The Triumphant Tale of Pippa North

by Temre Beltz

  By far the best thing, however, was that the rest of the Triumphants were accompanied by their own loyal companions. Pippa had heard so much about the loyal companions—well, at least a lot about Ernest’s—but she hadn’t yet gotten a tour of the Loyal Companions’ Barn, where they were all kept (except for Mistress Peabody’s goldfish, which she kept in a fishbowl in her bedchambers but sometimes toted around the castle).

  Ernest waved his hands in the air at Pippa and pointed proudly down at the goat beside him. “Leonardo!” he mouthed. “This is Leonardo!” Leonardo had uneven horns, a black ring of fur around each eye as if he were wearing spectacles of his own, a few long, wispy hairs beneath his chin, and blocky teeth that stuck out so far, he looked to be constantly grinning. Pippa couldn’t help grinning back because Ernest was right, Leonardo was pretty perfect.

  Beside Ernest, Prudence Bumble kept huffing and wriggling her fingers in front of her nose as if either Leonardo or Ernest or probably both were emitting a gag-inducing smell. Perched on her shoulders was a raccoon that kept shifting its gaze around the room and finding new people to hiss and snarl at.

  Pippa finally slid into her seat at the front of the tent and gulped when she saw the two large cages looming in front of her and Bernard. Each one was draped in a large swath of red velvet fabric. Mistress Peabody lifted her fully ruffled arms in the air until the room began to quiet down.

  “Thank you for coming today, ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here to celebrate one of the longest standing traditions for the kingdom’s Triumphants, the bestowing of a loyal companion! Today I will be asking our newest students Bernard and . . . and . . . and Pippa a series of questions. Based on their answers to these questions, Bernard’s and Pippa’s loyal companions will appear inside these two enchanted cages. Is everyone ready to begin?”

  Pippa heaved a sigh of relief. She was still terrified about what having a loyal companion would mean for her plans, but when Mistress Peabody had ordered that she and Bernard dress up in chain-mail suits, she’d worried they were about to be sent off on their first quest and that she’d have to wrangle a loyal companion with her bare hands! A series of questions—the equivalent of a test, really—was certainly something Pippa could handle. Maybe she’d even end up with a loyal companion she would actually be compatible with.

  Mistress Peabody reached for a sealed envelope on top of the table. She opened it up, selected the top two sheets of paper, and held them high for all to see. On one paper was written the word “big” and on the other paper was written the word “small.”

  “Please state your preference,” Mistress Peabody said solemnly.

  “Big,” Bernard said with a smug smile. He was probably imagining looking down on everyone from the back of an elephant or some other enormous creature.

  “Small,” Pippa said with equal certainty. If she was going to be stuck hauling her loyal companion home, it really would help if it were chipmunk-size.

  As soon as the word came out of Pippa’s mouth, the curtain covering the large cage in front of her wriggled.

  Pippa jumped and Bernard snickered.

  Mistress Peabody quickly explained, “It’s only the cages, dear. They are listening. That is how they come up with your perfect match.”

  “Unless you don’t have a match because you’re an imposture!” Bernard hissed under his breath.

  Certain that her posture was just fine, thank you very much, Pippa quietly corrected him. “I believe the word you are looking for is ‘imposter.’”

  Mistress Peabody held up two new sheets of paper. On one was the word “low” and on the other, the word “high.”

  “High,” Bernard said with a sniff, as if he found the choice insulting.

  “Low,” Pippa said, because she already didn’t fit in at Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant, and the last thing she needed was a loyal companion with an attitude problem.

  The curtains covering the cages wriggled a second time, a bit more vigorously.

  As Pippa waited for the next round of questions, she was surprised to find that it was almost maybe a little bit fun. This time the two sheets Mistress Peabody lifted in the air read “captivating” or “camouflaged.” Though Pippa couldn’t deny the appeal of a loyal companion as beautiful as Ms. Bravo’s turquoise macaw, Dynamite, she also couldn’t forget that she might be requiring her loyal companion to move back to a town where the most unusual pet was a rooster. For the sake of her future loyal companion, Pippa dutifully said, “Camouflaged,” while Bernard, who probably wasn’t convinced the Triumphant uniforms were glitzy enough, answered predictably, “Captivating.”

