by Lou Anders
“Wait,” said Curious. “I’ve still got to help you escape.”
“I’ve already escaped,” said Midnight.
“Not all the way,” Curious reminded her. That was a good point, and Midnight had to admit she was glad of the company.
They trotted on through the corridors and passages, peering into the rooms they passed. And they saw many strange things. Like a fountain of frozen wishes, a room where it rained indoors and upside down, and a song in a cage that might once have been stolen from a pretty enough lad. But no Absorbing Orbs with wispy wood winks inside them.
And then…
Footsteps. Echoing down the hallways.
And voices.
“One-two, one-two,” said the voices.
Coming around the corridor were two leprechaun guards. Leprechauns were on generally friendly terms with the Court of Flowers, and the queen often employed them as guards and servants.
“Run,” said Curious.
He and Midnight quickly ducked down a side passage.
“Were we seen?” asked Midnight.
“I don’t think so,” said Curious.
“Whew,” said Midnight. But in her excitement, her fires suddenly blazed up.
“Hey, what’s that light there?” called one of the leprechauns.
“Could be the glint of gold,” said the other.
“Well, I saw it first,” said the first leprechaun.
“Well, I saw it second,” said the other.
Curious and Midnight had to run and hide and duck and swivel. There’s not much that’s more determined than a leprechaun on the hunt for gold. And although our horses stayed ahead of them, Midnight’s fire blazed when she ran. So the light of her flames kept giving them away.
“It’s over there! It’s over here!” cried the leprechauns.
“Quit flaming!” hissed Curious.
“I flame when I run,” said Midnight. “We can’t not run.”
“Then we have to hide,” said Curious.
“Where?” said Midnight.
But suddenly, almost as if they’d asked for it to be there, the unicorn and night mare turned a corner, and found themselves facing a big, big wooden door. Two doors actually. Very ornately carved all over with flowers of every shape and size.
“And unicorns!” said Curious, who saw that unicorns adorned the left-side door.
“And…night mares!” said Midnight.
“Surely not!” said Curious. “Let me see.”
But there they were. Horses with fiery manes and sparky hooves and smoke curling from their nostrils, all over the right-side door. And in the middle of the two doors, where the seam of their parting ran from top to bottom, they saw the strangest thing.
It was a horse, facing straight out at them, across the two doors. But every bit of horse on the left-side door was unicorn, and every bit of the right-side door was night mare.
“What does it mean?” Midnight asked.
“Why would the fairy queen have night mares on her door at all?” asked Curious. “She calls you ugly burning horsies. This is impossible.”
Midnight glanced at the door. Something about it was making her uneasy. Curious felt it too. The doors felt heavy, and ominous, and strange. They made you want to turn and run away.
But behind them came the sound of the leprechaun guards, laughing in their pursuit.
Despite the weird vibes coming off the doors, Curious and Midnight had no choice. They needed to hide, and fast.
They pushed against the doors and trotted into the room.
Beyond the strange doors lay a very big chamber with a marble floor, high ceilings, and rows of wide columns. At one end, a carved oaken box sat on a plump red cushion on a dais.
And that was very curious.
But the other end of the chamber was curious too.
At the other end of the chamber was a mirror. A really big mirror. With an ornate silver frame. Two unlit wax candles in tall stands were placed on either side of the mirror. The mirror was polished so well that it shone with its own light. Or maybe it had other reasons for shining.
“I’m guessing that mirror is magical,” said Midnight. “I can’t imagine there would be a mirror deep in a fairy queen’s palace that wasn’t.”
“My Scientific Mind agrees,” said Curious.
They trotted over to the mirror.
The silver frame was fashioned to look like twining vines. The shape of the vines seemed familiar to both of them.
“Ooooh,” said Curious, stepping back.
“What is it?” asked Midnight.
“Don’t you feel it?” he replied. “It feels…sick.”
Midnight shook her head, tossing her mane.
“No,” she said. “If anything, it feels kind of…homey.”
“I don’t like it. There’s something not right about it,” said Curious.
“I didn’t like the door,” said Midnight.
“Neither did I,” said Curious. “But I like the mirror even less.”
“Okay,” said Midnight. “What about the box?”
They cantered over.
The oak of the box was stained a deep red. You could say it was a blood red, and you wouldn’t be wrong. But whether it was stained with actual blood or not, let’s not ask.
There was a latch on the lid.
Hooves weren’t designed for latches.
“What do we do?” asked Midnight and Curious together.
“Hands!” shouted Wartle gleefully, popping up between them.
“Wartle?” said Curious. “Where did you come from?”
“Door,” said Wartle.
“But we didn’t see you when we came in,” said Midnight.
“Not that door. That door.” Wartle pointed.
Curious and Midnight looked where the puckle indicated and saw a small fairy door.
