The School for Good and Evil

Behind the goat’s desk, more Pifflepaff guards with Lion badges were stationed on staircases to the library stacks. Tedros’ chest clamped. Guards in here, guards out there. The moment the goat matched their names, he and Agatha were dead.

“It’s too risky,” he said, grabbing Agatha’s wrist, pulling her towards the door. “We need to sneak out—”

“Wait. Not yet,” Agatha resisted, studying the old goat as he stamped more names.

“He’s going to catch us!” Tedros hissed.

But Agatha’s focus stayed on the freckle-faced man in front of them, who was having an argument with the goat. “Trust me,” she said to her prince.

Those magic words, Tedros thought.

“I’m called Patrick,” the freckled man protested, pointing at the stamp on his chest. “This says . . . ‘Poot.’”

“As it should,” said Golem, swiveling to the girls’ line. “Welcome, Hatshepsut!”

“It’s Hanna,” said a lady.

But the goat was already back to Tedros and Agatha, next in the boys’ line.

Tedros held his breath as he and Agatha approached, the patchy-furred goat eyeing them through thick glasses.

“Good to see strapping boys in a library instead of making mischief,” said Golem, his voice hoary and high, honing in on Agatha. “Though at first glance, one might mistake you for a girl, which isn’t allowed. Boys must be boys and girls must be girls, through and through. So I really should report you, dear boy. The guards behind me are no doubt itching for my verdict on the matter . . .”

Tedros felt Agatha’s palm go clammy.

“But that’s to presume we should call you a ‘boy’ at all,” the goat mused. “Because if a boy likes to dress as a girl, one might say he’s still a boy, in which case he should use the boys’ entrance. But if the boy feels like a girl, well, he should use the girls’ door, shouldn’t he? Because what you feel often contradicts what ‘is’ and you can’t change what ‘is’ until you know what you feel. It’s rather complicated, isn’t it? If only we had a reputable princess to consult. The best princesses can find answers in a way we ordinary goats cannot.” He looked at Agatha, as if hoping she could resolve the matter.

“I think the question of which door to use should be left to the one using it,” said Agatha, eyeing the Matcher on the desk.

Tedros could see the back of her neck rashing red, anticipating the mirror’s scan.

“Must be school aged, you two,” the goat rambled, the line of men restless behind them. “My younger brother works as a librarian at the School for Good and Evil. Is that where you went to school?”

“No,” said Tedros and Agatha, too forcefully.

The goat gave them a long stare. “No?” He raised his Matcher to reflect them, his whiskers twitching. “Let’s see who you are, then . . .”

Tedros’ stomach surged into his throat. Why hadn’t they run for it? Surely there were other ways to find the answer to his dad’s first test . . . to what the Green Knight wanted . . . There was no way of tricking a Matcher! Agatha had put them in a death trap—

“Arise, young Teedum of Coomat!” the goat boomed, stamping him with a tag, before plastering one on Agatha. “And welcome, young Agoff!”

Tedros and his princess gaped at Agatha’s name tag.

AGOFF OF WOODLEY BRINK

“May I suggest the exhibit on Floor 5, about Notable Chaplains,” the goat prattled. “The one at Camelot happens to be a good friend. Pospisil, his name is. Not that you two would know the slightest thing about Camelot, since Teedum is from Coomat and Agoff from Woodley Brink. Then again, I’m a doddering old bag who’s been mixing up my names lately, or at least that’s what everyone in Pifflepaff says . . . Imagine if condemned criminals entered my library. I’d hardly notice them.”

He gave them a smile.

Tedros saw Agatha grin too, she and the goat locking eyes.

“If only we had a reputable princess to consult on the matter . . .”

Tedros’ heart beat faster.

“Dearest Golem,” the princess said, keeping her voice low, “might you tell Teedum and I where to find answers about King Arthur’s reign?”

“Thought that’s what you might be here for,” the goat replied keenly. “Floor 3, East Wing. But I’m afraid the Pifflepaff King has closed Arthur’s archive for renovation. There’s no way inside, unless a trespasser just happened to use the broken door in the south stairwell. But can’t imagine anyone would be foolish enough to do that . . .”