  Mistress Peabody waited for the red velvet to wriggle, and then she dipped her hand into the envelope one last time. “This is it,” she said with a slight tremble to her voice. “This is the final question that will determine who your loyal companion will be. Choose wisely, Triumphants!”

  Pippa snuck one last glance at the audience behind her. Ernest and his goat, Leonardo, were both anxiously chewing on a strand of grass. Viola and her beaver, Choo-Choo, were bouncing up and down; Anastasia and her marmoset, Whisper, were holding tightly to one another; and Ms. Bravo’s turquoise macaw, Dynamite, soared around the room squawking, “BIG NEWS! GET READY! BIG NEWS!”

  Mistress Peabody thrust the final papers high in the air, and Pippa sucked in a deep breath.

  All the other comparisons had been so easy; Pippa hadn’t even needed to think about them really, but this one was different. Pippa looked from the paper that read “Peas” to the one that read “Carrots.” It wasn’t that it was a difficult question; it was just that Pippa liked them both. And she also didn’t see how preferring one vegetable over the other had anything at all to do with a loyal companion. Still, she had seen enough peculiar things at Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant that questioning it seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

  “Carrots,” Pippa finally decided.

  “Peas,” Bernard said. He shot a knowing look in Pippa’s direction and leaned over to whisper, “My father made me study every loyal companion pairing from the past decade. And the last time someone chose carrots, they got that.” Bernard glanced distastefully in Leonardo’s direction, where Ernest was giving Pippa a cheery thumbs-up sign.

  Pippa didn’t bother answering. Her eyes were fixed on the red velvet fabric hanging over the cages, which was now not only rippling but billowing wildly. A hush fell over the entire room and—with a loud BANG—Pippa knew in an instant that the cages were no longer empty. Their loyal companions had arrived. Without missing a beat, Mistress Peabody reached up and swept the velvet curtain away from the cage containing Bernard’s loyal companion.

  Someone gasped. At least a few people giggled. And Bernard’s face turned a bright shade of red. Prancing around in the cage was the largest peacock Pippa had ever seen. It opened its mouth and let loose a deafening scream. Everyone in the crowd groaned, some placing their hands over their ears. Bernard’s loyal companion was beautiful, sure, but Pippa guessed it wasn’t exactly receiving the reception he had in mind. Bernard crossed his arms against his chest and stubbornly tilted his chin away from his loyal companion. He fixed his eyes on the cage in front of Pippa as if the only thing that might make him feel better was Pippa being assigned a termite.

  “Congratulations, Bernard,” Mistress Peabody said, a bit uneasily. “Your loyal companion is large among its kind, flies high, is captivating in color, and is a PEAcock. Let’s all give Bernard and his new loyal companion a round of applause.” The crowd complied, but then everyone hurriedly turned their gazes in Pippa’s direction. Mistress Peabody, obviously delighting in the crowd’s interest, struck a dramatic pose before sweeping the red velvet curtain away and revealing a—

  “Donkey! Ha! Pippa got a donkey! That’s not even a proper horse. Talk about embarrassing. And it’s ugly too!” Bernard shouted with a smug look on his face.

  Pippa’s chest tightened. The creature in the cage looked terrified. Its h
ead hung low, and its large, pointed ears swiveled back and forth as if trying to make sense of where it was and what had just happened. Bernard was right that it was a bit small for a horse, but Pippa was certain it wasn’t a donkey.

  Bernard continued to blab on, “How is that donkey going to help anyone? It doesn’t even look like it can walk without tipping over!” As if in agreement, Bernard’s peacock let out another ear-piercing scream.

  Pippa rose from her throne and walked closer to the horse. She wrapped her hands gently around the golden bars of the cage. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “Everything will be all right. You can’t possibly be as lost as I am, can you?”

  As if it understood her words, the horse managed to lift its head. It looked right into Pippa’s eyes, and then, miraculously, a single spark ignited on its mane.

