Rebel Fires

by Tara Omar

  C h a p t e r 6 0

  For someone trying to be stealthy, Norbert’s tiny shack was a nightmarish maze of noisy junk and dangerous objects. Madame Soiree stood near the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust. As silhouettes of broken toasters and hanging bottles emerged from the darkness, she moved farther inside, ducking to avoid a low-hanging colander that was dangling from the ceiling.

  You have to be here somewhere, thought Madame. I know you’re here.

  A glance around the room and quick peek under the workbench showed there was no one in the shack but the snoring Norbert. Madame Soiree turned her attention to the floor, but even among the layers of sand and crudely cut boards, she could find no trap door. She eyed Norbert in the corner.

  It’s under the mattress, thought Madame Soiree. It has to be.

  She pulled a piece of pipe from a flower pot and inched closer to the sleeping Norbert, raising the pipe above her head as she readied to strike him. Suddenly Madame Soiree stopped and spun around. Something scurried in the darkness.

  What was that? she wondered.

  It scurried again, this time across the shelves nearer to her. An awful, gut-wrenching odour filled her nose and left her spine tingling with disgust. Before she could react, it leapt toward her, digging its claws into her hair as it landed on her head. Madame dropped the pipe and screamed, flailing her arms and turning as she tried to shake the mouse from her head, but it hung on. She tripped over a mouldy pouf and fell, banging her head against Norbert’s workbench as she dropped to the ground. Norbert sprang up from his spot and turned on the lights, finding Madame Soiree face down near the workbench, unconscious.

  “Yellow bees and bumbling snots, there’s a real, live, traitorous spy in my house! Right near there, there is!” exclaimed Norbert. He stumbled toward a shelf full of spices and knickknacks, pulling a syringe needle from the backside of his hippopotamus-shaped topiary clock. The trap door popped open under his mattress. Sasha pulled himself into the shack, followed by Catherine, David and Natalie.

  “What happened? What are you doing?” asked Sasha.

  “I caught Miss Warty snooping around, I did. Now I’m injecting her with a bit of untraceable sedative I had stored on my spice shelf. I used to make it for Lady Imaan, but I’m sure she won’t mind me taking it, given the circumstances.”

  “She must have been looking for David,” said Sasha.

  “Or whoever she thought was in pink,” said Catherine.

  In a burst of movement, Kiwi flew from across the room to Natalie’s chest, covered in what looked like matted remnants of hair from a hairbrush. Natalie cooed, “You were wonderful, my beautiful, little parakeet. You saved the day. Oh, you’re such a good bird.”

  She pulled the wad of hair off his back and gave him a sunflower seed. Kiwi flew to a pot near the ceiling to eat in peace. Norbert grabbed the hairball and gave it a sniff.

  “Whooh, that is a be-yootiful specimen of etrahydropyradine, that is,” said Norbert. “It is etrahydropyradine, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed,” said Natalie.

  “What?” asked David.

  Norbert sniffed it again. “Hmm, usually it’s not a smelly aroma though.”

  “I used potassium hydroxide made from wood ash,” said Natalie. Norbert smiled and waved his finger.

  “Oh, good thinking, Nattie,” said Norbert. “I’m going to have to remember that one, especially for vagrants infesting my vegetable patch. This is beautiful.”

  “Would someone please explain what just happened?” asked David. “…in simple terms, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s mouse taint, a common winemaking fault that makes the wine taste like a smelly, mouse cage,” said Norbert.

  “I destabilised the wine left in the bunker and adjusted the chemistry to produce the fault. I then raised the pH with potassium hydroxide to make it volatile, meaning you can smell it.”

  Norbert handed him the smelly wad of hair.

  “Ew, that’s revolting,” said David.

  “And surprisingly effective,” said Natalie, glancing at the unconscious Madame. “How long will she be out?”

  “A couple of hours,” said Norbert.

  “We must move now and take our chances with the sea,” said Sasha. “We can’t risk anyone else poking around.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Norbert. “I’ll wake up Gill, see if I can get him to take Warty back to the Palace.”

