فصل 9

9

HORT

Who Would Want a Hort?

“Come, girls! We need to see what the pen is writing before it turns the page!” Professor Dovey said, leading the group towards Evil’s castle. “Once it moves on, it won’t let us flip back—” Hort was desperate to take a bath and put pants on, but he couldn’t let Agatha run off with Sophie unsupervised, so he followed them up the shore.

Every time he was free of rivals for Sophie’s attention, they always returned, more meddling than ever. Why couldn’t these toads mind their own business? Or die like Rafal did? True, he’d had Sophie to himself these past six months, but most of that was spent waiting out her I’m-an-Independent-Woman phase, which consisted of her doing a lot of yoga, reading poetry in her study, and hosting girls’ nights in the Common Room. But after what he just saw at the party, it was clear Sophie was slobbering after boys again. And not just boys.

Everboys.

Uggggh.

Did those preening stallions have any idea what it was like to be normal? Because that’s what being a Never was. “Normal” as in you woke up with smelly armpits and you broke out in pimples if you ate too many fried pig’s feet and you had to slave in the Groom Room gym for every ounce of muscle—time that you would rather spend learning spells or catching lizards or doing something useful; but if you didn’t waste half your day pumping Norse hammers and swinging kettlebells and doing one-handed pushups, then you’d be a skinny, oily loser for the rest of your life.

And yet, in the end, it didn’t matter how much work Hort did to improve himself. He still couldn’t find love. At least not the love he wanted. Not Sophie.

He thought about the anonymous fan letters he’d been getting these past few months. (“Dear Hort, I don’t know why you chase girls who don’t appreciate you. There are girls like me who’ve read The Tale of Sophie and Agatha and think you’re the real hero. . . .”) At first, he thought they were from a Reader in Sophie’s old town, but then he’d noticed that the letters were written on school parchment. Which meant Sophie was right all along. They were just a prank to embarrass him. Hort felt ashamed for getting suckered yet again. It was so obvious the letters were fakes. Who would want a Hort when there were Bodhis and Laithans running around?

That’s what he resented most about Everboys. Girls liked them for their looks, when they’d done nothing to earn those looks. The stupid idiots were born like sculpted gods out of sheer dumb luck, the way other people are born with crooked faces or clubbed legs, and instead of being thankful or humble about this luck, they acted like they’d deserved it!

But even if Sophie was smart enough to see through these arrogant gasbags, she still fell for them, like a mouse who couldn’t tell the trap from the cheese.

Why did he want her then? Why care about a girl who couldn’t see he was better than those soft-headed lumps? Why idolize someone who would rather kiss the hot blond boy with the charm of a pineapple over a thinking, feeling boy like him?

Maybe I’m broken, Hort thought to himself. Maybe he was drawn to mean girls the way a girl like Agatha was drawn to Good boys.

Then again, Agatha was about to marry Tedros. A boil on the backside of humanity.

Whatever. The point was that he should be free of Sophie by now.

Instead, he was her employee.

Hort had no business being professor of history in the first place, since he didn’t know the slightest thing about history and was pretty sure his students knew it too but they never complained because he gave them high ranks and passed out candy every Friday. And he was also sure his students knew he was in love with Sophie, since any time she sat in on his class, they made fawning comments about his teaching, as if they’d collectively decided to be wingmen in helping him earn the Dean’s heart. It made him like his students more than he thought possible, and he’d convinced himself that his crusade to marry Sophie wasn’t just for him anymore, but for all Evil-kind.

Except now Agatha was back.

Bug-eyed, skinny-legged, helmet-haired Agatha, who made Sophie smile the way he wished he could. Agatha, who had the gall to tell him last year that Sophie would never love him.

Since then, all he’d wanted was to prove her wrong. To prove to himself . . . to his students . . . to whoever was sending those fake love letters . . . that a boy like Hort could finally get the girl.

But now none of it would happen. Because when Agatha was around, Sophie didn’t even notice him, and he always ended up running after them in some wild-goose chase like he was right now.

“Will . . . you two . . . slow down,” he wheezed, tripping over his toga, his bare feet punished by the pebbly floor as he followed them into Evil’s castle.

