“How?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but I had to ask.
“You know how Cordelia sometimes talks about what her father put her through when he trained her? Let’s just say that I have a pretty good idea of what she went through now.”
I dug my claws so deep in the straw that they probably left grooves in the stone underneath. “I’m going to kill her.”
“You can’t; not now.”
“I don’t mean I’m going to kill her now. I mean I’m going to find a way to go back to my time and kill her before all this happened.”
“I wouldn’t advise that. Trust me, I’ve thought of travelling back and changing things. But time is so broken now that it’s no longer possible. Too much pressure on the fabric of reality, and it may unravel completely.”
I fought to put aside my fury at Levesque and focus on Crispin’s story. “So she…trained you. What happened next?”
“My powers over reality started to get stronger. I began breaking the rules of magic, pushing beyond the all the limits. Levesque was thrilled. She was going to use me as her own personal weapon.”
“A weapon against what?”
“You remember when we were on the Nautilus, and we saw that map Kiran had of all the continents across the sea?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Remember a country on one of them called The United States of Neverica?”
I furrowed my brow in thought. “Maybe. I remember seeing the name ‘Neverica,’ at least.”
“Levesque wanted to invade it. Apparently the Nevericans declared independence from the Council a long time ago and beat them in a war. Levesque intended to teach them a lesson. That’s why she sent Whitlock after the Clawthorn Rose in the first place. She was stockpiling magical weapons—and creatures, and people.”
This didn’t surprise me. “What about Molly? How did she factor in?”
Crispin hung his head. “I made a terrible mistake, Nick. I shouldn’t have gotten her voice back.”
The fur on the back of my neck stood up as I recalled what the Beast had said in my dream. “The Unqueen.”
“Yes.” He swallowed hard. “When I interfered with time…I opened the door for her to return. At first it was just her powers that manifested. Molly could do things with her voice that no Undine had ever been capable of—not since the Unqueen, anyway. She tried to hold back, but Levesque kept pushing her to do more, to go further.”
He stopped, and I waited patiently for him to go on. I hated to make him relive this, but I had to know the truth.
“Molly was starting to lose herself, in the end. She knew that if she went too far, she’d be gone completely, and the Unqueen would take over. Her own personality would be gone forever. Only the Unqueen would be left.” Sorrow filled his eyes. “But she also knew that if she used the Unqueen’s powers to break through the wards on Warrengate and call out to her own people for help, they could free us. I couldn’t break us out because she was using a dampening collar to keep my magic in check, but Molly’s Undine powers couldn’t be constrained that way.”
“She contacted Aegiris,” I guessed.
“Yes. And once they found out what Levesque was doing to a princess of their realm, they declared war on the Council of Scions. They attacked Warrengate immediately and set us free…” He swallowed, then continued. “But by then, it was too late for Molly. She sacrificed herself to save me.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. “You mean she’s dead?”
“Yes.” I noticed a slight pause before he spoke the word, but I felt too guilty for making him suffer through the story to press him for further details.
“Levesque was captured in the attack,” he continued, “and the Undine interrogated her. That was when she told us that you weren’t dead, but trapped in the Castle of Basile. I tried to find you, but the Castle had vanished by then, and I had no idea when it would reappear.”
“Where does it go when it disappears?”
“Who knows? Some timeless realm outside of normal reality, most likely. Wherever that was, I couldn’t find a way to get there. Plus, a lot of other things were happening at that point.”
“What things?”
“Queen Saoirse wanted revenge for what happened to Molly. She continued her war against the Council of Scions until they were overthrown.”
“Good.”
“Yes, except that a lot of very bad people stepped up to fill the power vacuum that the Council had left behind.” Crispin lifted his head. “Fortunately, around that time, a mysterious, masked hero with formidable magical powers emerged from the shadows to take up the cause of the oppressed.”
I looked at him. “Let me guess. A hero dressed as a rabbit?”
“The White Rabbit is a figure of legend and song, I’ll have you know.”
With great difficulty, I resisted the urge to burst into laughter. “I want to hear the songs.”
“We shall see. Anyway, after a while—by which I mean over a decade—the Castle of Basile popped up again, this time near Talesend. Not a surprise, given the state the city was in.”
“What’s the matter with Talesend?”
“The problems of the modern age aren’t confined to power struggles between enchanters. Magical phenomena in general have been spreading like wildfire over the years. Creatures everyone thought were extinct are showing up right and left, causing mayhem. The runes don’t always behave the way they’re supposed to, which leads to chaos when people try to cast spells. The Afterlands are turning into a great big patchwork quilt of magical anomalies—and Talesend seems to be the epicenter of it all.” He chuckled. “The Castle of Basile couldn’t stay away from a party like that.”
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “We need to find a way to undo what’s happened. If Cordelia and I can get back to our own time…”
“Nick, what have I been telling you?” Crispin’s tone was sharp. “There is no way back. This is the world we’re stuck with, like it or not.”
I stood up and folded my arms. “I refuse to believe that. Why are you being so defeatist? That’s not like you.”
