by Joan Holub
Turning from the mirror, Ms. Wicked went on. “You shall continue to look for loopholes using the crystal balls. However, due to the new time demands of my additional principal duties, I’ll need to assign a helper in each of my classes to do some of my teaching work.” Her gaze roved the class. When it lit upon Rose, Ms. Wicked lifted an arm and pointed a finger right at her. “You, there. You’ll be my helper.”
Rose sat up straighter, surprised. “Wh-what do you want me to do exactly?”
“I didn’t have time to put the crystal balls out for everyone before class, so please go pick some out and distribute them to all the students. And be quick about it.” The teacher flicked her fingers toward the shelves, indicating that she should scurry over there and get started.
Rose stood and went to the shelves to load a bunch of crystal balls on a tray. Her mind raced, trying to think of a way to thwart Ms. Wicked’s plans. Because the more students continued to work on this loophole-finding project of hers, the quicker the fairy tales and nursery rhymes were going to be destroyed. And eventually that meant the Wall would fall and Beasts and Dastardlies would pour into Grimmlandia from the Nothingterror. She shivered at the thought.
Noting that the crystal balls were all lined up on a single shelf, Rose got an idea. Did she dare? Yes! When the teacher wasn’t looking, she purposely picked up one end of the shelf and knocked it askew. “Oops!” she said.
Crash! Dozens of magic crystal balls went bouncing and bumping across the floor, rolling under chairs and knocking against walls. Students shrieked and giggled in surprise. Some dodged the balls, while others tried to recapture them and round them up.
Ms. Wicked leaped from her chair, annoyed, to say the least. “What have you done? I had planned to enlist the help of all of my classes in my current project. But now …” She bent and randomly picked up one ball in each hand to study them closely. Noticing the new chips and cracks in them, she gritted her teeth. It was damage Rose had done.
“I’m so sorry!” Rose said, making a good pretense of innocence as she apologized profusely.
“Well, I suppose now we must all spend the day repairing the balls instead of completing the assignment I had planned,” Ms. Wicked said sourly. Her narrowed gaze roved the class. “Get to it!”
Then she turned back to Rose. “Your days are numbered, anyway,” she muttered snarkily in a voice low enough that the rest of the class wouldn’t hear.
“What?” asked Rose, not sure she’d heard right.
The teacher only smiled a beautifully wicked smile, which made Rose think she knew something Rose didn’t. Still, as the class set to work, she was pleased to know she’d managed to slow down the number of words escaping from any new tales by damaging the crystal balls. It seemed the best she could do for now. She did her repairs on the balls slowly and badly, hoping others would do the same. It was tedious work, and class dragged on for what seemed like hours. Finally, the clock bonged, setting them all free.
Rumors about the principal continued to swirl in her third-period class, and at lunch as well. But by fifth-period Sieges, Catapults, and Jousting class, no one seemed closer to knowing if there was truth to any of the rumors.
So Rose turned her mind to class, because today Coach Candlestick had promised some real action. They would begin learning fencing!
At the start of the period, each of them had grabbed a long, lightweight weapon called a foil, which was thinner than any sword and more flexible than a spear. Students were to hold it like a sword, and the object was to poke an opponent’s torso (but not their arms or legs) with the tip end of the foil in order to make a score. Of course, their practice foils were made of stiff, but harmless, reeds, instead of real steel. Still, they all wore thickly padded shirts and protective face masks to avoid injury.
Fencing was an exercise in quick thinking and agility, she quickly discovered. Qualities that were important for any knight to possess, according to the coach. After practicing a few moves, they put them into action.
As her match with Knightly began, he got right to the point. “Do you know what’s up with Principal R going missing?” he asked her. At the same time, he thrust his foil forward, going on the attack.
“No. Do you have a theory?” she replied, knocking his blade aside with hers in a move called a parry.
“My guess is he was dismissed because the School Board decided he couldn’t be trusted for some reason,” said Knightly.
