The Secret of Zoone Read online

  I need to do something, Ozzie thought. Anything to help her . . .

  Tug pawed at his leg, breaking his concentration. “Ozzie? Don’t you want to do something tonight? How about visiting the art gallery? Cho says they have an exhibit called multiversal mena . . . mena . . .”

  “Multiversal Menagerie,” Ozzie finished for him. “It’s paintings of different creatures from across the multiverse.”

  “That’s right,” Tug purred. “There might be pictures of skygers. Ones with working wings!”

  “Yeah . . .” Ozzie murmured distractedly, still thinking about Nymm. “You know what I really want to do? I want to keep hunting for that spy. The one from last night, with the book. If we catch him, turn him in, that’s got to impress the wizards.”

  “Definitely,” Tug agreed. “Then they’ll help us for sure. What’s your plan?”

  “Let’s hide on the terrace and see if he shows up again,” Ozzie explained. He gave Tug a fixed look before adding, “We’ll just have to be very quiet.”

  “No problem,” Tug said, proceeding to purr like a leaf blower.

  They ninja-ed their way outside, and Ozzie decided the best place to hide would be behind the fountain. It was tall and ornate, so it would block Tug’s bulk. Plus, the gurgle of the water might drown out the skyger’s purrs.

  “Now all we have to do is wait,” Ozzie told Tug as they hunkered down.

  “Just to tell you,” Tug warned with a yawn, “I might take a nap.”

  While the skyger slumbered, Ozzie watched the terrace intently. He was just wishing he had a clock to keep an eye on the time when a solitary figure—the same one from the previous night—crept onto the balcony with the heavy book under his arm. Ozzie squinted in the darkness. The figure was wearing the same long robe and hood as before, so it was still impossible to catch a glimpse of his face.

  Ozzie felt a whisker tickle his cheek; Tug had awakened. “It’s him,” the skyger whispered. “Now what?”

  “We be patient,” Ozzie advised, “and see what he’s up to.”

  The figure continued stalking across the terrace, casting sidelong glances over his shoulder.

  He’s definitely up to something, Ozzie thought. Something suspicious.

  The figure carefully placed the heavy book down on the tiles and opened it to a particular page. Then he did something quite peculiar.

  He began to dance.

  “You know what?” Ozzie murmured to Tug as they watched the strange scene. “I think that’s a girl.”

  Suddenly, the figure began to caw like some sort of crow, and her movements became wilder as she frolicked around the book. After two or three of these rotations, her hood fell down, revealing her face—and her hair.

  “Ooh!” Tug exclaimed too loudly. “Inappropriately purple!”

  Fidget came to a sudden stop and whirled around, her eyes flaring. “Are you spying on me?” she demanded.

  Ozzie groaned. “I . . . we . . . ,” he began, stepping out of the shadows with Tug at his heels. “Well, we just wondered what you’re doing.”

  Fidget leaned down, picked up the book, and attempted to tuck it beneath her cloak. It was too large to hide, so she settled for hugging it against her chest. “Your shirt’s inside out, you know,” she snapped. “You might figure out how to dress properly if you want to impress that little Smink girl you’re so obviously smitten with.” Then, turning to Tug, she added, “And what do you mean, inappropriately purple?”

  “Your hair,” Tug replied cheerfully.

  “What about your hair?” Fidget scoffed. “It’s repugnantly blue.”

  “I know,” the skyger said regretfully. “I’m still working on inappropriately purple. Just to tell you, most people call me Tug. And this is Ozzie. We’re a team.”

  “You’re the one who found me at the door,” Fidget said almost accusingly to Ozzie. “You . . . saw it.”

  Ozzie didn’t need her to clarify what she meant. “Yes,” he replied quietly, trying to shut out the memory of the creepy-crawlies.

  “I guess the whole crew knows, then,” she said.

  “I didn’t tell them,” Ozzie assured her.

  Fidget glared at him, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

  “Why would I?” Ozzie said. “I don’t like people talking about me.”

  “So, why were you spying?” Fidget demanded.