  Pippa felt an immediate rush of panic. She didn’t think ordinary horses were supposed to light up like candles, but from the front row of the audience, Ms. Bravo gasped out loud. She jumped on top of her seat in a wholly undignified but wholly ecstatic manner. She pumped her hand wildly in the air. “That’s not a donkey, that’s a fire horse!” she exclaimed.

  Pippa shook her head in disbelief. “A f-f-fire horse? But it’s so small. And dirty. It looks so hungry. And isn’t the whole mane and tail supposed to catch fire, not just one strand?”

  Ms. Bravo shot a glance in Mistress Peabody’s direction.

  “Yes, well, like many things on Triumph Mountain, this fire horse is hardly in its best shape. But”—Ms. Bravo’s expression softened—“that doesn’t mean it can’t be restored.”

  Dynamite squawked jubilantly, “BIG NEWS! FIRE HORSE! BIG NEWS!”

  “Don’t forget about the peacock!” Bernard shouted. “The peacock is really, really . . .” He paused as if trying to find something good to say. He must have got tired of thinking, however, because all he came up with was “Blue!” And then he shot the peacock a look of disgust, as if it were the peacock’s fault that it wasn’t a fire horse.

  But nobody was listening to Bernard. Mistress Peabody—probably dreaming of all the delicious publicity the fire horse would garner—flapped her ruffled arms in a tizzy of delight. The other students followed Ms. Bravo’s lead, the shorter ones jumping on top of their chairs in order to get a better glimpse of the beloved creature they’d only read about in storybooks. And at the center of it all stood Pippa and her fire horse, blinking dubiously and looking as if they’d prefer to be anywhere else in all of Wanderly.

  At least they had something in common.

  Eight

  Pignapped!

  Oliver Dash pulled off the main channel of the Swinging Swamp’s swirling green river and drew Master Von Hollow’s reticent rowboat onto a sandy bank. He carefully tucked the three bundles of magician’s thread beneath his cape and slipped onto the Creeping Corridor’s wooden deck. The deck ran along the side of the river and was filled with two tiers of shops and a haphazard sprinkling of cart vendors.

  Oliver could hardly believe he was there to see a witch. A witch named Helga Hookeye, no less. Oliver had been to the Creeping Corridor only once before, on an ill-fated school field trip that resulted in (1) a few of the boys getting lost (as in, they didn’t resurface for two whole days), (2) several of them turning into buzzing mosquitoes after sampling a potion at the Hole in the Wall,21 and (3) the rest getting terribly sick to their stomachs from a jumbo pack of fried frog legs. Accordingly, Headmaster Razzle vowed never to repeat the trip, and he had, so far, been true to his word.

  Oliver took a deep breath and merged into the moderate-size crowd. Though he wasn’t nearly as conspicuous as when he’d been one of a gaggle of clamoring boys following behind Headmaster Razzle’s extraordinarily tall hat, he hardly felt safe. He kept his eyes low and his hair mussed. A few feet ahead, Oliver spied a sign that read, “Twisted Goblet ’Atta Way,” and a shiver rippled down his spine. The Twisted Goblet was a notoriously witchy hangout—the sort of place most people tried to block out of their minds—but potentially the best chance Oliver had for finding Helga. Even though the sign pointed down a dark and narrow alley, Oliver was relieved to get off the main walkway before anyone happened to notice that he was rather old not to be in possession of a hat or that his cape was three sizes too small.

  Oliver squeezed down the alley, trying very hard not to think about what might be slithering alongside him. Finally, the alley opened onto a log cabin illuminated by candlelight, flickering from within and shining through the cracks. A low din of raspy voices and the occasional cackle pealed out. Lined up nonchalantly beside the door, and as if they weren’t one of Wanderly’s most magical (and shiver-inducing) objects, were a dozen and a half broomsticks. Oliver hurried by them as quickly as he could and pushed through the door of the Twisted Goblet.

  Oliver didn’t have to worry about being noticed. The cabin was so full of witches, and twice as many flitting shadows, that it was easy enough to slink toward the counter, where a weary magician wearing a clown suit and a big red nose was refilling a bowl of peanuts. The witches, of course, weren’t eating the peanuts, but launching them at one another from across the room and aiming, especially, for the eyes. Oliver didn’t even bother to ask the magician about the clown suit. Trying to make a living while being surrounded by witches couldn’t be easy, and he’d probably had far worse hexes placed on him than that.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Oliver said. “Can you please tell me where I can find Helga Hookeye?”

