Adventures From the Land of Stories Boxed Set

by Chris Colfer

  Marie has always had a hard time getting the French’s approval, too; that’s probably why we bonded so quickly when we met at that opera in Paris. They blame her for everything, just like the Fairy Council is always so quick to point their finger at me.

  Anyhow, I swam my way out of the fountain, found my shoes and hat scattered in the garden (don’t remember how that happened, either), and stumbled back inside the palace. Lester was still asleep on a couch inside; the gander would sleep through an asteroid hitting the earth if he was up too late the night before.

  There was so much champagne and dessert left over from the night before; the maids were still cleaning it up. I wrapped up a couple of pieces of leftover cake to take home—there’s no cake like Versailles cake!

  I found Marie in her chambers. She had been up for hours and her hair was already perfectly in place and soared two feet above her head. Now that’s a party MVP!

  “Marie, I just wanted to thank you again for such a wonderful night!” I said. “I haven’t had that much fun since the Crusades.”

  “Mother Goose! Thank God you’re alive! After you fell out the window last night, we thought you were dead!” Marie said.

  “Well, that explains the kink in my neck,” I said. “From the looks of it, I must have continued the party in the gardens.”

  Suddenly, a soldier ran inside. He was sweating and out of breath, but we didn’t think much of it at first. The Palace of Versailles is so big, everyone is usually sweating and out of breath by the time they got to Marie’s room.

  “Madame, the palace is under attack! Hundreds of villagers are storming the gates! They say they’re starving!” the guard said.

  “Oh no, what should we do?” Marie asked.

  “May I make a suggestion?” I said. “You’ve got tons of food left over from the party. Why don’t you offer them some cake? I’m sure they’ll appreciate it—it was some of the best cake I’ve ever had!”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Mother Goose,” Marie said, and then nodded at the soldier. “Let them eat cake!”

  I don’t care what those stiff French aristocrats say about Marie Antoinette—a queen who parties like her is a queen I can get behind!

  1775, CORSICA

  Dear Diary,

  My suggestion didn’t do Marie Antoinette any favors. Those French have really got it in for her! The whole country is a mess right now. They say a revolution is on the horizon. Everyone is so angry and pointing their fingers at everybody else. It reminds me a lot of the Salem Witch Trials—thank goodness I got out of there when I did!

  I avoided all the chaos on the continent today and went to the island of Corsica to spread fairy tales. I knew I wouldn’t find much there, but Mama needed some sun. All I found was a large fancy estate. I knocked and a bug-eyed housekeeper answered the door.

  “Sorry to bother you, but are there any kids around here?” I asked.

  “You must be the new tutor!” she said, then sighed with so much relief her posture sank a foot.

  “Tutor? Nope. I’m afraid I’m not your girl,” I said.

  “Are you sure?” she asked desperately. “It pays five hundred francs a day!”

  “Then I’m your girl!” I said quickly.

  The housekeeper led me inside the estate to a drawing room that had been set up like a classroom. There was only one desk, and a small boy was pouting at it. His arms were crossed and he was sticking his lower lip out. I could already tell he was going to be a little hellion.

  “Master Bonaparte?” the housekeeper said cautiously, treating the kid like he was a dangerous animal. “Your new tutor is here.”

  The boy instantly shot me a dirty look and I winced. He had a face only a mother could love.

  “We’ve had a difficult time keeping tutors,” the housekeeper whispered to me.

  “No kidding,” I said. “I bet you have a hard time keeping the wallpaper with a kid who looks like that.”

  The housekeeper left the room and promptly shut the door behind her. For a second, I was afraid I might be locked in. Had I been tricked? Was this kid about to eat me?

  “So, what are they teaching you kiddos these days?” I asked him.

  He just glared at me and stuck his lip out even more.

  “You don’t talk much, do you, um… Napoleon,” I said, reading the nameplate on his desk.

  Still, the kid didn’t say anything. I searched the classroom for something I could teach him and noticed a large globe of the Otherworld near the chalkboard. The boy dropped his arms and looked up at the globe mesmerized, like he had never seen anything so beautiful.

  “How about some geography?” I pointed to France. “Do you know what this is, Napoleon?”

  “Mine?” he said. I was surprised the little spawn could talk. He had a voice like an angry Chihuahua.

  “Close, but you live here on the island of Corsica. Can you tell me what this is?” I said and pointed to Italy.

  “Mine?” he said, and eerily raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” I said. “That’s Italy. I had a good friend once who lived there. His name was Leonardo da Vinci. Maybe one of your old tutors taught you about him?”

  The kid wasn’t interested in anything but the map, so I decided to stick to it.

  “How about this country?” I asked. “I’ll give you a hint. It starts with an E.”

  “Mine?” he said. Maybe his previous tutors had only stuck around long enough to teach him one word?

  “No, that’s Egypt. What about this big one in the corner? Do you know what that is?” I asked, pointing to Russia.

  A wicked little smirk grew on Napoleon’s face. “Mine…,” he whispered sinisterly to himself. It was so trippy, I was afraid his head would spin next.

