Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo

by Ysabeau S. Wilce

  But Espejo was more powerful than Axacaya. At least now, in the night, he was. If I tried the Word and it didn’t affect him, I would tip my hand. My advantage would be lost. He’d squash me like a bug. But it had to be getting close to dawn. Soon he would have to go to ground to escape the sun. He would not be able to call upon his god’s power. If I could hold him off until then ... but how?

  “Are you all right?” Espejo called.

  “I’m fine,” I called back. I fumbled in my jacket pocket for the bottle of Tum-O. A nip would settle my belly and my nerves. As I lifted the bottle to my mouth, I remembered Clara’s warning. Don’t drink it all, or it will kill you. The bottle was three quarters full. Always go with the sure thing Nini Mo said. Espejo might withstand a Gramatica Word, but poison?

  Back at the fire, Oset had finished eating and was picking at her teeth with a knife.

  No, not Oset. The illusion was so perfect that, for a moment, I wavered. Maybe I was wrong. Paranoid. Before I did anything rash, I had to be sure.

  “Are you well?” Oset/Espejo asked, looking concerned.

  “I’m fine, really. Look, when I get back to the City, Bea, do you want me to look up your sister? I can take letters to her.”

  “That would be good. I thank you.”

  “Remind me again where she lives. It was Laurel Street, right?”

  “That is right. Laurel Street. You are very kind.”

  Oset didn’t have a sister, only a brother, and he lived in Pudding Pie, Califa. I had heard all about him on the ride from the stage stop to Sandy. Thanks to Oset’s chattiness, I probably knew as much about her family as she did herself. Had known herself. Oh, Oset.

  I said, “We’re out of coffee. I’m going to see if the troopers have more.”

  The troopers fell silent as I approached their fire. They were eating salt pork and beans; no fresh meat for them. La Bruja had vanished. Wandered off to drink herself silly, I guessed.

  “At ease,” I said quickly. “Is there any coffee left?”

  A private jumped to her feet and offered me their coffeepot. “We have a can of milk, too, Captain.”

  Her fellows gave her dirty looks, which were transferred to me when I accepted the can. Never take rations from a trooper, Poppy had told me, but I needed the milk to cut the taste of the medicine. I promised myself that I would buy them an entire case of canned milk when we got back to the post, but for now I had to endure the glares. I’m sure the troopers thought I was nothing but a troublesome shave tail, and they were right.

  Back at the fire, Espejo was now picking at his fingernails with his knife. He leaned against Oset’s saddle, oh-so-comfy his blouse and weskit—Oset’s blouse and weskit—unbuttoned. He looked more than a little smug. Clearly, he thought he had me. Fike him.

  “More coffee?” I asked, refilling his tin cup. “I got a can of milk to fix it up just as you like it, Bea.”

  “Thank you,” Espejo said. Oset drank her coffee black. He dug her cigarillo case out of her saddlebag and lit up, the fiking bastard.

  I forced my face into a smile and handed him the cup. I raised my own cup and said, “To the Warlord, long may he reign. And to the Goddess Califa, who gives us life.”

  “Ayah, so,” he said faintly, then gulped his coffee. I pretended to sip at mine. I refilled his cup; he gulped that down and started in on a bag of jerky, chewing loudly. Fike; the Tum-O didn’t seem to be working. I urged another cupful on him and he took it, but after one sip, he yawned so widely that I was surprised the stolen skin on his face didn’t tear. Thank the Goddess it didn’t; that would have been hideous.

  “You look tired, Bea,” I said. “You should get some shuteye.”

  “I am ... tired.” He slurred this. His chin was sinking down and his eyes were growing slitty.

  “Then, lie down. I’ll keep watch. Oh, you can be sure I’ll keep watch. If I see any jaguars, I’ll let you know. But somehow I don’t think I’ll be seeing any.”

  He forced his head up. “What do you mean?”

  “You know fiking well what I mean.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said thickly.

  “Turnabout is fair play, Espejo. You got me first last time, but it’s my turn to get you.”

  He was trying to stand up, but his knees were weak. The cup fell from his hand and rolled to the edge of the fire. He scrabbled at his revolver, but was too befuddled to grasp it.