“What? And Ms. Wicked can?” Rose scoffed. She executed a move called a riposte, going in for another try. The tip of her reed-blade touched his padded shirt and she scored a point.
“It’s because of his fairy tale. It seems to have somehow changed … for the worse,” Knightly said. “Good job, by the way,” he added, complimenting her point.
“Thanks,” Rose said absently. So not only had the word gotten out about the changes in her tale, people knew about the changes in the principal’s, too. No doubt E.V.I.L. had made even more changes to the Rumpelstiltskin tale — changes to cook the principal’s goose in the eyes of the School Board. She wondered what Knightly thought about her changed tale. He hadn’t said anything, and wasn’t acting any differently toward her. So she certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.
They continued on, each scoring points against the other and proving to be well matched opponents, till class ended. As they took off their padding later, a little notebook fell from Knightly’s pocket.
Rose picked it up with the point of her foil and flicked it over to him. He took it from her, staring down at it. After a minute he confided, “I wrote a story about Principal R’s disappearance. A made-up one about what might’ve happened to him.” He sounded almost embarrassed to admit all this. And, in truth, it was surprising.
“Really? I didn’t know you like to write. I’d love to read it,” she hinted. He shrugged and stuck the notebook in his pocket. They talked about other stuff then, all the way into Gray Castle. There, he seemed to reach a decision. Pulling out the notebook, he handed it to her. And as they moved toward their sixth-period classes, she read the first page.
Once she’d finished, she looked up at him. “This is really good!” she told him.
He smiled slightly. “Hey, don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. I mean, I just didn’t know you could write like … like the Grimms.”
He shrugged, but Rose could tell how much what she’d said pleased him. This was important to him, she realized. And suddenly, she remembered that first morning here at GA when she’d seen him writing in his little book, a faraway expression on his face.
“Wait. This is your dream, isn’t it?” she guessed. “To write. Not to become a knight.”
Knightly shrugged again, but she sensed she was on the right track. They were getting close to her history class by now, so she paused by her trunker and opened it, hoping he’d keep talking.
“It’s not really up to me,” he went on, waiting beside her as she pretended to dig around in her trunker for something. “My brother Midknight will one day take my father’s place and rule our castle in Grimmlandia. And Goodknight will go into politics. But as the third son, my family expects me to become a knight.”
“Which is a respectable and honorable, not to mention exciting, profession,” she hastened to put in. “But just not what you want, am I right?”
“Right. My parents want me to become a full-time knight, and I can’t let them down. Best I can hope for is to be a part-time writey-knighty,” he joked lamely, taking his notebook back and stowing it in his pocket as they moved on toward her class. “Still, it’s cool to know that you think this is good. I haven’t shown anyone else.”
Rose kept thinking about Knightly and his dream all through sixth-period History. It was so unfair. Why couldn’t he do what he loved? Write! And why couldn’t she do what she loved? Become a knight! Sometimes parents were a trial. Life threw you curveballs, too. Or in her case, more like a curseball.
After classes that
day, Red arrived late to dinner in the Great Hall. Flinging herself into her seat, she announced in typical dramatic fashion that she’d been called up to try spinning the principal’s straw into gold.
“Ms. Queenharts is in charge of the project now that the Rumpster’s gone. And honestly, Pea was right,” Red complained. “That straw does not want to be spun. It jumped from my hand, and when I tried to grab it again it kept wiggling away like a fish in a stream. Impossible. So basically, I failed. It was a disaster.”
Rose was barely listening, though. She was worried about too many things, especially her curse and the changing fairy tales. And, hey, where were those three fairies? She hadn’t seen them since yesterday. She stuck her hand in her pocket and toyed with the box that held her needle.
Ever since Threads class, she’d tried experimenting with it. In Scrying, she’d realized it didn’t need to be threaded in order to write messages. It could make its own magical thread somehow. In Calligraphy, she’d used it to sew-write messages on paper, but a pen could do that just as well. Not the greatest magic ever by a long shot. But it seemed to be all the magic the needle would perform until she guessed its name.
