Saving Fable

by Scott Reintgen

  She was walking back to her seat when Chem stepped in front of her. The two of them had been partners a few times. Chem always bragged about her photographic memory, but as far as Indira could tell, the girl wasn’t all that great at actually using what she knew to do anything useful. Most of the time, Indira ended up doing the assigned work for both of them.

  “Hey, Indira,” Chem said. “This coffee is for you.”

  Indira blinked. “Uhh…I’m not sure…”

  “Sorry, let me explain. Maxi wanted to apologize and just didn’t know what to say. So she bought you this iced white mocha to patch things up.”

  Indira glanced over Chem’s shoulder. Maxi was watching the exchange nervously.

  “Really?” Indira asked.

  She took the offered cup, and the world vanished. Two hundred feet straight down, pebbles tumbled into the ravine, and Indira came to the frightening realization that she was about to tumble with them. Her feet were sliding as she scrambled backward. A panicked scream escaped her lips as she backpedaled…

  …only to reappear in the room. Lights flashed overhead as she tripped over the desk behind her. She lost her grip on the iced coffee, and everything happened in slow motion.

  The coffee landed on her shoulder and the lid popped off. The brown liquid rushed down the collar of her jacket and flooded the floor. Indira was breathing heavily as she looked up at a smirking Chem. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I say white mocha? I meant to say fright mocha. Silly me.”

  And then the other students were laughing. As Indira stood and the coffee dripped from her sleeve, half the class laughed at her. Most of the protagonists had turned to watch, and some of the side characters even joined in, hoping to be liked. Maxi had an odd look on her face, and even though a few of the protagonists stood, trying to quiet the others, Indira decided to run.

  Their laughter followed her out of the room.

  She could feel blood pulsing up into her cheeks. The coffee had already sunk into her jacket, leaving a great dark stain down one sleeve and across most of her collar. She whipped it from her shoulders angrily and stormed down the hallway. Characters standing in her way changed course abruptly, muttering as she shoved past them. She ignored their stares.

  Why had Maxi done that? Why had everyone laughed? What was funny about being mean to someone? Weren’t these supposed to be the protagonists? The good guys? She shouldered through the bathroom, startling Gavin Grant as he washed his hands.

  “What are you doing in here?” she spat angrily.

  He sputtered, “It’s…it’s…”

  “It’s what? What is it, Gavin?”

  “The boys’ room,” he said, pointing back at the door.

  If her cheeks could have turned a deeper shade of red, they did. “Just great!”

  She stormed across the hall into the correct bathroom and burst into tears. She wasn’t normally one to cry, but even the toughest people can’t help crying when they feel as if the world has turned its back on them. Indira ignored the warm, angry tears as she filled up the sink and dipped her stained jacket into the water. She set to scrubbing it and was so fixed on the task that she didn’t notice the little bird until it landed on her shoulder.

  “Oh, not now,” she muttered. The bird was clearly one of Alice’s messengers. It hopped on her shoulder, fluttering baby-blue wings. Indira continued to scrub until the bird started pecking her neck. “Hey!”

  Turning, she held out her hand, and the bird dropped a little note into it.

  You are excused from Alice’s class for an appointment in the Rainy Courtyard. Professor Darcy has prepared an extracurricular activity for your class. For homework: ESCAPE from something.

  Indira frowned. She had been enjoying Professor Darcy’s class, but she didn’t like the idea of an extracurricular activity. Not with how today had already gone. She crumpled the note and returned to her stained jacket. She was starting to think she was just making the stain spread, but she scrubbed it for a few more minutes before heading out.

  She arrived at the back of the school and found some of her classmates already waiting in the misty rain of the courtyard. Professor Darcy stood, his coat soaked as always and his hair romantically pushed to one side. Gavin Grant waited near the back of the crowd. He offered Indira a warm smile. She walked over and elbowed him as playfully as she could manage.

  “Sorry for yelling at you.”

  “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I heard about the coffee thing. I’d have been mad too.”

