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

  “What kind of mail?” Tharyn asked.

  “Luggage, Sieur Wraathmyr. A big trunk. And a letter.”

  Tharyn said smoothly, “Flora Fyrdraaca, did you say? I know her. She was in Cambria when last I was there. Look, I’m heading that way once I leave Angeles. Give the trunk over to me and the letter, too, and I’ll be sure they are delivered.” To my surprise, the clerk agreed to this suggestion. He rang for a bell girl, and while she fetched the trunk, he fetched the envelope from a mail cubby. I recognized the handwriting on the envelope even before he handed it to me: Buck.

  The cold wind of guilty discovery blew through me, mixed with a dose of paranoia. How had Buck known I would be here? I glanced around, almost expecting to see her—or a provost marshal—hiding behind one of the potted plants, but the lobby was mostly empty. Judging from the roar, the rest of the guests were celebrating in the saloon. The bell girl appeared, wheeling a luggage cart, and there was my trunk, last seen aboard the Pato de Oro, so long ago! How the fike had it found its way here?

  Well, no matter how, I was awfully glad to see it. I’d expended most of Poppy’s mad money at the sutler’s store in Sandy, replenishing my kit. I couldn’t keep wasting divas on new pairs of drawers. Of course, I’d have no use for my uniforms anymore, but I could sell them and use the money to buy an outfit more suitable to an express agent.

  The letter from Buck—briefly, I considered tearing the letter up and throwing it away. But no matter how much I might regret it later, I had to know what the letter said. I clutched it as we followed the bell girl upstairs, and my grip left sweaty marks on the paper. The bell girl showed us into the room, accepted Tharyn’s tip, and left us alone.

  “When I’m clean, I’m going to head down and book us passage to Porkopolis.” Tharyn tossed his furry jacket and his satchel on one of the beds. Flynn took possession of the other, lying down with a happy sigh.

  “That’s a good idea,” I said.

  “The short route is north, through the Northwest Passage, but that means putting into Califa first.”

  “Is there another way?”

  “Perhaps. I will see.” He didn’t ask me who the letter was from, and I did not offer the information. I sat on the bed until he went down the hallway to the bathroom, and then tore open the envelope.

  The note was short and to the point, scrawled in Buck’s own hand. It said:

  Darling:

  I heard what happened. They though you drowned, but I have been to see your" friend” and I know you are still alive. I’m sorry, Flra. I should have trusted you. I’m sure you are thinking I’m pissed, and I was, but I’m not anymore. I just want you safe and home. ‘We’ll figure out what will happen next together. I've sent copies of this letter to every town along the coast, hopping that it will find its way to you eventually. If we are to succeed in our plans, I need your help. I love you very much.

  —Mamma

  P.S. No questions asked.

  My "friend”? Fike. Buck had been to see Paimon. She’s the Head of the House Fyrdraaca; he would owe her Courtesy and have to see her. What had he told her? Surely he had been circumspect. Didn’t he owe his loyalty to me? If he had told her everything about Tiny Doom and all I’d done ... my blood turned to slushy ice at the thought. But then, if he had told her everything, surely she would not beg me to come home.

  Tharyn reappeared, shiny clean. “Who is the letter from?”

  “My mother,” I said. “She wants me to come home.”

  “Oh.” He put his furry jacket on, saying casually, “And will you go?”

  “No. I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “I’m going to Porkopolis.”

  “Good.” He sounded relieved. “I’m off, then. I will meet you back here later, ayah?”

  “Ayah.”

  At the door, he hesitated for a moment, but then just closed the door gently behind him.

  I read the letter again. Need my help? Never before had Buck admitted that she needed me. What kind of help could I give her? No kind, for I would be far away in Porkopolis. Far away from all the fun.

  I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at nothing, thinking of everything. Outside, the crowd had gotten tired of singing “Cierra Califa!” and had moved on to “Glorious Abenfarax.” The room grew darker and warmer, and the delicious smell of toasting corn drifted in through the open window. And still I sat, Buck’s words going round and round and round in my head, mixing with Tiny Doom’s, in a bewildering chorus.

  Come home, Buck said.

  Do what you will, said Tiny Doom.

  I need your help, Buck said.

