by Temre Beltz
“Yes!” the magician said, striding toward Pippa and gesturing wildly at her galoshes. “She is so . . . so . . . so prepared! Haven’t you ever heard how the early bunny gets the worm?”
“What?” Mrs. North cried.
Pippa, a devoted champion of facts, couldn’t help lifting her finger in the air, regardless of how shaky her voice was. “I’m afraid that’s a bird, sir. The early bird gets the worm.”
“And smart, too!” the magician said. “Not a single Council member will suspect this is the one and only house I managed to find in such a miserable downpour, and I won’t even face a reprimand. Nope, not this week!” He lifted his soggy hat off his head, thrust his arm deep inside, and pulled forth a brilliant purple cloak. It was the primary means by which all the Chancellor’s Council members traveled in Wanderly, and, in person, it was exquisite.
The magician swung the cloak around his shoulders and impatiently wriggled his fingers in Pippa’s direction. “Come, come! What are you waiting for? I fear we may already be late.”
Pippa’s heart began to thump harder. Council member Slickabee couldn’t actually be serious, could he? He didn’t actually mean to whisk her out of the North family cottage and away from her family, did he? What business did Pippa have in a roomful of potential Triumphants? Pippa was, well, Pippa. All she had wanted when she awoke that morning was to go sit on Ms. Pinch’s ratty sofa cushion with the other Wednesday students in Ink Hollow and learn how to spell such delightfully obscure words as “narwhal.”6 Pippa cast a frantic look in Mrs. North’s direction. Without hesitation, Mrs. North stepped firmly in front of her.
“Sir, I’m afraid my daughter is not available to travel with you,” Mrs. North said.
But the magician merely smoothed out the folds of his cloak and reached past Mrs. North to wrap his long, skinny hand around Pippa’s wrist.
“Yes, well, selection to sit for the exam is not exactly optional,” he said. “If you don’t like it—ha!—take it up with the Chancellor. In the meantime, let us not forget your daughter is being considered for a guaranteed happy ending. That’s certainly nothing for a commoner to sniff at, is it?”
Mrs. North’s face clouded over. The triplets continued to bob up and down while Artie shouted, “Pippa, hero!” Jane let out a dreamy sigh and gushed, “A happy ending, Pippa! A real one! Oh, can you even imagine?”
But Pippa didn’t have time to imagine, or even to say goodbye. Indeed, in less than the blink of an eye, Council member Slickabee swirled his cloak through the air and everything—including her beloved family—disappeared right before her eyes.
Pippa was most grateful to feel her galoshes touch down on solid ground but was finding it hard to breathe as she took in her surroundings. Council member Slickabee was hardly any help. Indeed, without so much as a word, he released his grip on her wrist and shoved his way toward the back of the room, where a gaggle of grown-ups clad in similar purple Council cloaks were clustered together, including one who—judging by her stringy, green hair, enormous nose, and noticeably long, black tooth—had to be a witch.
Pippa gulped. She looked out at the collection of desks. Most of them were already filled with other children looking from side to side with similarly wide eyes. Despite the merry fire that crackled in the oversize fireplace just behind Pippa, goose bumps erupted on her arms. Enormous candlelit chandeliers flickered overhead, lush green hills rolled outside the picturesque windows dressing up the walls, and ornate, hand-lettered posters were cheerily positioned all around the expansive room. Posters that said such things as: Your Happy Ending Is Just a Step Away! Be Adored—Be a Triumphant! Be a Triumphant and Have It All!
Pippa tried to still her trembling hands. Based on the thrilling sorts of things Triumphants did in storybooks, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Council member Slickabee swept her away to a forest where a dragon from the Snaggletooth Isles awaited, preparing to launch fireballs at her. Even though Pippa had never once missed a Wednesday school lesson back in Ink Hollow, Ms. Pinch’s idea of physical education was stringing buttons on a dreadfully long line of thread. Certainly that wouldn’t be a bit of help fending off something as ferocious as a dragon. But, at least for the time being, it seemed the exam would begin with a written portion, and Pippa was quite adept with a pencil.
