“The spell made King Arthur a girl?” Beatrix cried, aghast. “A boy—became—a girl?”
“Just long enough for the king to see his queen had made a fool of him,” the Dean said. “But by the time Arthur reverted from the spell and returned to Camelot, Guinevere was gone. He sent his men to finish off Lancelot, but the knight too had vanished. Neither he nor the queen was ever seen again.”
Agatha couldn’t breathe, still questioning everything she’d just seen. And yet she needed this story to be true—she needed it to save her and Sophie’s life—she needed—
“The spell!” she blurted, lurching to her feet. “Where’s Merlin’s spell!”
“Lost, like all of his spells, of course,” the Dean replied, closing the book. “But the spell is hardly the point, dear.” She looked up at Agatha with a daring smile. “It’s that a boy was clever and disciplined enough to find it.”
As Agatha sank down, girls buzzed feverishly around her, dissecting every moment of their trip through time.
“Told you it was a good class,” Kiko whispered behind her.
But Agatha slumped deeper, for all it’d given her was more dead ends.
Her and Sophie’s only hope was that the baboonish boys she’d seen across the bay, lacking in cleverness or discipline, had hit a dead end of their own.
“I want to be on the Trial team,” said Hort, still in underpants, voice resounding in Evil Hall. “That’s my condition.”
“Sorry, Hort, but we need the strongest boys.” said Tedros, after he’d sent Tristan away for this negotiation. “That’s why we brought in the princes. Only Aric and I don’t have to try out—”
“You need my talent? Then give me a spot on the team,” Hort snapped. He looked down at his underpants. “And a new uniform.”
“Look, it’s just one scream—”
“No, you look! My dad said villains can’t love, and I tried to love,” Hort said, beady eyes gluing to the floor. “Chasing after Sophie like I was an Ever when I’m just . . . well, look at me.” He rubbed at his whiskery cheeks. “Made a fool of myself . . . and my dad. Least I can do is win the treasure and bury him. You understand that, don’t you?” He looked up at Tedros. “Trying to make him proud, even if he’s dead?”
Tedros’ jaw softened. He could see the flush across Hort’s chest, his bottom lip trembling. The boy had been born with none of his good fortune, and yet they were so much the same.
“No one will fight like me,” Hort pleaded, looking like a shivering rat. “No one.”
The prince folded arms, trying valiantly to ignore him. “Hort, these girls want me dead. This isn’t like last year. This is a real Trial, with all our lives at stake, and I’m the leader of this school and responsible for the boys’ safety and they’re already revolting over the fact they might end up slaves—”
Hort was whimpering like a homeless puppy. Tedros gritted his teeth.
“So what would it look like if I just—if I—if—if—”
The prince slumped, exhaling. “Aric will shoot me.”
Hort beamed sharp yellow teeth. He whirled to the sleeping teachers, unleashing a scream so primal his body jerked into contortions and so loud that Tedros quailed against the wall, covering his ears. By the time the prince looked up, Hort wasn’t human anymore. He was swathed in a man-wolf’s dark fur over bulging muscles, erect on two legs, roaring and roaring until he finally ran out of breath.
“Told you I last longer,” Hort growled as he listened proudly to boys’ terrified shouts upstairs, torn from their sleep.
They weren’t the only ones woken.
Slowly the teachers stirred in their coffins, one by one. Manley was the first to rise, jowly, pockmarked face flickering in torchlight.
Tedros grinned and extended his hand. “Professor, welcome back to the School for Boy—”
“Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into. A castle full of filthy strangers. A Trial with ludicrous terms. Terms you trapped us all into once the girls agreed,” Manley sneered, tramping for the door. “Slaves to girls? Imagine what the stories would look like with the Storian in Dean Sader’s hands. Men dying at the end of every new tale. Men on a losing streak worse than Evil’s.”
“And yet a silver lining if we win,” Professor Espada said, glowering at the two boys as his pointy black boots hit ground. “Win this Trial, and those two cursed Readers die. Their fairy tale instantly undone . . . our schools back to Good and Evil, like they always were.”
