“Well, Meghan,” Mr. Today said, climbing to the lawn and settling for a chat on the grass, “most likely it’s because Quill hasn’t figured out how to manufacture and produce metal products, and it no longer trades with other lands for goods. So every piece of metal in Quill is at least fifty years old, as are the vehicles. And the oil they use is some concoction of rainwater and chicken fat. Not ideal, in my opinion.” The Unwanteds sat down around him.
“But why did Justine stop trading with other lands?”
The mage pressed his lips together. “Hmm. Isolationism is the root of it, I think. Fear and a suspicion of strangers is, I’m afraid, a characteristic of many humans.
“Justine wanted no outsiders to infiltrate Quill—if others were coming and going, trading goods from other lands, the traders might have spoken to the people of Quill and questioned Justine’s rule. Justine would have none of that. Her idea of power is to run Quill like a puppet show—everyone doing only as she, the puppet master, demands.”
The children smiled at the idea of a puppet show, for they all knew by now what puppets were, but their smiles turned to concerned looks when they realized that they, like their parents, had been the puppets.
“Mr. Today,” someone else asked, “why is the gate only locked from their side? If you are so trusted by the High Priest Justine, why does she lock you out of Quill?”
“Ah. Well, that is the way of Justine, isn’t it? Protection from everything, control of everything. No one allowed even a peek outside those walls, right? Not that any Quillen dares come near our gate. And certainly, what if a group of Unwanteds, on the way to their deaths, were to revolt and overpower the Eliminators? Justine wouldn’t want that mess spilling over into Quill. Alas, locking the gate was not my choice to make. And while I don’t wish anyone to go back to Quill, for fear of exposing Artimé, I also don’t wish to hold anyone hostage.”
“Why doesn’t anyone challenge the High Priest Justine?” asked Alex.
Mr. Today smiled ruefully. “They are afraid to, for of course they would be killed. And no one knows any different, my boy—without knowledge that life can be different, there can be no desire to change it. Their minds are too numb to think as we think. Therefore the thought of challenging Justine simply isn’t possible.”
Alex had another question too. “Mr. Today,” he said rather abruptly, “why don’t you challenge Justine? Why don’t you go into Quill and take over and teach them how to live like we do?”
The old man scratched his head and sighed wearily. He looked out over the land of Artimé, scanning the jungle, the grassy grounds, the mansion. “Because it would expose all of this. Because Justine is not a threat to us as long as she doesn’t know of our existence.” Mr. Today looked at the children, who gathered around him to catch his every word. “Because I don’t believe that starting a war and demanding the people of Quill follow our way of life is ever going to work—they are too set in their ways to handle such an abrupt change. If Quill is to change, it will have to be on Quill’s own terms. One day …” He sighed and trailed off. “Justine is an old woman. I await her death by natural causes. Perhaps then things will change … and perhaps without a war. It is what I hope for. And if I have anything in me at all, it’s hope.” After a moment he added very softly, “And maybe a little fear, too.”
The students, quiet as the grass upon which they sat, held their breath in hopes that Mr. Today would continue. But their leader seemed lost in deep thoughts.
Alex looked out over the sea. He felt that familiar pang of loneliness for his brother, and wished he could figure out a safe way to tell Aaron how to get in without exposing Artimé.
After a while, when most of the Unwanteds had taken the long, contemplative silence as a dismissal to go and explore, Lani alone remained next to Mr. Today, a look of consternation growing on her face.
“Mr. Today,” she said.
The old man startled out of his reverie. “Yes, Lani.”
“What if the next ruler of Quill is worse than Justine?” Lani’s face turned puce as she tried to appear nonchalant. She knew who the next ruler would be.
Mr. Today smiled ruefully at the girl. “Time holds hope for many impossible things. Let’s not give up on your father just yet.”
Mr. Today rose, shook the grass and wrinkles from his robe, nodded to Lani, and continued his walk alone now.
Lani lay back heavily on the grass, thinking about what would happen if Artimé were to go to war with Quill. Determined that if she ever came face-to-face in war with her father, the next in line to the High Priest, she would kill him herself.
