by M. A. Larson
“It is my belief that Calivigne was made from the hearts of the innocent children lured to their deaths by the Pied Piper of Hamelin. That is why she is so powerful. If I’m correct, never before would a witch have been created out of such hatred and depravity.” She stepped forward, and Evie could see how haunted the goat was by the story she had just told. “That is your enemy, cadets. Now . . . how do you wish to fight her?”
Evie heaved a vat of broth onto the table and began stirring it with a long wooden spoon. Ziegenbart’s story had left a chill inside of her that went all the way to her bones. With everyone telling Evie how wonderful she was, and how the witches had gone into retreat, it was easy to forget the truly wicked things they had done, and continued to do, out there in the real world. “But how could they name anything on campus after a monster like that? The ballroom where Maggie won the Grand Ball last year. It’s got his name on it. A murderer!”
“At the time that ballroom was constructed, no one knew the truth about the Piper,” said Princess Hazelbranch, chopping celery and onions. “They believed he was a hero who had driven away the rats, rats infested with all manner of disease. No one knew about the children. Or if they did, they didn’t believe it could be true.”
“Dozens of children gone. How could they not know?”
“Sometimes it can be difficult to discern the truth in a world so filled with magic.” She scooped the celery onto her knife and dropped it into Evie’s broth. Then she did the same with the onions.
Evie stopped stirring with a frown. “Princess Hazelbranch, could I ask you something?”
“Of course, Evie, anything. But first I’ll need you to light the fire.”
Evie lit the cookfire, then strained to shift the heavy pot onto it. “If one man could do something as awful as the Pied Piper did, and that led to Calivigne being born, then . . .”
“Yes, Evie, go on.”
“Well . . . if all that is true, then how can we ever win this war?”
“Ah,” said Hazelbranch, nodding sagely. “That is why kindness is one of the four essential pieces of a true princess. We can battle witches until the end of time, but that is only half of our war. We must also spread kindness to prevent incidents like the one in Hamelin. Had there been a true princess in that village to remind the townspeople of the bargain to which they’d agreed, or to help the Piper see that what he was doing was disproportionately cruel, Calivigne might never have been born.”
“I’m sorry, Princess, but are you suggesting that a simple act of kindness might have prevented this entire war?”
“Indeed I am. It all comes back to hope, Evie. A princess represents hope in a world of darkness. And with hope, there is much less darkness.”
Evie watched the vegetables swirl in the foaming yellow broth. She imagined those children walking helplessly into the mountain cave . . .
“Now I might ask you something, Cadet.”
She looked up. “Hmm?”
“Last year, I almost never saw your face without two other gigglemugs attached. Is everything all right between you and your friends?”
“Oh, yeah, fine . . . fine.” Evie glanced across the kitchen at Maggie, who was filling the butter dishes. “Though to be honest, it is a bit different for Maggie this year.”
“How so?”
“Well . . .” She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Forgive me, but it’s Princess Copperpot. She sent Cadet Bluebell home this morning for brushing her teeth too loudly.”
“I see.”
“She came down quite hard on Maggie the first day of the year and it’s sucked all the fun right out of her.”
“How awful.”
“It’s a bit different for Demetra as well, I suppose,” she continued. “She’s got some new friends this year and doesn’t seem all that interested in us anymore. We’re all still friends, it’s just . . . it’s not the same.”
“One minute to service, everyone!” shouted Princess Rampion. “One minute!”
Hazelbranch began ladling the broth into tureens. “Well, Evie, let me just say this: Friendship is like a carriage. It does not drive itself. Particularly when the road gets rocky.”
“Service, please! Everyone else to your seats!”
Hazelbranch wiped her hands on a towel, then gave Evie a wink and headed for the door. Evie set the tureens on a cart and joined the rest of the serving staff, still thinking about what Princess Hazelbranch had just said.
As they emerged into the Dining Hall, she could see that the enormous numbers in the third class were finally beginning to thin a bit. There were open spots at every table now, and there would likely be more tomorrow.
She walked up and down the aisles, serving broth and bread with a false smile on her face. She’d gotten used to the looks and whispers as she passed, so she had to remind herself that to these girls, she was someone special. The worst thing she could do would be to behave as though she was annoyed with her fame.
“Thank you so much,” said one particularly mousy girl with big teeth.
Evie smiled at her and moved along the table.
“Hi, Evie!” said another girl with big brown eyes.
“You should come visit our company sometime!” called another. “We’ve made up a song about you!”
As Evie ladled broth into a pewter bowl, a cold realization descended over her like a shadow. She spilled the broth onto one girl’s lap.
“Ahh!”
“Sorry!” said Evie. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s all right,” said the girl with a laugh. “Now I can say the Warrior Princess spilled soup on me.”
Evie was suddenly overcome with claustrophobia. Though there was plenty of broth left in her tureens, she pushed the cart as quickly as she could back toward the kitchens.
I am the Pied Piper, she thought. All these girls have followed me here and I’m leading them straight to Calivigne.
