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

by Soman Chainani

  Lightning ripped through the clouds. The ball detonated, splashing four letters in gold across the sky—

  The gold and clouds dispersed, revealing clear morning blue.

  Silence gripped the courtyard.

  All down the road, thousands gaped upwards, wondering what they’d just seen, along with the visiting leaders, staring in shock through the church doors. Together, they looked at the king, but he was already dragging Sophie inside the church—

  “You did something to that message!” Rhian hissed. “You corrupted it!”

  “I did, did I? Just like I poisoned you in the Throne Room?” Sophie hissed back. “I’ve been here with you this whole time. When did I have time to conduct a matinee performance of ‘Sorcery in the Sky’? It’s obvious who did it. The same person who made your tea. The same person who chose to stay behind.” She arched a brow. “I wonder why.”

  Rhian considered this, his eyes searching hers. . . . He turned to his pirate guard.

  “Bring my brother here. Now.”

  “Yes, sire,” Beeba mumbled, rushing away.

  Sophie, meanwhile, did her best to suppress a smile.

  Because it wasn’t Japeth who was responsible for what just happened.

  It was her.

  She’d snuck a code into Lionsmane’s stories. The one about Young Hristo and the one about Agatha today.

  A code only one person in the entire world could understand.

  Rhian had searched her work for hidden messages and she’d mocked him for it, insisting she couldn’t possibly be capable of hiding a distress call right under his nose. . . .

  But anyone who truly knew Sophie would have known better.

  Because Sophie was capable of anything.

  Not that she’d expected her hidden code to reach its target. It was a shot in the dark, a last-ditch Hail Mary, which is why she’d committed to Hort’s nut-brained plan.

  Yet in the end it was her plan that had worked.

  Which meant that her friend had not only read her message . . .

  But that help was on the way.

  A dove zipped by—“Agatha’s been caught! Have you heard!”

  Sophie spun to see the cage near the altar emptied of its doves, which dispersed over the theater, tweeting in dignitaries’ ears: “We saw her captured!” “She cried for mercy!” “She’s rotting in the dungeons!”

  Confused, Sophie looked up and saw Rhian’s fingertip glowing behind his back, stealthily directing the birds as he greeted the Ice Giant of Frostplains.

  “Agatha has no army!” “Don’t believe the lies!” “She was alone when we caught her!” “Didn’t even fight back!”

  Rhian swished his finger and the doves blitzed out the church doors, spreading the king’s lies into the crowd, distracting them from the message in the sky.

  A dove crowed in Sophie’s ear: “Agatha’s a traitor! Agatha’s wicked—”

  Sophie slapped it away, launching it right into the face of a girl in a white dress. “Eep, sorry—”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said the girl, her head lowered, with a clipped accent and breathy tone. “I’m conductor of the Camelot Children’s Choir and we’d hoped you might join us in singing a hymn of praise to the noble Lion.”

  Sophie scoffed. “A princess sing with the choir? Will the king tingle a timpani too? How absurd. I’ll watch you and your friends suck up to the Lion from the comfort of my throne, thank yo—”

  Her voice broke off, for the maiden had raised her head, revealing dark hair, pencil-thin eyebrows, and twinkling black eyes.

  “My choir would really love to have you,” said the girl.

  Sophie followed her eyes to the group of teenagers in matching white uniforms and hats at the front of the church, gazing hard at her.

  Help wasn’t on the way.

  It had already arrived.

  As Rhian had a heated discussion with the Queen of Jaunt Jolie, Sophie squeezed his arm. “The choir would like me to sing with them—”

  “Finally, the famous Sophie,” cooed the queen, draped in a peacock-feather stole. She reached out her hand and Sophie noticed a silver ring with unreadable carvings, just like the one the Elf King of Ladelflop wore. “We were just talking about you.”

  “A pleasure,” Sophie simpered, shaking her hand stiffly, before pivoting to Rhian. “Now about the choir—”

  “The queen would like to meet with you,” Rhian said. “But I told her your schedule has filled up.”

  “Whatever you say, darling. The choir is waiting—”

  “I heard you the first time. Stay here and greet the guests,” Rhian ordered.

  Sophie’s face fell.

