Isle of the Lost Page 7

  “It must have,” Evie said. “That’s the only explanation.”

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened, especially about the dome. We could get in real trouble, you know.”

  “I promise,” said Evie, making an X with her fingers behind her back.

  “Good.”

  “You want to go back to the party?”

  “Do we have to?” she asked, unwilling to find herself trapped in another closet.

  “You have a point. And that show you like on Auradon News Network, the one that features the Prince of the Week, is going to be on in five minutes.”

  “Excellent!”

  Unbeknown to the two villain children, far off in the distance, deep in the heart of the forbidden fortress, hidden behind a gray misty fog on the other side of the island, a long black scepter with a jewel on its end came back to life, glowing green with power again. The most powerful weapon of darkness had been awakened for a moment.

  Next to the hidden staff, a stone statue of a raven began to vibrate, and when the bird began to shake its wings, the stone crumbled into dust, and in its place was that black-eyed fiend, that wicked fairy’s familiar, the one and only Diablo, Maleficent’s best and first friend.

  Diablo shook his feathers and gave a throaty, triumphant cry. Evil would fly again.

  Evil lives.…

  Ben nervously fiddled with the beast-head ring on his finger as he waited for the Council members to come in and take their seats around the king’s conference table later that morning. His father’s advice rang in his ear. Keep a strong hand. Show ’em who’s king.

  He flexed his own fingers, thinking of his father’s fist. His father didn’t mean it literally, but Ben was worried nonetheless. He supposed he would just have to improvise.

  “Ready, sire?” Lumiere asked.

  Ben took a breath and tried to sound as serious as possible. “Yes, let them in, thank you.”

  Lumiere bowed. Even though it had been a long time since he had been enchanted and turned into a candelabrum, there was something about him that still resembled one, and for a moment, Ben could easily imagine two small flames flickering on his outstretched palms.

  Lumiere knows who he is—and he’s happy being Lumiere. Is it really so much more complicated to be a king than a candelabrum?

  The thought was, for a moment, comforting to Ben. But then the Council entered the room—and he found there was nothing comforting about the sudden sight of the royal advisors.

  In fact, they’re pretty terrifying, Ben thought.

  He didn’t know why. They were chatting amiably enough, discussing last night’s Tourney scores and whose Fantasy Tourney League was winning. Seats were taken, gossip exchanged, goblets of spiced cider passed around, as well as a plate or two of the castle kitchen’s sugar cookies.

  Representing the sidekicks were the usual seven dwarfs, still wearing their mining clothes and stocking hats. Seated next to the dwarfs (or rather, sitting along the edge of a book of Auradon’s Civic Rules & Regulations that lay on the table nearest them, because they were much too small to take any seat at all) were the very same mice who had helped Cinderella win her prince—wily Jaq, chubby Gus, and sweet Mary. The rodent portion of the advisory board tended to speak in small, squeaky tones that could be hard for Ben to understand without the communicator in his ear, which translated everything that the animals said in the meeting.

  Everyone at the table was wearing one of the clever hearing devices, one of the few magical inventions allowed in the kingdom. The mice’s squeaks, the Dalmatian’s barks, and Flounder’s burbling were all translated so that they could be understood.

  Beyond the mice, a few of Ariel’s sisters (Ben could never remember which was which, especially as their names all started with A) and Flounder splashed along in their own copper bathtub, wheeled in by a very unhappy Cogsworth, who grimaced every time the slightest bit of water sloshed over the edge.

  “Mind the splashing, please! I only just had this floor mopped. You do know this isn’t a beach resort, do you not? Precisely. It’s a council meeting. A rrrrroyal council,” the former clock trumpeted, rolling his r’s with great fanfare. Andrina—or was it Adella?—only laughed and flicked him with her great, wet fins.

  Rounding out the other side of the table were the three “good” fairies, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather, looking apple-cheeked and cheery in their green, red, and blue hats and capes, seated next to the famed blue Genie of Agrabah. They were comparing vacation notes. The fairies were partial to the forest meadows while the genie preferred the vast deserts.

