Kitabı oku: «A Crystal of Time», sayfa 6
Guinevere’s eyes flew to Sophie.
“So you’ll let Tedros die, then,” said the king, skeptical.
Sophie met his gaze firmly. “If it means saving the rest of my friends, yes. I’m not Tedros’ mother. I won’t go to the ends of the earth to save him. And like you said . . . he dumped me.”
A raw cry sounded in Guinevere’s throat.
Sophie kicked her under the table. Guinevere’s face changed.
“Since you apparently have nothing to do,” Rhian said, glowering at the maid, “fetch the captain of the guard. I need to speak with him.”
Guinevere was still searching Sophie’s eyes—
“Shall we kill your son tonight?” Rhian spat at her.
Guinevere ran out.
Sophie probed at her soup, seeing her own face reflected. A drop of sweat plunked into the stew. Did Guinevere understand? If Tedros was going to survive, she needed his mother to do her part.
Sophie looked up at the king. “So . . . we have a deal? My friends working in the castle, I mean. I could use them for the wedding—”
Two more maids came out of the kitchens, carrying gruel lumped on brass trays as they headed towards the stairs.
“Hold,” said Rhian.
The maids stopped.
“Those are for the dungeons?” he said.
The maids nodded.
“They can wait,” said the king, turning to Sophie. “Like I had to wait for you.”
The maids took the trays back into the kitchen.
Sophie stared at him.
The king smiled as he ate. “Don’t like the soup?”
Sophie put her spoon down. “The last chef was better. As was the last king.”
The king stopped smiling. “I proved I’m Arthur’s true heir. I proved I’m the king. And still you side with that fake.”
“King Arthur would never have a son like you,” Sophie blazed. “And even if he did, there’s a reason he kept you secret. He must have known how you and your brother would turn out.”
Rhian’s face went murder-red, his hand palming his metal cup as if he might throw it at her. Then slowly the color seeped out of his cheeks and he smiled.
“And here you thought we had a deal,” he said.
Now it was Sophie who swallowed her fire.
If she wanted her friends released, she had to be smart.
She poked at her soup. “So, what did you do this afternoon?” she asked, a bit too brightly.
“Wesley and I went to the armory and realized there isn’t an axe sharp enough to cut off Tedros’ head,” said the king, mouth full. “So we considered how many swings it would take to sever through his neck with a dull axe and whether the crowd might cheer harder for that than a clean blow.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” Sophie croaked, feeling ill. “Anything else?”
“Met with the Kingdom Council. A gathering of every leader in the Woods, conducted via spellcast. I assured them that as long as they support me as king, Camelot will protect their kingdoms, Good and Evil, just as I protected them from the Snake. And that I would never betray them, like Tedros did, when he helped that monster.”
Sophie stiffened. “What?”
“I suggested it was Tedros who likely paid the Snake and his rebels,” said Rhian, clear-eyed. “All those fundraisers his queen hosted . . . Where else could that gold have gone? Tedros must have thought that if he weakened the kingdoms around him, it would make him stronger. That’s why he has to be executed, I told the Council. Because if he is lying about being Arthur’s heir, then he could be lying about everything.”
Sophie was speechless.
“Of course, I personally invited all members of the Kingdom Council to the wedding festivities, beginning with the Blessing tomorrow,” Rhian went on. “Oh, almost forgot. I also proposed demolishing the School for Good and Evil, now that it no longer has its Deans or a School Master.”
Sophie dropped her spoon.
“They voted me down, of course. They still believe in that decrepit School. They still believe the Storian needs to be protected. The School and the Storian are the lifeblood of the Woods, they say.” Rhian wiped his mouth with his hand, streaking red across it. “But I didn’t go to that School. The Storian means nothing to me. And I’m King of the Woods.”
His face changed, the cold sheen of his eyes cracking, and Sophie could see the smolder of resentments beneath.
“But the day will come when every kingdom in the Woods changes its tune. When every kingdom in the Woods believes in a King instead of a School, a Man instead of a Pen . . .” He stared right at Sophie, the outline of Lionsmane pulsing gold through his suit pocket like a heartbeat. “From that day, the One True King will rule forever.”
“That day will never come,” Sophie spat.
“Oh, it’ll come sooner than you think,” said Rhian. “Funny how a wedding can bring everyone together.”
