The Unwritten Girl

by James Bow

  Peter flushed. “Hello, Dué.”

  The crowd cheered. “Not just one reader returns, but two! Hurray! What a joyous reunion for the Number Crunchers! A feast! We must have a feast to celebrate!”

  The shapes scrambled and produced a blanket from nowhere. They spread it out along the path and began setting down plates, forks, knives, and cups. Then came the platters of food.

  Peter leaned towards Rosemary. “What are they serving us?”

  She grinned at him. “Numbers, of course! Why else would they be called the Number Crunchers?”

  “Can we eat numbers?” asked Peter.

  “Certainly,” said Dué, pulling something from her backpack. “Here, have a four.”

  Other numbers were being laid out on large platters, garnished with operands. Other shapes were mixing various drinks together to the precise millilitre. Number Crunchers ushered Peter, Rosemary, and Puck forward to the guest of honour positions. Rosemary placed Una beside her and sat down. Puck sat crosslegged, all points: elbows, knees, and chin. The others followed, until the blanket was ringed with geometric shapes, two humans, and Robin Goodfellow.

  Peter took his four and sniffed it. He chewed at the stem and swallowed. “This tastes like beef jerky.”

  “They do say math is dry,” said Puck.

  Rosemary broke a four in half. The pieces reshaped themselves in her hands into smaller twos. She took a bite out of one and picked up a glass. “Try the numerade.”

  Una was staring at Puck. “You know Robin Goodfellow?” she said to Rosemary. “You have moved up in your reading, Princess Rosemary. Has he been treating you well? Not leading you down mischievous paths, I hope. You are still quite young.”

  “He’s fine.” Rosemary frowned. “He’s my guide through the Land of Fiction.”

  “Why are you trekking through the Land of Fiction, Princess Rosemary?”

  “To rescue my brother.”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Rosemary caught whispers: “Theo! We remember Theo! He read us fourteen years ago. She took him. Rosemary is going up against Her. Oh, poor Princess Rosemary!”

  Rosemary frowned. “You know about this?”

  Una nodded sadly. “We have heard rumours.”

  “Who’s kidnapped my brother? You said ‘her.’ Do you mean a girl, like me, wearing horn-rimmed glasses?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” said Dué. “She is hard to read. All we know is that she is a powerful character. We stay out of Her way. Don’t go to Her, Rosemary. We don’t want you to be hurt.”

  “She has no choice,” said Una. “She has to save her brother.”

  “What does she want?” asked Rosemary. “Why did she kidnap Theo?”

  “Because She is very angry,” said Una.

  The other numbers nodded and repeated, “Very angry. Very, very angry.”

  Una continued. “She is angry at you.”

  Rosemary gaped at her. “Me? What did I do?”

  “We don’t know,” said Dué. “We do not understand Her. We know you, Rosemary. You have been nothing but good to us.”

  “Great to us!” clamoured the crowd. “We had such fun!”

  “We learned how to add together,” said Una.

  “And subtract,” said Dué.

  “We made the numbers dance,” said Una. “Do you remember how we danced?”

  Peter sunk his head into his hands. “Oh God, I remember. There was dancing.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Rosemary. “What about —” A clatter of musical instruments interrupted her. A group of shapes holding fiddles, banjos, a washing board, and a milk jug scrambled together and started a tune. Other shapes took partners while a purple dodecahedron strode out to call the cues.

  “Now bow to your partner. Now bow to the corner.”

  “They’re square dancing,” said Peter.

  Una began pulling on Rosemary’s fingers, her galoshes squeaking. “Come! Dance with us, Princess Rosemary!”

  “But,” said Rosemary. “Hey!”

  Dué pushed at Peter from behind. “You too, Peter!”

  “But,” Peter stammered. “I — I’m not the dancing type!”

  “Me neither,” said Rosemary, gripping the ground with her free hand. “I — I couldn’t. Puck? A little help, here!”

  “Certainly,” said Puck, and pushed them onto the dance area.

  Peter and Rosemary stood up, facing each other. Rosemary swallowed hard. Dué and Una joined hands as the cue caller spoke up. “Now swing your partner round and round ...”

