Once Upon the End (Half Upon a Time) (15 page)

CHAPTER 29

M
ay closed her eyes, knowing this was the end. It’d been a good run, but her grandmother was going to kill her.

“It’s not that bad,” Jacqueline told her, taking the pop quiz out of her hand.

“You could totally just change that
C
to a . . . well, no, you’re stuck,” Moira said, grabbing the paper from Jacqueline, then shrugging. “What’d she say last time?”

“One more
C
, and I’m grounded until my grandchildren graduate college,” May said. “The joke’s on her, though. My grandkids are going to be geniuses and go to college at, like, age four.”

“That’ll teach her,” Moira said, nodding. “Or you could just not show her.”

May shivered. “She’ll know. She
always
knows. Everything. Doesn’t matter. I can’t hide anything from that woman. It’s like she can read my mind or something.”

Some guy walked by them whom May hadn’t seen before, and threw a look her way, then a second one. She frowned. New student? As Moira and Jacqueline kept offering suggestions, May watched as the new guy went up to a locker and started to fiddle with the lock, then looked at her again, then quickly looked away. He seemed to be wearing scrubs from a hospital, and he carried a very large, very clanky bag.

“Then, I’d take the ashes of the burnt test and burn
those
,” Jacqueline was saying, but Moira stopped her.

“Why is that guy staring at you?” Moira whispered to May.

“I don’t know,” May whispered back. “Why are we whispering.”

“Because he might be listening.”

“From down the hall?”

“You understand how listening works? We make sounds with our mouths, and those sounds travel through air. Since there’s air between here and there, it’s possible that those sounds will actually reach his ears, even down the hall. It’s complicated, so I get that you haven’t figured it out yet.”

May nodded absently. “Totally. What do you think he wants?”

Jacqueline frowned. “It looks like to get in his locker. Apparently, he doesn’t want it bad enough, though. Maybe that’s where he’s keeping his actual pants.”

She was right, the guy seemed to be twisting the knob over and over in one direction, like he had never seen a lock before.

Eh, why not? “Hey, they not have locks where you’re from?” May said loud enough for the guy to hear her. “You need help or something?”

The boy looked up and blushed deeply. “I’m, uh, new here.”

“I couldn’t tell,” May said, instantly feeling bad for him. “What’s your combination?”

“My . . . what?”

“The numbers. They gave you in the office. Three numbers.”

He blushed again. “I should go. I didn’t, um, get numbers. I’ll go ask them . . . where did you say?”

May pointed back toward the office, still staring at the boy. “You want me to take you there?”

He kept playing with the lock as if he might luck into the right numbers. “You don’t need to be so nice. It’s . . . odd.”

May gave him a strange look. “What a normal thing to say. Well, good luck with making friends, what with your completely friendly outlook and all.” With that, she turned around and walked back to Moira and Jacqueline. The next strange boy she met, she was going to insult straightaway. Apparently, that was what they expected.

“Weird,” Jacqueline said. “He keeps looking over here.”

May grabbed both of their arms and led them away, shaking her head. “Let’s ignore the creepy boy and figure out a way for me to stay alive, how about that? You know what I need? A distraction.”

Moira stopped, and gave May an evil look, grabbing a lock of her hair. “You know what would distract her from your test? Jacquie, you got any more of that blue hair dye?”

May’s eyes widened, and she shook her head, stepping away from both girls. “NO.”

Jacqueline and Moira both grinned evilly at her, and she took another step back. “NO!”

“YES!” they said, and grabbed her arms, dragging her toward the door.

As they led her out, chatting about where to put it and how blue to make it, May threw one last look over her shoulder. Maybe the strange, annoying boy would distract them, and she could make a run for it.

But the boy was gone, which was just as well. She didn’t need help saving herself. If Jacqueline and Moira thought they could get away with this, they had another thing coming. And that other thing would be blue dye all over
their
hair too.

And with that, May grabbed the other girls and led
them
out the door.

CHAPTER 30

W
HAT WAS HE DOING?! Jack had no idea how time worked, or how he could possibly be meeting May before he actually met May, or if that would change things when he DID meet May when she fell through the fire circle into his village.