Sophie tensed in her chair. “If you think I’ll be your good little queen while you lie like a devil and destroy the Woods—”
“You think I chose you because you’d be a ‘good’ queen?” Rhian chuckled. “That’s not why I chose you. I didn’t choose you at all.” He leaned forward. “The pen chose you. The pen said you’d be my queen. Just like it said I’d be king. That’s why you’re here. The pen. Though I’m beginning to question its judgment.”
“The pen?” Sophie said, confused. “Lionsmane? Or the Storian? Which pen?”
Rhian grinned back. “Which pen, indeed.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, something sinister and yet familiar, and a chill rippled up Sophie’s spine. As if she had the whole story wrong yet again.
“It doesn’t make sense. A pen can’t ‘choose’ me as your queen,” Sophie argued. “A pen can’t see the future—”
“And yet here you are, just like it promised,” said Rhian.
Sophie thought about something he’d said to his brother . . .
“I know how to get what you want. What we both want.”
“What do you really want with Camelot?” Sophie pressed. “Why are you here?”
“You called, Your Highness?” a voice said, and a boy walked into the dining room wearing a gilded uniform, the same boy Sophie had seen evicting Chef Silkima and her staff from the castle.
Sophie tracked him as he gave her a cursory glance, his face square-jawed, his torso pumped with muscle. He had baby-smooth cheeks and narrow, hooded eyes. Sophie’s first thought was that he was oppressively handsome. Her second thought was that he’d looked familiar when she’d noticed him in the garden, but now she was certain she’d seen him before.
“Yes, Kei,” said Rhian, welcoming the boy into the dining room.
Kei. Sophie’s stomach lurched. She’d spotted him with Dot at Beauty and the Feast, the magical restaurant in Sherwood Forest. Kei had been the newest member of the Merry Men. The traitor who’d broken into the Sheriff’s prison and set the Snake free.
“Have your men found Agatha?” Rhian asked.
Sophie’s whole body cramped.
“Not yet, sire,” said Kei.
Sophie slumped in relief. She’d yet to find a way to send Agatha a message. All she knew from her Quest Map was that her best friend was still on the run. Inside Sophie’s shoe, her toes curled around her gold vial, out of Rhian’s sight.
“There is a map in the Map Room tracking Agatha’s every move,” the king said to his captain sourly. “How is it that you can’t find her?”
“She’s moving east from Sherwood Forest, but there’s no sign of her on the ground. We’ve increased the size of the reward and recruited more mercenaries to track her, but it’s as if she’s traveling invisibly or by air.”
“By air. Has she hitched herself to a kite?” Rhian mocked.
“If she’s moving east, we think she’s headed towards the School for Good and Evil,” said Kei, unruffled.
The school! Of course! Sophie held in a smile. Good girl, Aggie.
“We’ve sent men to the school, but it appears to be surrounded by a protective shield,” Kei continued. “We’ve lost several men trying to breach it.”
Sophie snorted.
Rhian glanced in her direction and Sophie went mum.
“Find a way to beat the shield,” Rhian ordered Kei. “Get your men inside that school.”
“Yes, sire,” said Kei.
Sophie’s skin went cold. She needed to warn Agatha. Does she still have Dovey’s crystal ball? If she did, maybe they could secretly communicate. Assuming Aggie could figure out how to use it, that is. Sophie had no idea how crystal balls worked. Plus, Dovey’s seemed to have made the Dean gravely ill . . . Still, it might be their best hope. . . .
“One more thing,” Rhian said to Kei. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Kei cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. Our men went from kingdom to kingdom, seeking stories worthy of Lionsmane,” he said, pulling a scroll from his pocket.
“Go on, then,” the king responded.
His captain peered at his scroll. “Sasan Sasanovich, a mechanic from Ooty, has invented the first portable cauldron out of dwarf-bone and demand is so high that there’s a six-month waiting list. They’re called ‘Small-drons.’” Kei looked up.
“Small-drons,” Rhian said, with the same tone he usually reserved for Tedros’ name.
Kei went back to the scroll. “Dieter Dieter Cabbage Eater, the nephew of Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, has been named assistant dumpling chef at Dumpy’s Dumpling House. He will be in charge of all cabbage-based dumplings.”
Kei glanced up. Rhian’s expression hadn’t changed. Kei spoke faster now: “Homina of Putsi chased down a burglar and tied him to a tree with her babushka. . . . A maiden named Luciana created an igloo from cheese rinds in Altazarra to house the homeless from milk monsoons. . . . Thalia of Elderberry came second in the Woods-wide Weightlifting Championships after bench-pressing a family of ogres. . . . A baby son was born to a woman in Budhava after six stillbirths and years of praying. . . . Then there is—”
“Stop,” said Rhian.
