The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes

by Chainani, Soman

  Sewers. Now.

  The one place they couldn’t be overheard.

  Agatha saw then that she didn’t need to confess what she and Sophie had done.

  Her fairy godmother already knew.

  “Yuba has told us everything,” Professor Dovey said, huddling with Lady Lesso in the dark, misty sewer tunnels as water from the lake roared past, muffling her voice. “And we are appalled, revolted, and flabbergasted at the inanity of such a ridiculous plan—”

  Agatha glued her eyes down, reddening.

  “—but also quite impressed.”

  Agatha gawked up at her smiling teachers. “What?”

  “Anything that involves tormenting that flower-scented ninny earns a gold star in my book,” Lady Lesso drawled.

  Professor Dovey ignored her colleague. “Agatha, you could have sacrificed your friend to stay here forever with your prince. You could have kissed Tedros and protected your own life. Instead, you chose to protect Sophie’s from him, even knowing her symptoms,” she said. “Only when you write ‘The End’ with Sophie will Tedros realize he should have trusted you.”

  Agatha felt wisps of her dream returning and squelched them, alarmed—

  “The prince’s humbling lesson will spread far and wide,” Professor Dovey went on, “and Lady Lesso and I believe it a lesson powerful enough to bring Boys and Girls back together. The correct ending to your story, after all. And all we need is for Sophie to bring back that pen so you two can write it.”

  Agatha quickly nodded relief—only to remember a bigger problem. “But how will we cover for her!”

  “Yuba’s too good a teacher to leave that in doubt,” Professor Dovey said, glancing back down the tunnel. “Seeing your places are both guaranteed for the Trial team, he sent word to the Dean as Helga, asking to personally train you in the Blue Forest for the remaining three days, assuring her it will increase your chances of victory over the boys.”

  Agatha’s eyes bulged. “And?”

  “She’s rather surprisingly agreed, provided you’re both ready to compete on Trial eve. She thinks you’re both with Helga as of this morning.”

  “That solves everything!” Agatha gushed with relief—

  “Not quite,” Lady Lesso snapped, rushing sewer water flecking her gown. “There still remains the question of where Sophie’s symptoms have gone.”

  “She said they were conjured by someone else—” Agatha defended.

  “Indeed,” said Lady Lesso. “But a witch’s symptoms cannot be conjured, unless by magic far more formidable than ours. So there’re two possibilities. First, that Sophie is lying about forgiving your wish for Tedros, and you’ve, in fact, sent a deadly witch to your prince.”

  “No,” Agatha said forcefully. “Sophie’s Good now. I know it.”

  “Are you sure she’s Good, Agatha?” said Professor Dovey, exchanging looks with her colleague. “This is absolutely crucial.”

  “After what she just did to get me home?” Agatha shot back. “100% sure.”

  “Then the symptoms were surely conjured by a powerful force,” said Professor Dovey, “a force that happened to be in each and every place that Sophie’s symptoms appeared. A force Lady Lesso and I have been trying to warn you of since your arrival.”

  Agatha heard the answer in her scolding tone. “Dean Sader?” she blurted. “It can’t be! She wants us friends—”

  “Evelyn is a dangerous woman, Agatha,” said Lady Lesso, tensing with that strange fear Agatha had seen before. “If she conjured Sophie’s symptoms, there’s no reason to believe she wants you and Sophie friends at all.”

  Agatha gaped at her. “But she’d never want me to think Sophie a witch—”

  “You know nothing of Evelyn Sader and what she is capable of,” Lady Lesso retorted, eyes suddenly wet.

  “What? How would you—”

  “Because Clarissa and I watched Evelyn Sader evicted from this school ten years ago!” spat Lady Lesso, red-faced. “The same school that is now on her side.”

  Agatha stared at her, stunned.

  “Who’s there?” a voice echoed behind them. They twirled to see a shadow down the tunnel, creeping through the fog.

  Professor Dovey stiffened and grabbed Agatha’s shoulders. “Once you are banished, the school never lets you return! But your and Sophie’s fairy tale somehow let her back in, Agatha. She’s part of your story now, just like the School Master was a year ago. And if she conjured Sophie’s symptoms, surely she too has an ending in mind.”