In Comportment, she thought maybe it had brought her good luck because Ms. Queenharts, who was busy helping out with the straw-spinning project now, had temporarily been replaced by a substitute teacher. Still, when Rose hadn’t figured out its name and her needle didn’t really do anything else by History class, she had pretty much decided her charm was a bust!
As she went to bed that night, she couldn’t help feeling doomed. Her birthday was tomorrow. Her daredevil life would most definitely have to come to an end. She’d have to become a wimp. No more hopping around the tops of bookshelves or racing around on her unicorn. No more knight training.
How was she going to bear it? She’d have to, though. For the sake of all GA, her friends, and the survival of Grimmlandia!
At precisely midnight, the Hickory Dickory clock bonged twelve bongs. With a gasp, Rose sat up in bed, awakened from a sound sleep.
Twelve bongs for twelve years. It was her birthday! The curse had officially gone into effect. She didn’t feel any different, though. She lay down again. But unable to return to sleep, she was awake until nearly dawn, thinking hard.
Eventually, all that thinking paid off. She got an idea. A splendid one. One that might even save the Academy from certain doom! Or from a hundred-year sleep, anyway. Same thing, really. Because if the whole school went to sleep, E.V.I.L. would have way too much time to destroy the fairy tales. When the school eventually woke up, all would be changed. Undoubtedly for the worse.
Caw! Suddenly, a crow flew in the open window at the end of her dorm room. It dropped a message marble on Rose’s pillow, then winged away again, out the window.
Leaping from the covers, she took the marble and scrambled down the ladder at the end of her bed. After lighting a candle, she read the words that flashed across the marble’s surface, one after another. It was a summons to try to spin the straw into gold! Huh? So early? The sky outside was barely even pink yet. What could this mean?
Quickly, she got dressed, careful not to wake Pea. Before she left her dorm room, she stared at her needle where it lay glinting on her desk. She’d need it in order to put her splendid idea into action. She reached for it, then snatched her hand back, suddenly fearful. What if she pricked herself? What if — No! She would not let E.V.I.L. get to her like this. It was exactly what they wanted. Determination filled her and she carefully picked up the needle, put it in its box, and tucked it in her skirt pocket.
Taking the candle, she crept from her dorm. Going down the twisty stairs, she then ran up and down halls, looking for the gooseknob. For once, she kept an eye out for those mists actually hoping to run into the fairies. Maybe they had news of the principal or could help her with the needle’s name. Naturally, now that she wanted them to come around and give her advice, they were nowhere to be found.
When she eventually found the library gooseknob, it asked a riddle as usual. “How are a tale and a tail similar?” it demanded.
“Each can be short or long?” Rose guessed right away. It was another easy one, like the candle riddle had been. Super easy this time, as if the knob really, really wanted her to hurry inside and put her splendid plan into action. And after she’d answered correctly, the library door drew itself on the wall more quickly than usual, too.
Once inside the library, she zipped down one aisle and then another making a beeline to Section G. The library was strangely smaller, so it didn’t take long to get where she was going. The Grimm girls had told her it could change size and she wondered if it, too, was trying to help her execute her plan. Soon, she was pulling down the book that contained her Sleeping Beauty fairy tale from a shelf. Sitting on the floor, she set the book in her lap and opened it. Then she pulled the little box from her pocket and plucked her needle from it.
Would her plan work? She lifted the last page of her altered tale, and poked the point of her needle at it. The needle slipped through the vellum paper. So far, so good. Carefully, so as not to prick herself, she stitched a big X over a five-letter word on the page and stitched in seven new letters to take its place. As she stared at what she’d done, something fell on the book from high above.
Caw! She looked up to see another crow. Quickly, she read the message marble it had dropped. It was another summons to come spin the straw. Setting her book back on its shelf, she told her needle, “Fingers crossed that your stitching works. Right, um, Needle Ned?” When the needle didn’t respond, she kept on randomly guessing more names. “Threadhead? Poker?” Still no luck.