Kei froze.
“That woman in Budhava,” said Rhian. “What’s her name?”
“Tsarina, Your Highness,” said Kei.
The king paused a moment. Then he slipped open his suit jacket and Lionsmane floated out of his pocket. The golden pen twirled in the chandelier glow before it began to write in midair, gold dust trailing from its tip, as Rhian directed it with his finger.
Tsarina of Budhava has borne a son after six stillbirths. The Lion answered her prayers.
“Lionsmane’s first tale,” said Rhian, admiring his work.
Sophie guffawed. “That? That’s your first fairy tale? First of all, that’s not a tale at all. It’s barely two lines. It’s a blurb. A caption. A squawk into the night—”
“The shorter the story, the more likely people are to read it,” the king said.
“—and second of all, you couldn’t answer a prayer if you tried,” Sophie spurned. “You had nothing to do with her son!”
“Says your pen, maybe,” Rhian replied. “My pen says that Tsarina of Budhava didn’t have a child until I happened to take the throne. Coincidence?”
Sophie boiled. “More lies. All you do is lie.”
“Inspiring people is lying? Giving people hope is lying?” Rhian retorted. “In the telling of tales, it’s the message that matters.”
“And what’s your message? That there’s no Good and Evil anymore? That there’s only you?” Sophie scoffed.
Rhian turned back to the golden words. “It’s ready for the people—”
Suddenly, the pen reverted midair from gold to a scaly black scim and magically defaced Rhian’s message with splotches of black ink:
“My brother is still upset with me, it seems,” Rhian murmured.
“Japeth’s right. It is weak,” said Sophie, surprised she could ever side with the Snake. “No one will listen to your stories. Because even if a story could be that short, it has to have a moral. Everyone at the School for Good and Evil knows that. The school you want to demolish. Maybe because it’s the school you didn’t get into.”
“Anyone can poke holes in a story who doesn’t have the wits to write their own,” Rhian said defensively.
“Oh please. I or any one of my classmates could write a real fairy tale,” Sophie flung back.
“You accuse me of being self-serving when you’re nothing but an airheaded braggart,” Rhian attacked. “You think you’re so clever because you went to that school. You think you could be a real queen? About as likely as Japeth taking a bride. You couldn’t do any real work if you tried. You’re nothing but shiny hair and a fake smile. A no-trick pony.”
“I’d be a better king than you. And you know it,” Sophie flayed.
“Prove it, then,” Rhian scorned. “Prove you can write this tale better than me.”
“Watch me,” Sophie hissed. She stabbed her fingerglow at Rhian’s story and revised it in slashes of pink under Japeth’s defacements.
Tsarina of Budhava couldn’t have a child. Six times she tried and failed. She prayed harder. She prayed and prayed with all her soul. . . . And this time the Lion heard her. He blessed her with a son! Tsarina had learned the greatest lesson of all: “Only the Lion can save you.”
“Takes a queen to do a king’s job,” said Sophie, frost-cold. “A ‘king’ in name only.”
She looked back at Rhian and saw him peering at her intently.
Even the blackened pen seemed to be considering her.
Slowly, the pen magically erased its graffiti, leaving Sophie’s corrected tale.
“Remember Hansel and Gretel?” Rhian said, gazing at her work. “Your pen says it’s about two kids who escape a nasty witch . . . while my pen says it’s about a witch who thinks herself so superior that she’s duped into working against herself.”
Rhian turned his grin on Sophie.
“And so it is written,” the king said to the pen.
Lionsmane coated back to gold, then thrust at Sophie’s tale like a magic wand—
Instantly, the golden message shot through the bay windows and emblazoned high in the dark sky like a beacon.
Sophie watched villagers far in the distance emerge from their houses in the valley to read Lionsmane’s new words, shining against the clouds.
What have I done? Sophie thought.
Rhian turned to his captain. “You’re dismissed, Kei,” he said as Lionsmane returned to the king’s pocket. “I expect Agatha in my dungeon by this time tomorrow.”
“Yes, sire,” said Kei. As he left, he gave Sophie a shifty-eyed look. A look Sophie knew well. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Rhian’s captain had a crush on her . . .
It only made Sophie feel queasier, her eyes roving back to Lionsmane’s first story. She’d come to this dinner hoping to gain the upper hand over a villain. Instead, she’d been tricked into amplifying his lies.
She could see Rhian watching through the window as more of Camelot’s villagers emerged from their houses. These were the same villagers who’d resisted the new king at the morning’s coronation, vocally defending Tedros as the real heir. Now they huddled together and took in the Lion’s tale, quietly reflecting on its words.
