But it didn’t matter. Polly had known the moment she saw him standing there in the aisle that it was Colin. And that he had come, just as he had promised he would, to rescue her. But at what cost? He looked not only older but sadder, grimmer, his face lined with suffering and fatigue.

Oh, Colin, she thought, what’s happened to you since I saw you seven months ago?

But she knew that, too. He had spent weeks, months, years, frantically trying to get to them—trying to get the drops, any drop, to open. And then, when he’d failed, trying to puzzle out what had happened, trying to follow a trail which had gone cold.

I have ridden long, weary miles, she thought. I have searched long, hopeless years. And fought battles and spells and brambles and time. And found her.

Found all of them. She looked at Mr. Dunworthy, hanging on to the back of the theater seat for dear life, as though he still couldn’t believe what had happened. He looked like the Admirable Crichton and Lady Mary must have looked when the ship had finally arrived.

“They’ve reconciled themselves to living out their remaining lives and dying on the island,” Sir Godfrey had said when they were rehearsing the rescue scene. “And now rescue is at hand. No, no, no! No smiles! I want staggered, stunned, unable to believe they have been saved. Joyous and sad and afraid, all at once.”

And silent, Polly thought, as if we’re under a spell.

Colin was under it, too. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He stood there perfectly still, with his ARP helmet in his hands, looking at her, waiting.

For me to break the spell, she thought.

“Oh, Colin,” she said, and came down the steps into the theater and up the aisle to where he stood. “You said you’d come rescue me if I got into trouble. And here you are!”

“Here I am,” he said, and his voice was changed, too. It was both rougher and gentler than the boy Colin’s—a man’s voice. “Rather late, I’m afraid, and somewhat the worse for wear.” He grinned at her, and she had been wrong. It was exactly the same Colin who had followed her into the Bodleian that day. He hadn’t changed at all.

Her heart caught. “You’re not late. You’re exactly on time.”

He started toward her, and she was suddenly breathing hard, as if she had been running. “Colin—”

“Polly!” Alf shouted from the stage. “Is the warden ’ere to evacuate us?” He pointed at Colin, who had stopped only a step away from her.

“Course ’e ain’t, you puddinghead,” Binnie said, coming out to the edge of the stage beside Alf. “Air-raid wardens don’t evacuate people.”

“They do if there’s a UXB,” Alf retorted. “Is ’e ’ere with the bomb squad, Polly?”

“I know who he is,” Trot said, joining Alf and Binnie. “He’s the Prince. He’s come to rescue Sleeping Beauty.”

“Don’t be daft,” Binnie said, while Alf collapsed in laughter. “There ain’t no such thing as Prince Dauntless.”