Could he be right? How could he be right? There had to be another explanation. To believe him would mean that Mamma and Poppy had lied to me all these years—and I couldn’t believe that. It was impossible.
“It’s not true! I am a Fyrdraaca!” I cried.
The look he gave me in return was full of pity, and so was his voice. “I am sorry, Flora, but it is true.”
Idden spat. “I don’t care. Even so, you can’t have her! You Birdies already took one of my sisters. You can’t have the other.”
“It is a great honor to be called upon to sacrifice one’s self for the greater good. Without sacrifice, the rain does not fall, the sun does not shine. Not all are so lucky to be so called.”
Idden said viciously, “So you say now, but when it was your turn to give your life up to your stupid Butterfly goddess, you didn’t hesitate to run.”
Now Axacaya stood up, his face no longer beautiful, but distorted with rage. He raised one hand and Idden fired. The noise pierced my paralysis and I jerked to my feet. Idden grabbed at me as I went by, but I ran around her. From outside came more shots, and the Quetzals in the doorway scattered. I tore by them, dodging their fluttering attempts to catch me. Through the courtyard I ran, between flowerpots, around the fountain. I felt the sweep of wings at my back and knew it was Axila Aguila; at any moment I would feel her claws on me, but I kept running. A loud shriek echoed behind me. I risked a glance and saw Axila Aguila struggling to free herself from a net. Firemonkey dropped out of an orange tree and shouted cheerfully, “Run, Flora, run!”
I ran.
Outside Mariposa’s gate, Sieur Caballo still stood at the water trough; the snapperheaded Sitri hadn’t taken care of him at all. Poor boy, he was probably starving. I owed him buckets of oats and a good currying. More explosions echoed behind me, and the people in the street began to run toward Mariposa. I clambered up on Sieur Caballo and we went the other direction.
Forty
Home. Udo. A Dustup.
AS SOON AS I CAME through the bolt-hole secret passageway into my bedroom, Valefor leaped on me, chattering about the earthquake. His roof had almost caved in, his foundation had sunk three feet, his orange trees had fallen over, his swimming pool overflowed. I brushed him aside and tore downstairs, beat my way through the maelstrom of dogs, but found no Poppy, no Mamma. It would, of course, stand to reason that the one time I needed Mamma the most, she wasn’t around. Actually, whenever I needed Mamma, she wasn’t around. The more I thought about this, the angrier I became. Valefor, behind me, now demanded to know where I had been, and why, and how long, and who, and how...
I halted my frantic search in the kitchen. The fire was dead, and the stovepipe had fallen onto the kitchen table, soot mixing with spilled sugar and salt.
“Val, who am I?”
“What do you mean?”
"Who am I?”
“Flora Fyrdraaca ov Fyrdraaca, of course.” Valefor sounded bewildered. “Why? Who else would you be?”
“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?”
“I think so.” Valefor’s wrinkle of bewilderment turned into a frown. “I mean, for a Fyrdraaca, you’ve always seemed a bit thin in Will, but I guess I know a Fyrdraaca when I taste her. Were you not born here, like the rest of the Fyrdraacas?”
“I wasn’t born here!” I wailed. “I wasn’t born at Crackpot Hall.”
Valefor recoiled. “You weren’t born here?”
“No! I was born by the side of the Shasta Road in the middle of the Trinity Campaign. They had to halt the whole army for six hours while Mamma had me, and the next day she won the Battle of the Cedars. I’m even mentioned in the Official Records of the Proceedings of the Glorious War!” This fact, which had always made me feel special—to be the only Fyrdraaca not born at Crackpot Hall—now seemed ominous.
“That does seem strange, Flora, and now that you mention it, you are the first Fyrdraaca I can remember who doesn’t have green eyes. Even I had green eyes once.”
My blue eyes were another thing Mamma always said made me special. Mamma’s eyes were green, and Poppy’s eyes were green, and Idden’s eyes were green. But Tiny Doom’s eyes were blue. How could Tiny Doom have grown up to become my mother? She couldn’t be! Lord Axacaya was wrong. I was not a Haðraaða. I was a Fyrdraaca. I had the Fyrdraaca nose, the Fyrdraaca hair, the Fyrdraaca black heart. So what if I had blue eyes?
