The school for wicked wi.., p.9
The School for Wicked Witches #2, page 9
“Why? Why?” The image in the mirror spun to face the nettle-wrapped school, then zoomed in on the gates. A pale figure with dark, floppy hair was just visible through a gap in the roots and leaves, reading something aloud from a thick stack of paper.
“That is why!” Vivienne yelled. “That horrible boy will not stop reading his poetry. Every spell I’ve cast tooo make him stop has bounced off those cursed roooots, and he just keeps going on and on. How could any child write like that? This is as far as I could get from him without wasting my energy flying until youuu lazy children bring me my book!”
“We’re on it,” said Tinabella. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she bopped Ava on the arm. “Only, hey, quick question: Do you know the Swickwit school motto?”
Ava felt her own eyes going wide. Tinabella was a genius!
“What’s this?” Vivienne asked. “The motto? Why?”
“Oh.” Tinabella looked disappointed. “You don’t know it.”
“Of course I dooo!” Vivienne snapped. “And so should youuu! It is written inside the cover of every spell book!”
“Really?” said Ava. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it there.”
“Youuu have tooo uuuse a revealing spell. This is first-year stuff.” Vivienne shook her head, her feathers and jewelry shimmering. “But no more wasting time. Youuu have only three hours until sunset! Bring me that book!”
She waved a hand, and in a flash, the mirror was back to normal.
Ava pushed back her chair. “That was such a good idea!” she said. “I’ll run and grab my spell book from the room, and—”
“Nope, stay!” Tinabella was already digging in her bag. “I’ve got it.”
Ava sank back down as Tinabella pulled out a book bound in bloodred leather.
“Why did you bring your spell book with you?” she asked.
Tinabella either didn’t hear or was too busy to answer. She flipped the front cover open and ran her finger over the paper. “Okay, here we go. Thank curses I paid attention when we learned Esme’s revealer spell.”
The air shimmered, there was a faint fizzing sound, and a circle of words appeared inside the cover:
Only you can know where you have been.
They both looked up.
“Is that really it?” Ava asked.
Tinabella quirked her mouth. “Yeah. It’s pretty corny, huh?”
“Very,” said Ava.
Tinabella sighed. “At least now we can get on with this whole quest thing.” She jumped up onto her chair, shouting into the library, “Hey, guys! Moldy! Burdock! We found it!”
Henry and Crow came running, followed by a cantering Moldy and waddling Burdock, and they all gathered around the messy table.
“It was inside our spell books the whole time,” Tinabella informed them, holding up the words on the inside cover.
“Whoa!” said Crow. “I never would have thought of looking there. I really wish I had more brains sometimes.”
“Well done,” yelled Moldy.
“Marvelocity!” agreed Burdock.
“Only we both think it’s kind of … not that great,” Ava said. “I mean, it’s just so basic. And this place is not basic.”
“Maybe next time I chat with the warden, I’ll suggest a change,” said Moldy. “But fer now, I’ll need y’all to recite the current motto. Together, if you please.”
Mildly embarrassed, Ava, Henry, Tinabella, and Crow read out the words together.
“All right, access granted!” Moldy shook his mane. “Let’s see. Your original query was ‘How do we make the nettles go away?’ To do that, looks like you’ll need to reset Nettle Tower using the Bitter Forge and the Stinging Hammer.”
Moldy beamed down at them. Burdock, who had curled into an upright sitting position, clapped his tiny paws.
“The what?” asked Ava.
“The Bitter Forge!” Moldy looked between them. “Not familiar with that one? Well, get comfy, kids. It’s time fer a good ol’-fashioned story!”
Moldy closed his eyes as the rest of them settled down to listen. When he opened them again, they were a shining, vivid green, and a very different voice came out when he spoke, as though the story were being told by another speaker, long, long ago.
When Oz was young, before the boundaries between the worlds had cooled, a craftsman known as the Nettle Smith moved from lands unknown to this island.