  “No, I’ll do it,” blurted Catherine. “I’m going that way anyway.”

  They loaded the fermentation tank and other supplies into Buttercup and rolled the AO-RV into the sea. Catherine gave the ailing Liza a last blessing before hauling the unconscious Madame to the back of her pteroduck. She offered a quick prayer as she closed the hatch and started the engine. The swan-like boat ran through the water, its webbed feet slapping the waves as it increased its speed until it finally jumped and somersaulted, changing into a pterodactyl-like aircraft as it soared upward. Catherine checked the coordinates.

  “Avinoam forgive me,” she whispered. “What I’m about to do is very unholy.”

  C h a p t e r 6 1

  Catherine carried the unconscious Madame Soiree across the carpeted corridors toward the Marilyn Room, ducking behind a potted tree as a guard patrolled the hall. Catherine took a stone from inside the pot and flung it down the corridor. As expected, the guard left his post to investigate. Catherine threw Madame over her shoulder and slipped inside.

  Boy, he’s really laying it on thick, isn’t he? thought Catherine as she scanned the room. Shopping bags from every major department store lined the walls. Catherine dropped Madame and hurried to the vanity, on which sat a small bag from a famed Aerothian jewellery store and a massive bouquet of roses. She opened the bag, finding inside a case with a large emerald pendant. Catherine smiled.

  This will do quite nicely, I think.

  She plucked a wire from a rose stem and grabbed a black department store bag, tiptoeing toward the closet as Beatrice turned in her bed. Catherine slowly opened various drawers in the closet, careful not to disturb anything until she found the drawer full of hair accessories.

  Jackpot, thought Catherine.

  Beatrice moaned.

  Catherine quickly retrieved what she needed and dropped to the ground, finding near to the floor a small drawer with materials for mending last minute emergencies. She grabbed a pair of scissors and fabric glue before hurrying out of the closet, quickly making a few adjustments before letting herself out onto the balcony. Catherine inched her way past the guards from the outside of the building, climbing into an open window near to Liza’s room. She ran down the corridor and into her own room, quickly changing into her long nightgown and cap before climbing into bed. Then, she waited, her fingers racing along a string of beads as she prayed.

  C h a p t e r 6 2

  Catherine awoke to the muffled calls and hurried footsteps of Palace guards running down the corridor. She grabbed her slippers and robe and peeked outside. Dominic passed her room.

  “Is everything okay, Your Majesty? What’s happening?”

  “There appears to be a problem in Lady Beatrice’s room,” said Dominic. “You’d better come along.”

  Catherine followed Dominic to the Marilyn Room where Lady Beatrice had been sleeping and high-pitched screams had been heard mere minutes before. Now, Beatrice stood on the side of the bed wrapped in thick blankets, with a cat-ear headband on her head. Madame Soiree was held between two guards; she was wearing the emerald necklace and a similar headband, with very little else. Dominic grimaced.

  “Get her a robe,” he ordered, looking away.

  Beatrice rushed to Dominic’s side. “Oh, Dominic, I was sleeping, and when I rolled over, I thought maybe you had come, but instead I found her in my bed, and I screamed.”

  He pulled the headband from her hair.

&n
bsp; “Explain yourself, Soiree,” said Dominic.

  Madame squinted drowsily. “There was a mouse,” she said. “It was in my hair.”

  “So you jumped into bed with Beatrice?” asked Dominic.

  “I didn’t do anything with her, I swear,” pleaded Beatrice. “She tried to take advantage.”

  Madame Soiree pulled her arms away from the guards and covering her mouth, sprinted to the bathroom.

  “Is she drunk?” asked Dominic.

  “She was at the wine tasting last night, Sir,” said the guard.

  Madame Soiree staggered back to the room, still drowsy and sick from Norbert’s injection and a large helping of Liza’s diet pills, which Catherine had secretly given her. Dominic tossed the headband onto a chair.

