Caley Cross and the Hadeon Drop

by Jeff Rosen

  Caley wasn’t thinking about Pim’s flowers. She was thinking about Olpheist.

  As if he were reading her thoughts again, Pim’s face grew solemn. “Olpheist is searching for something.”

  “What?”

  “Something, perhaps, that could return him to full power.”

  “Can’t you stop him?”

  “I’m just a gardener.”

  Pim led Caley out of the garden, and the yew trees joined their branches to conceal it again. He stopped and turned to her.

  “Be careful. There are more than flowers with ears in Erinath. The castle will protect you from Olpheist. He cannot enter it. Not while it stands.”

  Pim suddenly raised his staff, sending out a burst of light, igniting the fireworks flowers along the path leading back to the castle.

  “Stay on the path. Stay in the light. Oh, and do watch out for the Forget-Me-Lots.”

  He ambled off, popping a ponderberry in his mouth, then made a sour face.

  “I was just thinking, I hope I don’t step in any oroc manure on the way home.”

  Caley saw a crow fly unevenly from a nest in a nearby pine tree, dodging the fireworks reflecting off its metal wing.

  •

  “SO, the nen is supposed to protect Caley from Olpheist, but the squirrels or caterpillars or something are killing it, and Caley is poisonous.”

  Kip regarded Caley and munched thoughtfully on some grapes. They were huddled in the common room with Neive. The Equidium celebration had resumed after the evacuation, but it was late and the last partyers were straggling out, singing random snatches of the Cheetahs’ song.

  “She’s not poisonous,” Neive told Kip. “Pim’s berries have poison to protect them. The squirrels are leaving the castle because it’s dying, and … weren’t you listening to anything she said?”

  “But Caley could be poisonous,” Kip persisted, “because there’s poison in the blood of an athrucruth—”

  “My head is literally going to explode!” Neive almost screamed.

  “Athrucruth?”

  Everyone turned, alarmed, to see a fern in an empty beer glass turn into Lucas Mancini.

  “Lucas, what were you doing in there?” said Kip.

  “I must have fallen asleep during the party.” Lucas yawned. “Too much excitement, I guess. And stout-berry beer,” he added.

  “It’s a good thing he wasn’t a spy.” Neive turned to Kip. “Were you also not listening when Caley told us that Pim said she should be careful?”

  “Did I hear something about the castle?” Lucas scratched his hedge-hair nervously. “The research I did for my Animals and Botanicals project determined the castle is rotting. And it’s getting worse.”

  “What if Olpheist is killing the castle somehow?” asked Kip.

  “Actually, that kind of makes sense,” said Neive.

  Neive and Kip regarded each other. Caley couldn’t tell if the surprised looks on their faces were because they were agreeing with each other or because they weren’t more surprised they were agreeing with each other.

  “What are you young people doing here at this hour?”

  The duchess was standing behind them, her arms crossed, an angry look on her beaky face. Kip was so startled he spat out some grapes, and Lucas instantly turned back into a fern.

  “It’s past curfew. To your rooms, immediately. And no more flaunting rules. Next time I catch any of you where you are not supposed to be, there will be serious consequences.”

  The duchess set off, clucking to herself like a hen who’d just found a fox in her nest.

  “How much do you think she heard?” whispered Kip, staring after her.

  “Maybe we should tell the duchess what we know,” suggested Neive. “Maybe she can help.”

  “I’d like to know what she knows.” Caley frowned. “A crow with a metal wing was spying on me, all the way back on Earth, and I just saw it here.”

  “No one knows what her baest is,” said Kip.

  “She also knew about the Gunch, right?” Caley turned to Neive. “How could she, unless she was there?”

  “It’s obvious,” declared Kip. “The duchess is Olpheist’s spy. I bet she knows his whole plan. Maybe even how he’s killing the castle.”

  Neive looked dubious. “I don’t think the duchess is a spy. Anyway, how could we find out?”

  Kip turned to the fern in the beer glass, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

  “Send a spy to catch a spy.”

