فصل 29

29

Failed Assignments

Far away, in the bright sunshine of a safe haven, Agatha brainstormed ways to murder Cinderella.

Merlin had paired her with the abominable princess, just as he’d paired up each of the other young students with an old hero. Agatha knew the wizard was going to team her with that over-rouged hellion, if only because Hester, Anadil, or Hort would have put an axe through her head. (Dot wasn’t an option; Cinderella would have squashed her like a fly.) Agatha couldn’t appeal the assignment, for Merlin had left the farmhouse after the group’s lunch meeting and hadn’t been seen since. At the outset, Agatha genuinely believed she could learn something from the former princess. First, Cinderella wasn’t as old as the rest of the heroes. Second, they’d both had Professor Dovey as a secret fairy godmother and third, given what she knew of Cinderella’s storybook, hadn’t they each overcome their own self-doubt to find true love?

But as open as Agatha tried to be to her mentor during their training sessions, by late in the week, the only thing she’d learned was to count to ten every time she had the urge to disembowel her.

“IT’S A WAND, YOU HOPELESS HALF-WIT,” Cinderella barked, jowls flapping. “FIVE DAYS OF THIS AND YOU CAN’T EVEN HOLD IT STRAIGHT!” “Because you’re making me nervous!” Agatha yelled, trying to steady Professor Dovey’s wand at the White Rabbit, patiently leaning against a tree while he snacked on a cheese biscuit.

“IMAGINE HOW NERVOUS YOU’RE GONNA BE WHEN AN ENTIRE ARMY’S TRYING TO KILL YOU!” “If I could just speak to Merlin, he’ll see he shouldn’t have picked me for this—” “TOO BAD MERLIN AIN’T AROUND!”

“But why do I have to do it?” said Agatha, the wand shaking so much she could feel her queen’s crown quivering. “Why can’t someone else?” “’Cause for some ungodly reason, Merlin thinks you’re the one to make Sophie destroy her ring!” Cinderella blared. “I, on the other hand, think we should fillet and fry you and serve you to Evil as a peace offering.” Both glowered at each other, fuming.

“Listen to me, you overgrown milkweed. There’s no use fighting this war unless you can make Sophie shatter that ring,” Cinderella growled. “And I say the only way you can do that is by giving her the choice between living and dying. But you have to be willing to hurt her in practice, otherwise you won’t believe it when the time comes. And if you don’t believe it, she won’t believe it.” “But why do I have to hurt a rabbit?” Agatha argued, pointing at the one against the tree.

“Agatha,” said Cinderella, trying to control her temper. “If you can’t hurt a rabbit, how would you hurt your best friend?” “Can’t I just stun him with a spell? Why do I have to use a wand—”

“’CAUSE SHE’S NOT GONNA BE AFRAID OF A STUN SPELL! SOPHIE WON’T BE AFRAID OF ANY STUPID SCHOOL SPELLS!” roared Cinderella. “She’ll be scared of Dovey’s wand if she thinks you’re ready to shoot her with it, and Dovey’s wand works the same way all magic does in our world: by intention and conviction—both of which Merlin seems to think you have, despite all evidence to the contrary.” Agatha gritted her teeth and exhaled. “Once, all right? I’m only doing this once!” Cinderella threw up her hands. “So far you’ve been doin’ diddly-squat, so once would be an improvement!” Agatha ignored her and slowly raised the wand at the White Rabbit once more. She pictured armies clashing around her . . . the entire fate of this war resting on her shoulders . . .

She held her breath, gripping the wand tighter.

It’s for Good.

Just once for Good.

But now, instead of the rabbit, she saw Sophie looking back at her with emerald eyes and rosy cheeks. The Sophie who’d tried again and again to be Good, only to end up Evil.

This is how it would end: standing in front of Sophie, willing to kill her . . . wanting Sophie to believe she could kill her . . . so she could help her be Good one last time.

Good and Evil in a single wand stroke.

Love and Hate.

Friend and Enemy.