He was drawn by the fire beneath the earth, for this is the only place in all of Oz it can be reached, and he labored to build a deep forge for his work with a tower above for his home. The lake, forever boiling from the earth’s fire, protected it all, and he planted nettles until the whole island was green.
For many years the Nettle Smith mined the earth, watched the stars, farmed the nettles, and loved his family. He was happy.
He grew mighty in his craft during those days, for his forge was fueled by the fire at the heart of Oz, and he knew the secret of blending nettles with metal to form powerful magical objects. He also knew all magic comes at a cost. His was the constant pain from handling the nettles, which is why his forge was called the Bitter Forge and his hammer the Stinging Hammer. But the objects he made were wondrous tools of beauty and power, objects that could grant a person’s dearest wishes. Word of his talent spread far and wide.
One day, a wicked king came to Oz from outside. He was a cruel man who had spent his own life, and the lives of many of his subjects, searching for the one thing he wanted: immortality. He had heard of the skill of the Nettle Smith and came in great splendor demanding his help. The Nettle Smith refused, recognizing evil when he saw it, so the king laid a trap and captured the Nettle Smith’s young son.
The Nettle Smith loved his son more than anything in the world, so he agreed to grant the king a magic crown. But as he forged, he wove a powerful curse into the metal, accepting the terrible cost this would bring upon himself.
When the work was finished, the Nettle Smith met the king on the roof of Nettle Tower.
The wicked king snatched his prize, shoving the terrified boy into his father’s arms. The Nettle Smith embraced his son, knowing it would be the last time, and turned to watch the king put on the crown.
Thunder roared overhead, and lights flashed from the tower, and for a moment the king laughed, feeling himself filling up with immortal life. Then the curse took hold, and he began to change, transforming into a leaden lump of stone like his heart, and with one final scream of anger he was cast out of Oz to land wherever the winds of fate would drop him.
With the curse complete, the price fell upon the Nettle Smith. He paid gladly, though, since the one thing he wanted was for his son to grow up safe.
His body became the nettles he had spent his life tending, immortal like the wicked king, and their roots became part of the tower itself, reaching from the roof to the fire below as he sank into a waiting sleep, ready to wake and protect his son whenever evil came calling again.
The Moldy Horse sneezed and shook his mane. His eyes went back to gray.
“Well, good-ness,” he said. “Had to dig deep to find that one! Full Nettle security’s never been activated before.”
Ava’s brain was whirring, fitting together everything she’d just learned.
“So the nettles came out,” she said slowly, “because Vivienne attacked us”—she pointed to herself and her friends—“and Warden Pike couldn’t help? Is that it?”
“More ’n that,” said Moldy. “The nettles woke up because there weren’t nobody at all to defend you! No warden or teachers thanks to Vivienne, and no older students thanks to the sudden activation of Wicked Mode.
“The Nettle Smith’s only wish was to keep his son safe,” Moldy reminded them. “When he gave up his humanity and became the nettle roots, that wish just got stronger, and once folk started building the school here, it transferred to all the students. Especially the young ’uns in Nettle.”
“What a cool story!” said Crow. “It’s weird thinking about a time before Swickwit, though.” He gazed around. “It feels like it’s been here for ever and ever.”
“You’re tellin’ me!” said Moldy.
Tinabella spoke up. “This is all great, but how does it help? We still don’t know how to get this nettle-root-smith guy to let go of the school.”
Moldy shook his mane again. “Ah, well, now y’all know the story, I git to show you the part I been lookin’ forward to the most! Ready? Keep yer eyes on my hide.”
The horse stood still, his flanks moving gently in and out as he breathed. At first Ava didn’t see any change. Then the dark patterns dappling his silvery coat began to move. They spun and stretched, forming letters, words, lines, and finally a poem in delicate, flowing script.
“Woo-ee!” brayed Moldy. “Didn’t I tell ya? Isn’t this the coolest?”
