Storybound (7 page)

Una shifted in her seat. There was no way Thornhill could know about all the half-truths that Una and Peter had already told. Una scanned the room. Was anyone else sweating? She fixed her gaze on the Truepenny boy. He had something small tucked into his lap and kept glancing down at it. Under the pretense of scratching her ankle, Una dipped down to get a better peek. It was a book.
What was he doing with one of the old Tales?

Una jabbed an elbow into Peter’s side, but, when they looked over, the book was gone. The Truepenny boy was writing on his slate, and Peter rubbed his side accusingly. Una watched the boy, but he didn’t move for the rest of class. He sat with perfect posture, deep-set eyes fixed directly on Professor Thornhill. It wasn’t until he stood that Una realized she had been staring. Class was over, and the other students were packing their slates and scooting the benches back from the tables.

Una shoved her slate into her satchel and hurried to catch up with Peter, who was waiting for her by the door.

Before she could, however, Snow grabbed her arm. “This way, roomie,” she said roughly, almost dragging Una to the front. Snow’s squirrel chattered ahead of them, glancing back with frightened eyes, until Snow booted it out of her way.

They waited behind a boy who was complaining about the mark he had received for his laugh. “But I did put the extra cackle in, ma’am,” he said. Una couldn’t imagine what Snow was doing. Was she going to tell Thornhill that Una thought she was creepy?

Thornhill addressed the boy, but she was looking at Snow and Una. “Mr. Boniface, we will discuss this later. You are dismissed.” She flicked a finger at the boy, who, with a great sigh, headed toward the door.

Una’s heart was pounding. Maybe she could just lie again and say that what she meant was that Thornhill was charming and played the part of the Villain so perfectly and—

Then Snow was speaking. But instead of tattling on Una, she was introducing her. “Una is my new roommate, Professor.” She shot Una a challenging look. “Una, meet my mother.”

Chapter 10

I
can’t believe Thornhill is Snow’s mom,” Una said for the third time. Dinner was over, and they were sitting in a corner booth of the Woodland Room.

Peter was slicing an apple pie. “I tried to warn you, Una.”

Sam licked his chops and watched Peter cut the pie into quarters.

“Making funny faces at Snow is not a warning,” Una said. “My roommate’s mother is a Villain
,
and to make matters worse, she suspects I’m lying about something.” She accepted the plate Peter handed her. “Maybe she wants Snow to spy on me.”

Peter slid a cup of hot cocoa across the table. “I don’t think Snow and her mother get along all that well,” he said. “The rumor is that her mother left her when Snow was just a baby. Thornhill only came to teach at Perrault this term. Snow lives with her cousin’s family.”

Sam was mostly interested in the pie’s whipped cream topping, but Peter wolfed his entire piece down in three bites.

“Ow. Hot,” he said, between mouthfuls.

Una blew on a forkful of pie. “What’s the big rush, anyway?”

Peter took a long drink of cocoa from the tankard on the table and stole glances around the room.

“What is it, Peter? You look like Sam does right before he’s going to swipe my food,” Una said, and swatted at Sam’s grasping paw. “You finished yours already, you greedy cat.” Sam sat back on his haunches and studied a spot on the table. Then he stood in a very dignified manner and left without a word, his tail arched in a perfect curve.

“Elton left during my detention this afternoon.” Peter pulled out a yellowed roll of paper. “His private study was locked, but I snooped around the files in the outer office and found this.”

“Oooh, what is it?” Una said. Together, they unknotted a fraying ribbon, carefully unrolled the faded parchment, and weighted the corners down with their dishes.

“It’s pretty old,” Peter said.

“I can tell.” Una squeezed into his side of the table. “Move over.” Small bits of paper had flaked off, and some of the lettering was illegible. On one side, tiny spots of mold converged to cover the writing.

It looked like the front page of a newspaper. There were three columns of print under the illuminated title:
The Character Times
. Una scanned the page. There was an opinion piece on the reliability of any character who had ever met the Muses and an editorial criticizing an old couple for wanting to keep their family’s Tales, but Una went straight to the article in the center of the page.

“Look at this one.”

In the picture, a group of serious-looking men wearing long coats and top hats stood in front of a towering black building. Below the image was the heading
MUSE INK TAINTED
.

“The Muses’ Ink,” Peter said. “Maybe there’s something in here about the other WIs.”

“Sh! I think so too. Let’s read it.” She bent closer to the page and began to read.