But all Agatha could see was the Friend.

“I can’t,” she whispered, lowering the wand. “I can’t hurt her.”

The White Rabbit calmly finished his biscuit.

Cinderella snatched the wand from Agatha and shot a blast of light at the rabbit, slamming him so hard against the tree that he was knocked out. The old woman dumped the wand in Agatha’s hands and glared at her.

“And to think, for a moment, I’d mistaken you for a queen.”

She tramped towards the house, leaving Agatha alone.

They weren’t the only team with growing pains.

At first Dot resented being paired with old Red Riding Hood. (“Just ‘cause we both like cake doesn’t mean we’ll get along,” she grouched to Anadil.) Things got worse when Red Riding Hood didn’t seem to have anything to teach her.

“Well, you can’t outrun the wolf or beat him in a fight and he won’t fall for any stupid tricks,” mulled Red Riding Hood. “Best if you just do what I did when I was your age and scream for help. Maybe there’ll be a woodsman nearby.” “That’s your advice? Wait for a woodsman to possibly pass by?”

Red Riding Hood blushed, lost in her memory. “A handsome woodsman, who smells of leather and earth . . .” “Look, Miss . . . Hood, the second that wolf sees you, he’s going to come for you and try to rewrite your happy ending. I can’t let that happen,” Dot snapped, stifling the urge to bond over their similar taste in men. “If he kills you, the School Master will break the shield into the Reader World. You heard Merlin. Doesn’t need more than one of you heroes dead!” Red Riding Hood tapped a finger to her lips. “Chocolate, isn’t it? That’s your villain talent?” “Oh for heaven’s sake, do you know how much energy it takes for me to turn a toad or mouse into chocolate? I can’t possibly turn a whole wolf—” She saw Red Riding Hood grinning. “Who said I was talking about a whole wolf?” As her jolly old mentor explained her plan, Dot found herself smiling wider and wider, suddenly realizing why Merlin had paired them in the first place. And indeed Red Riding Hood’s plan was so good that by the time they’d perfected it four days later, Dot was pretending they’d come up with it together.

Meanwhile, Hester had been teamed with Hansel and Gretel, which was as awkward as it sounds.

“You said you didn’t have a problem with them—” Anadil started.

“I meant I can be in the same house without killing them! Doesn’t mean I can train with them!” Hester yelled.

The wheelchair-bound siblings had a similar revulsion to helping the daughter of the witch who’d tried to eat them. (“Does this one cook children too?” Hansel asked Gretel.) Yet, despite their rocky start, the three of them soon found common ground.

“We are not friends, yes?” Hansel said to Hester. “But all of us want same thing: your mother back in grave.” “For the last time, that thing is not my mother,” Hester retorted.

“Mmmm,” said Gretel thoughtfully. “And yet not-your-mother still sees you as her daughter . . .” Hester’s eyes widened, catching on.

“What?” said Hansel, glancing between them. “What I’m missing?”

But now Gretel and Hester were grinning at each other. “The plan is clear, young witch?” said Gretel.

“Crystal,” said Hester.

Gretel beamed at Hansel. “Merlin gave us smart one, eh?”

Hansel still looked lost.

“Smarter than your brother at least,” Hester cracked.

Gretel gave her a high five.

Across the oak grove, Anadil was rankling over having to train with both Jack and Briar Rose. (“They’re in love. Can’t blame Merlin for wanting to keep them together,” said Dot. “They can’t even take a poo apart!” Anadil miffed.) In addition to having to deal with double mentors (as well as their geriatric displays of affection), Anadil also had double the villains to deal with: Jack’s giant and Rose’s Evil fairy. And for Anadil, who’d been trying so valiantly to prove she was more than just Hester’s sidekick, the extra burden was worth it. It didn’t matter if she had to put up with two lovey-dovey mentors. It didn’t matter if she had to work twice as long and twice as hard as everyone else. Kill two villains and no one would call her a henchman ever again.

