Quests for Glory

  “No wonder he knows our names and faces and could see us coming. No wonder the quests are going badly,” Agatha said breathlessly, watching KIKO’s figurine inch across the map. “Sophie, he can track all our moves! That’s how he sent thugs to every kingdom and sabotaged their quests!”

  “But I thought Kiko’s and Vex’s teams were missing!” said Sophie.

  “Not missing. Just not responding to Dovey’s messages,” said Agatha, glancing between maps. “But why do all the teams seem to be moving in the same direction?”

  Sophie jumped up and snagged the next map, spotting a peanut-shaped shoreline, a pavilion on a hill, and a pastel-colored castle. “Here’s Jaunt Jolie,” she said, spotting figurines labeled SOPHIE and AGATHA against the castle, while HESTER, ANADIL, DOT, BOGDEN, NICOLA, and HORT were moving out the back of the castle in a single-file line through what looked like the royal gardens.

  “The pirates are taking them somewhere,” Sophie said.

  Her eyes flared. On the opposite side of the castle, far from the pirates and the captive crew, she saw three more blue-labeled names on the map lurking in a forest: BEATRIX . . . REENA . . . MILLICENT . . .

  “Sophie,” Agatha choked.

  Sophie spun around.

  Agatha was holding on to the maps with KIKO’s and VEX’s teams, one with each hand, both threatening to tug her off the ground. Gritting her teeth, she muscled them like puzzle pieces next to the one Sophie was holding.

  “Look at where they’re going,” said Agatha.

  For a moment, Sophie didn’t understand. Then she saw it. The missing quest teams were each headed towards a corner of their maps. So was RAVAN’s team. So was the crew of the Igraine.

  Four teams.

  Four corners.

  All meeting at the same point, a short distance from where SOPHIE’s and AGATHA’s figurines stood now.

  “The Four Point,” said Agatha. “They’re all going to the Four Point.” She looked at Sophie. “Which means the Snake’s thugs didn’t just sabotage their quests. They must have kidnapped them too. That’s why they aren’t responding to Dovey. Because all of them are in the Snake’s hands.”

  The two girls slowly raised their eyes to the only map left, floating over their heads.

  TEDROS, alone in Camelot.

  Agatha stiffened.

  “We don’t even know if these maps are real,” Sophie argued quickly. “Dovey said only the Storian can make a Quest Map. How can the Snake have the Storian’s maps? This could be more hocus-pocus to scare us, just like he lied about killing the queen—”

  But Agatha wasn’t paying attention anymore. “Listen,” she said.

  A soft scratching sound filled the room, like a cat clawing at a window.

  It was coming from the black stone table against the back wall.

  The two girls approached, their shoes padding on the green carpet. . . .

  A gold-covered book lay open on the table. Hovering above, a magical pen drew on a blank page: a painting of the two girls as they were right now, gazing at a black pen drawing in a storybook.

  The book on the table looked just like the one in the School Master’s tower that held their new fairy tale. And the pen floating over it drew in the same bold colors and clean lines as the Storian.

  Only this pen didn’t look like the Storian, Sophie thought, peering closer. It was black, for one thing, not silver. And it wasn’t steel like the Storian; it was flexible and eel-like, as if made out of sticky black goo, contorting with every stroke. It looked a lot like the piece of chain that had magically released her and Agatha before it flew into this room. Plus, the pen didn’t have those strange symbols carved into its side either. Instead, it seemed to be covered in . . . scales.

  Beneath the painting of the two girls, it wrote a caption:

  “One of them would die today. But which one?”

  Sophie saw the horror in Agatha’s face.

  “It’s lying, Aggie. It’s not the real story. It’s not the Storian—”

  But Agatha was dead white, her eyes darting around the room. “This is how it happened before.”

  “What?”

  “He wanted us to find this, Sophie. . . . Just like we did then . . .”