  “I guess we should get started?” Ben ventured, clearing his throat.

  No one seemed to hear him. The mice roared with laughter, falling onto their backs and rolling across the Auradonian law book. Even Pongo and Perdita of the freed De Vil Dalmatian contingent joined in the laughter with a little lively barking. All told, it was a friendly group, or so it seemed. Ben began to relax.

  And why shouldn’t he? Unlike the infamous villains trapped on the Isle of the Lost, the good citizens of Auradon looked as if the last twenty years hadn’t aged them one bit. Ben had to admit it: every one of the royal councilors looked just like they had in the photographs he had studied of the founding of Auradon. The mice were still small and cute, the Dalmatians sleek and handsome. The mermaids—whatever their names—remained as fresh as water lilies, and the good fairies burst with good health. Even the infamous Genie of Agrabah had toned down his usual hyper-manic performance. Dopey was still his mute, charming self, and while Doc may have had a few more white hairs than before in his beard, Grumpy looked almost cheerful.

  Except for one thing—

  “What—no cream cakes?” Grumpy grabbed a sugar cookie, glaring at the plate.

  “It’s a meeting, not a party,” Doc said, harrumphing.

  “Well, it’s certainly not a party now,” Grumpy said, examining a cookie. “There isn’t even a currant or a chocolate chip? What, are we discussing budget problems today?”

  “As I was saying,” Ben interrupted, moving the plate of cookies away from Grumpy, “welcome, welcome, everyone. I hereby declare this meeting of the King’s Council officially open. Shall we begin?” asked Ben.

  Heads nodded around the table.

  Ben glanced down at the notecards he had hidden beneath his right hand. Hopefully, he was doing this correctly.

  He coughed. “Excellent. Well, then.”

  “Don’t we need to wait for your dad, kid?” Genie asked, putting his feet up on the table. Now that magic was discouraged in Auradon, the genie had taken physical form and was no longer a floating cloud.

  “Yeah. Where’s King Beast?” Flounder piped up.

  “Isn’t your father joining us today, Ben?” Perdita asked, gently.

  Color crept into Ben’s face. “No, sorry. My dad—I mean, King Beast—has uh, asked me to run the meeting this morning.”

  Everyone stared. The mice sat up. Grumpy let the cookie drop.

  “Anyway.” Ben cleared his throat and tried to affect a confidence he did not feel. “On to business.” He was stalling.

  He looked at the stack of papers in front of him. Petitions and letters and applications and motions, from sidekicks from every corner of the kingdom…

  Show them who is king. That’s what my father said.

  He tried again. “In my role as future king of Auradon, I’ve studied your petitions, and while I appreciate your suggestions, I’m afraid that…”

  “Our petitions? Are you talking about the Sidekicks Act?” Grumpy sounded annoyed.

  “Er, yes, I’m afraid that we cannot recommend granting these petitions as…”

  “Who’s we?” asked Mary.

  Dopey looked confused.

  “I guess, I mean me? What I mean to say is, I’ve taken your suggestions for change but it doesn’t look like they can be approved as…”

  One of the mermaids tilted her head. “Not approved? Why not?”

>   Ben became flustered. “Well, because I…”

  Doc shook his head. “I’m sorry, son, but have you ever even set foot outside this castle? What do you know about the whole kingdom? For instance, our goblin cousins on the Isle of the Lost would like forgiveness—they’ve been exiled for a long time.”

  All around the table, the councilors began to murmur in low tones. Ben knew the meeting had taken a turn for the worse, and he desperately began to review his options. There was nothing on his notecards about what to do in the case of council revolt.

  One. What would my dad do?

  Two. What would my mom do?

  Three. Could I run for it? What would that do?

  Ben was still evaluating option number three when Grumpy spoke up. “If I may interrupt,” Grumpy said, looking the exact opposite of, well, Merry, who sat next to him. “As you know, for twenty years we dwarfs have worked the mines, gathering jewels and diamonds for the kingdom’s crowns and scepters, for many a prince and princess in need of wedding gifts or coronation attire.” Ben turned even redder, looking at the polished gold buttons on his own shirt. Grumpy glared at him pointedly, then continued. “And for twenty years we have been paid zilch for our efforts.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Grumpy,” said Ben. “Sir.”