  They'll be fine without you, Tiny Doom said.

  No questions asked, Buck said.

  It’s your life, Tiny Doom said.

  The more I thought, the less clear things became. How can you want two things so badly that are complete opposites of one another?

  Flynn had clambered up on the bed and fallen asleep, snoring faintly, his legs wiggling. Eventually, he woke up and nosed me hungrily. Thus rousted, I realized I was hungry, too, so went down the hall for a quick bath and then opened my trunk. My clothes were slightly damp and very wrinkly, but otherwise they were fine. There was mold growing on my dress wig; I pitched the entire wig case into the trash. The damp had not permeated the tin I kept my chocolate stash in. I did not open the case that contained the ferrotype of Buck, Pow, and Poppy Instead, I ate two bars of Madama Twanky’s Best Black Salted Cherry Crisps, gave Flynn a couple of jerky strips, and then dug Tiny Doom’s envelope out of my dispatch case. Whatever I decided to do next, I had promised to deliver it, so I might as well get that job out of the way. It would be a welcome distraction.

  When Tiny Doom had given me the envelope back in Hassayumpa, I hadn’t looked at it too closely. Now I saw, irritated, that the label had no address on it, only a name and town: Madama Zarendeo, Angeles. Well, Angeles wasn’t that big. Surely someone at the post office would know where Madama Zarendeo lived.

  At the front desk, the clerk told me that the post office was closed by now. “But if you need to post something, there’s a post box in the lobby”

  “I’m looking for someone. She ordered something from Madama Twanky’s new collection, but she forgot to put her address on the order,” I said. “I thought maybe the post office might know where she lives.” Tharyn wasn’t the only one who could lie on his feet.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Madama Zarendeo.”

  “Oh, you mean the Duquesa de Xipe Totec,” the clerk said. “Look in the saloon.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Ayah. She got here last week, and she’s been sitting in the saloon ever since, waiting for someone, something, I dunno, you, maybe. Black hat, big sunshades, black coat. Saloon.”

  “There’s some confusion. I’m looking for Madama Zarendeo, not the Duquesa de Xipe Totec.”

  “They’re the same, madama. Zarendeo is her family name. The Duquesa de Xipe Totec is her title. Look in the saloon.”

  What the fike is Tiny Doom playing? I wondered as I headed toward the saloon. If she wanted me to take a message to the Duquesa, why didn’t she say so in the first place? Because I wouldn’t have done it, that’s why. What was the Duquesa doing in Angeles? My orders had been to meet her in Cuilihuacan, a hundred miles south of here, in Birdieland—before I’d abandoned those orders, that is. And why was Tiny Doom sending the Duquesa a message, anyway?

  Then I caught myself. None of this was my concern. I was going to Porkopolis with Tharyn, and leaving intrigue, messages, and secret Birdie duquesas behind. Just find the Duquesa, hand over Tiny Doom’s message, and forget about it. Job done, that’s all.

  The hotel saloon was full of people toasting Califa’s new Warlady with punch and raucous cheering. I told Flynn to sit by the lobby door so he wouldn’t get squashed, then pushed through the crowd. At the bar, a large man with a walrus mustachio swept me into a jubilant embrace. I applied my knee and he let me go, but not until after b
estowing a very sloppy kiss on my neck. I did not see a woman in a black hat or big sunshades anywhere, but the crowd was so thick and I am so short that maybe I’d missed her. When my waving finally got the busy barkeep’s attention, I shouted my question at him, and he pointed over his shoulder toward several secluded red leather booths at the back of the saloon.

  The first booth contained a very spoony couple. The second hosted a poker game. And in the third sat a woman in a big black hat and black sunshades, who looked at me as I approached and said, “What do you want?” in a scowly voice.

  “Are you Madama Zarendeo?”

  “And so I am?” In the murk, I could just make out a glint of light reflecting on the lenses of her sunshades. She didn’t seem to be dressed like a Birdie, but she was still hiding her face like one.

  “I have a letter for you.”

  “I am she.” She held out her hand and I gave her the letter. “Where do you come from?”

  “Arivaipa Territory.”

  “Shall there be funds due on the delivery?”