“Ten days to right this ship, then,” Albemarle the woodpecker said, trailing after them with the rest of the Forest Group leaders. “I’ll prepare the schedules.”
“I’ll ready the classrooms,” said Chivalry’s Professor Lukas.
“AND I’LL WAKE THE SORRY LOSERS UP,” Castor roared, shaking out his fur.
Beezle burped with glee and ran after him.
“But—but what about me?” Tedros called behind them—
“You can compete for the Trial team like everyone else,” Manley spat back.
“Compete?” Tedros blurted.
“How about me!” Hort spluttered, shrinking to human. “He s-s-s-said—”
“He ain’t in charge anymore.” Manley’s voice echoed as he vanished down the hall’s stairs.
Hort glowered at Tedros, betrayed. The prince went red. “But how—how did they know—”
Castor swiveled from the door, rabid and bloodshot.
“JUST ’CAUSE WE’RE ASLEEP DON’T MEAN WE CAN’T HEAR.”
For five nights, Sophie, Agatha, and the witches met in the Supper Hall for Book Club, debating possible schemes to get the Storian and wish themselves home. And yet none seemed without serious risk. With each passing day, Agatha grew more and more doubtful of every new spell, Sophie more and more sharp with her, and both more and more convinced the Trial would happen as planned. Together they decided that come the 6th night, they’d pick a plan, for their time was running short.
At half past eight, Agatha and Dot swept down to the Supper Hall, frantically comparing spells, only to find Sophie, Hester, and Anadil standing outside the door.
“We have a problem.” Hester stepped aside, revealing the sign pasted over their book club’s.
Play Auditions Tonight
“A Pageant History of
Female Accomplishment”
Note: If no one shows, there will be no play.
*Challenge exemptions for all those who do not show.
Professor Sheeks, Play Director
*Challenge exemptions are prohibited, per the Dean.
Pollux, Play Director’s Supervisor and Creative Consultant
“Can’t we move somewhere else?” Dot asked.
“It’s the only place butterflies don’t come,” worried Sophie. “We’ve already lost a week. We need a plan tonight.”
The girls fell quiet.
“Guess we’re all auditioning for A Pageant History of Female Accomplishment,” Agatha crabbed. Then she caught Sophie’s excited look and frowned. “You’re not getting a part.”
Ten minutes later, Sophie was cavorting in front of the curtain on a makeshift stage in the Supper Hall, delivering an inexplicable monologue in an inexplicable accent. “Hear me, Prrrrrince Humperdink! Do naht be fooled bah mah beauhty and charrrm. I ahm a simple woman. Simple in mahnd, simple in hearrrt—but do naht take thaht for simple in spirrrit.”
She looked down at Professor Sheeks and Pollux’s head, perched on the table, both blinking at her.
“I thought it was quite good,” Pollux wisped.
A hand yanked her behind the curtain.
“Was it too subtle?” Sophie said, eyeing the paltry line of girls waiting their turn.
“The only thing subtle is your chance to live,” Hester seethed. “We’re deciding on a plan and we’re deciding on a plan now. Everyone give their best idea.”
“I found a Spyder Sling Spell that sticks you to ceilings,” Anadil offered, leaning against the window. “You could hide in the
vents for days.”
“And where do I bathe?” said Sophie. “Where do I eat?”
“You eat?” Anadil said, gaping.
“We could send my demon to steal the pen,” Hester mulled. “Surely he’ll get past the shield.”
“And if he gets caught? Your demon dies and so do you,” Sophie returned. “And now that I think about it, it’s a lovely idea.”
“What if I turn you into vegetables?” Dot offered. “Boys don’t eat vegetables.”
Everyone stared at her.
“Aggie?” Sophie said. “Surely you found something?”
Agatha had been quietly shifting in her clumps during all this, for she had been counting on the witches to find something foolproof. But now she had to face what she’d suspected all along.
“There isn’t anything safe, no matter what we choose,” she said quietly. She looked at Sophie, tearing. “This is my fault—we’re going to end up in that Trial, and it’s my fault—”
“But—but—we can’t die, Aggie,” Sophie rasped. “Not when we’re finally friends again.”