Suddenly, she heard tiny voices calling her. “Help! Help!”
Were those her fairies? Filled with worry for them, Rose whirled around in a panic. “Where are you?” she called. She followed the voices to Section S. The same section where the magic straw was located, according to Pea and Red. The tiny voices led her into a door along one wall labeled STAIRS. She pushed through the door, to find twisty stone stairs that seemed to wind upward forever.
She started up, calling to the fairies. “I’m coming!” Finally, she reached the top. There, she entered a round tower room with a small window on one side. In the center of the room, stood a spindle. A single straw lay on it. There was no Ms. Queenharts. Still, it was obvious what she was supposed to do. Or try to do. Spin that straw into gold. Pea and Red had said it was impossible. And she should really stay away from that sharp spindle now that she was twelve. But where were the fairies?
Hearing them call again, she turned to see a big picture hanging on the far wall with a drape covering it. She went over and whipped the drape away. Then she drew in a sharp breath. It wasn’t a picture at all. It was Ms. Wicked’s wall mirror from Scrying class!
And within the mirror, she saw an image of the Wall. More words and letters began slowly streaming in and out of it, causing cracks to form. An eye appeared in one crack. A few fingers poked through. Something was trying to climb through the quickly forming cracks in the Wall and into Grimmlandia. Beasts? Dastardlies? Ludwig? All of the above? It was just as she and the Grimm girls had feared.
Feeling the needle twitch in her fingers, Rose realized she still held it. And it seemed to be trying to tell her something. “You think you can stitch glass?” she guessed. “Well, okay. Worth a try.” She drew closer to the mirror and began whipstitching. To her surprise, it actually worked! It seemed her needle could stitch more than paper and fabric.
As she sewed the cracks shut, she could hear Beasts and Dastardlies grunting and groaning on the other side. She could smell their fishy, moldy-smelling breath coming through the cracks. “Let us in,” they moaned.
“No way!” she muttered. In no time, her needle had stitched the cracks closed and she could no longer hear or smell them. Thank grimmness!
But now she noticed there was a long rope slung over the top of the Wall so it hung down along its front. It began to inch upward. A s
toppered bottle appeared, tied on the rope’s end. And the three fairies were trapped in the bottle. No, not just three. As many as a dozen!
“Help!” they cried in their tiny fairy voices. In minutes, they would be pulled into the Nothingterror!
“What should I do?” she called to them.
“Indeed, what can one such as you possibly do?” taunted a new voice. Rose turned to see yet another fairy hovering in the air between her and the door. This one was gray and grumpy-looking.
“Remember me?” the fairy asked, flitting closer.
Rose shook her head.
“Name’s Thirteen. Fairy Thirteen. I’m the one your family didn’t invite to your christening,” said the gray fairy. “Big mistake.” She came closer, flying in sharp back-and-forth zigzags until she hovered between Rose and the mirror. Meanwhile, over in the mirror, the bottle of fairies inched higher and higher along the Wall.
“I’m sorry,” Rose told Thirteen. “My parents weren’t trying to be impolite. Honest.”
The fairy only arched an eyebrow. Humph! Then she gestured a tiny hand toward the spinning wheel. “Try your hand at spinning, won’t you? If you succeed where others have failed, I’ll forgive you and your family at long last. And not only that! You could be the very one to save the Academy.”
“Think so?” Rose asked innocently, as if she weren’t fully aware of what this fairy was really up to. She looked over at the spindle. Its tip was sharp and gleamed dully in the dawn’s early light. She had to think of something fast. To save those fairies and herself.
“Go on,” urged the gray fairy, flitting around her in a tizzy now. “Touch it! Spin the straw into gold! Be a hero and save your little school friends. That’s what a knight would do. And you want to be a knight, don’t you?”
“How did you know?”
Just then the needle in Rose’s hand twitched again. When she lifted it higher to gaze upon it, the fairy laughed. “Ha! You’re going to fight me — and all of E.V.I.L. — with a tiny needle?”