by Marissa Burt
“Nonsense,” Elton said. “The new copies are good enough. You know that the ink from before the Unbinding is unstable. Archimago said that—”
“Archimago said a lot of things,” George said with a frown as he handed several papers over to Elton. “But Archimago is gone. The other Talekeepers want to know why you won’t consider any new policies. What harm is there in reading the old Tales?”
“Harm?” Elton snatched the papers from him. “Only the harm of spitting on the graves of the innocents. Have you forgotten what the Muses did? Why would you seek out the old ways when that age ended in such darkness?”
George’s face turned red, and he cast his eyes down to the floor. “I don’t seek out the old ways, Tale Master. And I honor the memory of the fallen. But you must know that the characters grow weary of the same tired Tales. They are saying that everything is too predictable. They are saying that they would rather not be characters at all than make boring stereotypical Tales.”
“I know what they are saying!” Elton banged his hand down on Peter’s desk, and Peter flinched in his seat. “And they are fools. Nothing good can come of reading the old Tales. Your time is better spent locating the missing books.”
Peter saw George’s fists clench at his sides.
“Oh, I heard all about it, George,” Elton sneered. “The other Talekeepers told me. Three more books missing from your district?” His voice turned sharp again. “Just focus on your job, George. And if you don’t have the accounting to me by the end of the day today, you’ll be fired.”
Elton swiveled to face him and caught Peter staring. “What are you looking at, Merriweather?” His mouth creased into an unpleasant smile. “You’ve just earned yourself an extra detention this afternoon. Next time, mind your own business.”
Chapter 8
Won’t your parents be worried about you?” Peter asked as he slid a tray of food onto the table. Una had just woken when Peter had knocked on her closet door on his way back from detention, and now they were in the Woodland Room eating breakfast.
Una rubbed at a sooty spot that wouldn’t come out of her woolen dress. Peter had brought her a sackful of borrowed clothes, but she hadn’t had a chance to change into them yet. “I haven’t seen them since I was a little girl.” She debated telling the lies that had slipped off her tongue so easily in her old life. My parents are international diplomats. They’re in the Peace Corps. They work for the CIA and have to live at a top secret safe house. Una avoided Peter’s gaze and cut into a stack of pancakes. “The truth is that my parents just left one day. I was too young to remember them, but my social worker said that I woke up one morning and they were . . . gone.”
“Oh,” said Peter, a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Una said, pouring hot syrup over her plate. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, really.” And she was most of the time. Except on her birthday. And Christmas. Una pushed the memories aside. No matter what had happened to Una’s parents, they couldn’t help her now.
“Tell me about detention,” Una said in a way that ended the discussion about her parents. Sam joined them and settled himself in at the table with a huge stretch. After Una scooted a dish of milk over to him, Peter announced, “Elton knows you’re a WI.”
“What?” Una’s fork clanked onto her plate. “How does he know?”
“He knows?” Sam said as he looked up from his milk. “But we know that he knows.” He blinked. “And he doesn’t know that we know that he knows.”
“Not helpful, Sam.” Peter shook his head. He told them about the strange woman and Elton.
Una felt like throwing up. “Someone I’ve never met wants to dispose of me?” She pushed her plate off to the side, and Sam sniffed the leftover pancakes eagerly. “And Elton wants to blame me for all the things going wrong in Story?” She began drumming her fingers on the table. There had to be something she could do. Some way she could fight back. Una tapped her fingers harder. “I can’t tell which is worse. Being blamed for everything or being hunted like a mouse. Just great.”
Peter swatted at her hands. “Can you stop doing that for one second? This is important!”
Una scowled at him. “Don’t you think I know that it’s important? The guy in charge of everything is after me. I get it. Just give me a minute, okay?”