  “You’d better start raising an army now if you expect the whole world to be yours one day, Napoleon,” I chuckled.

  I don’t think Napoleon realized I was kidding, because he suddenly dashed out of the classroom, knocking his desk over as he went. What a little creep. I’m going to ask for a raise.

  1869, WASHINGTON, DC

  Dear Diary,

  The United States changes so much every time I visit it. Thank goodness that Sacagawea girl helped Lewis, Clark, and me explore the Northwest, otherwise the country never would have expanded so much. Hopefully the good old USA will expand socially as much as it has geographically.

  Today I attended the women’s suffrage convention with my pals Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton and many other brave women. Our friendship started a few years ago when I saw them protesting a town hall meeting with signs that said Votes for Women. I wasn’t sure what this was all about, so I decided to get to the bottom of it.

  Susan and Elizabeth took me out for dinner and explained everything they had been fighting for. I was shocked to learn women are seen as secondary to men in most places in the Otherworld, and in the United States they weren’t even allowed to vote. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard of? Had I been aware of that sooner, I would have tried fixing it eons ago! I would have made my friend Benjamin Franklin put it into the Constitution—he was one of very few people in the 1700s who owed me money.

  With so many incredible examples of intelligent, strong, and fearless female leadership (Queen Elizabeth, Catherine the Great, Queen Victoria, Maria Theresa—basically all my old friends!) you wouldn’t think women would have to fight this hard just to vote! The whole thing is ludicrous.

  I think the men trying to stop us are just afraid they’ll lose their jobs because women will see right through their lies! I keep telling the girls, “In the fairy-tale world, more women are in control than men, and it’s in a lot better shape than this world!”

  Every time I see a discouraged little girl, I tell her, “Don’t worry, kid. By the time you’re my age, not only will you be voting, but men will be voting you for president!”

  1886, TEXAS

  Dear Diary,

  For the last eight months, Lester and I
have been traveling the United States as part of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. We’ve been attracting crowds by the thousands! It reminds me so much of my wrestling days. Sure, Annie Oakley might have top billing, but it’s a thrill nonetheless. I’ve missed the adrenaline rush from performing dangerous acts in front of an audience.

  We were gearing up for our first stint in Europe, and everyone was getting more excited each day. I couldn’t wait to take the gang to all my favorite spots. However, the morning before our departure, Bill came into my trailer and dropped a bombshell on me.

  “Goose, there’s no easy way to put this,” he said. “The other performers and I have been talking, and we don’t think it’s a good idea that you join us in Europe.”

  “Bill, what do you mean? Lester and I are one of the best acts you’ve got!” I said.

  “It’s too much of a liability, Goose,” he said. “Shooting bottles off the heads of children volunteers may be okay out here in the Wild West, but that’s not going to fly in Europe.”

  “Is this about that mishap in Kansas? Because you know my aim has improved so much since then!” I said.

  “It’s not just the act, Goose,” Bill said. “We’re all getting a little tired of Lester. He’s demanding, rude to the fans, eats all the food, and we all know he’s not easy to travel with.”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve been let go from a gig, and it won’t be the last. Obviously, I was disappointed, but there was no use in fighting it. A good performer knows when it’s time to take a bow.

  “I guess this is good-bye, then,” I said. “Take care of yourself, Bill. Please write to us when you reach the 1889 World’s Fair.”

  “We will, Goose,” Bill said. “And thanks for supplying us with all those empty bottles—you’ve got the liver of an ox.”

  Lester and I packed up our things and were gone by the afternoon. Can you believe out of all the gun-happy cowboys in Bill’s circus, I was the liability? That’s a first.

  Our departure is probably for the best, though. I’m not sure how much longer Lester and I will stay in the Wild West. I’ve got dust in places I didn’t know I had. If only my friend Jesse James was still around, we could start up a Wild West show of our own.

  1938, SOUTH PACIFIC

  Dear Diary,

  Lester and I decided we deserved a break after spreading fairy tales throughout South America. So, we decided to find a nice private island in the South Pacific where no one would disturb us—and where the Fairy Council wasn’t likely to find us. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones with this idea.

  We were flying over the Pacific Ocean when something shiny caught my eye on a desert island below. It was a silver plane that looked awfully familiar. We circled the island so I could get a better look at it. On the beach we saw a woman relaxing on a bamboo lounge chair. She sipped a coconut drink as she enjoyed the sun.

  “Oh, my word! Lester, that’s Amelia Earhart!”

  It was a miracle! She had been missing for a year! The whole world thought she’d crashed into the ocean and died during her flight around the world. Lester and I dived toward the island and landed in the sand right beside her.

  “Amelia! I can’t believe it’s you!” I said and embraced my old friend. “The whole world’s been looking for you! I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  Amelia wasn’t as excited to see me as I was to see her. In fact, she looked a little embarrassed.

  “Hi, Mother Goose,” she said shyly. “Well… I guess you’ve caught me.”

