The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time

by Soman Chainani

  “And you know how to use the crystal?” Professor Anemone prodded skeptically.

  “Well, um, now that you mention it . . . that’s the other problem . . .” Agatha’s throat bobbed. “I can’t turn it on.”

  The room went silent.

  “WHAT?” Castor blurted.

  “It was glowing when I left Camelot . . . I thought that meant it was working . . . ,” Agatha stammered. “But just now I took it in the bathroom and tried waving at it and shaking it and turning it upside down and nothing happens—”

  Castor stalked towards her, baring his teeth. “YOU JUST SENT MY STUDENTS INTO A LION’S DEN, RELYING ON A CRYSTAL BALL YOU CAN’T USE?”

  Agatha skirted around the desk. “You’re teachers . . . You know how to use it. . . .”

  “We can’t use it, you head-dented twit!” Manley assailed, his baleful scowl returning. “No one can use it, except Clarissa! And we would have told you if you’d bothered to ask us before risking our students’ lives!”

  Agatha turned red as a rosebush. “I thought Merlin used it too!”

  “You should ‘think’ less and know more!” Manley lashed. “To make a crystal ball, a seer takes a piece of a fairy godmother’s soul and melds it with a piece of their own. That means every fairy godmother can only use the crystal made for her. To activate it, Clarissa would need to keep it still and look into its center at eye level. That is the only way it will work. If a fairy godmother wishes to give another access to her ball, then she can instruct the seer at the time of its making to have the crystal recognize a second person. If Merlin can use Clarissa’s ball, then Clarissa chose him as her Second. No one else can make the ball work. No one. Unless, that is, Dovey happened to name one of us her Second before she ever came to this school to teach.”

  Agatha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “B-b-but there has to be some other way—”

  “Oh, really? Let’s see,” Manley mocked, practically foaming at the mouth. He ripped open Dovey’s bag, dug past Tedros’ jacket, and from its folds, pulled out a dusty orb the size of a coconut, blemished with scratches and a long, jagged crack in its blue-tinted glass. Manley held it up to eye level. “Look at that! It doesn’t work! What about Uma? Can you make it work?” He shoved it in front of the princess. “Alas. No. Emma . . . ? No. Sheeba? No. Castor? Yuba? Aleksander? Rumi? No, no, and no. Like I said, completely, utterly worthless—” He thrust it at Agatha, clocking her in the nose—

  The ball lit up.

  Manley dropped it in shock, but Agatha caught it, raising the crystal towards her face. The sphere glowed wintry blue, like luminescent ice, as she gazed into its center, a silver mist brewing inside.

  “Guess I should have tried holding it still,” she breathed.

  Teachers gathered around her, thunderstruck.

  “Impossible,” Manley croaked.

  But now the mist was taking shape, snaking towards Agatha from the ball, as her sweaty palms left streaks on the glass.

  “Dovey couldn’t have named her as her Second!” Professor Anemone sputtered. “The girl wasn’t born when the ball was made!”

  Slowly the mist inside the crystal congealed into a phantom face that pressed against the scratched-up glass, peering at Agatha through eyeless sockets. The phantom’s face was foggy in texture and flickered every other second, as if suffering from a magical glitch, but the closer Agatha looked at the face, the more it seemed to shift between the features of Professor Dovey and the features of someone else familiar . . . someone who she couldn’t quite pin down. . . .

  Then it spoke, its low, metallic voice glitching too, so Agatha had to string together the words.

  “Clear as crystal, hard as bone,

  My wisdom is Clarissa’s and Clarissa’s alone.

  But she named you her Second, so I’ll speak to you too.

  So tell me, dear Second, whose life shall I cue?

  A friend or an enemy, any name I’ll allow,

  Say it loud and I’ll show you them now.”

  Agatha opened her mouth to respond—

  Suddenly, she felt the ball ripped out of her hands and the orb went dark.

  “Wait,” Yuba the Gnome mulled, the crystal hooked on the end of his staff. He dangled it in front of his brown, leathery face, studying its battered surface. “Clarissa is in Rhian’s dungeons. He could know we have her ball. He could have forced her to teach him its secrets so he can lure Agatha to her doom.” The gnome turned on his former student. “So how do we know it isn’t the king who wants you to use the crystal? How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

  The faculty quietly considered this.

