Tedros crumpled it. “Wrong file,” he groaned. “Japeth. We wanted Japeth’s file. Not my dad’s foster brother’s.”
The mouse skidded down the tiles and yanked the file from him, clearly distressed by Tedros’ handling of it before unleashing a barrage of squeaks as it wheeled away: “Matoo cuatro matoo matoo. Mip moodoo mop!”
Tedros side-eyed his princess.
“It was worth a try,” she sighed, pulling him ahead.
“Mouse?” Tedros called out.
The mouse stopped its cart.
“What about Rhian of Foxwood?” Tedros asked.
The mouse grumbled sourly at the prince, slapping open the ledger once more. It continued grouching as it rifled through pages until it came to the one it wanted. The mouse frowned at it intently, then snapped the book shut.
“Mahameep,” said the mouse.
Tedros shook his head, not following.
The mouse scrawled on the back of a sign and held it up.
MISSING
“Mahameep,” the mouse repeated, stalking off.
Tedros mumbled: “More dead ends.”
“Don’t give up yet,” said Agatha, peering ahead.
The prince followed her gaze.
Past more mosaic walls and mice scurrying about with carts and scrolls, a flurry of black curtains and yellow rope walled off a wing, the marquee at the entrance hanging askew.
THE HISTORY OF KING ARTHUR
Curated by King Arthur of Camelot
& August A. Sader of Glass Mountain
“August Sader?” Tedros asked, surprised.
Agatha turned to him. “If Professor Sader helped your father . . .”
“He could have helped Dad see the future!” said Tedros, understanding.
“Which means maybe your dad knew we’d come,” his princess said, breathless. “You were right, Tedros! He had a plan to help you and it starts here!”
The prince locked eyes with her, both of them swelling with hope—
Then they heard the hammering.
8
AGATHA
Wizard Wish
Behind the curtains and rope, a crew of beavers in blue overalls and yellow hard hats sat on a white floor, alternately passed out or eating ham sandwiches.
Most of the massive East Wing had already been dismantled—busts of Arthur bagged up, tapestries folded away, exhibit walls stripped. All that was left were stenciled plaques: ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE, THE WEDDING TO GUINEVERE, THE BABY TEDROS . . .
But now Agatha spotted two more beavers ahead, standing on ladders, paint buckets in hand.
“Oh no,” she breathed. Tedros followed her eyes to the workers, repainting stencils—
RHIAN’S RISE
THE FOUR POINT RESCUE
THE DEATH OF THE SNAKE
Beneath the ladders, busts of Rhian lay wrapped in tissue and bronze Lion heads waited to be hung up, along with painted scenes from the new king’s coronation, his claiming of Excalibur, his battle with the Snake.
More hammering detonated and Agatha craned up to see the first team of beavers off their lunch break, walloping at the marquee over Arthur’s archive, poised to replace it with a new one.
SON OF ARTHUR: A NEW LION RISES
A Tribute to King Rhian of Camelot
Dust and paint flakes rained down on Agatha’s and Tedros’ heads. Wary of being spotted, Agatha tried to pull her prince back towards the stairs, but Tedros wouldn’t move, his big blue eyes scanning the ruins of his father’s archive: portraits strewn, relics dumped in a pile, histories whitewashed over, soon to be replaced with those of his rival.
“You heard the goat. King of Pifflepaff Hills ordered this renovation,” said Tedros. “Sucking up to Camelot to earn a king’s favor. Same reason he burned his ring. Same reason the others did too. They’re all sheep now.” The prince’s face reddened. “Dad built his archive here so it’d be safe. Merlin told him to keep it in the Gallery of Good at school, like Merlin’s own relics, but Dad thought the school was more vulnerable; that no one would ever desecrate the Living Library . . . let alone in the name of his ‘son’ . . .” He looked at Agatha. “We’re too late. Whatever clues he might have left for us . . . they’re gone.”
But Agatha was squinting down a dark corridor, away from the beavers.
