The Unicorn Quest

by Kamilla Benko

  “Demonstrate for the class how to craft a skeleton key,” the teacher ordered, the tool belt at her waist rattling ominously. “Begin.”

  Claire stared at the teacher blankly. A skeleton key … Was that a key for skeletons or made from skeletons?

  “Is there a problem, apprentice?”

  “I don’t see any bone,” Claire mumbled, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The class snickered, and the teacher’s eyebrows shot up so fast Claire thought they would fly off her forehead.

  “Are you trying to be funny, apprentice?” The woman seemed to grow in fury with each word. “One more misstep, and we’ll see how funny the headmaster thinks you are.”

  The headmaster! If he were anything like her principal at home—a woman who seemed to know everyone’s detention count—the headmaster would definitely know that Claire wasn’t enrolled in Phlogiston Academy.

  It would only take a few more minutes after that for people to realize Claire wasn’t a Forger at all. And if she was caught, who knew what would happen to her.

  Who knew what would happen to Sophie.

  The memory of swords and chain mail on the river flashed through her mind. Dread pooled in her chest. Arms heavy, Claire reached for a hammer.

  But before she could do anything with it, a loud bell rang out.

  The teacher furrowed her brow and shook her head. “Class doesn’t end until a quarter past and it’s only—” But the rest of whatever she was about to say was extinguished by a bellowing ruckus that sent little vibrations shooting through Claire’s bones.

  The bells of Phlogiston—all one hundred of them, from each and every tower—were clanging at the same time.

  Claire clapped her hands to her ears while the apprentices around her grinned gleefully, grabbing their tools and notebooks before rushing toward the door. The teacher shouted something above the din, but it was impossible to make out.

  Snatching up her own rucksack, Claire hurried out the door. The previously empty halls were now packed. Students milled about, shouting and laughing, knowing that they really shouldn’t have been dismissed.

  And throughout it all, the bells kept clanging.

  A hand suddenly gripped Claire’s arm. She whirled around.

  “Nett!” she yelled joyfully. She would have hugged him, but he grabbed her hand and began pushing his way through the crowd.

  A few times Nett tried to say something, but each time Claire just shook her head, unable to hear. It was only when they turned the corner to a small spiral staircase that the clanging finally stopped.

  “Ow,” Claire said, rubbing her ears. “What’s going on?”

  A second later, the answer descended the stairs.

  “You got her!” Sena said delightedly. Her coronet braids had fallen out, and her hair radiated around her face like spokes on a wheel. It almost looked as though she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

  “What worked?” Claire asked in a still-too-loud volume. Even though the bells had stopped bellowing, a tiny ring seemed to outline everything she heard.

  “Our plan to get you out of there,” Nett said with a grin. “Sena, you look like you were caught in a lightning storm!”

  “Well, at least it’s a new look for me,” Sena drawled. “You always look like you’ve combed your hair with lightning.”

  Claire looked at the Forger incredulously. “Did you set off all those bells?”

  Sena held out her wrist. A silver bracelet Claire had never seen before dangled there. It took her a moment to recognize it for what it was—or what it had been.

  “My butter knife,” Sena said. “I convinced it that it actually wanted to be a magnet. A magnet that would be powerful enough to give all those bells”—she waved her hand airily above her head—“one really good tug, which would set them off for a while. Or at least, long enough to distract everyone as we rescued you.”

  “What Sena didn’t mention,” Nett said as he checked to make sure the coast was clear, “is that she may have overdone it. Just a bit.”

  He glanced behind at Sena. “One bell would have been enough. We didn’t need all of them.”

  Sena grimaced slightly. “You try something you haven’t trained for. Besides, any guild magic can be a little … big if you’re scared.”

  “Ha! So you admit that you get scared!” Nett said.

  “If you’re scared or feeling any strong emotion, like excitement,” Sena added with dignity.

  The threesome walked quickly, making their way into a large courtyard. A marble building stood in its center, round and tiered like a wedding cake. The silver terraces that edged the tower’s levels only added to the confectionary effect.

