Somehow this tender concern was worse than if he’d just put a knife to my throat. At least the knife was honest.
“I promised her that, and I held to my promise, though now I know she was faithless to me. Ah well, never mind. She’ll be true, in the end.”
The Birdie gently pushed me over and curled up my legs so my knees lay against my chest. He picked me up, and as my head lolled, I saw a large trunk sitting open in the middle of the room. He laid me inside it, on my side like a sleeping baby He had put a pillow down and lined the bottom with a blanket—how kind.
He patted my head. “It will not be long. Just until we get off Barbacoa. I am sorry but there is no other way. Sleep.”
He could command my movements, but not that. I no longer felt the tiniest bit sleepy. He closed the trunk lid and I was plunged into darkness. I heard footsteps, a door opening, and then: “Here is my trunk. Be careful with it.”
“Oh, no fear of that,” the bellboy said cheerfully. “Which ship are you going on?”
"Grazer."
“Oh, ayah, the ferry to Yuma. Going to Arivaipa, then? I got a sister in Arivaipa, a miner. Too hot for me, but she loves the dry!” As the bellboy chattered, the trunk tipped, sliding me against one side, and then began to roll, bump,
“I wonder, though, that the ferry will go, Your Grace,” the bellboy continued. “It’s starting to look nasty outside.”
“The ferry will go,” the Birdie said with confidence. “I am not concerned with a little bit of weather.”
“A little bit of weather! More like a real howler,” the chatty bellboy said. “Well, he who lives will see, eh?”
I heard the chime of an elevator. We bumped inside and then plunged downward. A door thumped open and we rolled through, jolted down several stairs, bruisingly, and then stopped. All around me I could hear the muffled sounds of people walking, people talking, the distant tinkle of music. I tried to scream, but I could not.
“I’ll have the trunk loaded on your cab, Your Grace.”
“Please do. I shall be there directly.”
We rolled beyond the cheerful sound of help into a silence that was broken only by a tuneless whistle. The cart bumped down a short flight of stairs, bobbing my head against the top of the box. “Hey, Bob! I need a trunk loaded!”
This yell received no answer. The bellboy muttered under his breath and sat the trunk upright with a thud. Footsteps moved away.
Silence.
I thrashed and whipped my head around and kicked my legs and feet, and moved not an inch. Fiking hell. I had to get out of this trunk before it left the hotel. Once I was on the ferry, I was sunk. Even if I got loose, I’d be trapped with the Birdie, with no aid, no friends, nothing.
Oh, fiking pigface Califa.
I reminded myself I’d been in tight spots before. When I was trapped in Bilskinir’s oubliette; when the kakodæmon attacked me and Tiny Doom; when I had to tell Buck I’d failed Secondary Maths. I’d been terrified, but never like this. Never to where I thought I might actually lose my mind with fear. How easy that would be, to give into the horror, to just lie back and let it happen. But if I let that happen, then I was as good as dead. And so was Tiny Doom.
Fear will kill you, said Nini Mo, faster than any bullet.
I closed my eyes and took a deep mental breath, imagined my chest inflating and then deflating, the air filling my lungs and leaving them again. I did this three times and, by the fourth, felt calmer and more in control.
The Sonoran Zombie Powder would wear off eventually, but when? If it didn’t wear off in the next five minutes, it would be too late. And too late is the same as never, Nini Mo said. I had to get out of here now.
Maybe I could project my Anima outside my body, leave my meat and bones trapped behind, and let my mind drift away, escape into Elsewhere. I’d never projected before, but I knew the technique—could it hurt? I took another deep mental breath, trying to relax, trying to imagine myself light as a cloud. But no matter how hard I visualized myself floating free, I remained trapped in a cage of bone and flesh, motionless.
Fike.
If I could have spoken, I would have done a charm to unlock the trunk. Some adepts can subvocalize their Gramatica Commands; they don’t need to speak the Words, just think them. But I’m not that good an adept, and I didn’t dare try. At best, the Gramatica wouldn’t do anything. At worst, it might blow the back of my skull off.
And then I thought of Pig.
