by Holly Grant
Anastasia frowned. Francie’s investigations percolated with piping-fresh clues, like new footprints to track or a telltale button popped from a villain’s cummerbund. Anastasia scanned the Francie Dewdrop titles: The Case of the Pilfered Waffles…Enigma of the Underground Maze…Ah! The Great Caboose Puzzler. Anastasia had, of course, read that one, because she had read all of them. In The Great Caboose Puzzler, Francie studied old newspaper articles to prove, once and for all, the real culprits behind a Wild West train robbery.
Anastasia’s attention now flicked to the other books in the library. She wouldn’t learn anything by scouring the ground for footprints and buttons, but perhaps some clues nestled within the pages of the Cavelands history tomes.
Reader, perhaps you are familiar with the military strategies of Sun Tzu, a brilliant general and tactician who lived over two thousand years ago. If so, you will recognize this bit of sage advice: know your enemy. That is to say, the more you study your adversary, the better you can calculate their motives and moves. Anastasia resolved to find out as much as she could about Calixto Swift. If she learned what made him tick, perhaps she could deduce where he might hide a hammer and chest and Shadowman. And that would lead her to Fred McCrumpet.
“Anastasia, dear,” Penny prompted gently, coming down the ladder. “How is your Echolalia coming along?”
“Fine.” Anastasia pantomimed jotting answers on her worksheet as her aunt stacked the astronomy tomes on one of the tables. “Aunt Penny?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you have a book on the—er—history of the Dastardly Deed? Marm Pettifog is making us write an essay. And I need to learn about Calixto Swift.”
This was a fib. Some nitpickers might even have called it a lie. Either way, it fooled Penny, that purehearted librarian. “Why, of course! We have a splendid history collection.” She scaled the ladder halfway, and then she gave a mighty kick, propelling it and herself across the wall. Anastasia watched closely. She didn’t need a book for a Pettifog paper, of course. But she wanted to see where Penny kept the history section, and she couldn’t very well tell her the real reason.
Nope. For this investigation, Anastasia was a secret agent. She was a dauntless detective posing as a mild-mannered egghead. “I just want to do well in school,” she added for good measure.
She may as well have shouted, Open sesame! Soon a small treasure trove of books cluttered her study table, bearing promising titles such as: A Detailed History of the Dastardly Deed, Scoundrels and Silver Miners: Witches in the Eighteenth Century, and most delectable of all, Ye Olde Compleat Unauthorized Biography of the Treacherous Villain Calixto Swift.
“I hope reading about these things won’t distress you, child.” Penny placed Calixto Swift’s Many-Marveled Inventions (Stinker Though He Was) atop the pile. “These events affected all Morfolk, but especially our family.”
“It’s okay.” Anastasia shrugged. “Everyone else knows about it. I should, too.”
Clockwork ground and Baldwin’s giddy tick-tockers all vomited forth their screaming birds. Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
“Seven o’clock already!” Baldwin roused from his hearthside nap. “Dinnertime! Chef’s prepared us a proper fondue dinner, Anastasia. Some yummy molten cheese will fuel your intellect!”
Anastasia wrenched her gaze from the Dastardly annals. “I hope so,” she said. She would need every last iota of brainpower to unravel the mystery and secrecy and witchery tangling the string of clues leading to her missing kinsfolk.
14
Sixty Thousand Miles of Pure Joy
DOWN IN THE Cavelands, sealed away from the sky and all the wonderful mischief that its clouds may make, there was no hope for a happy blizzard to snuff out Anastasia’s next school day. She quailed as they sailed across Old Crescent Lagoon toward Pettifog Academy and the monstrous schoolmarm lurking therein.
“Baldwin and I have meetings in the Senate Cave all day,” Penny said. “We won’t be able to pick you up at three, but Belfry will come to fetch you and Angus.”
“You think you have it bad, Anastasia,” Baldwin complained. “Try one Senate session with Caesar Dellacava—pure, utter, absolute torture! That popinjay lives to bicker.”
“Hopefully things will go more smoothly with Marm Pettifog today,” Penny fretted.
“And if not, we’ll work out a bit of Merrymoon mischief.” Baldwin hefted Anastasia up to the dock and winked.
“Anastasia! ANASTASIA!”
She whirled.
