When the Shoe Fits...
Chapter Twenty-Six: Things heard through mouse holes
Vince woke (for the second time that day) due to a snore gone wrong. He sat forward groggily, tasting copper, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to breathe through his swollen nose, and groaned as the safety of unconsciousness ebbed away from him. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers gingerly around the bruise already forming between them curtesy of the Hitcher’s boot. No amount of make-up was going to cover that, he realised. He was going to look a sight and no mistake.
Falling back against his pillow Vince worked at steadying his breathing. His head was already pounding and tears would only make him feel worse. He needed to come up with a plan to escape and reach Howard but wondered if maybe he should wait a day or two. Howard had smiled at him, laughed with him, and kissed him like he felt the strange, pulling magic between them just as Vince did. Howard had called him beautiful and deep down Vince was certain that Howard did love him, just like he loved Howard but, what if... what if Howard couldn’t love him when he... wasn’t beautiful...
Howard had fallen in love with him when he’d been dressed in sequins and a mask and genius boots, but what could there possibly be to love now? He wasn’t smart, he didn’t really like reading books, he couldn’t stand jazz, and now he was covered in bruises and not even remotely pretty. Howard was a footman, which was well posh, he’d probably take one look at Vince in this state and scurry away at a running skip.
Maybe he should just... give up. He’d only gone to the ball to have fun. A night out was all he’d wanted, not love or complicated emotional stuff. It would be easier in the long run to just hang his head and apologise to the Hitcher and get on with things. Howard had no way of finding him and probably wouldn’t want him even if he did.
“Vincey!” Jones burst into the room through the hole in the skirting board with his fur sticking up with static and his tiny rodent eyes wide. He scrambled up the blankets onto the bed but Vince could barely give him a smile.
“VinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVincey!”
Jones climbed onto Vince’s chest, his little body vibrating with energy and Vince frowned.
“Jones, have you taken something again? Your eyes are all big. Are you alright?”
The mouse just shook his head furiously and began tugging on Vince’s shirt until he sat up and took the creature in his hands.
“What’s the matter, Jones?”
“You have to come and hear, Vincey! Fast!”
Vince’s forehead crinkled but he shuffled off the bed and down to the mouse hole where Jones was pointing all the same. Jones was always making him listen to new sounds and even as tired as he was he couldn’t deny his friend. He lay flat on his belly on the dusty floor and put his face as close to the hole as he could but what he heard was not what he expected.
***
“... And in the name of the king of all the realm-”
“WHAT THE ‘ELL D’YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU FAT NONCE?”
“Yeah, what voice is that, Bobby?”
“It’s my Underwater Steve voice. It’s actually pretty easy, I teach it at my school, ‘Bob Fossil’s Underwater Voice Academy’. It’s every Tuesday evening from seven pm to nine pm at the palace community centre if you wanna come along.”
“Think I might be busy actually.”
“Yeah, Tuesday seems to be a busy night for a lot of people.”
“Funny that.”
“IF YOU TWO PLUM BAGS ARE QUITE FINISHED!”
“Oh, yeah, right. I got to finish reading this.”
“THEN HURRY UP!”
“Don’t get your Wotsits in a twist! Ahem! ... Now where was I?”
“Just get on with it, you ballbag.”
“Alight, alright. In the name of the king of all the realm, His Majesty Dixon Elizabeth Bainbridge the First, it is decreed that the one whose foot fits this boot (the one Naboo’s holding with all the fancy shiny bits on it) and answers to the name of Vince, shall be taken to the palace forthwith so as to be married to the sole prince and heir to the throne, Howard Moon de Bainbridge (otherwise known as ‘That guy with the moustache who lives in the big paper brick room’). Is that clear? As treacle? Good. Now which one of you boys wants to try this go-go boot first?”
***
Vince stopped listening.
“Howard.”
It was less than a whisper. Not enough to even stir the dust on the floor but Jones heard and nodded, pulling nervously at his whiskers.
“Howard is prince, Vincey. Your Howard. He a prince!”
Vince stared at the mouse hole, each breath coming out a stuttered whimper as his brain tried to process what he’d heard. Howard was the prince.
It was actually kind of obvious he supposed, all things considered - what with the father threatening to chop off his head if he didn’t get married, the well tailored suit, the nervous demeanor paired with a quiet sense of superiority, not to mention the moustache which was almost identical to the king’s - and Vince felt incredibly dense for not seeing it until now. He let his head fall forward onto the wooden floor with a thunk.
“Ow.”
And right now his boot was downstairs, just waiting for his foot. It wasn’t just a boot though, not anymore, and not just a reminder of the best night of his life either. That boot was his key to freedom, to Howard. Surely not even the Hitcher could stop him if he’d been summoned by the king.
He looked up with new determination and climbed to his feet, brushing the worst of the dust from his jeans as he began to think for all he was worth. Jones looked up at him with a toothy grin and began to hop from foot to foot.
“What you gonna do, Vincey? You gonna go get your princey?”
“I sure am, Jones,” Vince said with a flick of his hair and smile so bright it could cause heatstroke. “I think it’s time to bust out of here and really Rip this joint!”
