I stepped closer to the two prisoners, my wand aimed steadily, feeling wholly in control and just a little bit valiant, if I do say so myself (which I do).
“You two thought you had it all figured out, didn’t you? Working together to kill me? You, the willing assassin!” I shouted into Gail’s face, “And you, influencing Christine!” I spat at Pen, literally spitting a bit on her beak, which I ignored.
“But Plot Paper isn’t the only way to influence a story! Is it, Professor?” I asked the seemingly empty, dark corner of the room dramatically. I’d had a feeling that the corner wasn’t empty, and a moment later, out stepped Professor Silver, the sound of his wooden leg echoing around the room.
“What the hell kind of ending is this?!” Gail snarled, struggling to free herself from the magical bond to the penguin. “Pen, I thought you influenced the author to have me kill the boy!”
Pen’s little crossed eyes darted from the sound of Long John’s footsteps back to the wand in my hand, and then to the Plot Paper, lying uselessly on the podium. I could see the tiny, detailed feathers on her chest separating and contracting as her chest heaved up and down, far too quickly. She looked like she might pass out.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, Long John moved to the front of the room to stand between Jenny and Randy. He looked back and forth between their mannequin-like forms, his fetid beard swaying with his movements, and then, with a nod, he shuffled farther away from them, looking thoroughly creeped out.
“You must be the Assassin Seeking Revenge?” Silver said, extending his hand to Gail. She glared at him, obviously unable to take it, even if he hadn’t been well out of reach. He chuckled and began pacing the front of the room, as though he were merely preparing for a lecture.
“You know I often wonder if my Polly would have been so eager for vengeance if she hadn’t been written that way. I’ve tried to tell myself that it wasn’t her fault, that it was just the author, the backstory, that our decisions were not our own. But you know what? That’s bull, as Peter so poetically put it.
We don’t need Plot Paper, or backstories, or even authors to guide us. Polly would have wanted me crippled no matter what was written about us. And you, Gail the Assassin, would want Peter dead. Not because the fat penguin has been influencing Christine’s story Out There, but because you’re just a villain. Always were and always will be. You’re a bad seed. You’re trouble. You’re—”
I cleared my throat, and Professor Silver stopped jabbing the immobile Gail in the stomach and began pacing again.
Step . . .
Drag . . .
Step . . .
Drag . . .
You get the picture.
“Perhaps you need the Plot Paper to make things happen, but a true hero needs no such thing,” Silver said to the two bound villains, who were looking equal parts terrified and pissed off. He stopped moving and faced me, a grisly smile spreading across his wrinkly face (though I think it was intended to be warm and paternal).
“So Peter, does your conflict have a Resolution?”
I paused for a moment, my wand arm wavering, as I looked at the scene before me. My earlier conviction began to slip, just a little, and I found myself waiting for some inspiration, some cheesy, clichéd line to just come to me from Somewhere Else. But nothing happened. It was just me. I was the hero. And it was up to me to influence this story’s ending.
“Come on, Professor Silver. Let’s teach these villains a lesson they’ll never forget!”
And there was the line.
We made our way slowly up the endless flights of stairs from the dungeon to the cafeteria. It would have been an arduous journey with just Silver’s limp to deal with, but we had to transport four immobile bodies up all those steps as well. I still couldn’t figure out how to wake Jenny and Randy up, and I was starting to get really scared. I’d tried magic; I’d tried moving Randy’s hand along the Plot Paper for him, influencing his author to wake him; and I’d even given the old-fashioned kicking and slapping several attempts, but to no avail. So we just created a sort of makeshift gurney for Jenny and Randy from a piece of plywood from one of the Conflict rooms, and slowly, slowly (so slowly), we stepped and dragged our way up the stairs.
Once we’d finally reached the door to the maintenance closet, Silver was exhausted from having dragged Jenny and Randy up the steps, and I was worn out from having used so much magic to move Pen and Gail. Pen and Gail were undoubtedly tired from having bickered so much on our journey, and Randy and Jenny . . . well, I imagine they were quite well rested. As it was, though, we took a moment to catch our breath on the landing before going through the closet and into the cafeteria.