“Can’t imagine,” said Agatha.

Golem winked and waved them away before swiveling to the girls’ line: “Next!”

Agatha pulled Tedros towards the stairs ahead.

“How’d you know to trust him?” Tedros whispered.

“Always trust librarians,” his princess whispered back.

They heard the goat stamp his book and slap another name—

“Hail, Methuselah!”

THE DOOR TO the south stairwell was indeed broken, letting Tedros and his princess steal up to the third floor without the slightest sign of a guard.

As they pushed through the door, Tedros had his first view of the Living Library’s halls, he and Agatha stopping short to marvel.

The floor, the walls, the high ceilings were all made of alternating squares of blue and pink mosaic, each tile the size of a biscuit. At first, Tedros thought the mosaic an extension of Pifflepaff’s obsession with sex, the alternating pastel colors so relentless that it felt like they’d been stuffed inside a birthday cake. But then Tedros noticed the legions of white mice, wheeling carts loaded with cubes of paper, across the floors, up the walls, along the ceiling, while a large bat supervised from a corner. Each mouse checked the numbers on their cubes, then found a corresponding tile, before popping open the blue or pink square like a safe box and slipping the scroll inside.

Following their lead, Tedros pressed a random pink tile, feeling it pop under his fingers. He pulled out the small cube of paper, labeled “1851,” then gently pried open the thin sheet of parchment, crammed with elaborate calligraphy.

Prince Kaveen of Shazabah

Age: 23 Parents: Sultan Adeen of Shazabah, Mumtaz Adeen of Shazabah Current Address: Shazabah Prison Schooling: School for Good (Leader)

A long ancestry description followed, marking Kaveen as the great-grandson of Aladdin. Another familiar name caught Tedros’ eye: “Prince Kaveen was briefly married to Princess Uma, now a teacher of Animal Communication at the School for Good—”

A mouse ran over Tedros’ foot with a cart, before it noticed him and Agatha and peered up with pearly, black eyes.

“Moop moop mop mip mip,” it meeped.

Tedros and Agatha exchanged baffled looks.

The mouse held up a sign.

WHOSE FILE ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?

Agatha began: “Actually, we’re looking for King Arthur’s archiv—”

“Japeth of Foxwood. We need his file,” Tedros cut in sharply. He glanced at Agatha. “Since we’re here, I mean.”

The mouse whipped out a notebook, scanning through it.

“Good thinking,” Agatha whispered to Tedros, with a smile. The kind of smile princesses gave dashing, quick-thinking princes in the storybooks that Tedros loved growing up. The kind of smile his princess almost never gave him. Maybe this kingdom was rubbing off on her, Tedros thought . . . He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Japethee,” the mouse piped, pointing at its ledger: “Matoo cuatro matoo matoo.” Humming a tune, the mouse wheeled its cart up the wall, feet knobbing onto the edges of the tiles, as it scaled columns and slid across rows, until it landed high on a blue tile near the upside-down bat. “Matoo cuatro matoo matoo,” the mouse double-checked.

Tedros glanced at Agatha hopefully, then back at the mouse, who popped the tile open, pulled out a file, and dropped it, down, down, down, into the prince’s waiting palm. “2422,” the cube face read. Tedros spread it open, nearly tearing the thin paper—

Sir Kay

Parents: Sir Ector of Foxwood, Lady Alessandra of Camelot Deceased (Buried in Vault 41, Bank of Putsi) Sir “Kay,” as named by his father, was Arthur’s foster brother at the home of Sir Ector, where Arthur grew up before becoming King of Camelot. Kay was later made King Arthur’s first knight, only to leave the Round Table after a few weeks. According to the Camelot registry, Kay was Sir Ector’s only child, his full name registered as—

Tedros crumpled it. “Wrong file,” he groaned. “Japeth. We wanted Japeth’s file. Not my dad’s foster brother’s.”

