by Temre Beltz
He didn’t stop to look back at Pippa.
“Where are you going, Ernest?” Pippa called out. “Aren’t . . . aren’t you going to say goodbye?”
Ernest, however, tilted his head toward the sky. “I’m headed to the South Peak, of course. It’s nearly sunset now, and you heard that fairy lady. You’re not supposed to be late.”
“Wait, you’re coming with me?” Pippa exclaimed, running to catch up with him.
“Pippa, I ate a four-foot-tall cake so I could stick around here with you. If I gave up my last chance to say goodbye, that’d just be plain dumb,” Ernest said.
“I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone else quite like you, Ernest,” Pippa said. “I never dreamed it would take coming all the way up to Triumph Mountain to find a best friend, but now I can never say it wasn’t worth it.”
Ernest slid his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. “A best friend?” he echoed. “No one’s ever said that about me before. But, Pippa”—he paused—“can people still be best friends if they never see each other?”
“I think that’s what the ‘best’ is there for. It beats all, even things like distance—and authorized roles.” But Pippa was hardly confident. If Mistress Peabody didn’t want the Triumphants to befriend the Triumphant staff, what would she think about Ernest being friends with a commoner? Though Pippa had always been fairly content in her role as a commoner before, lately the flaws of the system felt unbearable.
Ernest, however, smiled bravely. “Beats all,” he repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
Fifteen minutes later, Pippa and Ernest scrambled up the last rocky ledge and emerged onto the flat plateau of the South Peak. The sun hung low in the sky, just about to slip beneath the surface of the perfectly tranquil Sapphire Sea. Pippa looked anxiously around, but she didn’t see any sign of Fairy Dash.
Her stomach flip-flopped. She’d been so worried about Ernest, she’d felt so surprisingly torn about having others to leave behind as well—Maisy, Anastasia, Viola, Ferdinand, and even Castle Cressida—that she hadn’t stopped to wonder if Fairy Dash’s offer was the real deal.
What if Fairy Dash didn’t show up?
Did Pippa really know that much about Fairy Dash other than, as Ernest pointed out, the peculiar manner in which her letters arrived? And now that Fairy Dash knew about her Triumphant status, was it possible she’d use it against Pippa? Pippa had trusted the Winds of Wanderly not to lead her astray, but did she really have a good reason other than what she assumed to be true about them? Pippa felt a hard prick of doubt deep in the center of her chest. She’d never questioned the Winds of Wanderly before, but maybe that was a mistake.
Pippa jumped at a rustling sound a few feet ahead. She smoothed a hand over her ponytail. She took a deep breath and prepared to meet Fairy Dash, when—
“Pippa?” Maisy said, popping out from behind the trunk of a nearby tree. “What are you and Ernest doing up here?”
At the sight of Maisy, Ernest grabbed ahold of his stomach and groaned again. Maisy frowned. “Oh no, Ernest! Do you have a stomachache? And here I was, planning to make you a fresh batch of lemon bars for dessert tonight,” she said sweetly.
Poor Ernest turned a terrible shade of green but managed to say, “Thank you, Maisy. D-don’t mind me. I’m sure I’ll feel better by tonight.”
Certain that Ernest was eager to change the subject, and a bit overcome with emotion, Pippa threw her arms around Maisy and said, “Something miraculous has happened, Maisy! I was so worried I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to you, but you’re here, and your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
Maisy’s eyes widened. She looked quickly in Ernest’s direction, but he nodded glumly. “Wh-what do you mean, goodbye?”
“I received another letter from Fairy Dash. She’s decided to grant my wish for free. And she’s coming here. Right now—this very instant!”
Before Maisy could answer, however, Ernest jabbed his finger toward the horizon. “Uh, Maisy? Pippa? Not to interrupt, but what is THAT?” he cried, voice rising.
Pippa and Maisy both looked toward the setting sun. Shielding her eyes, Pippa drew in a sharp breath. “It looks like a . . . a . . . witch? You don’t think Ms. Bonecrusher’s come back to finish what she started, do you?”
