Storybound (10 page)

“I know.” Una dropped her voice. “But I agree with your dad. If they were such powerful rulers, why would they stay hidden while the Talekeepers went around proclaiming they had defeated them?”

“Who knows why the Muses did anything back then?” Peter shook his head.
“But what if they come back now?”

It was quiet for a minute. “Well, they haven’t come back after all this time. That’s something, right?” Una finally said.

“I guess so.” Peter snorted. “The Talekeepers really would have a riot on their hands if the people of Story thought the Muses were on the loose. I suppose that could be enough to make the Talekeepers lie about what happened before the Unbinding.”

“Maybe a riot would be good in the end, though.” Una reached over, grabbed an oatmeal-raisin cookie from the cookie jar, and handed it to him. “Endeavor’s dad seemed to think it was time for new rulers in Story.” She got a cookie for herself. “I almost gave us away when I saw Endeavor run up. I
knew
there was something suspicious about him.”

“No kidding,” Peter said. “His father’s a Talekeeper from the Vault.” Obviously his parents trusted some Talekeepers. At least more than their own son. “I wonder if George, that Talekeeper from Elton’s office, knows that Mr. Truepenny’s behind the missing books.”

“I don’t know,” Una said, and traced a crack on the tabletop with her finger. “It’s like Endeavor’s dad said. The Talekeepers aren’t really unified. Maybe it’s only a few Talekeepers that are trying to hide things or censor the books or whatever, and some are just, well, trying to do their job.” She moved her finger back up to the starting place. “Didn’t George ask Elton to let them read the old Tales? Maybe the other Talekeepers are just as upset as your parents.”

“Yeah.” Peter took a bite of the cookie and said around it, “What do you think about the book? I couldn’t believe someone actually erased a Tale!”

Una shrugged. “I didn’t get that. Can’t you just burn a book?”

“Not in Story.” Peter leaned back in his chair. “Or at least not until now.”

Una folded her arms on the tabletop and laid her chin down on them. “If the Talekeepers wanted to erase the Tales, why wait so long to do it? Why not do it right after they destroyed the Muses?”

“If they actually did, you mean?” Peter thought for a minute. “I don’t know. I’ve always heard that it was the magic of the Muses that made the Tales indestructible. But who knows if anything we’ve been told about the Muses is true anymore?”

Una set her mouth in a thin line. “We’ve got to get into that Vault and see what’s in some of those books. Whatever’s going on, the book thing was bad,” Una said. “Peter, your mom was crying.”

Peter ran his fingers through his hair. What worried him more was how tight his father’s voice had sounded. Add to that the fact that nobody in the secret group had seemed to know what to do, and things looked grim. How long had these meetings been going on at Bramble Cottage? The entire place felt different now. Peter found himself wishing that he was back at Birchwood Hall.

“Well, we’ll just have to find our own answers,” he said. “Starting tomorrow.”

Chapter 14

P
eter unfolded the slip of paper his mother had given him. “We start out in Fairy Village. We’ll find most things there.” He ran his finger down the list and groaned. “It looks like we’ll have to visit Heart’s Place for fabrics. We need to hurry if we want to make it to the City Hub before lunch.”

They set out on a wide lane that ran beside Bramble Cottage and continued past the neighboring houses. It was worn smooth except for two large wagon ruts, which Una tried to avoid as they walked along.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just tell them—”

“No.” Peter cut her off. “I know my parents. They’d be upset that we were eavesdropping. And I’d rather not know whether they’d approve of us going to the City Hub. My parents are risking everything to smuggle these books. And I want to see why.”

“I get that, Peter.” Una found easier footing as the path widened into a clearing. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t go to the Vault, but maybe we should ask them more about their secret meeting.”

Peter stuck his chin out. “They obviously don’t want us to know. That’s why it was a
secret
meeting. If they can have their secrets, I can have mine, too.”

They had talked long into the night, going round in circles and always ending up back at the books. Una wanted to see one up close. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gone this long without reading a book. Besides, Una thought that whatever the Talekeepers were hiding had something to do with what really happened to the Muses. A tingling went through her. And maybe with whoever had Written her In.

In front of her, thatched cottages crowded upon one another, and small alleys twisted off between them. The crooked chimneys puffed sooty clouds into the air and made everything smell a little bit smoky. People bustled around on the streets: vendors pushing carts and calling out to shoppers, women with baskets over their arms, children tugging on their mothers’ long skirts. A huge waterwheel stood close to them, creaking merrily next to the largest building in sight.

“That’s the Olde Inne,” Peter said, following her glance. “It’s been around for hundreds of years. It’s really famous—Cinderella supposedly stayed there, as well as several Prince Charmings, and a couple of Fairy Godmothers.” They pushed their way through the crowded market square. Booths were set up in every available space, and the mixture of smells and sounds had Una trying to look every which way at once. Wherever they turned, it seemed a crowd was going in the opposite direction.

