The School for Good and Evil #6: One True King Read online

  “Stealing the squirrelly nut was a holy mess,” sighed Nicola, covered in scratch marks. “With every leader against Tedros, Guinevere and I figured any royal squirrel might be carrying valuable information. But soon as this one saw us, it ran like the wind. Then its royal collar started shooting poisoned darts that almost got me in the head. I’d hardly learned magic at school—only managed to stun the squirrel’s back legs. Definitely saw our faces. Hope we don’t cross paths with it again.”

  “Murderous beavers, angry squirrels . . . What’s with us and vermin?” Hort growled.

  “Why is Japeth going to Putsi, though?” Agatha contended, asking herself as much as the others. “If he knows the answer, he should be after Merlin. But Merlin isn’t in Putsi.”

  “Which means Japeth doesn’t know the answer,” Hort puffed.

  “So what did the Queen of Jaunt Jolie mean about giving him a key?” Agatha asked.

  Tedros snapped out of his daze. He looked at his princess edgily—

  A stuttering jingle sounded and they turned to see Tinkerbell collapse on Tedros’ shoulder, sweat-soaked and squeaking dully, like a bell dropped into mud.

  “The witches found Merlin,” Tedros translated, with a smile. “They’ll meet us in Bloodbrook.”

  Agatha slumped with relief against Hort’s fur.

  “Can’t Tink fairy-dust us there? My paws hurt,” Hort griped.

  “Tink’s dust isn’t the same as it used to be,” Tedros sighed. “Can only fly one of us at most.”

  Watching him fold Tinkerbell in his pocket, the fairy peacefully asleep, Agatha tried to feel the same peace . . . to hold on to the relief that Merlin was safe . . .

  And yet, that squirrelly nut still bothered her.

  “Maybe the Queen of Jaunt Jolie is on our side,” Nicola offered, sensing her unease. “Giving Japeth false clues to lead him astray.”

  “Detective Nic at it again,” Hort said, patting her with his big thumb.

  Agatha stayed quiet. The Queen of Jaunt Jolie had made it a point not to cross Camelot to protect her children. Why would she risk it now? Agatha had that prickly feeling again. The one she had when the story was all wrong. The Snake wielded magic and intelligence. He was always a step ahead. So how’d he end up in Putsi? How’d he end up the fool?

  If Agatha had learned one thing from her fairy tale, it was this.

  Go looking for the fool and eventually, the path leads straight back to you.

  AGATHA GAZED AT baby Merlin fast asleep, snuffling beneath his coned hat, a half-smile on his face, somewhere in the wonderland of dreams.

  The princess turned and assessed her team: two stultified witches and a third grown old; a practically comatose prince; a shaken Reader and a helpless once-queen; and a weasel boy saronged in bedsheets, having burst out of his clothes to get them here. To safety. To victory. To a baby.

  With no beard.

  “Caves of Contempo aged Merlin in reverse,” Hester mumbled, the witch more undone than Agatha had ever seen her. “He can’t be more than a few months old.”

  “Ani and I were on the other side of the cave. The side that ages you forward,” said Dot, miserable at the sight of her jowly face, saggy arms, and frumpy curls in a mirror.

  “Told you not to touch anything, you idiot,” Anadil gritted, her two rats shaking their heads. “I told you.”

  “It was just a measly cockroach,” Dot puled. “They make for good chocolate . . . I didn’t see the dust on it . . .”

  “Considered de-aging Dot on my side of the caves,” said Hester, “but we were worried we’d end up with two babies.”

  Tedros buckled against a wall. “This can’t be happening . . .” His face reddened like he’d been slapped. “HOW IS THIS HAPPENING! How are we supposed to get Merlin back!”

  “How are we supposed to get his beard?” Hort clarified.

  Agatha inched closer to Merlin and his rosy cheeks, his starry purple cape fanned around him, as if he was floating in a sea. His plush hat had shrunk to a baby’s bonnet, drooped over his head. Fists at ears, he shivered in his sleep, lips coated with drool. He was so peaceful, so unaware. But as Agatha drew closer, a low sound echoed. Monstrous forms bulged out of the red walls: horned faces and knife-long claws, stretching against the wallpaper and looming over the baby from every direction.

