by Temre Beltz
“Come on, Ferdinand,” Pippa coaxed. “If you like these sugar cubes anywhere near as much as Ernest likes Maisy’s lemon bars, then you’re in for a special treat.” At the word “treat,” Ferdinand’s ears twisted toward her. Pippa felt her heart thump. She stretched her arm so far through the railing that her cheek squished up against the wood. “That’s it, Ferdinand. I have a treat. Just for you. But you’ll have to come over here and get it. Come on, now. You can do it.”
Miraculously, Ferdinand took a few shuffling steps toward her, and then a few more. He stopped just short of her outstretched hand and looked at her as if to say, “Now what?”
“Now you come here. You have to get closer. I can’t reach you.”
Ferdinand suddenly tossed his head. Pippa was so frightened by the movement that her hand jerked upward and all the sugar cubes rolled right off and plopped into the grass. Ferdinand stared after them for a moment, sighed, and then turned back around in the direction from which he’d come.
Pippa had come so close! She was certain that if she’d had just another minute or two, Ferdinand would have gotten curious enough to investigate, and who knew what sort of magic one of Maisy’s decadent creations would work? Pippa set her jaw. She didn’t like staring a solution in the face and having it evade her. She knew the Triumphants were supposed to take it slow with their loyal companions, that trust was built over time, but it wasn’t like Ferdinand seemed agitated. And Pippa was fast. She could be in and out of Ferdinand’s paddock before Ferdinand lifted his mopey head.
Pippa slid fully through the wood slats and crept toward the spot where the sugar cubes had fallen. Ferdinand continued to graze in the far corner of the paddock, with no other movement but the occasional swishing of his knotty tail. Pippa had picked up nearly half the sugar cubes when a small voice cried out, “Pippa, fire horsey?” Pippa looked up and saw Viola and Choo-Choo leaning against the gate.
“It’s okay, Viola,” Pippa said in as soft a voice as she could manage. “Just go back to what you were building with Choo-Choo.” Pippa’s voice was not, however, soft enough. Ferdinand jerked his head up. He whirled around to face Pippa, and though he didn’t move, his nostrils flared. Pippa’s heart began to race. Standing there, in the paddock, with nothing between her and Ferdinand, he suddenly seemed a lot more mighty than mopey.
Snap, pop, boom, boom!
Pippa cringed at the bright flashing of a camera. It was the reporter from the Wanderly Whistle, and her photographer was having a field day.
“Please,” Pippa whispered loudly. “Please just wait a moment. You’ll frighten him.”
The reporter, Ms. Dottie Banks, whom Pippa recognized from her first day on Triumph Mountain at the magic mirror visit with her family, bobbed her head eagerly up and down. She clasped her hands against her chest. “Did we come at an exciting moment? Oh, how thrilling this is for the citizens of Wanderly! What are you doing in there, by the way, dear? Practicing a very special trick, I presume?”
“Not really, ma’am,” Pippa said. She watched nervously as Ferdinand began to paw at the ground. Pippa began to back away very, very slowly, holding her breath as she moved closer to the fence and closer to safety.
Ms. Banks tossed her head toward the sky and squinted. “Timmy?” she called out to the photographer. “Can you fetch my hat? I suppose the sun really does shine brighter atop Triumph Mountain,” she said with a grin. Timmy dove immediately into one of the seven or eight bags he was toting around. He emerged with the tallest hat Pippa had ever seen, which likely required its own separate bag, and was made even taller by Ms. Banks’s advanced height. It was a handsome hat, to be sure. A deep violet shade replete with daisies whose petals were brushed with glitter. It had a little rhinestone veil coming off the front of it and looked like it had probably been displayed in the front window of one of the fanciest shoppes at Pigglesticks. Ms. Banks smiled as she set the hat atop her head.
Unfortunately, Ferdinand chose that moment to go absolutely berserk. His pawing at the ground transformed into a full-fledged rearing up on his hind legs. He let out a whinny so shrill and so deafening that Pippa pressed her hands against her ears. The worst part of all was that he exploded into motion, racing around and around and around the paddock in a blur, leaving Pippa with no other alternative but to stumble toward the middle of the paddock like a bull’s-eye target.
