An unfamiliar voice was saying, “...a fortune. His liver alone is worth at least six hundred divas.”
Madama Valdosta answered happily, “And his skin, oh, my donut. Think of what that will bring! A thousand divas just as it is, not even cured. I shall be rich!”
“You shall be very rich. Such parts are not often available. All in all it’s a rare opportunity.”
“I have heard that wer-bear liver pâté is a great delicacy in Porkopolis.”
“You have heard correctly”
“Oh, so rich! And a wer-bear skin—they say that a wer-bear-skin coat will make you invisible.”
“I cannot speak of that, but perhaps it is true.”
With a jolt of horror, I realized they were talking about Sieur Wraathmyr.
“All is going according to plan?” the other voice said.
“Oh, yes, dearie. They are well and true enchanted, cooing like turtledoves, much too bedazzled to notice anything else. Ginger drop?”
“No, thank you.”
“I shall keep his teeth, I think, and make myself a pretty necklace. And I shall keep his tongue; there is nothing more delicious than a bear-tongue sandwie.”
“You will send word to me when he has changed?”
“I will. It should be any time now. Oh, I am so excited! I’ll feed the dog to the pigs, and the girl, well, she’s not good for much, but I can get a nice price for her clothes. This will be my best haul ever.”
“Congratulations. I will return later tonight.”
“Of course! Of course! I thank you, kind sieur, for allowing me this opportunity...”
At the sound of chairs being pushed back, I retreated down the hallway, cursing to myself.
My plan to scarper and leave Sieur Wraathmyr to fend for himself sputtered and died. It was one thing to leave him to be robbed, another to be killed and dismembered—even though, a tiny evil voice deep in my brain said, my secrets would then be safe forever.
I shoved a spittoon into the middle of the hallway so that if Madama Valdosta came that way, she’d trip and we’d have a warning. I pushed Flynn inside the parlor and shut the door behind us, whispering urgently, “Sieur Wraathmyr, we have to get out of here right this minute—”
Flynn strained against my legs, growling softly. I turned and my warning strangled into silence.
An enormous bear lay asleep in front of the fire.
I stood frozen in the doorway, afraid to move. If Sieur Wraathmyr woke up now, would he know who I was? Or was he now a bear inside and out? Would he understand me if I tried to explain what had happened, or would he just tear me limb from limb? The pain of Flynn’s bite had snapped me out of the enchantment, but I didn’t relish the thought of causing a five-hundred-pound bear any pain. He had told me he always changed back into his human form, but who knew when that would be. Did I dare wait?
I didn’t.
His kilt and his shirt lay tossed on the sofa. I oh-so-quietly crept across the room and picked the clothes up, shook them. They were still warm and smelled of his apple pipeweed. The shirt had no pockets, but something stiff was sewn into the inside waistband of the kilt. With my teeth and fingernails, I unstitched the lining and found a small packet made of oilcloth. Inside was my map. I shoved the packet between my corset and my chemise.
On the hearth rug, the bear continued to sputter and snore.
I crept back to the door and looked out to see if the coast was clear. It was, but to get out the front door, I’d have to go past the kitchen door, which was now open. I could hear Madama Valdosta inside, humming. I glanced back toward the parlor window; it wasn’t a very long drop. I could make my escape that way, Flynn draped over my shoulders, and get as far away from the Valdosta Lodge as fast as possible. Ayah, it was still raining, but better to take my chances and be drowned than the alternative. I glanced back at Sieur Wraathmyr. He could take care of himself. And if he didn’t, well then, I wouldn’t have to worry about him betraying me. Like Nini Mo said, Me, every time. What else could I do?
But even as these thoughts raced through my head, they hit the brick wall of my conscience. I had left a comrade behind once before, and though she had escaped unscathed—no thanks to me—I just couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t leave a man I had kissed—several times—to be killed, chopped up for parts, and sold. Plus, after hearing Sieur Wraathmyr’s story, I couldn’t add myself to the list of people who had betrayed him. Oh, fiking hell...
Pigface, he was enormous. I could have ridden him like a horse and he would never notice my weight. His head alone was as big as Flynn, and even lying down, his shoulder was almost as high as my throat. Each leg was as thick as both of mine put together, and his paws were the size of dinner plates.
