later.
The reference room was through double doors painted the color of grass. Oak bookshelves lined the walls, and students sat at long tables. Some kids were just doing homework, but a lot ofthem read from beautiful, leather-bound books with gilded pages. These definitely weren’t for school.
“Aren’t they a little old for that?” Philip pointed to two teenage boys bent over The Complete Works of the Brothers Grimm.
The swallow landed on the closest table, and Sarah Thumb gave Philip a stern look. “Not when you’re a Character. Knowing what Tale you’re in and how it’s supposed to go can make the difference between a happy ending and getting killed.”
“Killed?” Philip repeated, in a higher voice than usual. Apparently, he hadn’t thought the Yellowstone dragon was that dangerous.
“Relax.” Miriam squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sure that when the red dude finds you with his deadly recorder, you’ll be ready for him.”
“Flute,” Philip corrected automatically, but he did look less freaked out.
“But on the other hand, it’s very dangerous to meddle with the Tales,” Sarah Thumb added. “You usually kick it off yourself, but it has to be an accident. Don’t try to jumpstart a Tale on your own. A few years ago, a Cinderella-wannabe bought some glass shoes and tried to dance in them at her prom. Her feet took months to heal.”
Before we could get properly grossed out at that little story, Sarah Thumb also pointed out the volumes for researching the magical realm and the creatures that lived in it—and then the books that helped Characters interpret their dreams. “Sometimes they show our future. You know, hints like what you saw in the mirror shards,” she told us.
Last night’s dream popped back in my head. I had no idea what fairy tale had a door in it.
Miriam grimaced. “Don’t tell me that. I had one of those go-to-school-naked dreams last night.”
“Well, it probably won’t come true unless you dream it three times, but—” Sarah Thumb shook the Director’s list out and read, “‘Item Number 5: It’s best to be prepared.’”
Next, we visited the EAS workshop—or at least we tried. Bitter-smelling smoke billowed out as soon as Miriam opened the steel door. The hot air blew the swallow off course, and he and his passenger tumbled head over tail feathers. The rest of us coughed, choking on the smoke’s chemicals.
“The Director’s going to have to show you that one herself when she gets back.” Sarah Thumb stroked Mr. Swallow’s head soothingly as he chattered angrily at the workshop door. “Same thing goes for the dungeon—I mean, the menagerie. Last time I was there, one of the trolls tried to eat Mr. Swallow for breakfast.”
Then she pointed out the yellow and blue door that led to the dormitory for the Characters who needed to stay overnight and then the orange-gold door that led to the instructors’ quarters. “Which you will stay away from, if you want to keep all of your fingers and toes. Jack’s pet wyrm doesn’t like strangers,” she added.
On the way to our last stop, Sarah Thumb showed us a heavy wooden door studded with iron. “The training courts. Hansel’s the instructor.”
“I get to learn how to use a sword?” Philip said. It was obviously a close second to the wand he wanted earlier.
“Or a spear. Or a bow.” Sarah Thumb looked down at her list. “‘Item Number 11: We require all our Characters to study weaponry for at least one year, and we encourage further study.’”
Winging her way around the courtyard, Sarah Thumb added that for most Tales, being kind to strangers and being tricky with bad guys was all that you needed for a happy ending, that violence should be the last resort, etc.
Finally Sarah and Mr. Swallow stopped at a violet door gilded with words I couldn’t read. “Here we are! The library!”
Bookcases towered over us, almost as tall as the Tree of Hope outside. The bronze shelves were
The reference room was through double doors painted the color of grass. Oak bookshelves lined the walls, and students sat at long tables. Some kids were just doing homework, but a lot ofthem read from beautiful, leather-bound books with gilded pages. These definitely weren’t for school.
“Aren’t they a little old for that?” Philip pointed to two teenage boys bent over The Complete Works of the Brothers Grimm.
The swallow landed on the closest table, and Sarah Thumb gave Philip a stern look. “Not when you’re a Character. Knowing what Tale you’re in and how it’s supposed to go can make the difference between a happy ending and getting killed.”
“Killed?” Philip repeated, in a higher voice than usual. Apparently, he hadn’t thought the Yellowstone dragon was that dangerous.
“Relax.” Miriam squeezed her brother’s shoulder. “I’m sure that when the red dude finds you with his deadly recorder, you’ll be ready for him.”
“Flute,” Philip corrected automatically, but he did look less freaked out.
“But on the other hand, it’s very dangerous to meddle with the Tales,” Sarah Thumb added. “You usually kick it off yourself, but it has to be an accident. Don’t try to jumpstart a Tale on your own. A few years ago, a Cinderella-wannabe bought some glass shoes and tried to dance in them at her prom. Her feet took months to heal.”
Before we could get properly grossed out at that little story, Sarah Thumb also pointed out the volumes for researching the magical realm and the creatures that lived in it—and then the books that helped Characters interpret their dreams. “Sometimes they show our future. You know, hints like what you saw in the mirror shards,” she told us.
Last night’s dream popped back in my head. I had no idea what fairy tale had a door in it.
Miriam grimaced. “Don’t tell me that. I had one of those go-to-school-naked dreams last night.”
“Well, it probably won’t come true unless you dream it three times, but—” Sarah Thumb shook the Director’s list out and read, “‘Item Number 5: It’s best to be prepared.’”
Next, we visited the EAS workshop—or at least we tried. Bitter-smelling smoke billowed out as soon as Miriam opened the steel door. The hot air blew the swallow off course, and he and his passenger tumbled head over tail feathers. The rest of us coughed, choking on the smoke’s chemicals.
“The Director’s going to have to show you that one herself when she gets back.” Sarah Thumb stroked Mr. Swallow’s head soothingly as he chattered angrily at the workshop door. “Same thing goes for the dungeon—I mean, the menagerie. Last time I was there, one of the trolls tried to eat Mr. Swallow for breakfast.”
Then she pointed out the yellow and blue door that led to the dormitory for the Characters who needed to stay overnight and then the orange-gold door that led to the instructors’ quarters. “Which you will stay away from, if you want to keep all of your fingers and toes. Jack’s pet wyrm doesn’t like strangers,” she added.
On the way to our last stop, Sarah Thumb showed us a heavy wooden door studded with iron. “The training courts. Hansel’s the instructor.”
“I get to learn how to use a sword?” Philip said. It was obviously a close second to the wand he wanted earlier.
“Or a spear. Or a bow.” Sarah Thumb looked down at her list. “‘Item Number 11: We require all our Characters to study weaponry for at least one year, and we encourage further study.’”
Winging her way around the courtyard, Sarah Thumb added that for most Tales, being kind to strangers and being tricky with bad guys was all that you needed for a happy ending, that violence should be the last resort, etc.
Finally Sarah and Mr. Swallow stopped at a violet door gilded with words I couldn’t read. “Here we are! The library!”
Bookcases towered over us, almost as tall as the Tree of Hope outside. The bronze shelves were
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