This morning, an emergency council set to oversee the security of Story addressed the characters of Story. The leader of the movement, Hero Archimago Mores, gave a stirring speech, reprinted here for the edification of all:

Dear characters of Story, it is with a heavy heart that I come before you this morning. Many of us have lost loved ones and friends, and none have remained untouched by the recent violence. We stand united in the aftermath of this great evil. I come foremost to grieve with you as a fellow character, as one who has been deeply wronged by the treachery of our Muses. They called themselves the stewards of Story, but I call them nothing but destroyers of Story! Once upon a time they promised to do no harm, to rule benevolently until the return of the King.

“The King? Who’s the King?” Una asked.

“Who knows?” Peter said. “I’ve never heard of a King of Story. Let’s keep reading.”

And who of us now will believe their words? All that they have told us is lies. I tell you truly—I heard it from the Muses’ own lips before I vanquished them—there is no King. There is only ourselves. And so much the better! Together we have overcome our enemies. The Muses, those vile Oathbreakers, have been destroyed and will no longer threaten our fair lands. The Tales they wrote have been secured, and I promise you this: no longer will anyone in Story wield such power. Better to have no new stories at all than to submit to such tyranny as we have seen these many weeks. Better to bask in the memory of the old Tales than to risk writing with the Muses’ tainted magic.

“Magic?” Una reread the line. “Their ink was magic?”

“I don’t know anything about their ink,” Peter said. He was frowning down at the page.

The days of the Muses are over. May those who were lost to their evil be at peace, and may their sufferings here be as a dream. May those of us who remain rest securely in a new era. We have lived through dark days. But now we emerge stronger, more independent, better equipped. Look to your right and to your left. See the strength of Story. It isn’t in the magic of a Muse’s pen or in the legend of a King. It is here. In me. In you. No longer do we need someone else to write our Tales for us. We can script them ourselves. Now is the day of our salvation. Now is the time for us to take control of our own destinies.

“I don’t know about that,” Una said. “Playing a part in a Tale, like a Hero or a Villain, doesn’t sound like anybody taking care of their own destinies.”

“I’m not that far yet. Just a second,” Peter said.

Una scanned the room while she waited for him to catch up, her eyes pausing on a wolf three tables over who was napping, his head resting on his paws.

“Well, we get to decide what type we want to be.” Peter frowned. “That’s something.” He sat back in his chair.

Una raised one eyebrow and smoothed her hands over the faded text. “I wonder what was so magic about their ink.” She tapped her finger on the table. “Maybe that’s how they Wrote people In.”

Peter furrowed his brow. “I don’t think there’s really any way we can know that, Una. Besides, don’t you think it would be all dried up by now?” He broke off and stared over her shoulder. “Don’t look, but that boy is watching us.”

Una looked. A boy with a hooded sweatshirt sat across the room. It was the Truepenny boy she had seen in Villainy, and he was watching them from under his dark fringe of hair. She turned in her seat so that her back was facing the boy. “I almost forgot!” She told Peter about how she had seen him reading during class.

“You couldn’t have seen a book.” Peter shook his head. “The Talekeepers have them all locked up in the Vault.”

“But didn’t you say Elton was talking to George about missing books? Maybe the Truepenny kid took one from the Vault!”

Peter looked doubtful. “That would be pretty risky. Even if that kid had managed to find one, it’s forbidden to keep one of the old Tales.”

“Forbidden!” Una couldn’t wrap her mind around a bookless existence. “You mean you’ve never read a book?”

“Nope. Haven’t you been paying attention, Una?” He thumped the center of the scroll. “
You
think they’re just books. But
we
know that all books are the old Tales the Muses wrote. They’re probably full of all sorts of awful things. That’s why the Talekeepers took them. You must have seen wrong.”

Una sneaked another peek over her shoulder. He had looked away. “I’m sure it was a real book.”

Just then, the tall, spiky-haired boy who had tormented Sam at the Tale station appeared at their table. “Oh,” he crooned at Una, “where’s the little kitty cat? Aren’t you having tea with your ickle kittyums?”

“Get lost, Horace. We’re busy,” Peter said.

Una knocked aside the dishes holding the scroll and it rolled together in an instant.

“Busy doing what?” Horace asked. “Pretending to be a Lady?” He snorted. “I’m not so sure that’s possible.”

Una gave him a stony glare. “Can’t find any tiny creatures to torment? There’s no way you could actually bully someone your own size. And it suits you, really.”

“What does?” Horace asked.

“Your name,” Una said. “Don’t you know it means ‘horrible’?”

Snow came up behind him just in time to hear Una’s words. She held a bright red scarf in one hand. “Let’s go, Horace. We’re going to be late.” A weary-looking bluebird perched on her shoulder.

“What a surprise,” Una said. “You two are friends.”

