Quests for Glory. Soman Chainani

seen Professor Dovey look anything but spotless.

      “Uh, are you okay, Professor?” Hester asked, struggling to muster sympathy, an emotion she didn’t really have. Though she had zero respect for fairy godmothers (and Dovey had been Cinderella’s before becoming Good’s Dean), the fact Dovey trusted them with this mission had softened Hester’s opinion of her. She’d even begun to see Clarissa Dovey as a friend. “You look a little … um …”

      “Girls, your quest is over for now,” Professor Dovey declared. “I need you to return to school.”

      The witches gasped.

      “You can’t do that—” Dot started.

      “After all we’ve—” Anadil overlapped.

      Hester cut them off. “Professor, I know we haven’t brought you a shortlist of candidates, but we’re working like dogs to find someone we believe in and trust me when I say, we’re all deeply grateful for this responsibility—”

      “Hester,” said Professor Dovey.

      “You can trust us to finish the job. Please don’t punish us by taking our quest away, not when we’re finally starting to figure out—”

      “Hester,” Professor Dovey snapped. “This is not about punishing you. On the contrary, I have complete faith in your abilities. That’s why I need your help on an urgent matter. A matter that supersedes all else.”

      Hester stared at her. “But what can be more urgent than finding a new School Mas—”

      Behind Dovey, the door to her office swung open and Professor Emma Anemone peeked beneath the floating map, slathered in a green beauty mask. “Clarissa, do you mind if I attend Dean Sophie’s Dance this evening? Given how many of our students are going and with Princess Uma still on leave, surely someone from Good should be—”

      “Not now, Emma!” the Dean barked.

      Professor Anemone fled.

      “Professor Dovey—” Hester started.

      “I don’t have time for questions, Hester. I need you to return to the castle at once. The Peony line on the Flowerground is up and running from Eternal Springs and can get you back by nightfall.”

      “Of course. Anything to help,” Hester said feebly, still upset their quest would be cut short. “But can I at least ask … Is this about Sophie?”

      “And Everboys?” said Dot.

      “Oh shut it, Dot,” Hester ripped.

      “Girls, our troubles are far bigger than the antics of a fellow Dean,” Professor Dovey said, glancing up anxiously at the magic map. “But I will say this …”

      She leaned in, glaring hard into the crystal ball. “I’m hoping you can take care of two birds with one stone.”

       5

       AGATHA

       Intervention

      “One two three, one two three … Buttocks in, child! And head up! You’re waltzing, not scouring the floor for lost coins!” Pollux barked at Agatha, his dog’s head attached to a fat sheep’s carcass. Wobbling around the Gold Tower ballroom, Pollux kept time with a willow stick as Agatha danced with the skeletal, red-haired altar boy who’d made a spectacle of himself at Tedros’ coronation. “Don’t rush, girl … one two three … and stop gripping Willam like he’s the last lifeboat out of Ooty! And smile, Agatha. This isn’t a devil’s haunt. Dance like this and you’ll be egged at your own wedding!”

      “How are you even here!” Agatha growled, exasperated by her clumsy feet, her hapless partner, and the return of a prissy, scant-furred, snub-nosed canine she thought she’d left behind at school. Pollux was one half of a two-headed Cerberus who taught at the School for Good and routinely lost the battle to use the body to his Evil brother Castor. Which meant that whenever the two siblings were apart, Pollux had to find dead animals to attach his own head to—in this case, a rotting ewe’s.

      “Clarissa Dovey and I had a falling out,” Pollux sniffed. “After Sophie was appointed Dean of Evil, I encouraged Clarissa to consider her own succession plan just as her friend Lady Lesso did before her untimely death. As I explained to Dean Dovey, not only is she ripe in age, but it’s time for Good to have a fresh face at the fore rather than one sagging past its prime. Of course I pointed this out in the most tactful manner, but Clarissa ignored my many missives. … Spine straight!” He swatted Willam with the stick and the boy yelped—

      “So, I circulated a petition advocating for a mandatory retirement age, which Dean Dovey is well past. Naturally, I also nominated myself to replace her, but the shrew caught wind of the plan and had me fired—” Pollux jabbed Agatha with his stick. Agatha snapped it in two and handed it back to him.

      “I see royal life has done nothing for your attitude,” Pollux glowered. “Do you want your wedding to be as pathetic as the coronation? Imagine the Royal Rot: ‘WORST BRIDE EVER!’ Is that what you want, Agatha? More embarrassment?”

      Agatha’s anger fizzled. “No.”

      “Good, because when Lady Gremlaine heard of my travails at school, she brought me here to help you,” said Pollux. “Specifically to teach dance, etiquette, and history in preparation for your wedding. She’s even planning to make me your permanent steward, given your need for constant supervision.”

      “Stewards are for kids,” Agatha frowned. “I won’t need a steward once I’m officially queen—”

      “Only you can’t be officially queen until Tedros is officially king and right now there’s a sword hanging over that prospect,” Pollux said, gazing through the ballroom window at Excalibur, sticking out from a Blue Tower balcony across the catwalk. Two royal guards stood on either side.

      Pollux met Agatha’s eyes. “So until your dear unofficial king finds a way to pull that sword and seal his coronation, he has Lady Gremlaine watching his every move and you have me.”

      Agatha nearly retched.

      Willam stepped hard on her toe.

      “Ow!” Agatha blared, knocking Willam into Pollux.

      “Who needs a wedding when you can have a circus?” Pollux scowled.

      After two more insufferable hours, Agatha moved to etiquette training, where she had to learn the names of 1,600 wedding guests from fat albums of portraits, with Pollux spraying her with stinging lemon juice every time she missed one.

      “For the last time, who is this?” Pollux crabbed, pointing at a hook-nosed face.

      “The Baron of Hajebaji,” Agatha said confidently.

      “Baroness! Baroness!” Pollux yelled.

      Agatha goggled at him. “That’s a woman?”

      By then she was dripping in lemon juice, still distracted by the sight of the sword in the balcony and unable to focus on anything else. Thankfully the dog was interrupted by a courier crow (with a message from Castor), which gave Agatha time to think.

      She’d always assumed that Tedros would pull Excalibur from the stone eventually.

      Sooner or later he’d