“I don’t get it,” said Tinabella. “Why a poem? Why aren’t there just plain instructions?” Her eyebrows knotted together. “And if you say—”
“Security! Sorry! The poem’s got all the clues you need.”
Tinabella’s scowl could have knocked over a gargoyle.
“Oh! May I read the clues aloud?” Burdock asked, bouncing up and down. “I adore performulating poetry and so rarely get an audience.”
Ava and the others had already started reading, but the librarian looked so excited they stepped back, letting him take the floor.
The hedgehog cleared his throat and read in a slow, resonant chant.
To reach the Bitter Forge ye must
Descend the chimney into dust;
Four hearts in time, accord in one
Shall set the tower’s gears to run.
Wits and courage leave behind,
Lose your heart and you will find
The hammer made of stinging metal,
Strike three times to reset Nettle.
Burdock finished reading, the rich echoes of his voice fading away into the silent library.
“Well, awesome,” said Tinabella. “That’s super clear and helpful and not at all terrifying.”
“I need to read that again,” Ava said.
They spent the next few minutes rereading the poem together, trying out different accents and inflections to see if it made things any clearer.
It didn’t, but they slowly began to piece together a picture.
“So,” said Tinabella, “to reset the nettles, we have to hit this Bitter Forge dealy three times with the Stinging Hammer?”
“Yes,” agreed Ava, Henry, and Crow.
“Positivity!” said Burdock.
“And to reach the Bitter Forge, we have to go down a chimney into some dust.”
“Going down a chimney puts you in the fireplace,” noted Crow.
“For sure, thanks,” Tinabella snapped. “Only that next part is still gibberish. Fine, Nettle Tower has gears or something, but we’re supposed to turn them on by what, standing in a fireplace and getting our hearts in time? What does that even mean? And which fireplace? This school has dozens.”
“One hundred and six while it’s in Wicked Mode!” hollered Moldy.
“Ugh!” Tinabella threw up her hands. “Why can’t anything here ever just make sense?”
Henry had been reading the poem again, mouthing silently. He gave a little shudder.
“What?” asked Ava.
“Just this part,” Henry said. “About leaving wits and courage and your heart behind. Do you think it means, you know, literally?”
“Dunno. But the nettles are all about protecting kids, so we should be able to get through whatever it is okay.”
Henry nodded slowly. “That’s true. And at least we know we’ll be going through it as a group. I mean, the poem talks about four hearts together, and there are four of us.” He looked up. “Hey, doesn’t that mean we need to find a fireplace big enough to fit four people?”
Ava’s heart leapt. She snapped her fingers. “Henry! That is brilliant! Hey, Moldy!”
“Howdy!”
“You know where all the fireplaces are, right?”
“I shorely do!”
“Do you know where all the biggest ones are?”
“I believe I have a fair idea!”
“What’s this about?” asked Tinabella. Ava explained.
“Great thinking, Henry!” cheered Crow.
Tinabella huffed. “So you’re saying the plan is for us to ride around the school jumping in and out of fireplaces and hope something happens?”
“Yeah,” said Ava. “Unless you have a better idea?”
Tinabella looked over at the poem again, her eyes tracking though the lines.
“Ugh, whatever,” she said. “We just better not be wasting our time.”
A minute later Ava had the decoy book safely tucked into her bag, Henry and Crow were seated on Moldy, and Tinabella was saying goodbye to Burdock.
“Thanks for your help,” she said, giving him an air hug to avoid his spines.
“I look forwardly to seeing you again soon,” said Burdock. “For another of our nighttime book talks.”
“Wait, didn’t you know? Ava told Warden Pike about the portal door. He closed the loophole.”
Burdock’s eyes twinkled. “That may be, but I am sure you’ll find some other way to sneak out. Expressly after today’s adventures.”
Ava, watching the farewell, saw an odd look flash over Tinabella’s face. It was almost regretful.
“We’ll see,” Tinabella said.
“Happy trails, Bur!” shouted Moldy, once they were settled in. “I’m right glad we got a chance to catch up. See you next time!”