  Agatha shook her head. “But Sophie’s getting the Storian—”

  “You don’t think Evelyn has thought of that?” Lady Lesso hissed. “Evelyn’s always one step ahead, Agatha! For the next three days, she thinks you are in the Blue Forest. This is your chance to follow her undetected until Sophie returns. You must find out why Evelyn conjured Sophie’s symptoms! You must succeed where Clarissa and I have failed. Spend your time wisely, understand? It is the only way to ensure you and Sophie escape alive! Now go!”

  Agatha could barely speak. “I don’t—I don’t understand—”

  Dovey and Lesso were already retreating. “We cannot meet again,” Dovey ordered—

  “I said who’s there!” the voice bellowed.

  Agatha whirled to the shadow breaking through fog. She spun back—“How do I—”

  But Dovey and Lesso were gone.

  Seconds later, Pollux poked through to a deserted sewer bank and huffed back upstairs, forgetting to check the sewer itself, where a terrified girl clung to the wall, neck deep in churning waters, wishing she could talk to her best friend.

  “Never thought I’d have a prince as a best friend,” Hort motormouthed, hustling through Evil’s sewers.

  “Where are we going? Said you were taking me to my room,” Sophie said, steeling the nerves out of her voice as it echoed over the red mud roiling through the dank tunnels. She plodded behind him on the thin path in her sleeveless black-and-red leather uniform, bumping her bulky shoulders into the wall, still unused to all the extra weight. In the shiny mud, she caught a glimpse of her fluffy blond hair, chiseled jaw, veiny biceps, and quickly averted her eyes.

  “Tried to make ’em bunk us together, but they already put a prince from Ginnyvale in my room,” Hort said, peeping back at the new boy. “School’s strict now that the teachers are back. If you ask me, Aric and his henchmen make those old wolves look cuddly. But don’t worry. I’ll keep my best friend outta trouble.”

  Sophie frowned. How was it that even as a boy, she couldn’t escape this rodent? She saw the sewer midpoint in the distance, the division between moat and lake sealed by giant rocks. “But I still don’t understand. Why are we down her—”

  “Where is it!” Manley’s voice boomed ahead, over the churning red sludge.

  “I showed you where I buried it,” Tedros’ voice insisted—

  “And it’s not there. As long as you keep lying, there’ll continue to be no food.”

  “It’s those two girls! They’re hiding in the castle!”

  “Think we wouldn’t know if a girl was in our castle?” Manley’s voice sneered. “That pen is still somewhere in the School Master’s tower, or the tower would have moved to follow it. Now tell me where you hid it, or I’ll melt your father’s sword and gild the toilets with it—”

  “I told you! It was buried under the table!”

  Sophie’s heart stopped. The Storian . . . missing? How could she and Agatha write ‘The End’ now?

  Suddenly placing first in the day’s challenges was even more crucial, she thought, panicked. If the pen was hidden in that tower, she’d need time to find it.

  Stomach churning, she followed behind Hort, skirting the sewer wall as it turned to the rusted grating of a pitch-dark dungeon cell. In the corner, Manley’s bald head and bulbous shadow obscured the figure beneath him.

  “Please, professor, you have to let me into the Trial,” Tedros’ voice begged. “I’m the only one who can beat those girls!”


  “You’ll die of starvation long before the Trial if we don’t find that pen,” Manley said, turning for the cell door.

  He saw the new boy gaping at him through the grating. “Boys don’t like a liar, Filip. Tedros promises the boys he’ll kiss Agatha. Promises he’ll fix the schools to Good and Evil. And what do they get instead? A chance at slavery. Ain’t it a wonder all the boys hate him now,” Manley sneered, pulling the door open. He shoved the new boy into the cell as he left. “Whole school’s on your side today, Filip. Teach this puffed-up cockerel a lesson.”

  Sophie swiveled. “W-w-wait—”

  Hort slammed the cell door. “See you in class, Filip!”

  “Hort! This can’t be my room!” Sophie cried, gripping the grates—

  But the weasel was already charging after Manley, chattering with excitement. “He’ll beat Tedros so bad today, professor. You’ll see . . .”

  Sophie slowly turned to the rotted dungeon lit by a single candle. A chilling collection of torture instruments hung on the walls in steel cages, over two metal bed frames without mattresses or pillows. She couldn’t breathe, thinking of what happened here a year ago with the Beast. This place made her Evil. This place made her lose control. Sophie turned away, panicked—

  Two bloodshot eyes glowed from the corner.