  Indira looked around. Her other classmates cast careful glances in her direction. Word apparently traveled fast. “Wonderful,” Indira said. Hoping to change the topic, she whispered to Gavin again. “What’s this about an extracurricular activity?”

  Gavin shook his head. “Professor Darcy figured out our crushes in the school and had the genius idea to bring them here for practice. We have to…you know…talk to them.”

  Gavin said it like it was the worst possible thing in the world. Indira would have agreed with him, but she thought it ridiculous that Professor Darcy could possibly know who they had crushes on. She craned her neck and saw a group of students waiting across the opposite end of the courtyard, under the cover of the leaning pillars. Her heart stopped when she saw Phoenix.

  Could this day get any worse?

  “Did Professor Darcy say how he figured out our crushes?” she asked.

  “Something about asking the dragons to perform a survey spell? I don’t really know.” Gavin eyed the waiting group of students. “Whatever he did, it worked.”

  “Your crush is really over there?”

  He nodded. “Isn’t yours?”

  “I don’t have a crush.”

  “Right. Then you have nothing to freak out about.” He scratched nervously at his collar. “I think I’m going to pass out. If I’m lucky, I’ll just pass out.”

  Indira could see Phoenix’s eyes in the shadowy courtyard, a bright and present pair of flames. Maybe she did have a little crush on him, but Phoenix’s friendship had been the main reason she’d turned everything around at school. She swallowed at the thought of him finding out about her crush and not feeling the same way. What if it ruined the best thing she had going?

  Indira watched as her other classmates tried to treat this like a normal exercise, but most of them fumbled forward into a rainy conversation that looked like the most painful experience that Indira could ever imagine. It was far easier to run away.

  Before Professor Darcy could call her name, Indira slipped back inside Protagonist Preparatory. She cut through hallways and down staircases and got as far away as she possibly could. Indira found herself in the deep basements of the school. Muscle memory led her straight to the Sepulcher. Even the company of Dr. Montague would be less painful than being forced to flirt with her best friend in front of everyone else. She was walking the familiar hallway with its recognizable collection of unfinished books when she heard raised voices.

  “Then get rid of me!” one shouted. “Go ahead and pull the plug. I have another version of my story coming out in the summer. I don’t need to waste my time here.”

  “You’re under contract,” answered a deeper voice. Both the voices belonged to men. “Break that contract and we’ll take everything.”

  Indira was caught between emotions. The first was the dreadful curiosity people have when driving by accidents on the side of the road. It’s natural to slow down, crane our necks, and take in the damage. The second was the natural shying away we feel when it comes to angry, raised voices. No one enjoys playing witness to a heated argument.

  Feeling the warring desires to know and to retreat, Indira finally decided to peek into the main room of the Sepulcher. Dr. Montague stood in the distance. He had his hands on his hips and a little briefcase by his feet. Opposite him was Brainstorm Vesulias. Both their faces
looked as dangerous and as dark as thunderclouds.

  “You already broke the contract!” Dr. Montague was yelling. “Broke it when you ignored my requests for only protagonists. I’m not going to waste away down here training up friars and nurses who have a few petty lines. I’m Romeo Montague, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “You’re Dr. Montague, in case you’ve forgotten. Trained to teach and sworn to do your best by every character who comes into your classroom.” Brainstorm Vesulias poked Dr. Montague in the chest, and the touch almost looked like a strike of lightning. “Do not forsake your vows.”

  Dr. Montague launched into another verbal attack, and Indira found herself backing away. She had satisfied her curiosity, and now she felt it would be better to just wait out the storm. She didn’t want to be caught. And it was uncomfortable listening to Dr. Montague speak that way about her and the other side characters. She retreated down the hallway, far enough that the voices were distant and muddled, and decided to flip through the pages of one of the unfinished books hanging on the wall.