But it was Hort who had the worst pairing of all. He’d been so focused on wooing Sophie these past few weeks that he’d failed to notice that one of the old men stalking about the farmhouse was his mortal enemy.

Pan.

Pan!

At first he couldn’t believe it, since Peter Pan was the boy who’d vowed never to grow up, let alone grow bald, wrinkled, and frail. But then he saw Tinkerbell perched on the old man’s shoulder and his stomach went cold.

To be matched with the hero who’d slain his father during the Battle of the Jolly Roger, the hero who’d left him an orphan at the age of six, the hero who he’d shadow-dueled in daydreams all his life . . . well, it nearly stopped the poor boy’s heart. And yet, after the shock subsided, he never felt rage, only an empty despair. For in his dreams, Hort had always imagined Peter young and cocksure, a bumptious, trash-talking sprig he could kill in a fair fight. But now, watching Pan so old and ordinary, Hort lost the will to fight him at all.

Right then and there, he understood what made him different from the Evil School Master they were about to face. Because unlike him, Hort could see when a story was over and it was time to move on.

So that first day of training, he and Peter slit their palms and made a blood oath to mutual respect. Hort vowed to slay Captain Hook and put him back in his tomb. And in return, Pan promised to stand beside Hort at his father’s grave when the war was done and won.

Neither Cinderella nor Agatha showed up to training on the sixth day.

While the others went out to the oak grove after breakfast, the old princess stayed in her nightgown and roasted marshmallows over the fireplace in the den. Agatha just lay in bed, curled towards the window, watching Lancelot and Tedros clash swords across the moors.

Her prince had come so far with his mother since that day they’d gone off together. He sat beside Guinevere at meals now, helped her scrub dishes, and took her on private walks in the gardens each night. In fact, his kindness towards her touched Agatha so deeply that she had to stop herself from mentioning it, for fear of making Tedros self-conscious. (She’d learned that if you compliment boys for something they’ve done, they go out of their way never to do it again.) But Tedros’ willingness to let go of old resentments and start anew with his mother made Agatha realize that he wasn’t just a worthy prince and a loving son . . . but he’d make a wonderful king too.

Agatha naturally assumed, then, that once paired with Lancelot for training, Tedros would extend the same kindness and openness to the knight as he had to his mother.

She was wrong.

Face red-hot, Tedros slashed and hacked at Lancelot with his father’s sword, only to be beaten again and again. Not just beaten, but humiliated, with Lancelot nicking Tedros’ ear every time he won a round, lopping off a bit of his hair, or smacking him on the backside with the flat of his blade. No doubt Merlin paired the two together knowing Tedros would benefit from the great knight’s sword skills, but by the sixth day of their sparring the prince was a deranged beast, stabbing Excalibur wildly at the knight and grunting and salivating, as if fighting not just for his pride now, but for his father’s, for his kingdom’s— Lancelot beat him even worse than before.

When Tedros ended up face-first in a pile of horse manure a few bouts later, Agatha couldn’t watch anymore. She took a long bath and sauntered down to the kitchen, hoping there was food still left.

“Shouldn’t you be out training?” Guinevere asked, laying out a spinach omelet and mug of tea for her.

Agatha eyed Cinderella lounging in the den with curlers in her bluish hair, stuffing a cheese biscuit with roasted marshmallows. “You know how well things are going with Tedros and Lancelot?” She turned back to Guinevere. “They’re practically lovers compared to us.” “I NEED ANOTHER BISCUIT,” Cinderella boomed from the den. “THIS ONE BROKE.” Agatha ignored her. “I really need to speak to Merlin,” she said to Guinevere. “It’s been six days. Surely you know where he is—” “If you haven’t noticed, Merlin isn’t particularly forthcoming about his thought process or whereabouts,” said Guinevere.

Agatha looked out the window at the silhouettes of her old and young friends in the distant oak grove. “He hasn’t even told us how he thinks we can win this war. The School Master has both the Dark Army and the students. We’re outnumbered twenty to one.” “Merlin wouldn’t send children off to war unless he had a plan,” Guinevere smiled.

