by Barbara Else
Vosco sat upright. “Help!”
The Queen put both arms over her head and rolled over to face the wall.
“The winery!” Some adventurers dashed outside. Some rushed to the windows.
Rufkin lurched to a window too. Across the lawn, a low building with a fancy roof was covered in heat haze and curls of white smoke. Out of its main door staggered a sturdy figure in a white boilersuit and white cap.
“Blistering junk!” he roared. “Bring shovels and brooms!”
Behind him staggered a tall woman, her boilersuit and cap splattered with red. She shooed a clutch of small children together and scooted them on. “Look after babies. Keep orphans out of mess!”
The five children, all younger than Rufkin, ran through the day room into the back of the house.
Vosco watched them till they’d disappeared, then hopped off his sofa. He straightened the purple beanie, tiptoed a few steps, stopped dead—then took a deep breath and pattered after them.
The sturdy man in the boilersuit pounded up the steps and into the day room. “The batch of bloodberry wine exploded,” he cried. “The temperature desk overheated.”
“How? It was new last week,” Delilah said. “I installed it myself.”
Oh no. And Swan had asked earlier if the phone had been fixed. Blood started to drum in Rufkin’s ears.
The tall woman strode in and pulled off her own cap. Her hair was a pile of dark loops. She saw Rufkin and Vosco. “Argk! Must make room for other orphans?” She spotted the Queen. “And what is this?”
Another roar like sudden flame burst in the air. Black smoke laced with flickering red spouted from the winery skylights. A swirl of flame licked out under the eaves—five swirls of fire—now a dozen. Large flakes of ash drifted—no, it was birds—no, the shapes of lizards, lizards with wings. Fire-lizards.
“Buckets, hoses! Keep the orphans well under cover and out of the way,” bellowed the man.
The old people started to stream across to the winery. Like parts of well-oiled machinery, there was no dither or stutter among them. But explosions burst again inside the building. A skylight shattered and flames began gushing. Bang! Another skylight exploded. Fire licked the length of the roof as if it too were a great lizard with a spine of flame. Sparks whizzed through the air, dancing close to the house.
“Get the old folk out of the hospital wing and down to the river,” Littlewink boomed.
“Play hoses on the house,” cried Swan’s voice. “Save the house!”
By now everyone else was busy with buckets and hoses. Rufkin flung himself down beside the Queen.
“Fire. It’s a fire, Your Majesty. The house will burn. Please! Summon the wind.”
It was too much to ask of her. He hated himself for doing it.
“The end-of-days is here too,” he cried. “And fire-lizards.”
She turned her head. “Fire,” she whispered. “The wind…”
He helped her to the open window. The smell of smoke made them both cough.
The Queen put her hands to her lips almost like a prayer. She closed her eyes. A small breeze began to blow. Rufkin saw fire flakes headed this way begin to veer off. Could she contain the embers and sparks? Could she keep it up till the fire was out?
Flames continued to lap from the roof of the winery. Fire-lizards soared above like living bombs. The Queen leaned on Rufkin, and he struggled to stand firm. But at last the roaring and explosions started to dwindle. The blooming and licking of flame died away. No fire-lizards flitted, just a thick scatter of ash.
The Queen was as pale and drained as when they’d arrived. Her hair was limp. Rufkin helped her stumble back to the sofa. He ran to find the kitchen and fetched a glass of water. He was trying to dribble some into her mouth when the sturdy man and tall woman returned.
The man flopped in a chair and dragged off his white cap. His head was bald, speckled with freckles. “Like magic. The breeze came at just the right time, for just long enough.”
The woman folded her arms and frowned at Rufkin. “The extra orphans. And the ill person. Must find Doctor Maisie.” She turned to leave again.
“Excuse me!” Rufkin forced himself to stand in the Attitude-respectful. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in a crisis. But there’s a bigger crisis. If you’re the managers, I have something to say.”
The man didn’t move but his eyes narrowed as if he liked life better through a frown of distrust.
Rufkin wanted to roll up and hide. “My name’s Rufkin Robiasson and the little kid with me is really Duke Vosco...”
The man sat up and looked the very pinnacle of suspicious.
“And the lady—” Rufkin pointed to the Queen, still lying flat.