  The magician’s eyes bulged. His hand jerked and peanuts went rolling along the countertop. Oliver couldn’t imagine this was a good sign. “You sure?” the magician finally choked out.

  Oliver’s hand went straight to his head. The way it often did without him meaning for it to. As if maybe, one time, a hat would just happen to be there. As if the moment he’d been waiting for, hoping for, yearning for, would have come and gone without him even noticing. He was, of course, still utterly hatless. Soon, he would be homeless too.

  “I’m sure, sir,” Oliver said, trying to make his voice steady.

  The magician lifted his hand and gestured toward a table in the far corner of the cabin. A witch with fiery red hair was sitting there all by herself. Her boots, propped up on the table, were dripping with swamp goo. She was licking something off the tips of her fingers. Oddly enough, despite how crowded it was, a radius of empty tables surrounded her.

  Oliver adjusted the hem of his short cape and set off in the witch’s direction. When he drew near to her table, she didn’t bother moving her witchy boots or even lifting the brim of her saucily tilted hat so that he could meet her eyes. Instead, she grunted and said beneath her breath, “Git!”

  Oliver would have liked nothing more than to “git.” Indeed, witches are uniquely equipped to make every citizen in their right mind want to “git.” But those who “git” don’t get magician’s hats, and so Oliver said, “I’m looking for a witch named Helga Hookeye. Have I found her?”

  Helga stopped licking her fingers. “Depends on who’s askin’,” she said.

  “Master Whom,” Oliver said quickly.

  “Master Who?” she barked.

  “Whom,” Oliver repeated. “Master Whom.”

  “That’s what I’m askin’, you little flea!”

  Oliver tugged at the collar of his cape. The conversation was getting heated, and heated conversations with witches usually didn’t end well. Oliver wished Master Von Hollow hadn’t forbidden him from using his real name, or that Master Von Hollow had put a little more thought into his fake one. Oliver, oh pity, tried to reason with Helga. “No, you see, the name of the person who sent me actually is Whom. W-H-O-M—”

  But Helga was over it. She let out an unnerving shriek (which caused three other witches to shriek back just for funsies). She yanked her witch’s hat off her head and tossed it angrily in the air. She slammed her gooey boots on the ground and leaned all the way across the table. Oliver gasped at the sight of a large question-mark
ed-shaped scar that hung over her right eye. She reached out and grabbed ahold of Oliver’s wrist. Oliver felt his knees turn to jelly.

  “Don’t even think about giving me a grammar lesson! The only word I care about spelling is W-I-K-K-E-D, what do you think about that?” she hissed. “Now tell me what you’re here for, and I’ll decide whether or not I’m going to turn you into a toad.”

  Contemplating how highly inconvenient that would be, Oliver determined it was time to show Helga Hookeye the one thing she wouldn’t be able to resist. He carefully lifted the corner of his cape to reveal one of the bundles of magician’s thread. Helga’s eyes gleamed. Oliver hated to think of all the mischief a wicked witch could get into with not one but three bundles of magician’s thread, but he supposed he’d just have to trust Master Von Hollow that the Very Important Potion—whatever it was—was absolutely worth it.

  “In return for this,” Oliver said, “I was told that you would have a VIP to give me. May I have it please?”

  The corner of Helga’s lip curled. “Of course I have a VIP. I’m Helga Hookeye! I’m armed with an entire arsenal of VIPs! What you really oughta ask is whether I’m willing to give you one, and guess what? I’ve made up my mind. I am definitely NOT . . . going to turn you into a toad!”

  Oliver, who had hastily positioned a chair in between him and Helga, as if a little wood might be enough to repel magic, began to breathe again. “I sure am glad to hear that. I think we got off on the wrong—”

  Helga exploded into a fit of wild cackling. Her cackles were punctuated by a few unbecoming snorts, and her eyes even looked to be glistening with tears. She smacked her hand repeatedly against the table.

  “I, uh,” Oliver began, scratching his hatless head. “Um, did I miss something?”