“So Merlin set this whole thing up? That sly dog . . . ,” Agatha was saying to Sophie while Hort scrambled to eavesdrop. “First he mentions the Igraine . . . then he chastises me for not talking to you. . . . He did it all so I’d steal the ship and come here! I thought I’d be taking on this quest alone when all the while he planned for us to do it together.” “But why a ship, Aggie?” Sophie moaned, magically dissolving blue sludge off her and Agatha with her glowing pink finger. “I despise boats. They smell like toilets, the beds are stiff, there’s never any fresh vegetables, and it’s impossible to do yoga without falling overboard any time there’s a swell—” “Wait until you see this ship, though. The Igraine magically steers on my command. It can turn invisible, it can fly—” “Throw on a bandana and a pair of breeches and now you’re Whiskey Woo, the Pirate Queen,” Sophie grumped as they followed Dovey and the witches upstairs, bypassing the party in Evil Hall. “The Igraine. Good lord. Sounds like a prehistoric bird. Or a splitting headache. Well, if we’re together, I suppose I’ll muddle through. Speaking of which, where’s the other Evers? Merlin said you’d have a crew.” “Crew?” Agatha said. “No crew. I mean, Willam’s on board, but he’s been in his cabin seasick ever since we left.” “Willam?” Sophie asked with keen interest.

Hort scowled. He had enough boys at school to compete with, let alone boys lurking in boats. (Also, what kind of name was Willam? Sounded like the noise frogs made when they sucked down flies.) “Hold on. No crew?” Sophie asked. “But Merlin told Dovey he was sending a team of Evers tonight to join me and the coven. That together, we’d be in charge of saving our classmates’ failing quests.” “Well, we could certainly use the help on board,” Agatha mulled, “especially since we’re overloaded with Nevers. Maybe Dovey can give us a couple of her best first years. . . . Perhaps that’s what Merlin wanted us to do for a crew. . . .” “Then why not just tell us as much?” Sophie grouched. “Why is everything a riddle with that old prat?” “Because these are our quests, Sophie, not his,” said Agatha.

“I still think the man’s a nosy, musty loon,” said Sophie. “But do tell me about Willam. Is he gorgeous and strong? A strapping swabbie of the high seas?” Behind them, Hort went apoplectic red—

“I don’t think he’s your type,” Agatha chuckled.

Hort exhaled, relieved.

“To be fair, no one thought Rafal was my type either,” said Sophie as they reached the highest floor and followed Dovey and the witches onto an outdoor catwalk. Two wolf guards patrolled the walk, which stretched between the highest floor of Evil’s castle and the School Master’s tower. As she passed, Sophie gave the guards an imperious smile and flicked dust off the red-and-gold SOPHIE’S WAY sign, lit up and pointing towards the silver spire that divided the bay between Good and Evil. “Now, Aggie, for the most important question of all: What do we do about this wedding of yours?” “Can’t be worrying about a wedding when we have to save the Woods,” Agatha said. “It would have been a challenge anyway. You’d have had to plan the whole wedding from here at school. Camelot’s castle is already a mess and Tedros doesn’t want you there romping around and causing more upheaval—” “I see,” Sophie said archly. “Afraid I might steal his crown?” “Um, right. I think it’s well established that you two should stay as far from each other as possible. We’ll get someone else to plan the wedding.” “Nonsense. I’ll do it while we travel. I just need two assistants on board, a fleet of courier crows, and an unlimited budget—” “Camelot is bankrupt, Sophie.”

“—and naturally I’ll bring Bogden as one of my assistants, so perhaps we can include another Ever to balance out our crew . . . a handsome boy like Bodhi or Laithan. . . .” “Wedding?” Hort cried, interloping between the girls. “Twenty minutes ago, you said you were done with Agatha’s wedding. That you never wanted to think about her and Tedros again. That you were throwing your own party because you were totally over—” Sophie thrust out her glowing finger and zipped his mouth with a spell. Stunned, Hort tried to yell through sealed lips to no avail.

“One of Lesso’s best hexes,” Sophie told Agatha. “I’ve been reading her old spellbooks during my nightly baths.” Agatha took a deep breath. “Sorry I didn’t write you all these months, Sophie,” she said, nearing the School Master’s tower. “So much has happened since I left school.” “The Royal Rot certainly agrees,” Sophie replied.

“Sophie!”

