Geek Fantasy Novel (16 page)

Chessie took it into her hands and scrutinized it. Then she shook her head, and Ralph, too, was turned into a statue.

She wasn’t lying about fashioning it out of dung. Since dung can’t see, we’re going to have to leave Ralph’s head and watch the scene that follows from the ceiling, where I’ve been directing and recording. Come with me.

Ralph’s incarnation was strangely lovely, a sort of scarab fashioned from some extinct animal’s ossified poo. Chessie picked up Ralph’s and Cecil’s figurines, and from our perch above she looked quite regal, like a true queen arranging the gifts of visiting dignitaries.

She placed them on a low shelf, then was suddenly struck by a fit of passion. She let out a maniacal howl and lifted the trinkets over her head, preparing to smash them into the floor.

Until, that is, she was interrupted by a high-pitched voice from the far side of the chamber.

“Stop!”

Chessie had no idea who this cheeky intruder was; all she saw was a little creature pertly rising into the air. We, however, recognize her as Prestidigitator. “Oh,
do
remove yourself,” Chessie said. “I’m busy destroying the heroes.”

Yes, Prestidigitator! She must have survived the bunny blast. She must have adventured through the keep to the highest floor. She must have passed through the ballroom and the rainbow gas chamber. She must have been in this hall the whole time, hiding above the door frame. She must have heard when Chessie said everyone present could have a guess, and she demanded hers.

Chessie held the trinkets high and considered dashing them against the floor, anyway. Then — for though she may have been diabolical, she was a stickler for rules — she lowered them. “Make it quick,” she said. She didn’t shrug this time; she licked her lips nervously. (Chessie knew what often happened to fairy-tale villains once a third guess was made.)

As the newcomer zipped to the center of the room, Chessie kept prattling. “Blast. This is truly annoying. I’m going to end up with yet another crystal
fairy figurine, and I’ve already got thousands of fairies. Literally.
Thousands.
Bor-ing.”

Prestidigitator didn’t stop at the bookcases. She didn’t stop at the curios. She didn’t stop at the jewelry cabinets. No, she zipped right up to the Duchess herself.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Chessie said.

“I’m saving the day,” she squeaked.

“That’s ridiculous. Even if you had a weapon, which I have divined you don’t, I’m protected by spectral armor. Even if I hadn’t already disarmed all enemy magic in this chamber, all you would be able to produce is a sparkle. I’m most curious as to how you’re planning to ‘save the day.’ ”

The little creature eased closer and closer until she was hovering in the air right before Chessie, her lips almost grazing her cheek.

“What are you doing?” Chessie said anxiously, uncertain how naughty this fairy might be.

Prestidigitator gripped Chessie’s golden circlet. “I choose this belt thing,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Chessie said, drawing back. “I never said objects on my very
person
were permitted.”

But Prestidigitator held on tight, flapping in front of Chessie as the duchess began to dash about the room. “I don’t care,” she tinkled. “It’s in your chamber, and I choose this belt thing.”

“But you
can’t,”
Chessie wailed.

But she could and she did. And no matter how evil a duchess might be, a fantastic promise is a fantastic promise.

Cecil and Ralph were suddenly sitting on the floor again, human and whole, smelling only faintly like the sea and poo, respectively. They glanced about dazedly, then shouted with relief. For Beatrice was sprawled on the
floor between them. She was dazed but healthy, staring at them open-mouthed. In the transformation her jeans rode high enough on her legs to display the black butterflies she had inked on her ankle days before.

The golden circlet, which had sported an engraved representation of a sullen girl’s face, an engraving that only the smallest eyes could see, had vanished entirely.

“Beatrice!” Cecil cried, hugging his sister.

She stared numbly at her brother, until she took in the Hall of Treasures and gasped. “Where
are
we?”

Prestidigitator gave Beatrice a hug. Shocked, she reacted with stiff limbs.

Chessie ripped the fairy from Beatrice, threw her to the ground, and kicked her in the ribs. The duchess stared down at the creature and chewed her nails.

“What are you —” Ralph yelled as he clutched the stunned little fairy to his chest.

“She’s no fairy. No wish actor can interfere that way. It’s against contract. Tell me, little demon, who are you?”