Rhian turned to Sophie, looking less a ruthless king and more an enamored teenager. It was the same way he’d looked at her when they first met. When he’d wanted something from her.
“So you want to be a good queen?” said the king cannily. “Then you’ll be writing each and every one of my stories from now on.” He studied her as if she was a jewel in his crown. “The pen chose you wisely after all.”
Sophie’s insides shriveled.
He was ordering her to write his lies.
To spread his Evil.
To be his Storian.
“And if I refuse?” she said, clutching at the side of her dress. “One drop of this iron gall on my skin and—”
“You already stained your wrist when you sat down for dinner,” said Rhian, spearing a piece of squid in his soup. “And you’re as healthy as can be.”
Slowly Sophie looked down and saw the smear of blue on her skin; harmless ink she’d extracted from a quill in the Map Room and dyed with magic.
“Your wizard friend refused to help me too,” said the king. “Sent him on a little trip afterward. Don’t think he’ll be refusing me anymore.”
Sophie’s blood went cold.
In a single moment, she realized she’d been beaten.
Rhian was not like Rafal.
Rhian couldn’t be wheedled and seduced. He couldn’t be manipulated or charmed. Rafal had loved her. Rhian didn’t care about her at all.
She’d come down to dinner thinking she had a hand to play, but now it turned out she didn’t even know the game. For the first time in her life, she felt outmatched.
Rhian watched her with a trace of pity. “You called my story a lie, but it’s already come true. Don’t you see? Only I can save you.”
She met his eyes, trying to hold his stare.
Rhian prowled forward, his elbows on the table. “Say it.”
Sophie waited for the fight to swell inside of her . . . the witch to rear her head. . . . But this time nothing came. She looked down at the tablecloth.
“Only you can save me,” she said softly.
She saw Rhian smile, a lion enjoying his kill.
“Well, now that we’ve made our deal . . . ,” he said. “Shall we have cake?”
Sophie watched the candles in the Lion centerpiece melt wax onto their holders.
Cheap candles, she thought.
Another lie. Another bluff.
A dark flame kindled inside of her.
She still had a bluff to play of her own.
“You think I’m afraid of death? I’ve died before and that didn’t stop me,” she said, standing up. “So kill me. Let’s see if that keeps the Woods on your side. Let’s see if that makes them listen to your pen.”
She swept past him, watching Rhian’s face cloud, unprepared for her move—
“And what if I agree to your terms?” he asked.
Sophie paused, her back to him.
“One person from the dungeons that will serve as your steward, just as you asked,” he said, sounding composed again. “Anyone you like. I’ll free them to work in the castle. Under my supervision, of course. All you have to do is write Lionsmane’s tales.”
Sophie’s heart beat faster.
“Who would you pick to be freed?” Rhian asked.
Sophie turned to him.
“Tedros included?” she asked.
Rhian stretched his biceps behind his head.
“Tedros included,” he said decisively.
Sophie paused. Then she sat back down across from him.
“So I write your stories . . . and you let Tedros go,” she repeated. “Those are the terms?”
“Correct.”
Sophie watched Rhian.
Rhian watched her.
Now I know the game, she thought.
“Well, in that case . . . ,” Sophie said innocently. “I choose Hort.”
Rhian blinked.
Sophie stretched her arms behind her head and held his stunned glare.
It had been a test. A test to make her pick Tedros. A test to call her bluff and prove she could never be loyal. A test to make her his slave from this moment on.
A dirty little test he expected her to fail.
But you can’t beat Evil with Evil.
Which meant now they had a deal.
She would write his stories. Hort would be freed.
Both would be her weapons in time.
Sophie smiled at the king, her emerald eyes aglow.
“I don’t eat cake,” she said. “But tonight I’ll make an exception.”
7 
AGATHA
Agatha’s Army
Straddling the spine of a stymph, her arms around her old Beautification professor, Agatha tried to see through the gaps in the canopy of branches as she flew high over the Endless Woods. Autumn was coming, leaves already losing their green.
It must be six o’clock in the morning, she thought, since it was still too dark to see the forest floor, but the sky overhead was starting to simmer with tones of gold and red.
A hand reached back holding a blue lollipop.
“Stole it just for you,” said Professor Anemone. “It’s illegal to take candy from Hansel’s Haven, as you well know, but, given present circumstances, I think we all need to break a few rules.”
