Authors: Marissa Burt
Soon the alley emptied into a busy pedestrian street. This one was packed with people, and it looked like most of them were tourists. Small vendors had set up booths and were selling wooden knickknacks and charms.
“Care for a blessed necklace?” an old woman asked, and shoved a hideous beaded thing in front of Una’s face. “It’ll keep evil at bay.”
“No thanks,” she said before plowing on after Peter. A tiny icon, two more gaudy necklaces, and a gargoyle pendant later, they had lost sight of Snow. They were in the heart of the market now, but most of the tourists weren’t buying. Instead, a steady stream of people walked two by two toward a Gothic stone building.
Una got a glimpse of Snow’s hooded cape. “There!” she yelled to Peter above the noise. They pushed their way forward. Soon they were only a few paces behind Snow, who was pretending to look at some miniatures of the cathedral. Her mother had stopped on the stairs to talk to someone. Una craned her neck, but she could only see the person’s back.
Thornhill’s companion wore richly colored robes that draped gracefully over his form. Thornhill bent in close to whisper something in his ear, and he escorted her up the steps and into the cathedral.
So intent was Una on watching Thornhill, she didn’t notice that Snow had turned until Peter’s elbow jabbed into her ribs. Snow was headed right toward them.
Una grabbed Peter by the arm and plunged into the interior of the nearest stall. “How much for this?” she asked, and grabbed up the first talisman she could find.
“A bronze mark,” the toothless man said.
“Okay,” Una said, and dug the coin out of her change purse.
By this time Snow had passed them. “Do you think she saw us?” Una asked Peter.
Peter shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Snow. He was staring at the thing in Una’s hand. “You paid a bronze mark for
that
?” Una looked down. Nestled in her palm, cast out of some sort of cheap metal, was an exact replica of the flowering tree.
U
na didn’t mention the City Hub to Snow when she returned to Grimm Dorm later that night. Or what had happened at Heart’s Place. Snow was already back when Una arrived, and she gave Una the barest of nods. Their room felt like a tomb. Una wasn’t sure whether she liked silent, stoic Snow or pouty, mocking Snow better. Neither one was the Snow she had glimpsed earlier that day in the fabric shop. The real Snow. Una couldn’t bring herself to apologize, and Snow didn’t seem interested in conversation anyway, so when Snow settled in to study, Una headed for the Woodland Room.
While Una didn’t exactly enjoy the forced silence of her dorm, she wished a little of it would rub off on Peter. He couldn’t stop talking about the City Hub. She and Peter were sitting with Sam in a corner booth. Una flipped through the sheaf of papers titled
How to Win Your Hero
that Peter had given her to memorize before Heroics class. The only reason she actually read the thing was to mock it. The assignment was addressed to Village Girls. “Ready yourself. Make sure you look refreshed before you wait on the Hero. Take a few moments to freshen up. Smooth your hair. Tighten your corset. Remember, you may be the nicest thing he’s seen all day.”
She tossed the papers aside and pulled out the one book that had consumed her attention all day.
Peter’s eyes widened, and he darted a panicky glance round the room. “Una! Put that away!”
She shifted it closer. “No one’s around. I checked.” She ran her hands over the now familiar cover. They had taken turns trying to decipher the book. She had examined the cover for something, anything, that would help them read it. Peter had looked for hidden clues on the creamy pages, and Sam had smelled the bindings for suspect ingredients. All to no avail. The blank book was just that. A blank book. Nothing spectacular. Nothing about the Muses or the King or, well, anything.
Sam stretched and batted at the book’s cover. “Feels old,” he said, and licked his paw. “And tastes bad.”
Peter grabbed the book from Una. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s nothing in it.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Maybe I should just give it back to my father. He’s the one who thinks it’s important enough to save.” He shoved the book into his satchel. “Besides, if we get caught with it, then what will we do?”
Una didn’t answer. She let her thoughts wander as she watched a cluster of pigs the next booth over laugh and slap a large wolf on the back.
What would we find if we could read the book? A Tale? Heroes? Villains?
Sam curled up next to Una and started a reassuring purr. Soon he was asleep.
Peter went back to memorizing his outline for Heroics. Una reached across Sam and picked up a discarded magazine from the floor.