Agatha shook her head. “They’ll find us, Sophie. Any of these spells—they’ll find us. . . .”
She stopped, because her eyes had caught something out the window.
“Aggie?” Sophie asked.
Agatha put her hands on the window as the witches crowded around her.
“Oh, it’s just Helga,” Sophie huffed, watching the frumpy, lavender-dressed gnome scurrying through the Blue Forest to her burrow by the brook. “Strange, though. She looks skinnier. . . . I didn’t know gnomes go on diets. And her hair is different too! Looks like . . . like a . . .”
Now all the girls pressed their noses to the glass in shock.
“It can’t be,” Hester gasped.
For as the gnome slid back into Helga’s burrow in Helga’s dress and Helga’s hat, a face that wasn’t Helga’s peeked up through the hole to make sure no one saw it.
“It was a girl during class—it’s been a girl every day,” Dot said. “It’s impossible!”
But it wasn’t, Agatha thought, mirroring a Dean’s daring smile.
For she’d seen the spell that had made it possible, lost and now found.
The spell that had hidden Yuba in the enemy’s castle all this time.
And the spell that would now help her and Sophie do the same.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
15
The Five Rules
“I don’t understand,” Sophie whispered to Agatha. “What does all this have to do with getting into the boys’ school?”
Agatha ignored her, glaring at Helga the Gnome, bound to a frilly rocking chair, long white hair covered in kale flakes. “Either tell us how you do it, Yuba, or we give you to the Dean.”
“I find your charges deeply offensive,” Helga retorted, her voice strained and pitchy. “All males have been evicted—”
“We saw you, Yuba,” said Hester, arms crossed next to Dot. “We saw your face.”
“Yuba? Me? Preposterous,” Helga scowled, struggling for the white staff out of reach. “Now leave at once, before I call the Dean myself.”
“Please! We need your help,” Agatha begged—
“But how can she help us with boys? And why do you keep calling her Yuba?” Sophie badgered, pointing at the dowdy gnome. “I feel like I’m missing something—”
“A brain,” Hester murmured.
With the butterflies generally dormant at night, the girls had waited until after midnight before each took turns sneaking into the Blue Forest (Anadil was caught by Pollux and had to abort the plan). There was no way to squeeze through the tiny gnome hole they’d seen, but Dot had turned the ground around it to kale and the rest stomped through, stunning Helga in her lair. While the witches tied the gnome to the chair, Agatha poked around the tiny furniture and bookshelves for signs of a male inhabitant, but the doily linens, abundance of flowerpots, and lavender wallpaper all had a decidedly female touch.
Sophie frowned as she sniffed a flowerpot. “Strange, though . . . ,” she said airily. “Never met a girl who likes hydrangeas.”
Agatha humphed at Helga, as if this idiocy would have to suffice as proof. “We know about Merlin’s spell, Yuba. We saw it in our book. We know you used it—”
“The Dean has revised all her brother’s texts to reflect her own agenda,” Helga shot back, reddening. “Besides, what do I know of Merlin’s spells?”
“Only what you taught Merlin yourself,” a voice said.
They all swiveled to Dot, in front of a bookshelf, peering at My Life in Magic by Merlin of Camelot. She held open the first page, eyeing the gnome.
To Helga and Yuba
My greatest teacher
“Should be teachers, shouldn’t it?” said Dot.
The den was quiet.
Agatha kneeled down in front of the old gnome. “Surviving Fairy Tales. That’s what you teach.” She took Helga’s wrinkled hand. “And we can’t survive ours without you.”
Helga’s gray pupils glued to the ground, unable to look at her student. Slowly, her long white hair retracted into her skull, growing scratchy and short. The grooves of her face magically deepened and the skin hardened to a leathery tan beneath a growing white beard. Her cheeks hollowed, her nose fattened, her eyebrows bushied, her body burlying to a barrel shape . . . until at last Yuba the Gnome gazed up at his former students, in the same lavender dress and wobbly heels.
“Do you mind if I change?” he asked quietly.
Sophie gawped at her old Forest Groups teacher, morphed from a girl into a boy. She twirled to Agatha, appalled.
“That’s how you want us to get in the boys’ school? By turning us into . . . gnomes?”
