The Triumphant Tale of Pippa North

by Temre Beltz

  He only hoped the Winds of Wanderly hadn’t taken offense to his plan to pretend to be a fairy godmother, but now he wasn’t so sure. Five whole days had passed since he’d replied to the girl’s letter, and he hadn’t heard a single word in response. Soon Master Von Hollow would hold auditions for the coveted role of his assistant, and with no grubins and no worm root, the only trick Oliver had up his sleeve was good old-fashioned flattery.

  Oliver squished determinedly through the mud, climbed onto Master Von Hollow’s creaky front porch, and lifted the brass door knocker in the shape of a hat. He brought it down three times against the door and waited. When Master Von Hollow didn’t answer, Oliver crept a hair closer and pressed his ear against the door.

  He heard footsteps! Heavy, plodding footsteps as if someone was coming down the stairs. Hurriedly, he reached up and brought the door knocker down three more times. A loud crash ensued, followed by an outburst of angry grumbling. Finally the knob on Master Von Hollow’s door began to twist open. Oliver frantically mussed up his hair. He was certain a little height made the absence of his hat less noticeable—it didn’t—plastered a friendly smile on his face, and pretended his heart wasn’t banging like a drum.

  When Master Von Hollow appeared, he was not smiling. Indeed, that sort of nasty lip curl was best described as a snarl. Despite the fearsome look in Master Von Hollow’s eyes, and the dust that covered a whole half side of his face and made him look eerily like a ghost, Oliver’s gaze went straight to Master Von Hollow’s hat. He had never been so close to it before. And it was marvelous. It wasn’t as tall as Headmaster Razzle’s, though, really, Headmaster Razzle’s was a bit too tall and was always causing him to knock into doorframes and such. Nor was it as crusted with gemstones or studded with bright, colorful feathers like the other hats Oliver had seen, but it veritably hummed with magic.

  Master Von Hollow huffed. “Close your mouth, you ridiculous boy! If you had any sense about you, you’d never set foot on my porch! I thought Razzle ended his ridiculous school fund-raising campaign months ago, but just so we’re clear, I do not want, nor will I ever want, anything as ridiculous as gift wrapping paper. Indeed, it’s quite presumptuous to assume a belief in such a senseless activity as gift giving, don’t you think?”

  “Um, I beg your pardon, sir,” Oliver said, wiping the sweat off his brow, “but I’m not here for fund-raising or anything like that. You, um, are just the most famous magician in the swamp—”

  “Yes,” Master Von Hollow agreed as if Oliver were discussing something as uncontroversial as the weather.

  “And, well, over at Razzle’s we all want to be like you—”

  “Do you now?” Master Von Hollow asked, sounding just a bit more interested.

  “So it only seems natural to do something nice for you.” Oliver forced his hands to his sides and tried to stop jittering. “To express our thanks. For being so . . . great. Anyhow, if there’s anything that you might need help with today, perhaps I can assist you?” Oliver held his breath. He had determined to use the word “assist” or, better yet, “assistant” as many times during his visit as possible in hopes that, when the time came for Master Von Hollow to choose an assistant for his showcase, he couldn’t help but think of Oliver.

  “Headmaster Razzle really sent you here for that?” Master Von Hollow asked with an arc of his eyebrow.

  Oliver gulped. Headmaster Razzle, of course, would be horrified to know what Oliver was up to, but he’d been so busy lately packing things into boxes, staring endlessly at his lone Sapphire Sea painting, and sending Nicholas and his sidekick Duncan away for more “special assignments” that it wasn’t very hard to slip away.

  Discreetly avoiding the question, Oliver executed a little bow. “At your service, sir.”

  “Hmm, well, there is something that needs to be done. Perhaps something that you could be of use for . . .” Master Von Hollow’s voice trailed off, and Oliver made the innocent mistake of peering behind Master Von Hollow and into his mansion.

  There at the bottom of the winding and dusty staircase was a large box, presumably the cause of the loud crash. Its contents had spilled out all over the floor and rolled up against three stacks of similar sealed boxes. Like Headmaster Razzle’s office, Master Von Hollow’s mansion was peculiarly . . . empty.

