by Will Mabbitt
“I’m beautiful!” cried the Witch Queen in the voice of Mabel Jones, running her hands through Mabel’s hair. “I’m young!”
She stretched her supple limbs, tears of joy falling from her eyes.
“I’m hooman!”
She laughed wickedly—not the giggle of a schoolgirl but the cackle of an evil sorceress, and to the watching group who had known and loved the real Mabel Jones, it was a grotesque sound.
A sound that showed that Mabel Jones was no more.
Pelf took the pipe from his mouth and shook his head sadly. “Oh, Mabel. My little snuglet. Ye always were the bravest of us all . . .”
Wiping tears from his eyes, he drew his pistol and pointed it at the Witch Queen. “Ye’ll pay for this, ye withered hag! She was a heartiest of pirates and a true friend.”
Jarvis stepped forward, holding Maggie. “Pelf! No!”
He turned to the Witch Queen. “It’s your turn now! You have to keep your side of the bargain. SEND MAGGIE HOME!”
The Witch Queen snarled and snatched her staff from beside her old body. She lurched over to a patch of bare earth, unused to such nimble legs. Then she drew a circle in the blackened ground and, with the soft lips of Mabel Jones, spoke a vile incantation.
Slowly the magic circle started to fill with muddy water that bled up from the earth. The Witch Queen stirred it with her staff, and the clouds of silt formed a familiar picture. A messy bedroom, an empty crib, and—Jarvis bit his lip to hold back the tears—Mabel’s empty bed.
The Witch Queen laughed cruelly. “Are you missing your friend already?”
She laughed again. And then she stopped laughing.
She clutched her side in pain. “What’s happening? Something is wrong!”
And she’s right. Something is very wrong. For, deep within the body of Mabel Jones, an unlikely chemical reaction is occurring. Her kindness gland, engorged by the ultimate sacrifice she has made, is pumping its juices around her system. The dark magic of the Witch Queen is being rejected.
Mr. Habib’s words ring true: only those who perform the ultimate sacrifice can be truly pure of heart. Only then can dark magic be defeated. For dark magic is old—older than the FORBIDDEN CITY itself—and not even the Witch Queen understands it fully. When such power, used for total evil, is countered by total good, then it is nullified, and the natural state of things can return.
Mabel’s friends watched as the Witch Queen collapsed to her knees. Falling backward into the dust, she lay still.
Pelf took a pull from his pipe. “Aye, it is often the way. The darkness of this most foul deed has led to no good for either of them.”
Then a movement. The twitch of an index finger.
Could it be that . . . ?
Might it be that . . . ?
Can the spirit of Mabel Jones have returned to her body? Or has the Witch Queen’s evil soul fought off the goodness that resides inside?
A hand is lifted toward a face.
A groan creeps from between a pair of lips.
Then a finger stretches out and . . .
REJOICE!
Pelf throws his hooves into the air. “She’s picking her nose!”
The crowd cheers in celebration.
“It is her! It is her! Mabel Jones is back!”
Mabel Jones sat up. She looked sheepishly at her friends. “I was just scratching the inside of my nose.”
Jarvis tugged at her sleeve. “We should hurry.”
He motioned to the magic porthole. It was shrinking! There was no time to lose!
Jarvis handed Maggie back to Mabel and together they stepped forward—
“Wait . . .”
There was a whisper from the old body of the Witch Queen, kept alive by the wickedness of a final joke.
“I only promised that Maggie could return! As soon as one person passes through the porthole, it will close. If you step through it together, the spell will fail. Two of you—or maybe even parts of all of you—will be lost in the steaming mists of time . . .”
The Witch Queen cackled, and the cackle turned to a cough, and the cough to a dying splutter.
“It is my last revenge!”
She coughed once more and then she was silent.
Carruthers checked the body. “This time she’s really dead.”
Mabel looked at Jarvis.
Jarvis looked at Mabel.
They nodded.
It was obvious who should go through the porthole.
It was obvious who needed to be at home the most.
The smallest, most innocentest, never-harmed-anyone person in the world.
Jarvis looked worriedly at the porthole. “Quickly, it’s fading. Bring Maggie!”
Mabel held her sister above the porthole. A vine reached out from the darkness.
“Please take my sister safely home.”
The vine wrapped itself around Maggie and pulled her into the porthole.
Mabel bit her fist as she stared at the image of her bedroom. Seconds seemed liked hours. Her heart thumped in her chest.
“I say!” cried Speke. “There she is!”
Sure enough, the vine was creeping out of the wardrobe with Maggie wrapped in its firm embrace.
Carruthers scratched his head. “Well, I must say, this is all most unscientific.”
The vine gently laid Maggie back into the crib it had plucked her from all those days before. She snuggled into her quilt and began to snore.
Mabel looked at Jarvis.
Jarvis looked at Mabel.
She was home.
Maggie Jones was really home.
Epilogue
And so it was that Maggie Jones was returned safely home, none the wiser for her adventure. Hooman children remember pretty much nothing of their first few years, being generally short on brain matter, even if they’re involved in such unlikely adventures.
Mabel and the others left the ruined kingdom on foot. With the death of the Witch Queen, the egret slaves were freed from her dark magic and the FORBIDDEN CITY was once again left to the plants of the jungle. And, as they trekked back to the BROWN TROUT, Mabel and Jarvis dawdled behind with Omynus Hussh while he apologized to Mabel Jones for trying to poison her.
“Don’t worry, Omynus,” said Mabel kindly. “I understand. You weren’t thinking straight, but it doesn’t matter now. We’re friends again.”
Omynus’s paw crept into Mabel’s hand. “Do you think you’ll ever gets home again too, Mabel?”
He blinked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Mabel smiled. “Yes. I’m sure I will—and Jarvis too. But there’s something I want to find out first.”
“What’s that?” asked Jarvis.
Mabel looked back at the last visible sign of the ruined city: the empty tower that grew from the burned and blackened earth, like the giant gravestone of a lost civilization.
She picked her nose thoughtfully.
“What happened to all the hoomans?”
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to . . .
Paul, my agent.
Ross for his amazing illustrations.
Mandy for the great text design.
Everyone at Puffin and Viking, especially
Ben, Joanna, Tig, Laura, Jacqui,
Wendy, Sophia, and Hannah.
Big brother Rich for all his help and advice.
Mom and Dad.
Last but not least Ellen for (sometimes) putting up with my constant daydreaming.
*Footnotes are for the suck-ups, teachers, and other bottom-feeders that skim the seabeds of pages looking for the pointless plankton of knowledge. I suggest you stick to the story in the future.
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