I imagined hitting him, sticking him with a pin, causing a spark of pain to break the enchantment. Then my inner eye saw him start up with a roar, huge paw swiping, me flying through the air, hitting the wall, my brains smashing like tapioca pudding...
Ayah, then, no scarpering. I would have to stand and fight, get rid of Madama Valdosta, and then hope that Sieur Wraathmyr turned back to himself before her friend arrived. If he didn’t, then I’d have to take care of the friend, too.
If you must fight, Nini Mo said, make your own odds. My odds said that Madama Valdosta didn’t know I had copped to her gig. At least I had the element of surprise. My odds said it was better to tackle the enemies one at a time, so best get done with Madama Valdosta first.
From the hallway came a thudding clank and a curse; Madama Valdosta had tripped on the spittoon. I took a flying leap across the room, flung myself down on the nasty sofa, hissed Flynn over, clutched him, and closed my eyes. The smell coming from the rotting upholstery was awful—how could I have not noticed it before?—but I tried to breathe into the crook of my arm, where the fabric still smelled faintly of Sieur Wraathmyr’s pipe. The door creaked open and footsteps tiptoed inside, accompanied by humming. Flynn, suddenly, thankfully, had become quiet. I lay there, trying not to quiver.
“Ah, good.” Madama Valdosta sounded pleased. I heard her rustling about the room, and then felt a hand on my foot. I bit back a shriek. Flynn growled.
“Oh, you go ahead and growl, skinny dog,” Madama Valdosta said. “I’ll warrant the pigs will do you just fine.” She shook my foot and dropped it, satisfied that I was asleep. The door closed, but I lay still for a long while, ears straining. All I could hear was the snuffle of Sieur Wraathmyr’s breathing and my own rapid-fire heartbeat. Then something brushed against the back of my neck. The touch was feathery and delicate, slightly sticky on my bare skin.
A familiar voice spoke, the words echoing not in my ears, but in my mind. I told you this place was a dump. How you disbelieved me, Almost Daughter.
I opened my eyes and there was Octohands, perched on the back of the sofa. A tentacle reached for me; I allowed it to wrap around my wrist. I said, “What the fike are you doing in my head?”
Not so loud, or the old sow will hear you!
What are you doing in my head? I thought.
Communicating with you, honey pie. As long as we are in physical contact with each other, we can share thoughts.
I don't want to share thoughts with you!
The feeling is mutual. I fear your imagination is a swamp. But since your little magickal trick went awry, this is our only choice.
And how did you get out of the chamber pot?
I do have eight arms now, madama, eight sticky arms, and I can climb. I was bored and decided to have a little look-see around. There are four more corpses in the basement and Madama Valdosta has been sharpening knives all afternoon.
I know. I overheard her talking to some guy in the kitchen. We’ve been set up. He’s coming back later to kill us. We have to get out of here, but I can’t leave Sieur Wraathmyr. Madama Valdosta is going to chop him up, sell him for parts. I can’t let her do that. Never leave a comrade behind. Isn’t that what Nini Mo said?
I loved the woman but she was an ideali
stic nitwit sometimes. She didn’t have the sense the Goddess gave a duck. You can’t afford to be a nitwit; you are the last of your line—and that reminds me, since you seem to have a habit of putting yourself in life-or-death situations, I think it’s time you bred, gave us an heir, a little cushion —
“You want me to have a baby?” I said incredulously.
Shush! Not so loud. Ayah, the sooner the better. Pick your man, the bear, that pirate lad, take out an advert in the paper, I don’t care, but you can’t play so loose and fancy without securing the family line.
We’ll discuss this later. I’m not going without Sieur Wraathmyr, so if you are so concerned with my survival, then you need to contribute to its continuation.
She’s a cheap enchanter. If I were myself, in my heyday, I could have broken her neck with one word. Alas, that I am entrapped in the body of a helpless invertebrate. Oh, woe.
I could try to do a sigil.
No! I told you not to mess with the Current! Shoot her.
She took my revolver. If you have any other bright fiking ideas, then give them.
People always said I was poisonous and had quite a bite. Well, lucky for you, Almost Daughter, now that I’m an octopus, it’s true. I have a plan.
