The School for Good and Evil #6: One True King Page 16

  “You should be happy I care enough to pay attention, Willam. Can’t say you do the same for me.”

  “How was I supposed to know you’re a vegetarian?”

  Definitely in love, Sophie thought.

  “Meanwhile, I was on my way here,” said Robin. “Couldn’t stay in Sherwood. Not after the Sheriff and I joined forces. So I left Marian in a sanctuary on Glass Mountain. Figured she and I could sail across the Savage Sea, start somewhere fresh. Needed money first, so I came to my vault. All those years of raiding the rich to help the poor—skimmed a bit off the top in case Marian and I needed a nest egg.”

  “A nest egg?” Sophie said, ogling the swamp of coins. “This looks like the entire nest.”

  Robin ignored her. “Left clues at the Arrow about where I was headed, in case you lot tried to find me. Soon as I get to Putsi, I run into William and Boggins, and before I know it, guards seize us and bring us to the woodpecker’s office.”

  “Turns out Albemarle needed our help. He’d heard the Snake was coming for Vault 41, where the answer to Arthur’s first test was,” Willam picked up. “Bird said he’d try to stop the Snake from getting it. But if he failed, it’d be up to us.”

  “So we hide in Robin’s vault nearby . . . then eavesdrop on the Snake and tree and find out it’s Merlin’s beard he’s after . . . ,” said Bogden. “And we wait to ambush him—”

  “Only to see you come out with the beard instead of the Snake,” said Willam.

  “And here we are,” said Robin. “A girl, a beard, two idiots, and me.”

  “It’s not like you did anything to help!” Bogden heckled.

  “Who do you think was distracting the scims from chasing the lass!” said Robin.

  “But how are we supposed to get out of here?” Sophie asked, pointing a lit finger at her hair and reverting it long and blond. “The Snake’s hunting us! Not to mention the Empress and her geese and the bank guards. The second we leave the vaults, we’re dead!”

  “Bird said his spy would get us out when the time came,” Robin touted. “Same spy that told him the Snake was on the way.”

  “Bird is dead,” Sophie scorned, seeing Robin flinch. “And so is his spy, no doubt!”

  “Plenty of doubt, I’d say,” spoke a voice.

  Behind them, a body surfaced, rising out of gold like a wakened dragon. Coins sloughed off tan, young skin, the whites of two eyes piercing the darkness.

  “Woodpeckers plan for everything, remember?” said the stranger.

  Sophie shined the pearl’s glow, lighting up a familiar girl with brown hair, a pointed nose, and a toothy smile.

  She was sucking on a red lollipop.

  “Bettina is the name. Executive Editor of the Camelot Courier,” the girl said, sitting up in a tall pastel dress. She honed in on Sophie. “Nice to meet you. I don’t count the last time when you were being mind-controlled by a twin-killing Snake.”

  Sophie’s eyes widened.

  It was the girl from the press briefing.

  The one who knew Japeth was a fraud.

  The one who knew everything.

  “My mother is the Queen of Jaunt Jolie,” Bettina explained, her voice light and fast. “I figured out quick that Rhian was dead and the Snake had taken his place. My mother didn’t believe me until she went to visit ‘Rhian’ and had a good look at him and realized you were under his control. The Snake demanded her key to the Four Point vault and my mother sent a squirrelly nut to warn me. Nut got stolen by rebels—friends of yours, I’m assuming—but the squirrel found me and relayed my mother’s message. I’d been hiding in Putsi to begin with; it’s easy to disappear here.”

  “No kidding. Try finding Willam in a goose flock!” said Bogden. He saw Willam’s stare. “You know, long neck . . . big nose . . . the way you waddle when you . . . Never mind.”

  “I was afraid the Snake might win the first test, so I went to see Albemarle, who’d spotted these two with Robin around the bank,” Bettina continued. “So the woodpecker and I forged a plan. He’d enlist Robin to stop the Snake from getting into Vault 41. If his team succeeded, I would help them escape. If they failed, I would stop the Snake myself.” She peered at Sophie. “Woodpecker planned for everything but you.”

  Sophie’s head thrummed with questions. “But the Queen of Jaunt Jolie said her eldest’s name was Betty—”

  Bettina.

  Betty.

  Betty who’d been passed over by the School Master.