The mouse skidded down the tiles and yanked the file from him, clearly distressed by Tedros’ handling of it before unleashing a barrage of squeaks as it wheeled away: “Matoo cuatro matoo matoo. Mip moodoo mop!”

Tedros side-eyed his princess.

“It was worth a try,” she sighed, pulling him ahead.

“Mouse?” Tedros called out.

The mouse stopped its cart.

“What about Rhian of Foxwood?” Tedros asked.

The mouse grumbled sourly at the prince, slapping open the ledger once more. It continued grouching as it rifled through pages until it came to the one it wanted. The mouse frowned at it intently, then snapped the book shut.

“Mahameep,” said the mouse.

Tedros shook his head, not following.

The mouse scrawled on the back of a sign and held it up.

MISSING

“Mahameep,” the mouse repeated, stalking off.

Tedros mumbled: “More dead ends.”

“Don’t give up yet,” said Agatha, peering ahead.

The prince followed her gaze.

Past more mosaic walls and mice scurrying about with carts and scrolls, a flurry of black curtains and yellow rope walled off a wing, the marquee at the entrance hanging askew.

THE HISTORY OF KING ARTHUR

Curated by King Arthur of Camelot

& August A. Sader of Glass Mountain

“August Sader?” Tedros asked, surprised.

Agatha turned to him. “If Professor Sader helped your father . . .”

“He could have helped Dad see the future!” said Tedros, understanding.

“Which means maybe your dad knew we’d come,” his princess said, breathless. “You were right, Tedros! He had a plan to help you and it starts here!”

The prince locked eyes with her, both of them swelling with hope—

Then they heard the hammering.

8

AGATHA

Wizard Wish

Behind the curtains and rope, a crew of beavers in blue overalls and yellow hard hats sat on a white floor, alternately passed out or eating ham sandwiches.

Most of the massive East Wing had already been dismantled—busts of Arthur bagged up, tapestries folded away, exhibit walls stripped. All that was left were stenciled plaques: ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE, THE WEDDING TO GUINEVERE, THE BABY TEDROS . . .

But now Agatha spotted two more beavers ahead, standing on ladders, paint buckets in hand.

“Oh no,” she breathed. Tedros followed her eyes to the workers, repainting stencils—

RHIAN’S RISE

THE FOUR POINT RESCUE

THE DEATH OF THE SNAKE

Beneath the ladders, busts of Rhian lay wrapped in tissue and bronze Lion heads waited to be hung up, along with painted scenes from the new king’s coronation, his claiming of Excalibur, his battle with the Snake.

More hammering detonated and Agatha craned up to see the first team of beavers off their lunch break, walloping at the marquee over Arthur’s archive, poised to replace it with a new one.

SON OF ARTHUR: A NEW LION RISES

A Tribute to King Rhian of Camelot

Dust and paint flakes rained down on Agatha’s and Tedros’ heads. Wary of being spotted, Agatha tried to pull her prince back towards the stairs, but Tedros wouldn’t move, his big blue eyes scanning the ruins of his father’s archive: portraits strewn, relics dumped in a pile, histories whitewashed over, soon to be replaced with those of his rival.

“You heard the goat. King of Pifflepaff Hills ordered this renovation,” said Tedros. “Sucking up to Camelot to earn a king’s favor. Same reason he burned his ring. Same reason the others did too. They’re all sheep now.” The prince’s face reddened. “Dad built his archive here so it’d be safe. Merlin told him to keep it in the Gallery of Good at school, like Merlin’s own relics, but Dad thought the school was more vulnerable; that no one would ever desecrate the Living Library . . . let alone in the name of his ‘son’ . . .” He looked at Agatha. “We’re too late. Whatever clues he might have left for us . . . they’re gone.”

But Agatha was squinting down a dark corridor, away from the beavers.

“What is it?” Tedros asked.

She moved into the hall, ears piqued, eyes narrowing.

With every step, the sound grew louder.

The sound of an unmistakable voice.

A voice she knew as well as her prince’s or best friend’s.

