A Dark Descent Page 6

  “That’s because it was cloaked. All part of Aphidina’s illusion. The static, like the memories, would have faded away eventually, but until they did, I couldn’t have anyone getting ideas. . . .”

  “What kind of ideas?” Locasta prompted, her hand curling into a fist.

  “The kind of ideas Squillicoat had?” said Glinda, remembering the jar she’d taken from Squillicoat’s shop. “Like the idea he sent his apprentice Wally Huntz to carry out!”

  Misty averted her eyes, which told Glinda she’d guessed correctly. Her hope restored, she quickly stomped one foot into the pile of dusty splinters in the doorway. As they scattered and billowed, she cried out, “Door!” And a new one appeared, much thicker and heavier than the one Locasta had danced into dust. This one had four locks . . . and no keys, and Glinda took great pleasure in slamming it in Misty’s face.

  “Ursie,” she said. “Go wake Miss Gage, please, and bring her to the library.”

  “All right. But why?”

  Glinda didn’t answer; she had already taken off at a run, heading for the cellar stairs.

  Heading for Baloonda Quish’s stolen—but thanks to the apothecary and his apprentice, lovingly salvaged—childhood.

  7

  THE ENTRUSTEDS

  Bursting into the library with Ben and Locasta at her heels, Glinda set about searching the items from Squillicoat’s shop until she found the jar with the glass stopper labeled QUISH.

  Ursie arrived moments later, with Miss Gage gusting in behind her, tousled from sleep. Feathertop soared in above their heads.

  “What’s happening?” the teacher asked, sweeping her hair into a hasty topknot.

  “I think I’ve figured out a way to outsmart the smoke,” Glinda explained. “I’m going to create a cloud of intellectual interference by surrounding myself with a charged field that will block the fifth Witch from intercepting my learning.”

  “Of course,” quipped Feathertop. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “For ages upon generations upon lifetimes,” Glinda went on, “Misty Clarence has stolen away the personal histories of every girl who ever misdeclared here at Mentir’s. According to Misty, all those thoughts and memories, hopes and wishes, simply faded away into the Ozian ether.”

  “Sad,” said Ursie.

  “Extremely,” said Glinda. “But in Baloonda’s case, Master Squillicoat’s apprentice Wally managed to retrieve them! Preserve them!” She held up the jar in which hundreds of tiny, jagged flashes sparked like a small electrical storm. “I suppose he just couldn’t bear to see one more childhood obliterated.”

  “A jar of hopes and wishes,” mused Ben with a grin. “That’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?”

  Locasta looked unconvinced. “You’re going to use the residual static of Baloonda’s Youngifaction to protect your thoughts from being tracked by certain malevolent forces? Do you really think a bunch of fuzzy tea party and hopscotch memories will be enough to protect you from Witch number five?”

  “I’m not sure,” Glinda admitted. “But it’s worth trying. And wouldn’t it be comforting to Baloonda to know that her wishes and dreams and memories were being put to good use?”

  “I’m sure it would,” said Miss Gage.

  “Absolutely,” said Ursie.

  Ben nodded and even Feathertop flapped his wings in agreement.

  Glinda quickly composed what she hoped would be an effective spell. Then she pulled the stopper from the jar to set the flashes of light free. As they encircled her, she recited:

  “Hear not, know not, track not through time nor space.

  Whatever my mind absorbs henceforth, let Wicked never trace.

  Please, Magic, cloak these sparks so none will ever see

  That Good Miss Quish’s thoughts and wishes are now protecting me.”

  The sizzle and glare of the streaks as they zipped around Glinda’s head caused her red hair to shine like fire. They hovered, burning brightly for only a heartbeat, then faded completely from view.

  “Did it work?” asked Ben.

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Glinda put down the jar, now empty of Baloonda’s childhood, and pointed to a slender chapbook on the table. “Let’s start with that.”

  “Wait,” Locasta advised. “Maybe you should use something as a buffer, to put a bit of distance between you and the knowledge to start. Just in case the smoke is still listening.”

