“You said we only have twenty or thirty minutes. These are our whole lives, Reaper. All four of us,” Agatha argued, still battling the pain in her lungs. “We don’t have time to ransack every moment from our pasts!”
“Um, this isn’t my past,” Sophie sniffed, wielding a crystal that showed her climbing a tree in a ghastly black dress with shiny spikes that made it look like a porcupine hide. “I’ve never worn that dress, I never will wear that dress, and I don’t climb trees.”
“Well, it must have happened at some point . . . ,” Agatha started, then stopped. In her hand was a crystal playing out a moment she’d seen before. A scene of two Tedroses running shirtless through a forest. She’d observed this very same scene back at school, when she was in the library, using the crystal ball to break into Camelot’s dungeons. The ball had glitched to this image . . . an image that made no sense at the time . . .
Because it hadn’t happened yet.
The crystal had first shown it to her days before she and Tedros would live out the scene in real life, two Tedroses escaping the execution after Dovey’s spell.
Which meant . . .
“This wasn’t the past. This was the future,” said Agatha, turning to her friends. “The crystals must show the past and future. Sophie, that’s why you’re seeing that dress.”
“There is no future in which I will wear quills,” Sophie snapped.
“That’s what I would have said about two Tedroses running through a forest,” said Agatha. “But you wearing that dress will happen—”
“Wait a second. Something’s wrong with this one,” Tedros cut in, holding up a new crystal.
Agatha and Sophie peered into it from both sides and watched a scene of a young Tedros, nine or ten years old, chasing after his mother as she scurried through the Woods.
“This is the dress my mother wore when she left Camelot to be with Lancelot. I remember that night so clearly,” said Tedros. “She escaped the castle without saying goodbye. But I never saw her go into the Woods. I never chased her. This is what I wished happened. I wished I’d gone after her like this.” He stared at the crystal, perplexed. “But it isn’t the truth.”
Agatha and Sophie were just as puzzled.
All three turned to Reaper, immersed in scanning scenes and knocking them away.
“Must I remind you: the ball is broken,” the cat said, not looking at them. “A working crystal ball only shows the present. This one has a crack in it and that crack altered its sense of time, mixing up the present with the past and future. But not only that: the crack added the dimension of space, turning the ball into a portal. Now that we’re inside that portal, it’s up to you to sort through the ball’s broken time and determine which scenes happened when.”
“But this scene never happened at all!” Tedros emphasized, holding up the crystal of his mother.
“Because human souls aren’t as reliable as cats’,” said Reaper, still studying crystals. “Humans store their memories, regrets, hopes, and wishes all in the same messy vault. Merlin may have called this a crystal of time. But that was wrong. This is a crystal of mind. The ball is cracked: it no longer shows us objective reality. It shows us reality as perceived by each of our minds. And the human mind is as cracked as this ball, clouded with error and revision. With each crystal, you must try to see clearly and determine what is true and what is illusion.”
Agatha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So it’s not just time we have to filter, but we also don’t know if these scenes are actually real?”
“Like this monstrosity of a dress,” Sophie said, holding up the crystal with the offending gown. “It could be the past . . . or the future . . . or a false memory like Tedros chasing his mother?”
“Reaper, we can’t find answers when we don’t even know if the answers are true!” Tedros assailed.
The cat finally looked at them. “If it were easy, Merlin and Clarissa would have solved it.”
Agatha looked at Tedros and Sophie. Without saying a word, all three began sifting through crystals.
Most of the scenes Agatha found were from her own life, as if the crystal ball was privileging her soul over the others since she was Dovey’s Second. But a few scenes seemed dodgy: one where she and Tedros were in Reaper’s throne room, with Tedros rifling through Dovey’s bag (that didn’t happen) . . . another where Agatha kneeled in a dark cemetery and laid a flower in front of a headstone marked “THE SNAKE” (that would never happen) . . . and one where she was hugging the bald, decrepit Lady of the Lake (she hadn’t hugged her when she’d gone back to Avalon . . . or had she? She’d been so sleepless and scared. Who knows what she’d done?).