“Miss me?” said Wartle.
“Of course,” said Curious, who hadn’t actually thought about the puckle since returning to the Blessing. But he was glad of him now.
“You’re just in time,” Midnight said, who had thought about the puckle but hadn’t missed him. “Can you open this latch?”
“Of course,” said Wartle.
He approached the blood-red box, twiddling his fingers. Then he put his hands together and cracked his knuckles theatrically. Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack!
“Just get on with it,” said Midnight.
Wartle huffed in an offended little voice.
He reached out a single finger and flicked the latch. Then he stepped back and took a bow.
Curious and Midnight trotted forward.
They each raised a hoof and placed it on either side of the lid.
“Together,” Curious said.
They tipped it open.
The lid fell backward with a creak.
And a blazing silver light rose up from the box. It lit up their faces. It made them squint. Wartle jumped back a pace.
It took all their eyes a moment or three to adjust before any of them could see clearly again.
When they did, their mouths dropped open.
None of them could believe what they were seeing.
A crown sat on a red, velvety cushion.
The crown was partially made of silver.
It was beautifully wrought, a band of gleaming metal flowers.
And that was very nice.
But that wasn’t the unbelievable part.
This was the unbelievable part:
The rest of the crown, all the pointing bits that rose from the silver flower band and stuck up—
—they were made from—
It’s really too terrible to say, but here I go:
Twelve unicorn horns.
That’s right.
Twelve unicorn horns.
The horns were all broken off at the base, as if they’d been sawn or cut or maybe even just ripped right from unicorn heads. Horns savagely stolen, fashioned into a crown.
It was horrifying.
Obscene.
It was…
A Crown of Horns.
“Why would the queen have this?” wondered Midnight.
Curious didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.
Curious just shook his head. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like his Scientific Mind couldn’t accept the total wrongness of what he was seeing.
This was what the Blessing had fled from.
This was what they thought they had escaped.
Their worst nightmare. And it was right here, in the fairy queen’s palace.
Curious’s mouth opened so wide you could hear his jaws groaning. His eyes popped so far they were in danger of falling out. The hairs of his mane even seemed to stand on end.
Midnight gave him a concerned look.
“Curious?” she said.
“No,” he whispered. Then he said again, “No, no, no, no, no.”
He began to stumble backward, moving away from the Crown of Horns like it might bite him.
“No, no, no, no, no.”
“Curious,” asked Midnight. “What’s your queen doing with a crown made of unicorn horns?”
But Curious was still pacing backward. Still saying “no, no, no, no, no” and getting louder. He was like water working its way to a boil.
He backed all the way across the room until he bumped into the mirror on the other side.
The mirror wobbled on its stand. Then it settled.
Weirdly, though, the glass looked to Midnight like it was still wobbling.
Not wobbling. Rippling, like waves on a pond when someone tosses in a rock.
Suddenly, flames sprang to life on the two candles in their tall stands.
Now, you probably think that mirrors rippling magically and candles bursting to life by themselves couldn’t be good. You’re right. It wasn’t good. Neither was what happened next.
An image began to form in the mirror.
Midnight watched the rippling and the flaming and the image, and she guessed what it meant.
“Curious,” said the night mare, “someone is coming! We have to hide.”
“No, no, no, no, NO!” said Curious.
“Hide, Curious, hide,” urged Wartle.
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” Curious was really boiling over now, and his shouts were getting louder and louder.
“Curious,” said Midnight, “snap out of it. Someone is coming here. Through the mirror! We have to hide! Now!”
There wasn’t any more time. If Curious wouldn’t snap out of it on his own, Midnight would have to snap for him.
She ran forward and shoved Curious with her flank. She pushed him to the edge of the room, where the rows of wide columns stood.
Curious blinked at her. His eyes were panicked. But he saw her. And then he saw the mirror.
The image in the glass was really clear now.
It was a grinning orange image.
Of course it was. Oh, dear.
Curious finally understood.
“We have to hide,” he said.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” said Midnight.
“Me too,” said Wartle. “I’ve been telling you too.”
Together, the two horses and the puckle ducked behind a column. They held their breath, and they peered at the mirror.
Two pumpkin vines, one on either side, broke the surface of the mirror like plants rising from a sideways pond.
They twisted in the air. It looked as though they were sniffing the room. Like hounds scouting for their master. Then, satisfied, they recoiled into the glass.
A moment later, Jack o’ the Hunt stepped out of the mirror and into the chamber.
His tattered clothes flapped around him as if they were in a breeze. But there was no breeze here. How could there be? Maybe the breeze came from the mirror.
Vines stretched out from under his torn and dingy cape. They groped about the room like questing tentacles.
Even upset as he was, Curious had so many questions.