“Well, it’s like me now. Like I keep saying, I’ve changed.”
“But don’t you even want to try? I mean, you’ve got powers that affect time, right? So obviously—”
“Nick, my powers are part of the problem here! Using them to try to fix everything will make matters worse!”
“We can’t leave things this way! It can’t end like this! You and I have lost so much time together, Molly is dead—”
“Do you think I need you to remind me of that?” Crispin shouted. “I already told you, I thought of going back, but it’s no use!”
“You thought of it. Why didn’t you do it? Why did you decide so quickly that it wasn’t worth the risk? You could have at least tried!”
Crispin opened his mouth to say something, then fell silent. Finally, in a calmer tone, he said, “We’re wasting time talking about fixing things outside this castle. We can’t even stop what’s going on in here. Beatrice’s magic is more powerful than mine. Even I can’t counteract this time-loop spell she’s cast.”
I gave the claw on my left thumb a thoughtful nibble. “I have…something.”
“What do you mean, you have something? A plan?”
“It’s sort of a plannish…something.”
He laughed bitterly. “Plannish something. Brilliant. We’re saved.”
“You don’t have to be so cynical.”
“Try spending twenty-one years battling your way through a magical apocalypse and see how bright and cheerful you end up.”
I forced down the rush of guilt inspired by this comment and went to the cell door. “Can you get us through this?” I gave the bars an experimental rattle.
“It won’t do any good. We can’t get back up to the ballroom; the clockmen will stop us.”
“I don’t want to get back up to the ballroom.”
He sighed and got
to his feet. “Well, that’s where all the magic is concentrated, so if you want to do anything about breaking the spell, I don’t see the point in going anywhere else.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Crispin, you may be the second Merlin or whatever, but you’re not a detective. You’ve allowed yourself to get caught up in Beatrice’s game. You need to think outside the box—or outside the ballroom, in this case.”
“Says the Beast who’s been pirouetting around inside the ballroom for decades!” Crispin shot back.
“Getting murdered is quite intellectually stimulating. It’s given me a helpful change of perspective. Now, can you get this cell door open?”
“Yes,” he said reluctantly.
“Excellent.”
“But it won’t—”
I pointed to the lock. “Shut up and be magical.”
He did something fiddly with runes, and seconds later, the cell door creaked open. I bounded outside and headed down the corridor.
“Wait!” Crispin hurried after me. “You’re going to run into one of those—”
I nearly collided with a single clockman. He threw back his hood and gave a rattling, metallic hiss.
I punched him in the throat and separated his head from his shoulders, then Crispin pitched in with his own powers, reducing the clockman to a pile of rust.
I smiled. “Good work, Merlin the Second.”
“Stop calling me that. Don’t you understand? There’s no point in fighting the clockmen! They’ll be back in the next cycle, and even if we defeated them all, it’s impossible to breach the barrier around the edge of the spell. Plus, even if we get through that, those other creatures—the lizard-men and the rat-horses and the pumpkins—are waiting to stop us outside.”
“My, you’re a great big bundle of optimism today, aren’t you?”
“I hate to keep rubbing it in, but…apocalypse. Alone. Twenty-one years. At least.”
I ignored the remark. “Keep the clockmen off me if they show up. I need to have a quick word.”
“With whom?”
“Everybody. But I’ll start with Cordelia.” I cupped my hands to my mouth and called out. “Halloo! Cordelia!”
“Nick!” I heard her shout. She sounded overjoyed.
I followed the sound of her voice to a cell nearly ten yards down the corridor. The other cells I passed along the way were all occupied. I didn’t get a chance to properly observe the people inside, but a cursory glance revealed that they were haggard and decrepit reflections of the dancers upstairs. Their fine clothes were torn and bedraggled, their eyes were sunken, their faces hollow. Some of them were mumbling nonsense to themselves, while others merely gazed at the wall. I realized that this was what ultimately became of the people who regained their memories in Beatrice’s nightmarish domain. They had all been driven insane.
Cordelia was being housed with Melody, who was decidedly unhappy with her new accommodations. Cordelia, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice them. Her face lit up as she saw me.
“You’re alive.” She reached through the bars and took hold of my paw, as if making sure that I was real.
“Yeah. I’m quite pleased about that.”
“Crispin’s old.”
“Isn’t he?”
“Forty-four,” said Crispin. “I’m forty-four. Older. Not old.”
“And he’s dressed as a rabbit,” said Cordelia.
I nodded. “Weird, right?”
“I want to go home.”
“Me too.”
Crispin pulled us apart. “Could you two give me some room so I can unlock the cell door?”
“He’s a lot grouchier now, too,” I told Cordelia.
Melody raised her hand. “Excuse me, but why are you bothering to rescue us? Are you just having fun, or are you actually doing something that won’t get flipped backwards in three hours?”
“Possibly,” I said. “Cross your fingers.”
“That never helps, in my experience,” said Cordelia.
“Do it anyway. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Whatever your idea is,” said Melody, “I hope it works out better than your last one.”