“Pippa!” Viola’s shout quickly turned into a wail of tears.
A short distance away, Ms. Bravo’s head snapped up. She was working with Prudence Bumble and her loyal companion raccoon, but she sprinted immediately in Pippa’s direction, leaving Prudence to trudge sullenly along after her.
Without missing a beat, Ms. Bravo hopped onto the fence’s wood slats. She grabbed a nearby lead rope, circled it into a lasso, and began sweeping it through the air, trying to catch Ferdinand as he whipped by. Though Ms. Bravo wasn’t having a bit of luck, Pippa was just grateful not to be alone.
Standing behind Ms. Bravo, Ms. Banks wrung her hands. She took a few nervous steps backward, causing her hat to sway through the air. Curiously enough, Ferdinand began to race faster. “Oh dear, no one said anything about the fire horse being dangerous. Is—is this normal?” Ms. Banks said.
Mistress Peabody sashayed over at record speed and linked her arm through Ms. Banks’s. “How lovely to see you, Dottie!” she gushed. “And did I overhear you asking if this fire horse is dangerous? Of course it’s not dangerous! It’s exactly like every other fire horse you’ve ever read about. Its only goal is to protect, defend, and promote Triumphants! Isn’t that grand?”
Ms. Banks nodded a bit uncertainly. Her hat bobbled so far forward that it almost tipped right off her head. Mistress Peabody steadied it with a pink-polished fingernail. “Is this a juvenile fire horse?” Ms. Banks said. “Indeed, it is quite a bit smaller than I was expecting and, um—does it always just have one flame like that or is it warming up?”
Still stuck at the center of the arena, Pippa studied Ferdinand carefully. Every time she thought he was about to calm down, he would ramp right back up and it always seemed to be in response to Ms. Banks. Maybe it was something about her voice. Or maybe it was the way she moved. Or maybe it was—
“Your hat!” Pippa cried out from the center of the arena. “Ms. Banks, I think Ferdinand’s afraid of your hat! If you don’t mind, can you please remove it?”
Ms. Banks’s cheeks flushed. “My hat?” she exclaimed. “But this hat is the latest fashion. It’s brand-new this season!”
“Ms. Banks, I didn’t say it wasn’t a lovely hat, only that I think it’s scaring Ferdinand. Please, Ms. Banks!” Pippa said.
Though Ms. Banks hardly appeared happy about it, Ms. Bravo looked to be one centimeter away from plucking it off herself, and after a moment, Ms. Banks obliged. She reluctantly untied the strings of her hat and set it down where it was no longer visible. Ferdinand skidded to an instant halt. Pippa sprinted toward the fence, where Ms. Bravo’s hands wrapped securely around her arms and helped pull her all the way through.
Pippa stumbled to her feet—just in time to see the barn doors burst wide open and Leonardo come charging out, Ernest racing behind him at full speed and shouting, “STOP! LEONARDO, NOOOO!”
Ms. Banks gathered up her skirts in her hands as if preparing to make a fast getaway. “This must be another creature that’s not dangerous, hmm?” she said, her voice shaking the slightest bit. “I sure am glad to be surrounded by Triumphants at a time like this.”
Recognizing the determined glint in Leonardo’s eye, all the Triumphant students ran for cover. Every single one, that is, except for Prudence Bumble, who, presumably in an attempt to drown out the commotion surrounding Pippa, had wrapped her raccoon’s tail around her head like a set of fuzzy earmuffs and was oblivious to Ernest’s frantic warning.
Leonardo lowered his head, and his horns followed suit. Pippa could barely stand to watch as he crashed right into Prudence’s backside, knocking her off balance, and causing
her to plummet into a pile of “mud.”25 She lay there long enough for Ernest to secure a jubilant Leonardo and exclaim in between breaths, “I’m so sorry, Prudence. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Leonardo’s learning, really he is. He’s a bit feisty is all, but he’d never really hurt anybody.”