He pushed his back against the wall, his heart racing. And to talk to her?! There was no reason to take the chance!

Not to mention the knob on the metal door with the numbers. Could he have looked stupider? Probably not, and that was saying something!

Another kid walked past him, giving him an odd look, and Jack realized he looked incredibly suspicious, especially with his bag full of extremely loud armor, so he coughed, shrugged, then pushed through doors made of glass into a room across from where he’d been standing, a room where other students in this enormous school seemed to be gathering.

The smell hit him first—slightly musty, slightly papery. And then he realized that this wasn’t just a room. This was a room filled with books. FILLED with books. More books than he’d ever seen in his life, multiplied by about a thousand.

“Oh,
wow
,” he said, stopping in place.

Then the doors of glass hit him in the behind as another student pushed in, and Jack decided that maybe the entrance to whatever this was might not be the best place to stand. Instead, he dove in, wandering between shelves absolutely filled with books.

“Can I help you find anything?” asked an older woman with a friendly face.

Jack opened his mouth, then realized he had no idea what to say. What kind of book could he ask about? He had no idea what any of them were!

“You know, just looking around,” he told her, trying to act as if he had been in so many book rooms that they just couldn’t impress him anymore. “Books. Stories. That kind of thing. You know.”

She smiled. “Stories? What kind do you like? Maybe I can recommend something.”

The panic hit for the second time, and he frantically searched his memory. May must have said
something
about their stories here! She’d heard of Jack’s world, she’d heard of the Wicked Queen and Snow White . . . what had she called those stories?

“Well, I like fairy bottoms,” he told the woman, giving her a knowing smile.

“I’m sorry?” she said, her smile fading. “
What
did you say?”

“Tails!” he shouted. “I like fairy tails!”

She gave him an odd look. “Fairy tales have actually been pretty popular lately, but I think we’ve got a few still in the library.” She led him through the shelves, winding in and out, before bending down to the very bottom shelf and grabbing a few books. “What have you read?”

“The usual stuff. The one with Snow White.”

“Ever read any Jack tales?” the woman asked without looking up.

Any
what
now?

“Can’t say I have,” Jack told her, his voice barely squeaking out.

She handed him a book called
English Fairy Tales.
TALES. Right. Whoops. “Those are fun. He’s my favorite.”

“English? Who is
he
?”

She stared at him. “Right. English as in British. From England. I mean Jack. I read all those as a child, I used to love them. ‘Jack and the Beanstalk,’ that kind of thing. You must know that one.”

He nodded. “Pretty well at this point.” Was this for real?

“Take a look, you might like some of the others. Here’s a copy of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
, and Hans Christian Andersen. You might think you know the stories from movies and all, but the originals are very different.”

Jack looked at the cover of the book
English Fairy Tales
, with a picture of a boy climbing a beanstalk, and nodded. “You have no idea how different.”

She gave him another odd look, so he quickly thanked her and retreated to a table, like the other students did, and opened the beanstalk book first.

Once upon a time . . .

Jack read through the first story, then the next, and the next, his stomach dropping through his shoes. These were his
family’s
stories! His father, his grandfather, even some hints of what he had done in the giant’s castle in the clouds!

People could just read about his life without him knowing?! Were they watching him now, watching him read about himself, that they were then reading, and—

Probably not. But that woman had said she loved these stories and thought of Jack (or, well, all the Jacks) as a hero. But the Jacks in the stories did what Jacks had always done, which wasn’t always heroic or anything . . . sometimes it was exactly the opposite, outwitting and outplaying people just to win.

But here . . . they liked that. Just like the Wicked Queen had said. Here, they admired people like him.

He set the
English Fairy Tales
book aside, feeling something odd that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and turned to the next book, flipping through it only to stop abruptly at one story.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

This time, he couldn’t even feel his stomach. He quickly flipped through to the end of the story, where Snow White looked like she died, so some dwarfs put her in a glass box and left her. Then along came a prince and woke her up, and the two got married. He shook his head. When had
that
happened? And the Wicked Queen went to the wedding and danced herself to death in red-hot iron shoes? . . . Uh?