Perhaps, dear Reader, you have read the travel accounts of brave desert explorers who, spotting a cool oasis—or perhaps an ice cream truck—stumble forth only to have the beauteous vision dissipate before their disappointed eyes. Such apparitions are called mirages, and they are a trick of a mind under duress.
Presented now with the gladsome sight of two beloved chums galloping across the cobbles of Wax Plaza, grinning and waving and hollering her name, Anastasia wondered whether her anxious brain had cooked up a mirage of its own. But then the boys tackled her in a rib-cracking hug and she knew they were real.
“Ollie! Quentin!”
“The League of Beastly Dreadfuls, reunited at last!” Ollie whispered in Anastasia’s ear.
“Peep!” Pippistrella protested from the nape of her wig.
“Hello! Who’s this?” Quentin asked.
Anastasia hopscotched through the introductions. “Oh, I missed you! When did you get back?”
“Late last night,” Quentin said. “After a long and arduous journey by sea. Arduous.” He clutched his stomach.
“We were both seasick!” Ollie said. “We had to throw up over the side of a boat! It was disgusting.”
“Baldwin threw up over the side of a hot-air balloon,” Anastasia said.
“And that’s even worse, because you don’t know where the sick will land,” Baldwin piped up from the gondola. “Maybe on someone’s new hat.”
“Maybe down a chimney,” Ollie suggested, just noticing Baldwin and Penny. “Why, it’s the Great Mouse Destroyer! And the lady from the Dread Woods!”
“Ollie!” Quentin rolled his eyes. “He’s not really a Mouse Destroyer, remember? That was just something he told Prim and Prude to get into the asylum.”
“I know,” Ollie said. “But I never really knew who he was. Who are you, exactly?”
“I’m Anastasia’s uncle,” Baldwin said, “and Penny here is her aunt.”
“Well, Anastasia!” Ollie cried. “Why didn’t you tell us back at St. Agony’s?”
“I didn’t know until we were in the balloon.”
“Well, pleased to meet you,” Quentin said. “We’re the Drybread brothers.”
“Drybread? Are you related to Argyle Drybread, of Drybread and Drybread’s Music Box Emporium?” Penny asked.
“He’s our dad,” Ollie said. “That’s where Quentin got his musical talent.”
“Anastasia told us you play the saw.” Penny pointed at Quentin’s violin bow and instrument case.
“A wonderful instrument,” Baldwin declared. “The first time I heard the musical saw, I thought a ghost was howling at me.”
“Anyway,” Anastasia pressed, “you said you sailed here?”
“Part of the way,” Quentin said. “Shadowfolk can’t do long flits over water. So we had to island-hop from Canada to Greenland to Iceland and finally down to England and then here.”
“That sounds like fun,” Anastasia said.
“It wasn’t,” Quentin said. “It was terrible. We had to hide on the boats as Shadows, of course, because we didn’t have any clothes or tickets. And Shadows don’t handle rough seas too well.”
Ollie mimed vomiting.
“You boys were very brave,” Penny said. “We didn’t have a chance to tell you abovecaves, but we’re all very grateful to you for helping Anastasia escape St. Agony’s Asylum.”
Quentin brushed Penny’s praise aside. “She helped us, too.”
“Nonetheless
, the royal family is in your debt.”
“Royal family?” Ollie echoed.
“Um,” Anastasia hedged. “It turns out I’m…related to the queen.”
“How?” Quentin asked.
“She’s…er…my grandmother.”
“Which means you’re a princess!” Ollie cried. “You?”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Quentin blinked at Baldwin and Penny. “You’re Queen Wiggy’s children, aren’t you? You left Nowhere Special when I was only four, but I’ve seen your pictures.”
“Indeed we are,” Baldwin said.
“So Anastasia’s related to Fredmund and Ludowiga, too,” Quentin concluded.
She nodded. “Fred is my dad.”
“And Saskia Loondorfer is your cousin?” Ollie asked.
Anastasia nodded again, wrinkling her nose.
“Well,” Ollie philosophized, “you can’t win ’em all. Anastasia, the secret princess! It’s like a fairy tale!”
“Ye—es,” Anastasia agreed. Except instead of discovering she was a princess and living happily ever after, she had to hunker in a cave to hide from CRUD. She was still her freckled, tragically flatulent self. And her father was still missing.
