said Puck.
As Rosemary and Peter rolled the dazed knight onto his back, Rosemary asked, “How many more challenges do we face before we find Theo?”
Puck shrugged. “It depends on the length of our tale. Sometimes we face three challenges, sometimes as many as seven.”
“Seven?” Peter exclaimed in horror. “Why?
“It is the law.”
“The law?” echoed Peter.
“Certainly,” said Puck. “In every story there must be a hero.” He nodded at Rosemary. “And in every story there must be a damsel in distr...” He trailed off. He was pointing at Peter. Peter folded his arms.
Then they heard something on the bridge that made them turn around.
Sniffing at the base of the bridge were the two chrome jaguars, their roughed-in eyes staring blindly. Their noses snuffed the pathway.
Rosemary tensed. What scent could they be looking for, but hers and Peter’s?
The jaguars stopped sniffing. Their heads came up towards Rosemary and Peter. They growled, their bared teeth reflecting the light.
“I told you those things weren’t natural,” said Peter.
Puck pulled the helmet off the Black Knight. “Sir Knight, see those metal animals yonder? How came they to be here?”
The Black Knight staggered to his feet. “I do not know. I have never seen them before.”
The jaguars crouched low and took slow, measured steps towards the party.
The knight picked up his fallen sword. “Lady Rosemary, get your friends down the pathway. That is the way to the next challenge. I shall fend these creatures off.”
“They’re made of metal,” said Peter. “You wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“Do not argue!” shouted the knight. “These creatures are not part of your challenge. Go!”
The jaguars snarled and charged.
Puck grabbed Peter and Rosemary’s wrists and they ran down the path. Behind them, the jaguars roared, and they heard the screech of metal against metal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A TIGHT SQUEEZE
“I don’t understand.”
— Theo Watson
They ran. Peter stumbled in the bits of armour he couldn’t get off. Puck led them along a streambed to cover their scent, and then along the forest path until Peter begged for rest. Puck left them gasping, and listened to the forest for signs of pursuit.
“I hear nothing,” he said when he came back. “We have left our pursuers far behind.”
Rosemary wiped her face on her brocade sleeves. Her long skirts were soaked and torn.
“What were those things?” panted Peter. “I never read about things like that.”
Rosemary hefted her skirts and marched ahead. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
They followed the forest path until it suddenly spilled onto a large, well-tended lawn, rolled into hills and dotted with pruned hedges. Roiling clouds covered the sky. The wind picked up.
Rosemary paused, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the smooth green grass.
She doubled over. “Ack!” She clutched her stomach. “What am I wearing?” She struggled to take a breath.
Blue and green taffeta covered her from neck to toe. Instead of her glasses, gilt pince-nez pinched her nose, attached to a ribbon around her neck. The dress had a bustle, and the waist was alarmingly tight.
“I — I think it’s a Victorian dress,” said Peter. He was wearing flannel pants, a starched shirt, an ascot tie, and an evening jacket.
“What’s it made of?” Rosemary gasped. “I feel like I’m being squeezed to death by a picket fence. I’ve got to get this off!”
“What?” Peter stumbled back.
“Wait here.” She staggered away from Peter and Puck and slipped behind the cover of a hedge. Immediately, the bushes began to quake and rustle as she gruntled and yelled. The dress flew into view, followed by a mound of crinolines, which blew away like white tumbleweeds. Still the grunting and snapping of branches continued.
Peter shivered in the freshening wind. “What’s taking her so long?” He looked up at Puck, who just raised an eyebrow.
Rosemary let out a sound like a large animal straining against its leash. Then she stopped. The quaking bushes stopped. For a moment there was silence. And then Rosemary rasped, “Help!”
Peter and Puck bolted for the bushes. Peter grabbed a branch to pull himself around the corner, then stopped dead. Puck nimbly dodged him and stood, tense as a gazelle.
Rosemary was on her knees, gasping for air. She was dressed all in white, bloomers and camisole still covering her. From the waist up, she was clamped inside a vicious whalebone corset. She looked up at them, eyes wide. “I can’t ... I can’t get this ... off! I can’t ... breathe!”
Puck let out his breath. A smile touched his lips. “Easy, now, Sage Rosemary.” He touched the top of her head. Her rapid breathing eased, though she still couldn’t take a full breath.
“I’m ... I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I feel stupid. The knot won’t come loose.” She turned her back to him, revealing a line of woven string more intricate than a suspension bridge.
“There, there,” said Puck. “There is no knot I have not beaten.” He touched the ropes gently and they parted. He tugged the corset apart.
Rosemary took a deep, rasping breath. She pulled the corset over her head and sent it flying with a kick. She stood, breathing heavily, in camisole and bloomers. She looked up at Puck. “Thanks.”
Peter gaped at the corset. “Women wore those things?”
She grinned. “Not anymore.” She picked up her fallen overdress with her ink-stained arm and cleared her throat.
Peter turned beet red and darted around the bushes. Puck stared after him quizzically, then shrugged and followed.
As the wind picked up, Peter and Puck stood waiting at the edge of the grounds as the bush rustled, then Rosemary emerged, clad in her overdress, hem trailing on the ground.
“Are you all right, Sage Rosemary?” asked Puck.
She rubbed her side. “My stomach hurts, but it could be from Princess Petunia jumping on me.”
“Asphodel,” said Puck.
“Whatever.” She
