A Crystal of Time. Soman Chainani
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Anemone snored awake and in a single move shot a spray of sparks at her stymph, which jolted from its own slumber with a squawk, skimming the golden tower just in time.
The stymph reared in midair, panting hard, as Professor Anemone stroked its neck, trying to calm it down. “Seems we both fell asleep,” she croaked as the stymph peeped sheepishly at his riders through eyeless sockets. “And no wonder, given the rumpus at school. Thankfully we’ll be there soon enough.”
“Rumpus” didn’t sound good, Agatha thought, but right now she was worried they’d woken the Foxwood guard. If anyone spotted her, they’d surely alert Rhian. She peeked back towards the castle, about to urge Professor Anemone to get moving. Then her eyes widened—
“What’s that?”
She’d been so busy looking down that she’d missed the giant message in gold, embedded in the lightening sky overhead.
“Lionsmane’s first fairy tale,” said Professor Anemone, still caressing the stymph. “You must have been deep in Sherwood Forest to miss it. Been up there nearly a full day now. Visible from any kingdom in the Woods.”
“Lionsmane . . . You mean ‘Rhian’s pen’? The one he’s pit against the Storian?” Agatha said, remembering the newspaper in Gillikin. She quickly read the message in the sky about a woman named Tsarina, blessed with a child after several stillbirths. “‘Only the Lion can save you’? That’s the moral of the story?”
Her teacher sighed. “The Storian spends weeks, months, often years crafting a tale for the purposes of bettering our world. And now a new pen arrives that replaces storytelling with a king’s propaganda.”
“A fake king and a fake pen,” Agatha bristled. “Are people actually believing this? Is anyone fighting for the Stori . . .”
Her voice trailed off, because Rhian’s fairy tale suddenly faded. Agatha and Professor Anemone exchanged anxious looks, as if their presence here was somehow responsible. But then a blast of light shot from the west, branding a new message in the sky, replacing the first one.
Citizens of the Woods! Revel in the tale of Hristo of Camelot, only 8 years old, who ran away from home and came to my castle, hoping to be my knight. Young Hristo’s mother found and whipped the poor boy. Stay strong, Hristo! The day you turn 16, you have a place as my knight! A child who loves his king is a blessed child. Let that be a lesson to all.
“Now he’s going after the youth,” Professor Anemone realized, grim-faced. “Same thing Rafal tried when he took over both schools. Own the youth and you own the future.”
Down below, Agatha could still see the kids’ tiny figures swordplaying in their Lion masks. Only they’d stopped now and were gazing up at the Lion’s second tale, along with their father. After a moment, the father’s eyes swept towards Agatha and her teacher, perched atop their stymph.
“Let’s go,” said Agatha quickly.
The stymph propelled towards the rising sun.
Agatha looked back one last time at the Lion’s new tale, her stomach screwing tighter. It wasn’t just the Lion’s message, smoothly glorifying himself as king . . . but it was how familiar the message was, its lies sounding like truths . . .
Ah. Now she remembered.
The Snake’s pen.
The one he’d shown her and Sophie the first time they’d met.
His fake Storian that took real stories and contorted them into something darker and untrue.
His pen peeled off his own murderous body and now presented to the people as their guiding light.
His slimy, scaly strip of lies.
That was Lionsmane.
THE SCHOOL HAD taken no chances once Merlin and Professor Dovey had been captured. As the stymph descended, Agatha saw the two castles had been shielded in a protective, murky-green fog. A dove happened to get too close and the mist inhaled it like a living creature, then spewed it back out like a cannonball, pitching the shrieking bird fifty miles away. The stymph, meanwhile, passed through unscathed, though Agatha had to hold her nose to endure the fog, which smelled like rancid meat.
“One of Professor Manley’s spells,” Professor Anemone called back. “Not as secure as Lady Lesso’s old shields, but it’s kept out Rhian’s men thus far. A few were caught snooping the past couple days. They must suspect you’re on your way.”
More than just suspicion, Agatha thought. If Rhian was the Snake’s brother, then that meant Rhian had the Snake’s Quest Map. He could trace Agatha’s every move.
In the meantime, all she could do was hope Manley’s shield would hold.
Breaking through the fog, the first thing Agatha saw was the School Master’s tower, perched in the middle of Halfway Bay between the clear lake bordering the School for Good and the thick blue moat around the School for Evil. A gang of stymphs was in the process of undoing the last scaffolding around the silver spire, revealing a dazzling statue of Sophie atop like a weathervane, along with ornate friezes in the tower’s length depicting Sophie’s most iconic moments. There were multiple floors within the tower, flaunting refurbished windows (through which Agatha could see walk-in closets, a dining room, a steam room and whirlpool), and a catwalk to the School for Evil, lit up with lights and a sign reading “SOPHIE’S WAY.”
Professor Bilious Manley poked his pimpled, pear-shaped head out a window in Sophie’s Tower and shot blasts of green light at the friezes and statue, trying to obliterate them—but every spell he did rebounded straight at him while a high-pitched alarm blared from Sophie’s statue, sounding like a raven’s shriek—
“You have attempted an unauthorized redecoration of Dean Sophie’s Tower,” Sophie’s voice boomed as a rebounding spell zapped Manley in the rump. “Only an officially appointed School Master has authority here and you are not a School Master.
Fuming, Manley stormed back into the tower, where Agatha glimpsed three wolves demolishing Sophie’s interiors. But seconds after tearing down paintings and fixtures and lamps, they all floated straight back up.
“He’s been battling that tower ever since he took over as Dean,” Professor Anemone chortled as more repelling spells scalded Manley and his wolves. “I’ve learned never to underestimate that girl.”
From inside the tower, Manley let out a primal scream.
It only made Agatha miss Sophie more.
The stymph landed on the south side of Halfway Bay in front of Good’s castle. As Agatha dismounted, fairies swarmed her, smelling her hair and neck. Unlike the fairies that used to run the School for Good when she was a first year, this new fleet were of different shapes, sizes, colors, as if from a variety of lands, but they all seemed to know who she was.
As she followed Professor Anemone uphill, Agatha noticed the unusual quiet. She could hear her own clump-steps crackling on the Great Lawn’s crisp grass, the spasm of fairy wings around her, the burps of water from the lake. Agatha peered across the bay and saw the same scene on Evil’s shores as smooth blue slime lapped up and stained the sand. A lone guard wolf in a red soldier’s jacket and a whip on his belt had fallen asleep on one of Sophie’s new cabanas.
Professor Anemone opened the doors to Good’s castle and Agatha silently trailed her through a long hall of mirrors. Agatha caught her reflection in the glass, grubby, windblown, and sleepless, her black gown ragged with holes. She looked worse than she did on her first day of school, when Evergirls had cornered her in this hall, thinking she was a witch, and she’d farted in their faces to escape. Smirking at the memory, Agatha followed her teacher, turning into the foyer—
“WELCOME HOME!”
A cheer exploded like a bomb, sending Agatha staggering backwards.
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