by Chris Colfer
“I have faith in you.” Bree smiled at him.
Her smile made his rosy cheeks a bit rosier. He figured he had nothing to lose, so Conner took a deep breath and addressed the lion like he would anyone else.
“Hello up there!” he called. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but my friend and I were wondering if we could speak to you.”
The lion didn’t say a word or move an inch. There was nothing to indicate Conner was anything but a crazy person talking to a statue.
“You must be exhausted,” Conner called. “You’ve been on your feet for, like, what, a century and a half?”
Buttering up the statue didn’t help. Knowing what an idiot he must look like talking to this statue didn’t help matters, either.
“So, you like London?” Conner asked. “We just got here today and whoa—what a neat place!”
Bree grew impatient with both of them and stepped closer to address the lion herself. “Listen, pussy cat,” she hissed. “We’ve got questions for you! We know you can talk, we know you’re friends with Mother Goose, and we’re not leaving here until you give us the answers we need!”
“What are you doing?” Conner whispered. “You think he’s going to talk to us if you treat him like that?”
“We’re playing good cop, bad cop,” she whispered back. “Trust me; it works every time in my crime novels.”
Conner rubbed his fingers through his hair, convinced this strategy was a dead-end. But when he looked back at the lion, he could have sworn the lion’s face had changed; he looked more concerned.
“Bree, do you notice anything different about the lion?” he whispered.
She looked closer and her eyes lit up. “Yes.”
“Say something else about Mother Goose,” Conner instructed. “I think he’s afraid of her.”
Bree nodded and spoke to the lion again. “Hey! Mother Goose told us that you would talk to us, but if you’d rather talk to her yourself, she can be here in five minutes.”
There was no doubt about it: The lion was moving! They watched the South Bank Lion’s face grow more fretful the more they mentioned Mother Goose. Eventually the statue couldn’t take it anymore and shifted from its solid position.
“No, please don’t call Mother Goose!” the lion begged, coming to life before their eyes. It startled Bree and she jumped behind Conner. It was her first magical sighting. Conner was used to seeing magic at its finest, but it never got old. He stared up at the lion with an amazed smile.
“So you can talk,” he said.
“Yes, I can talk,” the lion admitted. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have, just please don’t call that woman here.”
Conner found his dislike of Mother Goose wildly amusing. “Why are you so afraid of Mother Goose?”
“I’m not afraid of her; it’s her stories I can’t stand.” The lion shook his head. “Over the years she’s told me some outlandish secrets that I never wanted to know—and she never spares any of the details! If you knew half the things I know, you would look differently at her, too. It’s too much for one lion to bear!”
“Is that why you look so concerned all the time?” Conner asked.
“That’s part of it,” the lion said, and his face suddenly grew very sad. He whimpered, like he was about to cry. “I’m also afraid of heights and these people keep putting me on top of very tall things! And they separated me from my brother when the Red Lion Brewery was demolished and I don’t know where he is!”
The stone lion sniffled into his large paws.
“Oh, you’re talking about the second lion statue,” Bree said. She had regained her confidence and stepped out from behind Conner. “He’s still around! They painted him gold and put him on display at some sports arena.”
The South Bank Lion was happy to hear this and looked a little less concerned than before. “That’s such a relief,” he said. “He always loved sports.”
“Can he talk and move like you?” Conner asked.
“No, he’s just a normal statue, but we’re made of the same artificial stone,” the lion said. “I was the only lion Mother Goose enchanted.”
“Why did she enchant you?” Conner asked. They had several important questions to ask but he couldn’t resist hearing the story.
“In the mid-1800s Mother Goose used to visit her friends at the Red Lion Brewery every Sunday night,” the lion told him. “Around the same time she had just started training that horrible gander of hers to fly her around. He was a horrible flyer and every so often they would crash right into me on the roof. One night they were a little too careless and hit me so hard I was knocked off the roof and shattered into pieces on the ground. She magically put me back together and cast an invincibility spell on me so I wouldn’t leave such a mess the next time they knocked me off the roof.”
“Ah, so that’s why you stayed in such good condition during the war and the demolition,” Bree said.
“But that doesn’t explain why you can talk,” Conner pointed out.
“Well, after a few years Mother Goose’s brewery friends started dying off,” the lion explained. “She wanted a friend who would stick around and give her an excuse to come back to the brewery. And unfortunately she chose me. Although I still don’t understand why she gave me the ability to speak when all I ever did was listen.”
“Speaking of listening,” Conner said, “do you remember her mentioning anything about the Brothers Grimm and sabotaging a portal?”
The lion scrunched his forehead and tried to remember. “It rings a bell,” he said. “Was this the same time she led the French soldiers into a trap?”
“Yes! That’s it!” Conner said with a happy jump.
The lion’s eyes grew wider and he nodded his giant stone head. “Oh boy, do I remember that story,” he said. “I wish I could forget it! It gave me nightmares for fifty years!”
Conner knew he needed to be very clear and careful as he got the information out of him to avoid making any mistakes later.
“Do you remember where the portal was that she trapped the soldiers inside?” he asked.
