“Then why have you been complaining about Readers the past two weeks?” Hort asked.
“Just that one Gavaldon Girl who destroyed a classroom and gives me the Evil eye every time she sees me. And not in a Good way. Bogden, on the other hand, treats me like a goddess,” Sophie said, beaming at the rat-faced boy. “So after his poor first week, I gave him the choice between being sent home or being my personal steward for the year. Looks a bit like the old you, doesn’t he, Hort? Before you started lifting weights to look like Tedros, I mean.”
Harder knocking now.
“If this is what you’re like as Dean, I can’t imagine what you’d have been like as Camelot’s queen,” said Hort.
“Psshh, no way,” Sophie said, lounging against her throne. “Presiding at court while people present their problems . . . that’s not me.”
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Oh, let them in, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie moaned.
Instantly Bogden snatched a rolled-up red carpet from behind Sophie’s throne and unfurled it across Evil Hall, shunting Nevers out of the way with catlike hisses before he flung open the doors with a courtier’s bow—
A gaggle of adults flurried down the carpet, waving wild arms and shouting so loudly that Sophie peeked around for a window to jump out of.
“You can’t yank students out of class willy-nilly!” Professor Bilious Manley yelled, pimply head flushing red.
“You can’t invite Evers into Evil castle without School Master approval!” scolded Professor Sheeba Sheeks, shaking her fists.
“You can’t turn the School Master’s tower into your own private residence!” said Yuba the Gnome, white beard twitching.
“YOU THINK THAT’S BAD? SHE MADE BATHS MANDATORY!” Castor the Dog bellowed. “FOR TEACHERS TOO.”
The others gasped.
Sophie cinched her bathrobe tighter, curlers bouncing like Christmas ornaments. “First of all, I can do whatever I want with our students since I’m Dean. Second, seeing there is no School Master, I could invite Evers to a tarheeled hootenanny if I felt like it and no one could stop me! Third, even if we have a fleet of new fairies watching the Storian, I felt more secure living beside it, given that the protection of the enchanted pen is our school’s top priority—”
“And this protection includes renovating the tower to be a five-star hotel?” Manley barked, pointing out the window at scaffolding encasing the School Master’s spire. “The stymphs’ construction on the tower has been going on for months and nearly suffocated us all with dust! We’ve had enough!”
Sophie glared. “You expected me to live in that old stone cell like Rafal once did? Without silk carpeting or a proper bathtub or 360-degree lighting?”
The teachers were speechless.
Wolf howls echoed in the hallway.
“I believe that’s your cue to get back to teaching and mine to get ready for a Dean’s Dance,” said Sophie, rising from her throne—
Evil Hall’s doors flung open once more and Clarissa Dovey marched in, silver hair fraying from her high bun, beetle wings flapping on her green teacher’s gown.
“If it is, in fact, a Dean’s Dance, then one would assume I’m invited, since I am a Dean,” she said, gliding down the red carpet, a gold vial identical to Sophie’s dangling around her neck. “Only I received no such invitation.”
“Tonight is a celebration of glamour, charisma, and hope. Despite the rather maleficent entrance, I’m afraid you’d feel quite out of place,” said Sophie coolly.
“And yet you invited my students,” said Dovey.
“Who have RSVPed in remarkable numbers,” said Sophie. “I can assure you that none of my first years would attend a dance in your castle. And if they did, the fusty old smell would surely drive them away.”
Dean Dovey’s eyes flashed. “Oh, how the School Master will cook your goose.”
“Too bad there is no School Master,” Sophie purred.
Clarissa leaned in, eye to eye. “That will soon change.”
Sophie turned dead white.
The Dean of Good swept out of the Hall, Evil’s teachers following her, until the doors slammed behind them, shaking the chandelier. A clump of S crystals fell and shattered against Sophie’s glass throne.
She hardly noticed as Bogden picked shards out of her hair, her big, spooked pupils fixed on the door.
“New School M-M-Master?” she croaked.
She saw Hort, barechested against her statue, grinning like a weasel.
“Flah-sé-dah,” he sang.