  “It’s over, Espejo. I know you killed Captain Oset and took her skin—”

  “You ... are ... crazy ... Captain!” Thankfully, the wind was too high and his shout too weak; there was no way the corporal could have heard him. I stood over him, pulling the revolver from his holster, in case he summoned up the will to scream, and hissed, “You shouldn’t have fiked with the Haðraaðas!”

  Espejo’s eyes rolled back in his head and he flopped forward like a busted doll, dangerously close to the fire. I didn’t much care if he burned, but a charred corpse didn’t fit my plan, so I suppressed my revulsion and gripped his shoulders to pull him away from the fire, then shoved him onto the bedroll. I knelt, puffing—he was heavy—and picked up his arm. His flesh was chill; his pulse was weak, but it was there. Fike. How long would it take this stuff to kill him?

  The eastern horizon was hidden by the rise of boulders that surrounded the camp, but it seemed when I looked up that the dark wasn’t quite as dark, the stars not as bright. Morning was not far off. But something else was not far off, either; distant thunder sounded, and a sudden gust of wind almost blew my hat off.

  I called for Corporal Tzinga and he came at a run, cramming his hat on his head, rifle slung over his shoulder, two sleepy privates at his heels.

  “Captain Oset is hurt,” I said, standing up. “She went to piss and when she came back, said she had fallen, hit her head. She seemed all right at first—there wasn’t any blood or even a bruise—but just a while ago she began to complain she was dizzy, and then she fainted.”

  “Did you try smelling salts? I have some—”

  “She is out cold. The bang on her head must have been harder than she thought, and caused her some injury. We need to get her back to the post as quickly as possible.”

  “There’s a storm coming, Captain. I don’t think we can make it back before it hits.” A roll of thunder punctuated Corporal Tzinga’s words. The wind was growing stronger. “There are some caves further up the canyon, sir; we could shelter there. It don’t take much water out here to flood the washes. We are best to be high and dry above them.”

  Pink lightning spiked the dark sky Unhappy braying mixed with alarmed shouts came from the trooper’s camp. The next clap of thunder shook the ground.

  I said, “Let’s move.”

  While the camps were struck and the gear hastily packed, I showed two privates how to make a sling out of a shelter, for Espejo. I would have left him behind to the storm, but that would be hard to explain to the troopers, who still thought he was Oset. The mules were kicking up a fuss. Every time the lightning flashed, they brayed and pranced, yanking at their pickets and bumping into each other, which would set off a chain reaction of biting and more braying. The troopers had a hard time getting them saddled; one private got kicked in the knee and collapsed, moaning.

  “Are the caves big enough for the mules?” I asked Tzinga. Rain spattered my face, pattered on my hat.

  “No, sir. Your pardon, sir, but if we let the mules loose, they’ll take care of themselves. I never saw a drowned mule yet.”

  Before I left for the Barracks, Poppy had told me that the secret to being a good officer was knowing when to listen to your noncoms. I ordered Tzinga to let loose the mules, and to leave the saddles and tack. With Oset dead, I was personally responsible for the patrol’s equipage, but fike it. I wasn’t going to risk the troopers for a bunch of equipment. As the last mule was untied, a massive bolt of lightning split the sky For a moment, the world was twodimensional: stark black and white. The thunderclap that followed was almost
deafening.

  “Go!” I shouted, and we went, Corporal Tzinga leading the way and me at the rear. We scrambled through the narrow passageways between the boulders. The high rock walls offered some shelter from the wind, but they would be channels for the rain when it came, and anything caught in them would be in big trouble. Overhead, the sky had become a boiling black maelstrom. I hollered doubletime, and the patrol broke into a shuffling run.

  The cave, when we reached it, wasn’t very deep, but it was on high ground. We squeezed in. Just in time, too, for the rain began to plummet down.

  “Is that everyone?” I shouted to Corporal Tzinga.

  He peered out into the dimness. “I think so—”

  “Munds!” a trooper shouted in my ear. “He fell behind!”

  “That damn Munds!” Corporal Tzinga said. “He never keeps up! I’ll go back and get him.”

  “No, you keep the troopers together.” I dashed into the deluge. The rain felt like hammer blows, almost knocking me to the ground. I staggered and managed to keep my footing as rocks and mud shifted beneath my feet. I found Munds lying on his face, a few yards down the trail, arms over his head. At first I thought he was dead, but when I bent over him and grabbed his shoulder, he quivered.

