The Wombanditos

by Andrew Einspruch

  “Chef, because she was inconvenienced in preparing meals that you were not around to eat. The Venerable Prelate Herself, as I had to ask if you’d shown up in any of her devotional houses, not that you would, but it seemed worth checking. Baron Ellbogen is a minor noble from the southwest of The South, who made the journey here to try to interest me in importing more of the cannellini beans grown in his region. He had to be put off for a day, since attention had to be diverted to ascertaining if you’d been apprehended or endangered.”

  “I left a note.”

  “A note that lied by omission. Something that was obvious from the most cursory of readings. If you plan to dissemble in the future, I suggest you do a better job of it than that.”

  Eloise said nothing.

  “What do you intend to do about this situation?”

  “I’ve returned. I’m safe. I appreciate that others have been affected, more than I’d anticipated, and am I contrite. I will not do it again, so lesson learned. Is that not enough?”

  Queen Eloise leaned back in her chair and adjusted the Judgment Cape across her lap. “No. Not enough.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the Speaking Throne. “Stand.”

  Eloise got to her feet, laced her hands in front of her, looked her mother in the eye, and waited.

  “Eloise, our decisions have consequences. As heir and future ruler, this applies to you more than most. I suggest you should come to terms with some of your consequences.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Here is what you will do. You will find each of the people on this list. You will go to them, apologize for having committed a transgression that directly affected them, and then you will ask them for their forgiveness. They’ll either give it to you or they won’t. That’s of little import. You’ll then offer to do something for them to try to make amends, or at least balance the scale somewhat.”

  Eloise’s face reddened, and she swallowed. She had to embarrass herself 120 times? “Amends? Like what?” How could she make amends with 120 different people?

  “That will be up to you and the person. But it has to be meaningful, or it doesn’t count. I expect you to present a record of what, who, and when. Have it done by the end of the month.”

  “By the end of the month? That’s, that’s…”

  Queen Eloise raised a hand, cutting off any protest. “Is the task clear?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Then I suggest you start with your handmaid, Odmilla. She did not have a good day yesterday. Then go find Baron von Ellbogen so you don’t have to make a trip to The South.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  “No, my queen.”

  “Then you may go and get started.”

  “Yes, my queen. Thank you for helping me understand the error of my ways.”

  “No need to be snarky. Now go.”

  Eloise curtsied and headed for the Declaiming Room door. Just as she reached it, her mother said, “One other thing.”

  Eloise reluctantly turned to face her, wondering what other embarrassments her mother would foist on her. “Yes, my queen?”

  “Did you and Jerome really get ten coins in return for your freedom and a name for that wombat gang?”

  Eloise’s jaw dropped. How could her mother possibly know about that? And so soon. Her network of informants must truly be incredible. Or maybe she’d already spoken to Jerome. “Yes, my queen. We did.”

  And for the first time since Eloise entered the room, her mother smiled. “Clever. Well done, the two of you. There’s a place for clever, especially for one who will one day sit on this seat, although I hope that day will not be too soon. Now, go. I will see you at dinner.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “I think ‘mother’ will do.”

  “Yes, Mother. Thank you.”

  11

  Epilogue: Pot-Scrubber

  Eloise was elbow-deep in sudsy hot water, scrubbing a crust of cannellini bean soup from the bottom of a huge, feast-day-sized pot—one of a dozen stacked around her—using a mixture of sand, soap, and brute force. She hadn’t done this kind of manual work for Chef in two years, not since before her Thorning Ceremony. There was a comfort to being back in the kitchens wearing a servant’s outfit. Even though she was officially making her amends for transgressing against Chef, she didn’t mind it so much. Plus, it was a warm task to undertake on a brisk autumn day.

  Jerome sat on the shelf above the basin nibbling an almond a third of the size of his head and keeping her company.

  Eloise paused, marveling at just how stubborn cannellini remnants could be. “You know what I heard yesterday?”

  “Nope.”

  “There was a bard practicing in the Music Hall during the afternoon. Turns out, he was composing a new ditty about a gang of wombats. Our name for them made an appearance. Uncredited, of course.”

  “Serious? It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

  “Apparently they’re the fiercest gang with bad eyesight in all the realms, and the bard wanted to capture their glory in song.”

  “They didn’t drop the bit about the eyesight?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Well, good luck to them.” Jerome took another bite of his almond, then gestured toward the pots. “Do you regret going?”