Jack quickly read the entire story, then read it again. It had a magic mirror, so that part made sense, but when had the rest of this happened? Snow White had been in a coffin made of ice when he’d last seen her, before the Wolf King had stolen her away.

Wait.

Did that mean she could be woken up?

He quickly flipped through the next book, finding far too many familiar stories. “Rapunzel.” “Tom Thumb,” a boy who sounded a lot like a younger Captain Thomas, at least in size. “Little Red Riding Hood,” just like the outfit Rose Red had worn.

All stories from his Story Book, the one he’d given to the imps in the past. Had the stories of his world really survived all those years? Apparently whoever the imps had sold them to had been pretty smart storytellers!

Of course, there were a bunch of stories that didn’t sound familiar, like one called “Donkey Cabbages,” and another called “Cinderella.” Weird titles, but maybe those were made up at some point.

He’d have to read further; these could be useful. But he couldn’t just stay here all night.

A girl stood up and carried a few books over to a desk, where a man stamped them, then handed them back. Only, the girl had also handed the man some sort of card, which he handed back to her with the books. She then walked out the doors of glass, books and all.

Had she bought them, paid for them somehow with the card? Not that it mattered: Jack had nothing. But these books could be extremely useful. . . .

It wasn’t like he hadn’t done worse things already. So Jack picked up the three books, even the creepy stories about his family, grabbed his bag, and walked toward the man at the desk, who smiled at him.

Then, at the last second, Jack made a run for it.

Something screamed in his ears, but he didn’t stop, plowing through the doors as the man shouted behind him that he needed to check something. With the grating screaming noise in his ears, Jack took off down the hallway and right out the door he’d seen May leave by, and didn’t stop running until he reached some woods nearby.

All night, he read about his own family, about the heroes and villains of his world, and about the way all the heroes always lived happily ever after. But the heroes of the books weren’t like Phillip, not for the most part. Usually they were just some kid, often not even a firstborn, who was smart enough to outwit whatever the story threw at him.

If people in this world really did look up to people who used their brains . . . why was he leaving?

The next morning, he crept up to the school, left all three books in front of the door leading inside, then took off again. At least he didn’t feel so bad about things now. And he had so many new ideas.

Now all he needed to do was find the Wicked Queen’s house, which was somewhere on a Hough Street, whatever that was.

The iron shoes would be a good Plan B.

CHAPTER 31

P
hillip concentrated, his entire soul dedicated to the task before him. This would be the difference between life and death, between the lives of his subjects and the ruin of his kingdom.

He held his work up to look at it critically, as every detail counted. “It is not very pretty,” he said, tilting his head to get a better angle.

The guards around him stopped their sewing and gave the cord he had just sewn a look. Even the monkey looked up from his job to look at Phillip thoughtfully.

“I’ve seen worse, Your Highness,” one said.

“You’re doing a fine job, Your Highness,” said another.

“’Tis unto a flower bloomin’ in dawn’s first breath, Your Highness,” said a third.

Phillip shrugged. “I suppose it does not have to look good. How fare the rest of you?”

The others held their cords up for inspection, and Phillip nodded, then glanced out the window at the hundreds of yards of cord that led from the window to the courtyard below, gathering in huge piles below where other guards wrapped the cord onto wheels, and townsfolk and guards alike rolled those wheels out of the castle, through town, and out into the countryside.

“I’m back,” Penelope said, and Phillip jumped. He never did hear the girl come in.

“How did your task go?” he asked her, noticing that she was covered in dirt and smelled like music.

The princess smiled, petting the monkey on the head. “I convinced some of them, and they’ll work on the others. It might take a few days, but I think they’ll be here.”

That was a bit slapdash for him, given the stakes, but it was not as if he had any choice. “I would have preferred them here before the giants arrived, but I suppose we are on our own there. What about Lian? Has she returned?”

Penelope shrugged. “I’ll have to see. I came straight here to see how the sewing’s going. You’ve done a lot!”

“A prince does what one must,” Phillip said, turning from her back to sewing lengths of rope together to make an extremely thick, strong cord.