“Where’s Mamma? Where’s Poppy?”
“If you’d given me one moment, I could have told you. Buck is at the Post, directing the earthquake relief, and I don’t know where Hotspur is. After the quake, he rushed out of here as though on fire—he didn’t even bother to check on us, or the dogs, or anything. Just bolted. I doubt we’ll see him again.”
I sat down at the kitchen table. My throat had sprouted a lump the size of a potato, and all the tears that I had refused to let out earlier were trying to trickle down my nose. I sniffed hard and rubbed my face on my sleeve—Tiny Doom’s sleeve. Could Mamma have lied to me all these years?
“What is wrong with you, Flora? And where have you been? I almost collapsed while you were gone, and you don’t even ask how I am. Have you been with Axacaya all this time?” Valefor peered at me, worriedly “You didn’t kiss him or anything, did you?”
“What?! Are you crazy?” Once, the thought of kissing Lord Axacaya had been delightful. Now I wanted to retch.
“Well, you were awful spoony about him, Flora. It’s a fair question. And he’s known to like the young girls. You are just his flavor—”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Val, looking hurt, floated up toward the ceiling, where he swung idly upon the light fixture, his feet barely missing the top of my head. As I had escaped Mariposa House, my only thought had been to get home to Crackpot Hall, and to Mamma. And now I was home, and Mamma wasn’t.
Valefor said worriedly, “You look pale, Flora. Do you want some soup? I could make you soup.”
I refused Valefor’s offer of soup, of sandwies, of back rub, of waffles, of hot water. Of muffins, soft slippers, bacon—
“Bacon? Is there bacon?” Bacon sounded awfully good all of a sudden.
“Well, there is if you go to the store and get some.”
“You are a waste of time, Valefor.”
Upstairs in my room, I sat on my settee, clutched Pig, and cried like a baby Something warm and slippery nuzzled my hand—Flynn’s wet nose. His worried eyes looked up at me. Mamma had lied to me. And Poppy, had he lied? Or did he even know? He was in prison when I was born, and he didn’t come home until I was two years old. But Tiny Doom had also been in prison. How could I have been born by the side of a road in the Trinity Mountains when Tiny Doom was in prison thousands of miles away? Obviously, that was a lie, too.
In my heart, I knew it had to be true. How else could I have entered Bilskinir through its Back Door—a way open only to a Haðraaða? How else could I have read Georgiana Segunda’s Diario? Why else would the Loliga have tried so hard to snatch me?
But ... Mamma! I howled and howled. After a while I could do nothing but lie half on the settee, half off, my knees going numb and my head pounding. I was still clutching Pig, and he felt warm and soft in my arms. I sat up and wiped my nose on my sleeve. How could I have been such a snapperhead and fallen to Lord Axacaya’s flattery? It’s an old story—the darkly glamorous man and the silly young girl. I should have known all along that he was playing me. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.
Flynnie, faithful wonderful Flynnie, leaped up onto the settee, squirming into my lap. I let go of Pig to clutch Flynn’s furry warmth and let him slobber on my face, licking the salty tears away. Then, the lamp fixture jingled, the floor creaked, and a puff of plaster fell from the ceiling. Another fiking temblor. We sat on the settee until it passed, and then Flynnie jumped down and rushed off, to check on the other dogs, I guess. The quake reminded me what was really at stake.
So I had been a snapperhead. That was my personal sorrow. But the Loliga was a public so
rrow, and just as much a danger now as she had been before. Suck it up, Flora, and get on with it. If I was the last Haðraaða, then the City’s salvation was up to me. I didn’t know how to free the Loliga without dying, but maybe I could figure out how to renew the Sigils that bound her, and insulate the City from her. I still felt sorry for her travails, but the City had to come first.
I sat up and wiped my eyes, which now felt stiff and salty, and blew my nose on my sleeve. And that’s when I realized the thumping noise I had thought was my head aching in time with my heartbeart was actually coming from the window. A white face was peering through the glass, waving a fist.
Udo! Oh, delicious, delightful, fantastic, handsome, charming, darling Udo! I flew to the window and threw the latch open, and he leaned in over the sill, grinning.
“Did you feel that? I fair near thought it would shake me from my tree, like an unripe apple, for I was not yet ready to drop!”
