The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time

by Soman Chainani

  “You were talking about heat vision,” said Agatha tersely.

  “Right. That’s my villain talent: being able to sense bodies in darkness—even through hard objects. So I convinced Professor Sheeks to let me take a stymph to Camelot at night with one of the nymphs onboard, since stymphs hate villains and it would have eaten me without a guard from Good,” Aja prattled. “We flew high above so Rhian’s men on the towers couldn’t see us. But if the dungeon is near the side of the hill, I should have been able to detect the bodies underground, and . . . I couldn’t see a thing.”

  “Aja, no offense, but you can’t even find the toilet in the middle of the night and I know that for a fact,” said Valentina, giving Agatha a sordid glance. (Agatha pursed her lips.) “So just because you can’t see the dungeon doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

  “Honeybear, I placed top rank in Professor Sheeks’ class six challenges in a row,” Aja defended.

  “Because your real talent is brownnosing teachers,” said Valentina.

  Agatha couldn’t think with all this sniping, plus there was a strange stink wafting from Group #6 nearby. (“Smells like a skunk den on a Friday night!” she heard Princess Uma gasp.)

  “What about mogrification?” Agatha asked. “Can’t we turn into worms or scorpions and sneak into the castle and find the jail?”

  “Magic doesn’t work in dungeons,” said Laithan, glancing at his teammates, and this time even the Evil ones agreed. He peered at Agatha. “You don’t know that?”

  “We’re all in Yuba’s Forest Group and he had that question on our first test. Seemed pretty basic,” Bodhi piled on.

  Agatha started to sweat. In times of stress, she always emerged the leader. But these kids were making her feel like an idiot. Fine, so she didn’t know where the dungeons were; when she’d lived at Camelot, she’d been told the castle was impenetrable. Why would she go hunting for ways to invade it? And why should she remember every detail from a class three years ago? Especially when she was tired and anxious and focused on saving her friends’ lives? Meanwhile, these amateurs were staring at her, so cocksure and poised, as if she had something to prove to them.

  Agatha stood taller. “So we don’t know exactly where the dungeon is. Let’s address that,” she said, the stink from Group #6 getting worse. “What about sneaking in as guards or maids and searching the castle? Or taking a cook hostage and demanding to know where the prisoners are being kept? What about sending a gift with a bunch of us hidden inside? Then boo, we attack!”

  The young Evers and Nevers shifted uncomfortably.

  “Those are really bad ideas,” said Aja.

  “For once I agree with Aja,” said Valentina. “Rhian is very smart. He’d suspect a bunch of lost-looking maids or a gift with things whispering inside like a chupacabra.”

  “Plus, the Snake has a Quest Map,” Bodhi said to Agatha. “If you get anywhere near that castle, he’d know.”

  Agatha bristled, feeling even more defensive than before . . . but deep down she knew they were right. Her plans were stupid. Yet there was no brilliant plan waiting for her to think of it. There was no perfect secret entrance or dodgy gate or magical spell that would get them into Camelot undetected. And even if there were, there was certainly no way to get Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, and nine other prisoners out.

  “I’ll lock this in my office for you, dear,” said Professor Anemone, sidling up to her and slipping Dovey’s bag off her arm.

  “No, I’ll keep it with me,” Agatha batted, holding it tight. “Merlin ordered me not to let it out of my sight.”

  “Say no more,” her teacher replied. “Ooh, I see you’ve met the boys of Honor 52. Be strict with Bodhi and Laithan. Don’t let them flirt their way out of trouble. You’re their commander now.”

  “The teachers’ commander too,” said Princess Uma, approaching. “We’re here to help you. And my animals will join the fight.”

  “As will the wolves and fairies,” said Yuba the Gnome, waddling up to them. “And don’t forget the rest of the fourth years: Ravan, Vex, and a few others are in the clinic, recovering from the Battle of the Four Point, while the remainder of the class are on their way back to school from their various quest sites. You have a whole army at your service, Agatha. But my Forest Group just told me you’ve yet to decide on a plan. Think harder, my girl. Camelot isn’t just your home; it’s your domain. You know its weaknesses, along with the new king’s. Somewhere inside you, you know how to rescue your friends. Somewhere inside, you have the plan. And now we need to hear it.”

  Heads poked up from workstations, all eyes on Camelot’s princess. The theater went as quiet as a church on Halloween.