Peter didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he coughed. “Well, he’s not in charge of everything. Just his Talekeepers, and they tell him what’s going on in their districts, and then he approves all the copies of the old Tales and does a bunch of other administrative stuff for Perrault and—” Peter looked up then and saw Una’s glare. He hurried on. “But the point is, he’ll be following you, Una, and—”
“I’ve got that part,” Una said shortly. Like she needed to be reminded that, in a land full of people who hated WIs, the most important character of all was going to be watching her.
“You’ve just got to find out why you’re here before anyone else does,” Peter said importantly. “That way he can’t connect you with the Muses.”
“Great. I’ll get right on that.” She leaned back in her seat. “Who is this woman, let’s call her Red, that she’s got the guy in charge of everything”—she looked pointedly at Peter—“oh, sorry, the Tale Master, doing whatever she says?”
But no one had an answer, and Peter started stacking the empty breakfast dishes. “Whoever she is, she found out you’ve been Written In,” he finally said. “And she wanted Elton to know. But they can’t get to whoever Wrote you In, or they wouldn’t be using you as bait for this big threat they’re worried about,” he reasoned. “That’s something, right?”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Una snorted. “That someone they’re afraid of Wrote me In?”
Peter held his hands up. “I’m just saying we have a little bit of an advantage. Besides, there’s more to it than that.” He told them about what George had said.
“Maybe he’ll be so busy worrying about his Talekeepers that he’ll forget about me,” Una said hopefully as she placed the stacked dishes on a tray.
“Not likely.” Peter wiped his hands on a napkin. “I think he’ll do whatever Red says.”
Una carried the tray over to the counter and returned to the table with a cloth. “Well, is she a Talekeeper?”
Peter’s voice sounded thoughtful. “I don’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure. She never took off her hood. She looked like she might be from Horror Hollow.” He explained how the air had gone all icy cold when Red had entered and left Elton’s office. “Maybe we should keep you hidden so they can’t find you. The blanket closet—”
“Is not an option,” Una said with finality as she wiped the last of the crumbs off the tabletop. “Besides, if I hide away, they’ll know that we’re on to them.” She scratched behind Sam’s ears. “After all, they don’t know that we know that they know.” Una felt a glimmer of hope. She smiled wickedly. “As long as they think I’m their little mouse, I’m safe.”
Peter put on his cloak. “For now, Elton’s pretending that he buys my lie that you’re a transfer student and has agreed to let you attend classes until your paperwork comes through. And”—he brought out a small sheet of folded paper—“you’ve got a room and a roommate.”
Una scanned the campus map he handed her along with a key. She looked at the building circled in red. “Grimm Dorm? That doesn’t sound promising.”
“I bet it’s nicer than my dorm,” Peter said, leading her down a hallway. “Boys aren’t allowed in girls’ rooms, but I’ll take you as far as the gardens.”
Sam made an impossibly high arch with his back. “I’m off to Eating,” he said, and disappeared into a cluster of cats.
Una laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Eating’s a required course every term for all the animals,” Peter said as though this was the most normal thing in the world. “We won’t take it until next term.”
“No way,” Una said. “What can you possibly learn in Eating class?”
Peter ducked into a room. “Cooking. Baking. Foraging. You do all those things in a Tale.” He skirted a grand piano and a harp resting in its stand next to it. “And the best ones make you want to go rummage through your cupboards for a snack. Do you think that comes easily?”
They had arrived at a pair of glass doors that emptied out into a courtyard. It seemed like everything in Birchwood Hall led out into a courtyard.
“Well, this is where I leave you.” Peter turned to go. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour, so we can go to class. Good luck.”
Una wished so much that she could hole up in her old library desk and escape from the world a little bit. Instead, she squared her shoulders and made her way down the twisty gravel path bordered by a crumbling stone wall. Small trees and shrubs stripped of their spring splendor crouched near the ground. In one corner, an outdoor fireplace crackled. Two students sat bundled up in front of the fire. They waved to Una as she passed.