“It’s Prestidigitator,” Ralph said. “She’s been with me the whole way.” But, now that Chessie pointed it out, there was something odd about Presti. She was a lot bigger than he remembered. Her face seemed to sag, somehow, and her clothes seemed ill fitting. She looked more like a Prestidigitator blow-up doll than the real thing.

“Daphne?”
Beatrice asked.

“Daphne!” Ralph said.

Presti reached around to a zipper at the back of her neck, removed her magical uniform, mechanical wings and all, and was revealed as Daphne. How she fit that puffy tutu into a fairy costume, no one will ever know.

“I can explain,” she said, clutching her ribs and eyeing Chessie nervously. “Beatrice and I came to save Cecil, but right when we were going to get inside we got caught — well, Beatrice got caught — but I had worn my fairy costume with the wand that Mum got me from British Home Stores, so I guess when I entered the wish no one stopped me because it looked like I belonged here. I know the costume doesn’t fit me perfectly and I’m very sorry but I just meant to help my brother, so don’t kick me anymore. Please.”

Chessie looked up at me meaningfully. “It’s as you say,” she barked. “The real Prestidigitator got blown up by a bunny not half an hour ago.”

“No!” Ralph cried, wondering if that meant the actor who had played Prestidigitator had been blown up, too. “How do the special eff —”

But at that very moment his voice was drowned out by a massive rushing sound.

“What’s that?” Daphne hiccupped, looking reproachfully at Chessie.

“The fairies,” Chessie cursed. “You’ve done it, now, Cecil! All the fairies of the kingdom have been freed.”

Have you ever seen a pigeon trying to roost and unable to find a spot to land? The sound he makes is a collection of desperate thrashings — his wings beat against the air, against the walls, against the ground, against each other. Imagine a million pigeons trying to do the same, accompanied by murderous screeching. Then put it all on the other side of thick walls. This is what was heard in Chessie’s sanctum.

Chessie put her hand to her throat. “Millions of fairies. Billions of fairies. Coming to kill me.”

She looked up at me pleadingly. “Make it stop, darling! Now!” But she knows what I can and cannot do.

“They can’t get in, can they?” Daphne moaned into Ralph’s chest.

Chessie screeched. “Does anyone have a cell signal?”

Beatrice and Ralph pulled out their cell phones and shook their heads. “Oh, don’t worry about
yourself,
dear,” Chessie snapped to Daphne. “They’ll love you. You’re practically half fairy, yourself.”

The stones of the wall appeared to breathe against one another. Then one was knocked out and fell to the ground. The daylight creeping through the resulting hole was fettered by the horde of fairies outside.

Chessie put down her wand and gestured for the others to surround her. Her manic demeanor dropped away; suddenly she was no longer Chessie the evil duchess, but the mortal Ralph remembered from the Battersby grounds. “Okay, listen up, children.”

Cowed by Chessie’s change in manner, they obeyed.

“Look, Cecil,” Chessie said rapidly. Her eyes darted between her nephew and the growing hole in the wall. A fairy leg could now be seen, kicking about and trying to gain a foothold. “I granted your wish. I think I’ve done a bang-up job, actually. You’ve freed all these fairies, and they’ll glorify you forever — and that has been the
real
point of all this, hasn’t it?”

“Of course not —” Cecil started.

“No time. Argue later, dear. But I planned only up to this point. Honestly, what’s supposed to happen now is that we all vanish away once your wish is completed. You go back to your ordinary life changed and broadened, and la-la, all’s perfect. But something’s gone wrong. Cecil failed, and Daphne succeeded, but this wasn’t supposed to be her wish. There’s too many fairies. I can’t
believe
this is happening again.”

The walls started to buckle, and Daphne screamed.

“Again?” Ralph asked.

“Enough!” Chessie said. “Listen to me, Daphne and Beatrice. The only way out of this will be another wish. Anyone who truly loves Cecil can wish to save him — and save all of us in the process. But I’ll warn you — I thought we were orchestrating Cecil’s wish on the fly, but if one of you wishes us out of this, it will be your only wish, and it will be truly spontaneous. The narrator won’t be able to guarantee anyone’s safety, even less than he’s been able to here. Do you understand? This is no longer a game.”

“I was turned into poo!” Ralph said. “This was
never
a game!”

Daphne stopped crying long enough to nod at Chessie. She wiped her nose, then started wailing all the louder when a chunk of plaster plummeted from the ceiling and sprayed shards about her.