The only answer, however, was a snap, pop, boom, boom as the photographer caught every detail of Prudence’s disheveled appearance on camera. While Ernest miserably led Leonardo away, Pippa glanced sheepishly in Ms. Banks’s direction. Pippa couldn’t imagine a more sour end to her first official training session with Ferdinand, but perhaps that was her fault for expecting anything different. She should have known that even with a creature as magnificent as a fire horse by her side, it couldn’t possibly be enough to render her stay at Peabody’s Academy for the Triumphant anything other than what it had been from the very beginning: a giant mistake.
Ten
Crows Ruin Everything
In the kingdom of Wanderly, perhaps the only place more miserable than the Swinging Swamp was a dungeon located inside the Swinging Swamp and, more specifically, the dungeon inside Razzle’s School for Meddlesome Boys.
Ironically enough, the dungeon was as awful as it was because no one ever used it. Headmaster Razzle considered himself far too grown-up to delve into the sticky affairs of children. He found discipline exhausting and, frankly, he didn’t see how things like nice manners and sharing made much difference. And so, when the boys had an argument, when the boys did something egregious to one another, he simply waved his hand in the air and said, “Carry on, carry on,” and no one was ever once punished.
And so, the dungeon sat and sat.
The dungeon sat some more.
And then one day it became the temporary home of a piglet.
That piglet, of course, was poor Oliver.
Oliver, as you may well remember, didn’t shy away from hard work. Up until Headmaster Razzle’s terrible thirty-day deadline, he had tried to prove his worth by doing every chore that no one else wanted to do. But piglets do not have helpful things like hands and fingers. They have hooves. Hooves that can accomplish little if any cleaning, and so for the past five days, Oliver had been forced to live in the dungeon’s squalor. Squalor for a piglet is not such a big deal, but squalor for a boy turned into a piglet was awful.
Oliver couldn’t believe the staying force of Helga’s magic. When Council member Slickabee had said transformation could take anywhere from one to seven days, Oliver hadn’t actually thought it would take that long. And yesterday when his feet spontaneously returned, he was certain the rest of him would follow quickly after. But it hadn’t. It was only now, five whole days since he’d made the mistake of slinking into the Twisted Goblet, that Oliver was able to slide back into his normal clothes and let himself out of the dungeon—never mind the curly pig tail and the pair of soft, floppy ears that still remained.
The first thing Oliver noticed once he climbed the drippy dungeon steps and peeked into the hallway was the quiet. Oliver knew exactly where everyone must be. He had heard the boys chattering about it; he had heard several of them bragging about it; today was the day that Oliver had pinned every hope on for securing a hat and his place in the Swinging Swamp: the auditions for the role of Master Von Hollow’s assistant.
Oliver couldn’t believe he had missed it.
Granted, even if he hadn’t been transformed into a piglet, the odds of Oliver being chosen were far worse than he’d originally planned. Despite his best efforts, Oliver hadn’t managed to snag the worm root for stellar confidence. Despite going so far as to pose as a fairy godmother and even tamper with a girl’s wish, Oliver didn’t have any grubins to make his audition more attractive. And despite stepping fully outside his comfort zone and offering up his services to Master Von Hollow, even going so far as to negotiate with a witch, Oliver had managed to make a disaster out of that too!
Oliver’s eyes welled up with tears. He looked up and down the tunnel-like school hallway with the flickering candlelit sconces and the paintings hanging on the wall; the very same paintings he had looked at every day for as long as he could remember. Oliver had never thought seeing those ugly old paintings was something to be glad about, but he wondered now if he would ever see them again.
With his head hanging, Oliver watched a snake slither by. He marveled at how it moved with such purpose, seeming to know precisely where it was going. Feeling a bit envious, Oliver followed it. He followed it all the way to the kitchen, but a snake’s needs, as it turns out, aren’t that complicated, and it was simply looking to warm itself by the fire.
Oliver sighed. He turned in the direction of the boys’ dormitory but found himself positioned, of all places, in front of Headmaster Razzle’s office. And suddenly he remembered. He remembered Council member Slickabee talking about securing a venue for Master Von Hollow’s showcase; he remembered Headmaster Razzle talking about change—real change—and the most important audience in the entire kingdom. And all of that very important, top secret information was written down on an invitation. An invitation Headmaster Razzle had secured in his top desk drawer.
Did he dare sneak into Headmaster Razzle’s office to look at the invitation for himself?
Oliver had never done such a thing before.