  “It’s just Grumpy,” huffed Grumpy.

  Ben looked at the mice. “May I?”

  “Be my guest,” said Gus, hopping down.

  Ben pulled the Auradon law book free from beneath the mice, sending a few rodents rolling. He turned to a chart in the appendices at the back of the thick book. “Okay, then, Grumpy, as a citizen of Auradon, it looks like you and the rest of the dwarfs have been granted two-month vacations…twenty holidays…and unlimited sick days.” He looked up. “Does that sound right?”

  “More or less,” Doc said. Grumpy folded his arms with another glare.

  Ben looked relieved, closing the book. “So you can’t say you’ve been working for exactly twenty years, can you?”

  “The math is beside the point, young man—or should I call you, young beast?” Grumpy shouted from behind Doc, who was doing his best to shove his own stocking cap into Grumpy’s mouth.

  “Prince Ben will do,” Ben said, with a thin smile. No wonder the dwarf was called Grumpy; Ben had never met such a cantankerous person!

  “If I can interject, and I don’t mean to offend, but we’re a bit tired of being without a voice and without a contract.” Bashful spoke up. At least, Ben thought that was his name, if only from how red he turned as he spoke.

  “You’re here now, aren’t you? I don’t believe you can call that being ‘without a voice,’ can you?” Ben smiled again. Two for two. Boom. Maybe I’m better at this king stuff than I thought.

  “But what will happen to our families when we retire?” Bashful asked, not looking convinced.

  “I’m sure my father has a plan to take care of everyone,” Ben said, hoping it was true.

  A voice squeaked up from the table. Ben leaned forward to listen. “And has anyone noticed that we sidekicks do all the work in this kingdom? Since the Fairy Godmother frowns on magic, we mice make all the dresses!” Mary said indignantly. The little mouse had climbed back up on the law book to make herself heard. “By paw!”

  “That’s very—” Ben began, but he was cut off. He was no longer in charge of the room. That much was clear.

  “Not to mention the woodland creatures who do all the housekeeping for Snow White,” added Jaq. “They aren’t too happy about it, either.”

  Mary nodded. “Plus, Snow White needs a whole new wardrobe as she’s reporting on the Coronation soon! Your coronation, I might add!”

  Ben searched desperately through the papers in front of him. “Every citizen has the right to file—to file a—”

  “I still collect everything for Ariel,” burbled Flounder. “Her treasures have grown, but what do I have to show for any of it?”

  Ben tried again. “You have the knowledge that what you do is a very much appreciated—”

  Flounder kept going. “And the mermaids give undersea tours all year round without taking a penny. Even in the busy season!”

  Ariel’s sisters nodded indignantly, their shimmering tails splashing water all over the table from the bathtub. Cogsworth slapped a hand over his eyes, while Lumiere squeezed his arm in support.

  Ben nodded. “Well, that is certainly something worth further consid—”

  “And if I might add, living without magic has taken a toll on our nerves,” sighed Merryweather. “Flora can’t sew, Fauna can’t bake, and I can’t clean without our wands. You’ll find our petition at the end there, dear boy.” Flora shoved it into Prince Ben’s face, and he sat back in his chair, surprised.

  Fauna chimed in. “While we appreciate all that the Fairy Godmother has done, we can’t see why just a little magic might not be useful?”

  “But is there really any such thing as a little—” Ben began.

  Pongo sat up. “And not to sound weary, but Perdy and I are a bit fatigued after caring for one hundred and one Dalmatians,” said Pongo in that rich, elegant voice of his.

  “If only there were one hundred and one hours in the day.” Perdy yawned. “I could at least sleep for five of them. Imagine that.”

  Mary the mouse nodded sympathetically, patting Perdy’s paw with her own.

  A blur of blue appeared in Ben’s face. “To put it bluntly, Prince Ben, this blows,” said Genie, who blew him a mocking kiss.

  The dwarfs applauded wildly.