Maisy, who had hastily drawn her wooden spoon, lowered it just slightly. “I can’t imagine that’s Ms. Bonecrusher. She seemed to be a pretty experienced witch, and, um, well, look,” she said.
Look, indeed. The witch zipping toward them didn’t seem to have an ounce of control over her broomstick. She zigzagged up, down, and all around. She flew in three complete circles, and when she finally broke out of the dizzying cycle, her broomstick forged ahead while she remained upside down!
“Wow,” Ernest said, tilting his head to the side. “I guess I never realized how hard it is to ride a broomstick. Most witches make it look so easy. I almost feel a little sorry for this one.”
“Well, I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her, Ernest,” Pippa said. “Mistress Peabody wouldn’t have scheduled an authorized witch visit for the day of a field trip, and we’re here all alone!”
“Um,” Maisy began with her eyes still glued to the sky, “don’t all witches wear hats and pointy boots? This one seems to be missing hers, and she’s wearing a curiously short cape.”
“Maisy, does that really seem like what we should be focusing on right now?” Ernest asked in a squeaky voice.
Maisy opened her mouth to reply but froze. As the witch drew near, they could hear her shouting from atop her broomstick. Though it was nothing more than a frantic “AHHHHHH” it was clear enough to tell that the witch was not a witch at all but rather a boy.
Maisy, Ernest, and Pippa stood and gawked just long enough to miss their chance to run. The boy’s broomstick hurtled toward Triumph Mountain, but just as it was about to (crash) land, it launched him through the air with a mighty thwack of its bristles. The boy bounced and rolled a short distance before finally stumbling to his feet, his short cape flipped clean over his head. He wrestled mightily with the fabric before managing to uncover a thoroughly mussed-up head of hair and a shy half smile.
“One of you wouldn’t happen to be Fairy Margaret, would you?” he said.
Pippa crossed her arms. “There’s no Fairy Margaret here—”
“Pippa—” Maisy interjected.
“Hold on, Maisy, he could be dangerous,” Pippa said, before turning back to the witch boy. “Fairy Dash is on her way, unless of course, you’ve wickedly intercepted her and now you’re here to explain yourself?”
“Pippa—” Maisy said again.
The boy licked his lips. “No intercepting necessary, wicked or otherwise. But I did come to explain myself. You’re . . . Pippa, right?” Though Pippa’s expression was guarded, she nodded her head. A look of agony washed over the boy’s face, and he awkwardly bent to one knee. “I owe you an apology. A big one. I’m your fairy godmother, otherwise known as . . . Olivanderella Dash. People have always called me Oliver though.”
Ernest shook his head. “Wait a second. Didn’t you just arrive on a broomstick? Fairy godmothers don’t travel by broomstick!” And then Ernest turned to Maisy and Pippa and whispered, “We can totally still run.”
But Pippa felt like she had cement blocks strapped to her feet. This was her fairy godmother? This was Olivanderella Dash? This was her one and only source of hope? A boy named Oliver?
Pippa was having great difficulty stringing her words together. “Did you—why would—where is—”
“PIPPA!” Maisy interrupted for a third time but in a voice louder than Pippa had ever heard her use before. Everyone turned to stare. Maisy sheepishly tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and inched forward the slightest bit. “Um, I was just trying to say that, if it’s any help at all, Fairy Margaret is here. And she’s me.”
“Fairy Margaret?” Pippa asked.
“But your name’s Maisy,” Ernest cried in distress. “And you bake things.
You don’t . . . grant wishes. Unless . . .” Ernest blinked. He reached up and pinched his arm. “Do you think eating that giant cake affected more than just my stomach? Am I imagining all this?” he asked, voice rising.
Maisy lowered her eyes. “I would have told you both sooner, but I didn’t know if it was actually true. Not until I received a letter from Oliver. I’ve been waiting for my call to duty ever since my granny disappeared. That was over three years ago.” She gulped. “And Maisy’s short for Margaret.”29
Pippa felt terrible. Had she truly been so wrapped up in her own problems, in her own heartache over missing her family, that she’d never thought to ask Maisy about herself? Her family, and her hopes and dreams? Pippa suddenly wanted to know everything. Alas, it was Oliver’s turn to be confused.