I wasn’t sure if Pig could get me out of the trunk, but I knew he could handle the Birdie. The Birdie might be a nahual, a wer-jaguar, and a blood-sucking cannibal, but Pig could handle him. Oh, Pig could handle him all right. Hadn’t Pig handled a kakodæmon? Hadn’t Pig handled a Quetzal? Pig would turn the Birdie into bird feed. Now that I was discovered, there was no reason to be coy with the Haðraaða magick.
The Invocation to summon Pig is almost laughably childish and requires no Gramatica, no funny gestures, no postures, or offerings. I know the Invocation works, because I’d tried it once before, summoning Pig from Crackpot Hall to my room at the Barracks. He’d been slightly annoyed that there had been no actual enemy but had been solaced with ice cream. I wasn’t sure if the Invocation would work without being spoken aloud, but I would try.
Pig, Pig, come to me. I need you to smite my Enemy.
Nothing happened.
Pig, Pig, come to me. I need you to smite my Enemy.
Nothing.
Fike. Maybe you did have to say the Invocation out loud.
Ayah, the rule: the third time is a charm.
Pig, Pig, come to me. I need you to smite my Enemy!
My every nerve was strung to bowline breaking point. The silence was as deep and empty as the ocean. It stretched on and on, forever and forever and forever—and then I heard a familiar sound, a wonderful sniffy snuffling sound, the kind of sound made by a wonderful sniffy snuffling dog.
Flynn!
I tried to call him, but no matter how much I strained, I remained immobile. Snapperdog whined and scratched at the trunk. Clearly he knew I was in there, but he wasn’t doing anything helpful about it. My hope, momentarily alert, began to flicker out. Flynn wasn’t a trained rescue dog. He wasn’t going to run off and tell someone where I was. He wasn’t going to open the trunk.
And the Invocation hadn’t worked.
I was done.
Flynn barked sharply, and then the trunk lid began to rise up. I blinked against the light, and a shivy nose thrust itself into my face, slurping at me with a slimy pink tongue. I opened my eyes and saw Flynn leaning over me, front paws akimbo on the edge of the trunk. I welcomed the slime, welcomed the doggy breath.
A sticky tentacle brushed my cheek. Are you all right?
I’m paralyzed! He used Sonoran Zombie Powder on me!
I know. That's what took me so long. I had to get the antidote. Here. Another tentacle insinuated itself between my nerveless lips, smearing something bitter and gritty on my tongue.
Where'd you get it? I asked, swallowing the sour taste.
I picked it out of the Birdie's bag when he was paying his bill. People shouldn't leave their luggage unattended. There are a lot of unsavory characters out there.
My toes twitched. I could wiggle my toes, and even though they felt prickly and buzzy with sleep, no movement had ever felt better. My left foot jerked and then my right. And my fingers! I clenched my hands into fists. I bit down on my lip and the pain felt glorious.
Let's get the fike out of here before he comes back, Octohands ordered.
I sat up creakily, painfully, every muscle in my body stretching in agony. How did you find me?
I was bored in the room and decided to have a little look around. Flynn was bored, too, so we went together, and we saw you follow the Birdie into his room. I squeezed under the door and saw the whole thing. We’ve been waiting for a hot moment ever since. Come on, move it.
I hoisted myself over the side of the steamer trunk. My legs were still prickl
y and weak, but with Octohands’s urging, I managed to lock my knees and ignore the pain. Flynn jumped up on me, licking ecstatically.
Come on! Get your hinder rolling!
I wheezed, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” My buckskin jacket, boots, and dispatch case had been wedged into the trunk at my feet. With nerveless fingers, I slung the jacket over my shoulders. My fingers were too numb to lace up my boots, so I just thrust my feet into them and left the tongues flapping.
Hurry up! Octohands launched off my shoulder and jetted ahead impatiently, tentacles trailing. I slung my dispatch case over my shoulder and followed him. What I would have given then for my pistol; fike Cutaway and her weapons policy.
The trunk was sitting on a loading dock; beyond the portico, I saw night and rain, a bright spike of lightning, the storm the bellboy had predicted. I toddled across the loading dock and in through the fire door, into a room full of luggage. By the opposite door, a stack of umbrellas leaned against the wall; I grabbed one on my way by. It wasn’t much of a weapon against a wer-jaguar, but it was better than nothing. Buck had once killed a jaguar with a shovel; It’s not the weapon that counts, Nini Mo said, it’s the Will. I sure as fike had the Will. I staggered down a long, featureless white hallway brilliantly lit by white squares set into the ceiling.