  “Get up!” I shouted. He didn’t, and so I gave him a good boot in the ribs—against regulations, but it got results, for he started and looked up at me through a mask of mud.

  “That fiking mule broke my knee!”

  “Get up!”

  “Let me be! I don’t care! I hate it here! I don’t care!”

  “Fike you, you’ll care!” I shouted. “Get the fike up!” I grabbed at his sodden blouse and tugged; he struggled to his feet, and when I pulled him along with me, he came reluctantly, but he came.

  The ground was slick, running with foamy water; somehow, we made it back up the slope. Lightning cracked above us. I jerked at Munds and pulled him sideways, scrabbling to find cover. Water foamed up around our knees; a tree branch whacked me in the shin and then was whisked away. Ahead, a dark shape loomed: I dragged Munds toward it, hoping it was the big cave. It wasn’t, but it was shelter: a rocky overhang. When I pushed Munds underneath, he collapsed.

  “I hate this place!” Munds yelped. He didn’t seem grateful that I was saving his life.

  “Shut up!” I wasn’t in the mood to listen to whining.

  “I wish you’d-a let me drown.”

  “Suck it up. And shut up. That’s an order.”

  “My knee hurts.”

  “Your hinder is going to hurt when I kick it. Sit down.”

  Munds sniffed and plunked himself down, drew his knees up, and laid his head on them. My boots were squelching, my drawers were already chafing, and it was cold.

  Rest while you can, Nini Mo said. Clearly we weren’t going anywhere, so I, too, drew my knees up and lay my head on them, trying to stay warm. Surely Espejo would be dead by the time the storm was over. Then I’d regroup the patrol, get back to Fort Sandy, and try to send a message to Tiny Doom that it was over. She was safe. I was safe. I didn’t feel safe, though. I just felt tired, as though I could sleep forever and never wake up.

  For what seemed like a very long time, the storm howled, rain sheeting down like steel curtains, lightning bursting through the dark clouds like fireworks. But gradually, the thunder and lightning faded, leaving only the rain to pour down. I dozed a bit and woke up chilled but less wet, then dozed again. Munds sat silently, his head still pillowed on his knees. Eventually, I realized the rain was lessening. I stood up, my knees creaking, my feet as solid as blocks of wood, and peered out from the overhang. The torrent had softened to a patter, and the sky was slightly tinged with blue.

  “Get up,” I said. Munds raised his head and looked at me defiantly.

  “You go, Captain. I’m staying here.”

  “Move.” At the bite in my voice—pigface, I sounded just like Buck!—Munds staggered to his feet. Compared to the earlier deluge, the rain now felt almost gentle.

  The ground was a muddy morass, churned into channels and littered with debris: rocks, broken branches, smashed cacti. Below us, the boulders where we’d camped were in a rushing river of foamy water, brown as baby shite and cluttered with uprooted bushes. A dead animal—a javelina, maybe—bobbed by. To the east, the sky was clearing, bisected by a gloriously iridescent rainbow. We clambered through the mud until we could see the mouth of the cave in the rocks above. A figure waved at us. Corporal Tzinga. He was yelling something.

  I hauled myself up the last few feet and accepted Tzinga’s outstretched hand for a boost onto the cave’s lip. Two other troopers hauled Munds in after me. I leaned over, breathing heavily, and wiped the water from my eyes.

  “Good news, Captain!” Tzinga said. “Captain Oset’s awake.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Orders. Drugged. Evil Murdoch

  TZING'S WORDS HIT ME like acid to the face. For a moment, I thought I might faint. I looked past him into the dimness of the cave. When my eyes adjusted, I saw Espejo, still wearing Oset’s skin, sitting against the wall. He looked wet and muddy, but he was definitely alive.

  “Corporal, disarm her,” Espejo ordered.

  Tzinga looked startled. “Sir?”

  “Disarm her! She is under arrest! She tried to poison me!”

  “Captain Romney said you fell and hit your head, Captain.” Tzinga seemed mighty confused, and so did the other troopers, who were wide-eyed, brows furrowed.

  “A lie!” Espejo said. “She poisoned me. She tried to kill me.”