“Oh, Udo, I’m so glad to see you! Are you all right? When you leaped away in the boots like that, I thought you were gone for good.”
“Oh, I’m as dandy as candy, as sweet as morning. Never better than the day I was born!”
“I missed you, Udo. I’m sorry I was such a snapperhead.”
Udo’s hair had been bleached back, not quite its normal butterscotch color, but no longer flat pitch-black. I clutched that head and the head protested, “Let me get inside, sweetie, and then we shall get down to it, I swear. I’m powerfully eager.”
I let go of him, and he slithered all the way into the room. I swear he had gotten taller since I had seen him last; his length was longer and his shoulders wider. And then I saw his feet, sparkling red, and my heart froze. He was still wearing the red sparkly boots.
Not Udo.
Springheel Jack.
We moved at the same time, me lunging for the door, Springheel Jack lunging for me. Alas, he hit me before I hit the door, like a wave hits the rocks, thunderously. I went down, and the ringing was so loud that I couldn’t see anything but the dark explosion that filled my head. Then the blackness wore off to pinkness and that wore off to the hot taste of copper in my mouth, and that turned into Jack’s menacing voice whispering something quite ugly in my ear.
I kicked, of course to no avail, and I twisted, equally as futile. The heat in my head was nothing compared to the cold fear in my stomach or the regrets that were suddenly passing through my mind like a rush of icy water. I regretted Udo’s vanity, I regretted my hubris, I regretted Valefor’s hunger, I regretted—I twisted hard, kicking something soft and squishy Jack roared like a bear and swung his fist, and down I went, into darkness.
Forty-One
Furious. Lip Rouge. Bungalow Baby Doll.
I WOKE UP TO A woozy head and a towering, burning rage. My mouth tasted like a fire elemental had died in it. My head throbbed as though an earth elemental had died in it. Compared with my fury, however, the pain and foul flavor were nothing.
I was sick and tired of being manhandled, panhandled, pushed around, set up, tricked, played for a snapperhead. Drugged, bopped on the head, sucked into Vortices, dropped into oubliettes. Fool me once, said Nini Mo, shame on you. Fool me twice, and I’ll kick you in the head. I would have done some serious kicking, but when I tried to move my legs, I discovered they were bound. Bound tightly and tingling—asleep. My hands were bound too, with something slick and satiny, my dressing-gown sash, probably. I opened my eyes and saw, through the throbby pain, that I was inside my bed alcove. From the other side of the shut door, I could hear banging and a low humming song. Springheel Jack.
“Valefor,” I whispered. “Valefor!"
Val materialized almost immediately, wringing his hands. “Oh, Flora Segunda, that awful Springheel Jack is going through all your drawers. Oh, Flora Segunda, what are we going to do? He’s going to steal my silver, I know it, I just know it. What shall we do?”
“You shall untie me first,” I said, “and then we shall see.”
Out in my room, Jack was singing a little song, whose verses burned my ears with their nastiness, but whose chorus went something like “Who then is the Jack of All Trades? The Jack-o’-Lantern, Jack Be Nimble, Jack in the Box? I am! I am! I am he!”
“What are you going to do?” Valefor whispered. He untied me; I shook my legs, trying to get the feeling back, then reached up and flipped the lock on the inside of the door. I had no doubt that Jack could break the door if he wanted to, but I was done with making it easy Let him work for it this time.
“I’m going to take care of Springheel Jack and then I’m going to save the City.”
“And how shall you take care of Jack? He won’t take the boots off himself. In fact, maybe he can’t take the boots off at all now. There’s a narrow window, you know. The boots are growing on to him. Once they’ve got him completely, they can only be removed in death. I think you’d better play it safe and just kill—owww!”
My pinch shut Valefor up; he stared at me through luminous pouty eyes but said not another word. Maybe it was too late. Perhaps the boots had already taken permanent hold. But for the moment, I would remain hopeful.
“Sweetie-pie! I think you are awake in there. Are you ready for me, darling love?” Udo’s voice but not Udo’s words, nor Udo’s tone, either. He could never sound that smarmy or malicious.
“Are you ready for me?” I asked. “I may be small but I have sharp teeth.”