  “No, madama. Please, excuse me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Flynn had been hoisted up on the bar and was being offered a basin of what looked like beer by Sieur Walrus Mustachio. Beer makes Snapperdog burp; I hurried over to rescue him before he drank too much. To a chorus of disappointed shouts, I slung Flynn over my shoulder and headed toward the door, when a grip halted me. I turned, and there was the Duquesa at my back. She said something to me, but I couldn’t hear over the din, and then Sieur Walrus Mustachio was pushing a glass toward me. I had to take it or risk liquid sloshing all over my front.

  “To the Warlady!” he bawled, raising his own glass. This toast was echoed by those standing around us.

  “To the Warlady!” I said, taking a cautious sip. The liquid was pure mescal and would have choked me, or killed me if I’d drunk it straight. As it was, once I swallowed, I wondered if I had just burned my throat out.

  Sieur Walrus pushed a glass toward the Duquesa. She shook her head with a look of distaste.

  “You will not drink to the Warlady?” Sieur Walrus demanded.

  “I do not touch spirits.”

  “Ain’t spirits, lady,” the pipsqueak next to Sieur Walrus said. “It’s pure cactus lightning! Califa’s own glow!”

  “I do not touch spirits,” the Duquesa repeated.

  “Drink to the Warlady’s health!” Sieur Walrus demanded. His eyes had narrowed down into piggy little slits. A drunk and a hair trigger, said Nini Mo, one and the same.

  “I shall toast in water, but I do not drink the alcohol,” the Duquesa said.

  “It ain’t a toast until it’s done in booze,” Sieur Walrus said.

  “She’s a Birdie, Bob!” the pipsqueak said. “That’s why she won’t drink.”

  “A Birdie, huh?” Sieur Walrus’s face grew darker. We had caught the attention of the crowd around us, and it was an attention I did not care to have. The happy chatter was turning into a somewhat ominous muttering.

  I said quickly, “Come on, madama, never mind him. He’s drunk.”

  She said angrily, “So that I am a Huitzil? What matter does that make?”

  “Your Virreina’s a sow-backed hedger,” Sieur Walrus said. “You eat our country alive, you Birdies, with your peck, peck, peck. I swear, I’d drill a hole in your liver and let the bile drip out—”

  His hand dropped to his waist, but thank the Goddess he was soused, for his grip was a mere fumble and I was able to draw on him first. He ignored my draw until I shoved Oset’s pistol right into his chunky ribs. Then he looked down at me, blearily, and I think he would have tried to bat the pistol away, except that he saw that I had already cocked.

  “Leave the lady alone,” I said. “Madama, if I were you, I’d go back to my room.”

  “I will not hide in my room like a coward,” the Duquesa said indignantly “It is a free country!”

  “Not with you Birdies in charge, it ain’t,” the pipsqueak said. “You want tribute, we’ll give you prisons and graves for your tribute! Fike your Virreina!

  The Duquesa raised her hand as though she was going to pop the pipsqueak one, and at her motion, the crowd growled. With my free hand, I blocked her blow, and said to Sieur Walrus, “You and your friend, clear out of here, right now, before I drill a hole in your liver and see what comes out. Don’t try me, I swear, or you’ll find I’m as serious as hell in winter.”

  Sieur Walrus puddled a bit then; he wasn’t drunk enough to chance a gun to the gut. But the pipsqueak said shrilly, “I say we make an example of her and send her back home again in pieces! Show the Birdies how we really feel!”

  This suggestion was greeted with a few hearty cheers from the crowd, and now it seemed a good time to beat a hasty retreat. It’s a matter of seconds, Nini Mo said, from a friendly crowd to a bloodthirsty mob, and I only had five bullets. I withdrew the poke from Sieur Walrus’s paunch and, before the pipsqueak could say another word, buffaloed him with a mild Gramatica Curse. He folded like a stack of cards in a high wind, the high heels of his cowboy boots drumming amidst the peanut shells.

  The crowd was suddenly very quiet. Now was the moment; they’d either draw back, or lunge and tear us apart. I realized I kinda didn’t care which they did—in fact, I almost wished they’d lunge. I had a few more Curses to put to the test. But the barkeep killed the tension. He leaned over the bar and looked down at the pipsqueak, now drooling blood, and said to me, “That’s a big enough mess tonight. Get you both out of here, before I call the sheriff. The rest of you, simmer down, or I’ll shut the place down.”