  Glinda scanned the collection of artifacts. Choosing a wand carved from ice, which showed no signs of melting, she took the chilly item firmly into her grasp, aimed it at the book, and said:

  “ Pick a passage to which to turn,

  Find something—anything—for me to learn.”

  The little trifolded pamphlet gave what sounded like a dusty cough and fluttered open.

  With a deep breath, Glinda looked down at the words Magic had found for her. Written there in handsome calligraphy was the poem from Maud’s sampler—the same verse King Oz’s castle had written with fragments of itself across the Reliquary floor. “A hero is he who as in a myth rallies on fields of battle . . . ,” she read.

  “Nope.” Locasta shook her head. “Doesn’t count as learning something new, since you already solved that puzzle in the Reliquary.”

  “Try this,” said Ursie, sliding a colorfully illustrated book across the table. The title was Tales of Fairies, Not Fairy Tales: An Accurate Accounting of the Lesser-Known Fairy Phylum of Oz. The cover featured an elaborate rendering of a water sprite whose broad wings and shimmering fins were suddenly shivering as though from extreme cold.

  “I think that icy wand is giving her the chills,” Ursie observed.

  Glinda put down the wand and turned to Ben. “Can you help? Perhaps do something Maker-ish?”

  Ben thought for a moment, then reached for a quill and quickly traced the outline of the sprite on the cover. To everyone’s delight, the Fairy’s image immediately lifted itself up from the drawing and began splashing about in the air. When she spoke, glistening little bubbles escaped from her gills.

  “The Sea Fairies are a gaggle of underwater sprites who dwell in the liquid depths of Oz,” she burbled sweetly. “We are known for giving magnificent and unexpected trinkets, and our bestowals often carry charms that may be used to open portals into other worlds. We are beloved by all except the Sea Devils, predators who squandered their own Magic long ago. These Devils hunt us, capture us, and ultimately feast on our fins and scales in order to acquire our Magical powers.”

  “Not the cheeriest of tales, is it?” Locasta muttered. “And besides, who cares about a bunch of Sea Fair—hey!”

  The Fairy had flicked her magnificent tailfin, splashing a shower of seawater right into Locasta’s face. With another graceful flap of her fins, she dove back into the book cover.

  “That’s not how I saw that going,” Locasta groused, wiping the salt water from her cheeks. “But at least Glinda didn’t get smoked out by the fifth Witch.”

  “Thanks to Baloonda,” Ursie said, her voice catching slightly.

  “Yes, thanks to Baloonda,” said Glinda, “I can now safely search for information about the Elementals.” She reached for a small parcel around which a piece of parchment had been folded and tied with knotted lengths of red, purple, blue, and yellow string. After struggling with the knots to no avail, she gave the string one last futile tug, then handed the lightweight package to Ursie. “Think you can untie this?”

  Ursie grinned and set her nimble fingers to work.

  “What we really need,” said Locasta, “is a map! A map that says, ‘You are here, and the Elemental Fairies are right’ ”—she poked her finger against the tabletop to indicate a point on an invisible map—“ ‘here!’ ”

  It was at this precise moment that Ursie succeeded in releasing the knot in the colored string. At the same time, Miss Gage’s topknot unwound and sent her hair tumbling down in waves. The laces of Ben’s borrowed boots came undone; even the knots securing both Glinda�
�s and Locasta’s sashes slipped free, sending their belts sliding to the floor.

  “Well, that was interesting,” said Ben, bending down to tie his boots.

  “I’ve always been sort of exceptional at untying things,” Ursie explained, unfolding the parchment wrapping and laying it aside to examine the contents. “It’s a map.”

  Locasta shot her a sideways look. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Ursie affirmed with a nod. “Though it’s not typical by any means. The background is linen and the cartography is rendered in—”

  “Needlepoint,” said Glinda, recognizing the fine fabric and elegant needlework. It was the same map her mother had shown her on Declaration Day, with the four countries of Oz and their landmarks embroidered in colorful thread.