“Or unless he was desperate,” said Agatha.

Guinevere’s smile wavered. She poured Agatha more tea. “Well, at least he’s left his hat!” she said, with forced cheer. “Otherwise I have no idea how I’d manage meals for such a mob. Poor thing is a bit run-down.” She glanced at the hat drooped over a houseplant and snoring softly. “Everyone seems to be helping our war effort. Except me, I mean.” “You’re managing almost twenty people in your house, including a half-dozen cranky old heroes and their meals, laundry, dishes, and demands. That isn’t just helping the war effort, that’s leading it,” said Agatha. “If anything, I’m the disappointment. Merlin trusted me with the most important assignment of all and I can’t even do it. And if I could just tell him, then he’d know there’s no way I can get Sophie to destroy that ring and no way for us to win this war if it’s all left to me.” Guinevere raised her brows. “Convenient he left, then, isn’t it?”

Agatha was thinking the same thing.

No one else seemed as concerned by Merlin’s absence, perhaps assuming that he was off forging a flawless plan to take on Evil. But once another dinner came and went without the wizard returning, panic began to set in.

“We’re running out of time and we can’t fight all of Evil by ourselves!” Hort fretted, as he, Agatha, Tedros, and the three witches shared a midnight snack of chocolate cookies (they started as gingersnaps before Dot had her way with them). “For one thing, we don’t even have weapons! Lancelot hardly had use for them out here, so all we have are a couple of his rusty old training swords and a few carving knives that won’t stop a rat, let alone zombies that can only be killed by fire. What are we supposed to fight with? How are we supposed to win?” “Win? How do we even get to Evil if Merlin doesn’t come back to let us through the portal?” said Hester.

Hort gaped at her. He swiveled to Agatha. “This is your fault! You give some highfalutin speech about young and old working together, making us all feel guilty, when Merlin never even told us the plan!” “My fault?” Agatha shot back. “Merlin said ‘Leave it to me’ as if he’d return with some giant army to fight behind us! How was I suppose to know that a week later, there’s no Merlin and no army—” “And there’ll be no army,” said Anadil. “The Ever kingdoms won’t help us, remember?” “It isn’t just numbers,” said Hester. “Before we broke Agatha and Tedros into school, we spent weeks with Merlin working out every detail. The stakes are far higher now and he’s nowhere to be found.” “What if he’s hurt?” Dot asked, paling. “What if he’s dead?”

“Don’t be stupid!” Tedros huffed. “He’ll be back soon. Everything’s fine.” But Agatha noticed the prince was eating his third chocolate cookie, which meant everything wasn’t fine at all. She clasped his hand to comfort him and noticed it slick with sweat. Tedros drew it away.

“Hot in here,” he said, even though it wasn’t.

Agatha tried to look supportive.

“I’m not scared,” Tedros said loudly. “Even if Merlin doesn’t come back, I’ll command the Lady of the Lake to let us through. I can lead this war all on my own!” “After Lancelot beats you into another pile of crap, you mean,” snorted Hort.

Tedros ignored him and took another cookie.

Through the archway, Agatha could see the old heroes gathered around the dining room table, the tiny, paired-up figurines still in place on the surface. The League members were no doubt having a similar conversation about Merlin’s disappearance.

“I say we all go to sleep,” Dot yawned. “Sleep always fixes things.” No one had a better plan.

Hours later, Agatha curled up in a blanket on the floor of the guest room, listening to the house rumble with every tone of snore and snuffle imaginable. She’d given the bed to Dot, Anadil, and Hester, who spooned and slept on each other like puppies, occasionally knocking one of their pillows down onto Agatha’s head.

