by Lee Bacon
And now it could be anywhere. Dropped into someone’s soup or snagged on a unicorn’s horn. Accidentally tossed into the trash or kicked under a toilet in the restroom.
Gone.
I can’t let that happen. I have to get out of this refrigerator.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I notice the light.
A faint, flickering glow from the far end of the walk-in refrigerator.
Maybe it’s another way out.
I begin crawling toward it. Pushing aside a cardboard box full of moldy lemons, I see the light shining brighter. I have to hunch to fit underneath a shelf, like climbing into a cave.
Suddenly, a chill prickles my skin. When I entered the fridge, everything had been made of steel. But now, the cramped walls seem to be…brick.
Up ahead, I spot the source of the light. And I can barely believe my eyes. Flaming torches. They’re attached to the brick wall. And between them, there’s…
A door.
A small wooden door.
Some major questions pop up in my brain. Where is this tunnel leading me? What’s behind the door? And how big is this walk-in refrigerator, anyway?
I creep forward until I’m close enough to feel the heat coming off the torches. The fire jumps and flickers. My shadow dances on the brick wall.
The door is right in front of me. The torches hiss and murmur. Almost like they’re whispering, Go ahead. Turn the handle.
And so I do.
The small door creaks open.
I crouch close to the ground and step inside.
Allow me to properly introduce myself.
My name is Frederick Alexander Siegfried Maria Thorston XIV, Prince of the Realm and Heir to the Throne of Heldstone. But if you prefer, you may simply call me Prince Frederick the Fourteenth.
And please—I must insist—do not call me Prince Fred.
The day begins like most others. In the morning, my many servants assist in getting me dressed. They deposit me into my stockings, button my waistcoat, and tie the ribbons on my silken slippers. This is followed by an hour of grooming. Carefully plucking my eyebrows, buffing my fingernails, styling my hair.
It’s not easy to look as regal and handsome as I do.
After dismissing my servants, I stand alone by my bedchamber window for a moment. Pushing away the velvet curtains, I gaze out upon the Forest of Enchantment. Vast and green. At night, the trees dance with one another like guests in a ballroom.
To the east, the primitive mud dwellings of Grok, where thousands of trolls make their homes. To the west, Valpathia, the capital city of Heldstone. The sun gleams off the towering monuments and grand houses.
Heldstone is bustling with activity. A horse-drawn carriage clatters past a family of witches selling counterfeit potions on the side of the road. A mother dragon swoops through the sky. She is trailed by three baby dragons still clumsy in flight. Below, a line of knights returns from battle. Merchants carry their goods in wooden carts. Elves argue with dwarfs about who-knows-what.
It is truly a marvelous kingdom. I look forward to ruling it someday.
The palace is a hive of activity. Tomorrow is the start of the Luminary Ball, the grandest celebration of the decade. Seven days of parades, feasts, and dancing. Everyone is busy preparing. Washerwomen shake out the silken sheets, servants dust the priceless furniture. But the staff scatters at the sound of sharp footsteps on the marble floor. A moment later, I see the cause of their sudden escape.
The Sorceress.
She appears from around a corner. Her long, dark hair blends seamlessly with her long, dark dress. Skin as pale as glaciers. Lips the color of blood.
If the Sorceress has a name, nobody in the palace knows it. For years, she has served as the Royal Wizardess, the most powerful magician in the entire kingdom. She is beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. Unnaturally beautiful. As if her features have been carved from marble by the kingdom’s most talented artists.
She also has a terrifying temper. Which is probably why the servants went running at the sound of her footsteps.
And one other thing about the Sorceress: she despises me.
As the Royal Prince of the Realm, I’m unaccustomed to being disliked. Everyone else in the kingdom seems rather fond of me. Whenever I stand upon the terrace to toss gold coins over the palace walls, people cheer. Whenever I ask my servants’ opinions about me, they’re always quite flattering.
“Am I a dignified prince?” I ask.
“You are the noblest prince in the history of the kingdom,” my servants inevitably reply.
“Yes, but am I brave as well?”
“Your courage is without equal, Your Highness.”
“Perhaps I am eating too much. Lately I have noticed that I look a bit…pudgy.”
“Don’t even think it, Prince Frederick! You are the most elegant boy who ever lived!”
See what I mean? Everyone loves me!
Except the Sorceress.
Perhaps it has something to do with an incident that occurred several weeks ago. I was returning from an afternoon lesson with the Royal Tutor when I noticed the doorway to the Chamber of Wizardry. It was open a crack. I’d never seen this before. Ordinarily, the Sorceress keeps the door locked at all times.
My curiosity ignited like a torch. I quietly approached the thick oaken door and peered inside.
The Chamber of Wizardry was crammed with all manner of magical instruments and peculiar objects. And at the other end of the room was the Sorceress. She had her back to me, hunched on the floor beside a burbling brass urn. In front of her was the door.
The miniature wooden door.
The door to Urth.
Reaching inside the urn, the Sorceress scooped out a handful of bubbling, smoking liquid. She smeared the substance upon the tiny door handle.