Losing Patience
Meghan leaned toward Alex during Actors’ Studio and whispered, “What do you suppose Mr. Today meant last Sunday when he said it wasn’t his choice to—” “Hmm?” Annoyed, Alex looked up from the original Appleblossom script Perseus! Perseus! He was trying to memorize his lines. Mr. Appleblossom scurried about on stage, muttering in his typical rhyming manner, directing the actors who were in the current scene while the rest of the class sat in the auditorium, watching and going over their scripts. Lani and Samheed were onstage, in costume. Flubbing up royally, Alex thought.
Meghan rolled her eyes. “I said, what could it mean that Mr. Today didn’t choose to have the gate locked from the Quill side? Doesn’t Mr. Today have complete control over Artimé and all the spells that are in place? Couldn’t he easily cast an illusion spell that would—”
Alex let the script fall heavily to his lap. He scowled. “How should I know? Why don’t you ask your Magical Warrior instructor? I hardly know a thing about magic, as everyone here keeps reminding me.”
Flinching, Meghan leaned away from him again. “Gosh, Alex.” She drew her lips into a pout. “Nobody’s trying to rub it in. Honestly. Why don’t you ask Ms. Octavia why she hasn’t recommended you yet?”
“No,” Alex said, a bit too gruffly. He remembered the last time he’d asked, and how he’d vowed never to ask again.
“Are you getting all of your required work done?”
Alex stared at her, pointedly. “Not at the moment,” he said, and picked up his script again. His cue was coming up, and he wanted to be ready. He rose from his seat and pushed through the door that led backstage to the props table, grabbed his sword and a pair of winged sandals, and awaited his cue.
Meghan followed him as Mr. Appleblossom set the onstage actors in motion again. “Alex,” she whispered in the dimly lit hallway that led to the stage.
“What now?”
“We—all of us—especially Lani—”
“Are being horrible to me? Yes, Meg, I’m well aware of that.” Alex’s words were icy cold. He ignored the twinge in his gut that told him to stop talking, and continued. “You all need to grow up. Especially Lani.” Alex slipped his feet into the sandals and buckled them tightly.
“That’s not what I—”
“I wish you had a shush button! Now be quiet. My cue’s coming up,” Alex said. He turned away to focus on the stage, a gleam in his eye, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.
Meghan glared at Alex’s back for a moment, then turned and flounced back out to the auditorium, muttering, “We need to grow up? We need to grow up?” under her breath.
On cue Alex entered stage left. Mr. Appleblossom waved his hand and cast a spell on the winged sandals. The white, feathery wings flapped, and slowly Alex rose in the air. He concentrated to keep his balance as the sandals propelled him to center stage, where Lani, in a tremendously large-headed costume, lay, feigning sleep.
Drawing his sword and holding it high, Alex projected his voice in a sinister tone. “Aha! You there, Medusa, your snakes betray you. I come at the bequest of King Polydectus, who has demanded your head on a platter!” Feeling a bit reckless and pent-up, Alex ad-libbed, “I see it shall take several platters to hold it all.”
Lani glared. And with that, Alex shouted, “Have at you!” and brought down the sword upon the top half of Lani’s ornate costu
med head, sending the squirming snake portion of the costume rolling across the stage and leaving Lani trembling. Whether she trembled in fear of the sword or as part of her act, Alex wasn’t sure. He grinned wickedly. That felt good.
Mr. Appleblossom stood up on his chair and applauded wildly, a pencil and his well-worn script tucked under his arm. “Bravo, Perseus! Brava, Medusa!” He stopped to scribble something, muttering, “That’s it! Now, a rousing J. P. Sousa.” He cued the brass band.
Lani ripped off what remained of the costume, scrambled to her feet, and glared up at Alex, her hair flying about with static from the near-suffocating Medusa head. Her eyes flashed, and she pointed. “You almost chopped my real head off, Alex! Watch it or I’ll—”
Alex, who was still flying about helplessly as he waited for the distracted Mr. Appleblossom to release the spell on his sandals, glared at Lani and spat back, “Or you’ll what?”