  I said, “Corporal, you have to listen to me. He looks like Captain Oset, but he’s not. He’s a Birdie nahual. He killed Captain Oset, stole her skin. He’s going to kill me and all of you as well, Corporal.”

  Espejo laughed weakly. “Don’t listen to her! She’s an imposter. She’s not a captain; her name isn’t even Romney. She’s here under false orders. I order you to take her gun, Corporal.”

  “I know he looks like her, Corporal, but he’s not! I swear to you on Califa’s grave, you have to listen to me—” I said.

  “If you do not take her gun and put her under arrest, I shall have you arrested, too, Corporal.”

  Tzinga looked agonizingly indecisive. He was in a tough spot, caught between two officers. But he had to follow the orders of the officer he thought was his superior. Behind him, the troopers were muttering uneasily staring at the spectacle.

  “Please, Captain,” Tzinga said. “Just give me your side arm. I don’t want to have to take it.” He was two feet taller than me. He could take it easily I unbuckled Oset’s belt and tossed it toward Tzinga, who gave it to Espejo.

  “Bind her hands!” Espejo ordered.

  I took a step back. A Gramatica Word rolled sourly in my mouth, but I didn’t dare spit it at Espejo—the cave was too small and Tzinga was in my line of fire.

  I said, “I can prove what I say. Nahuals shun the sun. Step out of the cave, into daylight, if you dare—”

  “I would be happy to prove your lie,” Espejo said. “But I am too weak to move from this spot, thanks to your poison. Corporal, obey me!”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Romney,” Tzinga said, pleadingly. I took another step back, and another—and ran into someone who said, “Advancin’ in the opposite direction, darlin’?”

  I could tell by the smell, a ripe combination of bug juice, sweat, and mud, that it was La Bruja. She took my arm in a not-so-friendly grip, and when I tried to shake free, the grip became squeezy.

  Espejo ordered, “Corporal, bind her hands!”

  Corporal Tzinga and a private moved toward me, but La Bruja forestalled them. “Oh, I got her. She ain’t going nowhere. Looks like I am missin’ a dance. Can I join the fun?”

  “He’s not Captain Oset,” I told her. “He’s a nahual who killed Oset, took her skin—”

  “She’s deranged,” Espejo interrupted.

  “She does sound kinda crazy, I’ll admit,” La Bruja answered.

  “Let go
of me.” I twisted in her grasp. She just laughed and pinched my arm more tightly.

  Espejo turned to Corporal Tzinga. “Corporal, take the troopers and go round up the mules.”

  Tzinga protested, “Sir, it’s not right to leave you alone with Captain Romney, if she did try to kill you—”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, Tzinga,” La Bruja said encouragingly. “I got madama here in good hand and will make sure everything is nice and fine. You better cross that wash while you can—the flood ain’t over yet, not by a long shot.”

  “Obey me!” Espejo hissed to Tzinga. “And you may go as well, madama. I have no need of your services.”

  “No, I guess I’ll stay. I got no place else to be and this is interestin’,” La Bruja said cheerfully Espejo gave her a withering look, but she didn’t budge. Tzinga ordered the troopers to follow him, and they did, with many backward glances. We stood at the mouth of the cave, La Bruj a firmly gripping my arm, and watched the troopers slip and slide down the hill in the warm flood of sunshine, dodging crushed cacti and torn bushes. They waded carefully through the still-foamy wash, then disappeared among the rocks on the other side.

  “Did ya try to poison him?” La Bruja demanded, turning back to me.

  “Ayah,” I admitted. La Bruja had said him, not her. Did she believe me?

  “This is Army business,” Espejo said. “Leave us!”

  She ignored him and asked me, “What with?” “Madama Twanky’s Tum-O.”

  “Cure ya or kill ya. Tum-O is nothin’ but straight laudanum, with a little ginger to give it zing. Stop up yer bowels and send you to an endless sleep if you guzzle the whole bottle. So I gotta wonder.” She turned to Espejo. “How is it that you drank it down and are fresh as a daisy?”

  “The bottle must have been mostly empty,” Espejo answered.

  “It was almost full,” I protested.

  La Bruja said, “Now, a pophead could drink that bottle, have a little nap, and ask for more. But Oset, she wasn’t no pophead. Dead set against the stuff, actually. Seems strange, then, to take such a big dose so easy. What do you say to that, Captain?”