SIXTEEN
Hot Soup. Cold Calculations. A Biting Plan.
LEAVING SIEUR WRAATHMYR sleeping on the hearth rug, Flynn and I, with Octohands perched on my shoulder, crept back up to my dark and nasty room. Five minutes later, I came back downstairs, lugging the now-quite-heavy chamber pot, Flynn trailing gamely behind me. The dining room was not the handsome room I remembered. Now it was dark and dingy, with torn carpet and water dripping from the ceiling. The animal heads mounted on the walls were balding and eyeless, antlers covered in glowing green moss. Three figures sat stiffly at the table, which was made of a few boards laid across two trestles. I saw why the other guests hadn’t been very friendly. They were very dead. The wizened black corpses had been propped up in chairs, plates set in front of them, but their eyes were dull filmy marbles, and their jaws dangled open on ropy-looking sinews, displaying mulelike teeth.
I dragged a rickety empty chair away from the table and stood on it, awkwardly, trying to balance the chamber pot in one hand and hold on to the wall with the other. Not for the first time, I wished I wasn’t so fiking short. The pot was heavy, but I managed to leverage it up over my head and into position. I rang the bell, and then sat down on another rickety chair and waited, staring at the door. Under the table, Flynn sat down on my feet.
“Oh, yes, my dear, can I serve you? I thought you were sleeping!”
My liver nearly levitated up and out my throat. Instead of coming through the door in front of me, Madama Valdosta had appeared behind me; it took me a second to realize how she had done so, but then I saw the outline of a door in the wall. It had been wallpapered to match the walls and I hadn’t noticed it before.
“Oh, yes, madama, I was sleeping. But now I am awake and very hungry I was wondering if I might have a snack.”
“Oh my dear, what luck. I have just finished a batch of beautiful soup. I shall bring some immediately” She vanished the same way she had come. Fike. I had to get her to go through the other door.
When she reappeared, she carried a soup tureen; she set it on the table and ladled soup into my bowl.
“And here is your spoon,” she said brightly.
I looked down at the soup. It was bright red, thick as blood, and bubbled slightly.
“What kind of soup is this?”
“Beet rhubarb. Made from my own garden.” Madama Valdosta leaned over me with a smile. “So rich and nourishing. It will take all your cares away.”
“It smells delicious,” I lied. It smelled like baby poo. When I lifted the spoon out of the liquid, it was full of red worms, like swollen noodles. Wiggling swollen noodles. I thought back on the other meals Valdosta had served us. What had they been, really? Maybe it was better not to wonder.
“Oh madama, it looks wonderful. But I wonder if you might do me a favor.”
Madama Valdosta bowed. “Anything you desire, madama. You would like a crouton, perhaps? A little garnish?”
“No, no,” I said hastily, imagining moldy bread floating in the bloody soup. “Could you fetch my jacket from the parlor? I am a bit chilled.”
“I will build up the fire—”
“No, really My jacket is all that I need. Please, madama?”
“Of course, madama.” Madama Valdosta’s smile never faltered, but she seemed a bit impatient for me to eat the soup, which probably meant it was not a good idea to eat the soup. Well, we’ll see who gets who, you shifty witch.
Madama Valdosta strode to the door and pulled it open with a flourish. The chamber pot tumbled down, spilling out a writhing crimson blob: Octohands. As he landed on her head, she let out a shocked squeal and staggered against the door, hands slapping. To no avail; Octohands had a good grip.
Madama Valdosta danced back into the room, falling against the furniture, against the wall, her squealing transformed into a high-pitched gurgle by the tentacle snaking around her neck. I jumped out of the way as she hit the table, which disintegrated into a heap of splintery wood. She writhed through the wreckage and over one of the mummies, which collapsed into a puff of black grit and a fetid smell. Madama Valdosta’s face, barely visible through the strangling tentacles, was almost as red as Octohands. Flynn jumped out of my grip, snarling and snapping at her.
“Bite her!” I shouted to Octohands. “Bite her!”
Madama Valdosta let out a muffled wheezy shriek and flung Octohands from her.