“What is it?” Tedros asked.
She moved into the hall, ears piqued, eyes narrowing.
With every step, the sound grew louder.
The sound of an unmistakable voice.
A voice she knew as well as her prince’s or best friend’s.
“The Green Knight came on a Sunday, stalking into the Woods and heading straight for King Arthur’s castle—”
The voice glitched, resuming a second later.
“‘I’ll make you a deal,’ said the knight to the king—”
Again the voice glitched.
It was coming from behind a black wall, the surface shiny and smooth, painted with white letters.
ARTHUR AND THE GREEN KNIGHT
With Tedros close behind, Agatha entered the black-painted room, the walls covered in fluorescing green, five-pointed stars, each studded with small silver dots.
Agatha recognized these dots. They’d blanketed her history textbooks at school instead of words . . . her favorite professor’s way of making the past come alive . . .
She counted twenty dot-covered stars on the walls now, with a painted numeral next to each one, ordering them in sequence. “START HERE!” it said near the first.
Meanwhile, two beavers in hard hats were ripping the stars off the wall, their paws activating Professor Sader’s narration.
“Arthur launched from his throne and—”
“The sword came down upon—”
“It was a poor decision—”
The beavers dumped more stars in their filthy bucket.
Agatha blushed with fury. She’d already had enough of this sexist kingdom and now these idiots were trashing the clues to Tedros’ first test! She charged the beavers, Tedros scrambling too late to stop her—
“You dead-eyed, half-brained fur puppets!” she barked, shoving them. “Go away!”
The two beavers froze, as if no human had ever touched them before. They gave Agatha pursed looks, their noses twitching. One squeezed the Lion badge on his overalls, which flashed gold, before he whispered something into it. Then the beavers went back to stripping stars.
“We need to leave,” Tedros warned, pulling Agatha away—
Then they heard a yelp.
The beavers were stuck on the last star, the only one left on the bare black walls. But the harder they pawed at it, the more stubbornly it remained, spewing a few bright sparks, which singed the beavers’ fur. Only there was something else happening, Agatha realized: the more they jostled the star, the more its green surface rubbed off, the silver dots shedding, revealing a glowing white star beneath.
Agatha’s heart jolted.
That star.
It looks just like . . .
With twin growls, the beavers yanked the star as hard as they could. It exploded with sizzling currents, shocking both rodents to the floor.
Tedros gawked at the comatose beavers, then at the lone white star on the wall. “Is that . . .”
“Only one way to find out,” said Agatha, holding her breath.
Down the hall, bootsteps rose, along with the sound of voices.
Human voices.
Quickly, Agatha tugged Tedros to the wall, feeling his chest pound under her grip. If the star was Merlin’s, it could hold answers. If it wasn’t, then they’d be drooling on the ground with the beavers. Agatha didn’t know which outcome to bet on. But she knew one thing for sure: it was worth the chance.
Agatha blinked at her prince. “Ready?”
“Ready,” said Tedros.
Both of them thrust hands at the star, slamming their palms against it—
The star went dark.
Instantly the room’s walls hopped
forward as if they were alive, the black slabs bounding closer, closer, until they pinned to the couple’s fronts, backs, sides, sealing them in like a coffin. Agatha felt the cold stone on her nose and bum, her prince’s sweaty arm jammed against hers.
“What’s happening?” Tedros choked.
The black box upended at lightning speed, knocking them off their feet. It happened so fast Agatha swallowed a scream, the box flipping ninety degrees, leaving her and her prince flat on their spines, the top wall still pinned to their faces.
All of a sudden, the white star reappeared deep in the darkness over their heads, like a light down a tunnel, as if the star was somehow beaming from beyond dimension.
A voice echoed, calm and clear.
