The Elusive Angle

By Nicola Vallera

Oliver is a thirteen-year-old orphan with poetic skills. He dreams about a better life. When he moves from his orphanage to a mysterious school, he finds out that the teachers act oddly, providing strange facts about the world.
After some misunderstandings, the boy convinces himself that the school staff wants him dead. He flees and discovers that the world is another dimension but realizes that the educators are allies who want to protect him from an evil king. The king wants the orphan’s death because he is afraid that he can take his place, and he is liable for the murder of the Oliver’s parents.
To become king, the candidates read their poems, and the citizens choose the best. Will Oliver write a poem to win the election despite the king’s efforts to find him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicola Vallera
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463094822

Book preview

The Elusive Angle

By Nicola Vallera

Chapter 1

A minibus took Woo Street, and Oliver looked around.

It’ll be alright, he told himself. What should an orphan expect? Dad, Mom, thinking of you gives me more strength than an atomic bomb.

The frail thirteen-year-old boy had never met his parents, and the orphanage educators taught him everything he knew without sparing the rods. Oliver loved poetry, but the orphanage forbade it, and the only moments the child could dive into it was at night, when the lights turned off, and, a flashlight in one hand and a pen in the other, he lay under his bed and wrote perfect verses.

A decent life was what Oliver wished for.

Will my new school let me write poems?

The institution where we’re going paid the orphanage to have you on board, the minibus driver said. Why does a school need to pay for an orphan?

"It’s strange; I agree.

I’m not worth a penny, I guarantee.

But reading people’s minds is a hard task.

So, the school, not me, you should ask."

The driver burst into laughter and almost lost control of the minibus. Gee, you’re so funny.

The vehicle pulled over in front of a dark Victorian-style building, whose curled decorations resembled fangs of horrible creatures, hateful, menacing, dark gargoyles reminding demons.

The vehicle took off, and an old man beckoned from the threshold. I’m Mister Deville, he said, rubbing his hands. Follow me.

Oliver hesitated, his sunken eyes watching the entrance columns. I hope there won’t be many students, or I might find it hard to speak.

C’mon, son. I don’t have the whole day. I’m not King Ludomor, so don’t be afraid.

Who’s King Ludomor? Oliver asked.

You’re lucky because you’re in this world, but if you go to the other….

Oliver furrowed. Which one?

Enough already. Move!

Dad, mom, thinking of you gives me more strength than an atomic bomb, Oliver told himself.

Hesitant steps pushed the boy inside. Paintings cropped up over the hall, war scenes with plenty of soldiers armed with bayonets or rural settings deepened in purple sunsets. Thick wooden doors, dark windows,