“Now! One of you wish!” Chessie said.

“I want my Mummy and Daddy! Can’t we go home?” Daphne cried.

“No!”

“You can’t be serious.” Cecil said. “Of all the irresponsible adults I’ve ever known, you —”

“Shut up. We’re done with you.”

“You’re going to kill us so we learn a lesson?”

Chessie sniffed. “The killing part was unplanned.”

Cecil rolled his eyes.

“I’m
teleporting you away from your doom!
Do you want to keep trying my patience?”

“Just get on with it,” Ralph urged.

“Beatrice, make the wish!” Cecil said.

“I … I was going to wish for something else. I already had something in mind.”

“I can’t believe this. Selfish until the end.”

“IwishtosavemyselfandCecilandRalphandChessieand —” Daphne said.

Chessie released her breath. “I do solemnly grant thee thy wish, dreaming, in accordance with the fine tradition of Royal wish-granting, that you find thy greatest desire, and in so doing come to know thyself.” Chessie huddled them all together.

“Wait, one thing,” Ralph said. “She didn’t mention Beatrice by name, does that matter?”

“Enough!” Chessie said crossly. “Daft boy. I will hear no more from the geek.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice —”

“I said enough!”

The ceiling began to quake and heave. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Daphne said, wedging herself between Ralph’s and Cecil’s legs.

“Silence!” Chessie said. “I need to concentrate, you little goblin!”

“Please!” Ralph said, “What about Bea —”

But then, with a barked “sorry if this doesn’t work out,” the wish was granted. Chessie, Cecil, Daphne, and Ralph were all gone. Just in time, too, as right then the ceiling buckled and dropped its tons of rock to the floor.

And Beatrice? If the mass of stone hadn’t killed her (which it did), the flurry of gemstone and porcelain shards from the shattered figurines would have. No, she was dead forty times over within a split second.

Yes, she really died. Just like that. Abandoned and squashed.

Quit your crying.

BOOK III:
DAPHNE’S WISH
THE SNOW QUEEN

Ralph awoke in a bed, which is a very appropriate place to do so. Someone had tucked stiff and fragrant cotton sheets tightly around him and cradled his head in scratchy embroidered pillows. A patchwork bear regarded him from the foot of his straw mattress. He rubbed his eyes and took in more of the room.

Doilies and dust, everywhere. Woodcut geese hung on the wall, suspended by lengths of raffia. A candle burned nearby, even though the daylight was strong enough to set the window curtains glowing. A hanging needlepoint proclaimed the
RULES OF THE GENTLE HOME,
which were too far away to read, and would have been massively boring even had he been able to.

“Hello?” Ralph called.

There was no answer, but in the quiet that followed he could hear footsteps from somewhere beyond the closed door.

He threw back the sheets; he wanted to be alert and standing whenever his host (or captor) came into the room.

Someone had changed his jeans and doublet for an old-fashioned nightshirt, stitched with flowers at the hem. Even with a geek’s sense of fashion, he knew he looked pretty lame. He forgot about the nightshirt, though, when
he swiveled and lowered his feet to the floor. He gasped in shock. The air may have been warm, the window sunstruck, but the floor was icy.

Gritting his teeth against the cold, he tried to stand. His legs buckled under him.

He caught the edge of the mattress before he fell, and hurled himself back into bed, sinking deep into the thick sheets and prickly straw beneath.

The footsteps stopped at the other side of the door. His eyes darted as he watched the latch raise and release. He envisioned what kind of foul creature might barrel forth — a bugaboo with furry limbs and a beak, a human-sized lizard with curved yellow nails.

She had lost her hairstylist and cosmetic dermatologist, apparently, and was suddenly an old woman; nonetheless, it was Chessie. Her hair fell limply about her face, streaks of gray instead of her old frothy blond highlights; the skin beneath her eyes sagged. As she rubbed her hands down a simple dress she regarded Ralph with imperturbable eyes.

When she neared, Ralph saw her irises were remarkable — how had he never noticed them before? — a white-water blue that shone as if lit from the other side.

“My name is Regina,” the woman said. Her voice was the same, but the accent was different. It was as if Ralph were meeting Chessie’s twin, separated at birth and raised in the eighteenth-century countryside.