.”
“She just said that’s what children do,” said Roland.
Tiffany wondered about this. As far as she could see, children mostly argued, shouted, ran around very fast, laughed loudly, picked their noses, got dirty, and sulked. Any seen dancing and skipping and singing had probably been stung by a wasp.
“Strange,” she said.
“And then when I wouldn’t, she gave me more sweets.”
“More nougat?”
“Sugarplums,” said Roland. “They’re like plums. You know? With sugar on? She’s always trying to feed me sugar! She thinks I like it!”
A small bell rang in Tiffany’s memory. “You don’t think she’s trying to fatten you up before she bakes you in an oven and eats you, do you?”
“Of course not. Only wicked witches do that.”
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yes,” she said carefully. “I forgot. So you’ve been living on sweeties?”