  Agatha froze.

  So did the walls.

  Tedros rushed to protect his princess—

  Hester barred him.

  “Haunts,” she warned. “Faster you move, faster they move.” She turned to Agatha. “Get the baby. Slowly.”

  Agatha took another step. The haunts resumed their prowl towards Merlin, gnarled bodies swelling against the wallpaper, krrck, krrck, krrck, like the crushing of ice.

  Now both Tedros and Hort surged to help—

  The haunts spun sharply in the boys’ direction, then swooped for Merlin.

  “Stay back!” Agatha gasped at the boys, the creatures stretched so far out of the wall that their papered claws kissed Merlin’s face. Agatha lunged to grab him—

  “Careful,” Nicola breathed. “Fairy tales are filled with demon babies.”

  Agatha hesitated. Her fellow Reader was right. They didn’t know the extent of the wizard’s transformation. They didn’t know his powers anymore. They didn’t even know what side he was on. But the haunts’ claws were gathering under him from all sides, lifting the baby off the bed, towards the ceiling, where another set of claws stretched out of the plaster to receive him.

  No time for fear.

  Agatha seized Merlin’s soft, stubby arms.

  The ghosts wrested them back.

  Agatha latched her fists onto Merlin’s body, enduring a silent tussle, human against haunt. The more firmly she pulled, the harder the ghosts resisted, grappling the baby higher, the child caught between worlds. Merlin was well over her head now, her arms at full reach. Standing on tiptoes, Agatha struggled to force the baby down. Hard talons curled around her hands, the bulging wallpaper rough against her skin. Finger by finger, the haunts pried Merlin from Agatha, until only her thumbs clung on—

  “No!” she cried.

  Merlin’s big blue eyes flew open.

  The infant saw the haunts, his face coloring with fear. Then his eyes darted to Agatha, twinkling with recognition . . .

  He farted with a cannon’s strength, a blast so swift and loud that the haunts dropped him into Agatha’s arms and shot back into the walls.

  The wizard child shrieked with delight as a terrible smell filled the room.

  Tedros wheezed with horror, while the rest shrank for cover. (Tinkerbell groggily poked out of the prince’s pocket, only to sniff the air and pass out once more.)

  “Worse than a dungbomb,” Hort rasped, under the bed.

  The baby clapped his hands and flashed a gummy smile at Agatha. “Mama!” he squeaked.

  “We’re doomed,” Tedros moaned.

  The others muttered in agreement.

  But Agatha didn’t flinch. Not at the smell (she’d grown up in a graveyard). Nor at the infant in her arms. This wasn’t a demon child. This was Merlin, who’d chosen her over the haunts. Merlin, who’d just saved himself. She gazed down at the beaming wizard, blowing spit bubbles. At the moment, a baby had more nerve than its rescuers.

  “We’re not doomed,” said Agatha, turning to her prince. “Your father left you three tests. Tests, Tedros. This is part of the tournament. Things going wrong. You can bet Japeth won’t give up at the first sign of trouble.”

  The room went quiet.

  Tedros glared back at her.

  It was a harsh thing to say. Especially since Agatha was just as scared and bereft as he was. But if she had to act like the king to force her prince to stand up, then she’d do what she had to. Even if her words hurt.

  His hot blue eyes locked into hers, fully aware of what she was doing. Tedros’ anger cooled to guilt . . . then to steel. The Lion had stirred.

  “Witches,” he said. “Go
back to school. Tell the teachers everything that’s happened and find an aging spell that can reverse the cave’s curse. Send word to us once you find it.” He saw Dot quivering in the corner and gave her a wink. “Get Dot back to her young and beautiful self while you’re at it.”

  Dot went pink, looking embarrassed but standing up straighter. Agatha knew the gift of Tedros’ charm, even in the direst of moments.

  “Nicola,” the prince went on. “Go with my mother to Jaunt Jolie. Find out what their queen meant about giving Japeth a key. I spent time with Betty, the queen’s daughter, when I was young; Queen Jacinda’s loyalties to the Snake might be softer then they seem. Agatha and I will stay here. Putsi’s the neighboring kingdom to the north, which means Japeth is close. But as long as we have Merlin, we’re ahead of him. Once the witches find an aging spell, we’ll restore Merlin’s years, take the beard ourselves, and be on to the second test.”