  “Tower Library,” Nett breathed. His brown eyes filled with wonder. “Sena, you never said your home was so beautiful!”

  Claire expected Sena to be smug, but the Forger girl just shrugged and marched between two snarling bronze bears at the entrance of the library.

  If Tower Library had seemed like a cake on the outside, inside it was all swooping arches, rambling staircases, and books. Hundreds and thousands of books. So many books that Claire thought her school library, Dad’s library, and her own public library could have fit in there and had room to spare. It was the kind of library princesses had, or the kind Sophie dreamed of building once she was a famous actress.

  For the first time since arriving in Fyrton, Claire heard blissful silence. It was as though the thick leather volumes that coated the walls soaked up any insolent chimes and discourteous clangs that dared to enter the library.

  Sena put her finger to her lips and pointed toward a corner staircase. Carefully, she, Nett, and Claire made their way past students hunched over tables, scrawling hasty notes, and quietly giggling in groups while their books lay open, forgotten.

  As they climbed the staircase, titles popped out at Claire: History of the Forger’s Forge, Rust and Its Prophecies, Platinum: Myth or Fact? There was an entire floor dedicated to Coins of Our Time.

  When they reached the eleventh floor, Claire was out of breath.

  “I think the book I need is somewhere up here,” Sena whispered. They wove their way through narrow aisles. While most of the shelves were heavy with books, some didn’t have a single volume on them at all. Instead, they held items that looked like they belonged in a museum: carved masks, silk fans, and even a goblet of solid gold. The collection made Claire think of Great-Aunt Diana’s gallery and its pedestals of beautiful and curious objects. Again, she wondered if Great-Aunt Diana had ever climbed the chimney. She had never met her great-aunt, and now she intensely wished she had.

  “What is all this?” Claire asked, as she stopped to examine a coronet that appeared to be made of crystal or glass. It was inside a clear display case, sandwiched between a silver key and an empty spot. She peered closer at the empty space and saw a label that read Unicorn Tooth. “Why are there other things in a library besides books?”

  “A statue or piece of jewelry can hold as much information as a thousand pages,” Nett whispered. “You just have to know how to look at it.”

  He pointed at the coronet. Its tapering points glowed in the chandelier’s light, creating an illusion of icicles on fire.

  “Take this, for example,” he said. “It was carved in the year 987 CE. If you know Arden’s history, then you know that same year a rock slide on Starscrape Mountain destroyed an entire Tiller village. They might not seem to be connected—until you realize that this diamond was mined from Starscrape Mountain, and that the Gemmers severely weakened the mountainside in their search for a single diamond large enough to carve a crown.”

  Diamond. Claire knew from science class that diamonds were one of the strongest gemstones in the world, impossible to be scratched unless by another diamond. The Gemmers had to be very powerful indeed to craft this treasure.

  Nett was leaning so close to the coronet, Claire worried he might leave nose smudges on the case.

  “So,” he went on, �
�this crown tells me that the Gemmers are selfish, for ignoring the safety of the Tillers; stubborn, for refusing to change their plans; and heartless, for continuing to carve the diamond even after the tragedy. Looking at this crown, I can see exactly why the other guilds rebelled.”

  Sena blinked at him. “You got all that from a crown?”

  Nett shrugged, seeming slightly embarrassed.

  “But wasn’t Queen Estelle a Gemmer?” Claire asked.

  “She was,” Nett admitted, “but she’s the only Gemmer in the history of Arden who can be called a hero—and that’s only if the legend is true, which I doubt. Gemmers are ambitious, stubborn, and as unmovable as the stone they carve.”

  Claire felt a shiver pass through her. She remembered what Francis had told her in his cottage, that the Gemmers had enslaved Forgers before the war.

