{"product_id":"the-dark-times-of-nimble-nottingham-isbn-9780593698068","title":"The Dark Times of Nimble Nottingham","description":"\u003cb\u003eSet during World War II, a twelve-year-old orphan who accidentally unleashes a shadow monster onto the streets of London must team up with unlikely allies to hunt it down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The twists and surprises just keep on coming. My kind of book!\"—R.L. Stine, author of \u003ci\u003eGoosebumps\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eFear Street\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2025 \u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e Editors’ Choice\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSurviving on the streets of World War II London alone certainly hasn’t been easy, but Nimble Nottingham has perfected the art of going it alone—and that’s just how he likes it. The only friend he needs is his beloved dog, Winnie. To pass the time between rolling blackouts and bombs falling through the air, Nim spends his days fence-climbing, roof-jumping, and gargoyle-perching…that is when he’s not scrounging for food to stave off the ever-present hunger the war has brought to London.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo when opportunity strikes in the form of a bomb falling onto the notoriously creepy Gravenhurst Manor, Nim knows he has to get inside and find whatever spoils he can get his hands on to sell for food. Get in. Get out. Quick as a flash. At least, that was the plan until Mouse—a member of a local street gang called the Dead End Kids—shows up and invites himself along for the heist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInside, Mouse and Nim encounter far more than just crumbling walls and shattered windows. Beneath Gravenhurst Manor lies a secret room and inside that room is a locked safe. Nim, inspired by the \u003ci\u003eHardy Boys \u003c\/i\u003eadventures he used to read at Waifs and Strays orphanage, knows that something this protected \u003ci\u003ehas\u003c\/i\u003e to be valuable, and so he cracks the safe and unknowingly unleashes a monster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA shadow creature is now loose on the streets of London, and it’s up to Nim, Mouse, and a band of unattended children to end its reign of terror.\u003cu\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for T\u003ci\u003ehe Dark Times of Nimble Nottingham\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA 2025 \u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e Editors’ Choice\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A \u003cb\u003eshadow monster on the loose\u003c\/b\u003e… and that’s just the \u003ci\u003estart\u003c\/i\u003e of the \u003cb\u003efrights\u003c\/b\u003e. \u003cb\u003eTense… fast-moving\u003c\/b\u003e…and the \u003cb\u003etwists and surprises\u003c\/b\u003e just keep on coming. My kind of book!\"—\u003cb\u003eR.L. Stine\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eGoosebumps\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eFear Street\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “This isn’t a novel for the fainthearted. But middle-grade readers who enjoy \u003cb\u003efast-paced adventures\u003c\/b\u003e set in \u003cb\u003enotoriously perilous\u003c\/b\u003e eras of the past will find themselves rooting for Nim and his ever-increasing group of orphaned allies. They willingly risk their lives to cure their friends and rid their city of the monster that threatens everyone. An \u003cb\u003eimpressive\u003c\/b\u003e first novel.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In his debut, Black conjures \u003cb\u003ea properly terrifying night monster\u003c\/b\u003e… \u003cb\u003ereaders will enjoy\u003c\/b\u003e the focus on the multiple \u003cb\u003efrantic chases\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003epursuits through hidden tunnels and shattered buildings\u003c\/b\u003e…\u003cb\u003etense climax\u003c\/b\u003e…\u003cb\u003eStrong on action\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003epunctuated with\u003c\/b\u003e moments of \u003cb\u003esharply felt terror\u003c\/b\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ryan James Black’s\u003cb\u003e innate knack for storytelling\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003ewitty narrative voice\u003c\/b\u003e are on full display in his \u003cb\u003ehistorical fantasy horror debut\u003c\/b\u003e. Nim and the entire cast of \u003cb\u003equirky\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003egritty\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eand altogether charming characters\u003c\/b\u003e—including a loveably mangy mutt named Winnie—are already calling me back for a second read, and I am happy to oblige.\"—\u003cb\u003eJenna Lee-Yun\u003c\/b\u003e, author of The Last Rhee Witch series\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Clever and courageous as its plucky hero, \u003ci\u003eThe Dark Times of Nimble Nottingham\u003c\/i\u003e, is an \u003cb\u003eexplosive debut\u003c\/b\u003e. \u003cb\u003eHeart-pounding peril\u003c\/b\u003e? Perfectly peculiar characters? \u003cb\u003eGhoulish mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e buttoned into \u003cb\u003ethe gloom of a Blitz-Era London\u003c\/b\u003e? Sign me up!”—\u003cb\u003eMary Averling\u003c\/b\u003e, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Curse of Eelgrass Bog\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A \u003cb\u003ethrilling debut\u003c\/b\u003e from Ryan James Black. Set against the \u003cb\u003ebackdrop of the London Blitz\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Dark Times of Nimble Nottingham\u003c\/i\u003e is\u003cb\u003e brimming with scares \u003c\/b\u003eand thrills but also tempered with the \u003cb\u003elonging for family and home\u003c\/b\u003e. I loved this book. \u003cb\u003eA must-read!