  Master Von Hollow’s eyes flashed. He stepped outside his mansion and slammed the door behind him. The murder of crows that were spying from the porch rail began to anxiously flap their wings. Master Von Hollow loomed over Oliver. “Get your eyes off my property, you little miscreant! I don’t know what information Razzle has been blabbing to you boys, but I’ll not have you meddling in my business, you hear?”

  Oliver bobbed his head vigorously up and down, but he froze when Master Von Hollow reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Despite the perpetually muggy conditions of the Swinging Swamp, Master Von Hollow’s touch felt like ice. He wrenched Oliver closer and furrowed his brow as if noticing something. With a sinking feeling, Oliver knew exactly what was coming.

  “Where is your hat?” Master Von Hollow said through gritted teeth.

  There was no real avoiding this question, and Oliver feared a clever response would earn him a solid thump on the head or worse. In his desperation for a hat, he couldn’t forget precisely what sort of magician he was dealing with (an unscrupulous one, that’s what).

  “I don’t have one yet, sir,” Oliver said miserably.

  Master Von Hollow sucked in a breath. “You’re the boy without a hat? You’re the oldest boy in the Swinging Swamp never to have received his hat?”

  As if Oliver needed reminding. “Yes, sir, that’s me,” Oliver said, reluctantly claiming the loathsome title.

  “Well, then, that’s absolutely . . . perfect!” Master Von Hollow exclaimed. He released his grip from Oliver’s shoulder and lightly brushed the wrinkles off his too-short cape.

  “It—it is?” Oliver asked, wide-eyed. Oliver was certain the word “perfect” had never once been used in association with him. He couldn’t believe his good luck! Perhaps Oliver had never needed the grubins or worm root to begin with; perhaps he (along with everyone else) was wrong about Master Von Hollow; and maybe, finally, Oliver was going to get the mentor he always hoped for.

  “Yes! Of all the boys in the Swinging Swamp, you are the one who will be missed the least. If something terrible befalls you, not even Headmaster Razzle will get on my case. This really is a matter of the right help at the right time, isn’t it?” Master Von Hollow asked with a bright smile plastered on his face. He brushed past Oliver and began striding toward the thick wall of trees that lined his mansion on either side. He shoved a clump of branches out of the way and looked in Oliver’s direction. “Come along, then! Let’s not dillydally. For where you’re going, you’ll need to use my rowboat.”

  With that, Master Von Hollow dove in, and the wall of trees swallowed him up completely. Trying not to think of what a terrible turn his visit had taken, and whether he might still find a way to use the word “assistant” at least once more, Oliver brought his hand up to the place where Master Von Hollow disappeared and pushed against it. The wall of trees pushed back. But finally, with an uneasy rustle and a groan, it relented, and Oliver tumbled through headfirst.

  “Ouch!” he cried, landing with a heavy thud. He blinked his eyes. It was much darker than he anticipated. It wasn’t just a wall of trees that lined Master Von Hollow’s mansion; it was more like a thick overhead tunnel of trees. Oliver felt suddenly very alone.

  “Master Von Hollow?” Oliver called out. He crept carefully through the dense foliage and kept his gaze fixed on the ground in avoidance of sinkholes. Sinkholes were always a risk in the Swinging Swamp, but you could typically count on someone being near enough to help pull you out if need be. Oliver had the sense that if he tumbled into a sinkhole on Master Von Hollow’s property, that might be the end of him.

  Seeing a looming figure a few feet ahead, Oliver breathed a small si
gh of relief. “Master Von Hollow?” he called out. He picked up his pace, but when he came upon the man, a feeling of dread washed over him.

  It was not Master Von Hollow. It wasn’t even a magician at all, at least not anymore.

  Oliver reached his shaking fingers out toward the stone statue but stopped short. This was what happened if you tried to use another magician’s hat.

  Oliver had been warned about such a fate, and if ever there was a place to stumble across a petrified magician, it was at Master Von Hollow’s home. In light of Master Von Hollow’s skill and position, it was rumored that his hat had been the object of attempted robbery on at least six different occasions.

  Oliver shivered. Six lives . . . gone. As far as he knew, there was no remedy for petrification.