“I’m proud of you, Peter,” Professor Silver said in between breaths. He appeared to be addressing the wall opposite us, and for a moment after he said it, I just stood, also staring at the wall. Before I could say “thank you” or “you too,” or whatever it is you’re supposed to say to that, Silver just patted me roughly on the shoulder and nodded toward the door.
“Come on, Peter. There’s a cafeteria full of terrified students and faculty through those doors,” he said, as if this was encouraging news. I just gulped nervously, and we moved through the small closet and out the open door on the other side.
“Students, staff, and guests!” Professor Silver boomed as soon as we stepped into the huge room, dragging our prisoners and friends along. The room was eerily silent, and his voice seemed out of place. I looked around and realized that although it sounded deserted, the room was still completely packed, but everyone was crouched down, hands behind their heads, and looking at the floor. When we entered, several of their eyes darted furtively in our direction, but still nobody dared move.
“Are we safe now?” one of the students whispered. I looked over and saw that it was the vivacious Kiki. Her blonde hair fell messily over her face, and she was crouched down, her formal dress stained with dirt, punch, and whatever else was on the floor. “That woman and her little hobbits broke in here and immobilized the professors—well, everyone except Professor Silver,” she said, nodding at him. Sure enough, as I looked past her, I saw several of the school’s professors—Merlin and Uk amongst them—trapped behind a sort of force field on the far side of the room. Uk pounded his fist against it, baring his teeth, but the solid air just shimmered and then stilled.
“She told us to stay like this and keep quiet or she’d kill us,” Kiki continued. “Are we still supposed to be quiet? Can we get up? Is that you, Peter?” She was still whispering, but had straightened up and taken her hands from the back of her head. Several of the still-crouching students around her groaned or shook their heads in exasperation. It seemed like they’d had enough of Kiki.
“You’re safe now,” I told her. I shouted the same to the rest of the room, and slowly, apprehensively, they all began moving around and speaking in low voices. I left my odd group of still bodies with Professor Silver and made my way through the crowd and over to the trapped professors. I pressed one palm against the force field, and with the other, I pointed my wand. The wall of air was almost invisible but for a slight shimmer as it moved. It felt like rippling water beneath my fingertips, though my hand stayed dry. I closed my eyes tight, ignoring the quiet murmurs and cries from the students behind me, and focused all of my energy into destroying the barrier. I only realized I’d been leaning into it once it gave way, simply evaporating beneath my hand. I staggered forward. There was a collective gasp from the students, who’d apparently been watching, and hands caught me by the shoulders.
“That, Peter, was some very impressive magic,” Merlin said, his white eyebrows raised. Behind me, the room broke out in applause, and I felt my cheeks flushing immediately. “Your public awaits,” Merlin said with a wink, clapping along with the others. He nodded toward the low stage to our right and smiled warmly.
I clamored up the few wooden stairs, my footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet that had fallen. The band that had been playing during the dance was go
ne, the musicians probably standing amongst the students where they had been forced into submission. Instruments were strewn about and smashed (though I think that was the band’s doing more than any work of evil), and one lone microphone stood at center stage.
“Hello,” I said, testing its volume. The speakers let out a squeal of feedback, and several of the already-jumpy students screamed in surprise. I looked out over the room of faces, most of whom I didn’t know, and all of whom were watching me expectantly. They were huddled in groups but no longer vaguely lumped by genre. Centaurs stood with goblins; princes and frogs with doctors, lawyers, and detectives; vampires with knights and heroes; and Frat Boys with . . . well, Sorority Girls. But even as I looked at the group of khaki-wearing, polo-sporting Greek guys, I realized that something had changed about them. Something had changed about all of the students. They were all a bit brighter and more descript than they’d been in the beginning. Of course they were still hazy and dull compared to Jenny and Randy and even Bob, who simply shone like a beacon amongst them in the center of the room. He waved a leafy branch at me and nodded (I think), which I took to mean something like, “Why are you standing up there like an idiot? Say something!”
