“Cutaway Hargity has just sent her card over to Udo,” I said.
“Cutaway likes bright-eyed boys. Well, good luck to him. But let’s get rid of him for the moment, shall we?”
Sieur Wraathmyr summoned a waiter, slipped him some money, and whispered something in his ear. The waiter nodded and went over to Udo’s table. Suddenly Udo was leaving the room in a big hurry.
“What did you tell the waiter to say to him?”
“That he had an urgent package pickup at the Pacifica Mail office. That should keep him busy for a while. Ah, here we go.”
Our chow arrived. Right behind the waiter with the food was another waiter with a card on a silver salver. The flood had begun.
It took us forever to eat breakfast; we were constantly interrupted by a stream of people. Sieur Wraathmyr produced a small notebook from one of his pockets and began to set up appointment times—he was going to have a busy afternoon. Apparently, so was I, for he introduced me as Vice President in Charge of Furbelows and Fripperies (what the fike is a furbelow?), and people seemed just as eager to see me.
Alas, I was not so eager to see them, for as each card arrived, Sieur Wraathmyr would, in a low voice, describe its owner.
“...made a fortune in selling body parts...”
“...sells elementals that she invokes and traps...”
“...robbed sixteen different mule trains...”
But none of these rotters was the Kulani Envoy. Maybe she’d given up on Buck’s response and returned to the islands, empty-handed. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she hadn’t heard that Sieur Wraathmyr was in town. It seemed like everyone on Barbacoa had requested an appointment but her. Finally, when my bacon was gone, I was on my fifth cup of coffee, and my anxiety had built up to where I thought I might start screaming, another waiter appeared with yet another card.
Sieur Wraathmyr glanced at it and grinned widely “At last. The Kulani Envoy begs us to wait upon her at her home, so that she might browse my sample case. This afternoon at one.”
“Finally,” I said with relief.
“Ayah so, finally” A heavy hand dropped on my shoulder and a familiar voice, dripping with nastiness, said, “Ave, Flora.”
“Ave,” I said warily, shrugging off his heavy hand. Was I addressing Udo or Springheel Jack? The glare, the hand on the hilt of his saber—very Jackish. But when he spoke again, the querulous accusatory tone was all Udo.
“We searched the Pato for you and never found you. We thought you’d perhaps fallen overboard, maybe drowned. I was pretty upset.”
“Turnabout is fair play. Now you know how I felt,” I answered.
“It’s not a joking matter!”
“I’m not joking. Leave me alone, Udo.”
“What are you doing here?” Udo demanded.
“She said to leave her alone,” Sieur Wraathmyr said.
Udo sneered. “Who are you?”
“T. N. Wraathmyr, at your service, sieur.” Sieur Wraathmyr waved his hand in a somewhat careless Courtesy. He didn’t stand up.
“What does the T. N. stand for?” Udo demanded.
“T for Trouble and N for None of Your Business,” Sieur Wraathmyr answered. He had picked his fork up and now spun it around his fingers as he stared flat-eyed at Udo.
Udo countered with, “T for Thief and N for Nobody is more like it. I remember you now. The salesman, at the Zu’s party. ”
“What do you want, Udo?” I said hurriedly. Sieur Wraathmyr shifted his grasp on the fork; now he held it like a dagger. Udo curled his lips dismissively and turned back to me. “What are you doing?”
“Eating breakfast, Udo, or at least I was before you interrupted me.”
“I mean, what are you doing on Barbacoa?”
“It’s a free port, Udo. Anyone can be here.”
“You’d better come with me, Flora.”
“I don’t think so, Udo. I’m busy”
“Not so busy, by the look of it. Your plate is empty. Come on, Flora.”
“She is not a dog to come when you call her,” Sieur Wraathmyr said, giving Udo a stone-cold look that would have rocked me back on my heels but that Udo received with a very Jackish sneer.
“I don’t recall addressing you at all, sieur,” he answered. “This is none of your business.”
I protested, “Udo, stop it! You are being rude.”
“I’ll be even ruder if I have to be, to get you to come with me. Quit playing games, Flora.”
Sieur Wraathmyr said softly “You will excuse us, sieur, but we have appointments. If you wish to speak to Madama Romney perhaps you should make an appointment as well.”