Lani whispered something under her breath.
“Knock it off—,” Alex yelled, but it was too late. She had cast a spell on him as he puttered around in the flying sandals. He felt his body harden into stone and tip sideways, then upside down in the air. The sandals flapped frantically but could not hold his new stone weight, and he plunged to the stage, crashing and breaking into a thousand pieces. The winged sandals flew about the room, still holding Alex’s feet. “Not funny,” Alex’s mouth said from stage right. “Not funny at all.”
Still, everybody but Alex laughed, even as Mr. Appleblossom scurried over to put Alex back together and hand out detentions. Once Mr. Appleblossom had Alex back in one piece again, flesh and bone rather than stone, he patted the boy on the back, chuckling merrily. “You’re good as new, my boy, I’ll have you know. Perhaps I’ll write that bit into the show!”
Alex groaned. Things couldn’t get much worse.
A Big Mistake
The weather in Artimé was rarely gloomy and never too cold, though Mr. Today tossed in an occasional bit of rain or a thrilling thunderstorm to freshen things up and remind them all how much they preferred the pleasant sunshine.
On the day that marked six months of Alex’s time spent in Artimé, a crisp breeze blew, and the leaves on the trees were a brilliant purplish red. Weather like this never occurred in the dry desert land of Quill.
Alex had grown tired of hiding in his room from his friends. He knew he was probably being unreasonable with them, but he just couldn’t seem to deal with them these days. His mind was so occupied with not being in Magical Warrior Training, and the ache of missing his brother was stronger than he cared to admit—which no one else seemed to understand. So he took to wandering the grounds to keep away from everyone. He ventured into the jungle, a little farther each day, hesitantly at first but growing bolder at each attempt. There were many creatures of the jungle, but for the most part they greeted him politely and went about their business gathering nuts and roots and berries, stalking prey, feeding their young. Rarely did he witness anything that proved to be too frightening, though on several occasions he saw a huge gray wolf streaking off to find cover in the brush or resting on warm rocks near the seashore. It was almost as if the wolf were watching Alex, and the boy hoped he wouldn’t become the wolf’s next meal. Yet the animal never approached Alex or threatened him in any way, so Alex felt fairly safe. Today the wolf was nowhere to be seen.
Alex was quite fond of the cool darkness under the thick canopy of trees, and he was pleased to find a sparkling brook running through the jungle. There was one briny river back in Quill that the Necessaries used for transporting equipment to broken-down vehicles stranded around the community, and for delivering milk and eggs to the marketplace on large wooden rafts. But the stream here in Artimé was clear and cold, and Alex could see schools of fish now and then. On this particular boring Saturday he trekked alongside it to see where it led, and found himself, after a good deal of walking, within earshot of the gentle waves lapping the seashore in a sort of lagoon he’d never seen before. As he parted the bushes to make his way out of the jungle and onto the beach, he stopped abruptly, for there, floating in the water, was a large white boat glinting in the sunlight. He’d seen pictures of boats in his art books, but he’d never seen a real one before.
“Wow,” he whispered, looking at the gleaming golden seats and shiny chrome that ran around its perimeter. “You could fit a dozen or fifteen people on that thing.”
If he could have safely ventured out in the water to climb aboard, he would have, but Mr. Today had warned them that, like any large body of water, this sea contained carnivorous creatures like sharks, and so he’d advised the students to swim only in the protected waters of the cove near the mansion.
Not quite depressed enough, or desperate enough, to lose a leg over it, Alex merely admired the boat from the shore. It didn’t appear to be inhabited, and when the soft waves eased the port side of the boat toward him, he saw the craft’s name painted in sleek letters on the side. CLAIRE, it read.
“That’s curious,” Alex said, louder than before.
“Curious. Curious. Curious,” three platyprots echoed from the trees above.
Alex looked up. “Whose is it?”
The platyprots looked this way and that, and shrugged. “Whose is it?” they said to one another, before collapsing in fits of giggles.