“Speak up!” said the man.
“Do not scare boy to his death,” the woman said. “Rufkin Robiasson, please to continue.”
She was so imposing, even in her red-spattered boilersuit, that Rufkin bowed. “I know she doesn’t look it,” he said. “But that lady is Queen Sibilla.’
In the next instant the man was out of the chair to kneel by the Queen. “So it is.” He rested a hand on her rust-covered hair. “Oh, little Queen. And you’re bearing the royal dagger. What kind of guts and glory have you got yourself into now?”
Rufkin teetered where he stood with sheer relief. He should have known—the man was Special Major Murgott, retired. He was once a pirate too. He’d get the better of any murdering Harry. And the woman was Murgott’s wife, former Empress Lu’nedda of Um’Binnia, who had abdicated her throne for love and democracy. The former Empress was sure to get the better of Thunderhead, Goodabod, and Madam Butterly.
Major Murgott and the ex-Empress began fussing over the Queen. Rufkin heard whistles and cries from the blue-spotted bower birds as they settled again in the tree.
Before the thought was fully formed, he raced out and called to them. “One of you was a man, is that right? Please get a message to King Jasper. Can you do that?”
Cinders and ash still drifted. But the bower birds looked down at him, eyes bright as beads.
“We have to try to stop the end-of-days,” he said. “Please tell King Jasper. And, if you can, fly to the dragon-eagles.”
The purple wings of a bower bird floated down and brushed his forehead. Then the bird disappeared up and over the roof of Adventurers’ Rest. In the direction of Old Ocean? Then over the Watchers and Lake Riversea to King Jasper in the City of Canals? Oh, he hoped so.
The other two birds had left the tree and were circling in the last tendrils of smoke. They dipped their wings like a salute and flew off over rows and rows of fresh young vines, away to the east.
He’d done all he could. Actually he felt he’d done well. He stumbled inside again.
Murgott had the Queen sitting now, and was rubbing her hands. “More water,” he called.
“She hasn’t eaten for days, either,” Rufkin said.
“Bread,” said Lu’nedda. “A sip of milk. A cashew nut. And little Vosco? He has not eaten either?” She hurried out.
Very soon she returned with another old person, Doctor Maisie (so Rufkin supposed), who bent over the Queen. The oldest orphan pattered in too with a blue glass mug. Murgott helped the Queen sit and held the mug to her lips as if she were made of glass herself. She sipped, and a pink flush appeared in her cheeks.
Small feet drummed in from the kitchen. Vosco and the orphans. An old dwarf lady followed, carrying a red tray with a pitcher of milk and a platter of sandwiches. Rufkin guessed at least some would be pickle and cheese. She set the tray on the table.
Vosco settled himself on a chair. He hunched his skinny shoulders, sat on his large hands, and blinked at the platter. The smallest orphan climbed on the chair next to his, grabbed the first sandwich, and slapped it in front of Vosco.
“Good,” said the old lady dwarf. “Pipsqueak helps others first, then helps himself.”
Rufkin hoped he’d be offered a sandwich too. They looked packed with delicious mouthfuls.
But it took a few moments for the old lady to remember him and beckon. He slid into a chair.
The sandwich was better with each bite. Lettuce for crispness, avocado for velvet on the tongue, tomato for the sweetness of sun. Salami and pickle for richness and tang. The bread was fresh and homemade. His teeth sank into the cheese exactly the way teeth should.
Thank goodness. Grown-ups were in charge. The Queen had Murgott and Lu’nedda to help sort out the end-of-days. Vosco would be hurried back to his parents, there’d be kissing and hugging. Lady Polly and Lord Trump would blame themselves for what had happened to Vosco. They’d encourage their kid to talk. They’d make sure to be good parents to all seven of their children equally from now on.
Rufkin dropped the last piece of sandwich on his plate and stiffened his chest so he wouldn’t cry. It wasn’t always wise to think of happy families. Would he get ever home again himself? His parents had packed him off to the salvage yard. He was only as good as his Statement of Success, and that was rotten.
‘What’th the matter?’ Face rosy and clean, one of the middle-sized orphans stared across the table.
Rufkin tried a Laugh-resolute but sounded feeble. “Oh, nothing. Every good play needs a character whose story doesn’t end well.” Oh no, that came out as self-pitying.