Agatha lifted the lollipop from her teacher’s hand into her mouth and tasted its familiar blueberry tartness. Her first year she’d gotten detention from Professor Anemone for stealing one of these lollipops off the candied classroom walls in Hansel’s Haven (along with marshmallows, a hunk of gingerbread, and two bricks of fudge). Back then, she’d been the worst student at the School for Good and Evil. Now, three years later, she was returning to the school to lead it.
“Do they know what’s happened?” Agatha asked, watching her teacher’s lemon-yellow hair dance in the wind. “The new students, I mean.”
“The Storian began its retelling of The Lion and the Snake before you and Sophie left on your quest. That’s how we’ve stayed up-to-date on everything that’s happened since Rhian took the throne.”
“But can’t we show the Storian’s tale to the rest of the kingdoms?” Agatha asked, adjusting Dovey’s bag on her arm, feeling Tedros’ jacket that she’d taken from Robin’s house cushioned around the crystal ball inside. “If we can make their rulers see that Rhian and the Snake are working together—”
“The Storian’s tales reach other kingdoms only after The End is written, including your bookshops in Woods Beyond,” said her teacher. “And even if we could bring the Kingdom Council to the School Master’s tower, the Storian won’t allow anyone to look backwards in a fairy tale while it is writing one. Nor should we involve the Kingdom Council until we have clearer proof of Rhian’s plot, since their allegiance is to the new king. That said, Professor Manley has been monitoring the pen’s movements and our first years have been briefed on the story thus far.”
“And they’re trained to fight?” Agatha pressed.
“Fight? Goodness, no.”
“But you said they’re my army!”
“Agatha, they’ve been at school for less than a month. The Evergirls can barely produce passable smiles, the Nevers are hopeless with their Special Talents, and they’ve just had their fingerglows unlocked two days ago. There hasn’t even been a Trial by Tale. They’re certainly no army yet. But you’ll whip them into shape.”
“Me? You want me to train them?” Agatha blurted. “But I’m not a teacher! Sophie can bluff being a Dean because, well, she can bluff anything, but not me—”
“You’ll love the new Everboys. Charming little foxes.” Professor Anemone glanced back, her makeup dried out and cracking. “Especially the boys of Honor 52.”
“Professor, I don’t even know these students!”
“You know Camelot. You know the castle, you know its defenses, and most importantly, you know the false king who sits upon the throne,” said Professor Anemone. “You are far better equipped than any of the teachers to lead our students in this fight. Besides, until you complete your quest, you’re still an official student, and given the Storian is writing your tale, the teachers cannot interfere in it. Clarissa made that mistake and clearly paid the price.”
Agatha shook her head. “But can the students even do basic spells? Will the Evers and Nevers work together? Have you told them what’s at stake—”
“My dear, take advantage of the peace and quiet while you can,” said her teacher, steadying the stymph at a cruising altitude. “There won’t be much of either once we get to school.”
Agatha exhaled through her nose. How could she relax until her friends were free? And how was she supposed to lead a school? A school full of students she’d never met? If she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she’d appreciate the irony: Sophie had been thrust at the head of Camelot, where Agatha was supposed to be queen, and now Agatha was expected to command the School for Good and Evil, where Sophie was supposed to be Dean. Agatha’s heart revved up, then sputtered, drained of adrenaline after her all-night visit to Sherwood Forest. She could feel her eyelids drooping . . . But with Dovey’s crystal ball slung on her shoulder, weighing her down, she didn’t dare fall asleep, for fear it would yank her overboard and drop her like a stone.
Clutching Dovey’s bag tighter, Agatha scanned the landscape and spotted a golden castle ahead, thin spires clustered like organ pipes.
Foxwood, she remembered. The oldest Ever kingdom.
In front of the castle, the thick forest receded, giving way to Foxwood’s outer vales, with rows of cottages surrounding a tree-lined square. The pavilion was mostly deserted this early in the morning, except for a baker setting up his cart in front of a stone fountain. Wrapped around the fountain, Agatha could make out colorful banners hand-drawn by the kingdom’s children.
So Long, So Long, the Snake is Gone!
HAIL KING RHIAN, THE SNAKE SLAYER!
Long Live Queen Sophie!
As the stymph soared over increasingly lavish houses, closer to Foxwood castle, Agatha glimpsed three young kids in gold-foil Lion masks jousting with wooden swords as their father raked the yard of leaves. She’d seen the same thing in Gillikin: children idolizing the new King of Camelot as their hero. Disturbed, Agatha looked back up.
The stymph was about to smash right into the side of the king’s castle.