  “My apologies,” I said, and stuffed my last five divas in the tip jar and took the Duquesa’s arm. The crowd parted for us and let us through.

  “I should call the sheriff and have that man detained,” the Duquesa said indignantly as we crossed into the lobby No one from the bar followed. “At home, he would be whipped for his insolence.”

  “You are not at home, madama,” I said. “And best remember that.”

  “I shall. I shall. You handled that well. I see why La Bruja speaks well of you. I shall be ready at first light.”

  “Thank you,” I said automatically, and then, as her words sank in: “La Bruja? Ready for what?”

  “To depart for the City, no?” the Duquesa said. “La Bruja recommended you quite well, and since my other escort never arrived, I shall rely on you. I know it is a long journey and perhaps it’s best, considering this reaction, that I should go in disguise. I could dress as a dancer or perhaps a cigar girl—”

  “I cry your pardon, madama,” I said, interrupting her, since she didn’t seem to have any intention of pausing long enough to take a breath. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I cannot escort you to the City Do not mistake me, just because I bailed you out there—I’m not terribly fond of the Birdies either—”

  “But La Bruja said you would! And how else shall I get there otherwise, with these ruffians besetting me? And I must arrive, else ... well, I just must arrive. The Warlady counts upon me. La Bruja said I may count on you! She said you were a great ranger. Did you not bring me her letter?”

  Now I was really pissed at Tiny Doom. She hadn’t tried to persuade me to go back to the City, because she had planned to trap me into going, put me in a position where it was impossible to say no. Well, good luck to her, but no dice. Even if I did decide to return to the City I wasn’t going to escort the Huitzil Ambassador’s wife there. Califa needed fewer Birdies, not more.

  “I’m sorry, madama. I cannot help you,” I said firmly “No matter what La Bruja said. Please excuse me.” Annoyingly the Duquesa followed me, saying, “She said I could trust you completely. I shall pay you for your worry”

  “Madama,” I said firmly, turning to face her. From what seemed like a great roaring distance, I heard my breath catch roughly in my throat. The Duquesa had taken off her sunshades.

  And she looked exactly like Buck.

  No, not exactly like Buc
k: the green eyes were the same, and the shape of the chin, and the curve of the cheeks. Her hair, mostly hidden by the hat she still wore, seemed to be black. But the expression on her face was the clincher: annoyance mixed with irritation mixed with exasperation. How often had I seen that look on Buck’s face?

  The Duquesa de Xipe Totec was my long-lost sister, Flora Primera.

  “Please help me, Madama Romney,” Flora Primera said. “I really need to arrive to the City as soon as possible. It is urgent for the Warlady’s plans.”

  Behind the Duquesa, Tharyn was coming through the hotel’s front door. He saw me and waved, and with a twisting heart, I waved back. When it’s your true Will, Nini Mo said, you’ll know it without having to think. Now I didn’t have to think at all.

  I was going home.

  Summotion Magickal Working No. 9

  by

  Nyana Georgiana Brakespeare Haðraaða

  or Fyrdraaca

  Written in Sub-Rosa Ranger

  Scriptive Code

  It occurred to me a few days ago that I never got around to doing the summation of the Blood Working. I’ve been pretty busy plus lacking paper and pen, not to mention time to suss out the code. Now, finally, I have a moment or two to reflect, and engraved stationery to reflect upon. So here’s some reflection.

  I guess the Working was a success, although not entirely in the way I had planned. I mean, yes, in that I tried to find Tiny Doom and I found her. If this were a sentimental weepie, I’d now write And yet I found so much more, too ... Also, if this were a sentimental weepie, I’d list all the lessons I’d learned, and they’d be heartfelt and moving, and this paper would be damp with my tears, et cetera, very sickening.

  Well, I did learn a lot of practical stuff. Don’t put your bedroll on an anthill; never trust a fish; keep your shotgun when you go to the privy; rinse out your hankie immediately; a boot is an obvious hiding place, et cetera. As far as heartfelt and moving, well...