  Oliver tried not to look at the expression on the stone magician’s face, but he couldn’t help it. It was so full of sadness and regret. It made Oliver feel empty inside. And scared. Surely the magician had known the consequences of using another magician’s hat. How could he have done it anyways? Was it really so easy to be blinded? To become so focused on pursuing one thing that everything else could be lost in return? The hair on the back of Oliver’s neck prickled with unease. That wasn’t what he was doing, was it? He wanted a hat, certainly, but only so that he could fit in, so that he could belong, so that he could have a home. But was there a cost he hadn’t considered?

  “Do you like my sculpture, boy?” Master Von Hollow whispered, creeping up behind Oliver. “I have more like it, if you’re interested in taking a peek. Some of the poor saps even have real hats on their heads. I keep a collection of dead magicians’ hats just for fun, and wouldn’t you know, you can’t even harness the magic in those hats without turning into stone! Of course . . .” He paused and slipped his hat off his head. He held it out toward Oliver, eyes gleaming. “You’re always welcome to try my hat on for size, hmm?”

  “No, thank you,” Oliver said, taking a step—all right, more like a leap—backward. “With all due respect, sir, I-I’m sure my hat is already on its way.”

  Master Von Hollow shrugged. He placed his hat back on his head and continued walking along. Oliver hurried after him. “According to Razzle, your case is practically hopeless, but suit yourself. Now, are you ready to hear the details of your assignment?”

  Oliver nodded bleakly at the same time that a horse let out a shrill whinny. He readied himself for—wait, a horse let out a shrill whinny?

  In case I have not made it clear by now, the Swinging Swamp is a haven for slinking, slithering things; for foul, smelly things; for things with razor-sharp teeth and venomous stingers; for the cast-out, shoved-aside, perhaps-we-can-forget-them things. Horses, as I am sure you are well aware, do not fit onto this list. Horses, in Oliver’s experience, or at least based on everything he’d ever overheard, which was actually quite a lot because when no one wants to talk to you, you do plenty of listening, had never once been spotted in the Swinging Swamp.

  Without thinking, Oliver ran curiously toward the sound. He made a sharp right and nearly somersaulted down a steep slope. Master Von Hollow bellowed at him to “STOP!” but it was too late. Oliver had already seen it. There, situated at the foot of the hill and enclosed by a crude-looking fence, was an entire herd of horses. At least Oliver thought they were horses. They didn’t much look like the strong, majestic creatures he’d seen in storybooks, but they did have four hooves, manes, tails (however patchy), and long, mud-splattered snouts they were using to graze among the swamp moss. That moss, however, must not have been very nourishing considering Oliver could count every single bone in the horses’ bodies. He shivered. Maybe there was a good reason horses didn’t typically make their home in the Swinging Swamp.

  Still, Oliver didn’t want to be insulting.

  “They certainly are something,” he finally said.

  Master Von Hollow snorted. “If by ‘something’ you mean ‘pitiful,’ then yes, they certainly are.”

  “Oh,” Oliver said, frowning. “I assumed the horses belonged to you. This . . . is still your land, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it’s my land! I’m the richest magician in the Swinging Swamp! And these creatures do belong to me, but that doesn’t mean I like them. Indeed, there are lots of reasons for keeping things, boy, the very least of those being affection.”

  Remembering how big and bold Master Von Hollow’s showcases tended to be, Oliver wondered if he planned to somehow incorporate the horses as part of the show. Even in this woeful state, a horse was still a horse—certainly far more impressive than something like a rabbit. Of course, there was no way Master Von Hollow could make a whole horse disappear; there was no way one would fit inside his hat. But he had to be planning something, and Oliver almost grinned, thinking that out of all the times to be chosen as Master Von Hollow’s assistant, this might be the most exciting of all.

  “I, um, am very experienced with horses,” Oliver piped up. “W-would you like to see?”

  Considering Oliver didn’t have one bit of experience with horses, he really hoped Master Von Hollow would not want to see, but he figured he had to at least make the offer.

  “I’m much more interested in how much experience you have in minding your own business, and if you are always this impossibly nosy!” Master Von Hollow hissed, and perhaps to be sure Oliver didn’t go running off again, he grabbed hold of Oliver’s wrist. He yanked Oliver back up the hill. As they climbed, Oliver felt a sudden and startling wave of heat wash over him. He dabbed at the beads of perspiration on his forehead and looked over his shoulder in the direction of the horses. But they weren’t paying him any attention. They still had their noses to the ground, futilely shuffling through layer after layer of mud.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Master Von Hollow pointed in the direction of a lone rowboat swaying gently in the mud stream. He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which he thrust beneath Oliver’s nose.