“The Green Knight came on a Sunday, stalking into the Woods and heading straight for King Arthur’s castle—”

The voice glitched, resuming a second later.

“‘I’ll make you a deal,’ said the knight to the king—”

Again the voice glitched.

It was coming from behind a black wall, the surface shiny and smooth, painted with white letters.

ARTHUR AND THE GREEN KNIGHT

With Tedros close behind, Agatha entered the black-painted room, the walls covered in fluorescing green, five-pointed stars, each studded with small silver dots.

Agatha recognized these dots. They’d blanketed her history textbooks at school instead of words . . . her favorite professor’s way of making the past come alive . . .

She counted twenty dot-covered stars on the walls now, with a painted numeral next to each one, ordering them in sequence. “START HERE!” it said near the first.

Meanwhile, two beavers in hard hats were ripping the stars off the wall, their paws activating Professor Sader’s narration.

“Arthur launched from his throne and—”

“The sword came down upon—”

“It was a poor decision—”

The beavers dumped more stars in their filthy bucket.

Agatha blushed with fury. She’d already had enough of this sexist kingdom and now these idiots were trashing the clues to Tedros’ first test! She charged the beavers, Tedros scrambling too late to stop her—

“You dead-eyed, half-brained fur puppets!” she barked, shoving them. “Go away!”

The two beavers froze, as if no human had ever touched them before. They gave Agatha pursed looks, their noses twitching. One squeezed the Lion badge on his overalls, which flashed gold, before he whispered something into it. Then the beavers went back to stripping stars.

“We need to leave,” Tedros warned, pulling Agatha away—

Then they heard a yelp.

The beavers were stuck on the last star, the only one left on the bare black walls. But the harder they pawed at it, the more stubbornly it remained, spewing a few bright sparks, which singed the beavers’ fur. Only there was something else happening, Agatha realized: the more they jostled the star, the more its green surface rubbed off, the silver dots shedding, revealing a glowing white star beneath.

Agatha’s heart jolted.

That star.

It looks just like . . .

With twin growls, the beavers yanked the star as hard as they could. It exploded with sizzling currents, shocking both rodents to the floor.

Tedros gawked at the comatose beavers, then at the lone white star on the wall. “Is that . . .”

“Only one way to find out,” said Agatha, holding her breath.

Down the hall, bootsteps rose, along with the sound of voices.

Human voices.

Quickly, Agatha tugged Tedros to the wall, feeling his chest pound under her grip. If the star was Merlin’s, it could hold answers. If it wasn’t, then they’d be drooling on the ground with the beavers. Agatha didn’t know which outcome to bet on. But she knew one thing for sure: it was worth the chance.

Agatha blinked at her prince. “Ready?”

“Ready,” said Tedros.

Both of them thrust hands at the star, slamming their palms against it—

The star went dark.

Instantly the room’s walls hopped forward as if they were alive, the black slabs bounding closer, closer, until they pinned to the couple’s fronts, backs, sides, sealing them in like a coffin. Agatha felt the cold stone on her nose and bum, her prince’s sweaty arm jammed against hers.

“What’s happening?” Tedros choked.

The black box upended at lightning speed, knocking them off their feet. It happened so fast Agatha swallowed a scream, the box flipping ninety degrees, leaving her and her prince flat on their spines, the top wall still pinned to their faces.

All of a sudden, the white star reappeared deep in the darkness over their heads, like a light down a tunnel, as if the star was somehow beaming from beyond dimension.

A voice echoed, calm and clear.

“Hello, Tedros. Hello, Agatha. If you’re hearing me now, then you’ve already come a long way. It must be strange to hear your old Professor Sader from beyond the grave, but I assure you it is just as odd for me. Because it is not I who knew you might be hearing this message. As I once told you, I cannot see your future beyond your time at school. In my mind’s eye, your fairy tale ends the night Rafal comes for your heads. My sight offers me no further clues as to whether you survive the encounter or what becomes of you.