\u003c\/b\u003e”—\u003cb\u003eRonald L Smith\u003c\/b\u003e, Award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eHoodoo\u003c\/i\u003e and the Black Panther: The Young Prince TrilogyRyan James Black is a writer from Manitoba, Canada, where he lives with his wife, two children, and a Jumanji’s worth of pets. When not writing or reading, Ryan enjoys travelling, watching scary movies with all the lights on, and exploring the Great Outdoors with his family.\u003cb\u003e2\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stood beyond the secret doorway in a musty space the size of a broom closet. My nostrils prickled. The air smelled like burnt ozone and foul spices. Spiders scuttled from my torchlight as I scanned the slick brick walls and finally settled the beam just beyond my shoes, at the first narrow step of a spiral staircase that spun down into the darkness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Why would anyone bother hiding a bomb shelter?” Mouse nudged up beside me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“They wouldn’t,” I said plainly, and started down the stairs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith each step, the air grew colder and more pungent, until I reached the bottom, puffing nervous, frosty breath that looked like smoke in the torchlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Creepy,” Mouse whispered in my ear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI nodded. Gooseflesh shivered down my arms. Creepy was right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA large chamber stretched out before us, part dungeon, part laboratory, all bizarre. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of dead light bulbs hung from the ceiling on frayed electrical cords, dangling over tables crammed with all manner of scientific equipment: flasks, test tubes, mortars, and beakers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCobweb-covered shelves crowded with oddly labeled jars and canisters lined the walls: unspoken water, toadstones, and philosophical mercury, just to name a few. One of the containers was translucent and brimming with either olives or eyeballs. I told myself they were olives and didn’t bother looking twice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA fat black cauldron sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a hodgepodge of dead lamps and spotlights aimed at the far wall and the collage of star charts, anatomy diagrams, and strange artwork that covered it. Grandfather clocks—dozens of them—stood guard randomly in the shadows, keeping time with each other so that every\u003ci\u003etick\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003etock\u003c\/i\u003e sounded like marching boots. Everywhere I looked, something weird waited.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nim?” Mouse said breathlessly. He sounded like I felt. “What is this place?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t know,” I said. Which was true. I had no idea. I’d never been anywhere like it. Minding the electrical cables that crisscrossed the floor like sleeping snakes, I crept forward, sloughing Mouse’s death grip off my shirt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Can’t we go?” he pleaded quietly. “Please? I don’t like it here. Something feels . . . wrong.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I warned you not to come, didn’t I?” I winced at the nervous quiver in my voice. Not believing in ghosts and monsters had been a whole lot easier outside. Pausing before the giant cauldron, I cautiously peered into its depths. I’d half expected witch’s brew or bobbing body parts—at the very least a viscous tentacle or two—but it was empty. Bone dry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCuriously, I turned my attention to the lamps. There were dozens of them, some tall, some squat, some oddly decorative, with lampshades in all the colors of the rainbow. Spotlights stood among them, miniature versions of the kind the Royal Air Force used to scan the skies for Nazi bombers. When the juice was flowing, the secret room must’ve shone like the sun. So many lights, and all of them aimed at the far wall. But why?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePointing my torch, I illuminated the back of the room. My beam drifted across a coffin-size chart:\u003ci\u003eThe Alchemical Table of Symbols\u003c\/i\u003e, lingered on a gruesome anatomy diagram of a bisected octopus, and then, for reasons I didn’t yet understand, stuck on a large framed map. It was London, but not my London. The map was dark and faded, graffitied with illustrations of Grim Reapers, snakes, and skull and crossbones. It looked like the sort of thing you might pry out of a dead pirate’s grip. I squinted at the faded title: \u003ci\u003eLONDON and THE BLACK DEATH, 1666 AD\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nim?” Mouse whispered. “What is it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m . . .” I tiptoed toward it. “I’m not sure.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We should go,” Mouse whispered. “Now. There’s . . . there’s a jar over here . . . labeled”—he gulped so loud it was like he was inside my head—“\u003ci\u003eExecutioner’s Tears\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI whirled the torchlight on him, blinding me for an instant with the reflection off his cap buttons and cracked glasses. I blinked until my eyes adjusted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Give me a minute, Mouse!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eUgh.