  So did Agatha.

  Then shadows rushed through the room, followed by a sunburst, and they all turned to see the sky changing out the window. Lionsmane’s tale about Hristo was fading and in its place, a new message appeared.

  Celebrate! Rogue Agatha has been caught! Yet another enemy of Camelot, brought down by the Lion. Scoff at all other reports. There is only one army: the Lion’s Army. And it is made of you: the people of the Woods! Live under the Lion and you will be safe forever.

  “Further proof he’s trying to tempt Agatha out of hiding,” Yuba said sternly. “By lying about her capture, he’s daring her to show her face.”

  “But look . . . there it is again . . . ,” said Agatha, highlighting the message with her glow. “First letter of every sentence. C-R-Y-S-T-A-L.” She turned to Yuba. “It’s Sophie. I’m sure of it.”

  “And I’m sure it’s the king,” the gnome refuted.

  “I know Sophie.” Agatha held firm. “I know my friend.”

  “We cannot risk our students’ lives on a hunch, Agatha,” Yuba attacked. “All logical evidence points to this crystal ball being a trap. As a student, you always gave Sophie the benefit of the doubt, privileging emotion over reason, while endangering both others and yourself. Sophie may be your best friend, but real friendship is about knowing the limits of that friendship, not foolishly believing it will always be there to save you. That is what got you in all this trouble to begin with. You blindly trusted Rhian as a friend and have paid the price. Rhian knows your instincts all too well. Follow them and you’ll end up dead with your prince.”

  Agatha could see the teachers nodding, clearly siding with the gnome. Yuba shoved the crystal ball back in Dovey’s bag—

  Suddenly a row of fairies whizzed into the office, glowing around Princess Uma’s head and unleashing a torrent of high-pitched jabber.

  “They say Rhian’s men are returning to the school gates,” Uma recounted breathlessly. “And this time, they have a sorcerer with them.”

  “I’ll reinforce the shield as best I can,” Manley muttered as he headed for the door. He glanced back at Uma. “Find a way to turn those stymphs around before our students arrive in Camelot. Get them back here now.” He gave Agatha an ireful look and left the office.

  Professor Anemone corralled Uma. “Can you call the stymphs?”

  “It’s too late! They’ve surely reached Camelot by now!” said the princess.

  “What if we send a crow, telling them to abandon plan?” Professor Espada proposed.

  “Faster if we mogrify ourselves,” said Professor Lukas.

  “FASTER IF YOU RIDE ON MY BACK,” Castor harrumphed. “LET’S BRING ’EM BACK OURSEL . . .”

  His voice petered out. The faculty followed the dog’s eyes to the window.

  Agatha stood in front of it, burning a large circle into the glass with her fingerglow. Then she pulled the glass away, opening up a gaping hole.

  “Never took her for a vandal,” Professor Sheeks said.

  Professor Anemone blinked overcurled lashes. “She’s gone rogue!”

  Agatha raised her lit finger to the hole in the glass, her chest filling up with emotion like a river after the rain. Then, pointing her fingertip like a wand, she shot her glow at Lionsmane’s message, feeling all the anger, fear, and determination surge out of her body and into the sky. Over Cam
elot, black clouds gathered like tentacles around Lionsmane’s message, moving to the beat of a low thunder. The clouds curled around the words as Agatha focused harder, directing the mist to weave around each letter like fingers pulling the strings of a violin. Then all at once, the letters began to quiver, each one trembling in the sky.

  “How is she doing that?” Princess Uma rasped.

  “First-year weather spell,” said Professor Sheeks. “Yuba would have taught it to her himself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the gnome dismissed. “Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic!”

  Agatha thrust her finger even harder at the sky, the letters shivering faster and faster. She could feel the weight of Lionsmane’s message heavy under her hand, as if pushing a stone lid off a tomb. Clenching her teeth, she thought of Tedros, Sophie, Dovey, Merlin, and all her friends, summoning every last drop of resolve, her glow electrifying the veins down her whole palm . . . until at last, with a ferocious “ummmpph,” she magically stripped the gold off the letters . . .

