by Joan Holub
“Attention, scholars! The principal of Grimm Academy will now address you!” their formal voices chorused.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! The gnome-like principal climbed up a small ladder to gaze upon the students in the Hall from the balcony above. Although Rumpelstiltskin was his name, no one dared call him that. It was against the rules in the GA Handbook. When Cinda had first gotten to the Academy and hadn’t known any better, she’d said his name three times. Red shook her head, remembering. Big oops. The principal had flown into a rage and Cinda had almost wound up with scullery duty!
The nameplate on the principal’s office door read simply: Principal R. But the GA students had all made up nicknames for him. Things they would never call him to his face! Red’s favorite was Stiltsky. Wolfgang preferred the Rumpster. And Cinda had recently coined a good one — Grumpystiltskin.
Suddenly, the principal’s voice rang out. “Due to the disappearance of an important artifact from the Grimmstone Library last week, we want everyone to be on the lookout for suspicious activity.”
The Academy’s Grimmstone Library was an amazing, enormous place that not only held books, but also boxes of weird things such as kisses, sneezes, and advice. Not to mention artifacts. Red especially loved the aisles where you could find the gowns and dancing slippers, which students could check out and wear whenever there was a ball. But you never knew where exactly to find the library. It moved around the Academy and you had to find a special doorknob to locate its door.
Red was always getting hopelessly turned around in the GA halls, even when she wasn’t trying to find a constantly-roving room. Usually she tried to follow one of her friends to the library — it was much easier that way.
“We’ll be tightening security,” Principal Rumpelstiltskin went on. “And our belts! Because the missing artifact, Peter Peter Pumpkineater’s pumpkin, contained the Seeds of Prosperity.”
He thumped his fist on the balcony railing. “I didn’t want to worry you all with this, but I think it’s for the best that we all be on our guard against future thefts. I’m not exaggerating when I say that, without those seeds, there will be lean times ahead.” With that, the principal turned and stomped back down his stepladder.
As everyone took their seats again, murmurs rose to a dull roar as the students discussed this startling news.
But Red just rolled her eyes and quipped, “He forgot to wish us a happily-ever-after school day.”
Snow nodded. “Sounds like he doesn’t think our future will have very many of those.”
Cinda leaned across the table and whispered, “Do you think he knows about E.V.I.L.? Maybe we should tell him. And about the You Know What.”
Rapunzel shook her head. “We dare not trust anyone, not even him.”
Not even Principal R? If they couldn’t trust him, who could they trust? wondered Red.
“I just wish we could help more,” said Cinda.
“Well there’s pretty much zero chance of getting the pumpkin back,” said Red.
The pumpkin wasn’t even in Grimmlandia anymore. With their own eyes the Grimm girls had watched it change into a carriage. They’d traced its route on the mapestry as it rolled into Neverwood Forest and disappeared over the wall that surrounded Grimmlandia. That wall protected Grimmlandia from the Dark Nothingterror beyond, a place no one had ever visited and lived to tell about, according to their History teacher, Mr. Hump-Dumpty.
“If and when we find the treasure, we’ll give it to the Academy,” said Rapunzel. “That’ll solve everything. Until then …” She pressed her finger and thumb together and drew them across her lips. “We keep ’em zipped.”
As her words died away, the enormous hickory-wood grandfather clock that stood in the balcony at the east end of the hall began to recite a rhyme:
“Hickory Dickory Dock,
the mouse ran up the clock.
The clock strikes noon.
Fourth period starts soon.
Hickory Dickory Dock.”
During the rhyme, a mechanical mouse popped out of a little door in the clock’s face. As the rhyme ended it signaled noon by squeaking twelve times in a row. The squeaks were followed by twelve loud bongs that echoed throughout the school.
Immediately, the bluebirds that had been flying in and out of the open windows on either side of the Hall during lunch dived down and picked up the silver food trays in their beaks.
“Hey, wait, I wasn’t finished with dessert!” called Red. Reaching up, she managed to nab her half-eaten gingerbread house before the bluebirds carried her tray off. She munched on the rest of it as the girls hurried toward the Pink Castle end of the Great Hall to reach their trunkers.