\u003c\/i\u003e The frustration in my voice made me wince. I wasn’t used to having people around. With a sigh, I dragged a hand down my face. I couldn’t blame Mouse for being scared. I was, too. But I was even more curious. The room must have been hidden for a reason. There had to be something valuable somewhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Go ahead and leave if you want. I’m not stopping you,” I said, snuffing some of the fire from my voice, “but if you wanna wait for me, I just need a few more minutes. Okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMouse hugged himself tight against the chill and nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI gave him a curt nod and turned back to the map, a second before my torchlight came with me. And that was when I saw it. An almost imperceptible glow emanating around the map’s frame. It was faint, and then it was gone, swallowed by my torchlight. I paused, wondering if I had even really seen it at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was only one way to know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI clicked off my torch, engulfing Mouse and me in the kind of darkness that seemed thick enough to spread on toast. Bottomless-pit dark. Deepest-nightmare black.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Hey!”\u003c\/i\u003e Mouse cried.\u003ci\u003e“What are you—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Shhh!”\u003c\/i\u003e I hissed. “Quiet!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a moment, the afterimage of the torchlight flared in my eyes. I blinked it away, and gradually my sight adjusted. I hadn’t imagined it. The glow was real. Faint light seeped out from behind the map as though it was backlit. But by what? I clicked on my torch and hurried over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What?” Mouse asked. “What are you doing?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I think there’s something back here.” I pried my fingers behind the frame.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a little coaxing, the map swung open like a door, groaning on hidden hinges, revealing a cavity big enough to climb inside. I filled it with torchlight, gasped, and stumbled backward.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was full of bugs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCockroaches mostly, but centipedes, grubs, and spiders, too, all jostling for position to get closest to the squat iron safe that sat at the back of the hollow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMANCHESTER \u0026amp; CO. FIRE RESISTING SAFE\u003c\/i\u003e was stamped across the front above a combination lock and worn brass handle, while every other square inch was covered in strange graffiti: nonsensical scraped equations, painted runes, and chicken-scratch engravings. From the seam of the safe door, a burnt-orange light escaped, along with a sour stink that made my eyes tear up and my nostrils sting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yuck.” Mouse groaned, peeking over my shoulder from a safe distance behind me. His hand was clamped over his nose. “I don’t know what’s worse, the bugs or the smell.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What could be glowing in there?” I said, more to myself than to Mouse. Possibilities that weren’t really possible raced through my head. Shining gold coins? Shimmering gemstones? Twinkling diamonds like a safe full of stars? I only needed a pound or two, but I imagined I had just found a thousand. Whatever treasure waited inside had been hidden in a hidden room. It had to be special.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShooing away the bugs, I grasped the handle. It didn’t budge. The safe was locked, which didn’t surprise me in the least. I turned my attention to the fat dial of the combination lock. It was brass like the handle, although the insect poop that crusted it had stolen its shine. I scraped the gunk away and took a better look.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dial on the weighty lock was engraved with tiny numbers, so many my head began to spin. I frowned. I’ve always despised math. Mostly because at Waifs n’ Strays, math lessons plus me equaled mockery and embarrassment. How many possible combinations could there be? For a while I fiddled with the dial, cranking it left, spinning it right, flicking my hand like a maestro to keep the cockroaches from crawling up my shirtsleeve. That got old fast. It was getting me nowhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What’s the combination?” I whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRacking my brain, I drummed my fingers along the map’s frame. The hinges it swung from groaned, as if they were trying to give me a hint. I took a step back, bathing the map in torchlight, and scrutinized it. Could a clue from the map unlock the safe? Was the code hidden in the symbology? The tiny, barely legible labels? Maybe the—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy breath caught in my throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe title.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLONDON and THE BLACK DEATH, 1666 AD\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was the title. The date specifically: 1666. I don’t know how, but suddenly I was certain of it. I could feel it in my bones.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy hand was on the combination lock before I’d even realized I’d moved, fidgeting like my fingers were possessed. Sixteen clockwise . . . six counterclockwise . . . six clockwise. I grasped the handle, held my breath, and wrenched on it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe handle turned, and the safe creaked open.","brand":"Nancy Paulsen Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233651634405,"sku":"NP9780593698068","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593698068.jpg?v=1767738930","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-dark-times-of-nimble-nottingham-isbn-9780593698068","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}