The length emphasised her fabulous mahogany-coloured boots with intricate buttons dotted up the side.
On her head she wore a fur-lined box-style hat, which sat so neatly upon her head it didn’t damage her perfectly coiffed hair.
Her gloves matched her boots, but would have been made with much softer leather.
Has she had more ‘work’ done? Ondine wondered, as she took in the Duchess’s unlined face.
Bud lighting shone from the bare trees. Decorative bunting in the Brugel colours of red, white and blue flapped in the breeze.
Paper lanterns hung in the shop windows. After all, it was Christmas Eve and people should be celebrating.
Especially after the drudgery of the past few days. [214]
Tight security kept Anathea safely protected from the crowds. This could be tricky. They couldn’t very well walk up to the Duchess of Brugel and . . . OK, apparently they could.
“Colette Romano, my very good friend,” Duchess Anathea said loud enough for everyone to hear. They embraced and kissed each other on the left cheek, then the right, then back to the left again. If Ondine’s eyes widened any more she’d turn into a goldfish. Since when had Anathea and Old Col been such firm friends?
“Go aloang with it,” Hamish murmured in her ear.
She’d go along with whatever Hamish said, that was a no-brainer. Before she even questioned what they were doing next, various officials herded them into a cabin on the brightly lit Ferris wheel. It had lights in a chasing sequence, radiating from the core, in Christmassy golds and reds and greens. Double bonus, they didn’t have to queue up in the cold to get a ticket.
Anathea remained outside for a moment, as she wielded a pantomime-huge pair of scissors and cut a ribbon. “Let Christmas begin!”
The crowd roared and threw cheese balls into the air.[215]
The next thing Ondine knew, Duchess Anathea plonked herself into the cabin with them. Biscuit the dog charged in and leapt upon his master’s lap. The dog still didn’t have his teeth back to full size. Poor thing. [216]
“Now then,” Anathea said to Ondine, Old Col and Hamish, “there will be smiles for the cameras.”
Cameras clicked and flashes flashed. No point asking, ‘What’s going on?’ because Anathea was too busy being fabulous for the media. A stray thought flicked through her head. Where was Vincent? Surely he’d want to be in front of a camera at this point?
The door finally closed and the heating came on beneath their feet. How clever to have heating inside the cabins! It warmed them up and fogged the windows, which only served to confuse Ondine. Surely the point of the ride was for the amazing view?
“Now the door has been closed,” Anathea said, “we shall not be overheard.”
“My Lord Duchess, you are truly marvellous to see us,” Old Col said, “and on such an important day as Christmas Eve.”
Anathea waved her hand to dismiss her. “No time for that. What is planned?”
“Whoops!” The cabin lurched, sending an alarmed Biscuit scuttling onto the floor and Ondine into Hamish’s arms. She snuck in another kiss while she was this close. When she turned around, everyone was blanketed.
“Where did they –?”
“Thanks Ondi,” Old Col tucked herself in.
The Duchess cast a quizzing glance Ondine’s way. Ondine was about to ask, “Where did they come from?” meaning the blankets. But then she remembered the carriage ride home from the wedding. She and Hamish must have made the blankets appear, simply from having a quick smooch or being close to each other, at the same time that somebody else had made a wish.
The Ferris wheel started again. Biscuit poked his head out from under the blanket.
They weren’t too high yet, but Ondine wiped her sleeve over the foggy window to gaze out at the pretty lights surrounding Savo Plaza, which had turned the scene into a snowy fairyland.
Anathea adjusted the blanket across her knees. “Tell me what is planned?”
“Planned, Your Grace?” Ondine asked back.
“Yes, planned. There are already rumblings about bringing forward Vincent’s coronation. It must be stopped.”
“But um . . . I’m not sure we’re the right people you should be asking about that.” Ondine tried very hard to keep her tone polite, but all the same she felt she was being terribly rude in refusing Anathea. Not that she really knew what she was refusing at this point.
“You are exactly the right people to be talking to,” Anathea said. “You make people’s wishes come true.”