  “You are relieved of your duties, Madame Soiree. You are to pack your bags at once and be off the Palace grounds before breakfast. Guards, make sure she obliges,” said Dominic. “Catherine, stay with Beatrice for the rest of the morning. She’s had quite a shock.”

  Beatrice scanned his face, searching for any semblance of sympathy, but found none. Dominic barely glanced at her as he left the room. Beatrice dropped to the ground, sobbing.

  “Oh, what a wretched thing to happen,” cried Beatrice. “Why would she do this to me?”

  “Well, I don’t know much about this sort of thing,” said Catherine, finding a robe in the closet, “but you do present yourself quite attractively. Madame must have taken it the wrong way.”

  “Me? With her?” gasped Beatrice. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “I agree, Miss” said Catherine, “though, relationships in general are a sticky business. As for me, I’d rather stick to praying, as you once did.”

  “Just because I’m here so soon after Liza’s death doesn’t mean I’m easy,” snapped Beatrice.

  “No one said you were, Miss,” said Catherine.

  “I mean love is love, right?” asked Beatrice. “Dominic and I can’t help how we feel about one another.”

  “And apparently neither could Madame Soiree,” said Catherine, “but enough of that now. His Majesty’s right. You’ve had quite a shock. Why not get some rest while I arrange your closet? It’s not fitting for the future queen to be in such a clutter?”

  “You really think I still have a chance, after all this?” asked Beatrice.

  “Oh, I think you and Dominic were made for each other,” said Catherine. “Truly.”

  “Huh. I always knew you were a groveller, but somehow I pictured you’d be more loyal to the old regime,” said Beatrice, thoughtful. “You’re okay.”

  Catherine forced a smile. “I’m glad I meet with your approval.”

  “Yes,” said Beatrice climbing into bed with a yawn. “Put away the packages and organise the closet as suggested, and make sure a pteroduck is waiting in the morning. I’m going to the shops.”

  “Very well, Miss. You must tell the footman to arrange—”

  “I’m telling you,” snapped Beatrice.

  Catherine nodded.

  “I had a dress planned for the funeral, but I think I’m going to take it up a bit. Nothing scandalous…still, it can’t hurt to remind His Majesty precisely why I’m the one in the Marilyn Room.”

  “Very well,” said Catherine, barely listening, “as you say.”

  The faintest hint of morning sun began to shine in the darkness. In the middle of the Oceana, Buttercup bounced along the rolling waves, floating with the current in the general direction of Faerkbërde Forest. Fluffy and the vegetable mush bubbled away in a geyser on the roof, while Kiwi and Crusty napped in the dark passenger seat. Sasha stared past the steering wheel, looking pensive. In the back, the seats had been folded away to form a flat bed, Liza trembled under blankets near the window, visibly worsening. Natalie read quietly next to her using a light from her goldfish clutch-computer, munching on a few sweet crab koeksisters Hongi had packed for them. David sat near the open hatch, angrily picking apart a Gatsby slice and tossing it into the blackish sea. Natalie looked up from her book.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m just thinking about everything that’s happened,” said David.

  “And?”

  “I can’t believe Petra lied to me. She told me the shield was in the fountain.”

  “She also said she was an architect that designed the Suez underground, David,” said Natalie. “Some people just boast and lie. It’s how they are.”

  “But we were supposed to be from the same place. She and I are supposedly ‘not from Aeroth.’ I thought she’d be more loyal, if not to me, then at least to Lady Imaan. She was a member of the Fraternity.”

  “Lady Imaan is dead, David, and from what I gather, Petra was barely loyal to her.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said David, tossing another ring into the sea.

  “Look, so you misread a few signs. It happens to the best of us,” said Natalie. “All that matters now is how you move forward.”

  David nodded. “What are you reading?”

  “Oh, this?” asked Natalie. “Hongi lent it to me.”

  David read the book’s title.

  The Ancient Art of Self Defence

  “I thought I’d brush up on some martial arts in case this Rahul-Raphael character turns out to be difficult,” said Natalie.

  “Have you done martial arts before?” asked David.

  “No,” said Natalie, “have you?”