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Tug told her. “We thought you were—”

  “Up to something,” Ozzie interrupted. He didn’t think the quick-tempered girl would take very kindly to the idea that they had thought she was the glibber king’s apprentice. “We just wanted to know what it was,” Ozzie quickly improvised. “You know, there aren’t many other kids around here.”

  “Well, that’s a point,” Fidget admitted. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually missing my siblings.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Ozzie asked.

  “They’re . . . little,” Fidget said. “And they’re not my actual . . . well, I mean I have a half sister. That doesn’t really matter, except to my stepmother. She likes to point it out all the time.”

  Ozzie nodded. Just between him and himself, he had always thought it would be neat to have a sibling—of any age. He found his attention drawn back to the book that Fidget was clutching.

  “I guess there’s no point in hiding this,” Fidget said with a sigh. “You already saw what’s wrong with me.” She let the book drop with a heavy thud. Ozzie could now read its title: Charms and Cures, from Allegria to Zelanteus. “I thought there might be a spell in this book that would help me get rid of this stupid curse,” Fidget explained. “But dancing under the light of multiple moons? Right.”

  “So . . . it didn’t work?” Ozzie wondered.

  Fidget gestured to the fountain. “Flick a bit of water at me.” Then, as Ozzie went and dipped his hand in the water, she added frantically, “Just a bit, I said!”

  Ozzie returned and let a few drops of water dribble on the ground between him and Fidget. Almost immediately, a wriggler formed in the puddle.

  “Get rid of it!” Fidget screamed.

  “Me?” Ozzie cried.

  “We could always just go back inside,” Tug suggested.

  “Good idea!” Fidget said.

  They quickly retreated into the crew’s tower and took refuge at the window seat. Thankfully, the creepy-crawly didn’t follow them (Ozzie checked).

  “So much for that plan,” Fidget said, collapsing onto the cushions. “I thought coming to Zoone would solve all my problems. It feels like I’ve been running my entire life. But I guess you can’t run away from who you are.”

  Ozzie fiddled with the tag of his inside-out shirt (still on backward). “And . . . who are you . . . exactly?”

  Fidget glared at Ozzie. If her hair was inappropriately purple, then her eyes were definitely hostile periwinkle. “You can call me Fidget.”

  “It’s a fantastic name,” Tug said.

  “Are you making fun of me?” Fidget snapped. “Fidget is what my grandfather used to call me. If it was good enough for him, it should be good enough for you.”

  “He wasn’t making fun of you,” Ozzie assured her. “He doesn’t do that. He doesn’t really know how.”

  Fidget arched a purple eyebrow at Tug. “What happened to your wings?”

  “Oh, I was born this way. I’m going to ask the Council of Wizardry to heal them.”

  “Really?” Fidget asked.

  “Sure,” Tug said. “That way I can go to the Skylands of Azuria and be with the other skygers. Ozzie’s going to ask them to fix the door to Eridea.”

  “Eridea?” Fidget said. “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s where I’m from,” Ozzie said.

  “So, why’d you leave?”

  She had a questioning look in her eyes, as if she thought she was entitled to know. She scooted over on the seat, making room for Ozzie, but he hesitated. What if she starts sweating creepy-crawlies? he wonde
red.

  “You can’t honestly be afraid of me,” Fidget said incredulously. “Your best friend is a skyger.”

  Ozzie wasn’t sure what to say. Hearing Fidget say that he had a best friend felt completely unnatural, like putting on a pair of socks that were too big and loose. Or at least ones that were the same color.

  “I saw a skyger once before,” Fidget carried on. “The empress—my stepmother—hired one for my sister’s name day party, but it busted out of its cage. It nearly devoured every reveler in sight.”

  “I’ve never tried reveler,” Tug said, smacking his lips. “Are they as good as grumffles?”

  Fidget gave the skyger a quizzical look before turning back to Ozzie. “Tell me about Eridea.”

  Ozzie gaped at her. He wasn’t used to kids wanting to talk to him, especially girls. They never did back home. But this was Zoone and, so far, things had been different. Plus, he had this feeling that Fidget was feeling the same way, like she was also lonely, but had trouble admitting it. He had taken a chance with Salamanda and it had worked out. Maybe it would be okay with this girl too. . . .

