Isle of the Lost (20 page)

Then she was on the other side.

Still whole.

Not disintegrated.

Not
nothing
.

She exhaled. “It’s fine,” she called. “Get over here!”

“If she says so,” muttered Jay. Evie followed, then Carlos.

Finally the four of them were on the other side of the fog, standing at the edge of Nowhere.

“Whoa,” said Carlos.

They all looked down. They were standing literally at the water’s edge. One more step, and they would have fallen off the rocky piece of land that was the Isle of the Lost and into the deep sea below, to become an alligator’s dinner.

“Holy Lucifer, what the heck are we supposed to do now?” Mal asked.

“I don’t know, but this thing won’t shut up,” Carlos said. It was true. The compass in his box was beeping wildly now, and the closer Carlos stepped toward the strip of rocky, foggy beach, the faster it beeped. “It’s over there. It has to be,” he said, pointing to the sea.

“Well, I forgot my swimsuit and I don’t really enjoy being eaten by reptiles, so it’s all on you guys,” Jay said, backing away from the water.

“It can’t be
in
the water,” Mal said, yanking out the map from her pocket. She gasped. “Guys. Come here.” They all gathered around Mal. “Look! There’s more!” More ink had appeared, and this time, they saw that the fortress wasn’t technically on the Isle of the Lost at all but was located on its own island, or rather its own piece of floating rock, which just so happened to be named the Isle of the Doomed.

“Well, that’s cheery,” Carlos said.

“And just how are we supposed to get over there?” Evie asked.

Mal studied the map and pointed to a spot labeled
GOBLIN WHARF
.

“We’ll hitch a ride from one of our friendly neighborhood goblins to row us over, of course,” Mal said, pushing past them and starting up the muddy beach toward the docks where the goblins unloaded the Auradon barges.

“There’s no such thing as a friendly goblin,” Carlos sighed, but like the rest of them, he followed behind Mal.

They arrived quickly at the busy port. Mostly because the alligators had taken to snapping at them from the shallow water by the beach, and they’d sprinted, screaming, toward the dock.

The wharf was bustling with activity. Goblins pushed their way past the foursome, emptying cargo from the big Auradon ships that were allowed in and out of the magic dome. They placed the rotting and rotten goods onto the splintering wooden boardwalk and jumped on and off each other’s makeshift rafts and boats. They hooted and hollered in their Goblin tongue, tossing bags of scraps and leftovers—clothing, food, cosmetics, electronics, everything the people on Auradon didn’t want anymore or had no use for, onto teetering rickshaws to sell at the market.

“We’ll need to pay for passage,” Mal said. “They’re not going to take us over there for free.”

The four of them emptied their pockets to pool enough of a sum of trinkets and food to pay their way across to the Isle of the Doomed. It took some haggling—Jay did most of the talking as he spoke a bit of Goblin from having worked at the shop—but they finally secured a spot on a scrap boat. That is, a boat that collected anything and everything that fell off the Auradon Dumpsters. It was a scavenger of scavengers, the lowest of the bottom feeders.

As it turned out, a goblin’s boat was not constructed to hold four teenage villains. The floating wooden box creaked and groaned as Mal and the others boarded.

“If I die,” Jay said darkly, “you still can’t have any of my stuff.”

“We’ll be fine,” Evie said. But she seemed to say it more for her own benefit than anyone else’s.

The goblin snickered and started the ancient, rusty motor, and off they went into the thick fog.

It was odd to see the Isle of the Lost from the water. It almost looked…pretty, Mal thought. The forest was lush and green around the edges of the island, and the rocky beach jutted out dramatically into a rolling blanket of navy-blue water. In the distance, she could see Bargain Castle. From far away, it seemed to be gleaming in the fading sunlight.

“Funny how different things look from far away, huh?” Evie said, following Mal’s gaze back toward Isle of the Lost.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Mal said, turning her back on Evie. That same ache was settling in her gut again, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit.

Mal could only be sure they’d arrived at the Isle of the Doomed because the engine had stopped. They still couldn’t see five feet in front of them. Mal scrambled blindly out of the boat and onto the rocky beach, followed quickly by the rest of the team. The goblin quickly sped off.

The fog lifted slightly as they made their way through the brush. Soon they were standing in front of a gate covered with a painful-looking bristly forest of thorns. And beyond the gate, high on a craggy mountaintop, stood a large black castle, a ruined, forbidding wreck silhouetted against the night sky.

The thorns around the gate grew thick and twisted, so sharp, they would stab or scrape anyone who dared come near. Worse, the thorns were covered with deadly poisonous spiders; and the whole place had a toxic and sinister air.

They stood, paralyzed, unable and unwilling to figure out what to do next, while the black box in Carlos’s hands kept beeping incessantly. If it was indeed communicating with the Dragon’s Eye, it was clear that the scepter was somewhere behind the thorny gates.

Mal scrunched up her face, frustrated.

It was Jay who broke the silence.

He handed Mal and Evie each a silver dagger, and Carlos some bug spray. He himself hauled a red-handled machete.

“You carry an ax in your pocket?” asked Carlos.

“Who doesn’t?” Jay said with a smile. “When you steal enough things from all over the place, I find that you always arrive prepared.”

Mal had to admit that Jay’s loot came in handy right then.

Jay hacked a path with his machete, and the others followed close behind. Mal slashed at a branch of thorns with her silver dagger, and the branch withered and shrank from her knife. Evie did the same on the other side, and Carlos sprayed a hairy tarantula with his spray, so that it fell off a branch, dead.

It would be hard work, but they were used to it by now. Deeper they went into the dark forest, making their way to the castle above.

J
ust be yourself, there are other ways to show strength than your father’s kind.
Ben’s mother’s words rang in Ben’s ears as he sat down to meet with Grumpy, who had been elected to represent the dwarfs and sidekicks in their petitions.