The orphan showed young gaps in its teeth. “Pip-thqueak had a bad ending.”
“He’s started again though,” said another orphan. “Now he’s on a journey to a good one.”
“You took the best sandwich!” screamed a smaller orphan to goodness-knew-who, and burst into tears.
“All the sandwiches were the same,” said the old lady dwarf.
“Outside to the swings,” called Lu’nedda.
The orphans and Vosco ran out through the hall. From the winery across the garden came the song of old adventurers as they hosed down the last of the embers.
Rufkin slouched into an armchair. The hero figurine dug into him. The real Hodie would be heroic even with a wonky leg. He’d never be self-pitying. But the real Hodie would never be ignored and not thanked for all he had done. Rufkin’s leg twitched. He wanted to kick something so hard that it hurt.
He glanced at Queen Sibilla. She was still murmuring with Murgott and Doctor Maisie.
“Vosco must have stowed away on the expedition to the mines, Ma’am.” That was Murgott. “It’s very possible. After all, you’re one of the few people who play with him, poor little beggar—begging the royal pardon, so to speak.”
The Queen chuckled.
Murgott patted her hand. “The first thing is to send a message to Polly and Trump. And to Jasper. And the dragon-eagles.”
Rufkin should tell them he already had. But he didn’t think they’d take any notice of him right now, or any time.
By the main door came a clatter of an adventurer trying to fit her walking stick into the rack. “Wretched thing, life’s so annoying.”
Rufkin agreed.
Tiny Delilah staggered into the day room, still with her stick; it had a brass handle. She fell into a chair beside Rufkin’s. “Three gypsies are tying their horses down at the gate. It’s a shame we’ve just tidied the mess after the fire. They might have helped for a few dolleros.” She closed her eyes. A snore whuffled out of her.
Rufkin sank deeper into his chair.
Footsteps crunched on the path outside. They stopped.
For some reason Rufkin felt wary.
“Hello,” a man’s voice called. It was obvious to Rufkin it was trying to sound deeper than usual. “Anyone home?”
Old Delilah stayed asleep. But Murgott stood up with a puzzled frown. The Queen rose as well. She looked caught out but her eyes were alert.
“Hello,” the man called again. “Murgott? Mistress Lu’nedda? Anyone? I’m coming in anyway.”
By now Rufkin knew it—a Voice-familiar. He linked it with danger. He linked it with being dropped over the side of a barge. What would Lord Hodie do if he were here? Not sit and mope.
Rufkin edged from the chair. His fingers found the old lady’s stick, its handle of brass, and slipped down to grasp the other end. He snuck against the doorway into the hall. Murgott made furious gestures. Rufkin ignored them.
The man’s boots sounded on the veranda steps, then in the hall. Harry’s curly hair came around the door. Murgott seemed to brace himself. The Queen looked baffled. Lu’nedda let out a scream.
Rufkin gripped the stick as he’d been taught for the part he’d never played as a brigand in Love or Dolleros.
Harry took another step. Rufkin lifted the stick high—but he couldn’t hit someone for real, not even a man who’d nearly drowned him.
He thrust the stick out at ankle level. Harry tripped over it. Then Rufkin was on Harry’s back, pressing the stick across his shoulders as hard as he could. “You tried to kill me! You tried to kill Vosco!”
Strong hands tugged Rufkin away, then seized the stick. Murgott. Old hero. Rufkin’s chest swelled. He leapt to his feet. No one could overlook him now.
“Stand up. Slowly. Whoever you are,” Murgott ordered.
Harry clambered up and towered over him, his wild curls thick with sea salt.
Murgott squinted, looked closer and lowered the stick. “Stars above, what’s on your head? Are you wearing a poodle?”
Lu’nedda clapped her hands together once. “Lord Hodie!”
“It is not! He’s murdering Harry!” Rufkin snatched back the walking stick and swung with both hands.
Harry batted the stick off as if it were a toothpick and held Rufkin with an arm around the shoulders. Rufkin struggled and kicked, but Harry’s grip was iron-strong. Murgott watched, hands on hips, scowl on his forehead but mouth in a grin, as Harry shoved Rufkin aside so he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. The air squashed out of him.