“I do,” the lion said confidently. “It was deep in the Bavarian woods, between twin trees that grew between twin medieval castles. The only reason I remember is because I’m a twin myself.”
“Where is Bavaria?” Conner asked.
“It’s an old country that’s now a state of Germany,” Bree said. “Two trees between two medieval castles seems pretty easy to find.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t find the trees and the castles anymore,” the lion told them regretfully. “They’re gone.”
“What?” Conner and Bree said together. “What do you mean they’re gone?”
“After the Brothers Grimm tricked the soldiers into entering the tampered-with portal, Mother Goose grew paranoid that the soldiers would find a way out, back into this world, so she asked her friend Ludwig for a very large favor,” he said.
“What was the favor?” Conner asked.
“She asked Ludwig to build one of his elaborate castles on top of the portal, so if the soldiers were ever to re-emerge from it they might be tricked into thinking they had arrived in the fairy-tale world.”
“He built a castle for her?” Conner asked in disbelief. “That is a big favor.”
Bree gasped and clutched her hands together. “Wait a second, are you talking about King Ludwig II of Bavaria?” she asked.
“That was his official name, I believe,” the lion said. “Mother Goose always just called him Ludwig or Wiggy.”
Conner was the only one who had never heard of Ludwig. “Who was he?” he asked.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the mad fairy-tale king?” Bree asked. Conner shook his head. “He was addicted to building lavish palaces for himself, all inspired by other palaces he had visited around the world.”
“He sounds like someone Red Riding Hood would be friends with,” Conner said, but he dropped the subject when he remembered he was the only person there who knew her.
“The last home Ludwig built for himself was Neuschwanstein Castle,” Bree continued. “It was inspired by all his favorite childhood stories and looks like something you’d find in a storybook. It’s considered one of the wonders of the modern world.”
“Wait, is considered, meaning the castle is still around?” Conner asked.
“Oh yes,” Bree said. “It’s easily one of the biggest tourist attractions in southern Germany. It’s always been a mystery why Ludwig built the castle, but it makes sense now.”
“But what happened to the portal? Is it somewhere inside the castle?” Conner asked.
“I’m assuming so, but I wouldn’t know,” the lion said. “I’ve lived within a five-kilometer radius my whole life.”
“Do you know how we can check the portal to see if it’s open or not?” Conner asked.
“Let me think, let me think,” the lion said, and he closed his eyes while he remembered. “Yes! The Bavarian portal is accessed when a person of magic blood plays eight notes on a special ancient panpipe.”
Conner made a mental note of this crucial information. “If it has to be played by someone of magic blood, then how did the Brothers Grimm open it for the French soldiers?” he asked.
The lion scrunched his nose; it was the part of the story he didn’t like telling. “Mother Goose took a dagger and made a cut in her hand and one in Wilhelm Grimm’s hand,” he said. “They held their hands tightly together and let some of the magic from Mother Goose’s blood flow into his. I really wish she had kept that part to herself—the thought of blood makes me incredibly squeamish since I don’t have any myself.”
“And where can we find this panpipe?” Conner asked.
“I believe it’s with the rest of Mother Goose’s Otherworld belongings in a vault in a Monégasque bank,” the lion said. “And I only know that because she measured me one day to see if I would fit in the vault, too. Thank goodness I was too big.”
“So, where is the bank?” Conner asked.
“Monégasque means it’s in Monte Carlo,” Bree said.
“Right,” Conner said. “So where in Monte Carlo is this bank?”
The lion thought about it and seemed very disappointed when he couldn’t come up with its location. “I don’t remember,” he said with a frown. “If only my mind were as concrete as the rest of me.”
Thankfully, this was the only question the lion didn’t have an answer to. Conner paced the sidewalk, concentrating carefully—the lion’s words reminded him of something Mother Goose had said in the past. He felt he should know where the bank was.…
He opened his suitcase and dug around until he found his lucky poker chip from Mother Goose. He looked closely at its design. The chip was dark blue and the symbols of the houses of cards circled around the edge: a heart, a spade, a diamond, a club. But in the very center of the chip, instead of a number to mark its value, there was an image of a small golden key.
“I think I know where to find the vault,” Conner said eagerly to Bree. “What time is it?”
Bree looked at the screen of her phone. “It’s almost four in the morning,” she said. “Wow, time flies when you’re talking to an enchanted statue.”
Conner looked up at the lion gratefully. “Thank you so much for all your help, but you’ll have to excuse us now,” he said. “We have to get to the train station as soon as possible.”
The lion seemed sad to see them go and his face returned to its trademark concerned expression. “Good luck,” the lion said. “And next time you see Mother Goose, please tell her I understand she’s a busy woman and there’s no need for her to visit me… ever again.”
Conner took off along Westminster Bridge, speed walking as fast as he could. Bree said good-bye to the South Bank Lion and caught up with him.
“So where are we off to next?” she asked him with bright eyes.
“We’re going to the Lumière des Etoiles casino,” Conner replied.
“Where is that?”