What were the vines looking for? What was Jack o’ the Hunt doing here? How could the pumpkin fairy emerge from a mirror? And…had he done it before? What would the queen do if she found a Wicked Fairy sneaking into her home?
A pair of vines stretched all the way to the blood-red box. Careful not to touch the Crown of Horns, they tapped the edges of the box. Then they pulled away.
Jack raised his pumpkin head as if they’d alerted him. Then he walked swiftly to the dais.
He reached out a hand, poised above the Crown of Horns.
“Don’t you dare touch that!”
The fairy queen had entered the room.
Curious was almost relieved. Queen Titania was here. Now Jack would be in trouble.
But Curious wasn’t relieved. Because if he and Midnight were caught, they would be in trouble too.
“Not good, not good,” said Wartle. He was right.
The unicorn and the night mare tried to keep as still as they could.
But they were curious.
They knew the queen couldn’t possibly be happy to see Jack o’ the Hunt invading her palace.
“He’s going to get it now,” whispered Curious.
Midnight nodded. She didn’t like the fairy queen. But she wouldn’t mind seeing Jack o’ the Hunt “get it.”
Both horses peered nervously around the column where they hid. They didn’t want to be caught. But they very much wanted to know what would happen next. They wanted to see Jack get it.
But Jack didn’t get it.
He didn’t get it at all.
The fairy queen didn’t raise a hand and blast him into pumpkin pulp.
She just stood there tapping her little foot. Tap, tap, tap.
Jack sighed, long and loud, very much for effect.
“I see your crown is nearly done.
And I must wonder, oh, what fun
You intend to spring upon our isle.
Why, even guessing makes me smile.”
The pumpkin fairy turned a wide, nasty grin on the fairy queen, so wide that some wax from his candle ran down his pumpkin cheek like drool.
“You stay away from that,” spat the queen. “It’s not yours!”
Jack stretched out a tattered glove. His fingers were poised above the crown. He was clearly testing the queen’s patience.
Titania stomped a little foot in frustration.
Purple energy shot out in all directions. It swept across the amber floor like a wave. When it reached Curious and Midnight, they had to jump to avoid it touching their hooves.
When it reached Wartle, he squealed and then grabbed his feet.
When it reached Jack, it sizzled, and smoke rose from his shoes.
Jack moved his hand away.
The queen marched toward him.
As she approached the Wicked Fairy, the queen began to change.
With each step, she was growing.
Taller, yes, but older too.
Now she looked eight.
Ten.
Twelve.
Fifteen.
Step by step, inch by inch, year by year.
Until finally, she wasn’t a little girl at all. A proud and angry young woman reached Jack upon the dais. She looked into his pumpkin eyes, and she didn’t have to look up to do it. She was as tall as he was. So she stared angrily at the Wicked Fairy. And he glared right back at the Good Fairy.
So, I bet you think h
e’s going to get it now, don’t you? Squash, pumpkin, squash!
“Well,” said the queen, “what are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you pleased to see Jack, dear?” he replied.
“You aren’t supposed to be here, you know.”
“Please forgive Jack. Let him kowtow.”
The Wicked Fairy executed a mock bow.
“Stop rhyming everything I say.”
“Jack can’t help it. He’s rhyming fey.”
The queen sighed.
“Very well,” she said. “Just tell me what is your business here, Jack.”
“Ah,” said the pumpkin.
“I bring you something that you lack.
I have it here inside my pack.
I’m sure you’ll find it very sweet,
For now your crown can be complete.”
Jack reached inside a worn and sorry-looking satchel. He lifted something out and offered it to the queen.
Curious gasped. It was a broken unicorn horn. A dozen new questions sprang to Curious’s curious mind. But foremost among all the questions—where did Jack get the horn? Whose horn was it?
“He’s gone too far,” he whispered to Midnight. “This is it.”
But the queen’s eyes didn’t grow angry. They lit up. She turned a smile on the Wicked Fairy that was nearly as wide as the one carved in his pumpkin shell.
“Oh, faithful Jack,” she said. “Oh, glorious pumpkin! The last one!”
Queen Titania reached for the broken horn in Jack’s hand.
But the Wicked Fairy stepped away.
And as he did so, a pumpkin vine that had been quietly questing about the queen’s person withdrew with him.
“Winky,” whispered Wartle. The puckle was right. The vine had plucked the Absorbing Orb containing the wispy wood wink from off the queen’s royal person.
“Jack,” said the queen sharply, “that’s mine.”
Jack held up a placating hand. Then the vine lifted its catch up to his face. Jack examined the wisp in the globe. In the presence of the Wicked Fairy, its blue light shone brightly. You could almost say it was a panicky blue light. Did it quiver just a little in the fairy’s grasp? Maybe. Maybe not.
“This little wisp belongs with me,
Across the Restless River, see?