Great. Wonderful. Just perfect. A one-on-one with Grumpy.

Ben shook his head. He suspected
anyone
else would have been a better person to negotiate with than the crabby old dwarf.

Last time they’d met, the infamous dwarf had been insulted by a sugar cookie.

These talks were doomed.

Ben wished that people would stop telling him to be
himself
. It sounded like such simple advice—and maybe it would have been, if he had had any idea who
himself
was.

But who
was
he?

Prince Ben, son of King Beast, heir to the throne of the great kingdom of Auradon?

He was certainly nothing like his father, who knew how to enforce his rule without forcing it on his subjects. Ben cringed to recall how he had stood on the table and yelled.

That wasn’t who he was.

He was Prince Ben, son of King Beast
and
Queen Belle, heir to the throne of the great kingdom of Auradon.

And if, like his father, he was meant to inherit the throne—then it would be on his own terms, as his mother’s son and not just as his father’s heir.

Because, like his mother, Ben was quiet and gentle and loved nothing better than to disappear into a great, thick book. His childhood hadn’t been about hunting or sword-fighting or besting someone else on the field.

It had been spent in a library.

He shared his mother’s love of reading, and he always had. Ben’s fondest memories were of sitting next to Queen Belle at the hearth of her magnificent library’s enormous fireplace, reading by her side. He’d be digging into a pile of books dragged from the lower shelves, while hers were always taken from the very highest. It was paradise.

Once, when his father had discovered they had spent the entire day hiding in the library and scolded them for skipping out on a royal luncheon banquet “for the sake of a story,” his mother had mounted a passionate defense.

“But these aren’t just stories,” she’d said. “They’re whole kingdoms. They’re worlds. They’re perspectives and opinions you can’t offer, from lives you haven’t lived. They’re more valuable than any gold coin, and more important than any state luncheon. I should hope you, as king, would know that!”

King Beast’s eyes had twinkled, and he had lifted Queen Belle into his powerful arms with one easy motion. “And, as you’re my queen, I should hope you would know how much I love you for that!” Then he’d gathered up his young son, and the three of them had made a late lunch of cream cakes in the garden.

Of course.

Ben smiled. He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time.

He found himself thinking of it still as Lumiere ushered the older dwarf into the conference room.

Grumpy nodded to him and took a seat across from the prince, his short legs swinging like a child’s. “What’s this all about, young man?” He coughed. “I’m not in the mood for any of your tantrums.” He eyed the table uneasily, as if the boy was about to leap upon it, even now. The plate of sugar cookies and the goblet of cider in front of him, he left untouched.

“Thank you for meeting me today,” said Ben. “I thought this might be easier, if it was just the two of us talking. Since everything got a bit—loud—before.”

“Hem,” said Grumpy. “We’ll see about that. You don’t plan to hop on the table again or shout like an animal, do you?”

Ben flushed. “I apologize for my behavior the other day. I was…a fool.”

“You—What?” Grumpy was caught off guard.

Ben shrugged. “I admit it. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I made a mess of everything. And I certainly don’t blame you for not wanting to take me seriously now.”

Grumpy looked at him grumpily, if a little pleasantly surprised. “Go on.”

Ben smiled. It was a start, and he’d take it.

“You see, I called you in because I read all one thousand and one pages of your complaint.”

“Really? All one thousand?” asked Grumpy, sounding impressed in spite of himself.

“And one.” Ben smiled again. He was a fast reader, and a concerned listener, and if he was truly going to be
himself
, he was going to need to use both talents in his favor to settle this complaint once and for all.

“From what I could gather, it appears what you and your colleagues are demanding is to be heard, and to have a voice in your future. Something more than just a seat at the Council.”

“It’s not that much to ask is it?” asked Grumpy keenly.

“No, it’s not,” Ben acknowledged. “And I think we can come to a simple agreement.”

“What do you propose?”

Ben shuffled the papers. He thought about it, and about how to say it. How had his mother put it?
Perspectives and opinions I can’t offer, from lives I haven’t lived.

Ben smiled. “I propose listening to the people who know best.”

Grumpy raised an eyebrow.

Ben consulted his notes. “Let’s start with the mermaids. They should charge a silver coin for every undersea tour. And I’ll talk to Ariel about giving Flounder’s collecting for Ariel a break.”

Grumpy nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Okay.”

“I’ve also set up a college fund for the Dalmatians—all one hundred and one of them will be eligible for financial aid through the Puppy Grant.” Ben pushed a black-and-white-spotted folder that contained all the pertinent forms across the table.

Grumpy accepted it. “Pongo will appreciate that,” said Grumpy. “But what about us miners?”

“Half of everything you mine must still remain the property of the kingdom,” said Ben. He knew his father would settle for no less.

“Half? What about the rest of the diamonds? Where does that go?” asked Grumpy, sounding alarmed.

“The other half will go to a 401D Fund. A retirement fund for dwarfs, to take care of your families and your children. Tell Bashful not to worry.”

“Sounds fair enough.” Grumpy nodded, in spite of himself. “What about the restriction of magic? Just between you and me, those three fairies make a lot of noise.”

“The three good fairies will have to take their complaint up with the Fairy Godmother. I can’t do anything about it myself, I’m afraid. But I’ll get them a meeting with her. That much I can do.”

“And Genie’s request for unlimited travel within the kingdom?” Grumpy frowned. At this point, he looked like he was struggling to find things to still be grumpy about.

“Approved, so long as he clears his itinerary with the palace beforehand.” That was a difficult concession to make, as his father did not want the “blue-skinned-maniac popping up everywhere without notice,” but he had been able to convince King Beast that as long as the subjects were warned about Genie’s arrival, all would be well.