As Pippa slid into one of the empty seats, one as far away from the witch as possible, she was surprised to feel a slight tingle of excitement. Certainly she didn’t entertain any real desire to be selected for Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t return home with some wildly fantastic stories to share over the North family dinner table. Maybe even stories they would tell for years to come. Pippa was just beginning to imagine what those stories might be when she jumped at the sound of a distressed “WAH!”
She looked to her right and was astonished to see a baby seated beside her. The baby was wrapped in a pink polkadot blanket and tucked into a wicker basket resting—quite precariously—on the seat of a chair. Coming from a family of eight children, if there was one thing Pippa knew, it was how to care for a baby. Without hesitation, Pippa swept the baby up and into her arms and patted her gently on the back until a series of irresistible coos gurgled forth.
“If you have any cinch at all, you’ll get rid of that baby!” a voice insisted.
Tightening her grip on the baby, Pippa turned to her left. A boy who looked to be about nine glared fiercely at her. He wore a bright green blazer with a large, gold B embroidered on the front. The blazer was without a single wrinkle and looked to be very stiff, judging by the boy’s awkward posture.
“Any cinch?” Pippa asked, checking to be sure that the waistband of her pants was indeed tightly fastened. “Did you mean to say ‘sense’? And why would anyone ‘get rid’ of a baby?”
The boy scowled at Pippa’s correction and barreled on. “Babies are the worst! In the history of entrance examinations for Peabody’s, babies have been chosen seventy-one percent of the time! And probably even more when they make noises like that.”
Before Pippa could answer, a blare of trumpets sounded. The opulent curtains lining the windows began to wriggle and sway with anticipation. The air itself began to snap, crackle, and pop with electricity. The Council members in the back straightened to attention. And Pippa wondered if, after years of living beneath the shadow of his name, today would be the day that she met the Chancellor face-to-face. Though the Chancellor was notoriously elusive, out of all the storybook roles in Wanderly, the Triumphants were the apple of his eye.
Pippa held her breath.
The knob on the door twisted.
The Chancellor was not the one who burst through. Instead, it was a woman. A woman with small, dark eyes and a crown of tight ringlets framing her face. She was clad in bright orange cropped trousers and a pressed button shirt with a rounded collar, and had a brilliant turquoise parrot perched on her shoulder.
“Hello,” the woman said, her gaze sweeping across the room.
Pippa blinked. Next to the Chancellor, no one had graced the front page of the Wanderly Whistle more than Triumphant Yolanda Bravo and her loyal companion, Dynamite.7 Most of the Wanderly Whistle’s reports tended to be about a Triumphant’s latest parade or honorary award, but the stories about Ms. Bravo always involved giants. Now, as far as giants go, the ones in Wanderly were far more reasonable than the Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum variety that enjoyed snacking on a kingdom’s citizens—but the giants in Wanderly did have one troublesome attribute: they were terribly grumpy when woken up.
A grumpy giant can do a staggering amount of damage in a matter of minutes.
But not with Yolanda Bravo around. Yolanda Bravo wasn’t just any Triumphant, she was the Triumphant, not to mention one of the most senior members of the Chancellor’s Council.
Unfortunately, Ms. Bravo also happened to be marching right up to Pippa. “Who is that you’re holding? Is that your sister?” she demanded. Ms. Bravo’s gaze flickered toward the back of the
room, where the Council members stood. “Did someone forget the rule about no sibling examinees in the same year?”
“Oh, rabbit’s feet,” Pippa heard Council member Slickabee mumble as he slipped his tall, skinny hat off his head to wipe the sweat from his brow. Pippa’s toes curled anxiously inside her mother’s roomy galoshes. The boy sitting beside her in the stiff, green blazer leaned back in his seat and snickered.
“This isn’t my sister, ma’am,” Pippa finally managed to say. “I only picked her up because she was crying and . . .” Pippa hesitated.
“And what?” Ms. Bravo pressed.
Pippa wanted to report that the baby had been left in a very precarious position, and perhaps a baby shouldn’t be expected to take such an exam, much less be left unsupervised so near to three very sharp pencils, but all of that seemed a bit critical. And in Wanderly, Pippa had never once seen a Triumphant criticized for anything. She didn’t even know if it was allowed.