  “Are you going to say anything?” Fidget wondered, crossing her arms. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

  “I do—um, I mean, yeah,” Ozzie stammered. Then, under the heat of Fidget’s glare, he took a deep breath and began relaying his story. He told her about his parents, his aunt, and how he had discovered the door to Zoone. At some point, he ended up on the window seat next to her. Tug added in a few details, though mostly the giant cat contented himself with stretching across the floor and licking his paws.

  “Quoggswoggle,” Fidget murmured once Ozzie had finished. “And I thought my arrival was spectacular. Really? The whole door collapsed?”

  Ozzie nodded. “And now Aunt Temperance’s stuck back there. Lady Zoone told me not to worry, but . . .”

  “You want to see her again,” Fidget finished for him. A melancholic expression flickered across her face. “Tug wants wings, and you want a way home. But I don’t think you can simply walk into the Council of Wizardry and expect them to start dispensing wishes. Though . . .” She trailed off, as if in deep thought.

  “What?” Ozzie pressed.

  “You know, the last three nights of the convention, there’s something called the Magic-Makers’ Market,” Fidget said. “I’ve heard they sell all kinds of things there. Enchanted things. You have to get tickets, but that has to be easier than trying to get an audience with the wizards.”

  No kidding, Ozzie thought.

  “Ooh!” Tug cried. “Maybe I can find something to fix my wings at the market. And Ozzie can find something to fix his door.”

  “And you can find something to fix your . . . situation?” Ozzie suggested, looking hesitantly at Fidget.

  She gave him another flash of definitely hostile periwinkle.

  “Well,” Ozzie said defensively. “I told you my story.”

  The girl pursed her lips and gazed out the window. “I guess someone who wears his shirt inside out is someone you ought to be able to trust.” She turned back to Ozzie. “Look, I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell anyone else. I’ve got to keep a low profile. No one can know what I’m doing here.”

  “Okay,” Ozzie agreed. “I promise—whatever you say will stay between us. Right, Tug?”

  “Right,” the skyger agreed.

  “So . . . ,” Ozzie said to Fidget.

  Fidget let out a long exhale. “The truth is . . . well, the truth is my real name is . . . Kaia, and I’m a princess of Quoxx.”

  The rumor is true, Ozzie thought.

  “Your Highness!” Tug purred, doing his best to bow, which only resulted in his tail knocking over one of the candlesticks near the wall. Ozzie and Fidget had to scramble to catch it.

  “You’re going to set the whole tower on fire,” Fidget warned him. “And only call me Fidget. I told you: I need to keep it a secret. Got it? If you start talking about me, there’s going to be a heap of trouble.”

  “Sure,” Ozzie said. “But why exactly?”

  “I ran away,” Fidget admitted. “Being a princess isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know. I’m only thirteen and my father and stepmother—the emperor and empress—have already betrothed me.”

  “That’s exciting,” Tug remarked.

  Fidget groaned. “You don’t even know what it means, do you?”

  “It means that you’re arranged to be married,” Ozzie said, recalling an Aunt Temperance explanation. “But you’re way too young!”

  “No kidding,” Fidget said. “It’s not until I turn seventeen.”

  “That’s still way too young!” Ozzie said.

  Fidget frowned. “True. But it’s not the when that’s a problem. It’s the whom. I’m supposed to marry the Quoggian prince.”

  “Don’t you like him?” Ozzie asked.

  “Have you ever seen a Quoggian?” Fidget demanded. “They’re hairy.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Tug asked.

  “And they smell,” she added. “The point is, I haven’t even met him, this Quoggian prince. What if I don’t like him? But no one seems to care about that. Everyone’s just worried about ‘smoothing relations.’” She stared out the window again. “I don’t want to move to Quogg,” she said. “It’s hot there. All smelters and molten rock. I love the sea and channels of Quoxx. Well . . . at least I used to.”

  “Before the creepy-crawlies,” Ozzie guessed. “How did that happen?”