  •

  “TO what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  The duchess opened the door to her room the next day to find Caley, Neive, and Kip standing there.

  Kip nodded encouragingly at Caley, and she held out the fern in the beer glass to the duchess.

  “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me since I got here.”

  “How thoughtful,” said the duchess, taking the glass.

  “Make sure you water him. It!” Kip blathered.

  Neive began to yank Kip by his tie out the door.

  “Watch the tie!” Kip yelped.

  “Your Highness, would you remain with me a moment?” asked the duchess.

  She closed the door behind them and placed the plant on her desk next to a large stack of glowing leaves, handing one to Caley.

  “Invitations,” said the duchess. “I wanted to give you yours personally before they went out to the general population.”

  Caley read the leaf out loud, and as she did, each bright gold word sparkled.

  Duchess Odeli hereby invites you to a formal Investiture Ball

  for her Royal Highness, Princess Caley Cross.

  The 11th full moon of the year, 7 p.m. sharp.

  Great Ballroom, Castle Erinath. Formal attire.

  “I’m going to be … invested?” asked Caley.

  “Now that you are settling into your duties, it is time for you to be formally installed as princess.” The duchess regarded the fern. “And I shall find more suitable accommodations to install this little plant in.”

  The duchess headed out with the fern, and Caley followed. As soon as the duchess was out of sight, Kip and Neive sprang out and hustled her off between them.

  “It’s all going according to my plan,” said Kip.

  “What’s that?” Neive was staring at the leaf-card in Caley’s hand.

  “An invitation to an ‘Investiture Ball,’” replied Caley.

  “There hasn’t been a royal ball in ages,” said Neive. “The last one was for your mom, I think.”

  “I heard about it from my mom,” said Kip. “They had a coronation cake the size of a haystack.”

  “It’ll be the event of the season.” Neive smiled.

  Caley and Neive regarded each other excitedly.

  Just then, the castle gave a shudder—almost knocking them off their feet.

  “Let’s hope the castle’s still standing by then,” added Neive, steadying herself.

  “Or no cake,” Kip pointed out, nodding.

  “Or no Caley,” said Neive.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Birds and Bees

  News of the Investiture Ball spread like wildfire and seemed to light up everyone along with it. No one could talk of anything else. Many kids (and more than a few adults, Caley observed) walked around with the duchess’s leaf tucked in a pocket or clutched in their hand, fearing to lose their precious invitation.

  “I heard Major Fogg is doing fireworks for the ball,” Kip announced at breakfast. “Last time he made a thirty-foot fire-breathing bazkûl that burned down part of the gym. It was epic.”

  Ithica Blight strode in with the Pingintees flanking her and stopped near Caley’s table.

  “How tedious … a ball,” Ithica announced to no one in particular in a loud voice so that everyone, in particular, could hear. “I’m sure it will be a night to forget.”

  “Do you see what she did there?” Pansy grinned dully at Caley. “Princess Ithica said a night to forge
t instead of remember.”

  “Because she hopes it’ll be a bust,” added Petunia. “Because she doesn’t want you to be a more important princess than her.”

  Ithica jabbed a manicured nail into the Pingintees’ flabby flanks, prodding them along in front of her.

  “If they were any bigger or any dimmer,” Kip said, shaking his head, “we’d all be in danger of being sucked up into them like black holes.”

  “Did Lucas find out anything about the duchess?” asked Caley.

  “Oops,” replied Kip. “I forgot to get him.”

  Everyone stopped eating and stared at Lucas Mancini, who was making his way into the dining hall. His hair—which usually looked like a windswept shrub (which it technically partly was)—had been trimmed into a bunch of poofy balls and buzzcut rings like you’d see on a prize poodle. He slunk into his seat embarrassedly next to Kip.

  “What did you find out?” Kip leaned close to Lucas.

  “Nothing,” said Lucas. “The duchess spent hours addressing ball invitations, then she … trimmed me.”

  Little ripples of laughter spread across the dining hall. Lucas tried to smush his poofs down.