“And I just, well, I suppose she needed some help,” Pippa finished weakly. But at the word “help” Ms. Bravo’s eyes lit up. She whipped a clipboard out from under her arm. She reached for a pencil tucked behind her ear and beneath her curls. She fixed her gaze on Pippa.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Pippa North.”
Ms. Bravo quickly scribbled something down on her paper and then reached for the baby. “I shall be the one to hold her from now on. You will need your hands free for the exam, hmm?”
As Ms. Bravo strode back up the aisle, the boy in the green blazer leaned over and whispered, “I warned you, didn’t I? You can never trust a baby, and that one just took your spot for sure!”
But that was fine by Pippa. Indeed, she’d already determined there existed no such spot for her to begin with. Sure, Pippa loved reading stories about thrilling adventures, but she was better suited for the sort of adventures she could have at home—ones that involved teaching her sisters how to save their money instead of spending it all in one fell swoop, designing a new layout for her mother’s failing vegetable garden to yield three times as many vegetables, or spending an entire summer teaching the triplets how to float on their backs in the nearby creek. Certainly none of those even hinted at heroic.8
At the front of the room, Ms. Bravo cleared her throat. “It is no accident that you are here, children. Indeed, each and every one of you was brought here today because one of our esteemed Council members saw something exemplary in you.”
Pippa wondered whether being “prepared,” as Council member Slickabee had called her, really belonged under the umbrella of “exemplary,” when the boy in the green jacket nudged her elbow and whispered smugly, “Being exemplary runs in my family. Did you notice the B on my jacket? If you haven’t already guessed, I am a Bumble. Bernard Benedict Bumble the Fifth, that is. In my family there are seven Triumphants.”
Even though Pippa hadn’t a clue who the Bumbles were, and her older sister Louisa—who tended to keep up on those sorts of things—wasn’t nearby to fill her in on the details, Pippa tried to smile politely, if only to keep the boy from prattling on, so that she could pay attention.
Unfortunately, boys like Bernard weren’t that easy to get rid of.
“My cousin Bettina Bumble is sitting over there,” he said, gesturing at a girl with wheat-colored hair and an expression as friendly as a rattlesnake. She was dressed in a nearly identical stiff blazer with a large, gold B, only her blazer was purple instead of green. When she saw Pippa and Bernard staring at her, she stuck out her tongue. “After today,” Bernard continued, “you’ll be able to say that you’ve met both of Wanderly’s newest Triumphants.”
Pippa thought that was a very odd thing to say, but she was more disappointed that Ms. Bravo had finished making her important declarations, and she had missed them. Indeed, Ms. Bravo’s loyal companion, Dynamite, was already busy passing out the exam booklets. When one landed on Pippa’s desk, her eyes fell on the first page, and she gasped.
She blinked.
She peered closer.
And something astonishing happened. For the first time in all of Pippa’s six years of dedicated test taking, she looked on a question and didn’t have the foggiest idea how to answer it.
What’s that? You suppose you might be able to do better? Very well, then. Have a go at it:
Circle the letter of the answer that best completes the question.
Sixteen orangutans square-dance squirrels ______________ glue?
a. sticky
b. tacky
c. glitter
d. white
e. school
Though Pippa was certainly expecting something challenging—it was an examination for admittance to Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant, after all—she was not expecting something this nonsensical. Indeed, how could questions like this—and yes, every single one after it was just as bad—provide any sort of useful decision-making information? Indeed, if this was the sort of examination Triumphants took, perhaps it was no wonder some of those Bumbles had been chosen, because what could this test have to do with being exemplary? Surely the selection of something as significant as the kingdom’s Triumphants couldn’t be handled so cavalierly, could it?
Despite the wild thumping of her heart, Pippa lifted one shaky hand in the air. A few of the children turned to stare at her. Even Bernard Bumble looked surprised. Pippa couldn’t imagine questions were welcomed during the exam, and maybe they were an automatic means for dismissal. This gave Pippa a slight pause because even if she wasn’t about to become a Triumphant, that was no reason to get reprimanded. Indeed, Pippa typically took great pleasure in adhering to the rules. Still, what she had to say seemed important enough to risk it.