  “You’re not making any sense—”

  “This is how we met the School Master. We found the pen and book on the table. The pen was drawing a picture of us that looked exactly like this one. Sophie, don’t you remember?” Agatha backed away from the storybook. “We were alone in a strange room just like this. We were standing just like this. The Storian began our fairy tale in front of our eyes and then we heard the School Master say behind us—”

  “It must suspect a good ending,” a voice echoed.

  The two girls froze.

  The voice came from behind them.

  18

  AGATHA

  The Pen That Writes the Truth

  Agatha gripped Sophie’s palm.

  The voice was low and crisp.

  Definitely a man’s.

  Holding tight, the two girls turned.

  At first Agatha couldn’t see anyone, the Map Room as quiet and deserted as when they came in.

  Then she saw him.

  He was camouflaged into a pillar, hanging upside down, his body covered in the same shiny green scales as the rest of the room. His pose was like a lizard’s: legs in a crouch, his torso flat against the column, with one hand outstretched and cupping the stone. Agatha could only make him out because of the whites of his unblinking eyes, glaring right at her, ice blue at the center.

  Sophie squeezed Agatha harder.

  Agatha knew why.

  Rafal had those eyes.

  He slithered down the column, his scales undulating along green stone like a snake through grass, his eyes never leaving the girls. As his hands touched the floor and he rose to stand, the scales on his body magically turned black, becoming snug black armor from neck to toe. He had Rafal’s long and lean body, like a teenager’s rather than a man’s, muscles throbbing against his supple, skintight suit. His face, however, stayed green, his features obscured by the smooth, thick scales that shrouded his face like the School Master’s mask.

  As Agatha watched him come closer, her heart jumped.

  The scales on his face and body were moving.

  They rippled in gooey, wave-like ribbons that looked strangely similar to the pen writing in the storybook on the table. Only now there were hundreds of these scaly strips, like a mass of eels, crisscrossing up and down, right and left, as if his body was made out of them.

  From the way Sophie was crushing Agatha’s hand, it was clear she was seeing this too.

  “Rafal?” Sophie whispered.

  He circled them quietly, his well-built chest rising and falling with his breath, his scales gleaming in the green torchlight, until he spoke again.

  “Once upon a time, two girls wanted to find their way home. That was how your fairy tale began. All along, the pen sensed a good ending. Why else would it choose two Readers to become legends?” His blue eyes sparkled through his mask. “And what an ending it was. One girl becomes Good’s next queen. The other becomes Evil’s future. And the boy they each loved becomes Camelot’s Lion.”

  He sounds like Rafal too, Agatha thought. But how? The School Master was dead, his corpse shattered to ash by Tedros’ sword—

  Her muscles locked. Unless the sword being stuck in the stone reversed the spell . . . Unless Tedros failing his test brought Rafal back . . . Can a sword do that?

  “But that’s not how your story ends,” he said, his tone sharpening. He looked at Sophie. “You’re not Evil’s future.” He looked at Agatha. “You’re not Good’s next queen.” He looked up at the map with TEDROS’ name. “And he’s not Camelot’s Lion.”

  He continued to circle. “You won’t believe me, of course. Because you trust the Storian. The pen that gave you a happy ending. The pen you think tells the truth.”

  His shoulder grazed Agatha’s arm
and she felt the eels on his body squiggle across her skin. She swallowed a scream.

  “But just as there are two sides with Good and Evil, with Boys and Girls, with Old and New . . . there are also two sides to the Truth. And until now, there’s only been one pen. A pen that says I am the Snake come into the Woods; I am the Snake here to take down the Lion . . . and you are the ones here to stop me.”

  He approached the black pen dangling over its painting of the girls.

  “But what if there was a new pen? A pen that told a different truth?”

  The storybook rose into the air, tilting towards Agatha and Sophie. It began to flip backwards through pages, the captions beneath the paintings lit up in green glow.

  Agatha’s heart fluttered as she saw a painting of Tedros, safe and sound, gathered with Merlin, Professor Dovey, Lancelot, and Guinevere at a dining table. But then she saw the caption—

  Back at Camelot, the Snake plotted with his henchmen to keep his throne.

  “The Snake?” Agatha blurted. “Tedros?”

  “Henchmen?” Sophie said.