  “I think the duchess was onto me,” Lucas continued. “Never saw her turn into a crow or anything. I was stuck there all night. I’m so tired I could—”

  Lucas fell asleep face-first in a plate of pancakes.

  Kip absently removed Lucas’s face from the pancakes and gobbled one, studying the class schedule with a perplexed look.

  “What is it?” said Caley.

  “Dance lessons?”

  THERE were waltz lessons in the gym each morning leading up to the ball. The girls were in giggling groups and the boys in grim-looking gangs, glancing glumly back at them. Lidia Vowell was standing in the middle looking agitated (but awesome, thought Caley) with her elk horns dramatically encircled by hair buns.

  “What’s going on?” asked Caley.

  “Classic gender dynamics,” replied Lidia. “The boys want to dance with the girls, but they’re terrified, so they’re pretending they don’t care. The girls want to dance with the boys, but the boys look like they don’t care, so the girls are acting like they don’t care. Of course, some girls want to dance with girls, and some boys with boys, but they’re all just as freaked out. I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’d rather dance with a giraffe.”

  “A bogger is the only thing that would want to dance with you,” said a sneering Ithica, cueing the standard snigger-snorts from the Pingintees.

  The door to the gym burst open, and Duchess Odeli float-fluttered in with Major Fogg.

  “Good morning, students,” announced the duchess. “We have one week before the ball to prepare you all to waltz properly. Major Fogg has kindly agreed to help me demonstrate.”

  “Right-e-o! Nice to see you all!” The mole-like major blindly saluted a rack of basketballs.

  Wooden cherubs on the ceiling holding harps and horns began to play a waltz. The duchess grabbed Major Fogg and started to swing him around. They resembled an overgrown crow dancing with a blind mole. All the while, the duchess kept up a running commentary.

  “And … one … two … three. Gentlemen lead by stepping out with their left foot and rotating to their right. One … two … three. Ladies follow on their right foot to the previous position, turning to the right as well. Ladies, be as soft as a lark landing on a willow branch. One … two … three. Gentlemen, hold your partner tightly and release lightly, like a bee gathering honey.”

  This elicited a lot of embarrased chuckles from the class and eye-rolling from Lidia.

  “One … two … three. The lady steps in front of her right foot with the left, continuing her turn to the right.”

  The duchess stopped and turned to the class. “That is the beginning of the waltz. Any questions?”

  Everyone raised both hands desperately.

  “It’s easier to learn when you’re doing it,” said the duchess. “Each of you choose a partner.”

  The boys looked at their feet, and the girls looked at each other. No one moved.

  “It’s going to be a long week,” Lidia noted with a sigh.

  AFTER the initial excitement of the ball announcement, the students settled into a kind of uneasy stalemate. The girls moved in inseparable little clumps, like jungle explorers afraid to wander off the path, while the boys bunched together solemnly, exchanging curt words as if preparing to march off to war. There were numerous side stares and lightning fast look-aways between the two groups if anyone caught anyone else’s eye. A flurry of postings flooded Bee-Me: girls making kissy faces together, acting like they were having the time of their lives and didn’t need anyone to go to the ball with; boys riding around on orocs, holding fire-swords with ridiculously large photo-enhanced flames.

  Caley and the girls were gathered in the common room after class.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” said Tessa (maybe?) O’Toole, shooing away her bee in mid–kissy face. “Someone needs to ask someone.”

  “Risky,” responded Taran (maybe not?) O’Toole. “It’s like being the first to land on the moon. Once someone does it, everyone follows. But if you miscalculate, it could set the whole program back.”

  The girls stared over at the boys, who were pretending to be very engaged in a game of Erinath-style snakes and ladders (real ladders and snakes, with a moat thrown in for good measure), but you could tell they were distracted because most of the time they were sliding back down on the snakes into the moat with embarrassed glances at the girls.

  “They’re not going to ask us,” declared Evegny Pooner (antelope baest). “We’ll have to make the first move.”