“Farewell!” rumbled Burdock. “Take caring of yourself, Moldy. And goody luck to you all!”
Their search began in the dining hall, where Wicked Mode had transformed the chandeliers into dangling chains, the sofas and easy chairs into iron benches, and the massive, usually comforting fireplace into a yawning mouth full of burnt and splintered bones.
The four of them dismounted and stood awkwardly together inside it. Ava supposed it was useful that all fires were extinguished during Wicked Mode—it would make their search easier—but she wouldn’t have minded a little warmth and light right about then. A cold draft was coming down the chimney, stinking of rotting food.
“Are we supposed to hold hands or something?” asked Crow.
Tinabella scoffed. “If this school’s secret security system revolves around standing in a fireplace holding hands, then you three were right to run away.”
“To reach the Bitter Forge ye must / Descend the chimney into dust,” Ava read off Moldy’s side. “Four hearts in time, accord in one / Shall set the tower’s gears to run.” She eyed the others. “Do we think our hearts are in time? In accord as one?”
Nobody said anything. Glances met. Shoulders rose and fell.
“Ugh, fine!” Tinabella held out her hands. “But if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll turn your ears into mice and your arms into hungry wolverines.”
Holding hands, however, turned out to do absolutely nothing, so after a few more minutes trying everything from shouting to hopping in circles, they climbed back onto the Moldy Horse and headed for the next fireplace.
Thus began one of the strangest hours of Ava’s life, as she and the others rode into various rooms, climbed down, stood awkwardly in fireplace after fireplace, then got back on their guide to do it all again.
Every now and then they glimpsed a cluster of the red crystals that were Cobweb students or the giant Cauldron spiders scurrying off on business of their own. The Moldy Horse didn’t spare them more than a glance, which Ava secretly enjoyed. It was nice knowing you were the only hope for your whole entire school.
Nice but also stressful.
There were large fireplaces in the oddest places around Swickwit, it turned out. Moldy led them along twists and turns of the school Ava had never seen before. She and Tinabella were both shocked to discover Swickwit had a secret gymnasium complete with swimming pool, although in Wicked Mode, both were terrifying beyond belief. Between the rows of spiked equipment and the unbearable stench of ancient sweat filling the air, all four of them were glad to get in and out quickly.
They made stops in rooms she did recognize as well. Her first few weeks of searching the school with Tinabella had brought them to some strange locations, and it was interesting to find herself back in the storeroom full of rusty knives—which now screamed instead of whispered—and the basement thick with oily model trains.
Moldy was not a fan of the trains, which were making the most of Wicked Mode by whizzing around the floor on their writhing tracks, belching smoke and blasting piercing whistles. He refused to go past the doorway, and the four of them were forced to make the trek to the far side of the basement on foot, Ava supplying the light with three of her glowing orbs.
Ten large fireplaces went by unsuccessfully. Then another ten. Then another.
The Moldy Horse had started with the largest and was working his way down, and things were beginning to get quite cramped.
Ava knew they wouldn’t make it through another ten before there simply wasn’t room for all of them, and then what were they supposed to do? The poem said they needed four hearts. Starting over wouldn’t be much use; they’d already tried everything they could think of on each attempt, and sunset was on its way.
They were rejoining Moldy after a particularly uncomfortable try inside a fireplace made of mud and dead crane flies when Henry, who had been quiet for most of their excursion, huffed a laugh.
“What’s up?” asked Ava.
Henry flushed. “Nothing, sorry.” He pointed to Moldy’s shining coat, still displaying the frustrating clues. “I just saw the poem at a funny angle and thought the third line said accordion for a second.”
“Oh, ha! No, it’s definitely accord in one …”
Ava stopped abruptly, a memory catching at her.
“Hey, Tinabella?” she called, her voice higher than usual.
“What?”
“Do you remember where we once saw those accordions? The ones behind the tapestry?”
Tinabella thought, then said, “The entrance hall, wasn’t it?”