“Cousins, actually. Nice work, Fairchild. In one day you’ve said nasty things about nearly all of my family.” Snow glared at Una. “As nice as a little chat with my roomie would be . . .” She snapped her fingers, and the bluebird fluttered up to take the scarf. It wound the fabric once around Snow’s neck. “I don’t have time for one right now. Horace, come on.” As Snow walked away, she flung one end of the scarf over her shoulder. The bluebird went flying, hit the wall opposite, and landed on the far side of the table.

“Oh,” gasped Una, but Snow had already left.

Horace leaned in closer. “Do you worry about little birdies, too?” His breath smelled like stale onions. He whispered, “Maybe you should know that a little birdie told me something else about you, something about sneaks and strangers and cheating on examinations.”

At that moment, the bluebird, having recovered from its fall to the table, made a break for the door. A second was all it took. A glob of bird dropping splattered onto Horace’s head. He froze, the poop trickling down one cheek.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking to little birdies after all, Horace,” Una said. Her laugh came out like a snort at first. Then Peter joined in, and the next table erupted into laughter that followed Horace as he walked stiffly out of the room.

“That bird deserves a round of applause,” Peter said after they had calmed down. “Impeccable timing.”

“Hear, hear,” Una said, and clanked her mug of cocoa against Peter’s. She looked across the room, her smile fading. “The Truepenny boy is gone.”

Peter followed her gaze. “Maybe he was just staring off into space. Maybe it had nothing to do with us.”

“Or maybe he’s one of Red and Elton’s spies who’s supposed to keep an eye on me.”

Peter looked doubtful. “Would they really send a kid after you?”

Una shrugged and spread out the scroll again. She read through Archimago’s speech a second time and found a small note under the faded photo.

Archimago Mores has assumed duties as the first Tale Master. His new responsibilities will include overseeing the safekeeping of the Tales, advising on character types, and placing . . .

But this was where the mold now covered the faded text. Una brushed gently at the paper, but she couldn’t make out the rest of the article. She began to roll the scroll up again. She had to go slowly so as to keep more of the parchment from flaking off. Which was how another headline caught her eye.
PROTESTERS CALL FOR ARCHIMAGO’S RESIGNATION
. Most of the article was missing, but Una could read a bit about how a group of characters picketed Archimago’s speech, demanding the return of the Tales. They accused the Talekeepers of censorship and called for new leadership that would continue the old ways until the return of the King.

“It looks like some people didn’t agree with him,” Una said after Peter had read it. She tied the tattered ribbon around the rolled-up paper. “I wonder what happened to them.”

“I have no idea.” Peter chewed his bottom lip. “Story’s never had a King. How could characters be waiting for a King to return?”

Una frowned. “Well, I don’t know about any King, but I think those protesters were right about censorship. Archimago called it safekeeping, but I think it’s strange that you aren’t allowed to read any books.”

“Well, the Talekeepers do keep the books safe.” Peter finished drinking his cocoa. “We just can’t see any of them.”

“Come on, Peter,” Una said. “You think they’re doing you some kind of favor by forbidding books? Where I come from, censorship always means somebody is hiding something.”

Peter sighed. “But what?”

Una thought about what she had learned in history class back at Saint Anselm’s. Governments that controlled what people read did it in order to control the people. “Whatever it is, they don’t want ordinary characters to find out about it. Without the books, all we have to go on is the word of the Talekeepers.” Her heart quickened. “I’d bet anything they aren’t telling the whole truth about what really happened back when the Muses were still around. And who knows what else they’re lying about.”

Peter set his mug down slowly. “I thought the Talekeepers just didn’t like people talking about the Muses because what they did was so awful. Do you really think they edited our Backstory?” He had a sick look on his face.

“Well, what the Muses did
was
awful. They tortured characters!” Una tried to imagine what it would feel like if she found out things she had learned in history class were a lie. “But maybe there’s more to the story than the Talekeepers are willing to tell. And maybe not all of the Talekeepers are lying. If all this happened such a long time ago, the Talekeepers from today might not know the truth either. All we have to do is find out what really happened.” She flicked her finger at the scroll. “I mean,
they
knew, obviously, so—”

“Great,” said Peter. “Except they’ve all been gone for how many years? Or do you think we should just walk up to Mr. Elton or some Talekeeper and ask all about their secret Backstory?”

Una snatched the scroll and tucked it into her cloak. She said in a huffy voice, “No, Peter.
Elton’s private study
. If you found this lying around the outer office, just think what he’s got locked away inside his own desk. I’d bet you anything there’s loads of stuff about the Muses and what the Talekeepers did next and all the rest. We need to find a way to get in there.”

“Well, we’ll have to do it after the weekend,” Peter said. “We’re going home tomorrow, remember? Maybe my parents will be able to help us.”

“Maybe,” Una said. “I suppose Elton’s study will have to wait. For now.”