As they rushed along Snow’s expression turned thoughtful and she leaned over to Red, who was beside her. “You know, Mr. Hump-Dumpty said something in History class earlier this week that sparked an idea about that You Know What in your basket. I want to check it out, but I can’t remember what —”
Abruptly, Snow clammed up. Red followed her friend’s gaze and saw two teachers coming toward them. Ms. Queenharts, who taught Comportment, was bustling down the hall. But Red knew it was Ms. Wicked, walking regally next to her, that had caught Snow’s eye. She was Snow’s stepmom and taught Scrying, the art of using crystal balls and other reflective surfaces to predict the future.
Ms. Wicked smiled down at them as she drew near. She was slender and tall, with perfectly-styled black hair. It was piled high inside a tiara with points so sharp they looked like icicles. “Good afternoon, girls.”
Ms. Wicked’s high heels clicked to a stop as her gaze fell on Snow. She frowned with disapproval. “Snow, dear, where did you get that awful bow? And sparkles — again? That dress isn’t your most becoming, sweetie. You look better in plain styles. We’ll just have to banish that one from your closet, won’t we?” she said before she walked on.
Snow nodded at her stepmother’s back, having visibly wilted under her words. After pulling out the blue bow, she ran a hand over her already-smooth ebony hair and brushed an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt.
So it was edged with lace and had some sparkles along the hem? So what? thought Red. Why did Ms. Wicked have to pick on Snow like that? It was almost like she was jealous of Snow or something. Red gave Snow a quick hug, saying, “I think you look cute!” But Snow only shrugged and sent her a wobbly smile, still looking unsure.
Meanwhile, Ms. Queenharts went scurrying down the hall after a student who’d broken a rule. “Off with your head! Off with your head!” she shouted. For someone who taught manners, she didn’t really seem to have any of her own.
Rapunzel gazed after the two teachers. “Do you think any teachers could be members of the Society?” Though she didn’t name anyone, possibly for fear of offending Snow, Red guessed she was thinking of Ms. Wicked.
Though Ms. Wicked acted nice most of the time, it was a niceness you didn’t feel you could trust. Her smiles never seemed to reach her eyes. And the way she treated Snow made Red hopping mad! Though Snow’s stepmom oozed sweetness to everyone else, she never missed a chance to put Snow down, especially when it came to her appearance and wardrobe.
There was just something sneaky and kind of, well, wicked about Ms. Wicked. Prime traits for a member of E.V.I.L., in Red’s opinion!
Just then an announcement from the helmet-head School Board members sounded up and down the halls, broadcasting through the small vents set into the castle walls here and there. “Peter Piper, please report to the office to pick up the peck of pickled peppers your parents posted,” they chorused.
The boy in question zoomed down the hall past the Grimm girls and hurried toward the Pink Castle grand staircase, heading for the fourth-floor offices.
“Don’t forget. Secret meeting. My room. After school,” Red reminded her friends.
After the Grimm girls finished up at their trunkers, Snow waved bye and rushed off. She was returning to the Great Hall for Balls class, taught by members of the Twelve Dancing Princesses
performance troop. Meanwhile, Cinda, Red, and Rapunzel went along the first-floor Pink Castle hallway to their fourth-period classes. Cinda and Rapunzel both had The Grimm History of Barbarians and Dastardlies with Mr. Hump-Dumpty now.
Red was right next door in Scrying with Ms. Wicked. Learning to predict future events was pretty fun, actually. If someone other than the sneaky Ms. Wicked had been the teacher, it might have been one of her favorite classes.
Oh, no! Just as Red was about to step inside the classroom, she suddenly remembered something. She’d left the magic basket sitting under the lunch table. With the mapestry inside!
She was about to go back for it when she heard shrieks and gasps behind her. Whipping around, she saw the basket coming along the hall toward her. It was darting here and there along the floor, whirling around students’ legs, and nearly causing some to trip as it headed in Red’s direction. When it finally reached her, the basket leaped into her arms.