4
THE COVEN
Mission Diverted
“Let’s say a new Dean steps out of bounds—” started Hester.
“And becomes a menace to her own school,” added Anadil.
“And throws parties in honor of herself and forces everyone to take baths and makes kids eat boiled asparagus and wheatgrass,” said Dot.
“What would you do if you were School Master?” Hester finished.
The three witches each held a notebook open, feathered pen at the ready.
Seated in his rickety hut at the top of a very tall pea-tree, the Grand Vizier of Kingdom Kyrgios scratched his long, curly black beard, speckled with gold flakes like the strands of his flowing black hair. “I’m assuming this new Dean is . . . young?”
“And blond,” said Dot.
“I see,” mulled the Vizier in a deep baritone. “I would encourage this Dean to think closely about what is going on in her personal life that is affecting her professional one. Sometimes a Dean thinks a life of service is enough to bring fulfillment. And when it isn’t, they begin to push boundaries as a cry for help. A School Master can look that Dean in the eye and ask: ‘What is it you really need?’ Sometimes it’s as simple as a vacation to the salt baths in Shazabah. But sometimes it’s more than that. Much more. And it takes someone wise—deeply wise—to draw that out.”
Hester saw Anadil’s eyes flick to her before finding the Vizier’s once more. “But why would a Dean of Evil listen to you if you were School Master?” the albino girl asked. “You’re from an Ever kingdom, and no offense, even if you pledge to be ‘impartial,’ most Nevers think Evers are half-brained, milk-livered airtraps.” (Three black rats poked out of her pocket and hissed agreement.)
“Well, having two School Masters, one Good and one Evil, didn’t work out, did it?” the Vizier answered, glancing at the wooden clock on his mantel. “I suggest this time you focus on quality over quantity. Also, as I’d hope you’d have learned in your history classes, Kingdom Kyrgios was once a Never kingdom. Which means given my long life span, I’ve served both Ever and Never kings with equal success.”
Dot scribbled a few notes, her stomach burbling loudly. “Speaking of life spans, from our research, it seems you’ve been able to stay alive this long by using a variety of life-extending magic. Excuse my bluntness, but we don’t want a School Master who will drop dead his second week on the job. How much longer do you expect to live?”
“Are the crisps stale? None of you have touched them,” the Vizier said.
Hester followed his eyes to the green-colored chips stacked on a plate. Like everything else in Kyrgios, they smelled of peas, since peas were the lifeblood of the kingdom. The Kyrgians even slept inside the pea pods that hung off trees like the one they were in now. Luckily, the witches weren’t staying the night since they had another interview scheduled in Pasha Dunes the next morning.
“Not hungry. Had a big breakfast,” Hester snipped, though Dot’s stomach was rumbling like a kettledrum now. “Now if you don’t mind answering Dot’s question . . .”
“I’m confused. When is Dean Dovey joining us?” the Vizier asked, frowning. “I need to get back to work. We’ve had strange attacks of late: a rogue carriage deliberately running over people, along with reports of pirates lurking near the Four Point, which is sacred land. I made the time to come here, assuming your Dean would be present.”
“And we thank you for making that time. But
as we informed you in our letter, Dean Dovey entrusted us with the task of researching, locating, and interviewing possible School Master candidates as our fourth-year quest,” Hester spouted, as if she’d had to say this many times before. “Though we check in with Dean Dovey regularly, she will only be meeting with our final nominees.”
The Vizier smiled blandly. “So Dovey remains in her glass towers fussing over lunch menus and school dances while she leaves the crucial work of choosing a School Master, protecting the Storian, and defending the balance of our world to . . . children.”
“Children who have spent the last six months meeting with some of the most illustrious heroes and villains in the Woods,” said Anadil.
“Children who have sought out candidates in floating mountains, cloud forests, piranha lakes, active volcanoes, ice castles, mermaid lagoons, elephant graveyards, and the belly of a very large whale,” said Dot.
“Children who will do whatever it takes to find the right person for the job, because this is our fairy-tale quest,” said Hester, demon tattoo twitching on her neck.