  “The plan?” Agatha’s voice came out a croak. She cleared her throat, hoping it would magically produce a strategy. “Yes. Um—”

  “YOU SMELLY HOUSE APES!”

  Everyone turned to see Castor kicking two boys’ rumps at Station #6. “DOVEY’S IN PRISON, KING’S ’BOUT TO DIE, AND YOU’RE MAKIN’ DUNGBOMBS!”

  “Flaming dungbombs!” a puny blond named BERT pipped.

  “Smell Missiles!” a fellow blond named BECKETT added. “The perfect weapon!”

  “I’LL SHOW YOU THE PERFECT WEAPON!” Castor swiped a newspaper off the Group #6 table and thrashed both boys with it. “ONE MORE DUNGBOMB AND IT’S THE DOOM ROOM!”

  “We’re Evers!” Bert and Beckett protested.

  “EVEN BETTER!” Castor barked, walloping them harder.

  Noxious fumes spread out of control, sending groups ducking for cover. Agatha seized on the distraction and hustled to Group #6’s table, where a boy and girl were poring over the newspapers Castor hadn’t swiped, undeterred by Bert and Beckett’s stink-plot.

  These two look clever, Agatha thought. Maybe they’ve found something I haven’t.

  “Welcome to Forest Group #6,” said a bald, ghostly Everboy named DEVAN with dark eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones. “Pleasure to be in your company, Princess Agatha. You are as regal and lovely as your fairy tale promised.”

  “She has a boyfriend, Devan,” said a dark Nevergirl with ice-blue hair, matching eyes, and a choker strung with mini-skulls. Her name tag read LARALISA. She slipped her hand around Devan’s waist. “And you’re spoken for too, so don’t lay it on too thick.”

  Agatha’s eyes widened at the sight of an Ever and a Never so brazenly dating (Lady Lesso tried to murder Tedros and Sophie when they’d done it), but now Devan was pushing one of the newspapers towards her across the overturned pew.

  “Take a look at today’s Camelot Courier,” he said.

  Agatha scanned the front page—

  IDENTITY OF SNAKE STILL IN QUESTION

  Castle Refuses to Comment on the Face Under the Mask

  SNAKE’S BODY MISSING, SAYS CRYPTKEEPER

  Garden of Good & Evil Has No Reports of Snake’s Burial

  DOUBTS RAISED ABOUT KING’S NEW LIEGE

  Where Was Japeth When the Snake Was on the Loose?

  Laralisa dropped another paper on top. “Now look at the Royal Rot.”

  Agatha hunched over Camelot’s colorful tabloid, known for its ludicrous conspiracy theories and outright lies.

  CRYPTKEEPER DEBUNKED!

  Snake’s Burial Confirmed in Necro Ridge

  JAPETH REVEALS

  “My Brother Stopped Me from Fighting the Snake

  —Rhian Wanted to Protect Me!”

  COURIER OF LIES

  80% OF STORIES PROVEN FALSE!

  “The usual horsecrap,” muttered Agatha. “But it doesn’t matter. No one in Camelot will ever believe a word the Rot says, no matter what Rhian has them print.”

  “It’s not the people of Camelot we’re worried about,” said Laralisa.

  She slid a few more papers in front of Agatha.

  THE NETHERWOOD VILLAIN DIGEST

  CAMELOT DISPUTES CRYPTKEEPER!

  Snake Buried in Necro Ridge!

  THE MALABAR HILLS MIRROR

  KING RHIAN VINDICATED

/>   Snake’s Body Verified in Secret Tomb!

  THE PIFFLEPAFF POST

  KEEPER OF LIES! Snake’s Body Found in Garden of Good & Evil

  “Rhian’s fingerprints are all over this,” said Laralisa. “He knows the Courier is onto him. So he’s making sure the other kingdoms parrot his lies.”

  “And the other kingdoms go along with it because they trust anything Rhian says,” Agatha realized. “In their eyes, he killed the Snake. He killed a deadly villain attacking their kingdoms. He saved them. The people of the Woods don’t know it’s a lie. They don’t know he’s playing them for fools. The Storian knows and we know.”