  “If my groom had spoken to me like that, I never would have made it to the altar,” the queen mused to Sophie. “Indeed, your schedule only ‘filled up’ once I told the king that he’s turned Camelot’s new queen into a lapdog. No speech at the coronation, no presence at meetings, no comment on Tedros’ capture or those of your friends, no mention by the king’s pen. . . . It’s as if you hardly exist.”

  The queen turned to Rhian. “Perhaps I’ll take Sophie aside and discuss a queen’s duties in private. Two queens often succeed in solving problems a king cannot.”

  Rhian glared back at her. “Now that I think about it, Sophie, your singing with the choir sounds like a good idea.”

  Sophie didn’t need to ask twice. As she escaped, she saw Rhian whispering aggressively to the queen, his hand gripping her arm.

  A moment later, Sophie gripped onto the choir conductor’s arm. “Shall we rehearse in the priest’s chambers?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the conductor pipped, and her choir mates scurried after Sophie like chicks behind a swan.

  Sophie listened to the patter of feet, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

  The Queen of Jaunt Jolie was right.

  It had taken two queens to solve this problem.

  And now the king would pay the price.

  THE PRIEST’S SANCTUM reeked of leather and vinegar, its mess of books and scrolls veiled by dust. Sophie locked the door and shoved a chair against it before she twirled to the choir.

  “My babies. My poopsies. Come to save their Dean!” she cooed, hugging her first years, starting with the conductor. “Miss Valentina, mi amor . . . And hello, Aja.”

  “You remember my name?” squeaked the boy with dyed red hair.

  “How could I not? You dressed like me for Halloween and wore the most divine boots. And Bodhi, Laithan, and Devan, my scrumptious Everboys. And lovely Laralisa, my cleverest witch. And my beloved Nevers, Drago and Rowan and dirty Mali—” Sophie frowned. “Um, who are those?”

  In the corner of the room, a few kids in shirtsleeves and underpants were helping each other out a high window.

  “The real choir,” Devan answered. “Switched clothes with us because they’re from Camelot and don’t trust Rhian and think Tedros is king.”

  “Plus, you gave us gold,” added the last choirboy, falling out the window with a yelp, coins trailing behind him.

  Devan looked at Sophie. “Tried to tell them the Courier’s right: that the Snake is alive and that he’s Rhian’s twin and that Agatha has a secret army . . . but even Tedros’ biggest fans didn’t believe us.”

  “Would you believe it? It sounds ridiculous,” said Sophie. “But wait: tell me about Agatha! She’s safe, isn’t she? We have to check the Quest Map. . . .” She reached for her shoe, but Valentina grabbed her by the shoulders—

  “Señorita Sophie, there’s no time! Where is the royal carriage? The one that brought you here.”

  “Somewhere near the church—”

  “Who’s guarding it?” Bodhi asked, pulling a folded-up cape from a bag.

  “One of the Snake’s scims. Hort, Bogden, and Willam are there too,” said Sophie. “They’re trapped inside with it!”

  “Five boys, one eel. We’ll take those odds,” said Bodhi, slipping the shimmery cape over him as he and Laithan swept
towards the window.

  For a second, Sophie was distracted by the cape, which looked familiar, but then she realized what they were saying. “You’re attacking the royal carriage?”

  The two boys smiled as they straddled the window, Bodhi hugging Laithan under his cloak. “More like reclaiming it,” piped Bodhi. “For Tedros,” chimed Laithan. They backflipped off the ledge and disappeared like ghosts.

  Sophie put a hand to her chest. “Who needs Tedros with boys like that?”

  A hard knock on the door—

  Sophie and her students whipped their heads forward.

  “The king wants to begin!” the priest’s hoary voice called as Aja held the door shut.

  “Coming!” said Valentina, spinning to Sophie. “We need to get you to school, Señorita Sophie. Here’s the plan. You’ll sing Budhava’s hymn to the Lion with us—”

  “Can we sing something else? I don’t know that song,” Sophie wisped.

  “Dios mío, it doesn’t matter if you know it! Just sing it!” Valentina snapped.

  “And when we get to the phrase ‘oh virile Lion’ . . . duck,” said Aja.

  “That’s the plan?” Sophie said, perplexed. “Duck?”