  But even as they all gaped at the map, the Quadling region was changing before their eyes. The words marking APHIDINA’S PALACE vanished and were replaced by zigzagging green seams—to mark the place where Glinda had infused the ground with King Oz’s final thought! Indeed, all over the red quadrant, where Tilda had stitched the name of a Wicked building or topographical feature, the letters had begun to pull loose. This brought a stab of sorrow to Glinda’s heart, reminding her how Maud had bravely given her life in the unraveling of the trapestry. But she pushed aside her grief to focus on the changing stitches as they spelled out new names: the Perilous Pasture was rechristening itself the Pasture of Plentiful Provisions; the Woebegone Wilderness was now Good Fortune’s Forest; Lurcher Lake became the Shallows of Sweet Success. Even the name of Madam Mentir’s Academy for Girls had been vastly improved—it was now designated the Foursworn Stronghold of Truth.

  “Incredible,” breathed Ben.

  What showed no signs of changing, however, was the lovely compass rose with its pretty amethyst accent stitched into the center of the map, exactly where King Oz’s plateau would have been. Locasta seemed captivated by the detail of its asterisk shape and the finely wrought letters indicating the four cardinal points: N, E, S, W.

  “Locasta?” Glinda prompted. “Is something wrong?”

  Locasta shook her head. “It’s just . . . I used to have a compass with an amethyst in the center.” As her gaze lingered on the embroidery, she began to softly hum her father’s song.

  “Does the map happen to indicate where the Fairies are hidden?” asked Miss Gage.

  Glinda was disappointed to see that it did not. Noting Locasta’s ongoing fascination with the compass rose, she said, “You may have it if you’d like.”

  Locasta snapped her gaze up from the map. “Have it? You mean, like, keep it? But this map is priceless. The jewel in the center . . . it’s probably worth a small fortune and—”

  Glinda smiled. “It’s yours. Consider it an apology for the sword incident.”

  “Hah!” Locasta gave her a faux scowl. “For that you’d need a much bigger map.” But she returned the smile and went back to studying the map, humming softly as she did.

  A small velvet pouch at the far end of the table caught Glinda’s eye. When she picked it up and pulled at the gathered opening, four small stones—varying in shape and color but all rough and uncut—tumbled out to scatter across the polished surface of the tabletop, skittering their way onto the linen map. Locasta jumped back from her examination of it with a little yelp of surprise as an emerald rolled into the blue of Munchkin, slowed to pause there briefly, then rolled onward, over the border into the red of Quadling, where a rose quartz had already landed. An alabaster pebble slid onto the purple of Gillikin, and finally, a small chunk of white marble skidded to a halt at the yellow edge of Winkie.

  “What are they?” asked Locasta, poking a finger at the alabaster one to send it spinning in place on the purple background.

  “Gaming tokens?” guessed Ben. “There aren’t enough pieces for draughts or Nine Man Morris, but I suppose they could be part of some Ozian dice-throwing game.” He leaned in for a closer look. “There’s emerald, alabaster, rose quartz, marble . . . hey, four of the hero statues in the Reliquary were carved from these same kinds of stones. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “No, it can’t,” Glinda agreed, eyeing the two pebbles that had fallen onto the south quadrant of the map. She reached first for the pink one, but changed her mind and picked up the emerald instead. As the rough stone lay upon her open palm, her skin began to tingle . . . and the stone began to change! “Can you see that?” she asked. “Can you see what’s happening?”

  “All I see is a lumpy green rock,” Locasta retorted, staring at the craggy stone. “Why? What do you see?”

  Glinda was too fascinated by the metamorphosis she was witnessing to reply. Before her eyes, the emerald pebble was becoming something else, something delicate yet pulsing with potential. Every tiny protrusion and hollow of the stone’s surface was in motion, pushing upward here and outward there, transforming itself until it had become a miniature but magnificent city, resting in the palm of her hand.

  “Look!” she cried. “A city. An emerald city.”

  “There’s no such thing as an emerald city,” said Locasta, swiping up the alabaster stone from the Gillikin quadrant. “So if you’re thinking that rock is telling you to search for the Elemental Fairies there”—she tossed the white stone into the air and caught it—“you’re wrong.”