  “And the Courier’s getting close,” said Laralisa. “But Rhian’s discredited the Storian, he’s discredited Tedros, he’s discredited you, he’s discredited the school, and now he’s discrediting the Courier. Even if we did have proof to show the people that the Snake is still alive—and we don’t—no one would listen to us.”

  “Courier might not even be around long enough to back us up,” Devan noted, pulling open its pages. “They’re on the run, printing in secret, and Rhian’s men are hunting their reporters. And the more they’re on the run, the more they’re grasping at straws. Look at these headlines. It’s like something out of the Rot.”

  MESSAGE IN BOTTLE FOUND: “SNAKE IS STILL ALIVE!”

  MISTRAL SISTERS HIRED AS KING’S ADVISORS? SIGHTING THROUGH CASTLE WINDOW

  PRINCESS SOPHIE SECRETLY TRADES FOR FRIEND’S RELEASE

  Agatha quickly honed in on this last story.

  Until now, the people of the Woods believed that Lionsmane was the pen of the King. Indeed, at his coronation, King Rhian made it clear that unlike the Storian, which was controlled by shadowy magic, his pen could be trusted. His pen would care about all people, rich or poor, young or old, Good or Evil—just like he cared about all people when he saved them from the Snake.

  But according to an anonymous source, last night Princess Sophie and King Rhian struck an unusual deal over a dinner of fish soup and pistachio cake. The deal was this: Sophie would be the one to write Lionsmane’s tales, not Rhian. And in return, Sophie’s friend and former suitor, Hort of Bloodbrook, would be set free from the Camelot dungeons.

  Our source offered no reason for this deal, but made it clear: it’s the princess who is composing Lionsmane’s words, not the king.

  What does this mean? First, it means King Rhian lied about Lionsmane being his pen, since Sophie writes its tales. At the same time, Tedros loyalists have been hoping Sophie is secretly still on Tedros’ side and working against the new king. But if Sophie is writing Lionsmane’s messages, then those hopes are misguided and she is firmly behind the king’s agenda.

  Agatha’s heart thumped harder.

  On the one hand, the story couldn’t be true. Sophie would never write Lionsmane’s tales. She would never promote a phony king’s propaganda. She would certainly never eat cake.

  And yet, as much as she dreaded doing interviews with the Courier and its invasive reporters . . . the Courier never lied. And then there was that curious phrase—“a deal was struck”—which seemed to stand out on the page . . .

  As the dung fumes cleared and Devan and Laralisa conferred with fellow group members ROWAN, DRAGO, and MALI, who had returned to the table, Agatha found herself wandering to the back of the theater. She gazed out into the Evers’ foyer and its glass sundome overhead, Lionsmane’s message about young Hristo glowing gold in the sky.

  Agatha read the message again and again and again.

  Until she was quite sure.

  There was something off about it.

  Not the story or language or tone . . . but something.

  Something that told her the story in the Courier was true. That Sophie had written this message. That she was up to something, even if Agatha didn’t know what it was yet.

  The Courier had assumed the worst, of course. No one in their right mind would trust Sophie to risk herself for Tedros, a boy who’d rejected her again and again.

  But Agatha trusted her.

  Which meant that even with Sophie under a king’s eye, facing mortal danger, and a pawn of the enemy, she was still fighting for her friends.

  And here Agatha was, free and clear, with a school full of students ready to serve her, and nothing to show for it except sweaty palms and a nervous rash. Meanwhile, without direction, the groups around her seemed to be losing their way. Group #8’s Evers and Nevers were having a loud row over whether they should kill or wound Rhian when they found him; Group #3 was debating whether Merlin was alive or dead; Group #7 battled with a hairy, three-eyed Never named BOSSAM, who insisted Rhian was a better king than Tedros; Group #4 heatedly argued over a diagram of Arthur’s family tree . . .

  Agatha felt even more useless watching these upstarts, so passionate and engaged, while she continued to flag, her body sleepy, hungry, and Dovey’s infernal bag still on her arm, weighing her down—

  Bag.

  Agatha froze.

  Something sparked inside her, like a torch in the night.

  Lionsmane’s message. Now she knew why it was off.

  “When’s the execution?” she asked, rushing back to Group #6.

  Devan fidgeted. “Uh, you mean . . .”

  “My boyfriend’s execution. Yes. When is it?” Agatha pressed.

  “Saturday,” said Laralisa. “But the wedding festivities start today with the Blessing at Camelot’s church.”

