The Tale of Despereaux - Kate DiCamillo [43]
Yes . . . and no.
What of Roscuro? Did he live happily ever after? Well . . . the Princess Pea gave him free access to the upstairs of the castle. And he was allowed to go back and forth from the darkness of the dungeon to the light of the upstairs. But, alas, he never really belonged in either place, the sad fate, I am afraid, of those whose hearts break and then mend in crooked ways. But the rat, in seeking forgiveness, did manage to shed some small light, some happiness into another life.
How?
Roscuro, reader, told the princess about the prisoner who had once owned a red tablecloth, and the princess saw to it that the prisoner was released. And Roscuro led the man up out of the dungeon and to his daughter, Miggery Sow. Mig, as you might have guessed, did not get to be a princess. But her father, to atone for what he had done, treated her like one for the rest of his days.
And what of Despereaux? Did he live happily ever after? Well, he did not marry the princess, if that is what you mean by happily ever after. Even in a world as strange as this one, a mouse and a princess cannot marry.
But, reader, they can be friends.
And they were. Together, they had many adventures. Those adventures, however, are another story, and this story, I’m afraid, must now draw to a close.
But before you leave, reader, imagine this: Imagine an adoring king and a glowing princess, a serving girl with a crown on her head and a rat with a spoon on his, all gathered around a table in a banquet hall. In the middle of the table, there is a great kettle of soup. Sitting in the place of honor, right next to the princess, is a very small mouse with big ears.
And peeking out from behind a dusty velvet curtain, looking in amazement at the scene before them, are four other mice.
“Mon Dieu, look, look,” says Antoinette. “He lives. He lives! And he seems such the happy mouse.”
“Forgiven,” whispers Lester.
“Cripes,” says Furlough, “unbelievable.”
“Just so,” says the threadmaster Hovis, smiling, “just so.”
And, reader, it is just so.
Isn’t it?
THE END
Do you remember when Despereaux was in the dungeon, cupped in Gregory the jailer’s hand, whispering a story in the old man’s ear?
I would like it very much if you thought of me as a mouse telling you a story, this story, with the whole of my heart, whispering it in your ear in order to save myself from the darkness, and to save you from the darkness, too.
“Stories are light,” Gregory the jailer told Despereaux.
Reader, I hope you have found some light here.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to the following individuals for their
unflagging love, patience, and support during the
telling of the mouse’s tale: Karla Rydrych,
Jane St. Anthony, Cindy Rogers, Jane Resh Thomas,
Jason William Walton, Alison McGhee,
Holly McGhee, Lisa Beck, and Tracey Bailey.
Despereaux and I are also deeply indebted to
Kara LaReau — editor, visionary, friend.
This book was written with the help of a generous grant
from the McKnight Foundation.
Peter stood in the small patch of light making its sullen way through the open flap of the tent. He let the fortuneteller take his hand. She examined it closely, moving her eyes back and forth and back and forth, as if there were a whole host of very small words inscribed there, an entire book about Peter Augustus Duchene composed atop his palm.
“Huh,” she said at last. She dropped his hand and squinted up at his face. “But, of course, you are just a boy.”
“I am ten years old,” said Peter. He took the hat from his head and stood as straight and tall as he was able. “And I am training to become a soldier, brave and true. But it does not matter how old I am. You took the florit, so now you must give me my answer.”
“A soldier brave and true?” said the fortuneteller. She laughed and spat on the ground. “Very well, soldier brave and true, if you say it is so, then it is so. Ask me your question.”
Peter felt a small stab of fear. What if, after all this time, he could not bear the truth? What