“Darling, you weren’t writing me and I needed news of my best friends. You didn’t expect me to read the Camelot Courier, did you? Nothing but propaganda.” “And the Rot is any better? A tabloid that said I cursed Tedros to fall in love with me and plan to slit his throat on our wedding night, once I’m officially queen?” Sophie snickered.

“And here I was feeling guilty I hadn’t written you,” Agatha said.

Sophie threw an arm around her. “Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re together again and this time without a prince in our hair as we head off on the biggest adventure of our lives.” Hort was grinding his teeth so loudly that the two girls glanced at each other.

“Is he really still there,” Sophie murmured.

“Poor little weasel,” Agatha said, pointing her glowing gold finger and unzipping his mouth.

Hort exploded at Sophie: “Adventure? Adventure? If you think you’re going into the Woods with . . . with . . . her, then you have another thing coming! You reassigned my quest and made me a teacher and I didn’t complain because you made it sound like you’d be my girlfriend and we’d go on dates and eat ice cream and kiss like normal couples do! And instead you treat me like a servant and now you’re trying to abandon me at school and take skinny, stinky Bogden? Are you kidding? Just because Agatha deserted her stupid boyfriend to go gallivanting around the Woods doesn’t mean you can! I spend every day teaching kids about Elf Wars and Wizard Summits and things I don’t care a lick about to spend time with you and you think you can leave? Kiss my big, blooming arse! I’ll set that ship on fire if you even get close!” Sophie blinked at him, speechless.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what he sees in you,” said Agatha.

Sophie laughed and took her hand. “Everything, darling. Everything.” As the two girls continued towards the School Master’s tower, Hort watched them go.

He knew what he saw in her. The same thing he’d always seen, no matter how badly she treated him. He saw a girl as soft and vulnerable as he was, if only she’d let herself feel it instead of distracting herself with the next best thing.

Don’t follow her, Hort begged himself.

Please.

Don’t. Follow. Her.

He followed.

As he scrambled to keep up with the girls, Hort told himself it was only because he’d never entered the School Master’s tower before. But that wasn’t the real reason, of course. The real reason was because the tower was now Sophie’s private chamber. And he wanted to see the inside.

The scaffolding shrouding the spire was dotted with sleeping stymphs, slumbering after a long day of renovations. Stymphs detested Hort, so he held his breath as he passed. Skirting between two more watchful wolf guards, he followed Dovey and the girls through a gap in the silky black scaffold.

Don’t act like it’s a big deal, Hort thought as he climbed through the open window. Don’t be creepy.

But he was creepy. He was always creepy. Creepiness was an inalienable, undeniable part of his essential Hortness— His bare feet touched the carpet and Hort snapped out of his thoughts. Every inch of the floor of Sophie’s chamber was blanketed in lush white threads, so soft and deep they swallowed his feet like warm milk. His eyes roamed the sky-blue walls, studded with thousands of tiny silver balls like congealed drops of rain. The stone ceiling had been knocked out and replaced with a shallow aquarium, filled with water that changed color every ten seconds, and glittery, floating glass flowers. In one corner, Sophie’s king-sized bed was veiled in a gold lace canopy, and beyond it, he could see inside the all-mirrored bathroom, teeming with vials and bottles of potions and creams. Nearby was a walk-in closet with racks of magically suspended dresses, organized by color and theme, and presided over by a grim-faced black mongoose with the name BOOBESHWAR on a tag around his neck, who was in the process of steaming one of Sophie’s kimonos.

“Crikey. All I got in my closet is moths and soggy breeches,” Hort murmured.

He turned, expecting Dovey and the witches to be as surprised by all this as he was— But the six of them were circled around the Storian as it wrote in a storybook, its gold-hued cover spread open on the white stone table.

Hort moved in closer and saw the pen’s sharp nib sweeping colors across a painting of a boy lying by a lake, his eyes closed. Blood leaked from a wound in the boy’s ribs, framing him in a crimson puddle.

Hort and Agatha looked up at Professor Dovey. But neither she, nor the witches, nor Sophie seemed as frozen with shock.

“Chaddick?” Agatha rasped. “He’s . . . he’s . . .”