Then Harry seemed to notice the Queen for the first time. He went still for a moment. “Your Majesty.” He gave a cool bow and a furious look.
With a calm smile Queen Sibilla raised her chin. “Lord Hodie,” she said in her husky voice.
What? If the Queen knew Harry as Hodie—he probably was. Rufkin wanted to drop away through a crack in the floor. But Harry-poodle-head had nearly drowned him! The Queen must be wrong—
“Come in,” Hodie called over his shoulder. “It’s safe.”
“Why would it not be?” Lu’nedda asked.
More footsteps sounded on the veranda. Another “gypsy” staggered in through the day-room door—Calleena, travel-stained, with her red beaded bag.
Nissy stumbled in too. She seemed crosser than usual, as if everything ached. But she was safe! She jumped when she saw Rufkin, though she also looked pleased.
“Who are your friends, Lord Hodie?” asked the Queen.
Calleena gave a jolt of surprise. “Harry!” she said with a sharp frown.
Nissy’s jaw dropped. She blinked down at Rufkin again. “He’s Lord Hodie?” she mouthed.
“Ma’am.” Lord Hodie bowed to the Queen again. “This is Madam Butterly’s assistant, Calleena Beagle. This girl is Nissy Symore. Until now they’ve known me as Harry.”
“Thunderhead was right. You were a spy.” With a little laugh Calleena blinked the frown away. “And I said you weren’t.”
Hodie drew himself up and looked scary. He jerked his head at Calleena. “Keep an eye on that one,” he said to Murgott.
Murgott nodded. Rufkin didn’t agree. Hodie had tricked Calleena, like he’d tricked Rufkin. She had every right to be mad. She wouldn’t have known her boss, Madam Butterly, was a villain.
Nissy caught Rufkin’s eye again and pointed at the Queen.
“Queen Sibilla,” he whispered back.
Nissy mimed Duh-uh, the pair of us.
Rufkin, still on the floor, put a hand to his stomach. Nissy’s notebook, still inside his shirt, another surprise waiting for her.
By now Calleena had curtseyed to the Queen and stepped to the side. Her fingers fiddled with the red bag, just as Rufkin fi
dgeted in his pocket when he was nervous. She stayed close to the door, eyeing the room and everything in it. Hodie held a hand out to Murgott and they gripped in a soldierly arm-shake.
Lu’nedda gave Hodie a hug and a great smacking kiss on both cheeks. “Everyone, sit down,” she said. “We are having exciting morning. Now, refreshments for new guests.”
Tiny Delilah opened her eyes. “Lunch at last for the grown-ups.” With a thumbs-up she marched for the kitchen, white ponytail bouncing.
Rufkin slid up off the floor at last and hoped Lord Hodie wouldn’t notice him.
The orphans and Vosco scurried in like a flock of chickens. Hodie bowed and greeted them all from smallest to tallest. “Pipsqueak. Buffin and Jonty. Mungo. Petulia.” He grinned at Vosco, white teeth startling in his smudged face. “And Vosco. Yes, it was me.”
The little boy was holding back, gray eyes wary under the very disgusting beanie. Lord Hodie hunkered down and offered his hand. “I’m happy to see you again and to see you well. Good on you, mate, for getting through. You’re a little champion. Do you still have the trumpet? You’re welcome to keep it.”
With the ghost of a smile, Vosco backed off till he was leaning against the Queen again.
“Little duke needs shoes,” said Lu’nedda. “He had adventure in holey sock. Pipsqueak, bring pair of your sneakers.”
The little boy raced off.
Rufkin eased further to the edge of the room. He’d hand Nissy her notebook later when he had a chance. It would save more embarrassment if he stayed incredibly quiet for the rest of the day. He should sneak outside. But he’d like to hear what happened next.
Lord Hodie, grim-faced again, stood at ease like an army officer. Which of course he was. It was scary to see a hero in the middle of a job.
“As you know, Your Majesty, I thought it important to investigate Madam Butterly before doing anything else.” Lord Hodie glanced at Calleena.
She held her hands up like pretty paws and settled in an armchair at last. She did look weary.
The Queen gave her a calm stare, then turned back to Hodie. “And as you know, Lord Hodie, I thought it essential to check out the lazulite mine.”