Jack laughed. “A biter. Oh, bring on those pearly choppers, sweetie pie, for I do love the crunch.” The door rattled. “Open the door willingly lovey, and it shall hurt much less.”
“I wager that if you want it, you’ll have to fight for it,” I answered. “And it will taste more dear that you had to bleed to get it.” As I spoke, I was scrabbling through the bed, looking for something I had tossed there what seemed like so long ago, but really only ... yesterday? Last night? How the last few days had blurred.
“You tease me. I am he, the Jack of Hearts, Jackhammer, the Jack Knife, Lumberjack, Steeplejack, Bootjack, Dancejack, and Jack Dandy! Jackaroo, Jack of All Trades—”
“And I’m Nini Mo’s favorite mule, Evil Murdoch,” I muttered. I found Udo’s coat at the bottom of the bed, now stiff with dried blood. And in its tail pocket, exactly what I wanted: the tin of Sonoran Zombie Powder. Now; what had I done with Udo’s lip rouge?
“Flora?” Valefor whispered in a voice so tiny I could barely hear him.
“What?” Ah, there was the lip rouge in my pocket.
“I think maybe really I should just go. I’m sure I’m no help here.”
“Valefor, I need your help,” I said, ominously. “Do you want Springheel Jack stealing your silver?”
Valefor whined, “I’m already down to only four salad forks. What on earth could you all have done with my salad forks? I used to have place settings for four hundred; I can’t afford to lose any—”
I grabbed him and wrenched his collar so our faces were only inches apart. Consuming the corpse of Springheel Jack had done him a lot of good; he still felt pretty solid and his eyes were bright. “Look,” I said. “I need your help, so suck it up. More than your silver is at stake here, and since you started this whole thing by eating Jack and getting Udo into an uproar, you owe it to him. You owe it to me.”
“But, Flora Segunda, you were the —oowfff” Twisting someone’s collar until they choke really is an effective way of shutting them up.
“Got it, Valefor?” I let go.
His eyes glittered. “I got it.”
I told him the rest of the battle plan, and he vanished from the alcove to take up position. I applied the lip rouge, good and heavy. When I was done my mouth looked wet and red, as though I had been drinking blood. I hoped that Jack liked ladies in red. Then I flipped the lock and slid the door open.
Springheel Jack was sprawled on my settee, looking mighty comfy, my chocolate stash well-smeared about his face. He might have taken over Udo’s body but not his table manners, that was for sure. Jack was we
aring all of my jewelry including my Sanguine Day tiara, and several of my scarves; this should have made him look silly Actually, he looked glamorously menacing. The giant red boots were planted firmly on my coffee table; they sparkled and gleamed, and the little snake heads on each toe snapped and hissed. Pigface, they were the ugliest shoes I had ever seen.
Now, face-to-face, I would have known that he was not Udo even if the boots had been hidden. He might look like Udo, but Udo never looked so hard and calculating and cold.
I wanted my Udo back. I needed Udo back.
As he slurped the chocolate, Jack was humming his little song about how fabulous he was, and all the fabulous (obscene, actually) things he was going to do to me. Well, we’d see about that.
“Hey, Jackanapes,” I said, loudly. “Get your feet off my table. You’ll leave a mark.”
“Well, here’s my dollymop!” Jack said, not moving his feet. Behind him, way up high on top of my closet, Valefor winked into existence and gave me a little encouraging wave.
I said, “And here’s Cheap Jack, Jack O’Light—”
Jack launched off the sofa, bounced off the coffee table—his head narrowly missing the ceiling—and landed almost on top of me. I refused to give way, and he loomed over me menacingly, tossing mussed hair out of his eyes: a familiar gesture in an unfamiliar context. Udo is tall, but add the extra five inches of boot heels and Jack was enormous; I barely came up to the middle of his chest. Well, it takes more than heels to give you height; the taller they are, the harder they fall. Still, my insides quivered a bit when Jack turned his ruthless gaze upon me, but I held on to the thought that Udo was in there somewhere, and relying on me to get him out. I refused to look away, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed that he held a knife in his hand.
“What did you say, sweetie?” Jack purred.
“More jakes than Jacks, I think. Jack Dangle, too, no doubt.”
Flora's Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand Her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room) Page 27
