The Tale of Despereaux Read Online Free PDF Page A

continued.
    Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom.
    And Despereaux was led away.
    At the last moment, Antoinette came out of her faint and shouted one word to her child.
    That word, reader, was adieu .
    Do you know the definition of adieu ? Don’t bother with your dictionary. I will tell you.
    Adieu is the French word for farewell.
    “Farewell” is not the word that you would like to hear from your mother as you are being led to the dungeon by two oversize mice in black hoods.
    Words that you would like to hear are “Take me instead. I will go to the dungeon in my son’s place.” There is a great deal of comfort in those words.
    But, reader, there is no comfort in the word “farewell,” even if you say it in French. “Farewell” is a word that, in any language, is full of sorrow. It is a word that promises absolutely nothing.

TOGETHER, THE THREE MICE traveled down, down, down.
    The thread around Despereaux’s neck was tight. He felt as if it was choking him. He tugged at it with one paw.
    “Don’t touch the thread,” barked the second hood.
    “Yeah,” echoed the first hood, “don’t touch the thread.”
    They moved quickly. And whenever Despereaux slowed, one of the two hoods poked him in the shoulder and told him to keep moving. They went through holes in the wall and down golden stairs. They went past rooms with doors that were closed and doors that were flung wide. The three mice traveled across marble floors and under heavy velvet drapes. They moved through warm patches of sunlight and dark pools of shade.
    This, thought Despereaux, was the world he was leaving behind, the world that he knew and loved. And somewhere in it, the Princess Pea was laughing and smiling and clapping her hands to music, unaware of Despereaux’s fate. That he would not be able to let the princess know what had become of him seemed suddenly unbearable to the mouse.
    “Would it be possible for me to have a last word with the princess?” Despereaux asked.
    “A word,” said the second hood. “You want a word with a human?”
    “I want to tell her what has happened to me.”
    “Geez,” said the first hood. He stopped and stamped a paw on the floor in frustration. “Cripes. You can’t learn, can you?”
    The voice was terribly familiar to Despereaux.
    “Furlough?” he said.
    “What?” said the first hood irritably.
    Despereaux shuddered. His own brother was delivering him to the dungeon. His heart stopped beating and shrunk to a small, cold, disbelieving pebble. But then, just as quickly, it leapt alive again, beating with hope.
    “Furlough,” Despereaux said, and he took one of his brother’s paws in his own. “Please, let me go. Please. I’m your brother.”
    Furlough rolled his eyes. He took his paw out of Despereaux’s. “No,” he said. “No way.”
    “Please,” said Despereaux.
    “No,” said Furlough. “Rules are rules.”
    Reader, do you recall the word “perfidy”? As our story progresses, “perfidy” becomes an ever more appropriate word, doesn’t it?
    “Perfidy” was certainly the word that was in Despereaux’s mind as the mice finally approached the narrow, steep stairs that led to the black hole of the dungeon.
    They stood, the three mice, two with hoods and one without, and contemplated the abyss before them.
    And then Furlough stood up on his hind legs and placed his right paw over his heart. “For the good of the castle mice,” he announced to the darkness, “we deliver this day to the dungeon, a mouse in need of punishment. He is, according to the laws we have established, wearing the red thread of death.”

    “The red thread of death?” repeated Despereaux in a small voice. “Wearing the red thread of death” was a terrible phrase, but the mouse didn’t have long to consider its implications, because he was suddenly pushed from behind by the hooded mice.
    The push was a strong one, and it sent Despereaux flying down the stairs into the dungeon. As he tumbled, whisker over