“Somewhere in Monte Carlo, I guess,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE LUMIÈRE DES ETOILES CASINO
Conner and Bree made it to the train station at St. Pancras a little before six o’clock that morning. They hadn’t slept all night but neither showed any indication of being tired. They were living on adrenaline and determination. Conner had never run away before but now he understood why Jack and Goldilocks preferred a life on the run. Despite the circumstances, it had been a very exciting day.
Bree hadn’t stopped smiling since they left the South Bank. “I’m friends with a lion statue, I’m friends with a lion statue,” she sang to herself over and over again.
They gawked at a large map over the ticketing counters and tried to make sense of all the colorful lines showing which trains traveled where.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anything direct to Monte Carlo,” Conner said. “We’ll have to stop in Paris where that thick blue line ends and then get on the thin dotted orange line.”
“Your knowledge of travel terminology is so impressive,” Bree joked.
They stood in line and zigzagged to the ticket counter with the other early-morning travelers. The ticketing agent had frizzy red hair and huge bags under her eyes. She drank coffee from an enormous mug like it was water.
“Next?” she said.
Conner and Bree approached her. “Two tickets to Paris, please,” Bree said.
The agent looked at them like they had asked to borrow her car. “Do you have a guardian accompanying you? Or an unaccompanied-minor form signed by your parents?” she asked.
Bree and Conner froze. Both of them had somehow forgotten that being fourteen-year-olds might set them back on this trip.
“We… we…,” Bree began but nothing else came out.
Conner panicked and looked around the train station for a solution. In a far corner he saw a very elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair all by herself. Her hair was teased up into a large pouf and she had a full face of makeup on. She somberly stared at the floor as she held a purse and small suitcase on her lap.
“We’re traveling with our grandmother,” Conner said.
“We are?” Bree asked. Conner gestured to the old woman in the corner. “I mean, we are,” Bree continued. “Stupid me, make it three tickets to Paris,” she said back at the ticketing agent.
“That’s your grandmother?” the agent asked.
“Yes, that’s Granny Pearl,” Conner said. “She doesn’t speak a lick of English so she’s asked us to buy the tickets.” Conner energetically waved at the old woman. “Just one more minute, Gran!”
Pearl, as they christened her, was rather confused as to why two young strangers were waving to her in the middle of a train station but decided to wave back with a friendly smile. She also appeared to be a little senile, which was working in their favor.
The ticketing agent shrugged and checked the ticket options. “The only availability we have for three on the next train is in a first-class compartment,” she said.
“Great, how much?” Conner asked.
“Two hundred pounds each,” the ticketing agent said.
Conner gulped. “Boy, that’s a lot of weight, ha-ha,” he said. “We’ll take it. Good thing Granny Pearl gave us lots of money.”
He exchanged cash for the tickets and walked quickly away from the ticketing counter and toward Pearl. Bree glanced over her shoulder and saw the ticketing agent suspiciously glaring at them over her coffee mug.
“She’s still watching us; what do we do?” Bree whispered to Conner.
“Grab the old lady and get on the train, I guess,” he whispered back.
“We can’t kidnap an old woman!”
“What other option do we have?”
Their hearts were racing—they were about to commit the biggest crime of their lives. They leaned down to the old woman and quietly spoke to her.
“Hello there, would you mind doing us a favor?” Conner asked her.
Pearl j
ust smiled blankly at them—he had guessed correctly; she didn’t know a lick of English.
“Wer sind Sie?” she asked.
“What did she just say?” Conner asked.
“I think she said, ‘Who are you?’ ” Bree said. “She’s German.”
“You speak German?”
“Only a little bit—my real grandma was born in Germany.”
“Ask her if she wants to go on a trip with us,” Conner said.
Bree licked her lips and tried translating. “Would you like… um… eine Reise with uns?”
Pearl blinked a couple times, causing her head to move slightly.
“I think that counts as a nod—grab her and let’s go!” Conner whispered.
Bree grabbed the handles of Pearl’s wheelchair and they pushed her toward the security line. Pearl smiled as cheerfully as ever, clearly without the slightest clue what was going on. They handed their tickets to the man at the security check and he carefully looked them over.
“Ich werde entführt,” Pearl told the man casually.
Bree panicked and nervously burst into fake laughter. “Oh, Granny, you’re so funny!” she said loudly. “You’ve been making jokes all day.”
The man handed back their tickets and allowed them to move forward.
“What did she just tell him?” Conner whispered to Bree.
“She said, ‘I’m being kidnapped,’ ” Bree whispered back.
“Oh,” he said, and guiltily looked down at their captive. Pearl’s big smile never left her face. “She’s taking it very well, then.”
They pushed her wheelchair all the way down the platform and boarded the car at the front of the train. The train attendant folded her wheelchair and stowed it with their luggage. Conner and Bree helped Pearl up the steps into the train and into their private first-class compartment. It was very luxurious for a pair of teenage runaways and a kidnapped old woman. It had red cushioned seats and white drapes over a large square window.
They gently sat Pearl down and took the seats across from her. Conner and Bree sat very still and watched Pearl like she was a poisonous animal until the train pulled away from the station. They were convinced at any minute she might start screaming for help, but she never did. Pearl just kept on smiling and contentedly watched the land move outside the window.