  Ariel’s sisters tittered, and now the water in the tub was roiling like a small tsunami. Cogsworth left the chamber in a huff, and even Lumiere motioned for Prince Ben to cut the meeting short.

  If only Ben knew how.

  The room began to dissolve into absolute chaos, as the sidekicks and dwarfs began to shout at one another, while the good fairies kept on complaining about the back-breaking work even ordinary chores now entailed, and all the rest of the company advocated for relief from their own grievances.

  It was hard to pick out one from the next, Ben thought, as he slunk down in his chair, trying not to panic.

  Breathe, he told himself. Breathe, and think.

  But it was impossible to think amid the ruckus in the room. The mermaids complained that the tourists left their trash everywhere; the dwarfs whined that no one liked to whistle while they worked anymore; Pongo and Perdita barked about the stress of having to pay for one hundred and one college educations; and even Genie looked bluer than usual.

  Ben covered his ears. This wasn’t a meeting anymore. It was an all-out brawl. He had to shut it down, before people started throwing things—or mice.

  What would my father do? What does he expect me to do? How could he put me in this situation and expect me to know what to do?

  The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Finally, Ben stood up. No one cared.

  He climbed on top of his chair—and still nobody noticed him.

  That’s it!

  His father told him to be kingly, and kings were heard!

  “ENOUGH!” he yelled from the top of the table. “THIS MEETING IS ADJOURNED!”

  A shocked silence filled the room.

  Ben just stood there.

  “Why! I never…” growled Perdy. “How rude! To speak to us in such a way!”

  “Impertinent and ungrateful, that’s for certain,” sniffed Flora.

  “Why, that does it!” said Grumpy. “Where’s King Beast? We’re not deaf! Don’t you know your manners, son?”

  “My word, we’ve never been treated so poorly!” Merryweather fluttered.

  The dwarfs and sidekicks left the room, shooting Ben wary glances as they filed out. The mermaids huffed and made a point of sloshing water on the floor, as Lumiere was left to drag them away, shaking his head. The mice turned their noses up as they walked past without so much as a squeak; the Dalmatians held their tails high; and even Dopey gave the prince a silent, hurt look.

&nb
sp; Ben hung his head, embarrassed by his actions. He had tried to lead like his father, and he had failed. He hadn’t been able to table the petition, and he hadn’t been able to inspire confidence in the King’s Council. If anything, he had made the situation worse.

  Which is why I would make a terrible king, Ben thought, as he climbed down from his father’s council room table.

  He hadn’t proven himself.

  He’d only proven one thing—

  That Prince Ben wasn’t fit to the wear the royal beast-head ring that was currently on his finger.

  Mal was standing alone in the corner, nursing her spicy cider, when she noticed two figures trying to sneak their way toward the buffet table to grab a couple of cans of expired sodas. It was Carlos, of course, and Princess Blueberry. Evie didn’t look any worse for wear after spending time in Cruella’s closet. She wasn’t even bleeding! There wasn’t a scratch on her or even a run in her stocking. Ugh. Carlos must have helped her somehow, the ungrateful little twerp.

  Mal sighed.

  Foiled again.

  Just like her mother, whose own curse had failed.

  Were they destined for failure forever?

  This party was a bust. It was definitely time to go. Even the evil step-granddaughters looked tired of pretending to hate being chased by the rowdy pirates.

  Mal tossed her empty cider cup on the floor and left without a backward glance. She spent the night rearranging her neighbors’ overgrown lawns, swapping lawn gnomes, mailboxes, and outdoor furniture. She amused herself doing some light redecorating by toilet-papering a couple of houses and egging a few rickshaws. Nothing like a little property damage to make her feel better. She left her mark on each house with the message Evil lives! spray-painted on the lawn, to remind the island people exactly what they stood for and what they had to be proud of.

  Feeling as if she had salvaged the evening, it was with some surprise and not a little shock that when she rolled home to the Bargain Castle, she found her mother awake and awaiting her.

  “Mother!” Mal yelped, startled to see Maleficent sitting on her huge high-backed green chair in front of the stained-glass window. It was her throne, as it were—her seat of darkness.