“Wouldn’t you rather be fighting a giant or elf-prince so you can get your name in a storybook?” the Vizier said, becoming serious. “This all feels like a leader sending their henchmen to get the job done. And that never turns out well.”
“Unless the leader knows we are the only people who can get the job done,” said Hester. “Because this is a quest that will shape Good and Evil for a long time to come and our coven cares more about that than having our names in a storybook, which is precisely why Professor Dovey picked us in the first place. And if she—the Dean of our enemy school—is willing to put the fate of the Woods in our hands rather than her own or anyone else’s, then I suggest you stop worrying about our ages and start worrying about how to best respect the students you so wisely expect to lead.”
The Vizier gaped at her.
“That’s all,” chimed Dot, turning a pea-crisp to chocolate and flouncing with her friends out of his hut.
A moment later Dot shuffled back in. “Can you help us get down from this tree?”
Dovey checked in with them each day at one o’clock, so the witches found a place to settle for lunch in Eternal Springs, a small jungle kingdom fifteen miles from Kyrgios. Eternal Springs was populated entirely by animals since it rained nearly every day of the year, and despite the abundance of greenery and food, no human or sentient creature wanted to live in a place that wet. As the witches waded through lush thickets and colorful flowers in their dumpy black dresses and boots, Hester could see deer, storks, and squirrels watching them as if they were an eclipse of the sun.
They’d been on foot most of these past six months, since the Flowerground had restored only limited service after being ravaged during the previous School Master’s reign. Along the way, they’d seen wonderful, curious things: the kingdom of Kasatkina, ruled entirely by cats; the Night Pools in Netherwood, which brought your worst fears to life; the Living Library in Pifflepaff Hills, which had ancestry scrolls on every soul in the Woods, kept by a very large bat; and the Caves of Contempo in Borna Coric, where time ran backwards. They’d even taken a ride aboard the legendary Blue-Boned Stymph, from which they’d had a rare view of the Four Point: a small, square plot of land at the intersection of four kingdoms. It was the site of King Arthur’s last battle, where he’d been mortally wounded, and was now considered a truce mark between Good and Evil, explained Hester, who’d read about it in A Student’s History of the Woods. Camelot’s flag flew high over the land, whose boundaries were guarded by four walls made of rushing waterfalls, enchanted by the Lady of the Lake. If anyone got close enough that even a drop of water touched their skin, the Lady would reach out and drown them. The girls had made sure to stay at a safe distance as they flew on to their next interview in Hamelin.
But that was back when they’d first started, when the search for a School Master was marvelous fun, no matter how tiring or dangerous. Endless travel in the summer heat had taken its toll: Dot had blisters and an aching lower back, Hester’s demon had a perpetual frown, and even Anadil’s albino-white skin had the hint of a tan. At least they were safe here in Eternal Springs, if a little damp, and after six months of crossing in and out of new kingdoms, all in pursuit of the best possible candidates they could take back to their Dean . . . well, safety was about as much as they could ask for.
Finding a spot under a well-canopied palm, Hester whipped up a lunch of avocados and custard-apples that she’d snapped off trees, while Anadil cracked open a few coconuts filled with sweet water and Dot spread out sheets of crumpled old newspaper she’d dug out of her bag so they wouldn’t have to sit in wet dirt. For ten minutes, they ate silently as rain spritzed around them, the three witches lost in their own heads, before they came out of their fugue all at once, like best friends often do.
“I thought this last one was the most promising so far,” Anadil said, watching her rats wrestle over a dead caterpillar.
“Pea-man?” Dot snarfled, mouth full.
“Calm, reasonable . . . I can see him in the School Master’s tower,” Anadil continued, slurping coconut water. “Even more than the Ice Giant from Frostplains, the fairy-rights activist from Gillikin, or that monkey king from Runyon Mills.”
“None of them have been right,” muttered Hester. “We can do better.”
“At some point, we have to pick someone, Hester. It’s been six months,” said Anadil. “Without a School Master, the Storian is vulnerable. So are the Woods.”
