The School for Good and Evil (13 page)

Grimacing, Tedros closed his eyes. For a moment the prince hesitated. But then surely, powerfully, he felt himself pulled towards one of the hobgoblins.

Sophie gasped. It wasn’t her.

Tedros reached out and touched Agatha’s wet, warty cheek. “This one’s Sophie.” He opened his eyes. “This one’s the princess.”

Agatha gawped at Sophie, dumbstruck.

“Wait. I’m right,” Tedros said. “Right?”

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Sophie tackled Agatha.
“YOU RUIN
EVERYTHING!”

To everyone else, this sounded like “
GOBBO OOMIE HOOWAH!
” but Agatha understood it just fine.

“See how stupid he is! He can’t even tell us apart!” Agatha yelled.

“You tricked him!” Sophie shrieked. “Just like you tricked the bird and the wave and the—”

Tedros punched her in the eye.

“Leave Sophie alone!” he shouted.

Sophie gaped at him. Her prince had just punched her. Her prince had just confused her with
Agatha
. How could she prove who she was?

“Use the rules!” Yuba bellowed atop a log.

Suddenly understanding, Sophie lurched up so her spotted, humped body towered over Tedros, and she caressed his chest with her greasy green hand. “My dear Tedros. I
forgive
you for not knowing any better and won’t
defend
myself even though you attacked me. I only want to
help
you, my prince, and
give
us a story that will take us hand in hand to
love
, happiness, and Ever After.”

But all Tedros heard was a torrent of goblin growls, so he stomped on Sophie’s foot and ran towards Agatha’s goblin, arms outstretched. “I can’t believe you were ever friends with—”

Agatha kneed him in the groin.

“Now I’m confused,” Tedros wheezed and collapsed.

Moaning in pain, he craned up to see Sophie shove Agatha into a blueberry bush, Agatha smack Sophie with a screeching squirrel, and the two green goblins go back and forth, bashing each other like oversugared children.

“I’ll never go home with you!” screamed Sophie.

“
Oooh! Ooh!
Marry me, Tedros!” hissed Agatha.

“At least I
will
get married!”

The fight escalated to a ludicrous climax, with Sophie beating Agatha with a blue squash, Agatha sitting on Sophie’s head, and the class gleefully making bets as to who was who—

“Go rot in Gavaldon alone!” Sophie screamed.

“Better alone than with a phony!” Agatha shouted.

“Get out of my life!”

“You came into mine!”

Hobbling, Tedros leapt between them—

“Enough!”

It was the wrong moment. Both goblins turned on the prince with slime-drenching, earsplitting roars and kicked him so hard he sailed over Groups 2, 6, and 10 and landed in a heap of boar dung.

The girls’ green hides shrank, their scales softened to skin, their bodies melted into their human clothes. . . . Slowly Sophie and Agatha turned to find the entire group goggling at them.

“Good ending,” said Hort.

“Hold your verdict,” Yuba said. “For when Good acts Evil and Evil acts incompetent, and rules are broken right and left until even
I
can’t figure out what’s what . . . well, there’s only one ending indeed.”

Two pairs of iron shoes magically grew on the girls’ feet.

“Yeek. These are hideous,” Sophie frowned.

Then the shoes grew hot, blazing hot.

“Fire! Feet on fire!” yelped Agatha, hopping up and down.

“Make it stop!” Sophie cried, dancing with pain.

In the distance, the wolves howled the end of class.

“Class dismissed,” Yuba said, and waddled off.

“What about us!” screamed Agatha, yanking at her burning soles—

“Unfortunately fairy-tale punishments have a mind of their own,” the gnome called back. “They’ll end when the lesson has been learned.”

The class followed him back towards the school gates, leaving Sophie and Agatha to dance in the cursed shoes. Tedros limped past the punished girls, covered in slime and dung. He gave them equally disgusted scowls.

“Now I see why you two are friends.”