RING RING RING RING RING RING RING!
Their heads swiveled toward the school entrance, where Marm Pettifog brandished her bell. She treated Anastasia to a custom-made glower that communicated, Greetings, Princess. Prepare to be destroyed! Then she turned on her heel and stomped into Pettifog Academy.
“She’s my teacher this year,” Ollie agonized. “I’ve been dreading it since kindergarten.”
“You’re in Marm Pettifog’s class? Me too!” Anastasia said.
“Oh! Well, that makes it much better.” Ollie beamed. He lowered his voice. “If the Beastly Dreadfuls survived St. Agony’s Asylum, we can survive half a year with old Pettifog. Besides, look what I have.” He tugged his jacket pocket open to reveal a jumble of candy and half a squashed donut. “Prisoners’ rations.”
“Come on,” Quentin said. “You don’t want to be late.”
Reader, did you know that approximately sixty thousand miles of veins and arteries coil within your circulatory system? If you were to unravel these marvelous blood tunnels and lay them end to end, they would wrap two and a half times around Earth! All sixty thousand miles of Anastasia’s circulatory system now thrummed with pure joy. Her friends were back in town, and Ollie was in her class, and school was no longer such a dismal prospect, even if a tyrant ran their classroom.
“Oliver Drybread!” Marm Pettifog bellowed. “You haven’t been in school since fourth grade. That’s over one hundred absences!”
“I went to school abovecaves, Marm Pettifog,” Ollie said. “My family moved to Melancholy Falls, remember? Quentin won a yearlong scholarship to the Conservatory of Melancholy Music. We’re actually back in Nowhere Special early, because two kidnappers—”
“Spare me your excuses. Go take the empty chair at the front.”
Ollie gave Anastasia one last little smile and trotted to his desk. She caught Gus’s eye across the room before sliding into her own seat. Saskia tilted her nose and sniffed.
“Before we begin our lessons, I have two important points of business,” Marm Pettifog said. “First, to the student or students who released a mischief of mice in the caveteria kitchen yesterday: you are not funny, and we will catch you.”
“Mice!” shrilled a girl in the front row. “Revolting!”
“They are not!” Anastasia countered.
“They’re nasty, filthy vermin,” the girl sneered, narrowing her eyes at Anastasia. “Just because Princess Penelope shifts into a pack of rats doesn’t mean—”
“Oh, stuff it, Ophelia Dellacava!” Ollie bristled. “Mice are nice!”
“Silence, all of you!” Marm Pettifog barked. “Shut your impertinent yaps so I may finish my announcements!”
Swallowing the retorts stinging her tongue, Anastasia glared at the back of Ophelia Dellacava’s wig. Filthy vermin, indeed! Hooey!
“Now for my other bit of news,” Marm Pettifog said sternly. “The annual Pettifog Academy Science Fair will take place in February. Your projects comprise seventy-five percent of your science grade.”
“Seventy-five percent!” Gus cried.
“Not only that,” Marm Pettifog went on with sadistic relish, “they also count for ninety percent of your public-speaking grade, as you will present them to the entire school.”
Anastasia’s feet went clammy. A presentation to the entire school?
“You should be thinking of your projects and choosing your teams,” Marm Pettifog said.
“Are you going to join forces with your gorgon boyfriend?” Saskia razzed from across the aisle. “He certainly fancies himself a great scientist—but don’t count on him winning the fair.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Anastasia retorted. “And I bet he does win. He’s smart.” She twisted in her seat, turning her back on Saskia.
“And after last year’s disaster with your helium cupcakes, Ollie, baking experiments are absolutely forbidden,” Marm Pettifog decreed.
“But it wasn’t a disaster, Marm Pettifog,” Ollie protested. “Even if my cupcakes didn’t float, we discovered how silly our voices sound when we eat helium.”
“It was very silly,” Marm Pettifog said darkly. “Unfortunately, the Nowhere Special interschool choir competition was that day. If you’ll remember, Pettifog Academy placed last.”
Ollie’s shoulders slumped.
“Open your Echolalia texts,” Marm Pettifog said. “Anastasia, you’ll just listen for now, but I expect you to participate within a few weeks.”
A few children buzzed behind her, and Anastasia’s neck prickled.