Udo hissed, “I’ll make an appointment to see you in the Abyss.”
“Would you?” Sieur Wraathmyr said. He stood up. “I’ll send you there myself!”
“Name your place and your time.”
“Stop it, you two!” I said as Udo and Sieur Wraathmyr glared at each other. Neither one looked at me. In the cheap romance novels, the heroine is always thrilled when her rivals fight. In real life, it was just horribly embarrassing. I was not the last piece of bacon.
Though we had kept our voices low, the furious tones had carried, and now everyone in the room was staring at us. Udo and Sieur Wraathmyr locked eyes, neither willing to give ground, and when I whacked them each on the arm, they didn’t pay attention. The snake heads on the toes of the Jack Boots hissed and snapped, and Sieur Wraathmyr growled in response.
“Little boys,” a new voice said. Cutaway Hargity was not much taller than me, but somehow she made the men look very small. “If you will fight, then go outside. We’ve had enough caterwauling for one day Break apart or I shall cut you apart.”
Like Udo, Cutaway wore a scabbard at her hip. His was empty. Hers held a very long pair of scissors. Now she rested her hand on their handle.
Udo and Sieur Wraathmyr broke away from their stare-down.
“I cry your pardon, madama,” Sieur Wraathmyr said, sweeping into a bow.
Not to be outdone, Udo took off his hat and bowed so low that the fringe on his cravat almost touched the floor. “I beg your pardon, madama, for causing a disruption.”
Cutaway answered, “How can I not grant you pardon, when you ask so prettily? But remember what I said earlier. There is no need to fight. There is always more.” The sharp black eyes turned on me, appraised me, and found me obviously unappealing. “You are Tharyn’s new associate?”
“Ayah, madama.” I made my own Courtesy: Honored and Grateful for the Hospitality.
Cutaway’s hair was silvery gray but her face was curiously unlined, almost masklike. When she spoke, her eyebrows did not move. “Interesting. Madama Romney, yes?”
“Ayah.” I did not like the way she was looking at me, like she saw the Gramatica inside of me. Her hand still rested on her scissors.
“Very interesting. I will look forward to speaking with you later. I have need of new furbelows, and hope that you will be able to instruct me on the latest fashion in Ticonderoga.” She turned back to Sieur Wraathmyr. “Tharyn, you may come to my office sharply at five, with your catalogs and pattern book in hand.”
“I will be honored, madama.”
Now Cutaway narrowed in on Udo. “And you, dear boy, may escort me back to my office and tell me the news on the high seas as we go.”
Udo had no choice but to take Cutaway’s arm and escort her away. Which he did, although not without one last sneer at Sieur Wraathmyr and me.
“Pigface, he’s in for it now,” Sieur Wraathmyr remarked, watching them walk away.
“What do you mean?” I could hear Udo telling Cutaway that he loved her taste in shoes. I couldn’t help but think that Sieur Wraathmyr might be sullen sometimes, but he’d never stoop to such lap-doggery
“Once Cutaway has ’em, they are done. Come on, we are going to be late for our appointment.”
“Done? What does that mean?” I asked, following him from the dining room.
“Oh, I don’t know exac
tly,” Sieur Wraathmyr said vaguely “But I’ve heard rumors that she keeps souvenirs.”
TWENTY-THREE
Envoys. Aunties. Ginger Ale.
THE KULANI ENVOY LIVED in a small house perched high above the town on a steep cliff face. From the street, the house was almost invisible behind brilliant purple bougainvillea, flowers so bright they hurt my eyes. The day had turned warm and the sky was sullen with clouds, the air heavy and wet. It looked like a storm.
Sieur Wraathmyr’s words about the fate of Cutaway’s conquests had rolled around in my head as we rode up the hill. Now, as we exited the donkey cab, I forced those uneasy thoughts into a dark corner of my mind and slammed the door on them. Udo’s charms had saved his skin before, so surely they’d save it now, and, anyway, he had the Jack Boots to help him if there was trouble—and, anyway, what the fike did I care?
A Kulani boy in a red silk sarong answered Sieur Wraathmyr’s knock. Now I knew that Sieur Wraathmyr got his curly black hair and dark skin from his Kulani father, for the boy had the same coloring. But the boy’s eyes were brown, not blue.
