Soman Chainani - Quests for Glory

“As Dean, I have the right to modify your quest as I see fit,” said Sophie.

“—and third, I know perfectly well who Bogden is,” Hort plowed on, “because he flunked my challenges and every other teacher’s the first week, which means he should have been expelled, since by your new rules, anyone who fails three challenges in a row is sent packing.”

“I know my rules, thank you. I just couldn’t bring myself to fail a fellow Reader,” Sophie sighed. “I too came from humble beginnings. I too craved a life better than Gavaldon’s, where I would have to churn butter and wash clothes and marry an obese man who expected me to obey him and you know … cook . It’s why I started accepting applications from Readers. They deserve to live out their fairy tales.”

“Then why have you been complaining about Readers the past two weeks?” Hort asked.

“Just that one Gavaldon Girl who destroyed a classroom and gives me the Evil eye every time she sees me. And not in a Good way. Bogden, on the other hand, treats me like a goddess,” Sophie said, beaming at the rat-faced boy. “So after his poor first week, I gave him the choice between being sent home or being my personal steward for the year. Looks a bit like the old you, doesn’t he, Hort? Before you started lifting weights to look like Tedros, I mean.”

Harder knocking now.

“If this is what you’re like as Dean, I can’t imagine what you’d have been like as Camelot’s queen ,” said Hort.

“Psshh, no way,” Sophie said, lounging against her throne. “Presiding at court while people present their problems … that’s not me.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Oh, let them in, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie moaned.

Instantly Bogden snatched a rolled-up red carpet from behind Sophie’s throne and unfurled it across Evil Hall, shunting Nevers out of the way with catlike hisses before he flung open the doors with a courtier’s bow—

A gaggle of adults flurried down the carpet, waving wild arms and shouting so loudly that Sophie peeked around for a window to jump out of.

“You can’t yank students out of class willy-nilly!” Professor Bilious Manley yelled, pimply head flushing red.

“You can’t invite Evers into Evil castle without School Master approval!” scolded Professor Sheeba Sheeks, shaking her fists.

“You can’t turn the School Master’s tower into your own private residence!” said Yuba the Gnome, white beard twitching.

“YOU THINK THAT’S BAD? SHE MADE BATHS MANDATORY!” Castor the Dog bellowed. “FOR TEACHERS TOO.”

The others gasped.

Sophie cinched her bathrobe tighter, curlers bouncing like Christmas ornaments. “First of all, I can do whatever I want with our students since I’m Dean. Second, seeing there is no School Master, I could invite Evers to a tarheeled hootenanny if I felt like it and no one could stop me! Third, even if we have a fleet of new fairies watching the Storian, I felt more secure living beside it, given that the protection of the enchanted pen is our school’s top priority—”

“And this protection includes renovating the tower to be a five-star hotel?” Manley barked, pointing out the window at scaffolding encasing the School Master’s spire. “The stymphs’ construction on the tower has been going on for months and nearly suffocated us all with dust! We’ve had enough!”

Sophie glared. “You expected me to live in that old stone cell like Rafal once did? Without silk carpeting or a proper bathtub or 360-degree lighting?”

The teachers were speechless.

Wolf howls echoed in the hallway.

“I believe that’s your cue to get back to teaching and mine to get ready for a Dean’s Dance,” said Sophie, rising from her throne—

Evil Hall’s doors flung open once more and Clarissa Dovey marched in, silver hair fraying from her high bun, beetle wings flapping on her green teacher’s gown.

“If it is, in fact, a Dean’s Dance, then one would assume I’m invited, since I am a Dean ,” she said, gliding down the red carpet, a gold vial identical to Sophie’s dangling around her neck. “Only I received no such invitation.”

“Tonight is a celebration of glamour, charisma, and hope. Despite the rather maleficent entrance, I’m afraid you’d feel quite out of place,” said Sophie coolly.

“And yet you invited my students,” said Dovey.

“Who have RSVPed in remarkable numbers,” said Sophie. “I can assure you that none of my first years would attend a dance in your castle. And if they did, the fusty old smell would surely drive them away.”

Dean Dovey’s eyes flashed. “Oh, how the School Master will cook your goose.”

“Too bad there is no School Master,” Sophie purred.

Clarissa leaned in, eye to eye. “That will soon change .”

Sophie turned dead white.

The Dean of Good swept out of the Hall, Evil’s teachers following her, until the doors slammed behind them, shaking the chandelier. A clump of S crystals fell and shattered against Sophie’s glass throne.

She hardly noticed as Bogden picked shards out of her hair, her big, spooked pupils fixed on the door.

“New School M-M-Master?” she croaked.

She saw Hort, barechested against her statue, grinning like a weasel.

“ Flah-sé-dah ,” he sang.

“Let’s say a new Dean steps out of bounds—” started Hester.

“And becomes a menace to her own school,” added Anadil.

“And throws parties in honor of herself and forces everyone to take baths and makes kids eat boiled asparagus and wheatgrass,” said Dot.

“What would you do if you were School Master?” Hester finished.

The three witches each held a notebook open, feathered pen at the ready.

Seated in his rickety hut at the top of a very tall pea-tree, the Grand Vizier of Kingdom Kyrgios scratched his long, curly black beard, speckled with gold flakes like the strands of his flowing black hair. “I’m assuming this new Dean is … young?”

“And blond,” said Dot.

“I see,” mulled the Vizier in a deep baritone. “I would encourage this Dean to think closely about what is going on in her personal life that is affecting her professional one. Sometimes a Dean thinks a life of service is enough to bring fulfillment. And when it isn’t, they begin to push boundaries as a cry for help. A School Master can look that Dean in the eye and ask: ‘What is it you really need?’ Sometimes it’s as simple as a vacation to the salt baths in Shazabah. But sometimes it’s more than that. Much more. And it takes someone wise— deeply wise—to draw that out.”

Hester saw Anadil’s eyes flick to her before finding the Vizier’s once more. “But why would a Dean of Evil listen to you if you were School Master?” the albino girl asked. “You’re from an Ever kingdom, and no offense, even if you pledge to be ‘impartial,’ most Nevers think Evers are half-brained, milk-livered airtraps.” (Three black rats poked out of her pocket and hissed agreement.)

“Well, having two School Masters, one Good and one Evil, didn’t work out, did it?” the Vizier answered, glancing at the wooden clock on his mantel. “I suggest this time you focus on quality over quantity. Also, as I’d hope you’d have learned in your history classes, Kingdom Kyrgios was once a Never kingdom. Which means given my long life span, I’ve served both Ever and Never kings with equal success.”

Dot scribbled a few notes, her stomach burbling loudly. “Speaking of life spans, from our research, it seems you’ve been able to stay alive this long by using a variety of life-extending magic. Excuse my bluntness, but we don’t want a School Master who will drop dead his second week on the job. How much longer do you expect to live?”