How did she know this? Ondine’s eyes shot to her great-auntie, who looked guilty.
Col cleared her throat and gave everyone a huge grin, as if she’d worked out something very clever. “It’s all falling into place. Just as I knew it would.” Then she coughed, as if to hide her real thoughts. Because Ondine suspected Col was making this up as she went along. “As we know, children, it’s Anathea’s deepest wish to be the fairest and best leader Brugel has ever had. This will bring certainty and stability to the country. Your magic, when you become amorous, makes other people’s wishes come true. May I suggest you –”
“Huahhhtzu!” Ondine sneezed into her elbow. “Ugh, sorry.” She held her arm across her face to keep the germs in. “Does anyone have a tissue?”
Hamish shrugged and showed his empty hands. “Sorry, Ondi, I didnae think tae bring any.”
“Don’t look at me,” Anathea said as all eyes fell on her. “I’m only given this purse to match the shoes. I have no idea what they’ve put in here.” She opened her clutch purse to find it stuffed with butcher’s paper. “Would you look at that. It’s so new there wasn’t time for the stuffing to be taken out.”
Old Col rummaged around in her bag and produced a crumpled handkerchief.
“Danks,” Ondine grabbed it in time for another volcanic sneeze. Then three more for good measure. By the time the sneezing stopped and they’d all said, ‘Bless you,’ Ondine felt her brains turn to goulash. “I’m sorry Your Grace, I must have picked up a bug on the train ride here.”
“The train? Why were you not brought here by a taxi?”
“Couldn’t get one for love, money or magic,” Old Col said. “The traffic pile-ups we’ve been having must be contributing to the shortage.”
Which made Ondine cringe in shame. The traffic situation had been getting worse, according to reports on the radio every morning. Like the multi-car collision the morning of Margi’s wedding. Had that been a result of this newfound magic answering everyone’s wishes at once? Every driver always wished for green lights at intersections, but if they were approaching from different directions and their wish was granted, they’d all crash into each other.
Cold air tickled Ondine’s nose and she sneezed again.
“I take this to mean there will be no kissing?” Anathea asked.
“Weil,” Hamish shifted in his seat as he moved away from her germs.
“Would you look at that?” Old Col wiped the fog from the window so they could see. Immediately next to Savo Plaza, in all directions, the city was pitch black. Like a doughnut of darkness spreading into the immediate neighbourhood. The only lights they could see were from car headlights as they tried getting through intersections without crashing into each other.
“Glad I’m not old enough to drive,” Ondine said.
“The continuing power supply problems are being wished by Vincent, I’m sure of it,” Anathea said. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious he’s not here? Wouldn’t he just love to be associated with something wonderful like Christmas Eve? Unless he’s hoping things go badly wrong and people associate that calamity with me.”
That got Ondine’s attention. And Hamish’s. Even Biscuit looked up to his master in surprise. They all looked at her and waited until she finished her dramatic pause.
“There are rumblings and rumours that Vincent should inherit early,” Anathea said. “No doubt he is spreading them. There are those who say a woman at the helm is bad luck. There are t
hose that might hasten Vincent’s ascension.”
“Yer saying the city is full of troublemakers,” Hamish said.
“You catch on quickly,” Anathea said. “What we’re up against can clearly be seen. The darkness must be Vincent’s work, but he’s not doing it on his own. He must be getting help, and he must also be stopped. Brugel needs certainty and security. I can provide that. But the people don’t yet trust me or love me. It must be remedied.”
The thought, we’re in serious trouble, plagued Ondine.
Old Col looked royally miffed. “Much like this ride, we’re going round and round in circles and getting nowhere.”
Anathea sat up to her full haughty height. “The answer to our problems can be easily grasped. I must be the most popular leader Brugel has ever had.”
Even with magic on their side – and Ondine still wasn’t all that comfortable with her magic – the Duchess was asking for the impossible!
“Is that all?” Old Col said.
“You’re saying you’re not up to it?” Anathea shot back. “I know you need something from me. I’m merely suggesting we help each other in our times of need.”