Sophie’s scenes, meanwhile, were rife with mistakes: in Sophie’s memory, she’d saved Tedros in the Trial by Tale (it’d been Agatha), won the Circus of Talents with a beautiful song (it’d been a murderous scream), and slain Evelyn Sader and her wicked blue butterflies (it’d been the School Master). But most of the crystals from Sophie’s past featured Agatha in them, with Sophie again attempting to right wrongs: letting Agatha and Tedros go to the Evers Ball together; holding back the spell that made Tedros mistrust Agatha at the School for Boys; staying with Agatha and Tedros in Avalon instead of going back to Rafal. . . . But whether all these moments were truth or lies (mostly lies), Agatha still found comfort in being as much a part of Sophie’s soul as Sophie was hers.
Tedros’ crystals, on the other hand, tended to reflect scenes of him pranking stewards and nannies, feasting on steak and pheasant, and winning rugby games and swordfights, as if he’d repressed any part of his life that involved real emotion.
“It’d be nice to find one crystal of yours with me in it,” Agatha muttered to him, batting down a scene of her prince and his Everboy friends doing daredevil dives into the Groom Room pool. “The only things your soul is concerned with are meat and sports.”
“You’re one to talk,” said Tedros, rifling through crystals. “All you and Sophie seem to think about is each other.”
“Hold on. Here’s one of Teddy and King Arthur,” said Sophie, pulling down a crystal.
Agatha, Tedros, and Reaper gathered around.
Inside the crystal played a scene of Tedros as a squirmy three-year-old, climbing his father like a tree while King Arthur sat at a desk in his bedchamber, putting a feathered quill to a gold card of parchment. A waning candle dripped red wax onto the edge of the card, splattering it with thick gobs.
“That’s it!” said Tedros, stiffening. “That’s the card from my father’s will! The one he wrote the coronation test on. I remember holding it during the ceremony. It had red wax on it and the same crescent-shaped tear at one of the corners. . . .”
Reaper’s eyes flared. “Agatha, touch the crystal and look inside the center, as if you were trying to activate a new crystal ball. Sophie and Tedros: hold Agatha’s hand. Quickly! This might be the one!”
Agatha felt Tedros, Sophie, and Reaper grab on to her as she gazed directly into the glass droplet—
Another storm of blue light attacked her, turning her mind to glue. This time it took longer for her to recover, as if she’d been severed into parts that she couldn’t put back together. Straining to focus, she saw she was inside King Arthur’s bedchamber, her friends and cat at her side. Her chest throbbed harder than before, as if it’d been whacked with a hammer. But there was no time to wallow in pain.
Tedros was already approaching his father, who was calmly writing at the desk in his nightclothes, floppy blond hair falling over his eyes the way his son’s often did. The Tedros of the present waved his hand in front of his father but Arthur didn’t see him. Tedros tried to touch his younger self, who was squirreling around in his father’s lap, playing with a gold Lion locket around the king’s neck, trying to get it open . . . but Tedros’ hand went straight through the boy’s clothes, through his father’s chest, and through the frame of the chair like a ghost’s.
“We are merely observers,” Reaper explained.
“The Present cannot interfere with the Past. It is one of the five Rules of Time.”
“What are the other four?” Agatha asked.
But now King Arthur was speaking to his young son nestled in his lap.
“This will be your coronation test when it’s your turn to be king,” Arthur said, finishing writing on the card. “And you will not fail, my boy.” He blew the ink dry, his face darkening. “No matter what that woman says.”
The king sat there quietly, staring at the card, as young Tedros fussed harder with the locket, trying to open it with his mouth.
Then Arthur pulled out a second card from the drawer, this one blank.
He began writing.
The scene went dark, as if someone had blown the candle out. Agatha had the sensation of yanking backwards, like a misfired slingshot—
When she opened her eyes, they had reappeared inside Dovey’s ball, surrounded by the floating mini-crystals and the ones they’d discarded on the floor. Only now, the entire room seemed more translucent, the blue glow in the walls dimmer.
