for lunch in Eternal Springs, a small jungle kingdom fifteen miles from Kyrgios. Eternal Springs was populated entirely by animals since it rained nearly every day of the year, and despite the abundance of greenery and food, no human or sentient creature wanted to live in a place that wet. As the witches waded through lush thickets and colorful flowers in their dumpy black dresses and boots, Hester could see deer, storks, and squirrels watching them as if they were an eclipse of the sun.
They’d been on foot most of these past six months, since the Flowerground had restored only limited service after being ravaged during the previous School Master’s reign. Along the way, they’d seen wonderful, curious things: the kingdom of Kasatkina, ruled entirely by cats; the Night Pools in Netherwood, which brought your worst fears to life; the Living Library in Pifflepaff Hills, which had ancestry scrolls on every soul in the Woods, kept by a very large bat; and the Caves of Contempo in Borna Coric, where time ran backwards. They’d even taken a ride aboard the legendary Blue-Boned Stymph, from which they’d had a rare view of the Four Point: a small, square plot of land at the intersection of four kingdoms. It was the site of King Arthur’s last battle, where he’d been mortally wounded, and was now considered a truce mark between Good and Evil, explained Hester, who’d read about it in A Student’s History of the Woods. Camelot’s flag flew high over the land, whose boundaries were guarded by four walls made of rushing waterfalls, enchanted by the Lady of the Lake. If anyone got close enough that even a drop of water touched their skin, the Lady would reach out and drown them. The girls had made sure to stay at a safe distance as they flew on to their next interview in Hamelin.
But that was back when they’d first started, when the search for a School Master was marvelous fun, no matter how tiring or dangerous. Endless travel in the summer heat had taken its toll: Dot had blisters and an aching lower back, Hester’s demon had a perpetual frown, and even Anadil’s albino-white skin had the hint of a tan. At least they were safe here in Eternal Springs, if a little damp, and after six months of crossing in and out of new kingdoms, all in pursuit of the best possible candidates they could take back to their Dean … well, safety was about as much as they could ask for.
Finding a spot under a well-canopied palm, Hester whipped up a lunch of avocados and custard-apples that she’d snapped off trees, while Anadil cracked open a few coconuts filled with sweet water and Dot spread out sheets of crumpled old newspaper she’d dug out of her bag so they wouldn’t have to sit in wet dirt. For ten minutes, they ate silently as rain spritzed around them, the three witches lost in their own heads, before they came out of their fugue all at once, like best friends often do.
“I thought this last one was the most promising so far,” Anadil said, watching her rats wrestle over a dead caterpillar.
“Pea-man?” Dot snarfled, mouth full.
“Calm, reasonable … I can see him in the School Master’s tower,” Anadil continued, slurping coconut water. “Even more than the Ice Giant from Frostplains, the fairy-rights activist from Gillikin, or that monkey king from Runyon Mills.”
“None of them have been right,” muttered Hester. “We can do better.”
“At some point, we have to pick someone, Hester. It’s been six months,” said Anadil. “Without a School Master, the Storian is vulnerable. So are the Woods.”
“I liked the Augur of Ladelflop,” said Dot. “He told me I was pretty.”
“He was blind,” snapped Anadil.
“Oh. Pea-man was better, then,” said Dot.
“We have to pick someone by the wedding,” Anadil resolved, giving Hester a wary look. “We’re not missing the wedding, right?”
Hester paused, picking at her food before looking up. “No. We’re not missing the wedding.”
Anadil sighed softly.
“No letters from Agatha in months, though,” Dot said, sliding off her boots. “Not since the one where she pretended like everything at Camelot was peaches and roses. Hope the wedding’s still on.”
“Dovey would have told us if it wasn’t,” said Anadil.
“I knew we should have been at the coronation. Maybe we could have stopped everything from going belly-up,” said Dot.
“Finding a new School Master was more important than watching Tedros make an ass of himself … again,” said Hester, pulling back her red-and-black hair. “I’m sure he’ll give a repeat performance in two months.”
“The wedding’s that soon?” Dot said.
“Here comes the ‘wedding diet.’ Let me guess: everything you touch will turn to kim-chi,” Anadil cracked.
“Noooo ma’am. No more diets. I’ve been fat, I’ve been thin. Fat is better, no matter what Daddy says,” Dot piped, digging into her chocolate-avocado pudding. “I just mean time is going fast and we haven’t found a School Master yet.”
They suddenly noticed Hester had gone quiet, squinting at her food.
“Hester?” Dot prodded.
Hester lifted her half-eaten avocado and studied the newspaper beneath the dish. “How old is this paper?”
“Um, got it in Gillikin … so like three weeks ago?” said Dot.
Hester leaned in, inspecting the headlines on the crusty parchment:
PIRATES TAKE OVER PORTS IN JAUNT JOLIE; NUMBERS GROWING
KIDNAPPING FOILED IN RAINBOW GALE
FIRE AT GLASS MOUNTAIN ORCHARD
Her stomach twisted. Every single headline involved one of their classmates’ quests. Beatrix was leading the charge against vicious pirates in Jaunt Jolie; Vex and Mona were supposed to kidnap the Seer of Rainbow Gale who’d been helping Evers cheat their happy endings; Kiko was with the group tending the consecrated orchard atop Glass Mountain. …
And from the headlines, it didn’t sound like any of it was going well.
“What’s wrong?” Anadil asked, her rats peeking up from their meal.
Hester put her own food down, obscuring the parchment. No use worrying her friends over old news. Besides, was it her fault if her classmates were incompetent twits and failing their missions? Right now, she had her own quest to worry about.
She turned to her friends. “Are you sure we’re asking the right questions?”
“You mean should we be asking candidates if they like candlelit dinners and walks on the beach?” said Anadil. “After six months, eighty interviews, and I don’t know how many nights listening to Dot fart in her sleep, now you’re wondering if we’re asking the right questions?”
“It was those lentil cakes in Drupathi,” Dot lamented.
“I just keep thinking about what Lady Lesso would do if she was here,” Hester said, “because it feels like everyone we meet is saying exactly what we want to hear. Like how do we know Mr. Calm and Reasonable won’t turn into psychotic Rafal the moment he gets near the Storian?”
Dot and Anadil
