The Dastardly Deed

by Holly Grant

  “Q! You’ve been wanting that for years!” Ollie huzzahed.

  “They were kind of desperate,” Quentin admitted. “Their first saw quarreled with second saw during practice yesterday, and now they’re both in the hospital.” He shook his head. “They broke the Saw Musicians’ Code of Ethics: never use your saw for harm.”

  “Congratulations anyway,” Anastasia said.

  “Thanks!” Quentin smiled.

  “I wish you were coming with us to the palace, though,” Ollie said.

  “Well, I could come pick you up after practice,” Quentin mused. “I’m sure Zed will let me borrow his gondola.”

  “Merrymoon! Wata! Drybreads!” Marm Pettifog blasted. “This isn’t a Sunday pleasure row! Less chattering, more work!”

  The quartet dug their oars into the lagoon. “If your story is a fairy tale, Anastasia,” Ollie huffed, “then Marm Pettifog is the ogre.”

  15

  The Éclairs of Doom

  Dear Children,

  As the great astronomer Egbert Ellery Jollywater discovered in 1884, macaroons are the best snack to eat while reading about stars. Enjoy these cookies, and go forth and Discover!

  Love,

  P.

  “Your aunt is terribly smart,” Ollie declared around a mouthful of coconut. “This macaroon does inspire me to learn.” He beamed, basking in the splendor of Cavepearl Library. “Golly, this place is grand!”

  “It’s incredible,” Gus agreed, tracing with his forefinger the engraved golden cheek of a celestial globe. “Look, this shows the constellations….”

  “Gus wins second place at the science fair every year,” Ollie said. “He’s got a real genius for stars and mold and atoms and things like that.”

  “Second place? But, Gus, I thought you were the best scientist in school.”

  Gus frowned.

  “He is,” Ollie said. “But Saskia always gets first place, because she cheats.”

  “Really?” Anastasia gasped.

  Ollie nodded sagely. “Everyone knows that Princess Ludowiga hires a real scientist to do Saskia’s entire project.”

  “Last year, Saskia supposedly came up with a cure for hiccups,” Gus muttered.

  “And that hiccup syrup did work,” Ollie said. “But there’s no way Saskia actually brewed it!”

  “Why hasn’t Marm Pettifog figured it out?” Anastasia puzzled.

  “Oh, I’m sure she knows. But Saskia always get special treatment.”

  “I thought everyone at Pettifog Academy was equally lowly!” Anastasia protested.

  “We are,” Ollie said. “Everyone except Saskia.”

  “My parents said Princess Ludowiga has the school board terrorized,” Gus said.

  Scowling, Anastasia shucked off her Pettifog wig and threw it on a chair. The more she learned about Pettifog Academy, the less she liked it. All the more reason not to repeat fifth grade, she ruminated, vowing not to linger at Pettifog Academy a single second longer than was necessary. She hefted a stack of texts from her desk and bore them to her fellow scholars. “My aunt found these science books for us. Maybe something in here can help us with our project.”

  Gus pounced on the top volume. “The Little Star Who Could (Collapse into a Black Hole, That Is)! I’ve been wanting to read this!”

  “You know what I’d really like to do?” Ollie asked.

  Inquisitive and fun-loving Reader: if granted the opportunity to prowl a phantasmagorical underground palace, what would you do first? Would you play hide-and-seek in the armory? Frolic through the painting galleries? Plant your derriere on the throne and issue pretend decrees to invisible courtiers?

  Or, like Oliver Drybread, would you insist upon touring the castle kitchens?

  “Eight ovens! Eight stoves!” he rhapsodized, clasping his hands together in sheer delight. “Just think of all the bundts you could bake here! And smell! Just smell !”

  They inhaled the delicious perfume of cupcakes and tea cakes and coffee cakes.

  “How many sweets does the royal family eat, anyway?” Gus asked, gauging the racks of cooling pastries. “There’s enough cake here to feed an army.”

  “And even more on the way!” Ollie cracked an oven door to peer at the éclairs plumping within.

  “Where do you suppose the chefs are?” Gus asked.

  “They’re probably taking a little break,” Ollie said. “A watched pot never boils, you know. Relax while your crumpets rise—that’s another old bit of bakers’ wisdom.” He beelined to a counter and started rummaging around the cooking equipment.