“Er,” Hamish spoke up. “Ye mean my work papers, on account of not being Brugel born.”
“That has not been forgotten,” Anathea said as their cabin slowed. “You’ll be wanting this.” She retrieved a folded paper from her pocket. It had the hexagonal Brugelish flag watermarked through it. “This will be signed and handed over once my succession is secured.”
Their cabin came to a stop at the bottom of the Ferris wheel. Icy worries dug into Ondine. This felt a little too close to blackmail for comfort. But what choice did they have?
“Happy to help.” Hamish made the decision for them and gave Ondine the sweetest kiss. It caught her off balance. Her nose was still blocked from her earlier bout of sneezing. Ordinarily she’d luxuriate in his kiss but breathing carried a higher priority. She pulled back and panted for breath.
“Wonderful!” Anathea said, clapping her hands. Then she stepped out of their cabin to face a phalanx of flashing cameras. “A wonderful time was had by all. Merry Christmas everybody!”
“Awff we go then,” Hamish said, taking Ondine by the hand as the media pack followed Anathea’s every step. “Let’s get some cheese balls.”
“Do you think the kiss made her wish work?” Ondine asked.
“I doubt one kiss will do it all, lass, but mebbe it’s a start?”
A stray thought crept in. If their magic didn’t work, maybe Old Col wasn’t as good at guiding magic as she’d let on? In which case – the second stray thought said – perhaps she might need Mrs. Howser’s help after all?
IF YOU’VE NEVER EATEN fried cheese balls, you haven’t lived. Hot and crunchy and a bit saltier than is good for you on the outside, gooey and warm in the middle – they’re perfect for cold months. [217] Ondine and Hamish shared some as they sat on a bench in the midst of the Christmas market, racking their brains for ways to make Anathea popular.
Cinnamon and gingerbread mixed with diesel generator smells as they set about having a big think. Everyone around them carried on being festive. Adults sipped mulled wine and the children drank hot chocolate. Piped music and puppet shows kept the party flowing. Everybody was enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the winter fair, carefree and happy. In stark contrast to Ondine, who felt matters of state pressing down on her shoulders.
“How will we know if the magic will work?” She asked as she chomped down on a cheese ball. “And another thing. If she wants to be popular, why can’t she pay some PR company to do it? They’d at least know what they were doing.”
“Aye. I’m thinkin’ along the same lines as you, hen. But she must think we can do it if she’s asked us.”
“Yes but what if while she’s wishing to be loved, everyone else wishes for something horrid to happen to her. And they don’t even know they’re wishing because they’re just thinking it.” It truly hurt her brain to think of the ramifications of their canoodling. “I mean, how far does the magic extend? Just the people around us or the whole city?”
“Aye. I heard on the radio this morning there were blackouts as far away as Craviç. Mebbe we should be careful about how kissy we get?”
Would they have to ration their kisses? Oh it hurt to think about that. Much better to keep her brain busy with practical matters. “She’s holding a work card over your head.”
“She’d call it leverage,” Old Col said, bringing them a fresh basket of piping hot cheese balls. “You help her, she helps you.”
“By the way,” Ondine poured on the sarcasm, “thanks for telling the Duchess all about the magic. Way to blab it to everyone before I’ve even had a chance to get used to it.”
“Because it works,” Old Col said, “and it will work for Anathea.”
“Yeah but, you should have told me you were going to tell her.”
“There wasn’t time, dear.”
Muttering disdain to herself, Ondine fell upon a fresh cheeseball and bit into it. It was so hot she couldn’t talk or swallow, but it was so gooey she couldn’t spit it out.
“Ye right, lass?”
“Here you are,” Col handed her a napkin.
Ondine dabbed at her lips and madly waved her hand in front of her mouth, as if that would cool things down.
“Hold on a minute.” Hamish reached for another napkin and held it up so everyone could see the printing. Fried Cheese Balls. Brugel’s National Treasure.
Then he grabbed a marker pen, crossed out the first three words and wrote “Duchess Anathea”.