Today’s Faerie
was emblazoned across the front in flowing letters. A pixie face looked up mischievously from the cover, and Una scanned the articles. “Tinkerbelle: How Short Is Too Short? Why Fashion Matters in Today’s Tales”; “Take Our New Quiz—Which Flower Is Right for You?” Una flipped through the pages and settled on an interview with a fairy named Lenora who recently had been given the title “Queen of the Newest Fairy Tale.”
Peter set his slate aside and grabbed the magazine from her. “Most of this is nonsense, you know.”
“I really wish you’d stop taking what I’m reading.” Una snatched it back. “What I don’t understand is whether she was actually a character in a Tale or not. I mean, has anyone read this”—she glanced down at the page—“this ‘Lenora in Neverland’?”
Peter shook his head. “It’s not like that.
We
don’t read the stories. Oh, we know about the famous characters and all,” he said, and pointed to Lenora. “But it’s people out there, in the land of the Readers, who read our Tales.”
Una looked at the pixie’s smiling face.
The land of the Readers
. Like the one where Una had come from.
Like home.
“So when someone reads ‘Lenora in Neverland,’ Lenora is acting it out here?”
Peter was staring back at the kitchens. “Right. Although it’s not acting so much as living out a Tale. You want some pie?” he asked, already halfway out of his seat.
While he was gone, Una studied the pictures of Lenora’s buttercup home. It wasn’t that the idea of living out a Tale was weird. It just mattered what kind of Tale you had to live out.
“If you’re characters in stories, or characters in training or whatever, don’t you need to know what happens in books to live out a good Tale?” she demanded when Peter returned with half a pumpkin pie, still in its pan, and two forks.
“Not really,” Peter said around a mouthful of pie. “Any character worth anything has it all stored up here.” He tapped his head. “Besides, I don’t think characters have ever been big readers. Too busy doing.” He scraped his fork around the side of the pan to get at the crust. “Professor Allister went on and on about it in Character Formation last term.”
“And?” Una prodded.
“And what?” He stopped shoveling in pie. “I didn’t do so well in Character Formation.”
Una rolled her eyes, and Peter set his fork down. “It’s not all bad. Our studies have to be really practical, to help us learn how to be our type, you know? The Talekeepers say that reading too many other Tales might muddle our motivation.”
“And you believe the Talekeepers?” Una exclaimed. “We already know they’ve lied about the Muses. And what about the King?”
“Sh!” Peter warned as the Truepenny boy walked by.
Una lowered her voice to a whisper. “I just mean that the Talekeepers seem more and more untrustworthy. If they’ve lied about the really important stuff, who’s to say they aren’t lying to you about other things as well? If the people of Story can’t read things for themselves, how will they know the truth? Seems fishy to me.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Peter said.
Sam stretched and yawned. “Did someone say ‘fish’?” He eyed Una’s piece of pie.
“It’s pumpkin,” Una said as Sam sniffed at what was left of the crust. “You can have the rest, Sam.” She repositioned herself in the booth and looked out the diamond-paned window next to her.
“I’m not saying I think it’s the way things should be,” Peter said as he stood to go refill their mugs with cider. “I’m just saying it’s the way things are.”
It had been storming all evening, and the rumbling thunder shook the windows. Una watched the lightning from her perch near the window and listened to the patter of raindrops.
After an especially bright flash, the Truepenny boy appeared in front of her. She hadn’t seen him since she’d spied on him at the Merriweathers’, and she had never seen him up close. He seemed older than the other students. Tall and thin, he towered over Una’s chair. His skin was very brown, and his dark hair fell over one eye as he looked down at her.
Una felt her face grow hot. Her mind went blank.
Say something. Anything.
But she couldn’t help but stare at his eyes. In the dim room they looked dark purple. And when the firelight hit them—
Sam belched, and the moment was gone.
“Um,” said Una. “Hi.”
“I thought I heard you talking about books.”
Before Una could answer, Peter appeared. “Can I help you with something?” Peter asked, looking from Una’s face to the other boy’s.
“Never mind,” Truepenny said. And he left.
Una watched the mysterious boy walk away. “He was so . . .” She trailed off as the boy left the room.