Agatha banged her head against the wall.
On a dusty wool couch, Agatha, Sophie, Hester, and Dot held mugs of turnip-root tea, eyes flicking back and forth as Yuba paced the room in his belted green coat and orange cone hat.
“The irony of teaching is we often teach what we can no longer do. Though I have been teaching students for 115 years how to survive in the Endless Woods, I could hardly survive a day outside these gates anymore,” the gnome said, no longer straining to disguise his voice. “When the Eviction happened, I needed to remain here safely until the balance was restored. Disguising as Helga was the only way. No one would ever find me out. No one would have a clue.” He glowered at Sophie and Agatha, squished next to each other. “But given what you’ve done to the rules of Good and Evil, I’m not surprised you’re back to ruin the rules of Boys and Girls.”
Sophie leaned to Agatha. “I really don’t see how turning into gnomes ruins any—”
Agatha elbowed her and Sophie shut up.
Yuba slurped from his teacup and sat back in his rocking chair. “Gnomes are different from other creatures in the Woods for two reasons,” he said. “From your classwork, Hester can surely tell us the first.”
“They’re always neutral in war,” Hester answered confidently.
“Indeed. Gnomes have never once been drawn into a conflict, in over 2,000 years. We’ve maintained peace between ourselves and others, without exception.”
Sophie yawned and started pouring more tea.
“The second reason we’re different is less known and won’t be found in your books,” said Yuba. “Gnomes are born with the ability to change sex.”
Sophie missed her cup and poured tea into Hester’s lap.
“Temporarily, of course,” the gnome continued, ignoring Hester’s loud curses. “Boy gnomes can turn into a girl gnomes and girls into boys at will until they come of age, when they revert permanently to the sex that they were born.”
Now Sophie dropped the whole pot on Hester.
“No wonder Daddy never let us near young gnomes in Sherwood Forest,” Dot marveled as Hester beat Sophie with a pillow. “Probably
thought they were contagious.”
“The sheriff is not alone in his thinking,” Yuba sighed. “And yet, these two properties of gnomes were of deep interest to Merlin, the greatest student to ever attend the School for Good and Evil. In his free time, and often in this very cave, he probed and studied gnome biology so relentlessly his ranks suffered. It is why he was ultimately tracked as a Helper to Arthur’s father, instead of as a hero of his own tale.”
“But why would Merlin care whether gnomes were peaceful or changed sexes?” Agatha asked.
“Because be believed the two linked,” said Yuba. “He believed the brief period of playful transformation allowed gnomes to be more sensitive and aware than other creatures. If there was a way for humans to have that experience, even for a moment, you too would be as peace-loving as the gnomes. All wars preempted, all notions of Good and Evil dissolved . . . mankind perfected.” Yuba paused. “He was such a passionate fellow I couldn’t help but believe him.”
Now Sophie and Hester were both paying attention.
“So you helped him find a spell?” Agatha asked. “A spell to turn human boys into girls and girls into boys?”
“A highly fleeting spell that would work on any species,” said Yuba. “Better to do it under my supervision than attempt such a dangerous spell on his own.” The gnome swallowed ruefully. “Long after he left the School for Good and Evil, he’d return to work with me on the formula. Indeed, it is why I still had the recipe, for I often spent free moments fine-tuning and testing it on myself before his next visit. It took us 20 years to perfect the spell—until Arthur used it to attack Lancelot for all the wrong reasons. Sabotage, subterfuge, revenge . . . Instead of Merlin’s spell bringing peace, now word spread of a curse that could bring down kingdoms and destroy men for all time.” Tears glistened in Yuba’s eyes.
“Merlin fled just before the armies came for him, but they incinerated the lifetime of work he’d left behind. Without his wife and his beloved adviser, Arthur succumbed to drunkenness and heartbreak. Neither I nor anyone else ever saw Merlin again.”
Yuba put down his rattling cup. “Professor Sader later effaced the episode from his histories, afraid of the embarrassment it would cause Arthur’s son. But the Dean has no such consideration for a boy.”
The School for Good and Evil #2: A World without Princes Page 19