And so I did.
“Fellow students, teachers, uh, penguin waitstaff . . . well, everybody in here. I assume you all want to know what happened here tonight, and the truth is . . . well, it’s a really long story,” I said lamely, suddenly feeling a little faint after all of that magic. I closed my eyes for a moment, took a breath, and went on. “What I can say is that somebody came into this school, threatened you all, and made you feel unsafe. And for that I am so, so sorry. I mean, this is a school in Fiction—the one place you are supposed to feel safe and—”
“And at home!” a goblin wearing a white tux shouted from the back of the room.
“And free to be yourself!” someone in the front, wearing a large rainbow cloak and a pair of antlers, added.
“Right,” I said, nodding. “My point is, tonight that trust in this school was tarnished, all because some woman and a penguin came here to find me, and in the end, they killed another student in my place. It’s all my fault.”
The crowd shifted around uneasily, some craning their necks to get a better look at me, others looking nervously toward the group of still bodies next to the maintenance closet, and still others, probably those closest to SD, just staring out, seeing nothing.
“So I thought, what can we do to restore your faith in this school? Make you all feel safe again?” I asked the room. “To honor SD—and anyone else who’s died for a story—what can we do?” I thought of Beth. I thought of Randy and Jenny, still sleeping eerily at the edge of the room. I thought—
“You could leave!” someone shouted, interrupting my emotional moment. The crowd parted around the faceless voice, and I saw that it was the dark-haired and freckled Willy, of Phil, Willy, and Nilly. Or Phil . . . or maybe Nilly. Whichever he was, when he saw that he’d been spotted, he waved an arm unashamedly.
“Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of . . . I don’t know . . . keeping the two villains on campus for the rest of their lives, and using them whenever we need to fill a particularly terrible role?”
The crowd moved around again, now everyone turning toward the two villains, still stuck together helplessly. The room’s sadness and fear evaporated in an instant, replaced with a violent, keyed-up buzz. Tiny, unspoken, red words of vengeance and anger rose from the sea of students, all directed toward Gail and Pen. Even over the noise, I could hear Pen wail and Gail shout something that would have made Dach-shund blush. If dogs can blush.
“We’ve been looking for a Stereotypical Pushover Substitute for students to abuse!” Professor Merlin piped up from just next to the stage. He smiled broadly, his wrinkled cheeks creasing and folding like old paper, and his blue eyes sparkling with story.
“And I’ve been wanting something large, fat, and slow to show the kids how certain Fantastical Creatures hunt!” Uk growled from next to the wall, not looking at me, but eyeing Pen hungrily.
“We need a new nerd to terrorize!” a Stereotypical Frat Boy shouted, fidgeting excitedly with the rose pinned on his chest. “WEDGIES!!!” There was the sound of lots of high-fiving and grunting. The group was pleased.
“Well, everyone, there they are,” I said, gesturing in the direction most of the students were already looking. Professor Silver, Randy, Jenny, Gail, and Pen were all still standing, more or less, near the doorway to the maintenance closet. In an instant, every human and creature in the room—students, staff, and penguins alike—surged toward them, like a wave.
In a surprising show of strength, Professor Silver quickly dragged Jenny and Randy across the messy floor, farther away from the villains. Just before Pen and Gail disappeared beneath the mass of screaming bodies, all united in their anger, I saw them straining to free themselves from their invisible bond. But it was too late.
A moment later, the immobile tangle that was Gail and Pen was being passed over the group’s heads, like the creepiest-looking crowd surfers imaginable, into the center of the room. Everybody gathered around them, shouting in a mess of primal voices.
“For SD!” Uk cried, throwing his fist into the air. Everyone screamed and repeated the phrase, their angry red words buzzing around the air frantically.