“The weekends are the busiest,” Peter said, pushing past an old woman scolding two children. Una followed, staring all around her. Characters from other Districts seemed to do their shopping in Fairy Village, for she saw more than just fantasy folk. She saw a couple who looked like pioneers, and a man in a long black coat with a frilly shirt and tight trousers. She caught up with Peter over by a merchant with baskets of fruits and vegetables for sale. He filled a canvas sack with squashes and then scooped up a small pouch of interesting-smelling spices.

“Just need to get the bulbs for the garden now,” Peter said. He turned down a crooked alley that opened up in front of a little greenhouse tucked away. The side of the greenhouse was covered with autumn flowers—mums and marigolds, red and orange roses, and trailing purple clematis. Una pushed open the glass door and led the way inside. The air was instantly humid. Peter set off to find the section with the autumn bulbs, but Una poked through an ivy archway to a tiny room. A murmur of trilling voices mixed in with the sound of tinkling water.

Una looked around, but there was no one else in sight. The room was full of plants of all kinds, the greenery broken only by a small wooden door at the opposite end of the room. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she peered closer. The flowers were nodding and chattering to one another. Every so often a small pixie interrupted, bossing the flowers and shushing them. She leaned in to study a beautiful glass waterfall surrounded by little stones. A tiny woman perched on one of these, singing in a whispery voice. Great teardrops were falling from her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Una whispered.

The pixie fluttered up and disappeared behind a pile of gardening gloves on the next shelf over.

“Don’t mind her,” a soft woman’s voice called from behind her. “Can I help you find something?” Una turned and found the dryad Griselda.

Una forced a smile on her face.
Remember, she doesn’t know you saw her last night. You’re just a customer in her shop. Nothing more.
“Why is she crying?”

“She’s lost her bulbs, that one, and the sooner she realizes that,” Griselda said pointedly to the gardening gloves, “the better off she’ll be.” The dryad explained that she had planted the pixie’s tulips just that morning. “She attached herself too young, if you ask me. Best for the pixies to wait until they’re grown to choose a flower.”

Una glanced back at the shelf, but the pixie was nowhere in sight.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the woman whispered.

So much for just being a customer.
“Did you ever find your tree?” Una asked.

“No.” The woman’s mossy eyes filled with tears as she shook her head sadly. “This is where it came as a seed, you know. And where did you grow up, little girl?”

Una inspected the nearest plant and dodged the question. “Oh, my name is Una. I go to Perrault Academy. Just doing a little shopping.”

All of a sudden Peter appeared at Una’s elbow. “There you are.” His voice was strained.

“Why, Peter! I’ve just been talking to the shop owner,” Una said. “I met—” She caught herself just in time. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know your name.”

“Griselda.” She held out a bony hand for Peter to take. “I’m a dryad. But not really if I don’t have a tree.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Peter. “Do you have any daffodil bulbs?”

“Right this way,” Griselda said. “We keep them separate because they’re so noisy. They don’t like the long winter sleep,” she explained. “Come spring, won’t they be pleased with their new home?”

“I’ll wait here, I think,” Una said. “I’d like to catch another peek at that pixie.”

As soon as Peter and Griselda were out of sight, Una hurried to the little door she had seen earlier. Griselda had come from behind there. She pushed it open and found herself in a tiny cubbyhole that looked like Griselda’s office. A ledger lay open on a low desk, which was crammed full of papers and parchments. A thick shelf ran over the length of the desk with dark-looking ivy trailing down over it.

Una sifted through the stacks of papers. Who exactly was this Griselda? And did she know anything else about the Muses? Most of the papers seemed to be receipts, cataloging the sales of everything from herbal remedies to potted plants. Una didn’t know how much time she had left. Hopefully the dryad was going on about her tree to Peter.

Una had almost given up when her fingers caught something. It felt like a lever. She pulled, and a catch gave way with a click. A small drawer she hadn’t seen popped open. Holding her breath, Una gingerly reached into the drawer and pulled out a little black folder. Inside were several pages covered with a spidery hand. Una let out her breath in a sigh. Each line held the title of a book. She skimmed the pages:
The Tale of Marina Goodwife
;
The Tale of Thomas Fielding
;
The Tale of Ebenezer Lionheart
;
The Tale of Sarah Witting.
They were all the same. Just like the book that had brought her to this world.

Una sat down on the rickety chair that perched in front of the desk.
What could this mean?
Was this a list of everyone who had been Written In like her? That didn’t make much sense, since next to each title was a notation of who had told Griselda the Tale and when. As best Una could tell, this was a list of the characters Griselda had talked to about the old Tales.