  But the book had flipped back to a painting of Agatha and Sophie dragged through the pirates’ pavilion on a chain—

  The two girls were led towards the castle to meet the Lion.

  “You’re not the Lion—” Agatha fought.

  Only there were more paintings of Tedros and more captions—

  The Snake tried again and again to pull King Arthur’s sword, failing every time. . . .

  The Snake stood by and did nothing as kingdoms in the Woods appealed for his help. . . .

  The Snake was a coward, so he let his princess take over his quest. . . .

  But now the book returned to the very first page of its fairy tale. The painting of Chaddick dead on Avalon’s shore, precisely matching the image the Storian had drawn in its book.

  Except the caption was different—

  Once upon a time, a Lion made its way into the Woods. Its plan was simple: take down the Snake.

  The book snapped closed with a thundercrack, jolting the two girls, before it plopped onto the table.

  “It’s lies,” Agatha spat. “All of it. That’s the side you’re on. Truth versus Lies. That’s what this story is about. And you’re the liar. Look at you! You’re the Snake—”

  “You of all people should know better than to judge by looks,” said the Snake. “But if you listened closely, I’ve already told you how this story will end. With your fairy tale shattered and the real story laid bare. With everything you thought true turned untrue.”

  “But Tedros is the Lion! You’re the villain here,” Agatha retorted. “You have the whole story backwards—”

  “Says your pen. Mine says differently,” the Snake spoke calmly, using his finger like a wand and lifting the scaly black pen into the air over the stone table. Silvery smoke trailed out of its tip, playing out scenes in front of the girls. “Your pen says Cinderella is about a kind girl rescued from her wicked family; my pen says Cinderella is about a clever dowager trying to save her daughters from poverty, only to see an intruder steal the life she planned for them. Your pen says Peter Pan is about a hero who saves his friends from a lethal pirate; my pen says Peter Pan is about a brave, hook-handed captain who defends himself against the children who mutilated him. Your pen says Rapunzel is about a fair maiden seeking to escape her cruel mother; my pen says Rapunzel is about a witch promised a child as repayment for a crime, only to see a man violate the terms of agreement. . . .”

  The ghostly smoke curled into the silhouette of a silver mask, blue eyes blinking beneath.

  “And while your pen says The Tale of Sophie and Agatha is about two girls battling an Evil School Master . . .”

  The pen’s phantom mask turned green—

  “My pen says it’s about a young man’s soul traveling through generations, who finally found True Love with a girl . . . only to learn it was a Lie.”

  The smoke dissipated, revealing the green-masked man behind it, his gaze on Sophie.

  “I-i-it’s not possible,” Sophie sputtered. “You can’t be back—”

  But from the way Agatha saw her looking at him, Sophie seemed to have no doubt he was.

  “It all comes down to this. Your pen thinks I’m the Snake. My pen thinks I’m the Lion. So which pen is right?” he asked. “Yours that writes Lies?” He glared at the two girls, his black, scaly pen spinning over his black, scaly hand. . . .

  “Or mine that writes the Truth?”

  Instantly all the scales of his body broke apart into a thousand eels, lifting off him like puzzle pieces and suspending in midair, so that for a moment his head was separated from this fractured body. The slimy eels squirmed as they floated, with no visible heads or tails, each one identical to the Snake’s pen, which now hovered right above where his heart should be. But most startling of all were their squeals, high-pitched and knifing like the sound of amplified rats, growing louder and louder until Agatha and Sophie both cowered, shielding their ears—

  In a flash, the eels went quiet and flew back into formation, rebuilding his shiny black suit.

  The pen had become part of him.

  The Snake loomed over the girls. “We’ll see which is right in The End, won’t we?”

  From the way his eyes shimmered, Agatha knew he was smiling.

  She could see Sophie’s face change: there was something here Sophie didn’t recognize . . . something that didn’t match up with her once-Evil prince. . . .

  “Who are you?” Sophie breathed.