Sieur Wraathmyr gave the boy our greetings and he ushered us into a small foyer. The boy pointed at my feet, and I pulled my boots off. I think Sieur Wraathmyr must have left his boots on the Pato, because he’d been barefoot ever since. A small fountain sat to one side of the door, its water flowing into a footbath. Sieur Wraathmyr dipped each of his feet into the bath and then stepped on the towel the boy had laid down. I did the same, hopping ungracefully.
Our feet now clean, we followed the boy into a larger room, the walls made of panels of flat woven grass. The floor was glossy red wood, as polished as glass. There was no furniture, only a scattering of brightly colored pillows and a low table with a flat stove in its center.
The lady approaching us was wrapped in so many shawls that only her face was visible. She had a diamond pattern tattooed on each cheek and lines etched across her forehead. Her hair was white as snow, but under the tattoos, her dark skin was smooth and unlined.
Sieur Wraathmyr bowed deeply. “I give you greetings, madama.”
“I give you greetings in return, nephew Keanuenue’okalani!” the Envoy said, smiling.
Sieur Wraathmyr’s suave smile disappeared. He looked surprised and discomfited.
The Envoy saw this reaction and said, “You do not remember me?”
“I am not sure,” he said, uncertainly. “Are you my aunt Hauani?”
“I am her, exactly! You were a mere child when I last saw you, so many years ago. Many things have happened since then.”
She swept Sieur Wraathmyr into an embrace; in his arms, she seemed small and doll-like. He still looked rather bewildered as she released him, and we followed her out onto the veranda, well shaded by pots of flowers and small trees. Here, cut off from the wind, the air felt gentle and warm, and the brilliant purple and pink of the geraniums and bougainvillea made up for the lead-colored sky above.
“You much resemble my brother,” she said as we sat down on thin silk pillows. “He was such a handsome man. But you have your mother’s eyes.”
Sieur Wraathmyr remained silent, his face closed and wary.
“I cry your pardon, madama,” I said. “But what did you say Sieur Wraathmyr’s name was?”
“Keanuenueokalani. It means 'Rainbow of Heaven’ in our language.”
“I left that name long ago,” Sieur Wraathmyr said stiffly “Today, my name is Tharyn Wraathmyr. I answer to no other.”
“Keanonolo’kaloni,” I tried unsuccessfully.
“No, Keanuenue’okalani!” The Envoy laughed at my mangled attempt at pronunciation. She said kindly, “Our long names are hard for any tongue that is not born to say them. When he was a boy we called him Ke’anu.”
“I am no longer a boy,” Sieur Wraathmyr growled.
The Envoy’s smile faded. “As you wish, Sieur Wraathmyr. Will you offer me your name, madama?”
“I cry your pardon,” I said quickly. I glanced at Tharyn. Should I tell the Envoy my real name? Could I trust her? Did it matter?
He saved me from the decision.“This is my associate, Nyana Romney.”
“Welcome, Madama Romney Come, let me offer you refreshments. And then we shall have our business.”
The boy brought three small green cups and a green china teapot shaped like a goldfish. The Envoy carefully poured the tea, then blew briefly over each cup before handing one to Tharyn and one to me. We drank the hot bitter liquid, which was oddly refreshing, considering the warm dampness of the day, and the Envoy asked us polite questions about our journey. Tharyn answered as briefly as possible, omitting the more sensational details. He sat hunched in his furry coat, radiating displeasure and impatience. The Envoy’s attempts to draw him out proved totally futile, and eventually she gave up.
“On to our business, then. You have a delivery for me, sieur?”
“Ayah, so.” He took the dispatch out of his furry jacket and offered it to her. She took it—the freedom of Califa on a piece of paper—and tucked it inside one of her shawls without reading it. “Thank you.”
And that was it. Audience over. Delivery made.
I felt slightly disappointed, but then what did I expect to happen? Angels to trumpet and the sky to open up, raining roses? We were just messengers. Briefly, the fate of Califa had been in our hands, but now it was someone else’s burden.
Tharyn bounded to his feet, hauling me up after him. The boy led us back to the house, but as I was fumbling to put my boots on, the Envoy asked Tharyn for a few words in private. He hesitated for a moment and then agreed.
