Queen?”
She nodded.
“Middle initial ‘Q’?” Fern asked.
She nodded again.
“And yours starts with, let me guess, the letter ‘P’?”
“My middle name is Princess,” she said. “I was the one who planted the invitation, and I was supposed to make you want to be a Somebody, and I was supposed to find out your weaknesses and report them.”
“And what did you report?” Fern asked.
“I reported that you didn’t have any real weaknesses. I kind of admired you back in Mrs. Fluggery’s class,” she said.
“Really?” Fern said.
Lucess whispered, “Don’t come to the secret society meeting.”
“I don’t know where it is, even,” Fern said.
“The news will find you, but ignore it. Listen, whatever you do, don’t come.”
“Lucess?” the Blue Queen’s voice thundered down the hallway.
And then the dust ruffle dropped back into place and she disappeared.
“I’ve got it! Coming!” Lucess called to her mother. Her shoes clicked across the now-slate floor and out the door.
5
PONY ON THE LOOSE
FERN AND HOWARD STARED AT THEIR HANDS . The pages had disappeared and shrunk back into fingers, but faint ridges still existed where the bindings had been.
Howard was tight-lipped with concentration. “What just happened?”
“I think she almost got our souls,” Fern said, still dazed. She opened and closed her hands to make sure they still worked.
“Lucess Brine is here! How did you know her initials?”
“I was working some things out in my head. That’s all. The letters almost added up.” Fern said, “Hermother is the Blue Queen. She’s awful, Howard. She could take over the Anybodies again. She ruled once for eleven days, and that’s when they thought that she killed Merton Gretel, but he isn’t dead. He’s the fish in the bowl on the nightstand—or, well, almost all of him is the fish in the bowl on the nightstand. A good bit of his soul is gone.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Howard said, patting the pony. “And you can’t go to that meeting!”
There wasn’t time for further discussion. The door banged open, and the room filled with the sound of a badly squeaking wheel, and, above it, a woman speaking. “Well, wait till I tell my Artie that I talked to Ubuleen Heet!”
Fern peeked out to see two women wearing gray dresses with white stockings and aprons, pushing a cart of supplies with a hanging bag full of laundry. The woman with the high-pitched snippy voice was small and tough-looking, like a little wrestler (if wrestlers wore gray dresses with white stockings and aprons). The other woman was heavyset and looked like she’d been shoved into her dress with excessive force—a kind of excessive force that had dislodged most of her bun. It looked like she had suffered a mighty explosion on the back of her head.
Fern wondered if they would notice the little jars onthe desk—the jars filled with the compressed souls, those little glowing eggs. The Blue Queen had left out a row of five jars, all filled to the brim. Fern wanted to rescue those souls. And she wanted to save Merton, too. But how?
The exploded-bun woman said, “And she’s right about the smell of this place! How awful! Worse than the flying monkeys’ rooms!”
At the mention of flying monkeys, Howard grabbed Fern’s arm and squeezed with full-panic force. Fern wasn’t afraid of flying monkeys. I mean, perhaps she would have been, but now she could only think of the Blue Queen’s voice, the awful laughter, the way she said the word “souls,” and the souls themselves being tugged from their pages.
“Well, I told Fattler I didn’t want to clean up after them flying monkeys anymore, but he says that them flying monkeys make good bellhops. ‘Can’t ask for better speed.’ And I gave a huff and then, you know what he says next?”
“What?” the exploded-bun woman asked.
“He says that them flying monkeys are the least of his problems.” The wrestler woman added in a whisper, “You
She nodded.
“Middle initial ‘Q’?” Fern asked.
She nodded again.
“And yours starts with, let me guess, the letter ‘P’?”
“My middle name is Princess,” she said. “I was the one who planted the invitation, and I was supposed to make you want to be a Somebody, and I was supposed to find out your weaknesses and report them.”
“And what did you report?” Fern asked.
“I reported that you didn’t have any real weaknesses. I kind of admired you back in Mrs. Fluggery’s class,” she said.
“Really?” Fern said.
Lucess whispered, “Don’t come to the secret society meeting.”
“I don’t know where it is, even,” Fern said.
“The news will find you, but ignore it. Listen, whatever you do, don’t come.”
“Lucess?” the Blue Queen’s voice thundered down the hallway.
And then the dust ruffle dropped back into place and she disappeared.
“I’ve got it! Coming!” Lucess called to her mother. Her shoes clicked across the now-slate floor and out the door.
5
PONY ON THE LOOSE
FERN AND HOWARD STARED AT THEIR HANDS . The pages had disappeared and shrunk back into fingers, but faint ridges still existed where the bindings had been.
Howard was tight-lipped with concentration. “What just happened?”
“I think she almost got our souls,” Fern said, still dazed. She opened and closed her hands to make sure they still worked.
“Lucess Brine is here! How did you know her initials?”
“I was working some things out in my head. That’s all. The letters almost added up.” Fern said, “Hermother is the Blue Queen. She’s awful, Howard. She could take over the Anybodies again. She ruled once for eleven days, and that’s when they thought that she killed Merton Gretel, but he isn’t dead. He’s the fish in the bowl on the nightstand—or, well, almost all of him is the fish in the bowl on the nightstand. A good bit of his soul is gone.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Howard said, patting the pony. “And you can’t go to that meeting!”
There wasn’t time for further discussion. The door banged open, and the room filled with the sound of a badly squeaking wheel, and, above it, a woman speaking. “Well, wait till I tell my Artie that I talked to Ubuleen Heet!”
Fern peeked out to see two women wearing gray dresses with white stockings and aprons, pushing a cart of supplies with a hanging bag full of laundry. The woman with the high-pitched snippy voice was small and tough-looking, like a little wrestler (if wrestlers wore gray dresses with white stockings and aprons). The other woman was heavyset and looked like she’d been shoved into her dress with excessive force—a kind of excessive force that had dislodged most of her bun. It looked like she had suffered a mighty explosion on the back of her head.
Fern wondered if they would notice the little jars onthe desk—the jars filled with the compressed souls, those little glowing eggs. The Blue Queen had left out a row of five jars, all filled to the brim. Fern wanted to rescue those souls. And she wanted to save Merton, too. But how?
The exploded-bun woman said, “And she’s right about the smell of this place! How awful! Worse than the flying monkeys’ rooms!”
At the mention of flying monkeys, Howard grabbed Fern’s arm and squeezed with full-panic force. Fern wasn’t afraid of flying monkeys. I mean, perhaps she would have been, but now she could only think of the Blue Queen’s voice, the awful laughter, the way she said the word “souls,” and the souls themselves being tugged from their pages.
“Well, I told Fattler I didn’t want to clean up after them flying monkeys anymore, but he says that them flying monkeys make good bellhops. ‘Can’t ask for better speed.’ And I gave a huff and then, you know what he says next?”
“What?” the exploded-bun woman asked.
“He says that them flying monkeys are the least of his problems.” The wrestler woman added in a whisper, “You
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