Echolalia: Peep, squeak, krrrrp. Geography: maps of subterranean towns with names like Limestone-on-the-Lake and Hollow-’Neath-the-Marsh, of which Anastasia had never heard. Biology: a lecture on bioluminescent mushrooms (“other bioluminescent cave species include twinkle beetles and glow moss”). After the novelty of glowing fungus dwindled, Anastasia’s mind wandered back to the biography of Calixto Swift. Hours of late-night secret study beneath her quilts had yielded these tidbits about her ancient enemy:
• He learned his alphabet and nursery rhymes from a witch-nanny named Aggie!
• He wore mittens as a child!
• He developed a fondness for jokes, puzzles, and puppet shows that persisted into adulthood! (“Calixto was to remain perpetually childish,” the biographer scorned.)
None of it seemed remarkable, but Anastasia had only read up to Swift’s seventh birthday.
“And now, students, remove your wigs,” Marm Pettifog said. “It’s time for your physical education. To the lagoon!”
In the rumpus down the stairs and to the school doors, Gus darted over to Anastasia and Ollie.
“Hi!”
“Gus!” Ollie cried. “Your snakes are looking grand! They’ve gotten so stripy.”
“You know each other?” Anastasia asked.
“Sure,” Ollie said. “We’ve been in the same school since kindergarten.”
“Right. So, why are we going down to the lagoon to exercise? Is Marm Pettifog going to make us swim with the electric eels?” Anastasia’s bottom tingled at this grim prospect.
“Nope.” Ollie pulled a taffy from his pocket. “Look.”
A line of pink boats bobbed alongside the dock, PETTIFOG ACADEMY painted in green letters on each of their prows. “Rowing,” Gus moped. “Not that I dislike boats, but old Pettifog manages to spoil everything.”
Ollie nodded. “She could ruin a pie-eating contest!”
“Collect your oars from the bins,” Pettifog squawked. “Get into your quads.”
“There’s Quentin!” Anastasia said. “Why is he rowing with the fifth graders?”
“Every quad has one ninth-grade coxswain,” Gus explained. “That’s kind of like a boat guide.”
“Q! Wait for us!” Ollie called.
Laughing and shoving, the students scrambled aboard. Quentin hopped into one of the pink vessels, followed by Gus and Ollie, clutching their oars, and Anastasia plunked in behind them. The boat pitched beneath her galoshes and she toppled onto the bench.
“Princess!” Marm Pettifog stamped to the end of the dock. “What’s wrong with your sea legs?”
“I don’t have any, Marm Pettifog.”
“Well, you’d better find some.” Marm Pettifog placed her tiny foot onto the stern and gave the boat a mighty kick. “Stop gabbing and get rowing.”
Anastasia fumbled with her oars, clunking the paddles against Gus’s.
“Like this, Anastasia,” Quentin said. “Angle the blades so they don’t splash the water. Perfect! Now try to synchronize your paddles with ours.”
“Wow,” Anastasia said. “You’re good at this.”
Quentin shrugged. “Our uncle Zed is a gondolier. He takes me and Ollie out all the time.”
“You’re lucky,” Anastasia said. “That must be fun.”
“We’re lucky?” Ollie said. “You’re a princess! You live in Cavepearl Palace!”
Anastasia’s cheeks burned. “You can come over whenever you want.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Gus is coming over today after school. Why don’t you come, too?”
“We could talk about the science fair,” Gus said. “We could be partners, if you want.”
“Angus Wata, are you kidding me?” Ollie groused. “We’re going inside Cavepearl Palace for the first time in our lives and all you can think about is science?”
“This project is a huge part of our grade!” Gus said. “Didn’t you hear what Marm Pettifog said? Seventy-five percent of—”
“I try not to listen to Marm Pettifog,” Ollie interrupted. “Besides, why are you worried? You’re the best scientist in our class.”
Anastasia cringed. Just talking about grades made her stomach curl on itself like a frightened pill bug. She squelched her fear of flunking fifth grade into the shadowiest corner of her brain box and focused on happier prospects. “Will you come over, too, Quentin?”
“I wish I could, but I have rehearsals for The Flinging Fledermaus,” Quentin said. “The Nowhere Special Orchestra offered me first chair saw this morning!”
