THE DESK COULD BE HIS escape!
It would be like a raft, but better. The desk was wood, just like logs, so it should—it would—float perfectly. The broken leg could be the paddle, and he could break off another for the rudder.
A rudder. That’s right! The boy could picture it. A perfect memory of a rudder, protruding from the back of a boat, carving a curvy path through the water.
The boy grinned.
And what about a sail? He could picture that, too. Big and white, billowing from a mast in the center of the boat. Like in his dream.
But where would he find a mast and a sail? Unless . . .
The boy untied the blanket from around his neck and ballooned it out in front of him. It wouldn’t make a big sail, and it wasn’t really the right material. But it could work. Instead of tying the blanket to one mast, he could attach it between the two legs on the back.
A boat. With a rudder, a sail, and a paddle. He’d be across the ocean and on that other island in no time. He’d be home soon.
“You’re not going to make it. You’ve got shelter here. You should stay.”
“I can’t stay here. The Wolf will come after me. It won’t stop until it finds me. Besides, this isn’t where I belong. I need to go home to my family. I need to help my brother.”
“Pah! They haven’t even come to find you. Who needs them?”
The boy gazed around the keeper’s house that had shown him his bedroom and his brother. “I do.”
He nodded firmly. He was going to escape, just like the Little Prince. He was going to sail to the other island, find his family, and live happily ever after—the same as in all the best stories.
He pounced on the desk and kicked the leg opposite the already broken one. Once. Twice. It was stronger than the other leg. “Come on!” he shouted, kicking harder. The leg snapped off.
“Good.”
The jagged edges of the stumps were sharp, and the boy didn’t want to get splinters while he was on the boat. Holding one leg up with his good arm, he hammered it onto the stumps. They didn’t get quite smooth but close enough.
The broken legs had to be smooth too, so they wouldn’t hurt his hands when he used them as his rudder and paddle. He raised one above his head and slammed the spiky end onto the floor.
It went straight through, smashing a hole in the wooden planks.
“Oops!”
The boy ran outside and, keeping an eye out for the Wolf, banged the sharp edges of the legs on the gravelly ground until they were no longer jagged. Back inside, he put one leg on the floor to use for the paddle and balanced the other one for the rudder between the two legs that would make the mast. He had to attach it, but how?
The boy sat back on his heels. What he needed was some kind of string or—the yarn in the drawer!
“Where did I put it?”
He peered around the desk. Not there. Had it rolled behind the stove? No. Refrigerator? No.
“There!” Under the cot.
If he wrapped the yarn around the rudder and around the bases of the two masts, it should stay in place well enough. He unraveled the yarn. There was plenty to attach the rudder and the sail, but first he had to cut it. He looked around for something to cut it with. No scissors. No knife. The boy pursed his lips. He bit down on the yarn, but it didn’t break. He stretched it, but that didn’t work either. He rubbed it against the leg stumps left on the desk. They were too dull now.
“Rocks.”
He ran outside again. Scouring the ground, he found the perfect stone: small and round so he could hold it but with one sharp point for cutting. Back inside, he scored the yarn with the stone. After four tries, he cut it.
“Yes!”
He wound the yarn around the rudder twice, three times. Then he held up the string so the rudder hung down like a pendulum. He shook it. The rudder slipped.
“Hmmm.”
He did it again, keeping the thickest part of the rudder above the yarn and making the knot tighter. When he held it up this time, the rudder shimmied but stayed in place.
The boy grinned.
Keeping the rudder between the two masts, he tied the ends of the yarn to the bases. Good and taut. “You can hang down into the water and keep me on course,” he told the former desk leg. “What next?”
Just the sail.
He picked up the blanket, his cape—his knight cape. It was so soft. He touched it to his lips and his heart tugged. What if the blanket was ruined? But if it meant he’d get home faster, he had to use it. He’d just have to be careful.
“Don’t be afraid,” he told the blanket. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
Carefully, he spread the blanket on the floor between the two masts. He cut the rest of the yarn into four pieces, then pressed one corner of the blanket to the bottom of a mast and wrapped it tight. He nodded. “Good.” Soon he had every corner of the blanket tied up, in double knots to be sure it wouldn’t blow away.
He stood up and stared at what used to be the desk.
Now it was a boat. His boat.
His lips curved into a smile that spread across his face.
“I made a boat.”