  “Doesn’t need that school or the Storian,” the queen had said. “Betty’s found her own way to tell tales.”

  Sophie bristled. “So the Courier knew Rhian and the Snake were in cahoots all along? That they staged the attacks?”

  “Why didn’t you do something, then?” Willam attacked Bettina. “If you and your staff were on the run, why didn’t you help us?”

  “There is no staff,” Bettina said, her voice hardening. “The rest fled after Rhian put out a warrant for us. Almost got caught myself when I snuck into Sophie’s wedding briefing; luckily I had a mole at Camelot who gave me a hex to escape.”

  “So your mother must be on our side too,” Sophie followed. “She can give us her Knights of Eleven!”

  “My mother is on her own side,” Bettina corrected. “That’s why she surrendered her key to Japeth, even knowing he’s the Snake. She’ll do anything to protect her family. Regardless of who is king.”

  Willam started to ask something, but Bettina waved him off. “We’re wasting time,” she said, pointing at the pearl in Sophie’s palm. “Tedros has to swallow that and find out what the second test is—before the Snake catches us. Which means first we need to find Tedros.”

  “First we need to get out of this vault,” Sophie pointed out.

  Bettina frowned, as if there wasn’t room for two leaders. “Albemarle put me here to help you escape, remember?”

  “But we can’t go through the bank!” Sophie reminded. “The whole Woods will slaughter us!”

  “We’re not going through the bank,” Bettina clipped, sucking on her lollipop as she headed for the door. “You’re a Reader, aren’t you?” She glared back at Sophie. “Should have read that first test more carefully.”

  OUTSIDE VAULT 41, Willam kept a lookout. “Bogs, we clear?”

  “Clear!” Bogden called somewhere far away.

  “Make goose noises if we’re not!” Willam called back.

  Inside the vault, Bettina and Sophie stood in front of the old birch tree, which looked dull and ordinary, no longer showing any signs of life.

  “Last line of Arthur’s clue,” said Bettina. “‘Now go and find it where wizard trees grow . . .’”

  “Yeah and I already found ‘it,’” Sophie frowned, holding up the pearl in the vault’s blue light. “Why are we back here? We have the answer. We have the beard. Now we need to escape—something a tree can’t help with—”

  “Why do you think this tree is in the Four Point vault?” Bettina responded. “Why do you think Arthur hid his first test here? The War of the Four Point was fought over this tree.”

  “This is a wizard tree? The tree that can answer any question asked of it?” Robin asked, assessing it skeptically. “I thought it was just legend.”

  “Legends exist for a reason,” said Bettina. “Enough blood was shed over this tree for the Four Point leaders to lock it here forever. But a good reporter always finds the truth.” She stepped towards the tree. “Let me do the talking. Whatever you do, don’t ask it any questions—”

  “This is ridiculous,” Sophie poohed, shoving in front of her. “A tree can’t get us out of a bank!” She knocked on its bark mockingly. “Hellllooo, Wizard Tree . . . can you show us a way out?”

  “No!” Bettina gasped—

  The tree stirred awake, with a groggy shiver. “It’s been a long time since someone asked me a question,” he said, opening his eyes at Sophie. “Ah. You. Well, well. ‘Can you show us a way out?’ Not elegant. Ill-conceived. Poorly phrased. But a que
stion, nonetheless. Ask a Wizard Tree and you shall receive. Your answer awaits . . .”

  The tree opened its mouth wide, revealing a hole filled with gooey green moss.

  Sophie jumped back.

  Outside, a hissy squawk echoed. Like a human pretending to be a goose.

  “Bogden’s signal!” Willam blurted. “Someone’s coming!”

  Instantly Robin surged towards the mouth of the tree. “Come on!” he said, climbing into the hole, looking behind—

  No one was following him.

  “Too dangerous!” Bettina said, pointing at Sophie. “The way she asked the question . . . it’s all wrong!”

  Bogden stumbled in, red-faced. “Guards! Geese!”

  “Hurry!” Robin snarled, prowling through sticky moss and disappearing into the tree.

  Willam pushed the girls towards the trunk. “Follow Robin!”