“Hello, Tedros. Hello, Agatha. If you’re hearing me now, then you’ve already come a long way. It must be strange to hear your old Professor Sader from beyond the grave, but I assure you it is just as odd for me. Because it is not I who knew you might be hearing this message. As I once told you, I cannot see your future beyond your time at school. In my mind’s eye, your fairy tale ends the night Rafal comes for your heads. My sight offers me no further clues as to whether you survive the encounter or what becomes of you.
Instead, it is King Arthur who believes your story will continue long after I’m gone, to a time when Tedros must prove his claim to Camelot’s throne. And in pursuit of this proof, you will come here, to this very room, searching for answers to his father’s history. Answers the public do not know and which I do not have permission to share with them. Indeed, this particular exhibit in Arthur’s archive remains woefully incomplete. As with most fairy tales, the people will only know the beginnings of the tale of Arthur and the Green Knight.
But not you. You will learn more. You must know the full story.
This was Arthur’s dying wish to me: that I leave you these answers in a way that only you could find. Since Merlin is as much a part of this story as the king, I turned to the wizard for help in hiding what I have to tell you; it is his magic that allows me to be here with you now.
Before Arthur died, I asked him why he wouldn’t tell Tedros the story himself. The king replied that his son should learn the facts from someone he trusted. Facts Tedros didn’t care to hear from his father. And yet, I suspect there is another reason the king wanted me to tell this story instead of him. Arthur knew that history should not be conveyed by its participants. Man is too emotional, too bound to his ego. Truth only comes with perspective and time.
With the blessing of both wizard and king, then, it is I who will give you the answers you seek. So lie back, clear your mind, and witness the Tale of Arthur and the Green Knight . . .”
In darkness, a phantom history appeared, like one of Professor Sader’s textbooks come to life. As the prince and princess floated, a lush forest appeared around them, occupying every dimension, at once richly detailed and yet porous, like a simulation of reality that hadn’t entirely been filled in. Trampling through this forest came a tall, mountainous man with bright green skin, the color of young grass or a garden snake. The Green Knight had big black eyes, a high, smooth forehead, and a thick, dark beard that matched the wavy hair on his head. Veiny muscles bulged from his bare green chest and tight green breeches. A gold-plated axe hung from his belt.
“By now, you know the beginnings,” Professor Sader’s voice narrated, “about the mysterious Green Knight who appeared in the Woods and made his way to Camelot, insisting on a private meeting with its king. Arthur was not in the practice of humoring nameless strangers—especially demanding ones with axes—but the Green Knight had arrived only a few days after Guinevere had abandoned the king for his best friend. That the Green Knight would come so soon after the queen’s disappearance couldn’t be a coincidence . . .”
The scene evaporated, replaced with King Arthur’s throne room. There were no guards or advisors or members of the court. The king had honored the knight’s request to meet alone, with Arthur now hunched on his gold throne, his bloodshot eyes creased with wrinkles, his gray-flecked hair unkempt. There were crumbs in his beard, stains on the collar of his robes. Excalibur leaned against the throne, mottled and dull. Agatha was reminded of the way Tedros once looked when she’d tried to end their relationship and pair him off with Sophie. Her prince had disappeared for days, returning with this same childlike stupor, as if both he and his father were truly alive only when they had the security of love. And just like Tedros had welcomed Agatha when he thought he might get her back—bone-tired, but renewed—now his father looked down at his green guest the same way.
“Do you know where she is?” Arthur asked, breathless. “Take me to her at once . . . I’ll pay you any price . . .”
The Green Knight seemed bemused. “Most kings would be suspicious of a green stranger. Especially the Lion of Camelot, whose kingdom is founded upon his victory over a Snake. But instead, the mighty Arthur asks me for help, convinced I’m a friend.” He peered harder at the king. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Quite sure I’d remember a green hulk of a man,” said Arthur swiftly. “If you are indeed man and not monster.”
“More man than most kings, I’d say,” the knight replied, his stare unwavering. “As to your question, let’s say I could find your wife. How would that change anything? Would that make her love you? Would that make her come running back to your side?”
Arthur didn’t know what to make of this.