I leaned forward. Would it work? Would this be the fateful moment that the mythical door opened at last? Would the Sorceress finally—
CLUMP!
I must’ve been leaning a little too far into the room. For at that moment, I slipped forward and fell into the Chamber of Wizardry.
The disturbance startled the Sorceress. She knocked the urn onto its side. Toxic green liquid spilled everywhere, hissing and dissolving the floorboards.
The Sorceress whirled to face me. Her pale features wrenched in anger. “What are you doing in my chambers, you spoiled little worm?” she screamed.
I scrambled to my feet and raced out of the room. Down the hall and as far from the Chamber of Wizardry as I could.
Ever since, I’ve done everything I can to avoid the Sorceress.
Until now.
Until this very moment.
The Sorceress is walking toward me. Her dress drifts behind her like a shadow.
My heart thunders inside my chest. I feel a rising fear that she’ll cast an evil spell on me. What if broccoli sprouts from my nostrils? Or she turns my head into a troll’s bottom?
But none of that happens. Instead, the Sorceress’s beautiful lips form into a beautiful smile. She bows. And in a polite, respectful voice, she says, “Good morning, Your Highness. You look magnificent as ever.”
At the same time, a voice rings inside my ears. A voice that comes from nowhere and everywhere. The Sorceress’s voice. And inside my head, her words echo.
Your punishment will soon come, you spoiled little worm.
I’m left standing there. Stunned. Impossible to say exactly how much time passes. A minute? An hour? I return to my senses only when my parents appear in the hallway. They look as elegant as their portraits, which hang throughout the palace. Diamonds and rubies twinkle in Father’s crown. Beside him, Mother is draped in a violet-feathered gown.
“Ah, Frederick! There you are!” Mother runs a bejeweled hand through my hair. “But shouldn’t you be at tutoring by now?”
“Tutoring?” I feel as though the Sorceress has emptied the contents of my brain. It takes another moment to remember what I was doing before my encounter with her
. “The knights. They’re training in the courtyard. I was hoping to join them.”
Mother sniffs derisively. “Why would you want to do such a thing?”
“To practice my swordsmanship.”
Father frowns. “I don’t believe that’s a wise idea.”
“Nor do I,” says Mother.
My shoulders slump. “You don’t?”
“You are young,” says Father. “And swords are dangerous.”
“We cannot risk our only son getting injured,” says Mother.
I look from Mother to Father pleadingly. “But how will I ever learn?”
“Leave the swords and shields to the knights,” says Father.
Mother pats my head. “You are a prince. You are destined to command armies. Not fight in them. Now hurry along. The Royal Tutor is awaiting you.”
There’s no point in drawing out the debate. When your parents are king and queen, they win every argument.
I enter the Royal Tutor’s chambers. The ancient man is seated with his back to me. Wispy strands of his white hair shimmer in the candlelight. He’s hunched over a knotted oaken table, one wrinkled hand resting on a tattered piece of parchment.
As I approach, I peer over the tutor’s shoulder to gain a better glimpse. He appears to be reading some kind of poem. Looping script, written in dark ink…
From a distant, unknown land came he.
A Traveler he claimed to be.
People flocked, far and wide, to listen
To the fantastical tales of the Elektro-Magician.
There’s more to the poem, but it’s blocked by the tutor’s shoulder. As I take another step into the room, the floorboard creaks under my foot and the old man stirs. He turns the parchment over.
“Prince Frederick!” The tutor rises unsteadily to his feet and gazes at me with milky eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in!”
“What are you reading?”
“Nothing that should concern you, sire.” The old fellow pats the overturned parchment. “Your father’s spies intercepted a message being passed among the Thurphenwald tribe.”
“The poem is about a Traveler. Do you think he’s from Urth?”
The tutor’s slender chest rises and falls. “Urth is not the subject of today’s lesson.”
“But it’s behind that door. The little wooden door. Is it not?”
“That is what the legend claims.”
“Please. Tell me more.”
The old man sighs. “According to the legend, Urth isn’t cubical. It is perfectly round. Like a marble. The inhabitants of Urth do not fight their battles with swords and axes. Instead, they use—”
“Sticks that shoot fire!” I say eagerly. I have heard this story many times before.
“That is correct.”
“And what about the magical pipes?”
“Ah, yes. Those. Instead of warming themselves by the fire when they become cold, the people of Urth press a switch that releases warm air from magical pipes. Or by turning the switch another way, the air can become very cold.”
“I want to go to Urth!”
The tutor shakes his head. “I’m afraid that is impossible.”
“But what about the poem?” I point at the parchment. “It claims that the Elektro-Magician—”
“Enough about the Elektro-Magician. It is past time to begin today’s lesson.”
I groan. The tutor heaves a thick, dusty book from the shelf and drops it onto the table.
Right on top of the parchment.
“We will be continuing our lesson in genealogical history.” The tutor opens the book to an etching of a man. In the picture, a sword is hoisted above the man’s crowned head. “This is King Frederick the Ninth. Your great-great-great grandfather. Also known as King Frederick the Fierce. He single-handedly slew fifteen trolls during the Battle of Broggincout.”