Ms. Bravo’s loyal companion saw her hand first. He swirled near until he came to land on her desk, his talons click-clacking around the perimeter. Ms. Bravo was not far behind.
“What is it this time, Pippa North?” Ms. Bravo asked. Pippa thought she could detect a small smile playing at the corner of Ms. Bravo’s lips, but she couldn’t imagine why.
“Um, only that I’m afraid there may have been a mistake with the examinations, ma’am. I—I just didn’t know if it would be wise to continue on without bringing it to your attention.”
“A mistake?” Ms. Bravo asked. “A mistake?” she repeated, raising her voice. She looked wildly around the room, but every single one of the other children remained still and frozen. No one uttered a word. “Why, of course there is a mistake! There isn’t a single rational question on this whole exam. It’s all nonsense, and I know because I’m the one who wrote it!”
Though Ms. Bravo seemed strangely jubilant, Pippa felt her knees turn to mush. Had she just insulted a Triumphant? “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—or rather, what I should have said was—”
“CONGRATULATIONS!” Ms. Bravo burst out.
“Congratulations?” Pippa echoed, while beside her Bernard growled, and in the back of the room the rest of the Council members began whispering furiously back and forth.
Ms. Bravo spun in a small circle. “Ring the bell, Ludwig! We’ve got our first selection! Ring the bell!”
But Ludwig must not have been paying attention, because no bells rang. A short, round woman leaped up instead. She had the rosiest cheeks Pippa had ever seen. She bustled down the aisle with her Council cloak hiked up over her ankles, one finger wiggling in the air, and her eyebrows twisted with worry.
“Oh, Yolanda, dear?” she said in a voice that sounded like tinkling bells. Pippa assumed she must be a fairy godmother. “Let’s wait just a moment, shall we? Remember, the first selection is never ever made until at least the fifth round of examinations. We’re, um, not currently finished with the first. Not to mention, I don’t believe you were given permission to write your own exam—and what about the envelope? You know, the one with the N-A-M-E-S?”
For a moment, Ms. Bravo’s shoulders slumped, but just as quickly she tilted her jaw high in the air and repeated, “Ring
the bell, Ludwig! Ring that bell!”
A broad-shouldered man in the back corner, presumably Ludwig, rose to his feet. With a solemn nod of his head, he reached for a thick, braided rope. The rope was attached to a large silver bell at the top of the building, and he gave it a mighty yank. As the sound rolled away, it seemed to grow louder and louder and louder still, as if determined to be heard by every citizen in the kingdom of Wanderly.
“Oh dear,” the round woman said, shaking her head and twisting her hands together. “This ought to be a doozy.”
“Fairy Goodwell,” Ms. Bravo said calmly to the woman, “you needn’t worry. The Chancellor placed me in charge of the examinations this year, I must assume for good reason. This child”—Ms. Bravo gestured at a gaping Pippa—“wasn’t afraid to question the status quo—she showed confidence, she showed bravery, she showed a dedication to truth!”
Pippa took a tentative step forward. “H-honestly, ma’am, I just like tests. That’s all. They’re sort of a hobby,” she said, wondering now if education was perhaps the riskiest hobby one could ever engage in. Her gaze flickered down to her wooden pencil as if it might have morphed into a tiny sword.
Ms. Bravo barreled on. “Now, Fairy Goodwell, I trust you know what needs to be done next, hmm?”
“I . . . oh . . . well.” Fairy Goodwell gulped. “I suppose the Chancellor did put you in charge, Yolanda.” She pulled her wand out from beneath her cloak and gave it a few practice swishes. She turned toward Pippa and said, “Go ahead and stand up, child. Please do try to smile a bit. It’s not every day your destiny is changed for the good. And you needn’t worry one bit about anything going awry. I’m a registered fairy godmother.”
Pippa felt the room spinning all around her. She was certain she was hearing things. It simply wasn’t possible that Ms. Bravo had chosen her for Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant and that a fairy godmother was preparing to officially change her destiny right that instant!
Pippa knew she should be grateful, she knew this was the sort of thing that citizens of Wanderly wished endlessly for, but the only awful thought that rolled through her mind was whether the Chancellor’s version of a “happy” ending would rob her of the one she was certain she already had. Namely, what about her family?