  The book only made it through seventy-two pages. The cover showed a delicate string of pearls. The string had been snipped with scissors or a knife, and the outmost pearl looked ready to fall to the floor. The story featured a protagonist named T. Kettle. The first chapter definitely grabbed the reader’s attention. The girl came from a poor family and was forced to steal in order to survive. Indira read to the part where T. Kettle slipped past the museum’s guards before realizing that the halls around her had gone silent. The voices had stopped.

  She closed the cover of the book and walked quietly toward the main room of the Sepulcher. It was quiet, but not empty. Dr. Montague lay facedown in a crumpled pile to her left. It was a strange sight, but Indira knew he liked to use strange teaching techniques.

  Brainstorm Vesulias was gone. Indira crossed the room and stood over Montague for a second, but he didn’t move. She reached down and tapped his shoulder lightly. When he still didn’t move, Indira almost rolled her eyes. He’d played dead for one of their classes. These techniques were getting old. So she set a firmer hand on his shoulder and rolled him onto his back.

  A horrified scream echoed through the catacombs.

  The entire room went black. A lightning bolt illuminated a desolate plain.

  Where are you taking me? Unhand me! What are you doing? What is this place?

  Those questions echoed as Indira stumbled backward and nearly tripped. She could’ve sworn it was the voice of Dr. Montague. The lights had returned to normal and she was standing back in the Sepulcher, but Dr. Montague still wasn’t awake.

  Instead his twisted face stared up at her. His eyes had been replaced by a pair of plain brown buttons. A gold string looped through each one, forming a delicate x. More horrifying was the blood-red thread that sealed his lips. She could see that he was still breathing through his nostrils. Oh, thank heavens, he’s alive. But his eyes had been taken and his lips had been sealed. Indira whipped around, searching for the person who had screamed.

  It took her a moment to realize she was alone in the Sepulcher.

  The scream had come from her.

  People heard. The twins, her classmates, arrived first. Indira yelled for them to get the brainstorms and to get them now. That command was followed by a dangerous thought. The attacker might be one of the brainstorms. Vesulias was down here right before it happened, and the two of them were arguing.

  Indira shivered. Could he really have done this? And if not him, then who?

  She heard footsteps thundering overhead. People were coming. She stood beside Dr. Montague, unable to bear looking at his puppet eyes and stitched lips. As she waited, hands trembling and mind racing, she noticed the first clue. Sitting on the second step was a black stone. It shimmered in the golden light of the Sepulcher. Indira leaned down and plucked it up. It was bone hard and oddly warm. She held it up to eye level and nearly gasped.

  It wasn’t a stone. It was a dragon scale.

  She pocketed the scale as a herd of people poured into the room. Indira recognized Brainstorm Underglass at the front. She glided forward, her collar high and dominating, her hair in a perfect bun. Behind her, Brainstorm Vesulias had a look of utter shock written across his dark features. If he was pretending to be surprised, he was a very good actor. Brainstorm Ketty came next, and Indira’s stomach gave a twist. She was wearing her black dragon-scale jacket.

  “I found him like this,” Indira said. “I don’t know what happened.”

  A doctor pressed through the gathered crowd and knelt. Indira stepped aside so the man could check Dr. Montague’s vitals and listen for things that, she supposed, non-doctors couldn’t hear. The man announced that he was still alive but marked by dark sorcery, and the doctor didn’t know the proper counterspells. Indira was about to explain what had happened when a raised voice echoed from the entrance.

  “Everybody out of my crime scheme!” A fresh-off-the-page detective pushed through the crowd. He had an actual magnifying glass and a patterned cap, all set off by an ankle-length trench coat. “I need a ten-foot perimeter around the decreased.”

  “We sent for Sherlock Holmes,” Brainstorm Underglass said crisply.

  “Mr. Holmes wanted to be here, ma’am, but he’s on holiday in the Iron Lakes. A well-deserved vaccination after how hard he’s worked lately. Luckily, I got your call.” The detective slung an identification card out for her to see and whipped it back up just as quickly. Underglass started to complain, but the detective slid past and hovered over Dr. Montague. “Detective Malaprop, at your service. Time of death?”