  “Ollie, what are you doing?” Gus demanded.

  “I have a brilliant idea,” Ollie replied. “I got it during biology today.” He dredged two fistfuls of green-glowing mushrooms from his jacket pockets and plonked them onto the counter.

  “Did you steal those from school?” Gus yelped.

  “I’ve been thinking about glow-in-the-dark cupcakes for a while,” Ollie said. “But I couldn’t figure out how to add the glow. I want to see whether these mushrooms keep their light when they’re mashed.” He brandished a pestle and set about pulverizing the fungi into luminescent gloop.

  “That won’t be good in cupcakes!” Gus said. “Have you ever eaten a mushroom? It’s like licking a snail’s armpit.”

  “Plenty of people adore mushrooms,” Ollie insisted. “But I’m going to sweeten my gloop.” He whisked a blizzard of confectioner’s sugar into the paste and then shoveled out a sample nibble. “Delicious! Well, almost delicious. It isn’t exactly revolting, at least. I’ll have to perfect the recipe.” He stuck out his tongue and regarded his reflection in the back of a spoon. “But it works! My tongue is glowing! Here, you try it.”

  “In a minute,” Anastasia stalled. “Come on, Gus—let’s—er—inspect these pudding molds.” She pulled him over to a stack of copper tins. “I didn’t want to hurt Ollie’s feelings, but I don’t want to eat mushroom gloop.”

  “Me neither,” Gus agreed. “So, what will we explore next? Does this castle have a dungeon?”

  “I don’t know,” Anastasia admitted. “I’ve only been here a few days. Is there a dungeon here, Pippistrella?”

  “Scree!” the bat replied from beneath Anastasia’s braid. “Prrrp-peep-squee!”

  “She says yes,” Gus translated. “But she doesn’t know where the entrance is. Do you think there are any prisoners down there?”

  “I hope not!” Anastasia said. “I wouldn’t like to think—”

  “Who dares encroach into my galley?”

  Anastasia’s gaze skidded across the kitchen. A chef crowned with a puffy white hat loomed in the doorway, helming a brigade of cooks. This brigade glowered at Ollie. The Shadowboy smiled innocently from his place at the counter, twisting his hands behind his back to hide two purloined éclairs. “Hi! I’m—”

  “A culinary spy sent by Monty Gribble, no doubt!” the chef accused. “That despicable donut monger’s been after my éclair recipe for two hundred years! How did you get in here, you little crook? I can’t even take a ten-minute coffee break without worrying about snoops sneaking in!” His fingers twitched toward his apron ties. “Well, the great Sir Singeworth doesn’t suffer pastry pirates. En garde!” He whipped forth a dueling sword.

  Ollie squeaked.

  “Stop!” Anastasia bolted to the Shadowboy’s side. “He’s not a spy. He’s my friend.”

  “And who might you be?” Sir Singeworth spluttered.

  She gulped, eyeing the foil’s steely tip. “I’m…Princess Anastasia.”

  Sir Singeworth scrutinized her. “Perhaps you are,” he conceded. “I heard the Halfling princess was rather freckly.” He huffed, returning the rapier to his belt. “Well, princess or not, you’re still trespassing!”

  “Sorry,” Anastasia nattered. “I was just giving my friends a tour.”

  Gus shuffled from behind the jumble of pudding molds.

  “This is a kitchen, not a playground!” Sir Singeworth exploded. “And not
a sweetshop, either! Planning to pilfer a few pastries for yourselves, were you?” He seized the éclairs from Ollie. “These are for Princess Ludowiga’s tea party. If you want éclairs, you’ll have to order them, just like everyone else.”

  “But—” Ollie said.

  “Get out!” Sir Singeworth roared. “All of you! Begone from my galley or I’ll tell the queen you’re interfering with my work!”

  “My gosh, he’s crusty,” Gus said once they were out in the hall. He frowned at Ollie. “And after all that, you forgot your mushroom paste.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Ollie said. “It’s inside the éclairs.”

  Anastasia gawped at him. “How did it get in there?”

  “I piped it in with an icing bag,” Ollie said. “It’s easy: first you poke a hole—”

  “And now two éclairs full of glowing gloop are going to Ludowiga’s tea party,” Anastasia concluded. Her stomach flip-flopped, and Pippistrella let out a horrified squeak.

