The Chaos Curse (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #3) - Sayantani DasGupta Page 0,89
his approval, I carefully took his monocle and looked at the phone through the magnifying lens of it.
What I saw took my breath away. A very clear message was written into the decorations on the Demon Queen’s right arm:
Stories keep the multiverse growing.
And on her left arm, over and over, in the shape of flowers, birds, dancing peacocks, the words: Save the Stories. Save the Stories. Save the Stories.
“I knew it,” whispered Neel.
“No, you thought she was a prisoner,” I said slowly. “But Pinki’s no prisoner. She’s marrying Sesha because she thinks she can stop him! She must think it’s her responsibility as the Demon Queen to stop the Anti-Chaos Committee from destroying the multiverse’s stories!”
“She’s on our side?” said Lal wonderingly.
“Stranger things have happened,” said Naya pertly.
We all watched as Lal sheepishly walked over to Naya’s bedside. “I’m truly sorry I said those, erm, unkind things about you earlier.”
Gentle Naya’s eyes got a little shiny, and I noticed Mati’s did too. “That’s okay, Your Princeliness,” Naya said in a muffled voice. “But I appreciate the apology.”
Neel seemed too occupied with his mom to even register Lal and Naya’s interaction. “My mom is marrying Sesha so that she can stop him!” he exclaimed. “She wants to save the multiverse!”
“But she’s obviously not doing a very good job of it,” said Mati. “I mean, look at what’s going on!”
She pointed at Buddhu and Bhootoom, who were gathered at Bunty’s feet, singing some kind of a song about a lion king.
“If she’s going to keep the multiverse’s stories expanding, Pinki can’t do it alone.” I thought back to Mati scolding Neel and me because we were trying to go off and do things on our own, instead of relying on the connections and strength of our family and friends. “She may not realize it, but Pinki needs our help!”
The sangeet is tonight,” Mati said, her eyes dancing with a suspiciously merry expression. “And we do have a musical number planned for it.”
“No. No. No. No!” Neel said, his hands out. “I’ve already told Kiran, no step-ball-change or jazz hands for me.”
“You have to do it, Neel!” I insisted. “It’s a part of the plan!”
And that’s how Neel and I found ourselves being measured for last-minute costumes by Miss Muffet and Jack, who had most surprisingly taken over the role of fashion designer Gyan Mukherjee. All of tiny Jack’s candle jumping made him both nimble and quick with a needle and thread. And as Miss Muffet explained, designing over-the-top sparkly and shiny sangeet costumes was a lot more interesting than designing tuffets. “My creathivity was being blocketh,” she explained while chomping on some spicy curds and curried whey.
And that’s also how Neel and I found ourselves maniacally rehearsing the end of the grand song-and-dance number that the demon dance troupe had already been practicing for days.
A lot of the rakkhosh dancers were jealous of us being allowed to jump in at the last minute—and the fact that we were getting prime center stage placement.
“We’ve been rehearsing for a long time!” a fire rakkhosh complained to Mati. “It’s not fair.”
Mati explained about the whole end of the multiverse being prevented but the dancers weren’t happy until she promised they could have an extra curtain call and extra time to bow and wave to the audience at the end.
When it came time for the sangeet, Neel and I were exhausted but ready. He was wearing horribly showy sherwani-pajamas and a turban encrusted with multicolor pom-poms. I was in a bright red sari embedded with holiday lights that went on and off at random intervals. It was so hideous but at least it was red, so I could wear my ruby-red combat boots underneath. Both of us had a ridiculous amount of makeup and fake noses to disguise our features. Plus, I had on a giant bouffant wig, and Neel was wearing fake glasses with no lenses.
“Ready?” I asked him, my heart racing from nervousness even as my limbs were aching from all the last-minute practice.
Instead of answering, Neel just flashed his jazz hands.
I was sure we were going to get caught in the extensive security for sangeet performers. But because of Mati’s coaching, we actually made it through. “Don’t look suspicious, and look them straight in the eye,” she had told us. “Also, blather about silly things like the weather, and the latest cricket scores, and how much you like their clothes.”
“Beautiful weather you’re wearing!” I’d nervously said to the first guards. “Also, have you