  A scratching noise echoed overhead and Sophie looked up to see two kids in black masks scooting through a cramped stone airway. They lowered their masks, revealing blond Bert and blonder Beckett.

  “Definitely duck,” they said.

  “TODAY, WE BLESS young Rhian and Sophie as a reminder that despite all the festivities to come . . . marriage is first and foremost a spiritual union,” spoke the old priest before a quiet audience. “There is no way to tell if a marriage is favored, of course. First, Arthur marries Guinevere in the throes of love, only to have that love be his downfall. Then, I planned to marry Arthur’s eldest son, Tedros, to his own princess, only to discover Tedros isn’t Arthur’s eldest son at all. And now, a stranger from Foxwood and the Witch of Woods Beyond seek my blessing to be King and Queen of Camelot. So what do I know?” The priest hacked a laugh. “But no marriage can outwit the pen of fate. All we can do is let the story unfold. In time, the truth will be written, no matter how many lies someone might tell to obscure it. And the truth comes with an army.”

  Sophie could see Rhian glaring at the back of the priest’s head as he perched in his throne on the elevated stage. The dignitaries seemed oblivious to the priest’s message, but the king had heard it loud and clear: he may have expunged those loyal to Tedros from the castle, but he’d have no such ally in the church. Rhian sensed Sophie watching him and glanced over at her, ensconced with the choir. He gave her a baffled look, as if he knew he’d agreed to let her sing with them but couldn’t remember why.

  “Before I read from the Scroll of Pelagus, we’ll begin with a hymn,” said the priest, nodding at his singers. Sophie’s students tilted their faces beneath their hats, so the priest wouldn’t see his choir had been hijacked. “Ordinarily, Camelot’s choir sings to exalt a sacred power that unites us all,” the priest continued, dwarfed by a giant Lion head casting a glow on his altar, “but today, the choir has chosen to sing about our new king instead.” Rhian’s glare deepened behind him. “And in a further departure from the norm, the choir shall be joined by our new princess . . . I assume, as either a loving tribute to her husband-to-be, or a desire to show off her many talents.”

  All at once, the congregation turned towards Sophie, who was now the focus of more than two hundred royals, Good and Evil both. Sophie could see the gorgeous dark-skinned King of Pasha Dunes and his chic, bald-headed wife watching her; seated nearby was the Maharani of Mahadeva, dripping in jewels, with her three sons, while in front of them, the Queen of Jaunt Jolie looked anxious and chastened, far different from the bold woman who’d just confronted Rhian. All of their eyes were on Sophie.

  She’d always dreamed of a moment like this: spotlit on a grand stage, an audience of luminaries, all of them knowing her name. . . .

  Only in her dreams, she’d rehearsed.

  Sophie stared at the sheet music in front of her.

  OH HOLY LION

  (“BUDHAVA’S HYMN OF PRAISE”)

  She peeked at her first years—Aja, Devan, Laralisa, and more—their bodies tense, their pupils dilated. Only Valentina looked calm as she presided over the choir and gazed hard at Sophie as if to remind her of her cue. Sophie’s heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her throat . . . not just because she hadn’t a clue what would happen on that cue, but because she was about as good at reading music as she was at building cabinets, which is to say not at all.

  Valentina raised her arms and brought them down, commencing the organist. Aja started two beats early, the rest of the choir two beats too late—

  Glory be, oh holy Lion,

  Glory be, our king!

  His mercies shall endure,

  Ever faithful, ever sure!

  Sophie saw Rhian gaping like he’d been shot. Dignitaries rocked back in their seats. The church reverberated with the most strikingly awful sound imaginable, like a family of cats being dragged up a mountain. The worse they sounded, the more rattled Valentina looked, as if whatever plan was coming might be brought down by the singing before it, especially since Aja kept shimmying his hips either out of nerves or in an attempt to distract from the horror. Sophie, for her part, tried to dominate the chorus, but dirty Mali just kept wailing notes louder like a dying mountain goat. Devan, meanwhile, was cute as a button but had a voice like a sasquatch, and his girlfriend, Laralisa, unleashed a string of braying yelps like a broken jack-in-the-box. Worst of all, the stone walls and airways bounced the noise mercilessly, as if it was less a church and more some kind of echo-torture chamber. Mortified, Sophie held her sheet music higher over her face, so she couldn’t see the crowd and they couldn’t see her, but in her new sightline, she caught Bert and Beckett scooting like roaches through an airway overhead.