As the prince trudged into blue thicket, the girls glimpsed Beatrix sidle up to him. “I knew they were
both
Evil,” she said as they vanished behind the oaks.

“This—is—your—fault!” Sophie wheezed to Agatha, dancing in agony.

“Please—let it—stop,” Agatha spluttered—

But the shoes showed no mercy. Minute by minute, they grew hotter and hotter, until the two girls couldn’t even scream. Even the animals couldn’t watch such suffering and stayed away.

Afternoon turned to evening and then to night, and still they danced like madwomen, whirling and sweating in pain and despair. Burn ripped through their bones, fire became their blood, and soon they wished that this suffering would end, at any cost. Death knew when he was called. But just as the two girls surrendered to his cruel hands, sabers of sunlight shattered the darkness, speared their feet—and the shoes went cold.

The girls collapsed in tormented heaps.

“Ready to go home?” Agatha panted.

Sophie looked up, ghost white.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

11

The School Master’s Riddle

A
s the two schools slept, two heads surfaced outside in the black moat. Sophie and Agatha peeped out at the thin silver tower that divided lake from sludge. Too far to swim. Too high to climb. A cyclone of fairies guarded its spire, while an army of wolves with crossbows manned wooden planks at its base.

“And you’re sure he’s up there?” Sophie said.

“I
saw
him.”

“He has to help us! I can’t go back to that place!”

“Look, we just beg him for mercy until he sends us home.”

“Because that’ll work,” Sophie snorted. “Leave him to me.”

For the last hour, the two girls had mulled every possible way to escape. Agatha thought they should sneak into the Woods and find their way back to Gavaldon. But Sophie pointed out that even if they did get past the gate snakes and any other booby traps, they’d just end up lost. (“They’re called the
Endless
Woods for a reason.”) Instead, she proposed they hunt for enchanted broomsticks or magic carpets or something else in the school closets that might fly them over the forest.

“And what direction would we fly in?” Agatha asked.

The two girls discarded other options—leaving a trail of bread crumbs (that never worked); seeking a kindly hunter or dwarf (Agatha didn’t trust strangers); wishing for a fairy godmother (Sophie didn’t trust fat women)—until there was only one left.

But now, peering up at the School Master’s fortress, they lost all hope.

“We’ll never get up there,” Sophie sighed.

Agatha heard a squawk in the distance.

“Hold that thought.”

A short while later, they were back in the Blue Forest, caked in sludge, eyeing a nest of big black eggs from behind a periwinkle bush. In front of the nest, five skeletal stymphs slept on indigo grass, littered with the blood and limbs of a half-eaten goat.

Sophie scowled. “I’m back where I started, covered in smelly ooze and who knows how many flesh-eating maggots and—what are
you
doing
!”

“As soon as they attack, we jump on.”

“As soon as they
what
?”

But Agatha was already tiptoeing to the eggs.

“The shoes burnt your brain!” Sophie hissed.

As Agatha inched towards the nest, she caught a closer look at the sleeping stymphs’ jagged teeth, gnarled talons, and spiked tails that shred flesh from bone. Suddenly doubting her plan, Agatha backed up, only to trip on a branch and fall on a goat leg with a loud crack. The stymphs opened their eyes. Her heart stopped.

Unless a villain wakes them up
.

The pink dress wouldn’t fool them.

Agatha glowered at the waking fiends. She couldn’t give up now! Not when she had Sophie willing to go home! She lunged for the nest, snatched an egg, sprang up for the blitz—

“Can’t watch, can’t watch—” Sophie mewled, squinting through fingers for spewing limbs and blood.

But the vicious birds were nuzzling Agatha, like puppies seeking milk.

“Ooh, that tickles!” she squealed. Sophie folded her arms.

Clumping back, Agatha handed the egg to her. “Your turn.”

“Oh, please, if they like you, they’ll try to
mate
with me. Animals
worship
princesses,” said Sophie, sashaying towards the birds—

The stymphs unleashed a war cry and charged.