The whole roommate situation bothered Una. Nothing good had ever come from sharing a room with her foster siblings. And what kind of girl doesn’t have a roommate yet?
The trees were bigger farther down the path, and their branches were not quite bare. A squirrel scolded her, and a shower of red and gold leaves fell down onto her head. A weathered sign read: GRIMM DORM, FIFTY PACES.
Una followed the path as it wound off to the right. And in forty-nine paces, she climbed a little hill and saw it. The top of a thatch-roofed cottage peeked over a brick wall. Clouds of smoke puffed from the chimneys that were stacked, a little off-kilter, on the roof. The building was not quite level, and some of its edges appeared round while others tilted at funny angles.
Once inside, Una found the stairs and hurried down the long narrow hall to her room. Holding her breath, she knocked. When she didn’t hear an answer, she turned her key in the lock and pushed open the heavy door.
Una stood in the doorway for several seconds. She had no words. It was bad enough that the girl lounging on one of the beds looked like a snooty, fairy-tale princess. What was worse was that Una recognized her. The girl from Peter’s exam!
The Lady Snow ran perfectly manicured fingers through her short dark hair, humming an unrecogniz-able tune. Small birds twittered to each other as they pulled a garment out of the bureau that lined one wall and folded it into a brown leather satchel.
Snow turned and fixed her shockingly blue eyes on Una. “Ah . . . my new roomie,” she said.
Una tripped on a woven rug, fell against the dresser, and with a half turn, dropped onto her bottom at Snow’s feet. “Hi,” she said in a small voice from her spot on the floor. Shoot. She hopped to her feet and stuck out her hand. “I’m Una. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
Snow looked down at Una’s hand and went back to finger-combing her hair. “I’m Snow. So glad to see you again. Really.” She snapped her fingers at the birds, who had stopped to watch. “I don’t have all day,” she said. Two small rabbits scurried across the room and rummaged in the satchel.
Una stared at the birds, who had collapsed in a little heap on the dresser, wings spread and tiny chests heaving. Suddenly, it hit her. Snow. “Wait—are you Snow White?”
Snow laughed. “Didn’t they teach you anything at your old school? The real Snow White finished her Tale ages ago.” She examined the manicured red nail on her index finger. “Look. Una. Whoever you are, you can drop the dumb and naive act.” Snow stood up and glared down at Una. “I don’t care why you’re here. I don’t care why Elton forced me to take you as a roommate. I only know that because of you . . . I failed my practical.”
Una took a step back as Snow moved toward her.
Snow punctuated each phrase with her pointing red fingernail. “That’s right. Failed. So . . . whoever you are . . . whyever you’re here . . . stay out of my way.”
Una didn’t know what to say. One of the little birds raised a tiny head and looked sympathetically at her. At least Una thought it was sympathetic. It was hard to tell with birds.
“Are you stupid as well as ugly?” Snow asked. “Hello! Anyone home?”
“I heard what you said.” Una forced her mouth into a smile. Maybe she could request a different roommate. But that would probably mean asking for Mr. Elton’s help. Her cheeks started to hurt. Better to avoid Elton as much as possible. Una opened her satchel and began to put away the clothes Peter had borrowed for her.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Snow interrupted. “The bureau’s mine, dear. I’m sure you understand. Princess-in-training and all that.” Snow gave an affected little laugh and plopped back down onto the bed.
Una didn’t say anything.
After a too-long pause, Snow went on, “I have ever so many garments, you see. My aunt insists I only wear the newest fashions. How very . . . quaint . . . your dress is. I always wish I could have such”—Snow paused dramatically—“simple tastes, but Auntie makes me shop at Lady Godiva’s.”
Another affected laugh from Snow. Another short silence. Quaint. Simple. Instantly, Una felt frumpy and out of fashion. She folded the rest of the garments Peter had borrowed for her. For each item Snow had a commentary: That one was adorable. Another, darling. Una was a dear for liking such plain things. Una gritted her teeth.
