Rise of the Isle of the Lost

by Melissa de la Cruz

  She tugged cautiously on the rope. If she pulled too hard she might yank that last screw loose, but if she waited too long the screw would come loose. Either way, the boat would be gone. And the motorboat was not the only fast ship on the water. All this tugging and swerving had slowed its progress, and she saw now that two or three of the larger sailing ships had caught up to the goblin boat. Even the galley was closing in, its oars beating the water, the oarsmen chanting.

  “Yoo-hoo!” Harry called with a broad grin from the top of the sailing ship barreling toward the lead.

  Uma could never be his first mate!

  She needed to hurry.

  One tug. A second.

  She pulled and pulled, and that cleat held. It whipped back and forth, pivoting about that last screw, but it was still attached. Fortunately, the force of all the pulling made the screw bend, so it had stopped twisting itself free. But now it looked as though it might break in two.

  She gave another tug. One more.

  She was closer to the boat. She could try to jump the gap, but it was still too wide. So she gave the line another pull, gently dragging herself toward the stern of the out-of-control motorboat.

  The cleat bent. The last screw flew loose.

  Uma tugged one last time, pulling herself just a little closer, and just as the whole thing fell apart she leaped through the air, arms outstretched, reaching for the stern of the boat.

  She caught it! She was flattened against the back, but she hung on, and with her other arm she reached up and pulled herself aboard.

  She did it!

  She was at the helm of the fastest boat in the race, except she was no longer winning the race. All that fussing around had allowed three, no, four ships to sail ahead of the goblin boat, including Harry’s, which was now in the lead.

  Uma hurried to the helm, tore free the ropes holding the wheel in place, and jammed the throttle into gear.

  The journey to Stone City, a small village on the eastern border of the Great Wall, was past the vast forests of Eden and the Lone Keep, so Ben decided the fastest way to get there was on the royal jet. “We leave for the airport in five,” he told Lonnie, who was already more cheerful now that she’d secured Ben’s commitment to fixing the issue plaguing the Imperial Palace.

  Ben ran to change out of his formal clothing for travel gear, trading his sash and epaulets for a royal hoodie and jeans. He wished he’d had more time with Mal, but such was the life of a king—he was constantly needed in so many places at once. He envied his parents for the length of time they’d had for courtship. Sure, Beast was hiding in exile and Belle was basically imprisoned, but they’d had all the time in the world to fall in love, right?

  He would make it up to Mal, he decided, by making his Cotillion proposal extra-special for sure. He just needed a little help. But that’s what friends are for, he thought, as he texted Jane the details of his idea.

  Lumiere, who had followed Ben out of the library reception and helped get him ready for the trip, doted anxiously on the young king. “But, Sire, are you certain this is absolutely necessary?” he asked. “Why not send an envoy? Or at least bring me along.”

  “Not necessary,” said Ben, zipping up his hoodie as they made their way out of the royal residence to the front, where the limousine was waiting. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want to travel heavy, and with the jet, I’ll be back before dinner, if not earlier.” Lumiere would be too concerned with protocol, and settling a border dispute was bound to get hairy. But Ben would be lying if he didn’t admit to a small case of nerves.

  Lonnie was already out front. “Thanks for doing this, Ben,” she said.

  “At least summon the cavalry?” Lumiere said worriedly. “They can travel on the royal speed train.”

  Ben shook his head, ushering Lonnie inside the car first. “If we arrive with a show of force, the villagers might not believe we’re acting in their best interests. I’d like to resolve this as peacefully as I can, and if they see it’s just me and Lonnie, they’ll know I’m there to listen and not force them to do anything they don’t want to do.”

  Lumiere looked as if he wanted to keep protesting, but he decided against it. His shoulders slumped, as if lights had been extinguished on a candelabra. “As you wish, Sire.”

  “Don’t worry, Lonnie’s with me,” said Ben with a smile. “She’ll keep me safe.”

  Lonnie motioned to the sword strapped on her back. “Nothing will happen.”

  Chip rushed out with a bag of snacks. “In case you get hungry, Sire,” he said. “Mom packed you some sandwiches.”