  Rosemary and Peter tried reaching for each other’s hand, got mixed up, and ended up slapping wrists twice. Una and Dué darted between their legs to opposite corners, and Peter and Rosemary had to shove past each other to complete the square.

  “Crossproduct allemande!” called the cue caller.

  “Crossproduct what?” said Peter.

  “Like this,” whispered Una, twirling Dué between them. Peter and Rosemary hesitated a moment, then stepped into the square. This time Peter took Rosemary’s hand and she twirled, planting her foot directly on his toe. He stumbled, bumped her. She staggered. “Sorry!” They scrambled for their corners.

  “Corner cross times two!” called the caller.

  Rosemary switched places with Una through the centre of the square. Peter crossed with Dué. That had gone much better.

  “Now do-si-do the cosine wave through all four corners of the square!”

  Rosemary and Peter followed Una and Dué’s movements and managed to pass each other without stumbling. As they passed again, Rosemary flashed Peter a triumphant grin.

  “And with your partner, promenade! Promenade! Promenade!”

  Arm in arm, Peter and Rosemary strode down the path; Una and Dué marched behind them.

  At once, the music stopped, and Peter and Rosemary stood on their own, arm in arm, on the forest pathway. The Number Crunchers were nowhere to be seen. They glanced at each other, then stumbled apart, taking a keen interest in the surrounding foliage.

  The sound of Puck applauding brought their attention around. They looked up to see him leaning against a tree. “Congratulations, my friends. You have passed the first challenge.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Rosemary. “Where did Una go?”

  “She sends her best wishes,” said Puck, hauling out a leather-bound pouch. “And numerous leftovers from your feast. As for what I speak about, you passed the first challenge; you danced it all away.”

  “That’s the challenge?” said Peter. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

  “Did it come easy to you?” said Puck.

  Peter frowned. Then the light dawned. “Oh.”

  “I wish we’d got a chance to say goodbye,” said Rosemary. “They were just as fun as I remembered.”

  Peter snorted. “And you said you had no imagination.”

  “I was four!” said Rosemary. “Everyone has an imagination when they’re four!”

  “And no one loses it,” said Puck. “If they show it not later in life, they have merely locked it away. And such tyranny can lead to rebellion.”

  Silence fell on the forest. Puck eyed Rosemary, his arms across his chest. Peter glanced from one to the other, looking perplexed. Rosemary lowered her gaze to the ground.

  She clenched her fist. “Come on. Let’s find Theo.”

  She strode forward, Peter and Puck following, deeper into the woods.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

  “Nothing. That’s the point!”

  — Marjorie Campbell

  They’d walked for an hour when suddenly Rosemary’s shoes changed. She stumbled and fell over.

  She sat up, dusting herself off while Puck came back and watched with amusement. She was wearing a dress of heavy brocade with billowy skirts and frills around her neckline. No pink princess dress, this. She slapped away Puck’s helping hand and struggled to get up. Then she gave up and clasped his wrist, hauling herself to her fee
t. She glared at his cheeky grin. “New clothes. New story?” she asked. Puck nodded. “What’s it about?”

  “I think I know,” came Peter’s muffled voice. Rosemary turned. Her eyes widened, then she clamped a hand over her laugh.

  Peter clanked up to her in a full suit of armour. Only a narrow slit allowed him to see. “No fair!” he said, pointing at her with jointed gloves. “Why can’t you be the knight in shining armour?” He slid up his visor. “It’s not funny! I can’t breathe in this —” His next words were cut off as the visor clanked down.

  Then Rosemary’s gaze fell on Peter’s scabbard, and she stopped laughing. She eyed the jewelled hilt of the sword it contained, and the length that trailed behind Peter. She glanced once more at her own dress, ludicrous, but more realistic. “Puck? Where are we?”

  He shrugged. “That I cannot say. Read on, go on, my friends. The answer awaits us!” He bounded off. Peter and Rosemary glanced at each other. Peter shrugged with a clatter. They followed.