What would happen if she threw all of Snow’s pretty dresses out the window? But that would probably mean getting in trouble. Snow’s not worth that. Una tucked her satchel under the bed and gathered her cloak.
Snow’s giggles subsided, and she sat up, cross-legged, on her bed. “I heard Peter Merriweather is in love with you,” she said. “Is it true?”
Yeah, right. Una smiled sweetly at Snow. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
“What about the things you see?” Snow hopped up and peered into the mirror. She tied a ribbon under her hair and pulled it over her forehead to make a crimson headband. “I could have sworn he was as surprised as me to find you in that cave,” Snow went on, tying off the nearly perfect bow. “You know, the examiners were very interested in your appearance in the practical. I rather think they want to know more about you.” She paused and studied her reflection. “I told them I didn’t know anything, of course, but I suppose soon I’ll know everything about you, what with us being roomies!” Snow snatched her cloak from a peg on the wall and snapped her fingers. A squirrel raced up and leaned against a button that released the dorm room door. She turned to give Una one more fake smile and said over her shoulder, “And if we have any roommate problems, I’m sure the examiners will be glad to help. Right, roomie?”
Chapter 9
Una wrapped her cloak more tightly about her shoulders and readjusted the satchel Peter had loaned her. “She was awful, you guys. I am so not overexaggerating.”
“Snow’s not that bad,” Peter said as he led the way down the wooded path.
“You don’t have to live with her,” Una said. Snow’s threat about the Examiners unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. “Let’s just say I’ll be spending as little time in my dorm room as possible.”
Peter handed Una a red apple. “Rooming with Snow has to be better than the blanket closet.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Una said. She twisted the apple stem until it popped off. “I just hope she’s not in all of my classes. Does everybody take the same ones?”
“That depends on your District,” Peter said. “Take Outdoor Experiential Questing, for example. Fantasy folk have that each term, we just learn different things.”
Una took a big bite of apple as Peter listed his other classes. “Heroics and Villainy are both required for everyone at first, but then after three semesters, you get placed in one or the other.”
“But everyone can’t be a Hero or a Villain,” Una said.
Peter pushed an overgrown branch out of the way. “Well, that’s not exactly true. Most characters in Story are pretty clear-cut. You either learn how to save the day
or how to try and destroy everything.”
“But that’s not right,” Una argued. “In real life, no one is completely good or completely bad. People are mixed-up jumbles of everything.” She told Peter about one of the mean girls at Saint Anselm’s who made fun of kids for the clothes they wore but always gave money to the homeless man who sat at the bus stop.
“Well, things are different in stories,” Peter said.
“You’re telling me,” Una said.
The path opened up into a grassy square where groups of students bustled down the worn trails that led off in different directions. Most of them wore cloaks of some sort to guard against the chill morning air. It was obvious to Una where some students belonged. She knew that the girl with the magnifying glass was most likely learning to solve a mystery, and the boy in the sleek space suit belonged in a science fiction Tale. But others were more difficult to place. She wished she had explored the library at Saint Anselm’s more. Where did the boy in the kilt fit? The girl with a feathered hat? And what about me? Where would she get classified if her whole future was decided for her with one stroke of a Talekeeper’s pen?
“Do you ever get to learn what you want?” she asked.
Peter considered. “Well, after your first year, you can choose some electives. They pretty much have to fit in with your course of study and your district, though. Since I’m in the Fantasy District, I won’t go taking Rodeo Riding class or something.”
“Rodeo Riding? Very useful.”
“Sure it is,” Peter said as he sidestepped a group of clowns practicing their juggling. “If you’re training to be a Cowboy. I’d rather take Jousting myself, but I guess I’ll have to see. Maybe I’ll have to retake the unit on dragons after failing that Heroics practical.” He smiled as he said it, but his eyes looked worried.
“Snow said the examiners at her review panel were curious about me.” Una ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach and nibbled around her apple core.