Octohands settled back on my shoulder, coiling a tentacle around my neck. Where are you going, girlie? We need to get out of here! Out is the other way! We can hide, go to ground until day. Night is the nahuals time—he can’t change in the day.
I have to stop him. He’s going to go after Tiny Doom.
Let him go. She can handle him, I’ll wager. And if she can’t, well, you are the heir. You are who matters.
I can’t let him get her. It will be all my fault!
Don’t toy with old sweetness, my girl. You haven’t the luxury, I tell you.
I stumbled through another set of doors, down a lavish hallway, past tall flower arrangements of orchids and calla lilies smelling to high heaven, past the silvery mirrors with their images of the wild-eyed girl with tentacles mixed into her hair, the prancing red dog following her. The hallway terminated at the elevator. I leaned on the umbrella and punched weakly at the call button.
What’s your glorious plan, then? Octohands asked.
I’m going to let the Birdie have it.
Have what?
I pushed the call button again. And again. Where was the fiking elevator?
Everything. Every Curse I’ve been swallowing for the last six months. I turned you into an Octopus, and turned the Zu-Zus hair green. Surely I can do something to blow him out of his tracks. If you don’t want to help me, I can drop you off right here, Grampy.
With a loud ping! the elevator door sprang open and there stood Udo in all his glory, grinning like a fox.
“Udo!” I almost sobbed in relief. “Udo! Thank the Goddess—”
“Thank the Goddess, indeed,” he said jovially. “It’s my little pigeon. Just the dainty morsel I’ve been looking for. Faithless oath-breaker! How glad I am to see you. Let’s chat, shall we, about what happens to people who try to cheat me.”
Oh, fiking hell. Not Udo.
Springheel Jack.
TWENTY-SIX
Jack Be Nimble. Pig. A Melee.
I TURNED TO RUN—or, rather, to toddle slowly—but Springheel Jack reached out with one long arm and, despite my feeble whacking with the umbrella, yanked me into the elevator and into his embrace. Flynn had barely squeezed in with us, when the door sprang closed and the elevator jerked into motion. Jack reached over my shoulder and hit the STOP button. With a squeal, the elevator ground to a halt.
“Let me go!” My struggle was feeble and his embrace was strong.
“Get down!” Jack pushed at the bouncy happy-to-see-him Flynn with one of the Jack Boots. The snakes’ heads hissed and Flynn got down, looking confused. I didn’t blame him. From the outside, Springheel Jack looked exactly like Udo.
“You look weak-kneed at my appearance.” Jack took the umbrella out of my stiff grip and tossed it away. He was grinning like a weasel with a rabbit in its sights.
“Let me go!”
“I would, but I think perhaps you would not be standing, and much as I love it when people grovel at my feet, in this case, I prefer the armful. You make quite an armful, darling.”
I tried to kick his shin. My unlaced boot fell off. Jack just laughed.
I said, “I thought you and Udo had an understanding. You were going to share, or something. This doesn’t sound like sharing to me.”
“We do have an understanding. And Udo, unlike some people I could mention, keeps his part of the bargain. We take turns. I do with my turn what I will, and he does as he will with his turn, and this is my turn— oof—”
When Jack had grabbed me, Octohands launched off my shoulder into the air, where he swirled and jetted just above our heads. Now he dropped onto Jack’s shoulder and snaked a tentacle around his neck. Jack gurgled in surprise and let go of me, reaching up to tear Octohands off. I slid to the floor in a muddled heap. But instead of yanking Octohands away, Jack let his hands fall, his face intent with concentration. Clearly Octohands was communicating; I could only imagine what he was saying.
I didn’t bother to get up. Before, I would not have considered Springheel Jack the lesser of two evils before, but compared to the Birdie, he seemed harmless. As long as Jack didn’t kill me, I didn’t care what he did; it couldn’t be worse than what the Birdie had done. And I didn’t think, with Udo in there somewhere, that he would kill me. Tears prickled at my eyes, but I blinked them away.