Instead, it is King Arthur who believes your story will continue long after I’m gone, to a time when Tedros must prove his claim to Camelot’s throne. And in pursuit of this proof, you will come here, to this very room, searching for answers to his father’s history. Answers the public do not know and which I do not have permission to share with them. Indeed, this particular exhibit in Arthur’s archive remains woefully incomplete. As with most fairy tales, the people will only know the beginnings of the tale of Arthur and the Green Knight.

But not you. You will learn more. You must know the full story.

This was Arthur’s dying wish to me: that I leave you these answers in a way that only you could find. Since Merlin is as much a part of this story as the king, I turned to the wizard for help in hiding what I have to tell you; it is his magic that allows me to be here with you now.

Before Arthur died, I asked him why he wouldn’t tell Tedros the story himself. The king replied that his son should learn the facts from someone he trusted. Facts Tedros didn’t care to hear from his father. And yet, I suspect there is another reason the king wanted me to tell this story instead of him. Arthur knew that history should not be conveyed by its participants. Man is too emotional, too bound to his ego. Truth only comes with perspective and time.

With the blessing of both wizard and king, then, it is I who will give you the answers you seek. So lie back, clear your mind, and witness the Tale of Arthur and the Green Knight . . .”

In darkness, a phantom history appeared, like one of Professor Sader’s textbooks come to life. As the prince and princess floated, a lush forest appeared around them, occupying every dimension, at once richly detailed and yet porous, like a simulation of reality that hadn’t entirely been filled in. Trampling through this forest came a tall, mountainous man with bright green skin, the color of young grass or a garden snake. The Green Knight had big black eyes, a high, smooth forehead, and a thick, dark beard that matched the wavy hair on his head. Veiny muscles bulged from his bare green chest and tight green breeches. A gold-plated axe hung from his belt.

“By now, you know the beginnings,” Professor Sader’s voice narrated, “about the mysterious Green Knight who appeared in the Woods and made his way to Camelot, insisting on a private meeting with its king. Arthur was not in the practice of humoring nameless strangers—especially demanding ones with axes—but the Green Knight had arrived only a few days after Guinevere had abandoned the king for his best friend. That the Green Knight would come so soon after the queen’s disappearance couldn’t be a coincidence . . .”

The scene evaporated, replaced with King Arthur’s throne room. There were no guards or advisors or members of the court. The king had honored the knight’s request to meet alone, with Arthur now hunched on his gold throne, his bloodshot eyes creased with wrinkles, his gray-flecked hair unkempt. There were crumbs in his beard, stains on the collar of his robes. Excalibur leaned against the throne, mottled and dull. Agatha was reminded of the way Tedros once looked when she’d tried to end their relationship and pair him off with Sophie. Her prince had disappeared for days, returning with this same childlike stupor, as if both he and his father were truly alive only when they had the security of love. And just like Tedros had welcomed Agatha when he thought he might get her back—bone-tired, but renewed—now his father looked down at his green guest the same way.

“Do you know where she is?” Arthur asked, breathless. “Take me to her at once . . . I’ll pay you any price . . .”

The Green Knight seemed bemused. “Most kings would be suspicious of a green stranger. Especially the Lion of Camelot, whose kingdom is founded upon his victory over a Snake. But instead, the mighty Arthur asks me for help, convinced I’m a friend.” He peered harder at the king. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Quite sure I’d remember a green hulk of a man,” said Arthur swiftly. “If you are indeed man and not monster.”

“More man than most kings, I’d say,” the knight replied, his stare unwavering. “As to your question, let’s say I could find your wife. How would that change anything? Would that make her love you? Would that make her come running back to your side?”

Arthur didn’t know what to make of this.

“Poor Lion. It won’t be long before you call me a Snake,” the Green Knight spoke. “But just remember: the real Snake was in your bed.”

The king’s eyes flickered. “Why have you come here, then?”

“To gain your permission,” the Green Knight replied.

“My permission for what?”

“To kill Merlin,” said the knight.

The answer was so unexpected that Agatha let out a shocked laugh—a laugh that the king himself echoed, rocking forward on his throne.

Then he saw the knight was serious.