“I liked the Augur of Ladelflop,” said Dot. “He told me I was pretty.”
“He was blind,” snapped Anadil.
“Oh. Pea-man was better, then,” said Dot.
“We have to pick someone by the wedding,” Anadil resolved, giving Hester a wary look. “We’re not missing the wedding, right?”
Hester paused, picking at her food before looking up. “No. We’re not missing the wedding.”
Anadil sighed softly.
“No letters from Agatha in months, though,” Dot said, sliding off her boots. “Not since the one where she pretended like everything at Camelot was peaches and roses. Hope the wedding’s still on.”
“Dovey would have told us if it wasn’t,” said Anadil.
“I knew we should have been at the coronation. Maybe we could have stopped everything from going belly-up,” said Dot.
“Finding a new School Master was more important than watching Tedros make an ass of himself . . . again,” said Hester, pulling back her red-and-black hair. “I’m sure he’ll give a repeat performance in two months.”
“The wedding’s that soon?” Dot said.
“Here comes the ‘wedding diet.’ Let me guess: everything you touch will turn to kim-chi,” Anadil cracked.
“Noooo ma’am. No more diets. I’ve been fat, I’ve been thin. Fat is better, no matter what Daddy says,” Dot piped, digging into her chocolate-avocado pudding. “I just mean time is going fast and we haven’t found a School Master yet.”
They suddenly noticed Hester had gone quiet, squinting at her food.
“Hester?” Dot prodded.
Hester lifted her half-eaten avocado and studied the newspaper beneath the dish. “How old is this paper?”
“Um, got it in Gillikin . . . so like three weeks ago?” said Dot.
Hester leaned in, inspecting the headlines on the crusty parchment:
PIRATES TAKE OVER PORTS IN JAUNT JOLIE; NUMBERS GROWING
KIDNAPPING FOILED IN RAINBOW GALE
FIRE AT GLASS MOUNTAIN ORCHARD
Her stomach twisted. Every single headline involved one of their classmates’ quests. Beatrix was leading the charge against vicious pirates in Jaunt Jolie; Vex and Mona were supposed to kidnap the Seer of Rainbow Gale who’d been helping Evers cheat their happy endings; Kiko was with the group tending the consecrated orchard atop Glass Mountain. . . .
And from the headlines, it didn’t sound like any of it was going well.
“What�
�s wrong?” Anadil asked, her rats peeking up from their meal.
Hester put her own food down, obscuring the parchment. No use worrying her friends over old news. Besides, was it her fault if her classmates were incompetent twits and failing their missions? Right now, she had her own quest to worry about.
She turned to her friends. “Are you sure we’re asking the right questions?”
“You mean should we be asking candidates if they like candlelit dinners and walks on the beach?” said Anadil. “After six months, eighty interviews, and I don’t know how many nights listening to Dot fart in her sleep, now you’re wondering if we’re asking the right questions?”
“It was those lentil cakes in Drupathi,” Dot lamented.
“I just keep thinking about what Lady Lesso would do if she was here,” Hester said, “because it feels like everyone we meet is saying exactly what we want to hear. Like how do we know Mr. Calm and Reasonable won’t turn into psychotic Rafal the moment he gets near the Storian?”
Dot and Anadil had no defense.
“Look, I know some are definitely better than others,” said Hester, “but this is the future School Master we’re talking about—the protector of the pen that rules all our lives—and we can’t make a mistake.”
“But we also can’t read their minds,” pushed Anadil. “And the longer we wait, the more chance there is that someone swoops in and tries to fill the School Master’s place on his own. Someone as bad as Rafal. Or worse. And then who are the Woods going to turn to for help? The King of Camelot, like they used do? Tedros? You think he can lead? You think he can unite Good and Evil? He couldn’t even get through his own coronation!”
Hester watched her avocado turn black.
“Besides, it’s not like we’re making the final decision. We just have to give Dovey a shortlist. The final decision is up to her—” Anadil persisted.
“It’s up to both Deans,” Hester shot back. “Do you really want Sophie picking the next School Master? After she fell in love with the last one?”
Quests for Glory Page 5