  “I hope I never meet a Gemmer,” she said with feeling. “They sound evil.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sena assured her. “The Gemmer Guild is the smallest of the four. Most were killed in the Guild War, especially with the death—or transformation, if that’s what you believe—of Queen Estelle. Now they live in a few scattered settlements in the mountains.”

  Claire nodded, drawing a map in her mind of what she’d learned so far: Tillers were spread out everywhere, in woods and villages. Forgers lived in proper towns and cities like this one. Spinners roamed, like Kleo and the historian Mira Fray. And Gemmers lived in the mountains. With every new piece of information, her understanding of Arden deepened, like a painting that begins as a light sketch, then gets shaded in, and then, slowly, is filled with color.

  She leaned in to read the little silver plaque next to the crown.

  GEMMER CORONET

  Carved from Starscrape Mountain diamond by Grandmaster Mica Mantle, circa 987 Craft Era.

  A present to Queen Estelle d’Astora on her thirteenth birthday.

  Recovered by Aquila Malchain in the year 1179 Craft Era.

  “Aquila Malchain,” Claire said. “Is she related to Anvil Malchain?”

  Sena nodded. “The Malchains are one of the oldest families in Arden, and the best treasure hunters. They’re the only ones who know how to make Kompasses.”

  Claire frowned. “It’s not hard to make a compass. We made one once in fourth grade with magnets.”

  “No, Kompass-with-a-k,” Sena explained. “Compasses-with-a-c always point north, but a Kompass-with-a-k will only point toward the specific thing it was forged to find. If Anvil Malchain has forged a Kompass specifically to find Sophie, then he will find her. It’s only a matter of time. Let’s keep going—we’re looking for Junior Year Metallurgy. Come on, Nett, I thought you were good at these things.”

  “I am,” Nett protested, giving Sena’s back a hurt look, but he hurried after her.

  Claire stood for a moment longer, staring at the shimmering crown and thinking of what the students in class had been whispering about: Anvil was looking for a girl who had taken something of his. It had to be Sophie, but why would she have taken something from him? Unless … maybe Anvil had stolen the harp, and then Sophie had swiped it from him and was already on her way back to Greenwood to return it.

  But Claire had a sense there was something she was missing—like when she stepped back and realized the perspective in a drawing was off.

  She dragged her finger along the glass display case, captivated by the glimmering crown, wishing her mind felt as clear as the carved diamond. And then … she felt something.

  A low rumble moved through her, starting from her fingers, almost as if the display was electrified. She yanked her hand away and stared. Her fingertips were red, like she’d touched something hot.

  Suddenly, the small golden horns that hung on each shelf crackled to life, and a man’s voice floated onto the air. “Attention, apprentices.”

  “Slug soot!” Sena whispered. “Oh slug soot, slug soot, slug soot!”

  “What’s wrong?” Claire asked, swiveling around. And then she found out.

  “There has been an intrusion,” the voice said. “All apprentices must report to the central courtyard.”

  “They know!” Sena said, and in the distance, Claire heard quiet thumps as students shut their books and hurried to the stairwells. “We have to get out of here, now!”

  “But the Looking Glass!” Claire cried. “We need to get that book!”

  Nett looked at Claire as though she’d sprouted wings and antennae. “Don’t you remember the inspectors?” he asked. “Big muscles with big swords?”

  Claire shuddered.

  “I found it!” Sena said triumphantly, before Claire could respond to Nett. Sena slipped a blue volume from an upper shelf. “Let’s get out of here, now!” Sena practically flew down the aisle, with Nett at her heels.

  Breathless, Claire pounded after them, so terrified of the inspectors that she hardly noticed that the burning in her fingertips had disappeared.

  CHAPTER

  17

  The windows of Fyrton began to glow orange with candlelight. Smoke and steam still puffed through the darkening streets, as though a dragon lay sleeping beneath the cobblestones. Claire hugged her rucksack tighter to her and hurried behind Sena and Nett.