  “He’s not dead,” Brainstorm Vesulias answered. “His hands are moving.”

  The detective leaned closer and examined Dr. Montague’s hand with his magnifying glass. After a few seconds he pulled out a spiral notepad.

  “Time of death: in the future. Possible attacker could be a seamstress. Buttons were employed, as well as some expert stinching. Note to self: investigate all local haberdasheries.” Detective Malaprop was so engrossed with his investigation that he missed the incredulous stares of the brainstorms behind him. “Witnesses?”

  “The girl found him,” Brainstorm Ketty supplied. “Her name is Indira Story.”

  Every eye turned to Indira, including a magnified one. Detective Malaprop regarded her through his glass with suspicion.

  “What did you see when you arrived on the scheme, ma’am?”

  “The scheme?” Indira asked in confusion.

  Detective Malaprop gestured around the room. “The setting, the location—the crime scheme. Describe it to me.”

  Indira felt nervous in front of so many people, but she swallowed once and spoke. “Well, I was down here earlier than normal and heard an argument. I can’t remember what was said.” And she really couldn’t, in that moment. All the added stress was pressing the words exchanged between Vesulias and Montague beyond her mental reach. “But I waited until they were done talking. I didn’t think it’d be polite to listen or interrupt. When I couldn’t hear them anymore, I came into the Sepulcher and found Dr. Montague on the floor.”

  “Was the victim facedown when you found him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what’s your representation to the victim?”

  “My what?”

  “How do you know this man?”

  “He teaches my I Thought You Were Dead class.”

  “Quite an ironic class title, given the circumcisions.” Detective Malaprop clicked his pen and turned to the waiting crowd. “We have a clear-cut case of revenge. Aggression. Passion. I would be on the lookout for an ex-lover, a seamstress, or a ghost. Perhaps all three of them working together.”

  Brainstorm Ketty took a step forward. Light shivered down her dragon-scale jacket.

  “Indira said someone was arguing with him. Shouldn’t you ask her wh
o it was?”

  Detective Malaprop eyed the brainstorm doubtfully, flipped through his notes, and gave a surprised look. “Not sure how I missed that.” He turned to Indira. “Can you identify the person to whom our victim was speaking?”

  Indira avoided making eye contact. The dragon scale was pulsing with heat inside her pocket. Her voice shook a little. “I heard Dr. Montague arguing with Brainstorm Vesulias.”

  The crowd gasped. A few edged away from the man, as if he might attack them next.

  “Is that true?” Underglass asked.

  Even Detective Malaprop shivered at the short woman’s dangerous tone. Indira had never understood what powers the brainstorms possessed. She knew they traveled between worlds, but she hadn’t ever thought of them as dangerous. Now, as she watched the sparks form around Underglass, she felt there was nothing in the world that was more dangerous.

  “Yes,” Vesulias finally said. “I was down here. And yes, we were arguing. As the three of us discussed at our last meeting, many students have had complaints about Dr. Montague. He has been neglecting his duties to our side characters. I came here to inform him of our position.”

  Detective Malaprop huffed. “Was your position ‘do what we want or become a puppet’?”

  Brainstorm Vesulias scowled. Indira didn’t think he was helping his case by looking and sounding so angry. “Of course not. I wanted to fire him.”

  “You wanted to set the victim on fire?” Malaprop stormed across the room, removing a pair of handcuffs as he approached. “With the power vested in me by the laws of Fable, the justice system of Imagination, and permission from my mother, you’re under arrest for the assault of Dr. Montague.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Brainstorm Vesulias shouted.

  Malaprop clinked the handcuffs over Vesulias’s wrists anyway. Ignoring the patient protests of Brainstorm Underglass, the detective led his culprit through the crowd.

  A ruckus ensued. Underglass and the rest of the crowd followed, shouting their approval or disapproval accordingly. Only the doctor remained with Montague, muttering counterspells that had no visible effects Indira could see. Indira quietly watched him work for a few minutes before an arm wrapped around her shoulder.