It wasn’t like she could sleep anyway. All she could think about was whether Merlin had made a fatal mistake leaving her and Tedros in this safe house for so long. It’d been almost three weeks since the Lady of the Lake had stashed them here. They’d been lulled into the languid pace and tranquility of Guinevere and Lancelot’s life, forgetting that out in the Woods, legendary heroes were dead and Readers like her were losing their faith in Good. Here on the moors, the sun was strong and bright, the food was plentiful, and they were safe from Evil . . . while in real life, darkness was falling, an Evil army was rising, and her best friend was fighting at the School Master’s side. What would it be like when they went back through the portal? Would she and Tedros be ready for what they’d find?

If they went back through the portal, that is.

If Merlin ever returned for them.

Her heart flurried faster and she knew that if she didn’t find a way to sleep now, she wouldn’t sleep at all. She pulled her blanket tighter, about to roll over— Only there was something odd about the blanket. It was thicker than usual, with furry, velvety fabric that smelled like a musty cabinet. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the purple inseam . . . the lining stitched with silver stars . . .

Agatha gasped.

Chest pounding, she yanked the wizard’s cape over her head and felt herself floating through violet sky before she landed softly on a cloud . . .

Merlin was waiting for her.

Agatha sat cross-legged in white mist beside him, her shoulder touching his. For a short while, neither of them said a word, basking in the vast silence of the Celestium. Just being next to the wizard again made Agatha feel calmer, even if he did look alarmingly thin.

“Where have you been?” she asked finally.

“Visiting a dear old friend.”

“For six days?”

“We would have stayed together far longer if we had the time,” said Merlin wistfully. “I do wish I had my hat, though. Never realized how difficult it is to procure a decent meal without magic. I suppose that’s why people find companions eventually; it makes it easier to manage the burden of food when there’s two of you. Then again, living life alone comes with its benefits. Like learning self-reliance or traveling on a whim or washing your hair only once a year.” Agatha waited for him to get to the point.

“It is marvelous up here, isn’t it?” he sighed, gazing into star-spattered emptiness. “Almost makes me forget the things I’ve seen—Good’s old heroes, slain and discarded, their bodies left in the Woods to rot. Some as famous as Thumbelina and Aladdin, others never known by their proper name, but only as the ‘Clever Tailor’ or the ‘Wily Beggar Boy.’ I buried as many of them as I could, but we’ll have to give them proper graves in the Garden of Good and Evil when the time comes.” A haunted sadness clouded his face, his thoughts still somewhere in the Woods. Agatha knew she should be just as sad for these dead heroes, and yet, all she could think about was finding a way not to join them.

“Merlin,” Agatha prodded gently. “You are aware that you left us here and never explained how to beat an army twenty times our size—” “I’m well aware, Agatha. But what’s most important to me now is whether you’ve made any progress in how you’re going to convince Sophie to destroy her ring.” “I can’t do it, Merlin. You told us that Sophie has to destroy the ring by choice. Threatening to kill her doesn’t give her a choice at all, nor does it seem Good.” “Is that how Cinderella told you to get Sophie to destroy the ring?” Merlin said, aghast.

“Um, she spent the last five days trying to get me to torture the White Rabbit.” Merlin groaned. “Should have known that’s why she wanted Dovey’s wand. A bit of a guerrilla, that girl; no doubt a product of her upbringing. Yes, I’m afraid bullying your best friend to get what you want isn’t just morally questionable, but utterly useless. As I’ve said, the School Master is only destroyed if Sophie destroys the ring. If Sophie dies without destroying the ring, the School Master loses his true love in body, but not in spirit. Meaning he’ll lose his immortality and be mortal like the rest of us, but still very much alive, with an army of villains at his command, and nearly impossible to kill. Hardly the end that we seek.” He paused thoughtfully. “And yet Cinderella is onto something. Sophie is Evil’s queen now. You will not convince her to destroy the ring by appealing to her Goodness. You have to confront the deepest Evil in her and prove she has a reason to do so.” Agatha looked at him.

“But you will only have one chance,” said the wizard. “Use it wisely.” Agatha thought about what she’d do with this one chance . . . but still, nothing came.