The tutor turns the page.
“And this is King Frederick the Eighth. Your great-great-great-great grandfather. Commonly known as King Frederick the Giant Killer. It was during his reign that the giants became extinct….”
While the tutor wheezes about genealogical history, I listen to the sounds coming from outside. The clash of steel against steel. Grunts and cheers and laughter. Glancing out the window, I look down upon the knights who are training in the courtyard.
If only I could join them!
How will I ever live up to the greatness of my brave ancestors if I spend all my days with an old tutor, enduring one tedious lesson after another? Did King Frederick the Fierce gain his talents for troll slaying in the Hall of Learning? Did King Frederick the Giant Killer sharpen his fighting skills in the pages of dusty old books?
Of course not!
I turn away from the window. My attention shifts back to the tutor.
“…which brings us to your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. Remembered now as King Frederick the Bold. It is said that he wrestled bears for his own amusement. When he fell in love with a mermaid, he taught himself to breathe underwater in order to be closer to her….”
A wave of jealousy washes over me. How will I ever match the achievements of my troll-fighting, giant-killing, bear-wrestling, mermaid-loving forebearers? My parents won’t allow me to train with swords. The tutor refuses to tell me more about Urth. And if I get anywhere near the miniature door, the Sorceress will probably turn my hair into seaweed!
If things continue the way they are, I’ll spend the rest of my life locked away behind the thick walls of this palace.
Safe and well-groomed…
And bored out of my skull.
Which is why—when the lesson finally comes to an end—I wait until the tutor is distracted before slipping a hand under the heavy book. In a single motion, I remove the tattered parchment and place it in my pocket.
I’m in some kind of medieval science lab. Surrounded by jars of colorful powders and ancient scrolls. A cauldron bubbles and smokes. A flickering candle casts its light onto a globe—except that, instead of being round, this globe is shaped like a cube. And when I lean in for a closer look, I don’t recognize a single one of the continents.
Then again, geography has never been my strongest subject.
Nearby is a grandfather clock with thirteen numbers around its face. Aren’t there supposed to be twelve? The room is warmed by a crackling fire with flames that change colors, from purple to green to blue.
There’s a skeleton hanging from a wooden rack. It looks like the kind of thing you’d see in a science textbook, but with one huge difference: the skull only has one eye, a gaping hole right in the center of its forehead.
The outlandish strangeness of everything makes my head spin. Then I remind myself…It’s just another part of Legendtopia.
When I wandered through the miniature door, I must’ve entered a different section of the restaurant. And I’ve gotta say—they did a way better job on this area. Unlike the cheesy fake-castle decorations I passed by earlier, everything in here looks…real.
Beside me, a rickety wooden desk is covered with a tattered scroll. On top of the scroll is a little glass jar of ink. A long feather quill pokes out of the jar. I reach for the quill. My fingers are closing around the feather when I hear a woman’s voice—
“Hello, little girl.”
I spin around. The entrance to the lab is open. Not the small door I came through, but a normal-sized door at the other end of the room.
And standing in the doorway is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
She’s very tall and very slender, with skin so pale it seems to glow. Her black hair drapes over her shoulders, blending into the pattern of her black dress so that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Are you enjoying snooping around the Chamber of Wizardry?” she asks in an English accent.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just got lost.”
The woman smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about her. “Lost?”
&n
bsp; She moves toward me, until she’s looming over me. I feel like someone just cranked up the AC. A chill runs down my neck.
“How did you get in here?” she asks.
“I came through the door.”
“Which door?”
I point at the miniature door that I pulled closed on my way into the room. “That one.”
The woman inhales a sharp breath. “You came from…the other side?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug. “The other side of the restaurant.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you, little girl?”
I shake my head.
The woman stares at me. “That explains your curious accent,” she whispers, as though speaking to herself, not me. “And your bizarre clothing. You’ve come from…Earth.”
She has a weird way of pronouncing the word “Earth.” It sounds more like “Urth.”
Maybe on another trip, the whole magical-evil-lab-experience might actually be worth visiting. But right now, I have more important things to deal with. Like finding my necklace and getting back to our class before Mrs. Olyphant gets seriously angry.
Besides, this lady’s really starting to creep me out. Her eyes are dark and filled with greed. The way she’s looking at me makes me feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
And she’s the spider.
“So, uh…,” I say in a shaky voice. “I should probably get going.”
But the woman only shakes her head. “You are not going anywhere,” she says. “Not unless you take me with you.”
Strands of black hair stretch across her pale skin, tentacles swimming in icy water. She no longer looks beautiful.
She looks scary.
I take a step backward, but that’s as far as I get. With a flicker of movement, the woman points her pale hand toward the one-eyed skeleton. A deafening CRAAAACK! shreds my eardrums. A streak of white electricity jolts from the woman’s fingers and collides with the one-eyed skeleton.
And all of a sudden, the skeleton begins to move.
Its chalk-white arms shake into motion. Its bony legs clatter as it steps out of the wooden rack. It turns to gaze at me with its one empty eye.