“Wait,” Oliver said, rising back up. “You two already know each other?” And then he turned to Maisy. “If you’re friends with Pippa, why did she send me a letter in the first place? Why didn’t she just ask you to help her get home?”
Maisy shook her head, confused, and then a look of realization washed over her face. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no!”
“What is it, Maisy? What’s wrong?” Pippa asked.
“You’re the friend Oliver wrote about in his letter,” she said to Pippa.
Pippa glanced in Oliver’s direction. “No offense, but I’d say ‘friend’ is a rather strong word. Especially since I haven’t any clue why he’s here or why he pretended to be my fairy godmother, which seems pretty low, if you ask me.”
Maisy paced back and forth. “He’s here because he tried to fix it. He tried to send a letter to a real fairy godmother on your behalf, and he got . . . me.”
“But you told me you are a real fairy godmother!” Oliver cried.
Ernest massaged his temples. “So confused, so confused, so confused,” he muttered to himself.
“I thought this would be an easy first wish to grant—but this is a wish of the highest order! Pippa is here because another fairy godmother officially changed her role from commoner to Triumphant,” Maisy explained to Oliver. “I told you in the letter I’m a newbie. I can’t undo another fairy godmother’s magic, and I certainly can’t change someone’s role without Council authorization! If I could have, I would have done so a long time ago.”
Pippa lifted her head. “You would have?”
“Of course I would have. But I’m afraid this is now just a waste of everyone’s time. I—I thought this was really my official call into the guild.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her trusty wooden spoon with a sad smile. “I guess I ought to just stick to what I’m good at, hmm?”
Pippa had a word or two to say about that, but Ernest spoke up first. He looked warily at Oliver. “I might really regret asking this question, but if you’re not a witch, and you’re not a fairy godmother . . . what are you?”
Oliver sucked in a rattling breath. “I’m supposed to be a magician.”
“But then where’s your hat?” Maisy said automatically.
“Exactly,” Oliver said, pressing his eyes shut.
Maisy, Pippa, and Ernest exchanged glances. They had clearly struck a nerve, but was Oliver someone who deserved their sympathy? Pippa hadn’t read a single story where trusting a magician brought about any good, not to mention her own misadventures with the two magicians in the Triumphant Training Forest a mere two nights ago.
“Oliver, if you planned a meeting for Maisy and me, why are you here too?” Pippa asked. “That broomstick ride didn’t exactly look easy.”
“Because there’s something else I have to tell you. Something that no one else except the magicians know.” Oliver took a deep breath. “The magicians are planning to do something on Triumph Mountain. Something that might harm the Triumphants and upset the roles in Wanderly.” Oliver looked directly at Pippa. “And after reading the things you wrote about your family, about how much they mean to you, I knew at the very least I had to warn you.”
Pippa’s knees buckled. Upon receiving Fairy Dash’s—or rather Oliver Dash’s—frog letter, she had rushed to the South Peak, certain she was mere moments away from being reunited with her family. But so far nothing was turning out the way she’d hoped, and Oliver’s grave tone frightened her.
“What does my family have to do with anything?” she asked, her voice low.
“The magicians are coming to Triumph Mountain on the night of the Fall Picnic. And your families”—Oliver paused and looked at Ernest and Pippa—“are the special guests.”
Pippa gasped. Here? Her family would actually be here? On Triumph Mountain? With her? But if Oliver was right, that also meant the magicians would be too.
A shiver went down Pippa’s spine. She had suspected that the two magicians in the Triumphant Training Forest had a secret plan, but she never expected anything of this magnitude. Not to mention, the picnic was scheduled to take place in four days. They barely had any time! Pippa wanted to cry and cheer all at the same time because out of all the news she had received in the past two weeks, this was simultaneously the best and the very, very worst.
Fourteen
A Red Hot Rescue
The vast sky stretched overhead as far as Oliver could see. The salty scent of the Sapphire Sea swirled through his lungs, and the last rays of the sinking sun set everything aglow. Oliver could hardly believe he was no longer in the murky depths of the Swinging Swamp.