  They soon heard the sound of running water, and as they rounded a curve in the path they came upon a narrow stone bridge rising above a swift forest stream. Its threshold was guarded by two chrome jaguars.

  Rosemary halted by the jaguars. “What the ...”

  “What?” Peter thrust up his visor and peered. “What are these oversize hood ornaments doing here?”

  Puck was staring at the air over the bridge, rubbing it with his finger. He looked at the two. “What troubles you?”

  “These,” said Rosemary, tapping the metal snouts with her finger. “Princess outfit, suit of armour, stone bridge, and metal panthers or whatever? Did we step into a ‘what’s wrong with this picture’ book?”

  Puck peered around as though looking for cameras. Rosemary threw up her hands. “Let me guess: ‘That I cannot say’!”

  He grinned at her. “No. That I do not know.” He pointed a long finger over the stream. “What I do know is that the challenge lies before us. To leave this story, we must go across the bridge and continue on our way.”

  “That’s it?” said Peter. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

  On the other bank, a knight in black armour stepped out from behind a tree and clanged his way onto the bridge. He had a sword with a pommel as large as a skull.

  “Me and my big mouth,” said Peter.

  The Black Knight drew his sword. “Did I hear somebody utter a challenge?” he bellowed. He pointed his sword at Peter. “Is the boy fool enough to challenge me to a duel to the death?”

  Peter’s eyes went round, then the visor clanked in place in front of them. He struggled with his scabbard and drew his sword. The weight of it almost made him drop it.

  Rosemary gulped. “This isn’t fair!” she said to Puck. “How can Peter fight him?”

  “It is a quest, Sage Rosemary. It is not meant to be fair.”

  “But —”

  The Black Knight raised his sword and charged with a mighty yell. Puck and Rosemary ducked out of his way. Sword and helmet flying, Peter ran into the woods. The knight thundered after him.

  “Puck, do something!” Rosemary shook him. “He can’t fight that knight alone!”

  Puck shook his head sadly. “I cannot.”

  Peter dashed out of the forest, tearing off his gloves and clawing at his breastplate, the Black Knight at his heels. “Turn, boy! Face me!”

  “Puck!” shouted Rosemary. “Help him!”

  “I am but a guide, Sage Rosemary,” said Puck. “It is your quest, and so it is your challenge.”

  “Peter’s challenge,” said Rosemary. “The Black Knight is going after him!”

  “And your challenge too,” said Puck, tapping her forehead with a long finger. “You must save Peter.”

  “But how can I? I don’t even have a sword!”

  “Remember, Rosemary, a hero has a thousand tricks.”

  Rosemary turned towards the sound of the Black Knight’s voice.

  Peter dashed back into view, the Black Knight even closer behind him. “When I catch you, you quick cur, the pieces of you will fly faster than your legs now carry you!”

  Peter ran past Rosemary, not seeing her in his panic, and disappeared into the trees again. Rosemary took a deep breath and stuck her foot into the path of the Black Knight.

  He tripped and went down. There was a clatter like someone dropping a whole kitchen full of dishes.

  Rosemary rubbed her ankle. “Will that do?” she asked. Puck nodded.

  The Black Knight was sprawled face down on the muddy path, embedded inches into the earth, trapped by the weight of his own armour. His sword stuck out of the ground, well beyond his reach. Rosemary yanked it up and then staggered to hold it.

  Peter slunk out of the forest. “Some champion I turned out to be,” he muttered. Rosemary patted his shoulder. Puck smoothed out his dishevelled hair.

  “My lady!” came the muffled voice of the Black Knight. “You do not fight fair! You should not fight at all!”

  “I’m not a lady. Get up!”

  “Help me.”

  Rosemary shook her head. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I am a man of honour,” said the knight. “I will not take advantage. Please, my lady, the mud is blocking my visor — I cannot breathe!”

  Rosemary started to say something, but Peter raised a hand. “Do you yield?” he said to the knight.

  “It was not a fair fight!”

  “Peter’s twelve and you’re claiming you lost unfairly?” said Rosemary.

  “Never mind that,” said Peter. “Do you yield, or shall we leave you where you lie?”