She burst into the kitchens and dropped onto a stool, burying her face in her hands. Her head felt light. I am the Pied Piper and I’ve led them right to her—
“Cadet!” called Princess Copperpot. “You there! Bring this to the staff table!”
Evie looked up, bleary eyed, and saw her House Princess scowling down at her. Lance was on one of the storage shelves eating from a hole in a sack of seeds. “Yes, Princess,” she said with a sniffle.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing, Princess, I’m fine.” She stood and took the handle of the cart Copperpot had prepared. It held several bowls of roasted vegetables.
“I ordered you to confide in me, so if you’ve got something to confide, you’d better do it now!”
“No, Princess, I’m fine, really.”
“Go on, then! Move!”
Evie took a deep breath and headed for the door. Holding the cart handle steadied her, and she managed to mostly compose herself before emerging back into the cacophony of the Dining Hall. She wheeled the cart up a small ramp onto the raised section of floor that held the staff table. She began scooping parsnips and potatoes onto the plates in front of her, trying her best to avoid drawing attention to herself. She knew there were tears in her eyes and they were on the verge of falling. Still, she somehow managed to fill Rumpledshirtsleeves’s plate without him realizing who was doing it. Then she moved slowly down the table toward the center, where Princess Beatrice sat in an ancient oak throne lined in burgundy silk. Next to her was a woman who looked even older than Beatrice’s throne. She was slim and shriveled, nearly as short as Rumpledshirtsleeves. White hair fell close to her cheeks, and wrinkles covered every inch of her face. She sat hunched over her plate, barely picking at the beetroots sitting in a pool of juice so deep and red that it reminded Evie of blood. As she drew nearer, she slowed her service and pretended to busy herself with the vegetables.
�
�You may scoff and snortle all you like, Headmistress, but the signs were there,” said the old woman, a trickle of beet juice running down the corner of her mouth. “Someone has been at the Drudenhaus. Many someones, it seems.”
Evie scooped her vegetables one by one to the woodsman a few seats down from Beatrice.
“Hunters, bandits, curious children . . . It could be any number of—”
“Curious children? In the middle of the Dortchen Wild?” said the old woman. “No, Princess. No indeed. This was Javotte.”
Evie gasped. She began to cough to try to cover it.
“Are you quite all right?” said Sir Schönbecker.
“Yes, of course. Pardon me, sir.”
Beatrice and the old woman hadn’t seemed to notice Evie’s coughing fit and continued their conversation. She carried on slowly, serving the other staff seated next to them.
“Javotte,” scoffed Beatrice. “You have absolutely no evidence of that.”
The old woman sneered and wiped away the beet juice with the tablecloth. “I presume you’ve brought me here to listen to my expertise, and not to mock it. Whether you want to believe it or not, the Vertreiben are real. Perhaps they’re in league with the witches, perhaps not. But if they are, it could be catastrophic—”
“Keep your voice down, Lankester. You’re only here as a courtesy.”
Evie scooped steaming parsnips onto Princess Moonshadow’s plate. So this was Princess Lankester, the woman Hazelbranch had wanted Beatrice to summon. She’d almost gotten to where they were sitting, so she began scooping even more slowly.
“A courtesy? You’ve never had respect for the Vertreiben as an enemy, Headmistress, and now there have been dozens of reports of attacks on Princesses of the Shield—”
“There are attacks on princesses every single day. By witches. Or had you forgotten who it is we’re meant to be fighting?” Lankester’s eyes flicked over to Evie, which caused Beatrice to turn in her throne. “Will there be anything else, Cadet?”
“No, Headmistress.” She quickly pushed her cart along the table, scooping vegetables until her bowls were empty. As she circled back to the kitchens, she glanced at Beatrice and the old woman, her palms sweating. They were huddled closely, both scowling and jutting angry fingers at each other. What in the world was the Drudenhaus, and why was it so important that Javotte might have gone there?
She brought the cart to the kitchens for a troll to clean, then walked back into the Dining Hall and joined her company. She sat next to Maggie and began stirring her peas with her fork, watching Beatrice and Lankester over Basil’s shoulder.
“Evie?” he finally said. “Is something the matter? You look as though you’re ready to murder the Headmistress.”
Evie snapped out of her thoughts. She looked at Basil and blinked. Then she looked over at Maggie. Demetra’s usual spot was empty. “Where is she?”
“Where do you think?” said Maggie. “Down there with our replacements.”
At the end of the table, Demetra was busy nattering away with Nessa and Liv. “Forget her,” said Evie. “We’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?” said Maggie.
“Do you know who that is up there with Princess Beatrice?”
Basil turned to look. “Never seen her before. She looks a bit grim, though, doesn’t she?”
“That must be . . .” said Maggie. She gasped. “Is that Princess Lankester?”
“Yes, and I think she’s some sort of expert on the Vertreiben—”
“Stop saying that word!”
“I’m sorry, Maggie, but we’ve simply got to talk about this.”
“Why? If that woman is an expert on the . . . on them, then what else is there to talk about?” Her eyes shifted around in search of Princess Copperpot.