Vince woke (for the second time that day) due to a snore gone wrong. He sat forward groggily, tasting copper, coughing and spluttering as he struggled to breathe through his swollen nose, and groaned as the safety of unconsciousness ebbed away from him. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers gingerly around the bruise already forming between them curtesy of the Hitcher’s boot. No amount of make-up was going to cover that, he realised. He was going to look a sight and no mistake.
Falling back against his pillow Vince worked at steadying his breathing. His head was already pounding and tears would only make him feel worse. He needed to come up with a plan to escape and reach Howard but wondered if maybe he should wait a day or two. Howard had smiled at him, laughed with him, and kissed him like he felt the strange, pulling magic between them just as Vince did. Howard had called him beautiful and deep down Vince was certain that Howard did love him, just like he loved Howard but, what if... what if Howard couldn’t love him when he... wasn’t beautiful...
Howard had fallen in love with him when he’d been dressed in sequins and a mask and genius boots, but what could there possibly be to love now? He wasn’t smart, he didn’t really like reading books, he couldn’t stand jazz, and now he was covered in bruises and not even remotely pretty. Howard was a footman, which was well posh, he’d probably take one look at Vince in this state and scurry away at a running skip.
Maybe he should just... give up. He’d only gone to the ball to have fun. A night out was all he’d wanted, not love or complicated emotional stuff. It would be easier in the long run to just hang his head and apologise to the Hitcher and get on with things. Howard had no way of finding him and probably wouldn’t want him even if he did.
“Vincey!” Jones burst into the room through the hole in the skirting board with his fur sticking up with static and his tiny rodent eyes wide. He scrambled up the blankets onto the bed but Vince could barely give him a smile.
“VinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVinceyVincey!”
Jones climbed onto Vince’s chest, his little body vibrating with energy and Vince frowned.
“Jones, have you taken something again? Your eyes are all big. Are you alright?”
The mouse just shook his head furiously and began tugging on Vince’s shirt until he sat up and took the creature in his hands.
“What’s the matter, Jones?”
“You have to come and hear, Vincey! Fast!”
Vince’s forehead crinkled but he shuffled off the bed and down to the mouse hole where Jones was pointing all the same. Jones was always making him listen to new sounds and even as tired as he was he couldn’t deny his friend. He lay flat on his belly on the dusty floor and put his face as close to the hole as he could but what he heard was not what he expected.
***
“... And in the name of the king of all the realm-”
“WHAT THE ‘ELL D’YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU FAT NONCE?”
“Yeah, what voice is that, Bobby?”
“It’s my Underwater Steve voice. It’s actually pretty easy, I teach it at my school, ‘Bob Fossil’s Underwater Voice Academy’. It’s every Tuesday evening from seven pm to nine pm at the palace community centre if you wanna come along.”
“Think I might be busy actually.”
“Yeah, Tuesday seems to be a busy night for a lot of people.”
“Funny that.”
“IF YOU TWO PLUM BAGS ARE QUITE FINISHED!”
“Oh, yeah, right. I got to finish reading this.”
“THEN HURRY UP!”
“Don’t get your Wotsits in a twist! Ahem! ... Now where was I?”
“Just get on with it, you ballbag.”
“Alight, alright. In the name of the king of all the realm, His Majesty Dixon Elizabeth Bainbridge the First, it is decreed that the one whose foot fits this boot (the one Naboo’s holding with all the fancy shiny bits on it) and answers to the name of Vince, shall be taken to the palace forthwith so as to be married to the sole prince and heir to the throne, Howard Moon de Bainbridge (otherwise known as ‘That guy with the moustache who lives in the big paper brick room’). Is that clear? As treacle? Good. Now which one of you boys wants to try this go-go boot first?”
***
Vince stopped listening.
“Howard.”
It was less than a whisper. Not enough to even stir the dust on the floor but Jones heard and nodded, pulling nervously at his whiskers.
“Howard is prince, Vincey. Your Howard. He a prince!”
Vince stared at the mouse hole, each breath coming out a stuttered whimper as his brain tried to process what he’d heard. Howard was the prince.
It was actually kind of obvious he supposed, all things considered - what with the father threatening to chop off his head if he didn’t get married, the well tailored suit, the nervous demeanor paired with a quiet sense of superiority, not to mention the moustache which was almost identical to the king’s - and Vince felt incredibly dense for not seeing it until now. He let his head fall forward onto the wooden floor with a thunk.
“Ow.”
And right now his boot was downstairs, just waiting for his foot. It wasn’t just a boot though, not anymore, and not just a reminder of the best night of his life either. That boot was his key to freedom, to Howard. Surely not even the Hitcher could stop him if he’d been summoned by the king.
He looked up with new determination and climbed to his feet, brushing the worst of the dust from his jeans as he began to think for all he was worth. Jones looked up at him with a toothy grin and began to hop from foot to foot.
“What you gonna do, Vincey? You gonna go get your princey?”
“I sure am, Jones,” Vince said with a flick of his hair and smile so bright it could cause heatstroke. “I think it’s time to bust out of here and really Rip this joint!”