  “What do you mean caught you?” It didn’t take me long to understand what she was getting at—her plane was in perfect condition. “You didn’t crash on this island, did you?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “I’m sorry! I feel terrible that I made the world so worried, but I needed a break! I couldn’t escape the pressure at home. The press was constantly hounding me, photographers followed me everywhere, and no matter how many aviation records I set, no one was satisfied! Everyone only wanted me to do more—nothing was ever enough! Staging a ‘flight around the world’ and faking my disappearance was the only way I could get a little me time. Please don’t hate me?”

  “Hate you?” I said. “I was gonna ask if I could pull up a chair!”

  1942, ENGLAND

  Dear Diary,

  I can’t write too much today—the world’s at war! Lester and I are doing our part to fight the Nazis. We’ve been asked personally by Winston Churchill to lead the British Royal Air Force, so obviously I have to keep the details to myself. Wish us luck!

  It’s a tough time in the Otherworld, but I’ve been telling everyone to keep calm, and carry on! The phrase has really caught on. It might be the best thing I’ve said since Jack and Jill.

  1954, HOLLYWOOD

  Dear Diary,

  I was in California today getting lunch with Walt Disney. He’s been after the film rights to my life story for years. I keep telling him they’re not for sale, but he still spoils me with meals and gifts in hopes that I’ll change my mind. (Apparently, he’s got his hands full with opening a theme park next year. I’d never say this to his face, but it sounds like a bust.)

  I don’t know how it happened, but I accidently stumbled into the offices of a director named Billy Wilder. He took one look at me and begged me to audition for the female lead of his new film, The Seven Year Itch.

  A career in the film industry was something I never thought possible—there isn’t enough light in the world to smooth my wrinkled face for a close-up. Mr. Wilder assured me I was perfect for the role and they had been searching for months to find an actress with my charm and charisma. How can you say no to that?

  Mr. Wilder gave me the script and took me to the soundstage where they were shooting the screen tests. I don’t want to jinx things, but I have to say I nailed it! Everyone was standing and applauding when I finished the first scene. Maybe Hollywood is ready for someone like me?

  “Thank you so much, Ms. Goose!” Mr. Wilder said. “That was inspirational! We’ll be in touch!”

  I was feeling pretty cocky and had a new bounce in my step. I passed another actress waiting for a screen test on my way out. She was pretty and blonde—definitely not what they were looking for.

  “Hate to break it to you, honey, but I think I got the part,” I told her.

  “Next! Miss Marilyn Monroe!” Mr. Wilder called out.

  She gulped and headed into the soundstage. Poor thing. Some people just aren’t Hollywood material.

  1963, WASHINGTON, DC

  Dear Diary,

  It’s been almost a century since I campaigned for women’s suffrage, and yet I found myself in Washington, DC, today marching for rights. This time around I marched for civil rights with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and hundreds of thousands of other people.

  It baffles me that in the Otherworld people are treated so differently just because of the color of their skin. In the fairy-tale world, there are all kinds of different skin colors (black, white, blue, green, red, yellow, orange, purple—every color you can imagine), but no one is treated any differently because of it. Learning about slavery was an even harder pill to swallow. That’s something that barbaric creatures like trolls and goblins do; I couldn’t believe human beings did it to one another here.

  I’ve been around a long time and have seen a lot of things. One thing I’ve learned is that only in times of unity can there be progress. With so many obvious examples of this in history, why are so many still set on segregation?

  It was such a spectacular day, and Dr. King gave a powerful speech that moved this old girl to tears, but it’ll always be hard for me to understand the reason we were there. People shouldn’t have to fight people just to be people. You’d think more people would get that.

  1969, WOODSTOCK

  Dear Diary,

  I only have one word for you—Woodstock. Whoever came up with the concept of a music festival might the most brilliant person to walk the earth. Oh, wait—was that my idea? It’s
hard to remember (and hear) things today. If so, it’s the single greatest contribution I may ever bring into this world. Forget Humpty Dumpty!

  I wish I could tell you more about it, but what happens in Woodstock stays in Woodstock. There’s no way Walt Disney can turn my life into a family movie after this week.

  1970, LAS VEGAS

  Dear Diary,

  Tonight Lester and I met my friends Frank, Dean, Sammy, Peter, and Joey out for a drink in Vegas. Boy do those guys know how to make an old girl and her goose laugh! If you thought their movies were funny or their albums were nice to listen to, you’ve never heard them get together! It’s wonderful having friends with just as many crazy stories as I do!

  They call themselves the Rat Pack, but whenever I’m around, we’re known as “The Goose Group.” We’ve been toying around with the idea of starting a nightclub act and taking it on the road. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, though—I’m wanted in almost thirty states, and Lester in fifteen. Maybe they’ll settle for a residency in Vegas? Lester gives a mean fan dance when he’s in a performance mood.

  That reminds me, I never did get a call from Billy Wilder. The movie must have gotten canceled or was a total flop. They don’t make them like they used to.

  1976, MANHATTAN