The Whipping Boy by Sid Fleischman Page A

hard, if you please."
    Jemmy, who was obliged to be close at hand for the daily lessons, reckoned that freedom was now close at hand. The prince threw him a smirking glance as Master Peckwit raised the switch and beat the whipping boy like a carpet.
    Jemmy didn't bawl. He didn't yelp or bellow. Ten whacks, and not a sound escaped his lips.
    "You contrary rascal!" the prince exploded. "I'm on to you, Jemmy-From-The-Streets. It's pure spite that you won't howl! Think you can cross me and get away with it? Ha! Never and nohow!"
    Gaw! thought Jemmy. He's going back on his word!
    "And don't try to run away. I'll have you tracked down till your tongue hangs out like a red flag!"
    And so it went for more than a year. The prince learned nothing. The whipping boy learned to read, write, and do sums.



CHAPTER 3
The runaways
    On a night when the moon gazed down like an evil eye, the young prince appeared in Jemmy's chamber.
    "Boy! Tumble out of bed. I need a manservant."
    Jemmy saw that the prince was wearing a black cloak and carrying a wicker basket the size of a sea chest. "What you up to now? Walkin' in your royal sleep, are you?"
    "I'm running away."
    The whipping boy sat bolt upright. Hardly a day passed that he didn't make one plan or another to run off—but a prince? What horrible new mischief was this? "You can't hop off like you was common folks. What's bitin' you?"
    Said the prince, "I'm bored."
    "With dumping bullfrogs in the moat so no one got a wink o' sleep?"
    "Boring."
    "And didn't you laugh fit to kill when the knights slipped off their horses and clattered to the ground? You'd hog-greased the saddles."
    The prince folded his arms. "Boring."
    "And don't you get me thrashed so that this hide o' mine feels like the devil run me over with spikes in his shoes?"
    "Let's be off!"
    Why me? Jemmy thought. Can't you find a friend to run off with? But no—not you, Prince Brat. You've got no friends. That's why me.
    Jemmy pointed to the window. "It's night out," he protested.
    "The best time," replied the prince.
    "But ain't you afraid o' the dark? Everyone knows that! You won't even sleep without a lit candle."
    "Lies! Anyway, the moon's up, good and bright. Come on."
    Jemmy stared at him with dreadful astonishment. "The king'll have a gory-eyed fit!"
    "Positively."
    "He'll hunt us down. You'll get off light as a feather, but I'll be lucky if they don't whip me to the bone. More likely I'll be hung from the gallows. Scragged for sure!"
    "Your lookout," said the prince with a dry grin. "Carry the basket, Jemmy-From-The-Streets, and follow me!"



CHAPTER 4
Containing hands in the fog
    The night moon had lit their way like a lantern.
    But by dawn the runaways, double-mounted on a horse from the castle stable, were hopelessly lost. A thick fog had swirled in, they'd strayed from the road, and trees had closed in on them.
    "Forests is creepy things," said Jemmy, hanging on to the basket as best he could. "Gimme cobbled streets anytime."
    A low branch almost swept them off the saddle.
    "Boy," said the prince, "get down and lead this dumb-headed beast."
    "Lead it? In this fog? I'd need two hands and a lantern to find me own nose."
    But Jemmy slipped off the saddle. A plan had been tumbling about in his head. Here's your chance, Jemmy, he told himself. Slip away in the fog. Run for it! No more whippings for you, not if you can't be found. The great sewers, Jemmy, that's the place to hide!
    "What's keeping you?" asked the prince. "Grab the halter."

    "I'm thinkin'."
    Leaves crackled under Jemmy's feet as he began to back off. His mind was made up. Once the fog cleared, he'd find the river. Hadn't his pa taught him his way through the maze of mighty brick sewers! That's where they'd caught the fiercest rats to sell by the cageful. The dog-and-rat pits paid fancy prices for the best fighters, and that meant sewer rats. Who'd think to look for Jemmy under the city?
    Jemmy took another crackling step backward—and froze. A sudden yellow