  Sophie staggered back.

  “Is it true?” said Tedros’ voice out of darkness.

  “What is?” Sophie breathed, keeping her tone low.

  “The worst of us in Trial Tryouts gets punished each night.”

  “That’s what the dog said.”

  Slowly Tedros rose from shadows. He was at least twenty pounds thinner, his boys’ uniform crusted with dirt, his blue eyes inflamed.

  “Then we ain’t gonna be friends, are we?”

  Sophie stepped back from the prince skulking towards her, teeth bared.

  “I’m making that Trial. You hear me, boy?” he sneered, spit flying. “Those two girls took everything I have left in this world. My friends, my reputation, my honor—” He grabbed the new boy by the throat and jammed him against the grating. “I’m not going to let you or anyone else take my chance at fighting them.”

  Choking in his grip, Sophie held up her hands in surrender. She had to get out of here! She had to get out of this body! She couldn’t last as a boy—

  Suddenly a shot of unfamiliar anger tore through her blood, searing away the fear. Her mind went strangely clear, zeroing in like crosshairs on the boy pinning her—the boy who’d taken her princess dreams . . . the boy who’d almost taken her only friend . . . the boy now trying to take her and her friend’s lives. Alien strength blasted through her new muscles with hormonal rage, and before she knew it, she’d shoved the prince back with a roar.

  “Quite the bully, aren’t you, for someone who lost his princess to a girl,” she snarled, startled by the darkness in her voice.

  Tedros loosened his grip, just as stunned, and watched his new cellmate seize him by the collar. “I see why she chose Sophie,” the stranger lashed at him. “Sophie gives her friendship, loyalty, sacrifice, love. All the powers of Good. What do you have to give her? You’re weak, empty, callow, and boring. All you have is your pretty face.” The new boy pulled the prince closer and their noses touched. “And now I see what’s under it.”

  Tedros turned beet red. “I see an overgrown elf with puffy hair who knows nothing about me—”

  “You know what I see?” The stranger’s emerald eyes cut into his. “Nothing.”

  The fight seeped out of Tedros’ face. For a moment, he looked like a little boy.

  “W-w-who are you?” he stammered.

  “Name’s Filip to you,” said Sophie, ice-cold, and let go of him.

  Tedros turned away, catching his breath. Sophie could see his rattled face in the metal bed’s reflection and held in a grin.

  Suddenly she liked being a boy.

  Keys jangled outside. The two boys turned to see Aric’s hooded henchman pull open the cell door.

  “Time for class,” he growled.

  Two hundred boys competing for the day’s first rank. Two hundred boys standing between her and the Storian. Sophie galumphed awkwardly to catch up with the herd of fellow uniformed boys, driving towards Evil’s classrooms. The odds weren’t good.

  She wiped sweat from her armpits, irritated by how much her new body perspired. If she’d known boys were insufferably hot all the time, she’d have packed a fan or jug of cold water. Stomach rumbling, she distracted herself with thoughts of lunch. With the size of these boys, they must have a feast planned: roast turkey legs, streaky bacon, succulent ham, rare-cooked steak. . . . She could taste the juicy flank already, saliva foaming—

  Sophie paled, smearing away drool. Since when did she think about meat! Since when did she think about food! She stumbled and knocked into Ravan. “Walking. It ain’t hard,” he scowled, shoving past her.

  Sophie kept her eyes down, her fluffy hair flopping over them. Nothing in her body seemed to bend . . . like she was a wooden puppet, strings pulled too tight. She peeked ahead at Aric, chest puffed, swaggering like a stallion, and tried to imitate him as best she could.

  Sophie glanced back at Tedros lagging behind the mob, all alone and friendless. Manley said the boys had turned on him for risking their freedom in the Trial’s terms—but Sophie wondered if there was more to it. Boys loved to tear down the things they built up, whether a sand castle or a prince. And for most of the past two years, Tedros had been the rich, popular, preposterously handsome Ever captain who all the boys wanted to be. Now that Manley was punishing him for the missing Storian, they gleefully indulged in his fall, like a weakened lion left to hyenas. Sophie watched him shivering slightly in the cold breeze from the balcony, his thinner frame suffering from withheld meals. She didn’t spare even a grain of pity for him.