“We don’t know who killed him or why,” Sophie said softly, studying the storybook. “But if this is right, his body is by the lake that took us to Guinevere and Lancelot’s safe house.” “That’s where the Lady of the Lake lives,” Hester added. “How did Chaddick get through her castle’s gates? Maybe there’s a part of the story we’re missing. . . .” Quickly Hester slipped her fingernail under the storybook’s page to see the pages that came before. The Storian scorched red with fury and stabbed at her finger— Hester withdrew it before it impaled her. “It’s the first page.” “What?” Sophie blurted. “’Once upon a time a handsome boy died?’” “Under other circumstances, I’d be enthralled,” said Anadil.

“This proves that Chaddick was onto something,” said Professor Dovey, giving her a look. “His death is part of a larger story, just as Merlin thought.” Hort could see Agatha staring at the storybook, tears on her cheeks. Even though Agatha was a nagging goat, the fact she was crying made Hort’s eyes mist up too. Chaddick had been a boy at school, just like him. A boy who’d been on a quest in the Endless Woods and had now died for it. And here Hort was, a spineless sap confined to the castle because he’d given up his real quest to chase a girl. Guilt and determination flushed through him, two crisscrossing rivers. Like Chaddick, Hort’s own father had been killed on a quest: a lifelong mission to serve Captain Hook in the fight against Peter Pan. Hort had come to the School for Evil to be better than his father. But what would his father think of him now? Still at school, pretending to be a teacher, puttering after someone who wouldn’t give him the time of day. . . .

For the first time, he felt the death grip Sophie had on his soul weaken.

This wasn’t about her anymore. This was about making something of his life.

Even Peter Pan had learned to grow up.

Hort gazed out the window at the Igraine in Evil’s harbor, sails flapping in the wind.

Wherever that ship was going, he would be on it.

Suddenly the girls tensed all at once and huddled closer to the storybook— “What is it?” he asked.

But now he saw for himself.

The Storian was writing its first words of the story.

Beneath the painting of Chaddick’s body, the pen etched its bold, beautiful script: Once upon a time, a Snake made its way into the Woods. Its plan was simple: take down the Lion.

The Storian turned the page and began to paint once more.

“A snake?” Hester asked, baffled.

“A lion?” Anadil echoed.

“So this is about, uh, disgruntled animals?” Dot said.

“No,” Agatha replied, peering at the storybook. “It’s not about animals at all.” Everyone watched her, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Um, then what’s it about?” Hort prodded.

Agatha raised her eyes. “It’s about getting to Avalon now.” There was panic in her face, as if she’d put a puzzle together the rest of them hadn’t.

“How soon can you leave?” Professor Dovey pressed.

“We need food and weapons,” said Agatha.

“I’ll make sure you have both,” said the Dean.

“Aggie, what is it?” Sophie asked, glancing between them.

But the Storian had finished its second painting now, a magnificent rendering of the twin-sailed Igraine sinking back under Halfway Bay, with Agatha at the stern, commanding the ship onwards. The pen wrote beneath: Soon, a team of students from the School for Good and Evil set out to find the Snake, led by two best friends, Sophie and Agatha, along with a crew of three witches, an altar boy named Willam, and a first-year Never named Bogden.

The Storian halted.

“What about me!” Hort protested.

But no one was paying the slightest attention, because Professor Dovey was rounding up the girls towards the window: “Come; there’s provisions in the kitchen and weapons in the Armory—” “Boobeshwar!” Sophie yelped at her startled mongoose: “Start packing my suitcase. . . .” “Wait a second,” Hort piped up.

“You’ll need food and water for a week before you can reload in the Ever Lands,” Dovey was saying.

“Enough clothes for two months, Boobeshwar!” Sophie hollered over her. “I’ll send Bogden to fetch the luggage—” “I SAID WAIT A SECOND!” Hort bellowed.

Six pairs of eyes went to him.

“Look,” he said.

They followed his gaze to the long, white table.

The Storian was writing again.

There was one more member of their crew, however. Someone they hadn’t expected.

Someone who they’d need on their dangerous quest.

Hort raised his fist. “See! See! I told you! It saved the best for—” Someone named Nicola.

“Nicola?” Agatha said, mystified.

Everyone stared at the page.

“Who in tarnation is Nicola!” Hort barked.

But only Dovey and Sophie seemed to know, for they both eyed each other with strange looks, before Sophie slowly turned to Agatha.

“Well, darling, it seems we’ve found the missing Ever for your team.”