  “After I ran away,” Fidget said. “I had to keep moving from world to world to try and avoid the soldiers my parents sent after me. I’ve been to Mussica and Torgiva and . . . well, lots of places. I used doors when I could, but I had to be careful at the bigger stations. The Quoxxian soldiers were always on the lookout for me.”

  “You should have dyed your hair,” Ozzie suggested.

  Fidget held up a purple strand. “It’s inappropriately difficult to dye this color. Anyway, after weeks on the run, I finally ended up in Snardassia. It’s a miserable land, dark and cold. My supplies and money were gone by then. So, there I was, wandering the streets of Snard City, when I came upon an old woman standing in an alleyway. She offered to help me. I was desperate because . . . well, I just was. But I should have known.”

  “Known what?” Ozzie wondered.

  “Better,” Fidget said ruefully. “That crone took me to her makeshift home at the back of the alley, sat me in front of her fire, and gave me a cup of tea. ‘Run away from home, have you, dearie?’ she said. Her eyes were huge, like a frog’s. I remember telling her, ‘I can’t go back there.’ She cackled then and said, ‘I can help you with that.’ She threw some sort of powder into the fire, filling the air with smoke. She was chanting and hissing—and my cup of tea suddenly began to ooze with worms and slimy fish. I dropped it with a shriek and the witch croaked, ‘You won’t go home now! You can’t, dearie, not ever again!’”

  Fidget had changed her voice to impersonate the hag. She did such a good job of it that Tug hid his eyes beneath his giant paws.

  “I’m confused,” Ozzie said. “Your curse prevents you from going home?”

  “Yes,” Fidget insisted. “Don’t you get it? The witch cursed me so that I can’t go near water. The moment I do, all those . . . things appear in the water and start attacking me. Can you imagine what would happen if I actually swallowed water? They would be in my belly, gnawing at me from the inside.”

  Just the thought of it made Ozzie want to throw up.

  “I’m from Quoxx,” Fidget continued. “The whole place is water. I wouldn’t be able to take two steps without all those little beasties swarming around me and ripping me to shreds. That old witch gave me what I wanted, all right, but just in this . . . perverse way. After she cursed me, I fled from the alley and didn’t look back.”

  Ozzie nodded, remembering the painting of Quoxx that he had seen in the mess hall. With its narrow cliffs, gusting winds, and crashing waves, it was pretty much a
disaster waiting to happen for someone with Fidget’s condition.

  “Wait a minute,” Ozzie said. “It’s impossible to survive without water.”

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Fidget reflected. “But I can manage as long as the water is less . . . well, watery. I can drink tea or juice, if it’s really, really thick. And instead of bathing, I just clean myself with this soapy oil. If I’m not careful—well, you know what happens. I definitely can’t go out in the rain. It’s horrendous.”

  Ozzie could only imagine. “Lady Zoone knows all this?”

  Fidget nodded. “She’s the only one, besides you two. After the witch cursed me, I made my way to Snardassian Station. I sold the last thing I had of any value—that was my necklace—and bought a ticket to Zoone. And now, here I am.”

  “Do you think your parents will still try to find you?” Ozzie asked. “You may not be able to go back home, but they could still send you to marry the Quoggian prince.”

  Fidget scowled. “They have no authority in Zoone. I’m a refugee on neutral ground. Ha! They may be the emperor and empress of Quoxx, but they’re not rulers of the multiverse—no matter what they think.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Ozzie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Fidget admitted. “Stay here for the time being, I guess. I’ll tell you this: Dreaming of adventure is one thing. Standing smack dab in the middle of it, with no way to scrape it off your shoes and make a run for it? That’s quite another.”

  16

  The Council of Wizardry Convenes

  Over the next two days, wizards arrived in bunches—or, as Lady Zoone said, in conjurings, which, according to her, was how you referred to magic-makers when you found them in groups of more than two.

  “Though it’s not every day you encounter a conjuring,” she told Ozzie. “Wizards tend to like no one’s company but their own. That’s one reason why the council only meets every eleven years.”