  “Filip! Filip, you forgot your schedule!” Hort shoved in, foisting crumpled parchment on her. “You’re with me all day—”

  Sophie blew her hair out of her eyes and peered down at it.

  “They’ve been prepping the rest of us for Tryouts for weeks with workouts and lectures and reading, so you’ll need a little luck,” Hort said, with a sly wink. “Especially with the way you bumble around. It’s like you’ve spent your whole life on giant heels or something.”

  Sophie broke into a dripping sweat. She still couldn’t walk like a boy, and now she’d have to beat a school of them in warrior competition?

  Ten minutes later, Professor Espada stood in Evil Hall with his class of forty boys, a long table in front of him, covered with a dark sheet.

  “We have informed Dean Sader in the girls’ school that the rules of the Trial by Tale will follow tradition,” he said, his slicked hair as black as his curled mustache. His thin, self-righteous smile reminded Sophie of the youngest Elder—the one who’d streaked her with her own blood.

  “Ten girls and ten boys will enter the Blue Forest at sundown. The teams must fend off not only each other, but the teachers’ traps as well. Whichever side has the most players still in the Forest at sunrise will be declared the winner. If the boys win, Sophie and Agatha will be turned over for execution and the schools will remand to Good and Evil. If the girls win, we will surrender our castle to them and become their slaves.”

  As boys murmured to each other, Sophie felt her broad back slopped with sweat now.

  “As is customary, each contestant will be given a flag of surrender,” Professor Espada continued. “If you find yourself in mortal danger, drop it to the ground, and you will be rescued unharmed from the Blue Forest. To protect yourselves, each competitor is allowed one weapon for the Trial. Today’s challenge will test the one most often used—”

  He pulled the sheet off a table, revealing a row of different-sized swords and daggers, all of which looked much sharper than the usual training blades.

  “In past years, swords were dulled for Trial competition. Given the stakes in this year’s Trial, we see no
reason to offer the courtesy,” Espada said, beady eyes glinting. “A sword rewards quickness and strength, so you must use both to be effective. Aim your sword at a girl’s heart, and she will drop her flag of surrender immediately.”

  He held up two kerchiefs, one red, one white. “Now let’s see which of you drops yours.”

  Sophie tensed. She’d never held a sword in her life.

  Professor Espada called forth pairs of boys, who picked their blades and faced off until one surrendered. With Everboys and the new princes well trained in deft swordplay and the Neverboys well trained in poor sportsmanship, the duels were feisty affairs: Chaddick over Hort with a sword tip to throat, Ravan over an Avonlea prince with a knee to the groin, Aric over Vex with a simple glare. . . .

  “Tedros and Filip. You’re next,” Espada declared.

  Sophie slowly looked up at Tedros glowering at her, eyes blazing. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d said to him in the dungeon.

  “FIL-IP, FIL-IP, FIL-IP,” chanted the boys raucously, as Espada handed the two boys their flags. “Pick your weapons.”

  Sophie’s eyes blurred with sweat; her big hands tremored as she took a long, thin slab of metal off the table—

  Hort elbowed her. “That’s the sharpener, you idiot!”

  Sophie grabbed the short blade next to it and whirled to Tedros, but the prince had seen the mistake. Tedros held up his enormous sword, teeth gnashed, nostrils flaring.

  “Ready . . . and . . . go!” Espada barked—

  “AAAAHHHHH!” Tedros bellowed, charging for Filip like a bull.

  Sophie couldn’t maneuver her boy body, let alone a sword, and capsized back against the wall, fumbling for her flag. Her long, thick fingers jammed in her pocket and she looked up frantically, Tedros thundering towards her, blade raised. With a cry, Sophie yanked her kerchief free to drop it—

  Tedros tripped and landed splat at her feet.

  Sophie gaped down at him, then lifted her eyes to Hort grinning proudly, boot in Tedros’ path.

  Tedros tried to grab his sword, but Chaddick kicked it away. The prince staggered up and Ravan shot a Shock Spell at him, knocking him down. As Tedros yelped in pain, Sophie saw Hort waving and pointing at Tedros’ kerchief. Sophie calmly kneeled, pulled it out of the prince’s pocket, and dropped it to the floor.