“Poor Lion. It won’t be long before you call me a Snake,” the Green Knight spoke. “But just remember: the real Snake was in your bed.”
The king’s eyes flickered. “Why have you come here, then?”
“To gain your permission,” the Green Knight replied.
“My permission for what?”
“To kill Merlin,” said the knight.
The answer was so unexpected that Agatha let out a shocked laugh—a laugh that the king himself echoed, rocking forward on his throne.
Then he saw the knight was serious.
“May I ask why?” said the king.
“May I ask why you couldn’t keep your wife?” said the knight.
Arthur’s mood darkened. “You have three seconds to be out of my sight.”
“No, that’s not how this goes,” the Green Knight said. “If I leave now, I will punish your realms and inflict terror like you have never known until you beg me back, seeking a deal. The same deal I will offer you today. If you wish to spare your people, I suggest you take it.”
Arthur looked startled that this creature was now issuing him orders.
“The terms are simple,” said the Green Knight. “You may strike me a single blow with your sword. Right here. Right now. And in exchange, I will return tomorrow and give the same blow to Merlin.”
“If I give you a blow, you won’t be returning anywhere tomorrow,” Arthur spat, launching to his feet.
“A true king would do more than boast,” the Green Knight taunted.
“You want a blow, do you?” Arthur sneered, drawing Excalibur. “As you wish.” From the throne’s platform, he pointed the sword down at the knight. “You are lucky there are steps between us. I am offering you mercy, insolent cur. I suggest you take it.”
“I see,” the knight spoke. “You don’t think my terms are real. So lost in arrogance you ignore the threat in front of you. So insulated from your people you’d let a Snake run free, because you’re too cowardly to strike the blow. Actions have consequences, Your Highness. Non-action has consequences as well.”
Agatha could see Tedros from the corner of her eye, his cheeks red, his jaw clenched. This was the same charge people leveled at him. The same trap that gave rise to the new Snake that imperiled him now.
“I’m giving you the right to strike me,” the knight reminded. “It is also your right to turn a blind eye, of course. To let me leave and wreak havoc in your name. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Just as I’m sure your wife warned she didn’t love you and you turned a blind
eye to that too.”
Arthur lowered his sword. Blood flushed his face. He steamed hot through his nostrils. “You know nothing of my wife.”
“I know more than you do, it seems,” said the knight. “You’re the one who still thinks you can get her back.”
Agatha could see the king racked with tension, fighting to resist the bait.
“Get out,” Arthur seethed. “Get out now.”
“Pity your young wart of a son,” said the knight.
“Don’t talk about my son—” Arthur lashed.
“Mother gone. Father weak . . .” the Green Knight jabbed. “Brother hidden away.”
The king went dead cold.
So did Tedros next to Agatha.
“What did you say?” his father breathed.
The knight grinned back. “Long live the true heir. Long live the king.”
“You snake,” Arthur hissed, already moving. “You LIAR!” He slashed down the stairs, robes aflight, like a murderous angel, his sword sweeping up over his head. With a primal roar, he swung it through the shadows, catching a last glint of sun—
It cut clean through the Green Knight’s neck.
Agatha and Tedros froze, watching the green head roll across the carpet, waiting for the slain knight’s body to fall . . .
But then something strange happened.
Something that made Arthur drop his blade in shock.
The knight’s body didn’t fall.
Instead, it ambled a few steps backwards, picked up the severed head, and tucked it under his arm.
“Same time tomorrow,” the knight’s head spoke. “Bring Merlin.”
Then he strolled out of the throne room, head in hand, leaving Arthur stunned and alone.
The scene faded to darkness.
Slowly Agatha looked at Tedros, who was staring into the void, rock still.
“His head,” she croaked. “How do you live with no head?”
But her prince had something else on his mind. “Doesn’t make sense,” he said, shaken. “Dad gave me the ring because I’m the heir.” Tedros turned to Agatha. “So why did the Green Knight imply that I’m not?”
One True King Page 9