They were running out of time.
“What did your father mean?” Agatha asked Tedros, who was lost in thought. “‘No matter what that woman says’?”
“I have no idea,” said her prince.
“And what was he writing on the other card?” Agatha wondered. “Did he have second thoughts and alter the coronation test? Did he plan for something else and then change it to you pulling Excalibur from the stone?”
“There was only one card included in the will or the priest would have told me,” said Tedros. “Likely the second card had nothing to do with my coronation test. Those cards were reserved for official proclamations. It could have been for anything.”
“Or it could be a false memory,” said Sophie.
“Maybe,” said Tedros. “But I feel like I was too young to store false memories.”
“‘You will not fail,’” Agatha repeated, reliving Arthur’s words to his son. “‘No matter what that woman says . . .’” She chewed on her lip. “Could he have meant Guinevere?”
“But why would my mother have thought I’d fail my test?” said Tedros, scratching at his rippled stomach. “She was so confident I’d pass it the morning of the coronation. . . . No, it couldn’t have been her.”
“We need to bring Guinevere inside the crystal ball,” said Agatha, despite feeling sick over the thought of making Tedros’ mother endure the portal. “Surely her memories can help us—”
“No,” said Reaper. “Merlin was clear about leaving Guinevere in the dark about the crystal’s powers. That’s why I sent her up with the Sheriff instead of bringing her here. Merlin believed her soul unreliable when it came to her life with Arthur. Leaving Tedros behind to pursue a life with Lancelot made her more apt to paint her husband as a villain to relieve her guilt. Bringing her into the crystal would open up too many tainted memories that would yield more trouble than answers.”
“Tedros, wasn’t this your steward? That Gremlin woman?” Sophie asked from the other side of the room, brandishing a crystal.
Tedros and Agatha turned.
It was a scene of Chaddick outside Camelot’s castle, climbing onto a gray horse dappled with white spots as Lady Gremlaine, robed and turbaned in lavender, saddled the horse with a satchel of provisions and fussed over Tedros’ knight, smoothing Chaddick’s jacket and brushing it of leaves and dirt. She squeezed Chaddick’s hand and smiled at him, before Tedros moved into the frame and wished Chaddick off. Lady Gremlaine stepped back, giving the king and his knight space to say goodbye.
“I remember this,” Agatha said, looking at Tedros.
“I do too. We don’t need to go inside,” Tedros preempted, clearly skittish about jumping into another crystal. “Chaddick stayed at Camelot a few days before he left on his quest to find knights to join my Round Table. This was the last time I ever saw him.”
“Lady Gremlaine took a shine to Chaddick,” Agatha recalled. “One of the only times I ever saw her smile.”
“Because Chaddick respected and listened to her, unlike me,” said Tedros. “Until I got to know her better, at least.”
“Lady Gremlaine,” Sophie mulled. “She’s the one who had a long past with your father, isn’t she? The one who the Snake killed before she could tell you her secret and the one who Rhian and Japeth told me you treated poorly. Which means Lady Gremlaine could be Rhian and Japeth’s mother and King Arthur their father. Which means Rhian could actually be the real . . .”
She looked at Tedros. Tedros didn’t meet her eyes.
Agatha took her prince’s hand as they watched the scene again and again.
“Reaper, we need to send a crow to Hort and Nicola,” Tedros said finally, his eyes still on the crystal. “We need to tell them to find everything they can about Grisella Gremlaine.”
Agatha’s skin prickled. That name. Grisella. She knew that name. Someone she’d met? Or learned about at school . . . ?
The blue glow in the walls around them faded lighter, Dovey’s ball losing connection fast.
“What happens when we run out of time?” Agatha asked, swiveling to her cat.
But Reaper hadn’t heard Tedros’ order or Agatha’s question, his attention locked on a tiny crystal between his paws.
“Wait a second. That’s me,” said Sophie, kneeling towards it before Agatha and Tedros did the same.