“Down, boy,” said Red, trying not to laugh at its antics. “Sorry!” she called to the disgruntled kids it had annoyed on its way to find her.
Quickly, she lifted its lid a couple of inches and peeked inside. The mapestry was still there! Thank grimmness!
“What a cunning little basket,” said an intrigued voice. Ms. Wicked had been standing right behind her. And apparently she’d noticed that the basket had been moving by magic. “Where did it come from?”
“I — um — I found it,” Red said. She immediately regretted her truthfulness when Ms. Wicked’s dark eyes began to glitter with even deeper interest.
“— at Old Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard,” Red quickly lied. The Cupboard was a small market tucked into a corner of the school on the fourth floor of the Academy where the offices and stuff were. Students could buy school supplies like shaped erasers, vellum paper, or village newspapers from all around Grimmlandia there, as well as a variety of other items.
At her reply, Ms. Wicked’s eyes lost a little of their shine. Still, she smiled one of her wide fake smiles. “May I see it, please?” she asked, reaching for the basket. As if sensing the teacher’s evil nature, the basket swung away, slid off Red’s arm, and dropped to the floor. Then it skittered across the room, dodging students’ feet to park itself right beside the square table Red shared with three other students, one on each side. How had it known which table was hers?
“It’s shy,” Red told Ms. Wicked with a weak grin. Then she ducked past her teacher into the classroom and quickly took her seat. But Ms. Wicked wouldn’t be put off that easily. A few seconds later, her high heels clicked smartly on the stone floor as she came up beside Red’s chair.
Before she could speak, Wolfgang, who was the only boy in Scrying class, dropped his handbook on the table and slung himself into his seat next to Red’s.
“Got a question for you, Ms. W,” he announced. “About the nature of reflective scrying.”
“Oh?” Ms. Wicked turned to look at him, finally distracted from the basket. She seemed to genuinely like Wolfgang — yet another reason he probably deserved a spot on the Grimm girls’ E.V.I.L. Society suspect list. Unfortunately.
Glancing sideways at Red, Wolfgang gave her a sly smile that she wasn’t sure how to interpret. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a silver spoon with a swirly GA logo etched on the end of its handle. It was just like the ones used for every meal in the Great Hall, so Red guessed that that was where it had come from. She had a feeling there was a rule in their handbook against borrowing academy silverware, but it would be typical of him to break such a rule without thinking twice.
Wolfgang held the spoon out to Ms. Wicked, who took it but gave him a puzzled look.
“You’re always telling us that a scrying object can be anything that reflects,” he said. “So I wondered if a spoon would work.”
“I suppose,” Ms. Wicked said, turning the spoon over in her hand. “Though it would be a rather mundane choice. And it would have to be imbued with magic by its maker, of course.”
“Of course,” Wolfgang agreed amiably. “But here’s what I was really wondering about. If you looked into the bowl of a magic spoon everything would appear upside-down because of the concave surface, right? Since upside-down is the reverse of right-side-up, does that mean you’d see into the past instead of the future?”
“Hmm, interesting notion,” said Ms. Wicked. “However, not a very useful one. It’s much more worthwhile to know the future, don’t you think? After all, what’s past is past. And the past is already written.”
“True,” said Wolfgang. “Only sometimes it might be useful — even necessary — for a lost or forgotten part of the past to be brought to light again. Right?”
At this, Ms. Wicked smiled in a slow, crafty, evil kind of way. “Possibly. It’s time for class to start now. However, we can continue this conversation later. Why don’t you stay a few minutes after class? I have fifth period free.”
Wolfgang hesitated briefly, but then he nodded.
“What was that all about?” Red whispered to him as Ms. Wicked clicked her way back to the front of the room. Red didn’t want to believe that Wolfgang was evil, but why did he keep acting all friendly with evil people? Was that stuff about the forgotten past a reference to E.V.I.L.? Of course, she couldn’t exactly ask him, not without admitting she knew about that society herself.
“Nothing much,” Wolfgang replied lightly. His gray eyes fell to the basket on the floor by her feet. “Magic charm?” he asked her.