  “This is the person you will be meeting with. You will be picking something up on my behalf. Something important.”

  Oliver blinked at the name written on the paper. He slowly shook his head. “I-I’ve never ventured out of the Swinging Swamp before. I don’t know if Headmaster Razzle would allow it.”

  “Well, don’t get cold feet now, boy. Headmaster Razzle does what I tell him to, and who said anything about going outside the Swinging Swamp?”

  Oliver gestured at the paper. “This is a girl’s name. There aren’t any girls that live in the Swinging Swamp.”

  “Yes, I know. But Helga Hookeye is a witch,” Master Von Hollow said.

  That didn’t make Oliver feel better at all, especially considering Master Von Hollow’s earlier comment about Oliver not being missed if something terrible happened to him. Countless terrible things could happen anytime a witch was involved. Though the witches crept in and out of the Swinging Swamp on a fairly regular basis, they almost never dropped by Razzle’s School for Meddlesome Boys, and Oliver was happy to stay away from them. Still, if he managed to complete such a horrific task, Master Von Hollow would have to consider him for the role of his assistant, wouldn’t he?

  “Um, what am I picking up exactly, sir?” Oliver asked.

  “Helga knows what to give you.”

  “Yes, but she’s a witch, sir. What if she tries to give me the wrong thing?”

  Master Von Hollow frowned. He pursed his lips. “That is not a completely irrelevant point. All right, fine. You’ll be picking up a VIP.”

  “I—I . . .” Oliver took a deep breath. “Is it safe for me to handle a Very Important Potion?” Oliver had heard of VIPs before, but they weren’t the sort of thing one typically encountered in the Swinging Swamp. Magicians didn’t often attempt to dabble beyond their hat magic, and when a witchy enchantment was necessary, the witches typically came and performed the spell themselves.

  “I don’t know, is it?” Master Von Hollow snapped, clearly annoyed. “You will tell her tha
t Master Whom sent you—do NOT use my real name—and you will give her this in return.” Master Von Hollow stuffed three bundles of magician’s thread into Oliver’s arms.

  Oliver’s jaw gaped. Magician’s thread was in high demand in Wanderly. Other than dabbling in bribery, it was the primary means by which Master Von Hollow had made his fortune and was perhaps the one and only valuable thing even the Chancellor agreed the magicians had to offer. Magician’s thread was light, thin, translucent, unbreakable (except by the person who put it in place), and an excellent, if somewhat fickle, conductor of magic. The thread was taken directly from a magician’s hat, which shed only small bits at a time; this made the harvesting process frustratingly slow and tedious. Oliver couldn’t possibly imagine how badly Master Von Hollow wanted that VIP to be willing to part with such a quantity.

  Master Von Hollow hiked up his elegant-looking trousers and sloshed toward the rowboat. “I really do hate this miserable swamp,” he muttered before swinging his leg back and delivering a hefty kick to the rowboat. Oliver winced at the sound of the loud crack as the rowboat snapped to attention. Unlike the rowboats at Razzle’s, this one had no name painted brightly on the side.

  “There now, this rowboat will get you safely to the Creeping Corridor—”

  “The Creeping Corridor?” Oliver interrupted.

  Master Von Hollow shut his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know if you’re allowed to go to the Creeping Corridor.”

  That was easy enough for Oliver. The Creeping Corridor was the Swinging Swamp’s shadowy version of an outdoor mall. It drew sinister types from all over who were looking to deal in dark wares or hard-to-find ingredients or merely to meet up for a bit of foul company over a popping cauldron. No, Oliver didn’t wonder if he was allowed to go to such a place; he already knew he wasn’t allowed to go to such a place.

  Master Von Hollow cracked one eye open. “As I was saying, after you arrive at the Creeping Corridor . . . well, Helga is Helga. No one can possibly predict how she will react to you so I can’t guarantee how or if you will make it back. Just remember, I didn’t go looking for you, you came and knocked on my door. Now you have no choice but to do what I tell you.”