A Crystal of Time (The School for Good and Evil The Camelot Years #2) - Soman Chainani Page 0,90

doing more than just recording our fairy tale this time: it’s jumping ahead . . . warning us of dangers . . . guiding us to clues. . . . Don’t you see? The Storian needs our help. The Storian is asking us for help.”

Professor Manley fell quiet. So did the other teachers.

“For a Man to possess the Pen’s magic . . . even Rafal never managed that,” said Professor Anemone, distressed.

“Rhian would be invincible,” said Hort.

“More than that,” Agatha warned. “You heard Sader. The One True King takes the Storian’s powers. But under Man’s control, those powers are unchecked. Rhian will be able to use Lionsmane to write whatever he wants . . . and it will come true. Imagine if everything Lionsmane writes could become real. If everything Rhian wishes could become real. You think he’s going to give everyone in the Woods a sack of gold and a pony? No, he wants the Storian’s powers for a reason. I don’t know what that reason is yet, but I know it’s nothing good. Not that we’ll be around to see it happen. He can write that I’ve been eaten by wolves and wolves will come to devour me. He can write that the School has fallen and it will crumble to dust. He can destroy kingdoms. He can bring people back from the dead. All with the stroke of his pen. Rhian will have control over every soul in the Woods. He’ll have control over all stories, past and present. Our world will be at his mercy. Forever.”

No one spoke as Hester’s projection fizzled. Even the night air outside had gone silent, except for a misting rain, as if the pirates were listening too.

“Kiss my arse! All of you!” a voice yipped.

Everyone turned to hairy, three-eyed Bossam in the corner, holding up his silver swan emblem, detached from his uniform.

“Knew I could do it!” he boasted. “Castor’s strategies for training henchmen. You know, the ones we used in the Golden Goose challenge. Step 1: Command. Told the swans we’re gonna die unless they helped us and if we die, they die too.” He threw a dirty look at Bodhi and grinned at Priyanka. “Came right off.”

Castor craned his head up, stirring. “Madman trying to control souls, whole Woods about to die, and you’re diddling with your clothes.”

The sound of pen scratching against paper cut through the tower—

Agatha spun to see the Storian writing again . . . adding to the same painting she’d thought was finished. . . .

This time, it was painting something on Sophie’s Way, the catwalk between Evil and the School Master’s tower.

The pen drew in slashes of lines, filling in slowly.

Rain misting over the catwalk.

And through the rain . . .

A shadow, Agatha realized.

Coming towards their tower.

Tall, hulking, with a black hat pulled low over the face.

It was carrying something over its shoulder.

Her stomach clamped.

“Pirate,” she said.

Instantly students sprung up from the floor, backing away from the window—

Agatha turned and saw the shadow in real life, skulking across the catwalk towards the School Master’s tower.

With the rain pummeling harder, veiling his face under his black hat, she still couldn’t see which pirate he was. Nor could she see what he was toting over his shoulder. He wore all black instead of silver chainmail, his leather coat flapping in the wind. He must be of higher rank, Agatha thought. Like Kei. The pirate moved with no hurry, his right leg slowed by a clear limp, his tall black boots snapping against stone.

Castor surged forward to attack, but the Storian shot a firebolt past his head and teachers grabbed him back. First years shielded behind them.

“The alarm on the catwalk,” Professor Anemone rasped. “It’ll catch him!”

On cue, red light beamed off the Sophie’s Way sign, scanning the man’s face.

The light turned green and let him pass.

“Or not,” said Hort.

“Must have tricked it—” said Reena.

“This is ridiculous. We’re not a bunch of geese about to be turned into a pie,” Hester blazed. “There’s one of him and a whole school of us.” She turned to Anadil.

“Ready?”

“Even with one arm,” Anadil replied coolly.

Hester’s demon exploded off her neck like a firebomb, engorging with blood as it scudded through the window and slammed the pirate in the face. With a flying leap, Hester and Anadil dove out the window and tackled the thug to the catwalk.

“Wait for me!” Dot called, hurrying after them and hopping over the windowsill, only to trip onto the catwalk with a shriek.

Behind her, students