ONDINE
The Summer of Shambles
EBONY MCKENNA
EGMONT
We bring stories to life
Ondine: The Summer of Shambles first published in Great Britain 2010
by Egmont UK Limited
239 Kensington High Street
London W8 6SA
Text copyright © Ebony McKenna 2010
Cover photograph: Dimitri Vervitsiotis
Photographer’s Choice RF/Getty Images
The moral rights of the author and cover illustrator have been asserted
First e-book edition 2011
ISBN 978 17803 1011 4
www.egmont.co.uk
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Dedicated to the memory of Frank Muir, a true gentleman and kind mentor.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About Brugel
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Acknowledgements
About the Author
BRUGEL (pron. Broo-gl) Officially The Serene Duchy of Brugel. Brugel is a small country in eastern Europe. It has a single house of parliament, called ‘the Dentate’ (the place with teeth). The First Minister is the head of government. The Duke of Brugel is the head of state.
Brugel is at the crossroads of old and new Europe. Previously part of the USSR, Brugel declared independence in 1991 and shares its borders with Slaegal to the north and east, Craviç to west and the Black Sea to the south. The capital and largest city is Venzelemma. The Brugel language is derived from an earlier form of English. This came about after many Jutes, Angles and Saxons took a wrong turn in the fifth century and found themselves at the Black Sea.
Brugel has survived through many hardships, having been annexed into the Constantine, Austro-Hungarian, Prussian and Holy Roman empires at various – and mercifully short – times in history. In the 1950s Soviet tanks often rumbled through the main streets of Venzelemma – on their way to somewhere else.
Any rumours you may have heard about Brugel are probably true. All psychics and mediums can trace their DNA to the foothills of Brugel. The countryside is the birthplace of gypsy folklore, and fairy tales and talking animals are interwoven in daily life. This is a country where the strange and unusual are not only tolerated, they are encouraged.
Chapter One
This is a great story, and like a good many great stories before it, it begins with a teenage girl. Her name is Ondine de Groot and she is fifteen. She has long dark hair past her shoulders, which is neat for about five minutes before it gets messy and stringy. Her eyes are dark brown and pretty, except when she’s rolling them. She also adores small animals, of which you will hear more in a moment.
Ondine’s story begins exactly twelve years ago today, in a place called Brugel,1 a pretty country in eastern Europe which is well known for its old buildings.2 On the day this story begins, Ondine was nearing the end of her time at Psychic Summercamp. As the name suggests, Psychic Summercamp is a place for students to spend their holidays developing their psychic and other extra-sensory skills. In some countries, students spend their holidays at adventure camp, fat camp or mathletics. In Brugel, they do things differently.
Back to Ondine. She is in a dormitory with three other girls (who are asleep on account of it being so early in the morning) and she’s just woken with a jolt.
‘Saturn’s rings! It’s six o’clock! I’ve slept through the astral projection exam.’ Ondine sat up and pushed the covers away. The bed’s throw fell to the floor, smothering the furry black ferret that lay curled up on a patch of rug beneath.
‘Melody, wake up,’ she said, nudging the sleeping girl in the bunk above her. ‘What happened in the astral exam?’
It took Melody a few more nudges to wake up. Yawning, she swiped her mousy-blonde hair from her face, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and inspected it, then stopped as she realised she had an audience.
‘Ah, sorry.’ Melody looked embarrassed as she blinked herself awake. ‘What’s going on, what time is it? The sun isn’t even up.’ The psychic lessons didn’t seem to have worked very well on her either.
‘Shh, you’ll wake the others,’ Ondine said. ‘Now, quick, what happened in the astral?’
‘I . . . I don’t know. I must have slept through it!’ Melody’s face crumpled and she made ready to cry. ‘I’m going to fail, aren’t I?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll fail more than you.’ As Ondine looked around the room, she spotted the handle of her suitcase poking out from under her bed. It gave her an idea. ‘This entire thing is a waste of time, and a waste of our summer holidays. I’m going to run away to home.’
A great many girls of Ondine’s age would love to run away from home, but Ondine was the other way around. She’d had it up to here (hold your hand at eyebrow level) with the whole psychic thing and knew it was time to quit.
While Melody watched the door for teachers, Ondine packed up her clothes and her gimgaws3 and doohickie whatsits and zipped the case closed.
‘Shouldn’t you tell Mrs Howser you’re leaving?’ Melody asked.
‘Pfft. She’s the psychic one, why should I bother?’ Ondine looked at the sleeping forms of her remaining roommates. ‘You can tell the other two when they wake up.’
‘How will you get home?’ Melody asked.
Valid question. Psychic Summercamp was located on the outskirts of Brugel’s capital city, Venzelemma, and Ondine’s family lived right over on the other side.
‘There’s a bus stop down the end of the street, so I’ll take that to central station. Then I’ll get the train the rest of the way home.’ Ondine sounded rather pleased with her plan as she lifted the throw off the ferret and folded it into a messy rectangle-ish shape on the end of her bed. The throw, not the animal. Ferrets don’t fold so well.