“My last idea got me killed,” I pointed out. “Practically anything would be better than that.”
“Please tell me you’ve developed your ‘plannish something’ into an actual plan,” said Crispin.
“It’s more of a quest, really.”
Crispin rolled his eyes. “Oh, goody. A quest.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Melody. “Sarcasm included.”
“It’ll be fun!” I insisted. “All we have to do is find someone.”
“Who?” asked Cordelia.
“Who do you think? Cinderella, of course.”
CHAPTER NINE
Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Future
Crispin filled Cordelia in on everything he’d told me as we began releasing everyone from their cells. The first familiar faces we happened upon were Alan and Gareth, who had been locked in the same cell. The centaur was never prone to emotional reactions, but he did look quite surprised as he took in the unmasked Kanin.
“Isn’t that your brother Crispin?” he asked me. “Looks like he’s aged twenty years.”
“He has. Roughly.”
“Ah. That explains it, then.”
Crispin glowered at him. “Watch it, pony.”
As Cordelia moved on to free more people, Gareth emerged from the cell alongside Alan. Always eager to smooth over potential conflicts, he quickly chimed in. “Nothing wrong with being old!” he said cheerfully. “I have an aunt’s who’s old. Or at least, I used to—”
“Oh, stop wittering on!”
This suggestion came from Sylvia the dryad, whom Cordelia had just released along with Bryn. She marched toward Gareth, and for a moment, I thought she was going to attack him.
Instead, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. His goat ears wiggled, but he made no protest.
I gave Alan a sidelong glance. “I take it their relationship has evolved.”
“You could say that, yeah.”
“Alan!” Bryn rushed forward, sprang into the air, and threw her arms around the centaur’s neck—not an easy feat, considering his height. The corners of his mouth twitched into a rare smile, and he returned the hug.
“Glad you’re okay,” he whispered in her ear.
I noticed a pained look on Crispin’s face as he watched the happy reunions. Memories of him with Molly flitted through my mind. He’d lost so much—there was no way I could ever make up for what had happened. My only hope was to undo it somehow.
That was cheating, of course. But I was perfectly willing to cheat time, death, and any other inexorable force of nature for Crispin’s sake…regardless of what the consequences might be.
We found Malcolm soon afterward. He’d been placed in solitary confinement, and chained to the wall. Once we got him free, Melody began bringing him up to speed on everything that had happened. She spoke with animation, and lots of hand gestures. Malcolm listened with quiet dignity, but I caught sight of a twinkle in his eye. It was hard for me to imagine Malcolm actually liking anyone, but clearly, Melody had been important to him.
Soon, everyone was free. Most of them didn’t look as if they’d be much help, however. They were pale, skinny, and wild-eyed, and quite a few of them seemed to have gone utterly mad. But we would have to make do with them all the same.
Crispin clapped his hands. “All right, everyone, we haven’t got a lot of time before the next loop, so let’s make the most of it. Nick has an idea for getting us out of this mess. I make no promises that he will actually be able to do that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered under my breath.
Crispin moved aside and allowed me to take the floor. “Go ahead.”
I cleared my throat. “As I’m sure all of you know, all the magic we’re caught up in right now stems from one specific fairy tale. The story of Cinderella.”
<
br /> Murmurs of assent rose from the prisoners.
“In addition, the creature who’s imprisoned us here, the fairy godmother Beatrice, is herself an incarnation of pure narrative force.”
This drew only stares and confused blinking from my audience.
Cordelia poked me on the elbow. “You could just say ‘living story,’ you know. No need to complicate things.”
“Whatever. The point I’m trying to make is, we’re not simply fighting against magic here. We’re fighting a story. Does everyone understand that, at least?”
To my relief, all the lucid members of the company started nodding again, and the blank looks left their eyes. Mostly.
“And if we’re going to defeat a story,” I continued, “it would be extremely helpful if we had the main characters on our side. Or possibly tied up and forced to help us at gunpoint, whichever comes first.”
Cordelia was aghast. “Are you saying you want to kidnap Cinderella?”
“If necessary, yes.”
“But how are we supposed to find her in the first place?” Gareth brushed straw from his furry legs. “She’s not here, obviously. We’ve let everybody out, and we haven’t found her.”
“No,” I agreed. “She isn’t here.”
“I hate to stress the dark note,” said Melody, “but what if she’s dead?”
“People don’t die here,” said Sylvia. “Believe me, I know.”
“Perhaps,” said Bryn, “but it seems to me that Beatrice can do practically anything she wants in this place. If she wanted someone to stay dead, they probably would. So maybe she murdered both Cinderella and the prince.”
“It’s possible,” I admitted, “but very unlikely. Remember, she’s a living story. More specifically, she’s a living romance. Her existence is sustained by the characters in that romance. Killing them off would be suicidal for her, I imagine.”
“But if they’re alive,” said Alan, “and if they’re so important…then why aren’t they here?”
“I don’t have an answer to that. But right now, the why isn’t as important as the where. Beatrice’s still alive, and her magic is intact, which most likely means Cinderella and her prince are also still alive.”
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