  “And the events are open to the public?” Agatha asked.

  Devan looked at his girlfriend. “Um, as far as we kno—”

  Agatha spun to the other groups. “Listen here!”

  Students kept arguing at their stations.

  Agatha’s fingertip seared gold and she shot a comet through the hall. “I said listen here.”

  Evers and Nevers lurched to attention.

  “Tedros’ execution will take place at Sophie and Rhian’s wedding in less than a week,” Agatha announced. “There’ll be events leading up to the wedding. Forest Group #6, you’ll be leaving to attend the Blessing shortly.”

  Devan, Laralisa, and the rest of their team gaped at each other.

  “Um . . . what are we doing there?” Devan asked.

  “While they’re at the Blessing, Group #1, you’ll go to the dungeons,” Agatha continued.

  Bodhi snorted. Laithan, Valentina, Aja, and the rest of their group looked equally incredulous.

  “You just talked to us about how we don’t know where the dungeons are,” said Bodhi.

  “Or how to get in,” said Laithan.

  “And they’re not trained in combat yet,” Professor Espada added.

  “Nor in death traps,” said Professor Manley, stalking into the theater.

  “Nor in animal communication,” said Princess Uma.

  “Nor in talent manipulation,” said Professor Sheeks.

  “NOR IN BASIC COMMON SENSE,” said Castor.

  “How can they possibly go to the dungeons if they don’t know where they are? How will they elude the guards?” Professor Anemone asked, wringing her hands.

  “Magic,” said Agatha.

  “They’ve had two days of magic lessons,” Manley scoffed.

  “More than enough,” Agatha replied.

  Valentina raised her hand. “Excuse me, Miss Princess Agatha? Didn’t you hear us before? Magic doesn’t work in dungeons—”

  “Which means we can’t get to Tedros or Professor Dovey or anyone else,” Aja agreed. “There’s zero way for us to break in.”

  “You’re not supposed to break in,” Agatha answered calmly.

  She smiled at the bewildered faces and held Professor Dovey’s crystal ball tighter at her side . . .

  “You’re supposed to break them out.”

  8

  HORT

  Someday My Weasel Will Come

  When Hort was a child, a pirate boy named Dabo used to bully him by roping him to a tree and putting things down his pants. Roaches, leeches, ant
s, cat poo, spiders, pee-filled snow, and once a stolen hawk egg, which the mother hawk came for, leaving Hort with ten stitches in his thigh.

  But none of this compared to the sheer torture of having one of the Snake’s slimy, sticky eels worm down his shirt, probing every inch of skin.

  Hort stood stiffly in the corner of Sophie’s bedroom, clad in a poofy, ill-fitting white tunic and matching harem pants that he had to double-knot so they wouldn’t fall down. He focused on the sounds of the bath running and Sophie’s faint humming as the eel roamed over his chest. He tried not to scream.

  His release from the dungeons had come with a price. A scim stuck to him like a parasite. A sliver of the Snake’s body melded onto his own, spying on his every move—

  “Hey!” Hort snarled, snatching the scim as it slithered into his pants. The eel hissed and stabbed his thumb, drawing a drop of blood, before it hopped up Hort’s flank and neck and curled around his ear.

  “Dirty little bugger,” Hort murmured, sucking his thumb. He wanted to grab the little leech and smash it and grind it to a pulp, but he knew another scim would replace it. If he was lucky. More likely he’d be killed or thrown back in the dungeons.

  Morning sun frayed through the window and Hort rubbed his eyes. He’d been freed from his cell last night by the Snake—who, upon hearing his brother had made a deal with Sophie to set Hort free, had taken it upon himself to do the freeing, for the sole purpose of tormenting Tedros into thinking it was the prince that Sophie had released. Then the Snake had dragged Hort out of the dungeons, slapped him with a surveilling scim, and whisked him straight to a servant’s quarters the size of a closet, where he’d been locked in the dark. At dawn, Hort had been jolted awake by guards, fitted in this billowing uniform like a discount genie, and brought to the queen’s chamber, sleepless and filthy, and told to wait for his new “Mistress” to emerge from her bath.

  Why did Sophie pick me? he wondered now.

  She could have picked anyone. Tedros. Hester. She could have picked Dovey. She could have picked the Dean.