  Agatha felt it too. The School Master had been Good’s greatest nemesis. But the School Master believed in the Storian. The School Master believed in its Truth. Or at least the same Truth they did. This Snake saw Lies as the Truth and Truth as Lies. For a second, Agatha was back at school, trying to reconcile two sides that once seemed so clear and were now blurring into one. . . .

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the open book, lying on the table, the painting of her and Sophie lit by green torchlight—

  One of them would die today. But which one?

  More Lies?

  Or was it the Truth?

  Danger shot up Agatha’s spine.

  Get out of this room.

  Get out of this room now.

  But how? She could feel a word flitting through her mind like a fly, trying to get her attention. She caught it—

  Plan.

  “And yet you wear a mask,” Agatha challenged. “For one who speaks the ‘Truth,’ hiding your identity is rather suspicious. Unless, of course, your face is so terrible you want no one to see it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s you,” the Snake threw back. “The girl who wears the mask of a queen.”

  Agatha didn’t flinch, sticking to Nicola’s plan. “We can understand why you’d hide your face, of course. The Lady of the Lake showed it to Sophie. The lake waters are magic. Preserved your reflection. Sophie saw it. Said you’re the ugliest man she’s ever seen—”

  The Snake’s eyes flicked to Sophie.

  Sophie gawked at Agatha, as if she might be betraying her to save her own skin. But then Sophie saw her friend’s expression. Just like that, Sophie understood.

  “Agatha’s right,” Sophie confirmed, pivoting to the Snake. “The Lady of the Lake said that’s why you forced her to kiss you. That’s why you drained her of magic and left her a hag. Because you like to punish beautiful girls who don’t want to be with you—”

  “Lies,” the Snake hissed.

  “No more Lies than your Truths,” said Agatha.

  “Which means there’s only one way to prove the real Truth,” Sophie egged on. “Show us your face. Show us what you showed her.”

  He took this in, staring at her, and then began to circle, closer than before. Agatha could see his chiseled muscles cutting against the thin scales of his suit. She could smell him now: a cool, minty scent she hadn’t expected, like a forest after a snowstorm. She could see Sophie stiffen slightly, smelling it too. Bec
ause he didn’t smell like Rafal did. He smelled more like . . . Tedros.

  “Your friend Chaddick thought he knew things about me,” said the Snake, passing behind them. “Girls at school must have enjoyed him. Such lovely thick hair and big gray eyes. And not just handsome, but sharp too. Sharper than you two and your boyfriend at least. He put together all the clues. He found the answers that are lying right under your nose . . . Such a pity. If only he’d just gone back to his king and told him what he’d found. If only he hadn’t tried to be a hero. But he thought he had a way to trap me. He thought he had the perfect plan. . . .” The Snake curved past Agatha’s shoulder and moved in front of the girls. “The last thing he saw as he died on the shore was the sorceress supposed to protect him kissing the one who’d killed him. And the last thing he heard was her telling me how beautiful I am, just like a king named Arthur who once had my blood.” He glowered at Sophie. “That’s what became of dear Chaddick’s plan.”

  Agatha could see Sophie’s eyes dart to her. Rafal’s ego could be stoked, his attentions diverted. But this Snake was onto them. And their plan.

  “At least Chaddick wasn’t a coward,” Agatha intervened, quickly changing tactics. “If it’s true you have King Arthur’s blood, then show us your face. Otherwise it’s just another Lie—”

  Eels shot off the Snake’s body like ropes, shackling Agatha to a pillar. Before Agatha could scream, a last eel gagged her, sticky scales twisting against her tongue.

  Sophie paled in horror, her whole body shaking.

  “Sweet things, aren’t they?” the Snake said, caressing the eel in Agatha’s mouth. “My little scims.”

  The Snake skulked towards her. Sophie retreated until her back flattened against the column next to Agatha, who flailed under the scims.

  “I see why boys love you, Sophie,” he cooed, trapping her against the pillar. “I see why so many want you as their own. Everything about you is . . . sumptuous.”

  He stroked her cheek, scales against skin. Sophie shivered, breath shallowing. Agatha could feel Sophie’s hand move along the stone, trying to find hers.