“Merlin, before you left, you said the School Master is looking for something in Gavaldon. Something that will destroy Good forever. Do you know what it is yet?” “I’m afraid I’ve been as successful with my assignment as you with yours,” the wizard smiled dryly. “And yet, I keep coming back to something you said to me when we were traveling to Avalon. That the School Master suggested it was Sophie who would destroy Good in the end . . . not him.” Agatha remembered what Rafal told her in Evil’s museum. “He said the most dangerous person in a fairy tale is the one willing to do anything for love.” Merlin tugged at his beard, spectacles slipping down his nose.

“Do you think it has something to do with Sophie’s mother?” Agatha nudged. “We never did find where her body is. Could the School Master have her?” “Perhaps it has do with Sophie’s mother or perhaps it has to do with much, much more,” said Merlin. “Remember what I told you the last time we were here. For hundreds of years, Good has had love on its side, making Good invincible against Evil. But why? Because the School Master killed his own brother in the pursuit of power, proving that Evil could never love. To balance that one terrible deed, the Storian has made Good win every single story, as long as it has real love on its side. But now that Rafal has Sophie as his queen, he believes that her love is finally enough to redeem the murder of his brother.” “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Agatha countered. “Even if he does have Sophie’s love, that doesn’t erase the fact he killed his own blood.” “Precisely,” said Merlin. “So the question remains: what is it he expects Sophie to do for him at the end of this story? Does he think she can redeem that original sin? And if so . . . is that why he chose Sophie as his true love in the first place?” Agatha’s gut twisted. “Merlin, whatever it is he’s planning, we can’t win. Not without help. Don’t you understand? We’re just a few students and rickety old heroes!” Merlin wasn’t listening. “What if we have the whole story wrong, Agatha?” he said softly. “What if he can prove killing his brother was never a crime at all? That love is the greatest Evil instead of the greatest Good? What then?” His body straightened. “Then Good would become Evil and Evil would become Good, wouldn’t it? Just like he promised . . .” Agatha shook her head. “Merlin, you’re not making any sense—”

He flinched as if he suddenly remembered she was there. “This was thoughtless, wasn’t it, bringing you here in the middle of the night when you haven’t had a wink of sleep, especially with all that’s to come. Come, come, off to bed—every minute counts—” Agatha frowned. “But wait, how are we supposed to fight him? How are we supposed to . . .” But she was yawning now, and she knew he’d done something to her, for her body grew numb and her head so heavy that she sank through the cloud like an anchor. She thrust out her hand for Merlin, striving to stay awake, trying to grab hold of him, but all she felt was a fistful of stars as she fell into the dark, and the warm taste of sky in her mouth.

Voices swelled sharply out of the void and Agatha’s eyes opened.

She was sprawled on the floor in one of Guinevere’s blue tattered blankets. The witches were gone from the room, their bed neatly made. Through the window, she could see the inky night sky, with no sign of the sunrise.

Agatha followed the voices towards the den and glimpsed her friends, young and old, packing burlap sacks with crackers and fruit and tins of water, while devouring last bowls of oatmeal. Everyone was clad in thick black cloaks, buzzing in hushed whispers, except for Guinevere, who was still in her nightdress, packing a bag for Lancelot while the knight polished his sword. As Agatha inched into the den, she noticed that the group was no longer divided into old on one side and young on the other as usual, but into the various mentor groups—Hort with Peter Pan, Anadil with Jack and Briar Rose, Hester with Hansel and Gretel, Dot with Red Riding Hood . . . before Hort caught sight of Agatha and he and Pan went quiet. All the other pairs did too.

Merlin sauntered into the den from the dining room, sipping a mug of coffee.

“Tried to keep our voices low, my dear. Wanted to give you a bit more rest.” In her sleepy daze, Agatha didn’t understand.

But then she felt someone touch her shoulder.

She looked up at Tedros, clean and beautiful in a black cloak, Excalibur strapped to his back. He clasped her hand with a scared smile.

“It’s time,” he said.