‘What about Shambles?’ Melody asked, looking at the sleeping animal on the ground.
Oh dear. Ondine hadn’t given much thought to the ferret, because she didn’t think the creature should be coming with her. Ondine was more your fluffy kitten-y type of girl, so she hadn’t given much attention this morning to the long and skinny bundle of black. Turning up at home, unannounced, before Summercamp finished would give her family enough of a fright. Turning up unannounced with a weasel in her hands might finish her mother right off.
‘He’s a sweet thing, and he’s really taken to you.’ Melody’s eyes were bright with possibilities.
‘You’re right,’ Ondine agreed.
During the weeks at camp, Ondine and Shambles the ferret had become unlikely buddies. He’d turned up one day4 and made himself at home, following Ondine about. He’d even come to classes with her. The thought of abandoning the little fella to the craziness of Summercamp and Mrs Howser made something twist in her tummy. Probably guilt. A bit of hunger too.
Then Shambles the ferret woke up, spun around a few times and stood up on his hind legs, looking like an elongated, begging puppy
. If puppies had pointy noses, long whiskers and sharp teeth.
‘And nobody else got a pet while they were here,’ Melody said. ‘You were really lucky.’
Hmmm, what to do? It wouldn’t be right to leave him here.
‘I’ll take him with me and find him a good home,’ Ondine said, scooping up the creature and tucking him into the crook of her arm. ‘Shambles, you’re going to have to behave yourself or I’ll leave you on the bus.’ It was her way of trying to sound stroppy. The little fella was pretty cute once you got to know him.
And that’s how Ondine came to leave Psychic Summercamp on that warm summer’s morning, with a ferret wrapped around her neck like a scarf and the scent of geraniums and lavender in her nostrils as she walked along the flower-studded footpath to the bus stop. The wind blew her hair in wild directions, whipping at her lips and eyes. There was nothing she could do to prevent it; she needed both hands to carry her heavy case. Not even a spare hand for Shambles – he hung on to her collar.
It wasn’t until Ondine got off the bus and reached Venzelemma’s crowded central train station that the ferret spoke.
‘Thank gooniss for tha–, I’m all bumpy and broke,’ Shambles said with a deep Scottish accent, then climbed on to her head to get a better view. ‘Progress! The train’ll be here in a minute. When we get tae yer hoose we can eet, I’m fair starven.’
Ondine gasped and dropped her case on the platform in shock. Because, make no mistake about it, there was definitely a man’s voice coming from the ferret. Quickly, she found a place to sit down, then she hauled Shambles into her hands to have a good look at him, all the time wondering if she’d gone a bit . . . funny.
‘I’ve lost my mind,’ Ondine said. A furtive look around told her nobody else was paying them any attention. The station was full of grey-looking people heading off to work for the day, completely unaware of the teenage girl with scruffy brown hair holding a black ferret.
‘Nae ye havnae, but ye can hear me,’ Shambles added in his thick brogue. ‘Looks like somethin’ must hae rubbed off at Summercamp.’
Ondine rolled her eyes. ‘Ma will be so pleased. All that gypsy blood in my veins and all I can do is talk to rodents.’
‘I’m nae rodent, ye bampot,5 I’m a ferret. Completely different. Right then, hae comes the loco. Let me at yer neck.’
‘But . . . but!’ Ondine’s brain turned to slurry as she tried to make sense of this talking animal. All the while heated embarrassment roared up her neck and face.
‘No backing out now, lassie. I’m coming with ye. Now grab the case and on we get. And upon my honour, I promise to behave.’
What could she do? It was still such a shock that her new furry friend could talk. And why could she only hear him now? At that moment the train6 pulled in and Ondine had no more time for prevaricating.
It was a tense ride home on the train, what with the uncomfortable wooden seats, a talking ferret wriggling about her neck and passengers giving her very strange looks. As soon as the engine arrived at her home station, Ondine grabbed Shambles away from her throat and put him on her shoulder.
His little paws reached up to the top of her head. He stretched and had a good look around.
‘Oh, so ye live in this part of town, how very la-dedah! No wonder yer parents have money tae pish away on psychic dafties.’
By this point you may have formed the opinion that Shambles was not your run-of-the-mill ferret, and you’d be right. You may have also formed the opinion that he’s saucy and cheeky, and you’d be right there too. But if you think he’s nothing but trouble, you’re wrong, although he does give that impression.
As keen as she was to race home, Ondine waited for the train to clear the station before she stepped off the end of the platform to walk across the tracks, looking both ways to make sure no other trains were coming. The pedestrian overpass would have been safer, but it was closed to the public until the official opening.
‘Pinch me, I’m dreaming,’ Shambles said as he noted the direction Ondine was taking him. ‘The girl lives in a pub!’
The ferret spoke the truth. Ondine’s parents ran a hotel and public bar on the main road in a pretty swanky part of Venzelemma. Three storeys tall and painted bright blue and white, the hotel towered over the neighbourhood. As neighbourhoods go, the de Groots’ part of Venzelemma was one of the nicer ones, with a good mix of residences and businesses, and far removed from the fish markets. Even the newer buildings looked like old buildings to help them blend in.
