It was the inside of one of the giant’s back teeth. But the flickering light of the torch showed that it had been hollowed out to make an area large enough to hold a table and two chairs. The back wall—back being the side toward the giant’s throat—had a niche about six feet long and two feet wide carved into it. The ceiling was low—too low for Edgar to stand at full height—and everything was too close together, giving the room a cramped feeling. That feeling was made worse by the clutter of items that covered both floor and table: cups, plates, knives, pitchforks, shovels, coils of rope, chunks of wood, and an old wagon wheel, among other things.

“Salvage,” wheezed a voice behind him.

Edgar turned and received yet another surprise. His rescuer was a woman. Half a head shorter than Edgar, she had long, stringy gray hair and eyes that burned with fever brightness. Her clothing, of which she had several layers, was an odd mix, some of it coarse homespun, some costly velvet. Nearly all of it was tattered and worn. It hung heavy on her body, as if it was slightly damp.

“By salvage,” said the old woman, “I mean the stuff in the room, not you—though I suppose you might qualify as well. First time since I’ve been here that I’ve actually been able to save someone. Silly things all panic and slide down his gullet before I can do a thing to help them. That was very good, the way you managed to grab on to something. Quick thinking. I like that in a man.”

“Thank you,” said Edgar nervously. He looked around. “How long have you lived here?”

The woman shrugged. “Can’t really say. It’s hard to keep track of the time in here. There’s no sunrise or sunset, no full moon or new, no summer or spring, winter or fall. I keep a calendar now—that’s it, carved in the wall over there. But I don’t know how long I had been here before I started it.” She stroked her hair. “I do know I was young when he took me.” A slightly mournful note colored her voice. “Young and pretty, some thought. And my hair was black as a raven’s wing. At least, that’s what all the boys said. Now come on, ducky. Sit down, sit down. I haven’t had a visitor in . . . well, ever, actually.”

“Then why two chairs?” asked Edgar.

“I live on hope,” replied the woman as she thrust the torch into a bracket carved into the yellow wall. She returned to the table and cleared it with a sweep of her arm. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the seat opposite her. “Sit.”