  . . . revealing the pink imprint of the message beneath it, like a fresh scar.

  The pink of whoever’s magic had drafted the message in the first place.

  A pink so bold and brash everyone knew who it belonged to.

  “Elementary weather spells can’t touch an enemy’s magic,” said Agatha, gazing at the remnants of Sophie’s glow, “unless the magic isn’t an enemy’s at all.”

  In the glass, she could see the teachers goggling at her: Manley, too, from the stairwell outside the office doors.

  Agatha stabbed out her hand and shot a spell that collapsed Lionsmane’s message into a golden ball, swelling and detonating it like a rival sun—

  She watched the word burn against the sky.

  Too much, she thought.

  But she couldn’t help herself.

  She had to send a message to that fraud on Tedros’ throne . . . to the Snake at his side . . . to every last dupe that was following him. . . .

  And most of all to Sophie.

  To tell her that she’d broken her code.

  That help was on the way.

  Agatha walked up to Yuba, yanked Dovey’s bag from his grubby little hands, and strode out of the office. “Shall we get back to saving people?” She glared back with fire. “Or does anyone else want to teach me lessons about friendship?”

  Teachers peeked at each other . . . then scampered to follow.

  The gnome included.

  THEY DID IT in the Library of Virtue, on the highest floor of Honor Tower, so Agatha could have a clear view of the Woods through the library’s windows.

  She stood facing the glass, with the crystal ball placed on a lectern in front of her. Behind her, the teachers watched, along with the hushed first years, who huddled against a wall painted with the school crest, their eyes on Agatha too.

  Agatha insisted the first years be present, despite the teachers’ misgivings. They deserved to be part of this. They wanted to be part of this. Their classmates’ lives were on the line. If she could bring Groups #1 and #6 home safely, she’d earn the remaining kids’ trust as their leader. And she needed that trust for the war to come.

  Over Halfway Bay, fairies flew Manley up to the School Master’s tower, so he could reinforce his shield against Rhian’s men from a closer distance. All the while, Agatha watched the sky beyond the tower, waiting for the signal from Camelot. The library was quiet around her, the only sound the labored breathing of the new librarian, a withered gray-whiskered goat, who stamped books so listlessly that Agatha wondered if he might die before he got through his pile. Nor did he show the faintest curiosity as to why the whole school had herded into his library to stare at a crystal ball. He continued to stamp—fump, fump, fump—the slow pace clashing with Agatha’s restless heartbeat as she pinned her eyes to the empty sky, her breath shallowing, a sense of doom crawling up her throat. . . .

  Then a tiny flare appeared far away: a crisscrossing navy-and-pink helix, like an accidental firework.

  Agatha exhaled. “Bodhi’s and Laithan’s glows. They made it through Camelot’s gates without being seen.”

  “They’re safe!” cheered a lively, dark-haired girl labeled PRIYANKA.

  First years broke out in applause—

  “Premature,” Professor Anemone clipped anxiously. “Now comes the real danger. Bodhi and Laithan have to sneak onto the Gold Tower hill and wait for Agatha’s bubble to appear, so she can show them the precise spot on the hill where they can break into the dungeons. Agatha, meanwhile, has to use the crystal ball to find this spot. And quickly. Every second Bodhi and Laithan spend on the castle grounds waiting for Agatha is a second too many.”

  The students hushed again.

  Agatha focused on the crystal ball.

  Nothing happened.

  “Look directly into its center,” Princess Uma urged.

  “Don’t blink,” Professor Sheeks nagged.

  “I know,” Agatha gritted.

  But still, the ball didn’t work.

  Bodhi and Laithan were looking for her bubble on the hill at this very moment. . . . They were counting on her to appear. . . .

  In the crystal’s reflection, she could see students creeping towards her from behind, trying to get a closer look—

  “BE STILL, PEONS!” Castor boomed.

  “Shhh!” Professor Anemone hissed.

  Agatha took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Be still.

  Be still.

  Be still.

  She couldn’t remember how to be still. She couldn’t remember the last time she was still.

  Then a memory surfaced.

  Her and Sophie by a lake in Gavaldon . . . a breeze rippling the surface, their bodies intertwined on the shore . . . their breaths synched, the silence endless . . . two best friends, basking in a sunset, wishing it would last forever. . . .