Walking me to the door, he said, “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”
“Are you sure? I can wait.”
“I’m sure,” he said abruptly “Go on.”
“Are you all right? You look upset.”
“It was a surprise. I did not expect the Envoy to know me. I do not know what she could say to me. She should not even know me. To the Kulanis, I am dead. A ghost.”
“Maybe I should wait for you.” I put my hand on his furry sleeve, but he shook it off.
“No, Nini,” he said, a bit less growly. “Go back to the hotel. This has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t mind—”
“Go,” he said brusquely. Stung, I turned away. He had been so sweet recently that I had forgotten what a snapperhead he could be. I did not like the reminder at all. The donkey cab was waiting outside. I climbed in, glad I didn’t have to make the sultry walk back to town.
Back at the hotel, as I crossed the lobby, I glanced over and saw a tall figure sitting at the bar, sparkly red boots hooked over the foot rail. Motivated by a weird surge of—guilt? sorrow? nostalgia?—I veered toward him. Udo was a snapperhead, but I couldn’t let Cutaway get him. Or the Jack Boots, either. I had to try to talk some sense into him.
“Since when do you drink beer?” I asked, sitting next to him.
“It’s not beer,” he said. “It’s ginger ale.”
He waved his hand at the barkeep and ordered one for me. He waited to lift his glass until mine was in front of me.
We clinked.
“Cierra Califa,” he said.
“Cierra Califa.”
The ginger ale was fizzy and scorching hot. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping.
“I really thought you were dead,” Udo said finally.
“Well, I thought you were dead, so we are even. It’s a crappy feeling, ain’t it?”
“The Dainty Pirate is really pissed. Thanks to your whip, he has to wear an eye patch.”
“That’s very piratical. He should thank me.”
Udo laughed. “He does look pretty good in it.”
We fell back into silence and finished our drinks. The bartender brought another round. Despite all Udo had done, all his snapperyness, now that I sat next to him I was reminded of how comfortable he was, how familiar. We’d been through a lot together. The thought that I might never have seen him again ha
d been unbearable. Now that my anger had died down a bit, I had to admit I missed him.
“Why didn’t you come with us, Flora? You always said you wanted to be a ranger, complained you never got to do anything. Here was your chance, and you wouldn’t take it. I don’t get that at all.”
“I’m not a sack of corn to be tossed around. No one asked me. Buck didn’t. The Dainty Pirate didn’t. Buck didn’t even trust me enough to tell me what was going on.”
“I only found out when we were captured. You always complained Buck wasn’t doing anything to save Califa, and now that she is, you’re pissed about it.”
“She could have told me,” I said. “It matters to me as much as to anyone, maybe more.”
“She was trying to protect you.”
I slurped the last burning dregs of the ale. “Well, she can’t. She should realize that and let me take care of myself. Where’s the Zu-Zu?”
“She went with the Dainty Pirate, up north. I think she has a crush on him.”
“Sorry” I wasn’t the slightest bit sorry, really.
“It’s fine,” Udo said. “She was just a distraction. A captain can’t afford distractions, you know—”
“Captain?”
“Ayah. Dainty has promised me my own ship. It’s not big, but it will be mine. I think I’ll change the name, though. El Pato de Oro isn’t really a suitable name for a pirate ship.”
“That’s Captain Ziyi’s ship!” I protested. “The Dainty Pirate can’t give it to you. And anyway I thought the Pato was sunk.”
“We spread that rumor around so the owner could collect insurance on it. See, Dainty ain’t all that bad.”
“It’s still not right.”
Udo gave me a scornful look. “This is war, Flora, in case you hadn’t noticed. Or it will be soon. You can’t be dainty in a war; didn’t Nini Mo say that? But listen, that Wraathmyr fellow. He’s shifty, don’t you think? He needs a haircut and some moisturizer.”
“Leave him out of this, Udo. He has nothing to do with you.”
“I think you are being pretty foolish, Flora—”
“Foolish? Me? Are you fiking kidding, Udo? Look at your feet and tell me I am the foolish one.” I gestured to his boots, sparkling and glittering. “After what happened before? The Jack Boots almost got you; they almost turned you into a killer, a thief. You barely escaped, and now here you are wearing them again.”
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