  “I yield!” shouted the knight. “Just turn me on my back!”

  Straining, Rosemary and Peter managed to roll him over. They watched as the knight pulled off his helmet and lay back, gasping. He had a weathered face and a dark, scruffy beard. He looked hard at Rosemary, and his eyes widened. “The Lady Rosemary!” he exclaimed. “So, you have returned after all this time!”

  Rosemary jerked back. “Returned?”

  “Has it not been six years since you saw me carry off the beautiful princess to the Castle of Doom?” said the knight.

  “I saw —” Her brow furrowed. “Wait, I remember! You stole her from the church where she was going to be married. What happened to her?”

  “She is still in the Castle of Doom, across the river.”

  Rosemary hoisted the sword’s tip level with the knight’s nose. “What have you done with her?”

  “Why, nothing, my lady. You left the story at that point. It does not go forward without you.”

  “It will now,” Rosemary snapped. “You’re going to let her go!”

  “My lady, I —” the Black Knight began.

  “We beat you, right?” said Rosemary. “You have to do what we say, right? So, I say you let the princess go, right now!”

  The Black Knight sagged. He picked himself off the ground and limped between the chrome jaguars and over the bridge. “This way, Lady Rosemary.”

  As Rosemary followed, Peter touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She shivered. “She just screamed. Screamed all through the forest, and nobody came to save her.”

  “She didn’t get away?” asked Peter.

  “I don’t know. I — I didn’t read any further.”

  Puck gave her shoulder a squeeze. He took the sword from her and swung it up to his shoulder like a swagger stick.

  They crossed the bridge and followed the pathway until they came to a clearing in the forest. At the centre of the clearing stood a tall, round tower of stone, barely ten feet across, its peak poking above the forest canopy. Windows rose up the sides, and a heavy oak door blocked the entrance.

  The Black Knight stepped to the door and knocked. “Princess Asphodel!” he shouted. “I have been defeated in” — he hesitated, then continued in a grumble — “fair combat. I release you. Come down and meet your rescuers.”

  A sound like a snake’s hiss started up from somewhere ab
ove them. Rosemary’s eyes tracked up to the second-storey window and she stepped back.

  Framed in the window was a tall princess with long golden hair, wearing a pale green dress. The hissing was coming from her lips, which were drawn back from a toothy snarl.

  The hiss became a yell, and the princess leapt from the window, coming down with all of her ninety-eight pounds on Rosemary, knocking her to the ground.

  Peter rushed forward, but the princess knocked him aside with the back of her hand. Puck lunged, but the princess punched him in the stomach and chopped him in the back of the neck. Then she rounded on Rosemary.

  “Six years!” Princess Asphodel screamed. “Six years I waited for rescue! Six years cooped up in that hideous tower with no decent bath, barely a decent larder, and only that smelly lout for company!” She jabbed a finger at the Black Knight. “If you ever once thought of washing yourself, I might have settled for you, but no!”

  She pushed Rosemary down. “Do you think you can rescue me after six years and expect me to be grateful? Do you?”

  The Black Knight rushed forward. “Princess,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Please, calm yourself —”

  The princess jumped up, grabbed the Black Knight by the arm, and swung him into the castle wall. There was a great clang of metal against stone. “Calm myself?” she screamed. “You kidnap me and leave me to rot, and you tell me to calm myself!”

  She swung the knight around again, smashing him back into the castle wall. His helmet clattered on the ground. She snatched it up, jumped onto the Black Knight’s shoulders, and jammed the helmet down, backwards, over his head. He flailed about blindly. Then she jumped down, picked up the sword that had fallen from Puck’s grip, and smacked the flat against the side of his helmet. He yelled and clutched at his ears.

  She hit him again with the flat of the sword, this time against the back of his head. She followed up with a kick to the back of his knee and a hard push against his shoulders. The Black Knight toppled face down in the mud. He lay still.

  The princess dropped the sword, spat on the knight, and spat on Rosemary. Then she drew herself up, straightened her hair, took a deep breath, and ran, wailing, across the bridge and into the forest.