The Station Hotel prided itself on being a family business, where everyone pitched in and helped. Not yet old enough to serve alcohol in the bar, Ondine worked in the dining room and helped out behind the scenes. A lot.
Most people think if your parents run a restaurant, you eat delicious five-course meals every night.
You don’t.
Ask anyone what it’s really like and they’ll tell you it’s nothing but work. Washing dishes, ironing tablecloths, cleaning the floors, chopping wood for the fire, keeping the fire going all night, preparing food. Look, the list just goes on and on.
But for Ondine, working at home with her parents appealed more than howling at the moon or looking for omens in tea leaves or reading palms or any other great wastes of time that sucked away her precious summer holidays.
‘Wait up, we cannae just walk in. Yer mother will fair faint,’ Shambles said, holding on to Ondine’s shoulder.
That made Ondine stop for a moment and think about her plan of action.
‘She’ll be glad to see me,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t know what she’ll make of you. She’s not the pet kind.’
‘I’m nobody’s pet!’ Shambles clenched his paws on his hips in frustration. ‘And dinnae tell no one about finding a new home for me. Yer the first person who’s heard me in scores of years, mebbe more. I’ve lost count. I need ye tae stick around and help me, because I think I’m losing my social skills.’7
Laughter caught in Ondine’s throat. She dumped her suitcase on the ground to catch her breath. It had been a trying morning to say the least, and she wasn’t used to lugging heavy things for long distances. Plates piled high with food were fine, because they only needed carrying from the kitchen to the dining-room tables. Heavy suitcases were another matter entirely.
Picking up her suitcase with a grunt, Ondine resumed her walk to the back door. ‘Are all ferrets like you? I mean, how come you can talk?’
‘Because I’m nawt a real ferret. I’m a man. My name’s Hamish McPhee, but I offended a witch and she turned me thus. I’ve bin like this for years. Powerful magic it was and all. Haven’t a grey hair on me. Thank gooniss she used a staying spell.’
Ondine’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You offended a witch? Wow!’
‘Aye. She took it badly.’
‘Obviously! You must have done something really awful to her.’ Her mind reeled as she wondered what sort of offensive thing might make a witch turn a regular man into a weasel. A regular man! Ondine’s memory leapt back to her time in Summercamp, when she’d allowed Shambles to sleep in her dorm. Well, that was before she’d known what he really was. Now that she did know, there’d be no more of that!
‘Aye, and I’m deeply ashamed,’ Shambles admitted.
‘What did you do then? And is this witch about to descend on me and demand the return of her familiar?’8 Had Ondine taken on more than she’d bargained for?
‘I’m no familiar! They’re silly animals turned into fat-belly pets. I’ll have ye remember I’m a man living in reduced circumstances.’
‘You’re stalling. What did you do?’
‘Aw, I was a right neep.9 I was supposed tae partner her at a debutante ball. Ye know the ones, where the girls get all dolled up and look like brides? And then they get presented to some fancy-pants man, like a mayor or a duke.’
That gave Ondine cause for pause. ‘It must have been a while ago. Hardly anyone does a deb any more. I know Ma was keen on us getting presented, but it’s
all a bit old-fashioned and silly.’
‘Too right, that’s what I thought. But this girl took it real serious-like. And I didnae. I wasnae yer ideal partner, on account of the fact I had ma first taste of plütz10 that night.’
His tone of voice told Ondine he felt truly sorry for his actions, and she started to feel a bit sorry for him in return.
By now they’d reached the back door. Ondine fished around in her pockets for her key and made ready to let them in. The smell of fried breakfast foods wafted from the kitchen windows, making her tummy rumble.
‘Out with it then.’
‘It’s embarrassing –’
This ought to be good. ‘I’m sure it is. Hurry up, I need breakfast.’
‘Aw, breakfast. I could murder some big fatty sausage,’ Shambles said, his tongue licking the fur around his mouth in anticipation.
‘Stop stalling,’ Ondine said, clenching her hands into fists by her sides. ‘Tell me what happened, and then we’ll have breakfast.’
‘Ooooh, listen to ye! All grown up and sophisticated, like,’ Shambles teased, then Ondine stared daggers at him and his voice dropped to a sombre tone. ‘I didn’t know she was a real witch, otherwise I wouldnae called her one. But she was getting snippy with me, so I ducked off and had some more plütz. It’s like peaches and rocket fuel that stuff, and I’ve nawt touched it since. Then she got really pished with me when I stepped on her feet and fell over. I ripped the lacy bit at the bottom of her skirt and then she got really mad. She called me pond scum. I called her a witch. She looked like her head might explode. She said, “You’re damn right I’m a witch. And you’re nothing better than a low-down weasel,” and then she said I could stay like that.’
‘Wow. And she turned you into a ferret, right there in front of everyone?’
‘Naw, she turned me into a donkey! Of course she turned me into a ferret! She was fair affronted.’
It took a few moments for Ondine to run the scenario through her head. ‘But she called you a weasel, not a ferret. So how did that work?’
Ondine Page 1