“Helllllp!” Sophie threw the egg to Agatha, but the stymphs still chased Sophie, who ran in circles like a lunatic, five stymphs high stepping behind her in a moronic maypole parade until everyone forgot who was after who and the birds knocked into each other dizzily.

“See? I outsmarted them,” Sophie beamed.

A stymph bit her bottom. “Ayyyiiieee!” Sophie ran for the nearest tree. Only she couldn’t climb trees, so she hurled mashed gooseberries at the bird’s eye, but the bird had no eye, so the berries went right through bony socket and plopped to the ground.

Agatha watched stone-faced.

“Aggie, it’s
coming
!”

The stymph charged for Sophie, only to stop short and find Agatha perched on its back.

“Get on, you dimwit!” she shouted at Sophie.

“Without a saddle?” Sophie scoffed. “It’ll leave chafe marks.”

The stymph lunged for her—Agatha walloped its head and slung Sophie by the waist onto the bird’s spine.

“Hang on tight!” Agatha yelled as the bird thrashed up to flight, somersaulting over the bay to get the girls off its back. Four more stymphs exploded from blue trees in murderous pursuit; Agatha kicked at the bird’s thighbones, Sophie holding on to her for dear life—“This is the
worst
plan evveerrr!” Hearing squawks and screams, the fairy and wolf guards squinted into the sky, only to see the intruders vanish into fog.

“There’s the tower!” Agatha cried, spotting the silver spire through the mist. A wolf’s arrow whizzed between the stymph’s ribs, almost slicing Sophie in half. Fairies stormed out of the fog, shooting golden webs from their mouths, and the stymph dove to avoid them, spinning to elude a new hail of wolf arrows. This time neither girl could hold on and tumbled off its back.

“Noooo!” screamed Agatha—

Sophie caught the last bone of the stymph’s tail. Agatha caught the last bit of Sophie’s glass shoe—“We’re going to die!” Sophie howled.

“Just hold on!” bellowed Agatha.

“My hands are sweaty!”

“We’re going to die!”

The stymph zoomed for the tower wall. But just as it whipped its tail to smash them, Agatha saw a window glint through fog.

“Now!” screamed Agatha. This time Sophie listened.

Golden nets shot from every direction and the stymph let out a helpless screech. But as fairies watched it plunge to its death, they looked at each other curiously.

There were no riders on its back.

The crash landing through the window left Sophie’s entire right side bruised and Agatha’s wrist gashed. But pain meant they were still alive. Pain meant they still had hope for getting home. With a chorus of groans, they staggered to their feet. Then Sophie saw the worst of the damage.

“My
shoe
!” She held up her glass heel, snapped to a serrated stump. “They were one of a kind,” she mourned. Agatha ignored her and limped ahead into the murky gray chamber, barely lit by the window’s dawn glow.

“Hello?” Agatha called. Echoes died unanswered.

The girls inched farther into the shadowy room. Stone bookcases cloaked gray brick walls, packed top to bottom with colorful bindings. Sophie dusted off a shelf and read the elegant silver letters on the wooden spines:
Rapunzel
,
The Singing Bone
,
Thumbelina
,
The Frog King
,
Cap O’Rushes
,
The Six Swans
 . . . All the stories the children of Gavaldon used to drink up. She looked over at Agatha, who had made the same discovery across the room. They were standing in a library of every fairy tale ever told.

Agatha opened up
Beauty and the Beast
to find it written in the same elegant script as the spine, illustrated with vivid paintings like the ones in the foyers of both schools. Then she opened up
The Red Shoes
,
Donkeyskin
, and
The Snow Queen
and found that they too were written in the same regal hand.

“Aggie?”

Agatha followed Sophie’s gaze to the darkest part of the room. Through the shadows, she could make out a white stone table pressed against the wall. There was something looming over it: a long, thin dagger dangling magically in midair.