  Agatha opened her eyes.

  The crystal glowed blue.

  Strands of silver curled towards her and the phantom appeared.

  “Clear as crystal, hard as bone,

  My wisdom is Clarissa’s and Clarissa’s alone.

  But she named you her Second, so I’ll speak to you too.

  So tell me, dear Second, whose life shall I cue?

  A friend or an enemy, any name I’ll allow,

  Say it loud and I’ll show you them now.”

  “Show me Tedros,” she ordered.

  “As you wish,” the crystal replied.

  The silver phantom dispersed into mist and reassembled, depicting a scene within the ball—

  Tedros bursting into the Theater of Tales, a rose in one hand, a sword in his other, as he fenced playfully against handsome Everboys, all the while grinning at girls in the audience.

  “That isn’t ‘now,’” Agatha said, dismayed. “That’s his first day of school! That was years ago!”

  The crystal ball glitched, the scene stuttering and breaking apart into a thousand tiny crystal orbs within the larger one, each little bauble replaying the same clip of Tedros fencing the boys. Then a storm of blue lightning shot through the orb, rejoining the mini-crystals into a new scene. . . . Tedros as a young child, hiding under the bed in that strange guest room Agatha once saw in Camelot’s White Tower, the prince giggling to himself as fairies zoomed through looking for him. . . .

  The crystal glitched harder, faster—

  This time it showed two Tedroses running together through the Woods, both shirtless and bloody . . . then Tedros as a baby, playing with Merlin’s hat . . . then Tedros with Agatha underwater, peering into the crystal with her like she was now. . . .

  “There is something very wrong with that ball,” Yuba murmured.

  “Dovey said it was broken, but not like this,” Agatha fretted, grabbing the ball with both hands. Without her help, Bodhi and Laithan would be stranded at Rhian’s castle. The crystal had to work. “Show me Tedros the way he is!” she spewed. “Not as a child, not as a st
udent, but as he is now!”

  The ball detonated with lightning and showed Tedros kissing Sophie in a sapphire cave.

  “Stupid ball!” Agatha shouted, upending it like an hourglass.

  Only now it was showing an eagle flying over a bloodred lake.

  “Show me Tedros, you piece of crap! The real Tedros!” She rattled it with both hands like a cheap maraca—

  Something seemed to lock into place.

  Now inside the crystal’s frame, a silver bubble roved over lush green grass, sun-kissed on a golden afternoon. As the bubble coasted uphill, the grass trembling in its breeze, Agatha could see the edges of a familiar tower overhead, armored guards manning the catwalks with crossbows.

  “Wait. This is it,” she breathed. “This is Camelot.”

  The bubble slowed, then stopped on a patch of grass halfway up the hill before zeroing in, close enough for Agatha to see ants skittering across the green blades.

  “The crystal is telling us this is where Tedros is. His dungeon is under that grass!” Agatha said, emotion straining her voice. She was a layer of dirt away from seeing her prince again. “That’s where they have to do it! That’s where Bodhi and Laithan have to break in!”

  For a moment, the Library was overtaken by silence.

  Castor’s voice interrupted it.

  “IF THEY SHOW UP.”

  Agatha’s thought exactly.

  Where were they?

  The pink-and-blue flare meant they’d safely entered Camelot’s gates. They were supposed to sneak onto the Gold Tower hill and wait for her. The hill was small. It should have been easy to scan the grass and see her bubble the moment it appeared. . . .

  Her heart stopped.

  Had Bodhi and Laithan been captured by Rhian’s pirate guards? Had her plan to keep them unseen failed? Were they hurt or worse, still . . .

  What was she thinking! Letting first years go on a daredevil mission that had the slimmest chance of succeeding? Were her friends’ lives worth killing innocent kids? Would Tedros, Sophie, and Dovey want students dying for them?

  This is a mistake, she thought. She was so caught up in trying to save Camelot’s future that she’d borrowed against the school’s. She had to correct course. She’d order the crystal to show her Bodhi and Laithan. Wherever they were, she’d find a way to get them out. Even if it meant losing Tedros. Even if it meant losing everyone else.