  Ben thanked them both, and the driver bowed and closed Ben’s door.

  “The village elder is meeting us first, then you have a meeting with the representative from Agrabah,” Lonnie told him.

  Ben nodded to the driver, and the limousine left campus. A few students looked on, confused as to why the king was leaving in the middle of the school day.

  The royal jet zoomed above Auradon City, flying over Charmington and Faraway Cove. “What gorgeous countryside,” said Lonnie, admiring the rolling green fields dotted with golden haystacks and flocks of sheep that looked like white specks. “Do you ever think about how lucky we are to be in Auradon?”

  “All the time,” Ben said.

  They were making good time but had to refuel, so they stopped in Notre-Dame before lunch, almost halfway to their destination. While the pilots took care of the plane, Ben and Lonnie walked over to a little square and stopped at a charming place for hot chocolates to drink with their sandwiches.

  The café owners were beside themselves to discover they were waiting on royalty, and insisted the king take the best table in the house, one with a view of the church. “Please, sit, and enjoy the ringing of the bells,” the waiter urged.

  Ben thanked them profusely and remarked that Quasimodo’s bell-ringing was indeed the best in the land. When the noonday chimes ended, they resumed their conversation.

  “My family really appreciates you doing this,” said Lonnie. “My mom says she wishes she could have sent us her cricket for good luck.”

  “Tell her thanks,” said Ben, taking a sip from his cup. “I’ve asked a bunch of councillors to meet us on their side of the Great Wall. The Grand Vizier agreed to meet with me. It’s important that they feel their voices are heard as well, since you are traveling with me.”

  “Good idea,” said Lonnie. “I hope they listen to you. It would be a shame if things escalated.”

  “I hope so too, but it’s more important that I listen to them,” said Ben, thinking of the various issues he’d worked on since taking the throne. Most notably, he had handled the sidekicks’ complaints and approved the cost of Camelot reparations after an out-of-control Madame Mim had plagued them earlier in the month.

  “Is that what being king is all about?” asked Lonnie. “Listening?”

  “Pretty much. How about you?” he asked. “Everything going okay?” He’d known Lonnie since they were kids, and they were almost like siblings. He remembered when Lonnie got her first sword at the age of five, and how she’d tried to stab Chip when he pulled her pigtails. Lonnie was there when Ben made his first balcony appearance; instead of waving to the crowd, he’d hidden his face in his mother’s shoulder. She’d teased him about it mercilessly.

  “Yeah,” she said with a long sigh and fiddled with the sword at her waist.

  “That doesn’t sound like everything’s okay,” he said, concerned.

  “You know how you wish you could change things, but there’s nothing you can do about it?” she asked.

  “Sometimes,” said Ben. “But there’s always something you can do about it.”

  Lonnie looked longingly at her sword once more. “Maybe.”

  “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you can’t do something just because of who you are?” asked Lon
nie, as the waiter came by to offer them heaping platters of croissants and baskets of delicate pastries.

  Ben considered it as he picked up a lemon tart and took a bite, smiling his thanks to the waiter. “Lots of times, actually.”

  “Really?” Lonnie didn’t sound like she believed him.

  “Yeah. When you’re king, you can’t just think of yourself or what you want. You have to think of the people, always.”

  “Always?” she said skeptically. “I thought being king meant you always got your way, actually.”

  “Maybe a terrible king, yeah—but not if you want to be a good one. Like, sometimes, I just really want to tell someone off, you know? Or lose my temper? Or just say what I mean? But I can never do that, because I’m the king. If I did, it would be a big deal—a yawn or an offhand comment suddenly becomes a matter of state. What I do matters more because of who I am, and so I can’t ever really be myself. I have to be the king, always.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” said Lonnie, putting down a half-eaten éclair.

  “Still, I’ve found a way to balance being me and being king. I’m the king of Auradon, but I do it my own way,” said Ben, thinking of how he had invited the villain kids to Auradon, over the objections of his parents and a host of disapproving courtiers. “So whatever it is you want, don’t let anyone stop you from dreaming your dreams and following through on them.”