  “Six,” Ollie corrected. “I made two for each of us.”

  “We have to get those éclairs back,” Anastasia moaned. “Ludowiga will have a fit if her fancy guests eat those disgusting things.”

  “My éclairs aren’t disgusting!” Ollie said. “They’re experimental.”

  They peeped around the doorjamb. The kitchen was now a bustle of activity: cooks whirring by the ovens, and black-frocked servants wheeling trolleys of cakes through a side exit.

  Gus stiffened. “The éclairs are already gone!”

  “Come on,” Anastasia said. “Let’s find that tea party!”

  “Well, we can’t go through the kitchen,” Gus said. “I think Sir Singeworth would use any excuse to declare a duel.”

  They raced down the corridor, spiraled up a stairwell, and hustled to the dining hall. The long glass table, however, lay empty. “Crumbs!”

  The panicky search sent them zigzagging through the labyrinthine palace, peeking into salons and parlors, each of which proved vacant. Anastasia balled her fists.

  “At least we’re getting to see plenty of the castle,” Gus said.

  “Wait! What’s that sound?” Ollie cupped his hand around his ear.

  Zithery music trickled from an arched entrance at the far end of a passageway.

  “In there!”

  Trailed by the bat, the trio dashed to the door and sidled in, scampering to crouch behind a massive stalagmite. Anastasia scanned the peculiar cavern. A musician plunked the strings of a golden harp, children in fancy dress played croquet on a course of raked pebbles, and ladies with parasols sipped tea at little tables. From the center of each of these tables loomed a five-tiered cake stand. The bottom tier of each of these stands bore luscious, delectable, perfectly-scrumptious-looking chocolate-frosted éclairs.

  “It’s too late,” Gus hissed.

  Ludowiga stood. “Ladies, Saskia and I would like to thank you for joining us to celebrate her triumphant return home after a thrilling semester of study in France.”

  “Another welcome-home party?” Anastasia brooded.

  “Why weren’t you invited, Anastasia? You’re her cousin!” Ollie said.

  “If anyone should get a party, it’s you,” Gus added. “You escaped two nasty kidnappers, and you survived a balloon crash.”

  “Shhh.” Anastasia turned back to survey the tea party, but her cheeks burned. She hadn’t been invited to a festivity in her own home.

  “Saskia developed a penchant for éclairs at a famous Parisian bakery,” Ludowiga went on. “In honor of my daughter’s new dessert of choice, join us now in munching these delicious dainties!”

  “Oh, Princess, we simply couldn’t eat your éclairs!” the guests chorused. “They’re too beautiful to eat!”

  “Please! I insist!” Ludowiga simpered.

  The ladies clapped politely, and footmen began transferring éclairs from the cake stands to the revelers’ plates. Anastasia despaired: which of the teatimers would gobble the éclairs of doom?

  “Mumsy,” Saskia said, “your teeth look funny.”

  “Oh gadberry,” Gus muttered.

  “They’re glowing! Your teeth are green and glowing!” Saskia cried.

  “Ridiculous!” Ludowiga snorted. “But—upon my word! Saskia, your teeth are glowing!”

  “Perhaps it’s your toothpaste,” suggested a duchess seated nearby. “Have you recently switched brands?”

  “Have you ever heard of glow-in-the-dark toothpaste?” Ludowiga snapped. “Why—it’s in the éclair! It’s the cream filling!”

  “Mine is glowing, too!” exclaimed another guest.

  “And mine!”

  “The éclairs are full of radioactive waste!” screamed a woman wearing a wig fashioned of pearls.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Ludowiga sputtered. “Why would Sir Singeworth put radioactive waste in his pastry?”

  “Well, something’s wrong with these cakes!”

  “Maybe some twinkle beetles fell into the cream!”

  “Impossible,” Ludowiga quacked. “Impossible. The palace kitchen has the highest standards of hygiene—” She broke off, wobbling to her feet and gripping her stomach.

  Sapient Reader, you may already know that eating mushrooms can be a rather dicey endeavor. Some mushrooms are highly poisonous. There are mushrooms that will knock one dead within minutes and others that produce horrible sickness. Perhaps you have been wondering all along whether the glow mushrooms stuffing Ollie’s éclairs were of the noxious variety. I commend you for your intellectual inquisitiveness! And now: allow me to satisfy your curiosity.