Octohands slackened his grip on Jack and waved a tentacle at me, perching on Jack’s shoulder like a squishy parrot. Jack smiled and said, much more kindly, “Ah, now I understand. You should have said so earlier, girlie. Here, have a sippy It will restore you.”
He pressed a silver flask to my lips, and I had to drink or choke. The liquid was chocolatey and it burned as it went down my throat, but it also spread warmth and energy through my veins.
“Said what earlier?” I asked, bewildered by his sudden change of heart. My feet were no longer tingling, my muscles no longer ached. I hoisted myself up, leaning against the elevator wall.
Jack said, “That you were family Hardhands has filled me in about your little trouble with Sieur Nahual. I shall let you off at your floor. You hightail it to your room, lock the door, and don’t come out until it’s all over. We’ll take care of him, Hardhands and I—”
“What are you talking about, family? And you can’t take on a nahual! Don’t be a fool—he’ll kill you, which means he’ll kill Udo—”
“Leave it to us.” Jack cut me off. He punched the STOP button again. The elevator began to move, but this time up, not down. “And if the improbable should occur and we should fail, take the boy and run. He’s a handsome lad. Udo don’t like him, but I think he’ll do just dandy”
I grabbed at Jack’s lapels, wadding the silk between my fists, and pulled his face down to mine, heedless of the sharp lace scratching at my face and the cravat pin threatening to put out my eye. “Udo! Are you in there? Come on—Udo—it’s insane! He’s going to get you killed! Udo! Udo!”
Jack tried to disentangle me from his coat; I twisted my grip and got a good lock on his queue. His hat fell off. We tussled; he was stronger than me, of course, but I was frantic and that gave me an advantage. I heard the elevator door hiss open, and as Jack tried to thrust me off, I clung to him even harder. Flynn danced around us, yipping happily. He thought we were playing.
“You ... must ... let ... me ... go, Flora!” he wheezed. I let myself fall into a dead weight, dragging him off balance. “You are the last one—if you die now, the Haðraaða family dies with you. Get off!”
He gave me one last push and I felt him slip through my grasp, felt my knees give way. He turned to face the open door. From the floor, I could see between Jack’s planted legs. A cluster of feet were framed in the elevator doorway: a p
air of purple court-shoes, a pair of rubber boots, a pair of brown open-toed sandals, and two white knobby feet with green toenails.
Flynn slunk up against me, and I put my hand on his head. The umbrella now within reach, I grabbed it, clutching it with sweaty, cold hands.
“Well,” Jack said jovially. “Lookee here!
I heard the Birdie’s voice. “Let the woman go.”
“Naw, I do not think so, chickadee. She’s mine!”
“This woman belongs to the Lord of the Smoked Mirror. You have no right to impede me.”
“This is not Birdieland,” Jack said. “This is Barbacoa. Who cares here what your glassy god wants? This woman is mine. We had a deal and she broke it. She owes me and I intend that she shall repay me. When I am done with her, you can have her then, if you should still want her.”
“It is not wise to get on the wrong side of the Lord of the Smoked Mirror,” the Birdie answered.
Jack was not impressed with the Lord of the Smoked Mirror and he said so, in a most uncomplimentary fashion. The people standing to either side of the Birdie began to slide backward, sideways, away. I didn’t blame them one bit.
“Come with me, madama,” the Birdie ordered, bypassing Jack altogether.
“Fike you!” I said, less afraid now that Jack’s bulk was between us. “Your fiking powder wore off, and you can tell your Lord of the Smoked Mirror he can stuff it!”
Jack said, “She’s mine and I’m not giving her up.”
“You are a fool,” the Birdie said.
“I’ve been called worse,” Jack said. “But at least no one has ever called me Birdie !”
The elevator doors started to shut. The Birdie stuck a long hand between the closing panels. Jack brought the flat of his dagger down hard, and with a yelping swear, the Birdie yanked his arm back. Flynn barked, twisting in my grip. The elevator doors snapped shut.
“What floor are you on?” Jack asked, turning back to me.
“Four. Flynn! Shut up, get down—Jack, please—”
“Don’t worry, Flora. We can handle ourselves. We’ll be fine, really. You should see our flick o’ the foot. Come on, Flynnie, shut it.”
Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo Page 21