“I just heard her mention someone called Javotte. That’s who those three princesses were asking after before they killed the innkeeper’s wife.”
“Blimey,” said Basil with a grave face.
“She said Javotte has been in the Drudenhaus. Whatever that is, she didn’t seem particularly happy about it.”
“This is all making me very nervous,” said Maggie, fanning herself. “Do you mind if I change seats?”
“Yes I mind if you change seats! Sit right there and help me figure this out!” She looked around to be sure no one else was listening, then leaned in and spoke softly. “Knowledge is more powerful than magic, right? That’s what Princess Ziegenbart said. Well, I think it’s time we did a bit of research.”
“Oh,” said Maggie, brightening. “Is that all? I can help with research. Where do you want to start?”
“By sneaking into the restricted area of the Archives.”
Maggie whimpered.
“The restricted area?” said Basil. “But why?”
“According to Demetra’s sister, Javotte used to be a cadet here.”
“So?”
“So whether she became a Princess of the Shield or not, she’s still a princess of the blood.”
“Oh, not the Registry of Peerage,” moaned Maggie.
“Exactly.”
“What’s the Registry of Peerage?” said Basil.
“Last year, when Beatrice learned that I was King Callahan’s daughter, she put my name in this really old book called the Registry of Peerage. It’s got information on royalty from all across the land. If Javotte is a princess of the blood, then she’s got to be in there.”
“I won’t do it, Evie,” said Maggie. Her skin had gone ashen, and her eyes were darting around the room.
“I wouldn’t ask you to. Not with Princess Copperpot watching you like a . . . well, like a rooster. But I do need one thing from you. I need you to draw me a map. The quickest way from the barracks to the Archives. It’ll be dark when we go.”
“Evie, this is madness. Sneaking into the restricted area of an official building after lights-out? You can’t be serious!”
“It’s the only way to find out what’s coming for us.”
There was a pause. Demetra laughed at the end of the table.
“Good. Well, let us know what you find, then, will you?” said Basil, standing to leave.
“You’re coming with me.”
He plopped to his seat. “Me? Why?”
Evie glared toward the end of the table. “Bloody Demetra. I’d really like to have a third to help speed things along, but I don’t trust her to turn up.”
“Basil,” said Maggie. “You’re not really going to do this, are you?”
“Apparently I am.”
Evie thought for a moment, then shot up from the bench and made her way across the Dining Hall. Eyes and happy whispers followed her as she worked her way through the tables. She ignored them all and went to the Huntsman Company table. “Could I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Remington.
He stood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then followed her to one of the hearths. “What is it?” he said, still chewing.
“Would you be willing to sneak out and meet me and Basil tonight? We’re going—”
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “When and where?”
THAT NIGHT, after the torches had been extinguished and Princess Copperpot had hobbled back to her quarters, Evie rose silently from her bunk. The barracks were almost completely dark on that moonless night, and she had to move slowly to avoid crashing into anything.
“I can’t believe you made me do this,” whispered Maggie, handing Evie a small piece of parchment.
“Thank you,” she replied. Then, armed with the map, she slipped out of the barracks and into the night. A blast of cold air hit her immediately. Snow fell softly from the clouds.
“I’ll have you know that my bed was extremely warm,” said Basil, standing at the corner of the barracks, his hair already topped with white.
“Right. L
et’s go,” said Evie, and the two of them ran across Hansel’s Green, leaving long streaks of black in the pristine field of white. Orange light flickered from the torches lit across campus. They ran without stopping until they reached a small grove of elms near a granary at the westernmost road of campus. Basil slipped in the snow, his arms flailing wildly as he cartwheeled to the ground.
“Shh!”
“It’s hardly my fault!” he spat. “No one told me there’d be snow!”
Evie leaned out from behind the granary wall and looked around. “He’s supposed to be here by now.” She let the ambient torchlight illuminate her map.
Basil breathed into his cupped hands, studying Maggie’s map over Evie’s shoulder. “There are so many annotations on that thing, it’ll take us all night just to read it. ‘The Archives are positioned on the south end of campus, with most of the records stored below ground level. The location was chosen specifically for the protection of rare and sensitive manuscripts.’ Why would we possibly need to know that?”
“It’s just Maggie,” said Evie. “That’s what she does. Look, none of that matters. We just need to follow this road until we reach . . . whatever this is.” She pointed to a spot on the map. “It looks like some sort of monster.”
“That’s a gargoyle,” said Remington, suddenly behind them.
Basil shouted with fright and fell over again. “Where in blazes did you come from?”
Evie scowled at Remington. She looked at the telltale trails in the snow and knew that he’d come as a frog. His great-grandfather had been the original Frog King, and Remington had the ability to become one at will. Of course, Evie was the only one at the Academy who knew his secret. Poor Basil clutched his chest as though his heart was about to explode. Remington grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet.
“So, what mischief are we up to this fine winter’s night?”
“Shh!” Evie put her arms out to quiet him. There were voices coming from up the road.
“You should try the tournaments!” said a man. “I’ve seen you take apart an oak in half the time of some of those champions.”