  “I regret how I went, but I don’t regret going. It was fun—at least the bits that didn’t involve getting dragged underground.”

  “No, that was not a highlight.”

  “But in one sense, it was.”

  “Oh, how so?”

  Eloise bore down with a handful of sand, attacking the intractable burned bean crust, finally convincing it to let go of the pot.

  “El?”

  “I don’t know. It was scary, but I got to see a part of the world I’d never seen before, even if it was underground and hard to see. Plus, I got to experience you doing something you’re good at—talking off the top of your head.”

  “Always an honor.”

  “Sure, for some value of ‘honor’. And if I hadn’t been kidnapped by the wombats, I wouldn’t have had to make amends, which means I wouldn’t have engaged with all the people on that list. I’ve learned heaps of stuff. Did you know that Baron Baggerlader von Ellbogen’s favorite bean is actually black beans, but that they don’t grow in his part of The South?”

  “Fascinating.”

  “It is, though. I’ve learned all kinds of interesting things like that.”

  Eloise worked in silence for a while. The only noise was the scratching of sand on metal and the splashing of water.

  Jerome raised a claw and pointed. “You missed a spot, Princess Eloise.”

  Eloise paused and looked at him. “Really? You’re going to do that?”

  Very slowly, Jerome raised his tail, a mock hockey sacking scorekeeper. “Point to the pot,” he said, then ducked behind one of the pots, giggling, to avoid being soaked by a wave of cannellini water.

  * * *

  To Billie and Tamsin

  Everything of value I’ve learned, I’ve learned from you.

  Acknowledgments

  It is a joy to get to say thank you to those who have helped me bring this book to the world.

  Tamsin Dean Einspruch, our daughter, has from the word go been my first port of call for ideas and perspective. She is my first reader, and has been with the story every step of the way. In fact, it was her idea to let the Wombanditos be the core of their own side story, once they were edited out of where they first appeared, which was late in The Purple Haze, book one of the Western Lands and All That Really Matters series. I’m glad they did not stay on the cutting room floor.

  Many, many thanks to Cheryl Hannah, Janet Watson Kruse, and Olivia Martinez for their beta reads. Cheryl, Janet and Olivia all both brought keen eyes to the words, and provided very different perspectives to what they read. Valuable and valued input all.

  Thank you to my editor, Vanessa Lanaway, and my pro
ofreader Abigail Nathan. Y’all rock. It’s that simple.

  Thank you to Stuart Bache for the fantastic cover.

  Finally, a huge, massive thank you to my bride, Billie Dean, who reads and gives incredible input on everything I write, who has encouraged me forever, and who believed in my creative soul much, much earlier than I ever did. I love you and I thank you. L3.

  Andrew Einspruch

  June 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Einspruch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the Author

  Andrew Einspruch is the author of the humorous YA fantasy series The Western Lands and All That Really Matters, as well as more than 120 books for primary-aged readers, both fiction and non-fiction. First published in the 1990s, Andrew's work has covered everything from basketball to DNA, from biographies to histories to mysteries, from outback heroes to Christmas Island red crabs, and from how the rides work at amusement parks to how the Australian Government works (that, perhaps the greatest mystery of all).

  Andrew is an ex-pat Texan living in Australia, and is the co-founder of the not-for-profit charity the Billie Dean Deep Peace Trust (deeppeacetrust.com), which fosters deep peace for all species.

  If pressed, he'll deny he ever programmed in COBOL for a bank.

  Please visit andreweinspruch.com and say “howdy.”

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  The Purple Haze

  Book One: The Western Lands and All That Really Matters

  Please enjoy the following preview of The Purple Haze, the first book in the Western Lands and All That Really Matters series.

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  The Proposal

  “Please, please, marry my son,” implored the chipmunk of the maiden.

  Princess Eloise Hydra Gumball III, Future Ruler and Heir to the Western Lands and All That Really Matters, sat on the Listening Throne in the ornate Receiving Room of Castle de Brague, and took two precise sips of her haggleberry tea, trying not to let amusement show. She nodded toward the Court Seer, Maybelle de Chipmunk. “Let’s ignore for a moment the fact I’m still a bit young. Somehow, I rather think a prince of some description would be more on the cards. Someone slightly, you know, human, maybe?” Seer Maybelle’s delicate whiskers drooped, and Eloise worried she’d been too harsh. “But, please. Let me hear you out.”

