Authors: Marissa Burt
“Three knocks an’ a tap,” Tuck said, rapping the rhythm on the door with his hook.
Snow could hear a shuffling noise on the other side of the door, and then a muffled voice called, “Who’s there?”
“Um,” Snow answered. “It’s Snow Wotton.”
There was a dreadful pause and then the clicking sound of several bolts. The next minute the door flung wide. A hand grabbed Snow by the shoulder and yanked her inside along with Tuck and Tumbler.
“Hurry now,” a stooped figure was saying. “Don’t want anyone to see you.”
Snow darted a panicky look back up the tunnel. No one
could
see her. No one knew where she was. What if the Warlock’s Apprentice was some horrible Villain? Someone worse than Fidelus and Duessa?
The stranger slammed the door shut, and Snow let any thought of escape go with it. The only way was forward. Her guide pushed them along a poorly lit hallway, and the next thing she knew, Snow found herself seated on a very uncomfortable horsehair sofa in a dark parlor.
A figure was standing before an unlit fireplace, running fumbling fingers along the mantel. “Are you the Warlock’s Apprentice?” Snow asked in a hushed voice.
The man let out a hoarse laugh, one hand finally seizing on a packet of matches. “Oh, no, not me,” he said. “I keep things in order here when she’s away. Just a humble vampire I am.” With a flick of his wrist, the fireplace bloomed into light, and the vampire flashed a very long pair of fangs at her. “Living underground suits me.”
“Oh,” Snow said. She was seated next to a desk covered with thick stacks of books, most of them situated to hold unrolled parchments open on the table. The room was an odd shape, with sharp-edged walls and more doors than Snow could count. There was a loud knock on the door nearest her.
“That’ll be the Apprentice,” the vampire said.
Snow wished she had thought to bring in one of those sticks from the pile outside.
Just in case.
Or, better yet, that she had her mother’s enchanted voice. The sight of the vampire’s fangs had made her think she had been very wrong to come with the leprechauns. Maybe they weren’t the helpful kind after all. She should have left them long ago and braved the dangers of the quicksand rather than this. She was alone underground. With no way to defend herself. Nothing she could do if the Warlock’s Apprentice turned out to be something horrible. Maybe if she caught the Apprentice by surprise, she could still escape.
The door swung open. Snow sprang up out of her chair and steeled herself to make a run for it. But then she found that she couldn’t move at all. For there, standing in the doorway, was her mother.
“You’re the Warlock’s Apprentice?” Snow croaked.
“Thank you, Tuck and Tumbler,” her mother said to the leprechauns. “I knew I could count on you to keep her safe.” She came over to the desk, and it looked as though she might hug Snow, but instead she gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I have tea, somewhere.” Her mother nodded to the vampire. “And something hot to eat. Sit down, Snow.”
P
eter and Indy hurried past Birchwood Hall and down the forest path. The meeting was over, and they had left Elton and his guards surrounded by a mob of angry characters who wanted to know what Kai had meant and why they had a horrible headache.
“How did Kai free them?” Peter said. “Elton’s enchantment had them swallowing lies like hungry fish eating worms.”
“I could do with a fresh fish,” Sam said, licking his chops.
The cat was the only one of their little group who seemed content. Indy was tense as a bowstring, and Peter still felt jittery inside. They were going as fast as they could, and it still felt like they wouldn’t make it to Bramble Cottage in time. Peter couldn’t wait to tell Una and the others what they had learned. The coronation ball was to be held at the Red Castle, one of the many fortresses outside of Horror Hollow. Peter didn’t doubt that if they hunted for a cemetery nearby, they’d probably find it. And if Jaga had been taking her quills to Duessa all along, then Una had been right about the Lost Elements.
“But why does Fidelus want the Elements?” he asked, even though he and Indy had already discussed it to no avail. “Even if he has all of them, what then? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Una said that back at the Unbinding, he wanted to write his own Tale.” Sam loped next to him. “Now that he’s going to be crowned King of Story, maybe that’s not enough.” He growled. “Maybe he wants to write all of Story’s Tales.”
“But he’s not the true King of Story.” Indy was outpacing Peter. “That’s nearly blasphemy. Wait until the Sacred Order hears.”