Peter cleared his throat, and Una was sure a lecture about being careful was forthcoming. She spoke first. “Look, he’s probably not that bad if he’s meeting up with your parents’ secret group, right?”
“Maybe.” Peter sounded doubtful. “But his father’s a Talekeeper. What if he is spying on you for Elton?”
Una chewed her lip. She
had
seen him watching her an awful lot.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out what he’s up to,” Sam said, and gave a tremendous yawn. “Let’s follow him and see where he goes.”
B
y the time they left the Woodland Room, the Truepenny boy was already disappearing into the gardens. Sam, being the best at sneaking, scampered ahead, while Una and Peter drew the hoods of their cloaks up and followed behind. The rain had let up, but everything was still wet and soggy. As they left the lights of Birchwood Hall behind, it got harder and harder to see which way Truepenny had gone. Not many students were out this late, and the few who were hurried by without saying anything. Birchwood Forest grew thick around them, and all Una could hear was the soft squish of their footfalls in the mud.
Suddenly Sam appeared in front of them. “He’s gone into the Talekeeper Club,” he said, his eyes wild with the hunt.
Una exchanged glances with Peter. As they hurried down the path, her heart sank. She wasn’t sure what the Truepenny kid was up to, but she had secretly hoped that he wasn’t one of the bad guys.
They arrived at an imposing brick building with no windows. A sloping ramp curved up to the front door, and the three friends stood in the shadows staring at it.
“There’s got to be another way in.” Una crept over to the side of the building and peered down a dark alley. “Sam? Are you up for a little reconnaissance?”
Sam disappeared into the blackness, and Peter and Una leaned up against the cold bricks. “What do the Talekeepers do at the club?” she asked.
Peter stuck his hands into his pockets. “Make up the latest lies to tell? Play games? Figure out ways to torture WIs?” He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s a private club. Invitation only.”
Una rubbed her hands together. She was chilled through before Sam appeared.
“There’s a kitchen entrance,” he said. “Back by the garbage.”
They followed him around the building to an even smaller alleyway. A rickety staircase led up to a door. Judging from the awful smell, the garbage hadn’t been taken away in some time. Holding her breath, Una followed Peter up the stairs. As they reached the top, the scent of sautéing onions and garlic blended in with the rotting trash.
“There’s no way they’ll overlook a cat in the kitchens.” Sam paused at the top landing. “I’ll wait out front. See if our prey comes out and hunt him from there.”
Una and Peter slipped in and found themselves in the coatroom of a steamy kitchen. A mustached man in a chef’s hat was shouting orders to the workers, who wore starched white uniforms. Peter shoved one into her hand. “Put it on,” he said as he pulled another off the hooks behind them. He took Una’s cloak, wadded it up with his, and stuck them both outside on the landing. “We’ll get them later.”
The jacket was too big for Una, but, paired with the long apron, it didn’t look too bad. When she was finished, Peter leaned in close. “I’ve been watching them carry the food out. The dining room must be through those doors. Let’s go.” He sidled over to a counter and grabbed a tray of desserts.
Una was about to follow him, when the mustached man saw her. “You, there!” he shouted. “Carry this to table forty-two.” The man shoved a tray into her hands, pointed her toward the doors, and pushed her through. The sound of quiet conversation and tinkling glasses met her. Dark-brown fabric was draped in artful folds around secluded tables, giving the illusion of privacy for the diners. Servers dressed in white moved silently between the alcoves, and Una was relieved to see that they largely went unnoticed.
She caught the eye of a girl hurrying back to the kitchen. “Table forty-two?” she asked.
The girl gave her a sympathetic glance and pointed toward a particularly well-hidden table. She nearly dropped her tray. The curtains in front of it were parted, and even though he was hidden in shadows, Una could still make out Elton’s face. She watched him sip at a goblet of wine, then set the cup down and begin tugging on his pinky ring. Una followed his gaze and saw that he was staring across the dining room at Professor Thornhill, who was bent over a sheet of parchment, a cup of coffee forgotten at her elbow.
Interesting.
How had the Villainy teacher managed to get an invitation to dine at the Talekeeper Club?
Elton leaned forward and began speaking to whoever was sitting across the table from him. Una raised her eyebrows.
So he’s not alone.