Una flipped through each page until she got to the very last. It was crumpled, as though someone had read it over and over again. The ink had been blotted, leaving smudges over the angled script. Una smoothed the page. At the top of the paper, someone had neatly lettered, “Muse books.” There was a little star by three of the names. Una read through them all:
Sophia, Alethia, Clementia, Spero, Fidelus, Virtus, Charis
. So these were the names of the infamous Muses. Next to each name were cryptic notations. “Talked to Sullivan in Hollow District about Virtus.” Or “Felicity remembers her mother visiting Clementia. Characters in Enchanted Swamp think Archimago was a fraud.” The final line made her heart speed up. It was a footnote for the little stars. “Muse books found after the Unbinding.” Una couldn’t know for sure, but it seemed that Griselda had been collecting information about the Muses for a long time. And if her notes were accurate, the Talekeepers
had
lied. Three Muses, or at least three Muse books, were still around.

There was a nearly illegible marking at the bottom of the page. Una drew near to the doorway to catch the greenhouse light in an effort to make it out. She rubbed a hand over the ink, which sketched the shape of a flowering tree. Underneath that someone had written in the same careful lettering:
Servants of the King
.

Una read the names thrice over. She flipped back to the first page to look for more clues, and it was then that she heard Peter’s voice. He was speaking loudly, but if Una hadn’t been by the door she wouldn’t have heard him in time.

She shoved the folder back into its hiding place, pushed the drawer shut with a click, and gave the little room one last look. She didn’t believe the desk was in any particular order to begin with. Hopefully Griselda would think all was as it had been. She dashed through the door and was out by the pixie’s plant before Peter ducked his head in.

“Ready, Una?” he asked. In one fist he clutched a canvas bag that was moving with fits and jolts.

“Those are feisty daffodils.” Griselda’s face appeared behind him. “Plant them soon, and they’ll calm down.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Una said, following Peter out to the front door. From across the shop, they heard the sound of breaking glass and an anguished shriek. “That’ll be the orchids,” Griselda said. “Snobbish, if you ask me. If you don’t come right away, they show their tempers. Excuse me, please. So nice to see you again, Una. You will let me know if you find my tree?” She hurried off to the far end of the greenhouse.

Peter turned to face her as soon as they were out of sight of the shop. “What did you find out?” he said. “I can tell. Your face is all flushed, and you looked guilty when we found you.”

“Do you think Griselda noticed?” Una asked as Peter wrangled the daffodil bag into some semblance of order. Finally, he tucked it inside the parcel with the squashes, which seemed to stifle the fussing.

“I don’t think she notices much unless it looks like a tree,” Peter said. “She wouldn’t stop talking about the one she lost.”

“That’s how she was when I met her, too,” Una said. “But never mind all that. I found her office.” She pulled him into a deserted alley. “It’s bad news, Peter.”

“What do you mean?”

She told him about the list of the Muses. And Griselda’s notes at the bottom. “If she’s right—and I’m not sure why she’d lie about it on her own list—the Muses weren’t destroyed after all.”

Peter’s face had gone white. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Una said. “There’s one more thing. Have you ever heard of the Servants of the King?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “The King? I told you before: there’s never been a King in Story.”

Una grabbed his elbow and propelled him back out into the market square. “Well, maybe you’re wrong. What about the Tale your mom told your brothers? There was a King in that one.”

Peter protested. “But that’s just made up for little kids, to teach them manners and stuff, like Bastian said. It’s not Backstory or anything.”

Una bumped past a weathered fisherman in a yellow slicker. “Made up or not, for some reason Griselda wrote
Servants of the King
on her list of Muses. Maybe there are children’s stories about a King because once upon a time there really was one.”

Peter snorted. “That’s crazy. It’s like saying . . . Well, what are some bedtime stories in your world?”

“Snow White. Cinderella. Little Red Riding Hood. You know, the kind of stories that have turned out to have actually happened here in this world.” She crossed her arms. “Didn’t the scroll say something about the Muses and the King? That they were waiting for the King to return?”

“Yeah, in between the part where the Muses killed everyone and ruined Story.”

“You don’t have to be so touchy,” Una said. “I’m just trying to help us find some answers.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said in a softer voice. “I’m just worried what you’ve found out is true. What will happen to Story if the Muses come back? Archimago’s gone, and do you think Elton could save us from them? It’s hard to care about a King nobody’s ever heard of when something horrible might be about to happen.”

“I get it,” she said. “I don’t know what to think either.”

Peter kicked at a stone on the path. “But was there anything in there about how Griselda knows my parents?”

Una shook her head. “The only connection I could find is that she’s been talking to people who might remember the old Tales. I suppose the Talekeepers can lock up books in their Vault, but they can’t do much about characters’ memories.”

“The Vault again,” Peter said as they approached a trolley stop. “Well, let’s get on with it. One more stop and we can find out what books they’ve managed to hide in there.” They waited until a pair of startlingly white horses pulled up, and Peter helped her into the carriage.

“Heart’s Place,” Peter called to the driver.

Una must have slept, because when the carriage jolted to a halt, she came to with a start. Rubbing bleary eyes, she followed Peter down the carriage steps into a noisy street. She rubbed her eyes again. The colors were still there, red and pink of every shade glaring out at her. The air smelled of a fruity perfume that overpowered Una. She could feel a headache coming on.