“It bit me!” she screamed. Madama Valdosta struggled to her feet, shouting, kicking at Flynn. She mumbled something and a glittery Gramatica Word, sharp as a razor, whirled toward me; I dodged it, and it hit the molding bison head mounted on the wall. The head exploded into a ball of flaring coldfire. Flynn sank his teeth into one of her fat ankles, and she picked up a piece of broken chair and began to whack at him.
“Don’t touch him!” I grabbed the soup ladle and ran toward them, swinging wildly With a bellow, Madama Valdosta managed to wrench away from Flynn and half hobbled, half ran from the room, shrieking like a teakettle. Flynn followed, nipping at her heels. I ran over to Octohands, who lay motionless where he had fallen. When I picked him up, a tentacle slowly unwound itself and attached to my wrist. Uh, she tasted terrible. But i got her good. She won’t get far.
I thought she was just going to drop dead when you bit her. What if she wakes up Sieur Wraathmyr with all that screaming?
He’s good and enchanted. He’s not going to —
The high-pitched keening in the hallway was replaced by a high-pitched screaming. Flynn barreled back into the dining room, tail between his legs. Still holding Octohands, I rushed to the doorway to see Madama Valdosta cowering before the enormous shaggy figure looming at the end of the hallway.
Oh dear. Tactical error. Octohands sounded almost amused.
Sieur Wraathmyr reared up, his head brushing the ceiling, and roared. Madama Valdosta wasn’t able to dodge the swipe of that enormous paw; she went flying. As she tried to get up, her feet scrabbling for traction, Sieur Wraathmyr dropped to all fours and charged after her. But Octohands’s poisonous bite was beginning to affect her; her movements were wobbly and unsteady and her screams had diminished to a low squeaking.
I turned and ran, Flynn pushing against my legs, both of us tearing through the dining room and into the kitchen. There was no back door—fike, we were trapped. Horrible noises came from the hallway. Frantic for a hiding place, we ran back to the dining room and dove into the closet. Flynn wormed his way onto my lap and Octohands wound around my neck, uncharacteristically silent of snappy comments. I was sitting on something lumpy; I reached behind and found my gun belt. My revolver was only a .32 caliber, which wouldn’t do much against an angry bear, but it felt reassuring and heavy in my hand.
We huddled behind the rotting clothes, listening to
howling, screaming, moaning, groaning, roaring, ripping. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Flynn’s neck. I had no doubt that once Sieur Wraathmyr was through with Madama Valdosta, he’d smell me, and crunchy Flynn, and chewy Octohands, and we’d be next on his menu. I had tried to save Sieur Wraathmyr, and for my trouble, I was going to get eaten.
I hope you are not too spoony to shoot him, Almost Daughter.
I doubt that this caliber will do much other than make him mad.
I once killed a buffalo with a .22. Aim for his eye.
Shut up.
After a while, the screaming stopped. All was quiet. But I didn’t move. It was nice and dark in the closet. The rotting smell, now that I was used to it, wasn’t so very bad. I strained my ears, but I could hear only my own labored breathing, Flynn’s occasional snort. Octohands was stroking my neck with one tentacle. The sensation was both annoying and soothing.
Are we going to sit here forever? Octohands asked finally.
Ayah. Suddenly I was very tired. If I hadn’t given in to a stupid bout of conscience, Flynn and I would have been miles away by now, with map in hand. Instead, here I was about to be eaten by the very snapperhead I had just tried to save. Oh, the irony, Nini Mo said, don’t it just make your ?
A crack of light shone in the shadows. Flynn growled and I put my hand on his head.
“Nini? Are you all right?”
My eyes adjusted to the light, and standing before me was not a bear, but a man. Sieur Wraathmyr’s face was a mask of blood; he was dripping red from head to toe.
“Nini?” Even his teeth were red.
I pointed my revolver at him. “If you take another step toward me, I’ll shoot you.”
SEVENTEEN
Cambria. Coffee. Blown Cover.
WHEN HE SAW that I was all right, Sieur Wraathmyr turned and walked away. I came out of the closet. The hallway walls were sprayed with blood, and more blood trailed toward the front door, but there was no sign of Madama Valdosta. I have to admit that I didn’t look too hard for her.
Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo Page 14