  “You sound like your mom,” said Lonnie with a smile.

  “I try to,” said Ben, asking for the check. “She’s a wise woman.”

  Some would say it was always unhappy hour at the Fish and Chips Shoppe, but during the early afternoon and evening, Tears of Despair and Spoilage Brew were half off, along with discount bowls of gruel and only slightly used dirty candy. A raucous crowd had gathered around a certain table, where an arm-wrestling match was under way between Gil and La Foux Doux.

  Gil, just like his father and brothers, was manly, burly, and brawny with muscles to spare, and yes—every last inch of him was covered with hair. Okay, maybe not every last inch, but Gil was one of the finer specimens of the Isle of the Lost, with golden hair he kept under his bandanna and that signature cleft chin. He wore a faded leather doublet that showed off his arms, with two sword belts crisscrossing his chest and leather-patched jeans that were artfully distressed in the current “pirate” fashion.

  Right now, Gil was doing what he loved to do: showing off his brute strength to the ladies. He slammed La Foux Doux’s arm down on the table in victory, sending the stout boy to the ground.

  “What do we say?” said Gil.

  “Th-th-thank you!” said the young La Foux. “Thank you, Gil!”

  Gil flexed so that he made two guns with his arms and pretended to kiss each one.

  Two witches sitting nearby audibly swooned.

  Gil swaggered over to his table, satisfied, and ordered another round of bilge. Life was good when you were the strongest man on the island. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the smartest guy on the Isle of the Lost, but it wasn’t the worst way to live.

  No matter, Gil had girls to impress and feats of strength to display. He finished his meal, thinking the scum chowder was not as moldy as usual, and looked around for more entertainment.

  “Who wants to see me balance the table on my head again?” he asked, lifting the heavy oak table and setting it upon his noggin. But when he turned around, the room, which had been filled with noisy revelers just a moment before, was empty.

  “Where’d everyone go?” he asked, irritated.

  “To watch the race,” huffed the cook, pointing out the window and toward the docks.

  Gil let the table down with a bang and headed toward the commotion. All week there had been talk about this race. A real pirate race, with a real pirate prize. The harbor was full of onlookers, pirates cheering each other on, and bets placed on who would come in first. Gil sauntered over to the front to watch the action, pushing people out of the way.

  “Who’s in the lead?” he asked.

  “Harry,” said one.

  “Uma,” said another.

  Gil squinted at the horizon, where an assortment of vessels, from homemade rafts made of recovered planks with sheets for sails to a little goblin motorboat, were cresting over by Evil Queen’s house. They raced toward the finish line by Dead Man’s Cove in Hook’s Bay, gaily decorated with old shoes and cans. There was a roar from the crowd as one pulled forward ahead of the rest, a turquoise-haired sailor raising her fist in glory as she crossed the finish line in victorious fashion.

  Shrimpy? wondered Gil. Where’d she get that goblin boat?

  “Uma! Uma! Uma!” chanted the crowd, as Uma docked her boat and stepped up to the platform.

  Uma made rude gestures to the crowd to indicate her pleasure. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone,” she said into the microphone. “And I’d like to introduce you all to Harry Hook, my first mate!”

  She brought Harry up to stand next to her. “Just like I promised, here’s your hook back,” she said, handing it to him.

  Harry, who’d looked glum and defeated just a moment ago, lit up with a huge grin. “My hook!” he said, waving it in the air.

  Smee handed Uma the keys to the pirate ship that was docked right behind them, and Harry and Uma happily climbed aboard.

  Gil marveled at the thought of winning a real pirate ship, kitted out with a Jolly Roger flag and everything. Too bad it wasn’t a wrestling match, or he’d have entered the competition for sure.

  Harry and Uma waved from the top deck of their brand-new (actually old, shabby, and holey) pirate ship.

  Gil felt a pang at being down at the docks while they were up on the ship’s decks. They’d all been inseparable once, he and Harry and Uma. When they were kids, he and Harry used to follow Uma around, doing her bidding. They’d been part of a gang, but over the years Gil had drifted away from them somehow.