  Before Sophie could balk, Bogden stuffed her into the tree like a witch into an oven. Sophie’s face slimed with moss as she jammed through the hot, muggy hole and landed in a cramped passage, forcing her onto hands and knees. She might as well have been blindfolded; she couldn’t see a damn thing, the contours of wood hard under her palms. The air was heavy with a rotten-fruit smell, as if she was trapped in the belly of a troll. Quickly, she hid Merlin’s pearl inside her dress. Little by little, her eyes adjusted, Robin’s outline materializing ahead, the green-feathered thief crawling deeper into the tree. Grunts and thuds echoed behind her, the sounds of bodies landing, and Sophie turned to find three pairs of eyes in the dark.

  “Follow me,” Bettina ordered Sophie. “You’ve already put us in the worst possible position. From here on out, everyone does as I say.”

  “Bollocks. Not leaving our fate up to a journalist,” said Robin. “I’m from Sherwood. Know my way around a tree. Keep close, kids.” He bounded forward.

  Bettina, meanwhile, hadn’t moved.

  Willam and Bogden blinked at Sophie, waiting for her to choose a leader.

  Sophie followed Robin.

  Deeper she probed into the tree, Bettina’s grumbles obscured by the plods of Willam and Bogden trying to match Sophie’s pace.

  Suddenly Robin stopped short, causing a pile-up behind him.

  “Path drops off,” he said. “Almost went over the edge.” He peered back at Sophie. “Use your glow.”

  The tension in Robin’s voice made Sophie’s heart thump; fear powered her magic, her fingertip beaming hot pink. She cast it over Robin’s shoulder, lighting a deep, deep pit, rimmed with ropes of moss, all the way down. Along this moss grew white flower bulbs, hundreds of them, luscious and large, their petals not yet open.

  “There! Look!” Robin said, pointing. “That’s the way out!”

  Sophie directed her glow to the bottom of the pit, which ended in a pool of light. Through the light, Sophie glimpsed an undulating mirage: the dusty hills of Putsi, beyond the bank.

  Robin leaned over the pit and tugged hard at one of the moss-ropes. “These lines will hold. We just need to climb down.”

  “All the way?” Willam said, bug-eyed.

  “Willam’s scared of heights,” Bogden explained. “And beets.”

  “Heights is the least of your problems,” Bettina growled.

  The group looked at her.

  “Wizard trees answer the exact question asked of it.” Bettina glowered at Sophie. “And this fool asked, ‘Can you show us a way out?’ Yes, that is a way out down there. Looks like it, at least. But Sophie’s question wasn’t specific enough. There could be other ways out. Bad ways out that lead to death. There’s a reason the tree was locked away. There’s a reason the king who sought an answer from a wizard tree died. Everything here is a trap.”

  Sophie tugged anxiously at her dress.

  “We’ve come this far,” Robin blustered, gripping a rope and descending into the pit. “Don’t touch anything or do anything stupid!”

  Bogden slid onto another rope, plunging backwards—“Whoaaa!”—before he steadied himself. Dripping sweat, he peeked up at Willam. “Close your eyes and jump on,” Bogden panted. “Anything happens and I’ll catch you.”

  His freckled friend didn’t hesitate. Willam closed his eyes and joined Bogden on his rope.

  Sophie smiled to herself. Agatha would have surely done the same for her. Who knew that two boys could have the same bond as a princess and a witch, she thought, searching for her own vine and finding a tether of moss that looked especially sturdy. Inch by inch, she dragged herself down, lighting up the pit with her glow, surprised by how the gluey moss molded to her hands and bare feet, magically assisting the climb. She glanced over at Bogden and Willam across the pit, Robin at their wing, all descending quickly, smoothly—

  A face plunged into view an inch from hers, along with a whiff of cloying sweetness. Bettina sucked a red lollipop, staring Sophie down from the next rope over.

  “A thousand vines to choose from,” said Sophie, “and you can’t stay away.”

  “Making sure you don’t do anything else stupid,” Bettina huffed, dropping fast.

  Sophie scrambled to keep up. “How did a Jaunt Jolie princess end up a reporter in Camelot anyway?”

  “Don’t need to go to that school to make a difference,” Bettina needled. “After Arthur died, I knew the Woods should keep a close eye on his realm. If your fairy tale proved anything, it’s that you school kids are ill-equipped to be in charge.”

  “Pity you didn’t get into our school. You would have made a fine wicked stepmother one day.”

  “More like Cinderella, mopping up your messes.”

  “Is there a reason you have to do it so odiously?”