  “I’m not sure I want to ask any of them,” said Lidia, “despite the refreshing gender power reversal. They’re all kind of ridiculous.”

  “What about Ben Bruin?” Evegny asked, gesturing to the big bearlike boy.

  “He’s always flicking his hair,” said another girl. “Probably has brain damage by now.”

  The girls turned to Ben Bruin, who noticed them and flicked his hair with a violent jerk that sent him sliding backward down a fifteen-foot python into the moat.

  “One waltz with him and you’d be permanently whiplashed,” said an O’Toole.

  “What about Lucas Mancini?” suggested the other O’Toole.

  The girls looked at Lucas, who was fast asleep, dangling from a ladder.

  “He does have dreamy eyes,” remarked Evegny.

  “When they’re open,” added Amalia Tweedy, a second-year girl.

  “He is the most species fluid of the lot,” said Lidia.

  Lucas woke up with a start, saw the girls looking at him, instantly turned into a bright red poinsettia, and tumbled down the ladder into the moat with a loud splash.

  “He just got a lot more fluid.” Amalia grinned.

  “Kipley Gorsebrooke?” asked whichever O’Toole it was.

  “I think he likes you,” the other O’Toole said to Caley. “He’s always following you around like a lost puppy.”

  “He is part dog,” replied Caley.

  She glanced over at Kip, who caught her looking and just missed getting bitten by a snake before sliding off into the moat, where a dozen or so boys were flailing around.

  Afterward, everyone watched tapestries. The girls made up stories with princesses and princes romping around various castles, while the boys made up an Equidium battle against bazkûls, with lots of flames and exploding stuff.

  “Classic gender dynamics,” noted Lidia with a frown.

  “WHO do you want to go with?”

  Neive was helping Caley pick a clothes-rose for dinner.

  “Who would want to go with me?” asked Caley.

  “Seriously?” said Neive. “You’re heir to the throne. You’re funny … in a dark sort of way. And pretty.”

  Caley looked at Neive like she was crazy.

  “Ugh!” Neive groaned in exasperation and twirled Caley to the mirror. “L
ook!”

  Caley studied herself. Her hair didn’t look half bad, and she realized she had put on weight since arriving in Erinath because her shoulder blades weren’t poking out like little chicken wings. She actually looked pretty good. She adjusted her amulet in the mirror. It seemed shinier than usual, almost like a real piece of jewelry.

  “And have you checked your Bee-Me?” Neive went on. A bee instantly buzzed in front of them. “Show Princess Caley.”

  The bee projected Caley’s home page. Her profile picture had hundreds of honeycomb emojis (which, she guessed, in Erinath stood for “likes”).

  “Every boy in the kingdom will be lining up to ask you to the ball,” said Neive.

  “Who should we go with?”

  “I can’t go.” Neive shook her head. “The ball is only for nobles.”

  “This kingdom has a lot of stupid rules. I guess I could go with Kip.”

  “Kip? Kipley Gorsebrooke?” asked Neive, as if she didn’t recognize his name for a moment.

  “He’s the only friend I’ve ever had, besides you.”

  Neive snapped the clothes-rose box shut quickly. “You’ll probably have to go with someone of similar rank. Another stupid rule. You better hurry. Dinner is starting.”

  AFTER dinner, Caley, Neive, and Kip slipped out of the castle and made their way through the palace gardens. The sun was setting earlier and earlier, and it was almost pitch-black on a moonless night when they reached Pim’s secret garden.

  “It’s the perfect plan,” said Kip. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” He held up a vine he was carrying. “Lucas climbs up to the nest, the duchess turns into a crow, and he has a bird’s-eye view of everything she’s up to. Genius!”

  “Until we get caught outside the castle after curfew,” said Neive.

  “Is this it?’” Kip stared up at a pine tree with Caley, who nodded. He placed the vine on the trunk, and it wrapped itself around it and slowly began to creep toward the crow’s nest.

  There was a loud rustle from the gardens. Everyone froze, expecting to see the duchess. In the gloom, they could make out two fat shadows, digging around. There was no doubt who it was.