  Ludowiga opened her mouth and out came the éclair and a flood of tea and probably everything else the princess had eaten that afternoon, right onto the frilly bodice of Saskia’s gown.

  “Mumsy!” Saskia howled, bursting into tears.

  “Good golly,” Ollie marveled. “Glow-in-the-dark vomit!”

  “And lots of it,” Gus said. “Uh-oh. Look at the lady in the pink dress!”

  “And the one with the pearl wig!” Anastasia agonized.

  “Help! Help us!” squalled two of the croquet-playing tots. “Mommy’s throwing up green!”

  Retches ricocheted through the cavern. The harpist strummed wildly, trying to camouflage the din.

  “Fetch Dr. Lungwort! We’ve been poisoned!” Ludowiga panted between rib-rattling volleys. “It’s an assassination plot! When I find out who’s behind this, heads will roll!”

  Anastasia seized Ollie’s elbow in one hand and Gus’s in the other. “Run!”

  16

  A Queenly Secret

  AMIDST THE HULLABALOO of screaming and gagging, the young poisoners were able to pussyfoot from the garden cavern without anyone spotting them. They escaped down a side corridor, Ludowiga’s shrieks echoing around them.

  “Search the palace! FIND THE ASSASSINS!”

  “Quick! In here!” Anastasia flung a door open and the criminals tumbled through. Gus slammed the door shut and they sprawled on the floor, panting.

  “Do you think Ludowiga and Saskia and those other ladies will die?” Ollie quavered.

  “All that vomiting might be a good thing,” Gus suggested. “Maybe they’ll get all the poison out of their systems.”

  “Yes,” Anastasia agreed uncertainly. “They’ll probably just be sick, Ollie. You’re alive, and you ate that gloop before anyone else.”

  “I only tasted a tiny bit,” Ollie said. “Oh, why didn’t Marm Pettifog tell us those mushrooms were toxic?”

  “She probably didn’t think anyone would be crazy enough to eat them!” Gus said.

  “Kids eat paste all the time,” Ollie pointed out.

  “Not in fifth grade!”

  “Do you think we should be planning our escape?” Ollie asked. “Just in case?”

  “Maybe…” Gus frowned and scrunched his eyelids. “Where are we, anyway? Is this some kind of office?”

  The cavern into which they had belly-flopped was very large and very dark, lit by a single la
mp glowing on a big black desk. Behind the desk loomed a tall-backed chair, topped with a carved crescent moon. Anastasia staggered to her feet and crossed to the midnight escritoire, her gaze roving over the items scattered on its top: a sheaf of pale envelopes, several sticks of purplish sealing wax, a heavy ring. Anastasia peered at the golden circlet’s flat face. A crescent moon embossed one cheek, a tiny butterfly the other.

  “What’s that?” Holding his side, Gus limped to her. “Is that a signet ring?”

  “I think so. Look.” Anastasia touched one of the envelopes. A gob of smashed wax, bearing the moon and butterfly design, gummed its fold.

  “That’s the queen’s royal seal,” Gus said. “This must be her office.”

  “The queen’s office?” Ollie darted beside them. “Do you know how much trouble we’re in if we get caught? We’re trespassing!”

  “Not really—Anastasia’s the princess, you know,” Gus reasoned.

  “But I’m still not supposed to be in here. Aunt Penny told me it’s off-limits.” Anastasia shivered, imagining Wiggy’s wintry eyes finding her in the forbidden cavern. She had only bumbled into the queen’s solemn orbit a few times since arriving in the Cavelands, and those brushes had included neither smile nor hug nor cozy bedtime story. Even when sitting beside the queen at the dinner table, Anastasia felt as though her grandmother were a planet glimpsed through a telescope: appearing close enough to touch but in reality existing great starry leagues away.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  But voices sounded in the hallway. The children eyed each other, trapped.

  “Lord Monkfish,” Wiggy said, “let’s step into my office and I’ll give you those papers.”

  Anastasia’s heart leapfrogged into her mouth. “Quick! Under the desk!”

  “But what if she sits down?” Gus asked as they crowded underneath.

  “There’s nowhere else to hide.” Anastasia pulled the chair as far toward them as she could. “Pippistrella, stop wriggling! That tickles!”