  Sophie’s eyes flicked back to Rhian, who hadn’t noticed the masked spies, because he was already lurching out of his throne to stop this inferno.

  Panicked, Sophie whirled to Valentina, who saw Rhian coming, and accelerated her conducting, waving her arms wildly, which led her charges to motormouth through the song like overfed chipmunks, the organist chasing to keep up, as the chorus barreled headlong into their cue.

  Glory be, our king!

  Glory be, oh virile Lion—

  Sophie ducked.

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Flaming green-yellow bombs ripped through the theater like fireworks, sending the crowd diving under their pews. Devan and Laralisa tackled Sophie to the ground as sparks sprayed over them and the audience’s screams filled the church. Shell-shocked, Sophie covered her ears, waiting for the next blast. . . .

  Nothing happened.

  Sophie raised her head. So did the spectators, their screams dissipating.

  Then came the smell.

  Like the fumes of a flaming dung heap . . . a stench so stultifying that the shrieks began again, this time with mortal urgency, as people fled the church in swarms—

  “Come on!” Devan yelled at Sophie, dragging her towards the doors as Laralisa tried to clear a path for them, shoving gaudily dressed royals out of the way.

  “Use your fingerglow!” Sophie barked, holding her nose.

  “Our forest leader didn’t teach us how yet!” said Laralisa, headbutting a witch-queen aside. “We’re behind the other group—”

  A regally dressed cyclops sideswiped her as he stormed for the exit, flinging Laralisa backwards into the crowd.

  “That one-eyed cretin!” Devan seethed, rushing to save her.

  “What about me!” Sophie squeaked, trapped in the stampede.

  The smell in the church was so putrid now that kings were fainting, queens masking their faces with capes, and princes shattering stained glass to escape with their princesses. Overhead, Sophie spotted Bert and Beckett lighting another dung missile.

  I have to get out, she choked, hiking her dress collar over her nose
. But the doors were still so far . . .

  The Ice Giant of Frostplains thundered by, smacking people away and barreling towards the exit. Instantly Sophie started scurrying behind him like a mouse in the wake of an elephant, while the Giant swatted left and right, his huge, ice-blue hand flashing the same silver ring she’d seen on the Elf King and Queen of Jaunt Jolie. Through his legs, she spotted open doors and clear sky ahead—a comet streaked through the air outside, a helix of navy and pink, like a sailor’s flare—

  Did Bert and Beckett dungbomb the streets too?

  Suddenly she glimpsed Bert and Beckett, using a rope to climb down a stone wall towards the doors, before the boys yelped and reversed direction as Aran, Wesley, and more pirate guards leapt onto the rope to chase them.

  Sophie knew she should stay and help the boys; a real Dean would protect her students, Evers and Nevers . . . but instead, she found herself scampering faster for the doors behind the giant, hiding in his shadow, so the pirates tracking Bert and Beckett wouldn’t see her. She didn’t bother feeling guilt over it. She wasn’t Agatha, after all. She wasn’t Good. Those boys needed to fend for themselves. That was the point of fairy tales. And she . . . well, she needed to get as far from Camelot as possible.

  She was nearing the exit now, hugging closer to the giant’s boots. If she could just slither out of this church, she could blend into the mob . . . she could disguise herself and find a way back to school . . . to Agatha. . . . The thought of seeing her best friend again made Sophie dump caution; she broke away from the giant and sprinted between his legs, elbowing people out of her path. She felt the heat of the sun flush across her skin and as she crashed through the doorway, she looked up into the heavenly white glare—

  A hand snatched her backwards and she whirled to see Rhian in the doorway. “Stay with me!” he said, rattled. “We’re under attack!”

  Suddenly, loud bells jangled in the distance, frantic and high-pitched. . . .

  Alarm bells.

  Sophie and Rhian swiveled and saw Camelot shrouded by an alien fog, silver and glimmering, that obscured the entire castle. Behind the fog, they could hear shouts echo from the towers, resounding downhill, as the bells clattered wilder and faster.