But now that he’d missed the auditions, now that there was no way for Oliver to be selected as Master Von Hollow’s assistant, now that Oliver was no longer in piglet form, what was to stop Headmaster Razzle from throwing Oliver out upon his return to the school that very night?
If that invitation was so important to Headmaster Razzle, maybe there was something on it that would be useful to Oliver as well. It was worth a try, anyways, and Oliver certainly didn’t have anything to lose.
Oliver placed his sweaty hand on the doorknob and twisted. It opened with an ominous creak. He quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him in case any magicians came back from the auditions early.
It felt strange to be in Headmaster Razzle’s office all alone. The desk chair where Headmaster Razzle usually sat seemed to eye Oliver disapprovingly, as if it knew he had no business being there. Try as he might, Oliver couldn’t avoid its glare because Headmaster Razzle’s office was even emptier than it had been five days ago. Other than the desk and chair, there was nothing more than a few lingering dust bunnies, an empty hat rack, and that painting on the wall where the Sapphire Sea sparkled and glistened and gleamed as if inviting him to come for a swim, as if even someone like Oliver would be welcomed there.
Oliver turned from the painting and slid open Headmaster Razzle’s desk drawer. The invitation was lying on top. His hand trembled as he slipped it free, and his eyes pored over the fancy handwriting.
Hear Ye! Hear Ye! You are formally invited to celebrate Wanderly’s finest at the Annual Fall Picnic Extravaganza! Don’t miss a chance to catch a glimpse of your favorite young hero and cheer them on as they win medal after medal and trophy after trophy! Guest accommodations will be provided in the famed Castle Cressida. Gourmet meals will be served. The entire event is complimentary for the families of our beloved Triumphant students, with the understanding that all will boast appropriately about their unforgettable experience on Triumph Mountain. Long live Wanderly’s Triumphants!
All hail to the Chancellor!
Date: September 30–October 1
Arrival Time: Sunset
Location: Triumph Mountain
Mood: Happily Ever After
Oliver’s jaw dropped. Triumph Mountain? That was the proposed venue for Master Von Hollow’s showcase? The Chancellor had stuck the magicians in the most undesirable place in all of Wanderly—a place where they would have no hope of attracting even an audience full of commoners—and the magicians thought the Chancellor would allow them to conduct a showcase on Triumph Mountain? In front of Triumphants and their families? It didn’t make any sense!
Unless, of course, the Chancellor didn’t know that’s what the magicians planned to do. But Oli
ver couldn’t imagine what good could come of that. Even if Master Von Hollow completed every last trick—which was questionable considering the audience would be full of heroes trained to defend Wanderly—surely the Chancellor would punish the magicians for their treasonous behavior when it was all over.
Headmaster Razzle said the magicians’ roles were about to change, but he couldn’t have meant by getting in trouble with the Chancellor; that would be far worse even than life in the Swinging Swamp. A shiver went down Oliver’s spine. Unless the magicians had determined that the only way to kick their humiliating role of “nuisance” was to prove they were as villainous as the witches, in a way that no one, not even the Chancellor, could deny.
Oliver’s breath came in short bursts. He looked anxiously around the room. He’d thought the invitation would provide him with answers, but all he had now were more questions. In particular, were the magicians really considering the unthinkable—an attack on the kingdom’s Triumphants?
Oliver gulped. He’d never personally known a Triumphant, but he did know that attacking one was seriously off-limits. And he was sort of glad about that. As burdensome (to put it mildly) as the Chancellor’s roles were, it was nice to live in a kingdom where there would always be heroes to count on. But what if, with this showcase, the magicians turned everything on its head? Based on how the magicians ran things in the Swinging Swamp, Oliver couldn’t imagine this would mean good things ahead for Wanderly.
But what was a boy without a hat supposed to do about it?
Oliver sighed and glanced back down at the invitation. His eyes scanned to and fro, looking for something that might be of help, and then he zeroed in on the word “annual.” That was it! The Triumphants’ picnic happened only once a year! If Oliver somehow managed to sabotage Master Von Hollow’s showcase, if the magicians’ plan depended on an audience of Triumphants and their families, the magicians might be forced to postpone their plans until next year.