Penelope looked at him for a minute, then sat down next to him. “You know, I wasn’t ever allowed to do this,” she said, watching Phillip’s needle threaded in and out. “Too many spindles involved. But the fairy queens used to find it very relaxing, they said. They’d often sit for hours, sewing, singing, telling stories . . .”

“We have no time for singing or stories, unfortunately,” Phillip said.

“I have a story!” one of the guards said.

“No one wants to hear your invisible gnome story, especially not the prince!” said another.

“I
would
actually like to hear it at a later time,” Phillip told the crestfallen guard. “For I myself had some trouble with an invisible gnome.”

“Did he steal your pants too, Your Majesty?”

“Did he, Phillip?” Penelope asked, her eyes opening a bit wider than usual. “I’m guessing yes, considering you’re blushing again.”

Philip turned back to his sewing. “I do not see how that is relevant.”

“The point is,” Penelope continued, “they found sewing an easy way to take their mind off their troubles.” She nudged his shoulder. “Not that
you
have any troubles, right? But you just stay here and keep at it. I’ll go find out if anyone’s heard from Lian, or if the sharks ate her.”

Phillip glanced up at her, at her gentle smile, and could not help but smile back. The repetitive task of sewing
had
taken his mind off things, things he would rather not remember.

Things like the look on May’s face when he had left her in the Wicked Queen’s clutches.

Penelope quietly left the room, or so Phillip supposed, as when he looked again, she was gone.

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said. “But why are the princess and that . . . other girl—”

“Lian,” Phillip said absently.

“The, uh, Eye, yes,” the guard said, his face clouding. “Not that it’s my place to suggest that we throw her out the nearest window, as it’s only a matter of time until she betrays us—”

“She would not be the first to do so this week,” Phillip said quietly.

“But shouldn’t those two be bringing our friends and allies here as soon as possible? Don’t we need all the help we can get here to take care of those giants?”

The ground shook, just as it did every few seconds, as if in response. The giants weren’t far off now . . . maybe a day, probably less.

“We will face more than the giants if we live through the attack,” Phillip told the guard, and all the guards. “There will be evil greater than any of us have ever seen, and it will come calling for our very heads. And when it comes, we will need all the help we can find.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, the giants cannot be faced with strength or numbers. Whatever we put up against them, they will overcome. It is their nature to overpower. But this . . .” He held up the cord. “This cord that we make . . . this has its own power. There is power in cleverness and wisdom, too. A lesson I would have done well to learn before now.”

“So . . . say we survive . . .” the guard said.

“A mighty big ‘if,’ there,” said another.

“Have faith, my friends,” Phillip said. “Not because we are noble and good and worthy of victory, though I believe in this battle, we are. The noble, unfortunately, do not always win. No, victory goes to the side that outwits the other side. And I would be a poor prince if I did not try everything I could to save my people.” He smiled. “Even a bit of trickery.”

A hand touched Phillip’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Jack’s father looking down on him with something resembling pride.

“I won’t say what I’m thinking,” the man said, “most likely because you don’t want to hear it.”

“You are correct,” Phillip told him. “I would not want to hear it.”

“Jack would be pleasantly surprised by you right now, Phillip.”

Phillip shook his head, then stood up, dropping the cord from his hands. “This will have to be enough. Everyone, gather what cord you have and join me in the courtyard.” He looked at Jack’s father, then shook his head. “Even you. I will need
your . . .
expertise.”

“With what, exactly?” the man said, raising one eyebrow and smiling. He knew, but he wished to make Phillip say the words. If words were all that stood between Phillip’s kingdom and destruction, then words it would be.

“I officially request the aid of one Jack the Giant Killer in the slaying of up to and including seven giants that are currently on their way toward my kingdom.”

The man nodded, still smiling. “All you needed to do was ask.” He picked up a length of cord, then stopped once more. “Oh, and Phillip? This plan will work on six of them. Maybe. But not the big one. Not the one that killed your father. That one won’t fall for this like the others will.”

This time, Phillip smiled. “If you outwitted him, how hard can he be?”

And at that, Jack’s father roared with laughter.