  David chuckled. “Natalie, martial arts takes years to perfect. You can’t just read about it and assume it’ll help you.”

  “Well, it’s better than nothing,” said Natalie.

  “But you barely know how to—” David looked at her feet, which were now sporting a bright pair of fuzzy socks printed with hot pink jellyfish. He smiled.

  “What?” asked Natalie.

  “No, nothing,” said David. “Keep reading.”

  “Well, as I said, it’s better than nothing, unless you expect me to depend on you for protection.”

  “The girl’s got a point,” said Sasha.

  “Ha-ha,” grumbled David. “In any case, I’ve broken up quite a few fights in my day. Why, back at Stoneview I—uh… well, I…” David stopped.

  “What?”

  “No, nothing,” said David. “I was just on the verge of a memory.”

  “Something about Stoneview?” asked Natalie.

  “Yeah, but it’s gone now,” said David. “I don’t remember.”

  Natalie smiled. “It’s okay. You have a past now with Bertha, Claude and the kelp farms, remember? …even if it is a made-up one.”

  “Yeah,” said David.

  “This Rahul we’re going to see, he’s also called Raphael?” asked Sasha.

  “That’s right,” said Natalie.

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Well, he pled guilty to heinous war crimes and also tried to kill David,” said Natalie, “but Raphael saved David’s life while under duress, which is why we’re heading there now.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention any of this when asking if I’d come with you?” asked Sasha.

  David shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

  “Of course it didn’t,” grumbled Sasha.

  David stared ahead at the Oceana and tossed another piece of Gatsby into the sea.

  C h a p t e r 6 3

  The morning light shone across Aeroth, giving the buildings a sparkling glow and the foliage a glistening hue. From the large windows in Gabe’s home office, Aeroth looked like the tropical paradise of a postcard with Mount Leah as its focal point. Gabe barely gave it a look as he poured over reports, schedules and the morning paper, a coffee in hand. Petra stood at the door, tightening the strings of her bathrobe.

  “Are you working already?” she asked.

 
“Mhm,” said Gabe, sipping his coffee.

  Petra sighed. “You know you don’t have to.”

  A jingle hummed through the office, and a light flickered above the taps next to his desk, indicating an incoming aquamail. Gabe turned the tap, watching as the inky liquid poured over the etched tablet in the sink. He read. A surprised look lined his face.

  “What is it?” asked Petra.

  “A note from Dominic,” said Gabe. “Apparently he found Madame Soiree in bed with Beatrice this morning.”

  “Madame Soiree?” asked Petra. “I didn’t know she was that way.”

  “Neither did I,” said Gabe. “Dominic’s fired Madame, but is unsure of what to do with Beatrice.”

  “Was Beatrice guilty?”

  “It doesn’t sound like it, but Dominic’s not sure he can put the incident behind him.”

  “From what I recall, Beatrice is a big supporter of yours, though, so you’d want her to stay,” said Petra.

  “Mhm, I’ll talk to Dominic after breakfast when he’s over the shock of it,” said Gabe. “It doesn’t sound too threatening. Don’t worry about it.”

  “What makes you think I’d worry?” asked Petra.

  He picked up his paper and coffee and passed her in the door, kissing her forehead as he left.

  For the rest of the morning, Buttercup sailed across the Oceana without incident, while Natalie kept reading and David continued his angry Gatsby-picking. After lunch, Natalie changed the fermentation tank into a still, monitoring the alcohol content via some wires attached to her goldfish computer. Kiwi and Crusty were arguing in annoyed chirps from the passenger seat. Kiwi wanted to sit near the front window, but it appeared Crusty also wanted to, resulting in a lot of mutual pecking and screaming. Natalie reached around the seat and took Kiwi into her arms, breaking up the fight with two sunflower seeds and a quick rub to Kiwi’s head. Sasha groaned. “I knew it was too good to last. Damn.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Natalie.

  “To your places everyone,” said Sasha, pulling a foldable screen from the glove compartment. “Ibex is coming.”