  “Snake almost hanged my whole family and then you give him the throne.”

  “Me? It wasn’t my fault!”

  “You kissed Rhian, didn’t you?” Bettina attacked. “You fell into his and Japeth’s trap. All because you were jealous of your best friend becoming queen.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Sophie flamed, tailing her. “You don’t know the slightest thing about Agatha and me—”

  “I covered Agatha’s tenure as princess firsthand,” Bettina replied. “She confided quite a bit.”

  Sophie reddened. “Aggie . . . said I was jealous of her?”

  “No, but from your tone, now I know it’s true,” said Bettina, moving along. “Sometimes a reporter has to tease out a story.”

  “Oh, I remember,” said Sophie, chasing her. “Agatha mentioned a vapid, candy-sucking girl from the Courier . . . empty in the head . . .”

  Bettina slowed, unsure if Sophie was teasing out her own story. “Fair enough. I figured playing stupid was the best way to get close to Agatha. You know, considering her choice in friends.”

  Sophie reeled as if she’d been slapped. By the time she’d untied her tongue, Bettina was already a long way down. Nothing to do but admit defeat, Sophie sighed. It was a rare feeling: something only Agatha inspired, given her best friend’s ability to find her vulnerable spots and lance right through them . . .

  Just thinking of Agatha made Sophie’s heart sink. Her best friend. Her soul sister. Once upon a time, they had every day together: aimless walks, shared secrets, unbreakable love. But Sophie had wanted more. Sophie wanted a prince. Suddenly, the life she knew with Agatha was gone. Ever since, they’d tried to find their way back to the way things used to be. Would they die trying? Or worse still, was this their ending? Blissful moments together, then violent separations, over and over, reminding them of what they’d had and lost? An endless, futile chase into the maze rather than out of it?

  She was so deep in her trance that when the whisper started, Sophie thought it was coming from her own head.

  “I know a way out . . . the real way out . . .”

  Only the voice was a boy’s: young and assured.

  Sophie looked up. No one there. She swept her pink glow, lighting the area near her rope, but her route had pulled her around a serrated ridge, far from the others; she couldn’t eve
n see Bettina or Robin or the boys anymore. Sophie quickened her pace, skittering downwards—

  “I know the way out of your lonely life.”

  Louder this time.

  Right in her ear.

  She spun to find a flower, ghostly white, its petals sealed around a blue glow.

  “The way out is a name . . . ,” it whispered, bending towards her. “Your true love’s name . . . Your forever prince . . .”

  Sophie’s heart drummed faster.

  “Open me up . . .” The flower caressed Sophie’s lips. “I’ll show you the way . . . I’ll tell you his name . . .”

  Her blood burned with liquid heat. All rational sense was gone. Without thinking, Sophie thrust her hand at the petals—

  “Don’t!” a voice yelled.

  Beneath her, Bettina appeared, a shadow in Sophie’s pink glow, curled around the side of the ridge, glaring blackly at her.

  “Coming!” Sophie croaked, leaving the flower behind.

  Just a trick, she reminded herself.

  What could a tree know about her future?

  And yet, the tree had given them a way out of the bank. It had answered the question she’d asked. So why wouldn’t this answer be real, too? Plus, the way the bloom spoke . . . that boy’s voice . . . so confident and clear . . . as if he was her true love . . .

  Who was it?

  What was his name?

  The flower would have told her. After all she’d been through, she’d finally know who he was. Her one true prince. Her Ever After. And with it, the power to shortcut to The End instead of wishing and hoping for the Storian to write it. She would have control back. Man at the helm, instead of a Pen.

  Which is how we ended up in this mess to begin with, Sophie thought.

  Open that flower and she would be no better than two monstrous twins who thought they should be the Pen . . . that they had the right to bend fate to their will . . . Meanwhile, she and Agatha were fighting to protect the Storian and the stories that set the example for their world. To allow these tales to unfold the way a real flower would, in its own time, instead of plundering them for selfish need. Even if it meant enduring pain and suffering. Even if it led her to a thousand false endings. Nature had a way. The Storian had a plan. One that had brought her to a best friend and a world beyond her own where she’d found purpose and meaning and strength. Only in the realm of the Storian could everyone find their place. Their true place. This was the future she was fighting for. And that was worth more than the pleasures of a boy or a kiss.