How strange it was that the one thing he had been so afraid of—leaving the swamp behind—had happened and he was kind of okay. True, the broomstick he’d swiped had tried to get rid of him on three separate occasions and nearly bucked him into a terribly jagged ravine, but that was hardly surprising considering the broomstick’s wicked upbringing. And true, he was a bit flustered having had to explain himself in front of Pippa, Fairy Margaret—who maybe wasn’t a fairy after all—and a boy named Ernest who didn’t seem to care much for Oliver, but at least Oliver had done it. He’d delivered the terrible news, and now he could get on with . . . well, whatever there was for him to get on with.
Oliver looked over his shoulder for the naughty broomstick. He found it lying a few feet away in a pouting heap, and set off after it. Pippa followed along behind him.
“Oliver, you told us when the magicians are planning to arrive, but you haven’t told us what exactly they’re going to do. How could they possibly do something as drastic as upset the roles in Wanderly? Isn’t that something only the Chancellor can do? Aren’t the magicians sort of . . .”
“It’s all right. You can say it,” Oliver said. “It’s the whole reason why all this has happened in the first place. I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘insignificant.’”
Pippa frowned. “That’s not my opinion, but I’m afraid it is the Chancellor’s.”
“And that’s what the magicians want to change. They’re tired of being shoved out of the spotlight. They want to force the Chancellor, and everyone else, to see them differently. I don’t know much, except Master Von Hollow’s going to perform his showcase here, in front of an audience of Triumphants and their families, and the magicians have been packing up their belongings for weeks.”
Ernest slid his glasses up along the bridge of his nose. “Um, what is a ‘showcase’ exactly?”
“A magic show,” Oliver replied quickly.
“Ugh, magician magic!” Ernest said, wrinkling his nose. “I do not like those illusions! If Pippa and I didn’t have the magic umbrellas Maisy passed out the night of the rainstorm, we would have been toast!”
“Umbrellas I passed out?” Maisy echoed. And then, with a hint of sparkle returning to her eyes, “Magic?”
Oliver frowned. “Magicians were here on Triumph Mountain?”
“I don’t think they meant to be found,” Pippa said. “Ernest and I bumped into them when we were out past bedtime searching for Ernest’s lost goat. Some of the things they were talking about fit right in with what you’re saying, Oliver. But with the pic
nic being only four days away, I haven’t a clue how we’re supposed to prepare for such a thing! Mistress Peabody never thinks anything can go wrong, and she’d never let us call off such a showy event.”
Ernest’s shoulders slumped. “Not to mention, the one thing that did manage to scare off those two magicians is on his way to the Chancellor as we speak.”
Oliver bit his lip. He was trying very hard not to get tangled up in any of the Triumphants’ problems. He had a terrible track record as a problem solver. Plus, it was one thing to warn Pippa, to tell her the truth to try to make up for his dishonesty, but wouldn’t it be another thing to actively work against the magicians? Still, he couldn’t help asking one more question.
“Who did you send away to the Chancellor?” Oliver asked.
Pippa swallowed hard. “My loyal companion, Ferdinand. He’s a fire horse.”
“Whoa,” Oliver breathed out. “A real one? I—I didn’t think those even existed anymore.”
“Nobody did,” Ernest said with a proud look in Pippa’s direction. “It’s been ages since a Triumphant was matched with a fire horse.”
Oliver paused. He looked at Pippa. He’d clung to the Swinging Swamp for years without a hat, and Pippa had a fire horse? “You’d think that might be a sign that you’re right where you’re supposed to be,” he said softly.
Pippa’s eyes glistened. “I know. I get it. And I actually really like Ferdinand. But I already have a home. A home that I never wanted to leave behind.”
“Maybe it’s possible to have more than one home though. Maybe finding a new one doesn’t always mean leaving the other behind. Maybe if it does, that can be okay too.” Oliver’s voice was thick. He shook his head. “I—I don’t really know what I’m trying to say. . . .”
Suddenly, Pippa straightened up. “Oliver, you’re a magician—”
“Actually”—Oliver pointed to his hatless head—“I’m not sure anyone else would agree with you on that.”