Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan by Astrid Lindgren Page A

me and put his horrible claw of iron on my shoulder.
    â€œI knew it was you, Prince Mio,” he said. “I knew you had come the moment I saw your white colt. I sat here and waited for you. And you came. You believed this would be the night of our battle.”
    He bent down and hissed in my ear, “You thought this would be the night of our battle, but you were wrong Prince Mio. This is your night of hunger. And when the night is over, only small white bones will lay in my tower. That’s all that will be left of Prince Mio and his squire.”
    He pounded his iron claw on a large stone table in the middle of the floor, and a line of spies came in.
    â€œThrow them into the tower!” he said as he pointed to us with his iron claw. “Throw them in the tower with seven locks! Put seven spies to guard the door, put seventy-seven spies to guard the halls and stairs and corridors between the tower and my room.”
    He sat down at the table.
    â€œI will sit here in peace to plan my evil deeds, with no more disruptions from Prince Mio. When the night is over I will go and take a glance at the small white bones in my tower. Farewell, Prince Mio! Sleep well in my Tower of Hunger!”
    The spies seized Pompoo and me and took us through the halls of the castle to the tower, where we were to die. And everywhere, in all of the halls and corridors, the spies guarded the path between the tower and Sir Kato’s room. Was he so scared of me, Sir Kato, that he needed so many guards? Was he so scared of me without my sword, behind seven locks, and with seven guards outside the door?
    The spies held our arms tightly as we walked toward our prison. We walked and walked through the dark, massive castle. In one place we passed a barred window, and through the window we could see into the courtyard of the castle. In the middle of the courtyard stood a horse chained to a pole. It was a black horse with a small black foal at its side. It hurt me to see the horses. It made me think of Miramis, whom I would never see again, and I wondered what they had done to him. Maybe he was dead. But a spy pulled my arm and forced me on and I had no more time to think of Miramis.

    We reached the tower where we would spend our last night. The heavy iron doors opened and we were thrown in. The doors shut behind us with a crash, and we heard the spies turn the keys in seven locks. We were alone in our prison, Pompoo and I.
    It was a round room, our prison, with thick stone walls. There was a little hole set with strong iron bars, and through these bars we heard the Bewitched Birds wail over the Dead Lake.
    We sat on the floor. We felt so small and frightened, and knew we would die before the night was over.
    â€œIf only it weren’t so hard to die,” said Pompoo. “If only it weren’t so hard, so hard to die and that we weren’t so small and alone.”
    We held each other’s hands. Tight, so tight we held each other’s hands, as we sat on the cold stone floor. Hunger came over us, and it was a hunger unlike any other hunger. It gnawed at us, and tore and pulled at us draining away every ounce of strength from our blood. We wanted to sleep and never wake again. But we fought against sleep. We tried to remain awake as long as we could and began to talk of Farawayland, while we waited to die.
    I thought of my father the King and tears came to my eyes. But hunger had already made me so weak and the tears flowed silently down my cheek. Pompoo cried too, quietly like I did.
    â€œIf only Farawayland weren’t such a long way from here,” whispered Pompoo. “If only Greenfields Island weren’t so far and we weren’t so small and alone.”
    â€œDo you remember when we played our flutes, walking over the hills of Greenfields Island?” I said. “Do you remember it, Pompoo?”
    â€œYes, but it was so long ago,” said Pompoo.
    â€œWe can play our flutes here, too,” I