  The chipmunk clasped her dainty paws in front of her and began an over-rehearsed plea. “My son, Jerome Abernatheen de Chipmunk is a good boy, as you well know. And believe me, I am aware of his flaws as only a mother can be.” She extended her claws to enumerate. “He’s forgetful. He’s awkward in small groups. He’s awkward in large groups. He’s prone to wafting off into the La La Realms. His dress sense veers unpredictably and inexplicably from one garish color to another. He knows far, far too much about the musical plays of Lyndia Thrind. He has a penchant for babbling about nothing when stressed. Then there’s the whole unfortunate thing with jesters.”

  Eloise nodded. Twice. “One cannot characterize that description as unfair, Seer Maybelle.”

  “But Princess Eloise, I’m not sure what to say. I have searched the future with every tool I have, methods common and obscure, profound and profane, some passed down from my grandmothers a hundred generations removed. I have stared into the flame of the Burning Fungus, scanned dregs of haggleberry tea, and listened to the sounds of the Oracle Bellbirds. I’ve drawn the Twigs of Fate from the Bag of Kismet and sought wisdom in the gurgling mud of the Elder’s Swamp. It embarrasses me to tell you, because it took a week to get the stench out of my fur, but I’ve even taken counsel with Gordon the Noisome, whose twitching earlobes have a strangely accurate predictive quality.”

  Gordon the Noisome? Wow. Seer Maybelle was serious about this. Standing close enough to Gordon to see his earlobes twitch was a sacrifice no one should have to make.

  “Everywhere I look, Princess, I see that my son Jerome’s destiny is to be by your side. I’m, I’m ...” Seer Maybelle’s voice slid down to a whisper. “I’m sorry, but I believe you must wed.”

  Eloise took another sip of her tea, then set down the cup. It bought her a moment. The saucer clinked on the marble side table that matched the spare marble walls of the Receiving Room. Eloise carefully, yet unconsciously, moved the cup and saucer so they were in the exact middle of the table on a serviette whose edges were equidistant from the table’s. She placed the spoon on the saucer so lined up with the serviette and table. She would rather have put it across the top of the cup to get a better arrangement, but that would be taking it too far since Seer Maybelle was with her.

  Until three years before, when Court began demanding so much of her time, Jerome had been her best friend. For a decade, they’d been inseparable, whether exploding whifflenut pies in Cookery and Cuisine class (which she enjoyed despite the mess), plotting paint dart campaigns in Weapons and Stratagems (also fun despite potential mess), ridiculing each other’s poetry in Arts and Elocution, or creating the most elaborate contraptions in Engineering and Constructions. Inseparable, until court life had done the inevitable—separated them.

  Eloise understood Jerome like few did. He was a klutz. A clever klutz. A verbose klutz. A well-read, musically literate, historically curious klutz. But a klutz. She loved him, klutziness and all, but like a brother and nothing else. Even ignoring matters of species (interspecies matrimony happened often enough at Court when it was helpful to the crown), marrying him was out of the question. That’s just not what she felt for him.

  The problem was Seer Maybelle de Chipmunk.

  Seer de Chipmunk was the Western Land’s visionary. There was never, ever, ever any escaping what the matronly chipmunk foretold. But if Eloise had learned anything in Oracles and Insights (other than that Jerome showed not the slightest hint of divinatory talent, despite his family line), it was that there was always another interpretation, another angle.

  Seer Maybelle shifted from foot to foot. It was difficult for her to stand like this for so long, but pride and Protocol demanded it. With a quiet rasp, she cleared her throat, preparing to somehow sell what was ridiculously unsellable. Her son, short, nervous, and—there was no escaping it—a chipmunk, was completely unsuited to the willowy, athletic, 16-year-old, dark-haired and darker-eyed human. Seer Maybelle opened her mouth, but Eloise held up a finger and stopped her. “I have an idea.”

  “Yes, Princess Eloise?”

  “I shall name Jerome Abernatheen de Chipmunk my champion.”

  Seer Maybelle stood gape-mouthed, then closed her eyes and scanned the Unseen. When she opened them again, she graced Princess Eloise with a radiant chipmunk smile. She nodded, amazed that such insight could come, once again, from someone so young.

  Mrs. de Chipmunk left the Receiving Room lighter of heart than she’d felt in weeks.

  Eloise draped the Attention Cape over the back of the Listening Throne and wondered how in the name of Çalaht she would ever convince her parents to allow her decision.

  * * *

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