“For Desdemona!” a man with dark skin and hair shouted. His face was so contorted with pain, I almost didn’t know who he was at first. Then I realized that it must be the famous Othello. He taught one of the Tragedies classes, but I’d not taken that elective. The students around him cheered, and a spindly wood nymph patted his arm awkwardly.
“For Old Yeller!” a rather rugged-looking boy with a Southern accent shouted.
And it went on like this—students crying and screaming and bemoaning their loves lost to stories. All the while, Gail and Pen stood in the center of the group, unable to do anything but watch in horror. With each shout, the group moved in, closer and closer, until they were packed in tightly, a perfect little circle, and the edges of the room were left open.
I spotted Silver, Jenny, and Randy close to where I’d left them by the doorway. Jenny and Randy were still rigid, but lying on the ground now amongst the trash and debris. Silver was crouched down next to Jenny with his hand on her neck. With a sinking feeling, I jumped off the low stage and ran to the edge of the emotionally confused crowd, where I spotted Merlin.
“Professor Merlin!” I shouted over the crowd, tugging on his sleeve. He turned around, smiling wildly.
“They’re just about to get the paddle, Peter!” he said loudly, giving me a thumbs-up. But then the smile faded from his wizened face. “My God, Peter, what’s the matter?”
I pulled him away from the crowd, only just in time. Overhead, they were passing an exaggeratedly large, Stereotypical Fraternity Paddle to the center of the group. The thing must have been the size of a boat’s oar, and on its base it simply read “Hazing Paddle” in rough elementary letters. The crowd went wild.
“My friends, Jenny and Randy,” I said loudly, as we walked away from the screaming group and along the edge of the room toward the door to the maintenance closet. Just a couple steps from the door, I could still see Silver kneeling near Jenny’s head, but I couldn’t make out his expression. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them,” I continued, my feet quickening with my words. “They’re sleeping and they won’t wake up! If anyone can fix them, I figure it’s you.”
“Let’s have a look,” Merlin said, nodding determinedly and plowing ahead of me.
When we reached them, Professor Silver was just standing up. When he saw Merlin approach, he slowly shook his head.
“I don’t know, Merlin. I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m sorry,” he added, looking at me and then quickly away.
This was bad.
Merlin crouched down between Jenny and Randy and felt each of their pulses. He put his ear to their chests. He muttered. He
waved his arms. He ate a banana.
And then he, too, stood up and shook his head.
“Peter, this is no magic I’ve ever seen before . . . I just don’t know—”
“Wait!” someone shouted unnecessarily from the edge of the crowd of students in the center of the room. I vaguely noticed that the students in the back of the crowd were craning their necks, hopping up and down, or even climbing up onto their neighbors’ shoulders to get a look at whatever was going on in the center. A moment later, I heard the whoosh of something heavy moving through the air, a loud CLAP, and then a cry of protest from the penguin.
The woman who’d shouted came into view, pushing her way through a few cheering students on the outskirts of the circle. She ran toward us, holding her flowing skirt above the trash-littered floor, though there were still several stains and scuffs on the blue fabric. Her long blonde hair trailed elegantly behind her as she made her way over, and even when she stopped before us, slightly winded and cheeks flushed, her hair continued to dance around magically.
Then she stepped out from underneath the air vent and leaned over Jenny. She didn’t check her pulse or even listen for a breath. She just leaned down, her hair creating a sort of curtain, blocking both their faces from view. I could hear her breathe in sharply a few times, as though smelling her, and then she scooted over and did the same to Randy. She nodded and stood up straight.
“They’ve been pricked,” she said simply, placing her hands on her narrow waist, as though she were already rather bored with the proceedings. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or more worried, so I looked from the mysterious woman to my two professors and then to my two prone friends, hoping someone would have a telling reaction. Silver and Merlin made noises of comprehension, and Merlin actually clapped me on the back, smiling.
The Fantastic Fable of Peter Able Page 17