  He melted back into the crowd and went back to showing off at the fish shop, impressing the ladies and challenging anyone to a fight. But beating his enemies in arm-wrestling matches and bullying La Foux Doux only went so far.

  So when someone mentioned that Shrimpy—sorry, Uma, he had to remember she went by Uma now, duh—and Harry Hook were looking for a few good mates for their pirate crew, Gil decided to meet up with his old not-quite-friends.

  “Heard you’re looking for muscle,” he said, his white teeth gleaming, as he swaggered up to Harry and Uma a few minutes later. He pulled up his shirtsleeves. “You’re in luck, as I’ve got some to spare.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Harry with a grin. “Welcome to my crew.”

  “My crew,” said Uma, patting Gil on the back. “Now get with the others.”

  Gil climbed aboard the pirate ship, excited to find it was already filled with villains like him. Pirates, ruffians, rogues, all seeking adventure, and it looked like they’d found it.

  After the last tourney game ended, Jay marched back with the team toward the lockers to change, but noticed that half the guys went straight into another practice, trading helmets for face masks and carrying practice swords.

  “R.O.A.R. tryouts,” explained Aziz, Aladdin and Jasmine’s oldest son. “You coming?” he said, tapping Jay lightly on the arm with his sword.

  “Yeah, come on,” said Herky, lumbering toward the mats. “We’re short a couple of guys. Ben had to quit since he couldn’t fit it into his royal schedule.”

  Jay nodded, curious about this other Auradon sport that Carlos had mentioned the other day. He followed his friends into the gym, where a few guys were already suited up, wearing sleeveless blue-and-gold R.O.A.R. uniforms and face masks. There was a spirited duel going on in the middle of the mat, and Jay watched attentively, admiring their graceful swiftness. At last, one of the sword-fighters pinned down the other one.

  “I yield!” said the loser.

  The fighters removed their masks, revealing their identities. The two opponents shook hands cordially, and Jay was surprised t
o find the winner was none other than Chad Charming.

  Jay chuckled his disbelief and Chad overheard. He looked over at Jay. “You think you can do better?” he sneered.

  “Can’t be hard,” Jay said.

  “Let’s see it, then,” said Chad. “Suit up.”

  Gauntlet thrown and accepted, Jay changed into a uniform, pulled on a face mask, and picked up a sword. The sword was heavier than he expected, and a tad unwieldy as well. But, whatever, it was just Chad. He could beat Chad blindfolded.

  Turned out he couldn’t beat Chad blindfolded.

  Instead of advancing and retreating in a line as Jay had seen fencers do before, Chad unexpectedly bounded into the wall, leaped off of it, and came around behind Jay, tagging him on the back. This caused Jay to fall, and Chad whirled around to face him. The match was over before Jay could even find his opponent.

  “Yield?” asked Chad, his sword underneath Jay’s chin.

  “I yield,” Jay spat. He tossed his mask off in frustration.

  Chad laughed and helped him to his feet. “I’ve been training since I could walk. What do you think princes do in their spare time?”

  “I don’t know, sit on tufted pillows?” said Jay moodily.

  “Well, that too. But mostly sword practice.”

  Chad left the gym, whistling.

  Jay tapped his sword on the floor, making one dent after another. He hadn’t anticipated such a quick defeat. He hadn’t anticipated any defeat at all. He’d thought he would crush the pompous prince—a few strokes and he’d be victorious. But it hadn’t gone down like that at all. He’d barely had a chance to raise his weapon and the whole thing was over.

  Training—isn’t that what Chad had said? The guy had been training his whole life at the sport. Chad wasn’t better at this, he was just more experienced. Jay tapped the sword against the floor once more. It was time for him to start accruing a bit of that experience.

  R.O.A.R. was half parkour and half fencing, and the two were not easy to mix. There was a reason fencers normally moved back and forth in neat little lines. They had swords in their hands, and even if the tips were blunted they could still do real damage if they struck you. Leaping into the air and bouncing off walls wasn’t exactly what a person ought to do with a sword in their hand, but Jay guessed that was the fun of it, the challenge. Jay liked challenges.