Agatha ran her fingers along the cold, smooth surface of the table and thought of all the blank headstones behind her house, waiting for bodies. Sophie’s eyes fixed on the hovering knife, eerily still a few feet above the white slab.

That’s when she saw it wasn’t a knife at all.

“It’s a pen,” she said softly.

It was made of pure steel and shaped like a knitting needle, lethally sharp at both ends. One side of the pen was engraved with a deep, flowing script that ran unbroken from tip to tip.

Suddenly the pen caught a sliver of sunlight and scattered blinding gold rays in every direction. Agatha turned from the glare. When she turned back, Sophie was climbing onto the table.

“Sophie, no!”

Sophie walked towards the pen, eyes wide, body rigid. The world dissipated in a blur of gray around her. All that remained was the shimmering, spindle-sharp pen, strange words reflecting in her glazed eyes. Somewhere inside, she knew what they meant. She reached for the tip.

“Don’t!” Agatha cried.

Sophie’s skin kissed ice-cold steel, blood about to pierce through—

Agatha tackled her and both girls crashed to the table. Sophie broke from her trance and peered at Agatha suspiciously.

“I’m on a table. With you.”

“You were about to touch it!” Agatha said.

“Huh? Why would I touch a—”

Her eyes drifted up to the pen, which was no longer still. It dangled an inch from their faces, pointing between them with its deadly sharp tip as if weighing who to kill first.

“Don’t
move
,” Agatha said between clenched teeth.

The pen seared hot red.

“Move!” she cried.

The pen plunged and both girls rolled off the table, only to see the razor-sharp nib lurch to a stop just before it hit stone. A puff of black smoke and a book suddenly appeared on the table beneath it, bound with cherry-red wood. The pen flipped the cover open to the first blank page and began to write:

“Once upon a time, there were two girls.”

The same elegant script as all the others. A brand-new fairy tale.

Sophie and Agatha gaped from the floor, terrified.

“Now that’s odd,” said a gentle voice.

The girls whipped around again. No one there.

“Students at my school train and toil for four years, venture into the Woods, seek their Nemeses, fight vicious battles . . . all just for the
hope
the Storian might tell their story.”

The girls spun around. No one in the room at all. But then they saw their shadows merge on the wall, into the crooked shadow that kidnapped them. The girls turned slowly.

“And here it starts one for two first-year, unskilled, untrained, clumsy
intruders
,” said the School Master.

He wore silver robes that billowed over his hunched, slender frame, hiding his hands and feet. A rusted crown sat off center on his head of thick, ghostly white hair. A gleaming silver mask covered every last shred of his face, revealing only twinkling blue eyes and wide, full lips, curled in a mischievous smile.

“It must suspect a good ending.”

The Storian dove to the page:

“One was beautiful and beloved and the other was a lonely hag.”

“I like our story,” Sophie said.

“It hasn’t gotten to the part where your prince punches you,” said Agatha.

“Homeward ho,” Sophie sulked.

They looked up and saw the School Master studying them.

“Readers are unpredictable, of course. Some have been our greatest students. Most have been embarrassing failures.” He gazed at the distant towers, turning his back to the girls. “But this just shows how confused Readers have become.”

Agatha’s heart pounded. This was their chance! She jabbed Sophie. “Go!”

“I can’t!” Sophie whispered.

“You said leave him to you!”

“He’s too
old
!”

Agatha elbowed her in the ribs, Sophie elbowed her back—

“Many of the faculty say I kidnap you, steal you, take you against your will,” the School Master said.

Agatha kicked Sophie forward.

“But the truth is I free you.”

Sophie swallowed and took off her broken shoe.

“You deserve to live extraordinary lives.”

Sophie crept towards the School Master, raising her jagged heel.

“You deserve the chance to know
who you are
.”

The School Master turned to Sophie, shoe poised over his heart.

“We demand our release!” Agatha cried.