Alex, feeling overly sensitive and wondering if the creatures were mocking him, decided it was best for him to walk away in silence. He emerged from the jungle, surprised to see no one at all walking about the grounds. Had he missed a special dinner, or a meeting? He shrugged, not really caring. He was getting used to being left out. Slowly he followed the shoreline back to the mansion and slipped inside the enormous front entrance.
The winged cheetah growled angrily. “Why arrren’t you in yourrr rrroom?”
Alex stepped back in fright, for the statue had never addressed him personally before in his comings and goings. “I—I—I was out for a walk, is all!”
Florence, the other statue, fired off a heated look at Simber. “Alex,” she said, and Alex startled again and whirled around to face her. He’d never heard her speak before. “We are under lockdown. Did you forget about the governors’ semiannual inspection today?”
“What? What? I don’t know what you are talking about!”
“Your blackboard has been informing you for weeks! And your warrior instructor gave out the warning and the instructions yesterday,” Florence said.
“I … don’t have a warrior instructor,” Alex said, and he was surprised to feel hot tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them away rapidly.
“Ah,” said Florence. Her eyes narrowed. “So. You’re the one.”
Simber hissed sharply at Florence.
“What one?” Alex was deeply confused now, and no longer knew what anyone was talking about.
“Just go to yourrr rrroom. Don’t come out until yourrr blackboarrrd tells you to.” The enormous stone cheetah turned his face away in disgust, which only made Alex feel worse, having still no idea why these two were so angry with him.
“Go,” said Florence. “Before I let him eat you.”
Alex needed no further encouragement. He raced to the top of the stairs as fast as he could go and shot down the hallway to his room. He was halfway there before he realized that at the top of the stairs he had caught sight of a hallway that he could have sworn hadn’t been there the previous day. But now was not the time to check it out.
He slipped into his room, unshushed the volume on his blackboard, and sank into the overstuffed chair, still heaving from his wild sprint up the marble staircase. “Clive,” he said to the blackboard, “what’s going on around here?”
Clive surfaced with a scowl and “ahemmed” several times to make sure his voice was truly back. “Oh, so now you want to talk. You shush me for weeks, ignore my messages to you, and now that you’ve likely messed everything up, you ask for help. Well, I’m not inclined to give it. Besides, it’s too late. Here comes Marcus, and boy, are
you in trouble. Ahem!”
Clive’s features melted flat once again, and the screen brightened to show Mr. Today’s face. He looked weary and angry, so far unlike the usual kind and humorous mage Alex knew, that for a moment Alex thought it might be someone else. The man’s white hair stood up more wildly than ever, as if he’d tried recently to pull it out.
“Thank you, Clive,” Mr. Today said in a defeated voice. “But all is well. No need to panic. They’re gone.”
Alex sat up in his chair at the sight of Mr. Today, feeling an impending sense of doom. He hadn’t seen the mage in weeks, for Alex had ceased attending the Sunday chats on the lawn.
Mr. Today looked at Alex for a long moment before he spoke.
Alex swallowed hard, waiting.
“Alex,” the mage said wearily, “please. Just …” He searched for the right words. “I don’t ask much of you. Just try to respect my few requests. And pay attention. Please. I’m disabling Clive’s shush button until further notice. It would be wise for you to catch up on what you’ve missed these past weeks, so you’ll know what danger you put us all in.”
“Mr. Today, I’m sorry—I didn’t understand—”
Mr. Today sighed. “When the governors come, Alex, I use a very complex spell that hides Artimé, so that this place looks just like it did when you first arrived. As Artimé grows, and as I grow older, it becomes harder for me to hold that spell flawlessly and still appear to be the man they expect me to be. It takes a lot of concentration, and I need everyone in the mansion and remaining quite still during these times. Please, Alex, I know it’s inevitable, but I’m not … quite … ready.…” He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Listen, Alex. I’m counting on you—please don’t fail me. Good night.”
Alex stared openmouthed as the mage disappeared from the blackboard. And something deep inside of him, deeper than he thought anything could ever be, quivered and broke into tiny pins that stuck hard into his gut.