“They won’t be able to do anything either,” Peter panted, “if the Enemy enchants them like Elton just did all of us. But for Kai’s leaf, we’d have believed him, too, and would probably be out shopping for something nice to wear to the Red Castle tonight.” Peter’s heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just because Indy was setting a fast pace. “Let’s hope there’s enough of the stuff to go around.” The packet Kai had given him before he left was full of dry leaves, but they would need more to save all of Story. “I’m not even sure how we’re going to sneak it into the Red Castle,” Peter said.
“The Resistance will help us.” Indy pointed back toward Perrault. “Perhaps more will join us after they read the broadsides.”
As Peter stopped to untangle a clinging vine from his calf, he had the knowing feeling that someone was watching him. He reached over to his boot and silently eased out his dagger. In one fluid movement he swirled around. But instead of one of Elton’s guards, he saw a tabby, flanked by a fierce-looking Siamese and an all-black cat.
“Put that away,” Sam hissed from behind him.
“You’ve been following us this whole time?” Peter tucked his weapon back into his boot.
“You’re as loud as a dog,” the Siamese said as she bared her teeth at the scimitar Indy had pulled out. Peter wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a threatening look or some sort of feline joke, so he just shrugged and looked at Sam, but Sam only blinked at him.
“As loud as a dog who lets his master lead him on a leash,” the black cat said.
“As loud as a pack of dogs who hear their dinner bowl being filled,” the tabby said, and licked a paw. “As loud as—”
“Okay, I get it,” Peter said. “We’re loud.” The trio of cats looked at him expectantly. “
And
you guys are quiet.”
Sam crouched low to the ground. “Esteemed felines, we give you honor,” he said in a very grave voice. “Thank you for your work at the arena.” The cats seemed pleased with this, and the tabby twined her tail around her paws with a throaty purr.
“Human enchantment disgusts us, and we despise those who use it to control others.” The Siamese primly sat back on her haunches. “We are happy the enchantment failed.”
“You knew Elton was enchanting us?” Indy asked.
The Siamese blinked her crossed eyes at him. “Of course.”
“Well then, you’ve got to help us,” Peter blurted. “At the coronation tonight, they’ll use the same enchantment, and if you can—”
“I am tired of talking.” The Siamese flopped down on her side and squinted at Sam. “The loud ones must leave.”
“No, you don’t under—” Peter began, when Sam hushed him with a growl.
“She said no,” he hissed.
Peter ignored him. “But you helped before.”
The Siamese gave a great yawn and licked her paw. “Where is the one with the pesky feather in his hat? Him I would speak with.”
“Yes,” the tabby purred. “Feathers are fun.”
“He’s gone, but he would want you to help us.” Peter knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care. The cats seemed to be impervious to the Enemy’s lies, and the Resistance needed all the clear-thinking characters they could get—especially now.
Sam swiped a paw at Peter’s ankle. “Stop talking,” he ordered. He turned to Indy. “Get him out of here,” he said. “And, both of you, leave this to me.”
“Good luck, Sam,” Indy said as he began to back away, but Peter could only stare at the little cat.
Sam turned and made the same funny bow again. “Perhaps if I were to request an audience with the Feline Quorum,” he said.
“I cannot refuse your request.” The Siamese flicked her tail back and forth irritably. “But the loud ones must leave immediately.”
Peter tucked his head in an awkward bow. What was it Sam had said? “We give you honor,” he said back to the cats, but the cats only made a strange wheezing sound. Peter had heard Sam do it often enough to know the cats were laughing at him. And then Sam was gone, loping away through the underbrush, and Peter felt as though a great portion of his courage was going with him.
Peter joined Indy back on the main path, unfolded the pouch Kai had given him, and looked at the pile of crumbling herbs. For a moment, he felt the folly of their plan. It was something his brothers might think up. Waltz into the coronation of an immortal Muse and—what?—force some of the herbs down everyone’s throats? Peter had an awful vision of a ballroom full of pointing and laughing characters. Of an angry King Fidelus who wanted him dead. He turned to Indy. “What if Kai is wrong? What if the characters won’t fight for Story, even if they see clearly? They might even decide to crown Fidelus king. Or maybe we won’t be able to get them to eat the leaf in the first place.” He shoved the pouch into his cloak pocket. “Doesn’t seem like much against the forces of the Enemy.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or the plan. The cool fragrance of crushed mint filled the air.