“Maybe,” she said, uncertain how much to tell him. “I’m not sure, but it has been following me around.”
At this information, he leaned closer. “If I were you, I’d keep an eye on that basket.”
“Why? What do you think it’s going to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and shifted away again, as if he wasn’t that interested anymore. His gray eyes flicked to Ms. Wicked and then back to Red. “Magic charms can be tricky, you know, if they end up in the wrong hands.”
Although Red could think of a million questions she’d like to ask him about that statement, they were forced to stop talking as class began.
Ms. Wicked passed out crystal balls to everyone in the room and they began to practice with them. Even though Red had no plans to audition for the play again, she wished she could use her ball to find out what would happen at the Drama tryouts on Monday.
But the balls used in class weren’t very powerful. They could only see partway into the next hour. Today, students were tasked with trying to extend their balls’ prophecy range as much as possible. Which wasn’t easy. The room rang with voices as everyone began coaxing their crystal balls to reveal the future.
Looking into her ball, Red assumed a dramatic and formal tone. “Oh, most revered and honored magic crystal ball,” she began, spreading her arms wide before bringing her hands together to clasp them over her heart. “Wilt thou reveal the grade I attained on my Calligraphy test?” It wasn’t at all necessary to speak to a crystal ball in a fancy way. Red just did it for fun.
She had Calligraphy and Illuminated Manuscripts fifth period, and graded tests would be returned to students today. She knew that her teacher, Peter Pen, was always hoping to awaken in her a love of hand lettering. But it was a hopeless task. The illustrated manuscripts, birthday announcements, and invitations to balls she practiced creating in class with quill pens and horsehair brushes were barely readable and splattered with ink stains.
“Verily, I don’t think buttering up your ball will change your grade,” quipped Wolfgang, imitating her formal language and tone.
Red laughed. She hadn’t expected him to overhear her since the room was so noisy. Squinting, she tried to make out the letter grade at the top of the Calligraphy paper in the image that now swirled inside her ball.
“So what did you get?” Wolfgang asked a few seconds later. “Gradewise.”
“It’s kind of fuzzy,” she hedged. Calligraphy was her worst subject and she was reluctant to tell hi
m the grade she’d just seen.
“What, your ball or your calligraphy?”
“Both,” she admitted. Then she sighed. “I got a C minus.”
“Ouch,” he said, wincing in sympathy.
She nodded. “Speaking of ouches, thanks for your help in Drama,” she told him. “How’d you like my audition for the role of a falling tree?”
Now it was Wolfgang’s turn to laugh. “You’re not the only one around here with stage fright. I almost fainted at an audition once.”
“You? No way!” Red said in surprise. “I saw you in last year’s play. You were really good!”
Wolfgang shrugged off her praise, then studied her for a second, his light gray eyes peering into her dark brown ones. “Stage fright is a common problem for actors. I’ve just learned a few tricks to keep it under control.”
Red was about to ask him what those tricks were when her basket surprised her by hopping into her lap. She looked up and saw the teacher approaching. “Uh-oh. Something Wicked this way comes!” she whispered. “Look busy.”
Wolfgang bowed his head reverently toward his ball. “Oh, great and powerful ball,” he began, in an obvious imitation of Red. “Wilt the period end before Ms. Wicked can reach the side of the Girl Who Falls Like a Tree?” He’d spoken quietly, so the teacher wouldn’t hear.
Grinning over the way he’d twisted her words into a new nickname, Red glanced at the hourglass perched on a shelf at the front of the room. Judging from the amount of sand left in the top half, there were still at least six more minutes of class time to go. Her eyes flicked from the hourglass to Ms. Wicked, who was only two tables away by now. She hugged her basket close.
“Never fear. Saved by the ball,” Wolfgang murmured, peering into his crystal ball. “Fireball that is.”
“Huh?” Just as Red’s eyes flicked to him, someone on the other side of the room gave a shout.
“Help! Fireball! I mean, my ball is on fire!” It was Polly, the girl who’d been so snippy to Red at the disastrous auditions.