  To her relief, no fast-growing bines had been needed for them to sneak out of Phlogiston Academy. After the alarm, the apprentices had been corralled into the courtyard. Despite inspectors swarming the school, the students were giddy—delighted, even—by the second interruption of the afternoon. They had dashed from friend to friend, each swapping different rumors and theories on the question of who had broken in … and why.

  “I heard something was stolen,” Claire had overheard an apprentice whisper to his classmate.

  “Please,” the classmate had said disparagingly. “It’s only a mistake—the bells probably set something off. Or it could be a practice trial.”

  Practice trial or not, Claire had been grateful for the pandemonium. Though she had seen some teachers trying to take a headcount, they appeared to be too distracted to question why their numbers included three more than usual.

  When Phlogiston’s students had finally been allowed to leave, Claire, Nett, and Sena had managed to exit without notice, tagging along on the fringes of a group of older apprentices. After tidying up, they had celebrated their success by purchasing meat pies, and Claire, with a full stomach, had begun to feel truly hopeful for the first time.

  Now, they rounded a corner and, through the haze, Claire glimpsed drifts of snow against the buildings. Snow—in this heat? Squinting, she took a second look and realized that the drifts were actually piles of gleaming silver bits, the leftover scraps from a full day in the forge.

  “Silver Way,” Sena said with obvious pride, the book they’d stolen from the school tucked under her arm. “Fyrton’s silversmiths are the best in the world.”

  Her eyes rested on a window display of spears fanned like a peacock’s tail. Claire recognized the longing on her face—it was the same feeling she had when she saw one of those beautiful cases of pastels that were only affordable on birthdays.

  They passed by a row of silversmithies. Each one was dark, though many still steamed as though the fires had only recently been put out.

  “How about that one?” Nett asked, pointing to the smallest silver shop. It was tucked slightly behind two larger ones. “I think we could probably hide any firelight we make from the street.”

  Sena shook her head. “That one doesn’t have what I need.”

  “How do you know?” Nett adjusted his rucksack, grunting a little as its contents shifted. “Do Forgers have a secret ability to see through walls that the rest of Arden doesn’t know about?”

  “It just won’t work, all right?” Sena snapped.

  Claire saw Nett jerk back, recoiling from the anger in her voice.

  “Relax,” he said, his smile still in place. “I was only joking.”

  “Well, stop joking! This is serious.”

  His smile tumble
d off. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Well, you’re not.”

  Looking at Nett, Claire felt sorry for the Tiller. Claire knew how it felt to be unfairly yelled at by an older sister, and even though these two weren’t related by blood, it was clear they were each other’s family.

  Sena must have realized she’d gone too far, because she suddenly said to the air, “I’m just jumpy. There’s so much at stake …” She trailed off. It wasn’t really an apology, only an explanation, but Nett nodded.

  The sun was now completely gone, and the only light that came their way was from candle lanterns strung above the cobblestones. The lamps’ shadows flickered on the ground, a mirror of Claire’s own darting thoughts.

  Where was Sophie spending the night tonight?

  Why was Malchain so interested in her?

  And most traitorous of all … Had Sophie been part of a plan to steal the harp all along?

  At last, Sena stopped in front of a forge. Above the door in a curling script were the words:

  Master Scythe’s Silverorium

  “This one,” she said quietly. “This is where I can make the Looking Glass.”

  From the outside, it didn’t seem much different from the other forge she’d so quickly rejected. It was slightly larger, but it wasn’t as well hidden from the road.

  Nett opened his mouth to protest, but Claire quickly spoke up.

  “It’s fine,” she said, her eyes sliding to Nett. It didn’t matter to Claire where Sena would forge the Looking Glass, only that she did—and soon. “How are we going to get in?”

  “Not through the front doors,” Sena said thoughtfully. “Forgers are proud of their locks. The more puzzley, the better.”

  Looking resigned, Nett raised his hand.

  Sena sighed. “What?”

  With a slight tilt of his round chin, he nodded upward. The girls followed his gaze to a side window, hidden from the main street, that was cracked open slightly.