  Glinda watched as the tiny green city disappeared and once again became an emerald in the rough. Her heart actually mourned the loss of it, for in those scant few seconds it had existed, it had contained more promise than anything she’d ever seen before.

  “Games usually have instructions for play,” Ben observed. Picking up the pouch, he peered inside and grinned. “And this one is no exception.” He withdrew a tiny scroll and handed it to Glinda, who unrolled it.

  Locasta peered over her shoulder. “Oh hey, here’s a surprise. Another obscure and cryptic verse for us to decipher.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Glinda cleared her throat and read aloud:

  “From present to future, from future to past

  The deed is done, the die is cast

  Great secrets, placed in trusted hands,

  Are marked by where the hero lands.

  Two bore witness, this much is so

  One from above and one from below

  And to only them and them alone

  Are all four hiding places known

  But no Entrusted must ever say

  Where Fairy and Gift are tucked away

  Unless they’re forced to take that chance

  In the face of dire circumstance.

  These stiches reveal, but will not last

  So those ‘in search of’ must act fast

  Let threads and pebbles act as one

  When the die is cast, the deed is done.”

  When she finished, five heads turned in unison to stare at the map.

  “Could it be?” said Ben. “Do these stones mark the locations of the hidden Fairies?”

  Glinda almost didn’t dare to believe it. But the stones had rolled just like dice being cast. “The Entrusteds must be the four Grand Adepts into whose care the Fairies were placed,” she surmised, scanning the verse again. “ ‘Where the hero lands.’ Ozma’s hero statue in the Reliquary was made of pink quartz.” She picked up the rosy pebble from the neatly embroidered field of red thread, and for a fleeting moment, a tiny stitched word shimmered on the map:

  EMBER.

  It vanished almost instantly, and two more came and went so quickly, Glinda might not have been able to read them if she hadn’t already known what they were going to say.

  TILDA’S PENDANT.

  “Astounding,” said Ben. “Although, strictly speaking, Ember no longer resides at that location. So I guess the map is giving us his last known address.”

  Glinda’s fingers tingled with excitement as she returned the stone to the map, swapping it for the one perched near the embroidered edge of Winkie Country. She noted with a pang of frustration that it was a piece of white marble—Mythra’
s statue in the Reliquary had been carved from marble.

  When she lifted the stone, the map stitched out the words POOLE, followed by DALLYBRUNGSTON’S POCKET SQUARE; a second later they had vanished.

  “That makes perfect sense!” cried Glinda. “Dally was there on the night the Fairies went into hiding. I saw him in the zoetrope’s tale! Of course I didn’t know who he was at the time. But I recall he was sporting that handkerchief in his pocket!”

  “Poole must be the Elemental Fairy of Water,” Locasta guessed. “Surely he would have gathered up King Oz’s final tear.”

  “And where else does a tear belong but in a hankie?” Ben chuckled. “How utterly appropriate!”

  Miss Gage gave an indignant sniff. “So Dally is Poole’s Entrusted? All this time, he never even let on!”

  “Well, the poem was fairly specific about that,” said Ursie. “ ‘No Entrusted must ever say where Fairy and Gift are tucked away.’ ”

  “But if that’s true,” said Glinda, “how would Maud have known where Ember was hidden? My mother said she was the one who could help me rescue her from Aphidina’s castle, which means she must have shared the Entrusted secret with Maud.”

  “I guess she found it necessary to invoke the ‘dire circumstances’ clause,” said Ben with a grimace.

  Glinda did not want to speculate about what those dire circumstances might have been, especially because they were now one Elemental Fairy closer to vanquishing another Witch. “I’ll go to Dally in the West right this minute and—”

  “Uh-uh-uh,” Locasta interrupted, wagging her finger. “Quirky cobbles, extra guards. Remember?”

  “Then Shade can do it,” said Glinda, glancing around for their gray-cloaked friend. “Shade?”

  “Maybe she’s made herself invisible again,” said Ben. But after several moments had passed and Shade had not materialized, Feathertop fluffed up his feathers and pushed out his chest.

  “I volunteer!” he squawked. “Send me.”