“No,” Indy said. “It doesn’t.” He breathed deeply. “But sometimes it’s the smallest things that end up making the biggest difference.” Indy reached out and clasped Peter’s arm. “And you’re not alone. No matter what happens, Peter, we do this together. And we do this for Story.”
U
na pulled the red thread through the thin cloth. After she had slept in her very own bed in a suite prepared especially for her, she had been escorted to one of the castle’s lavish sitting rooms. They had tea while her mother waited for a messenger to arrive. When Una had asked if it had anything to do with her father, her mother had pulled out the sewing basket. Una had never embroidered anything in her life, but, under her mother’s careful instruction, a red rose was blooming on the handkerchief in front of her.
“Just tie it off like so,” her mother said, leaning over and expertly knotting the string. “Then you can begin again here.”
Una smiled up at her. She could sit and listen to her mother talk all day. The sound of her voice made Una feel all soft inside. She had to focus on trying to keep her stitches even. Every so often she would hand the fabric over for her mother’s inspection, waiting breathlessly for the smile of approval that would show what a good job she had done. Finally, Una was making up for all the lost years.
“Was I born here, Mother?”
Her mother buried her face in the sewing basket. “So many questions, darling!” She pulled out a spool of green thread. “Try this for the stems.”
“Thank you.” Una unwound the top thread. “I just want to know everything about our family. What about my aunts and uncles?”
“What about them?” her mother said carefully. She set the basket on the ground and clasped her hands in her lap. “Una, you must know that your father and I loved his brothers and sisters very much.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Try to understand, darling. We didn’t
want
to oppose them. We had to.”
Una stopped poking the green thread through the needle’s eye. Something about what her mother was saying felt significant, but when Una tried to remember, her mind felt blank. Oppose who? Why did that make her heart beat faster? “Of course I understand. But why did you have to?”
Her mother frowned and then quickly relaxed her face. “It wasn’t the Muses, darling. It was the King. He means only bondage and servitude for Story. Surely you know that.”
Una dropped the spool of green thread. Someone’s face flashed before her mind. Someone who was looking for a King. A boy.
Indy.
She was standing in a forest with him, and he was talking about wanting the King to return. “But the King promised to return to Story.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Yes, dear. But his return is a
bad thing for Story
. Isn’t that right?”
Whatever spark Una had felt at the mention of the King was gone now. It was replaced with the sure knowledge that her mother spoke the truth. It would be a Very Bad Thing if the King returned. “It was brave of you to fight the Muses like that.”
Her mother’s smile was back in place. “Yes, dear. And hard for your father.” She picked up the wayward spool and handed it to Una. “Even so, he always does what is best for his people. For Story.”
Una began to rethread the needle. She had an idea. “Father should be the King!” She looked up at her mother. How had no one thought of this before? “It would be wonderful for Story! And you could be Queen.”
Her mother gave an embarrassed-sounding little cough. “Now, Una. The very idea.” She smoothed out her skirts and said thoughtfully, “But whatever is best for Story . . .”
Una began to work on a dainty leaf. Of course it was best for Story. They had a castle already and everything.
There were footsteps in the hallway, and her mother stood up, her sewing forgotten at her side. Una glanced at the doorway, and what she saw made her prick her finger with the needle. A man entered the room and held out a book to her mother. Its cover was battered, like it had been torn in many places. Something about his mustache and his glasses was familiar. The man twisted a ring on his finger, and then Una knew him.
Mr. Elton!
Half-remembered glimpses of the fight in Alethia’s garden flashed through Una’s mind. Mr. Elton chasing them with wild beasts. His hand cuffing her face. Hot anger boiled up inside and she nearly cried out that he was a miserable traitor, but an overpowering soothing sensation drowned out the emotion. She felt like she was looking at everything from a great distance. Una sucked on her pricked finger. Mr. Elton’s meanness was her old life. The old Una didn’t know the truth about Story. That old Una didn’t know her mother. Now that she knew the truth, what did a little mistreatment done by Elton matter? If what happened in The End was the best for all of Story, the Tale Master’s imprudent mistakes were just tiny bumps on the road. She made another stitch. It was the perfect length. Her mother would be pleased.