Maybe the Truepenny boy was with him. Taking a deep breath, she made her way over to table forty-two. Keeping her gaze cast down, and hoping the white hat helped her blend in with the army of other servers, she set the platter of roast duck down. She sneaked a peek, but the fabric blocked his companion from view.
She swiveled on one heel, when Elton’s voice called out. “Miss?”
Una painstakingly turned back around and bobbed a curtsy.
“The curtain.” Una began to pull the fabric shut with trembling fingers. Elton raised his voice. “And see that the other tables remain empty.” He pointed to the booths on either side, and, with a flick of his finger, she was dismissed.
Una breathed a sigh of relief as she ducked behind the curtains around the neighboring table. She arranged their folds to hide her presence and hoped that it would be good enough. It took a moment for her ears to adjust, but if she pressed backward, she could catch the conversation from Elton’s table.
“Only two left,” someone said. “We’ve nearly broken one, and the other is the last.”
Una took off the ridiculous white hat and eased herself onto her knees. Slowly and carefully, she peered over the half wall dividing the two tables. Una’s heart thumped in her chest. Elton wasn’t eating dinner with Endeavor Truepenny. Someone dressed all in red sat against the wall, her hood pulled up to hide her face. Elton sat opposite, gnawing away at a bone from the roasted duck.
“With each one, I sense his power growing stronger.”
Elton held the bone in midair. “You’ve seen him?”
“No, you fool. But I do not need to see him to feel his presence. Such is our union.” The woman clasped her hands together. “Now you must do your part. Find Alethia.”
Una held her breath. Alethia was a name from Griselda’s list of Muses.
Elton’s words sounded thick in his mouth. “But how would I—”
“We know her book is somewhere at Perrault.”
Una swallowed, and it sounded noisy to her ears. But the pair on the other side of the curtains didn’t seem to notice.
“Where?” Elton’s voice was a low whisper.
The woman slapped her hand flat on the table. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have called you here, would I?”
“But it’s taken years to find the others.” Elton sounded frightened. “How am I supposed to—”
“Remember your vows. You must find the book.”
A commotion at the dining room entrance caught Una’s eye, and she slid back away from the divider. One of the servers had dropped a tray. Una’s heart beat wildly. He was dressed in a white uniform, but Una knew him at once. It was the Truepenny boy. He bent down to scrape up the spilled dishes, and Una resituated herself as close to the half wall as possible.
“You fool,” the woman was saying. “You waste your time with these pitiful characters.”
Elton’s voice was icy. “You forget, milady. I have other responsibilities. The Talekeepers were in an uproar once they found out a book had been erased.”
“And they needed
you
to calm them?” His companion snorted. “Do you think anything you do will make them
respect
you?” She spat the word at him. “That because you bear the title of Tale Master, it makes you someone important? Don’t forget. I know what you once were.”
Without a sound, the red-cloaked figure emerged from the alcove. One pale hand grasped her hood down over her face. A red-stoned ring nestled on the last finger of the stranger’s hand. Una’s heart beat faster, and her mouth went dry.
It has to be Red.
Una was so busy watching Red leave the restaurant that she nearly cried out when someone plopped down beside her. She gasped, and Peter shushed her.
“Quiet!” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve only just now made it out of the kitchen. Did you see that Truepenny works here?”
Una pointed a thumb behind her. “Elton,” she whispered. “And Red was with him.” A rustling sound from that direction ended their hushed conversation. Elton soon eased himself out from behind the table, brushing the crumbs off his front as he stood. He dabbed his mouth one final time with his napkin, tossed it onto the ground behind him, and left. Another server appeared and began clearing the table.
“We better wait until he’s finished,” Peter whispered.
The server turned and called after Elton. “Sir!” He held out a wad of paper. “You dropped this!”
But Elton was already at the front doors. Una jumped up. “I’ll take it,” she said, and snatched the packet from his hands. “I’ll take it to him.”
She heard a squeal from behind her and spun around to find the mustached man pulling Peter by the ear. “No time for chatting!” The man dragged Peter back to the kitchen. “The supper rush is upon us.”
Una shoved Elton’s papers into her skirt pocket. There was no way she was going back into that kitchen. When the time was right, she edged her way around the dining room and out the front door.