Inside the crystal, Sophie was waiting by the Gnomeland stump in the same white dress she wore now. The sky was dark, the Woods blacked out around her.
Sophie glanced at Agatha and Tedros. “This must be when I first came with Robin and then went back to look for you—”
“No. It’s not,” said Tedros sharply.
Because in the crystal’s scene, Sophie wasn’t going to look for her friends. She was pacing by the stump, her eyes darting around the Woods, making sure no one had seen her. Then her body froze, suddenly bathed in flamelight, which grew brighter and brighter. . . .
A blue-and-gold carriage, lit by torches and carved with Camelot’s crest, entered the crystal’s frame, slowing down as it approached Sophie. There was a boy inside the carriage, his face shadowed as the driver pulled the horses to a stop.
The carriage door opened.
Sophie climbed in next to the boy.
The driver whipped the horses and the carriage reversed direction, back towards Camelot, as the shadowy boy and Sophie rode away, the leaves of the Woods dusting up behind them.
The scene went dark, before it began to replay.
Slowly, three pairs of eyes, two friends’ and a cat’s, all shifted to Sophie. Agatha’s heart pumped harder, her neck on fire. She looked at Sophie as if she were a stranger.
“You think I’d go back to the castle? To . . . him?” Sophie spluttered.
“You went back to Rafal the same way!” Tedros attacked. “The same exact way. Leaving Agatha and me behind, in the middle of the night, in secret.”
“But I loved Rafal!” Sophie bit back, her cheeks pink. “I’d never go back to Rhian! Rhian’s a monster! He tried to kill both of you!”
“While you stood by his side!” Tedros pounced. “While you fought for him!”
“Pretended to fight for him!” Sophie shouted. “Everything I’ve done has been to put you back on the throne—”
“Yes, me, the rot. The rot you said should have been killed,” Tedros lashed.
“You can’t think this is real. You can’t think it’s true,” Sophie said, her mouth trembling. She turned to Agatha and clasped her shoulders. “Aggie, please . . .”
Tedros glowered at Sophie, so sure it was the truth. And for the briefest of moments, so did her best friend. . . .
Then Agatha’s heart slowed, the heat seeping out of her.
“No,” she exhaled. “It’s not true.”
Sophie let go of her, caving in relief.
Tedros shook his head. “You always trust her, Agatha. Always. And it’s nearly killed us a thousand times.”
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“But it hasn’t killed us,” said Agatha calmly. “And the reason why is staring at us, crystal clear. I’ve been searching through Sophie’s memories, just like I have yours and mine. And the difference between Sophie’s memories and ours is that she wishes she’d done the right thing all those times she didn’t. She wishes she’d been Good again and again and again. That’s why she’s my friend. Because I know what’s in her heart, beneath all her mistakes. And this future here? To return to a boy she doesn’t love and destroy everything she’s been fighting for? To throw away the friendships she’s given her life to build? It’s the darkest kind of Evil. And that kind of Evil . . . That’s not Sophie.”
She squeezed Sophie’s clammy hand. Sophie smeared away tears.
Tedros tensed, veins straining against skin. “Agatha, if you’re wrong . . . imagine if you’re wrong . . .”
“She’s not wrong,” Sophie rasped. “I swear on my own life. She’s not wrong.”
But Agatha wasn’t looking at them anymore.
Her eyes were on a single crystal, suspended in midair at the bottom corner of the phantom, where Reaper had batted down all the others.
It caught her eye because this crystal was different.
It wasn’t a scene of her, Sophie, or Tedros.
It wasn’t a scene of her cat.
It was a scene of someone else.
Someone whose soul the ball shouldn’t have recognized at all.
“Huh?” said Tedros, examining it over his shoulder. “Definitely a mistake—”
“I’m going inside,” Agatha declared, touching the crystal.
“No! Dovey’s ball will go dark any second!” Reaper warned. “You’re the only one who can reopen it, Agatha! If you’re inside a crystal when the ball loses connection, you’ll be trapped inside the scene forever!”
The School for Good and Evil #5: A Crystal of Time Page 31