Ondine nodded. Anathea making private wishes was one thing, but maybe they could help her popularity in other ways too? If people thought of their Duchess as a National Treasure, they’d be on the way to loving her to bits.
“You’re brilliant!” Ondine smothered Hamish in far too many cheesy kisses than was socially acceptable in public.
“Careful kids, you don’t know what people might be wishing while you do that.”
“Of course.” Ondine pulled herself away from Hamish and scoffed another cheese ball.
“We have another problem.” Old Col said. “How are we to pay for this advertising?”
“Anathea will. Won’t she?” Ondine asked.
“She’s broke,” Old Col said.
That stopped Ondine in her tracks.
“I should clarify.” Old Col split open a cheese ball in her fingers and blew on it to cool it down. “It’s not quite at the ‘selling off the family silver’ stage yet, but it’s getting there. That’s why she can’t afford to hire a public relations company.”
Ondine bit into another cheeseball, but the fun of it grew cold. The task ahead of them felt insurmountable.
Chapter Nine
Heading home, Ondine replayed Old Col’s words in her head as they trudged through the snow-lined streets. The train took them back to the station across the road from The Duke & Ferret, their family pub. But the lights weren’t on, not for them, nor for On The Fang.
Every single streetlight was out. Through the foggy restaurant windows, she could see candles burning for light on the dining tables. The donut of darkness she’d seen from the top of the Ferris wheel was now all around them.
Hamish – clever, thoughtful Hamish – had a torch in his satchel to guide them across the street.
Inside, they found Ma and Da re-using the wedding dinner candles to help customers complete their meals in comfort. It added a warm glow to the room, complimented by the roaring fire. She waved to Thomas as he fed two more logs to it.
It took an effort to remove all their layers of hats and coats and scarves in the dark, in the private room behind the kitchen. Ondine lost her balance taking her boot off and fell backwards into a box of extra thick plastic food wrap. The cardboard split open and the contents rolled out.
Hamish shone his torch on the roll and Ondine had a closer look. There was something printed on the pl
astic. Which was odd, because food wrap was usually clear, because you’re meant to see the food beneath it. This was opaque and as she unrolled it, and Hamish shone the torch to help them see better, she found herself looking at a keyboard layout.
“That’s nae clingfilm,” Hamish said.
“Cybelle!” Old Col said, her voice full of purpose. “I’ll bet Brugel to a brick this is one of her schemes.”
Schemes? What schemes did Old Col know about that Ondine didn’t? Mind ticking over with possibilities, Ondine immediately wondered if these ‘schemes’ meant extra money coming in.
Being Christmas Eve, they found Cybelle and Henrik in the kitchen, frantically cooking and serving meals. Except they had the added problem of no electricity. Henrik and Cybelle were adapting to the situation, using every single gas burner to keep things cooking along. The ovens weren’t working, as they were electric, but they could still boil and fry their way out of trouble.
The overhead fan wasn’t working, so a fair amount of smoke billowed from the frying steaks. Ondine opened a window and a gust of snowy wind came in and blew the smoke clear.
There was still some hot water left, but it grew tepid so it would require even more detergent to break down the grease from the dirty plates in the sink. All the while she couldn’t stop thinking about how on earth she and Hamish could help Duchess Anathea.
How would they pay for the advertising campaign to increase the Duchess’s popularity? If it had been a normal year, her family might have been flush from the pre-Christmas trade. [218] But this year, thanks to Pavla’s untimely demise, they’d had to close during the busiest, most profitable time of the year.
“We could re-name the pub after her, couldn’t we?” Ondine wondered out loud.
“What’s that dear?” Ma asked.
It would take too long to explain so she shrugged and said, “Don’t worry.”
Old Col came over with a hot saucepan full of steaming water to top up the sudsy sink. “I know we’re desperate for ideas, but we’re not that desperate,” Col said. Then she tested the water with her fingers and decided it was far too cold. She wafted her hands over the water and muttered incantations. The water grew hot and steamy, then it boiled. The extra sudsiness bubbled over and dripped onto the floor.
The Ondine Collection Page 42