  “Something’s bothering me,” Dot pitched, gnawing on her fingernails. “The scroll said we’d find the answer to the first test where wizard trees grow—”

  “Not this nonsense again,” Hester scowled. “The answer is Merlin’s beard. Not some tree.”

  “Then why did the test mention trees at all?” Anadil contested.

  Agatha felt that prickling unease again. That niggling doubt that plagued her on the way here.

  “Wizard trees aren’t real,” Guinevere reassured, siding with Hester. “Just an expression. Comes from a fairy tale. About a tree that once grew at the Four Point.”

  “People thought the tree had magical powers. That it could answer any question you asked it,” said Tedros. “Each of the Four Point leaders wanted the tree for themselves. That’s how the Four Point War started. The war that killed Dad. Over a tree. In the end, they found it didn’t have any powers at all. Just an ordinary birch. Storian told its tale as a warning.”

  “Think I read that story,” Nicola remembered. “The tale of a king who asked a wizard tree a question and climbed it, looking for the answer, but each branch just grew into another tree and then another, until he climbed so high he was burned by the sun . . .”

  “See? Just a red herring to throw us off,” Hester chastised Anadil. “But if you’d like to go hunting for wizard trees with Dot, be my guest. I’ll go to school alone and find a spell that can actually save us.”

  Agatha trusted Hester’s confidence, her doubts lifting.

  “Should we use the Flowerground from Bloodbrook to get to school?” Anadil reversed, appeasing her tattooed friend. “Never stations are lax about security. We can pretend to be Dot’s daughters. Should keep us from being recognized.” (Dot let out a fresh wail.)

  Meanwhile, Guinevere huddled with Nicola: “Jaunt Jolie is a few miles north. We’ll be there by sunrise. Getting an audience with the queen is another matter. Knights of the Eleven protect her kingdom and they’re fearsome warriors.”

  “Two women alone might just slip through . . . ,” said the first year.

  “I’ll come with you,” Hort insisted.

  Nicola hesitated.

  “You don’t want me to?” the weasel asked.

  “Of course I do. It’s just a boy will mess up our plan—”

  “A boy? I’m your boyfriend!” Hort blasted. “I’m not allowed to even look at Sophie, my soulmate, but you can slag me off like I’m any old boy off the street!”

  “And here I thought I was your soulmate,” Nicola replied.

  Hort blinked at her, realizing what he’d said.

  “Stay here with me, mate,” Tedros piped awkwardly, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “A man-wolf may come in handy.”

  “Get a talent of your own, why don’t you,” Hort murmured, but Tedros was already hastening the rest through the door.

  “Report back when you can,” the prince ordered. “Sooner we finish the first test, the closer we are to killing the Snake.”

  The witches hustled out, along with Nicola and Guinevere, no one offering goodbyes. Nicola slammed the door behind her.

  They were alone now: Agatha, the prince, and the weasel.

  In a haunted room.

  With a cursed child.

  “Buggered that up, didn’t I?” Hort mumbled, his eyes lingering where Nicola had left.

  Tedros ignored him and huddled over Agatha’s shoulder, the two of them peering down at Merlin, the infant’s giggles replaced by a calm, intense stare.

  “How’d he stay alive for so long in that cave?” Tedros wondered.

  “Must be hungry,” Hort said, cramming next to the prince. “How do we feed a baby?”

  The two boys turned to Agatha.

  “Don’t look at me,” Agatha shot back.

  The baby made a gurgling noise and his wards glanced down to see Merlin clutching his tiny hat, lapping up milk, magically bubbling up from inside it.

  “Wizard baby, indeed,” Tedros marveled.

  Merlin fussed as he finished, wiggling in Agatha’s arms.

  “Think you’re supposed to burp him,” said Hort.

  “Be my guest,” Agatha said, thrusting Merlin at the weasel.

  Tedros intercepted him, taking the baby against his chest and gently thumping his back.

  “Hi, M,” he whispered.

  The baby belched softly, wrapping a tiny hand around Tedros’ thumb and the other around Agatha’s. Princess and prince couldn’t help but smile at each other.