“Professor!” Agatha shrieked—
Professor Anemone snored awake and in a single move shot a spray of sparks at her stymph, which jolted from its own slumber with a squawk, skimming the golden tower just in time.
The stymph reared in midair, panting hard, as Professor Anemone stroked its neck, trying to calm it down. “Seems we both fell asleep,” she croaked as the stymph peeped sheepishly at his riders through eyeless sockets. “And no wonder, given the rumpus at school. Thankfully we’ll be there soon enough.”
“Rumpus” didn’t sound good, Agatha thought, but right now she was worried they’d woken the Foxwood guard. If anyone spotted her, they’d surely alert Rhian. She peeked back towards the castle, about to urge Professor Anemone to get moving. Then her eyes widened—
“What’s that?”
She’d been so busy looking down that she’d missed the giant message in gold, embedded in the lightening sky overhead.
“Lionsmane’s first fairy tale,” said Professor Anemone, still caressing the stymph. “You must have been deep in Sherwood Forest to miss it. Been up there nearly a full day now. Visible from any kingdom in the Woods.”
“Lionsmane . . . You mean ‘Rhian’s pen’? The one he’s pit against the Storian?” Agatha said, remembering the newspaper in Gillikin. She quickly read the message in the sky about a woman named Tsarina, blessed with a child after several stillbirths. “‘Only the Lion can save you’? That’s the moral of the story?”
Her teacher sighed. “The Storian spends weeks, months, often years crafting a tale for the purposes of bettering our world. And now a new pen arrives that replaces storytelling with a king’s propaganda.”
“A fake king and a fake pen,” Agatha bristled. “Are people actually believing this? Is anyone fighting for the Stori . . .”
Her voice trailed off, because Rhian’s fairy tale suddenly faded. Agatha and Professor Anemone exchanged anxious looks, as if their presence here was somehow responsible. But then a blast of light shot from the west, branding a new message in the sky, replacing the first one.
Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.
“Now he’s going after the youth,” Professor Anemone realized, grim-faced. “Same thing Rafal tried when he took over both schools. Own the youth and you own the future.”
Down below, Agatha could still see the kids’ tiny figures swordplaying in their Lion masks. Only they’d stopped now and were gazing up at the Lion’s second tale, along with their father. After a moment, the father’s eyes swept towards Agatha and her teacher, perched atop their stymph.
“Let’s go,” said Agatha quickly.
The stymph propelled towards the rising sun.
Agatha looked back one last time at the Lion’s new tale, her stomach screwing tighter. It wasn’t just the Lion’s message, smoothly glorifying himself as king . . . but it was how familiar the message was, its lies sounding like truths . . .
Ah. Now she remembered.
The Snake’s pen.
The one he’d shown her and Sophie the first time they’d met.
His fake Storian that took real stories and contorted them into something darker and untrue.
His pen peeled off his own murderous body and now presented to the people as their guiding light.
His slimy, scaly strip of lies.
That was Lionsmane.
THE SCHOOL HAD taken no chances once Merlin and Professor Dovey had been captured. As the stymph descended, Agatha saw the two castles had been shielded in a protective, murky-green fog. A dove happened to get too close and the mist inhaled it like a living creature, then spewed it back out like a cannonball, pitching the shrieking bird fifty miles away. The stymph, meanwhile, passed through unscathed, though Agatha had to hold her nose to endure the fog, which smelled like rancid meat.
“One of Professor Manley’s spells,” Professor Anemone called back. “Not as secure as Lady Lesso’s old shields, but it’s kept out Rhian’s men thus far. A few were caught snooping the past couple days. They must suspect you’re on your way.”
More than just suspicion, Agatha thought. If Rhian was the Snake’s brother, then that meant Rhian had the Snake’s Quest Map. He could trace Agatha’s every move.
In the meantime, all she could do was hope Manley’s shield would hold.
Breaking through the fog, the first thing Agatha saw was the School Master’s tower, perched in the middle of Halfway Bay between the clear lake bordering the School for Good and the thick blue moat around the School for Evil. A gang of stymphs was in the process of undoing the last scaffolding around the silver spire, revealing a dazzling statue of Sophie atop like a weathervane, along with ornate friezes in the tower’s length depicting Sophie’s most iconic moments. There were multiple floors within the tower, flaunting refurbished windows (through which Agatha could see walk-in closets, a dining room, a steam room and whirlpool), and a catwalk to the School for Evil, lit up with lights and a sign reading “SOPHIE’S WAY.”