  “Thought you two were supposed to get married first,” said Hort sourly. “You know. Before having a baby.”

  Agatha shot him a look.

  “Thank the stars I wasn’t an Ever,” Hort grouched. “Zero sense of humor.”

  “Mama,” the baby said, clamoring for Agatha.

  “Think he likes you better,” Tedros said, parceling him back to his princess. Agatha reached out, taking him—

  The baby disappeared.

  Everything disappeared.

  Agatha was alone in the Celestium, the sky purple around her.

  A bearded man sat beside her on a cloud, returned to full age.

  “Merlin?” Agatha said, stunned.

  The old wizard didn’t look at her. Instead, he gazed straight ahead . . . at a sky full of stars, rearranging into a constellation . . . a pattern Agatha recognized . . . a symbol she’d seen only a short while before . . .

  Merlin turned to her.

  “Think like me,” said the wizard.

  Then he was gone.

  The Celestium too.

  Agatha was back at the inn, inside a muggy, dim room, her prince at her side, a baby in her arms.

  Except the wizard child was watching her now, with a cryptic smile.

  You did that, Agatha thought.

  Merlin smiled wider.

  “What is it?” Tedros asked, confused by Agatha’s silence. Clearly, neither he nor Hort had been transported. Neither had seen what she had.

  Quickly, the princess lit her fingerglow. She drew it in the air with slashes of gold . . . the pattern she’d found inside Marian’s Arrow and now again in the Celestium . . . the clue that both Robin Hood and Merlin had wanted her to see . . .

  “This,” she said, swiveling to the boys. “What is it?”

  Hort and Tedros exchanged glances.

  “Crest with geese on it . . . ,” Hort pondered. “Putsi?”

  “Definitely Putsi,” said Tedros, before looking at Agatha. “Why?”

  Agatha looked down at the baby, staring right at her.

  Think like me.

  Think like me.

  Think like—

  Agatha’s heart thumped.

  Putsi.

  Now she remembered.

  That file.

  The one they’d dismissed.

  That’s where she’d seen the kingdom’s name.

  Deceased.

  Buried in Vault 41.

  Bank of Putsi.

  “Sir Kay’s file. The one in the Living Library,” Agatha breathed. “Japeth isn’t going after Merlin. He’s going a
fter Merlin’s beard.” She looked up at Tedros. “The Snake knows the answer to the test.”

  Tedros scoffed. “Impossible. How could he know my father’s secret?”

  “Because Japeth and Sir Japeth are linked somehow. The Snake and the Green Knight. There must be more to the story than we know,” said Agatha, swaddling Merlin tight. “Come on. We have to get to Putsi. That’s where the beard is—”

  “But we have the beard!” Tedros fought. “Once we find an aging spell, I mean—”

  “Not that beard! The beard the Green Knight cut from Merlin! The beard that had the wish! It must be buried with Kay’s body in Putsi!” Agatha said, feeling the wizard baby grip her harder, as if she was on the right track. “That’s the ending to this test. The beard. The original beard. The beard your nemesis is about to steal!” She shuttled Merlin to the door. “We have it all wrong. We’re going to Putsi!”

  “But that’s where the Snake is!” said Hort.

  “For a reason!” Agatha said. She trusted the baby in her arms more than two boys’ fears. The same way she should have trusted the Snake’s movements over her own. “Hurry. If it’s the next kingdom east, we can go on foot!”

  “Weasel’s right,” Tedros argued, not following her. “Can’t take Merlin near Japeth. He could steal the wizard from us—we’d be handing him our best weapon—”

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  Pulsing slams thundered outside, like a cosmic hammer shattering the sky.

  Baby Merlin started screaming, hands at his ears.

  Clutching him tight, Agatha rushed to the window, the two boys flanking her.

  To the east, moonlight shined down on green shoots rising, reaching up, up, up, over the land . . .

  A tree, shimmering against the night, each branch blossoming into a new tree, which spawned more trees from its boughs, hundreds of them, thousands, higher and higher, wider and wider, the lattice of trunks and branches vanishing into the clouds.

  For a split second, Agatha thought she saw bodies tossed between branches, human bodies, the size of acorns or leaves—