Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo (25 page)

A Kulani boy in a red silk sarong answered Sieur Wraathmyr’s knock. Now I knew that Sieur Wraathmyr got his curly black hair and dark skin from his Kulani father, for the boy had the same coloring. But the boy’s eyes were brown, not blue.

Sieur Wraathmyr gave the boy our greetings and he ushered us into a small foyer. The boy pointed at my feet, and I pulled my boots off. I think Sieur Wraathmyr must have left his boots on the
Pato,
because he’d been barefoot ever since. A small fountain sat to one side of the door, its water flowing into a footbath. Sieur Wraathmyr dipped each of his feet into the bath and then stepped on the towel the boy had laid down. I did the same, hopping ungracefully.

Our feet now clean, we followed the boy into a larger room, the walls made of panels of flat woven grass. The floor was glossy red wood, as polished as glass. There was no furniture, only a scattering of brightly colored pillows and a low table with a flat stove in its center.

The lady approaching us was wrapped in so many shawls that only her face was visible. She had a diamond pattern tattooed on each cheek and lines etched across her forehead. Her hair was white as snow, but under the tattoos, her dark skin was smooth and unlined.

Sieur Wraathmyr bowed deeply. “I give you greetings, madama.”

“I give you greetings in return, nephew Keanuenue’okalani!” the Envoy said, smiling.

Sieur Wraathmyr’s suave smile disappeared. He looked surprised and discomfited.

The Envoy saw this reaction and said, “You do not remember me?”

“I am not sure,” he said, uncertainly. “Are you my aunt Hauani?”

“I am her, exactly! You were a mere child when I last saw you, so many years ago. Many things have happened since then.”

She swept Sieur Wraathmyr into an embrace; in his arms, she seemed small and doll-like. He still looked rather bewildered as she released him, and we followed her out onto the veranda, well shaded by pots of flowers and small trees. Here, cut off from the wind, the air felt gentle and warm, and the brilliant purple and pink of the geraniums and bougainvillea made up for the lead-colored sky above.

“You much resemble my brother,” she said as we sat down on thin silk pillows. “He was such a handsome man. But you have your mother’s eyes.”

Sieur Wraathmyr remained silent, his face closed and wary.

“I cry your pardon, madama,” I said. “But what did you say Sieur Wraathmyr’s name was?”

“Keanuenueokalani. It means 'Rainbow of Heaven’ in our language.”

“I left that name long ago,” Sieur Wraathmyr said stiffly “Today, my name is Tharyn Wraathmyr. I answer to no other.”

“Keanonolo’kaloni,” I tried unsuccessfully.

“No, Keanuenue’okalani!” The Envoy laughed at my mangled attempt at pronunciation. She said kindly, “Our long names are hard for any tongue that is not born to say them. When he was a boy we called him Ke’anu.”

“I am no longer a boy,” Sieur Wraathmyr growled.

The Envoy’s smile faded. “As you wish, Sieur Wraathmyr. Will you offer me your name, madama?”

“I cry your pardon,” I said quickly. I glanced at Tharyn. Should I tell the Envoy my real name? Could I trust her? Did it matter?

He saved me from the decision.“This is my associate, Nyana Romney.”

“Welcome, Madama Romney Come, let me offer you refreshments. And then we shall have our business.”

The boy brought three small green cups and a green china teapot shaped like a goldfish. The Envoy carefully poured the tea, then blew briefly over each cup before handing one to Tharyn and one to me. We drank the hot bitter liquid, which was oddly refreshing, considering the warm dampness of the day, and the Envoy asked us polite questions about our journey. Tharyn answered as briefly as possible, omitting the more sensational details. He sat hunched in his furry coat, radiating displeasure and impatience. The Envoy’s attempts to draw him out proved totally futile, and eventually she gave up.

“On to our business, then. You have a delivery for me, sieur?”

“Ayah, so.” He took the dispatch out of his furry jacket and offered it to her. She took it—the freedom of Califa on a piece of paper—and tucked it inside one of her shawls without reading it. “Thank you.”

And that was it. Audience over. Delivery made.

I felt slightly disappointed, but then what did I expect to happen? Angels to trumpet and the sky to open up, raining roses? We were just messengers. Briefly, the fate of Califa had been in our hands, but now it was someone else’s burden.

Tharyn bounded to his feet, hauling me up after him. The boy led us back to the house, but as I was fumbling to put my boots on, the Envoy asked Tharyn for a few words in private. He hesitated for a moment and then agreed.

Walking me to the door, he said, “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“Are you sure? I can wait.”

“I’m sure,” he said abruptly “Go on.”

“Are you all right? You look upset.”

“It was a surprise. I did not expect the Envoy to know me. I do not know what she could say to me. She should not even know me. To the Kulanis, I am dead. A ghost.”

“Maybe I should wait for you.” I put my hand on his furry sleeve, but he shook it off.

“No, Nini,” he said, a bit less growly. “Go back to the hotel. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I don’t mind—”

“Go,” he said brusquely. Stung, I turned away. He had been so sweet recently that I had forgotten what a snapperhead he could be. I did not like the reminder at all. The donkey cab was waiting outside. I climbed in, glad I didn’t have to make the sultry walk back to town.

Back at the hotel, as I crossed the lobby, I glanced over and saw a tall figure sitting at the bar, sparkly red boots hooked over the foot rail. Motivated by a weird surge of—guilt? sorrow? nostalgia?—I veered toward him. Udo was a snapperhead, but I couldn’t let Cutaway get him. Or the Jack Boots, either. I had to try to talk some sense into him.

“Since when do you drink beer?” I asked, sitting next to him.

“It’s not beer,” he said. “It’s ginger ale.”

He waved his hand at the barkeep and ordered one for me. He waited to lift his glass until mine was in front of me.

We clinked.

“Cierra Califa,” he said.

“Cierra Califa.”

The ginger ale was fizzy and scorching hot. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping.

“I really thought you were dead,” Udo said finally.

“Well, I thought you were dead, so we are even. It’s a crappy feeling, ain’t it?”

“The Dainty Pirate is really pissed. Thanks to your whip, he has to wear an eye patch.”

“That’s very piratical. He should thank me.”

Udo laughed. “He does look pretty good in it.”

We fell back into silence and finished our drinks. The bartender brought another round. Despite all Udo had done, all his snapperyness, now that I sat next to him I was reminded of how comfortable he was, how familiar. We’d been through a lot together. The thought that I might never have seen him again had been unbearable. Now that my anger had died down a bit, I had to admit I missed him.

“Why didn’t you come with us, Flora? You always said you wanted to be a ranger, complained you never got to do anything. Here was your chance, and you wouldn’t take it. I don’t get that at all.”

“I’m not a sack of corn to be tossed around. No one asked me. Buck didn’t. The Dainty Pirate didn’t. Buck didn’t even trust me enough to tell me what was going on.”

“I only found out when we were captured. You always complained Buck wasn’t doing anything to save Califa, and now that she is, you’re pissed about it.”

“She could have told me,” I said. “It matters to me as much as to anyone, maybe more.”

“She was trying to protect you.”

I slurped the last burning dregs of the ale. “Well, she can’t. She should realize that and let me take care of myself. Where’s the Zu-Zu?”

“She went with the Dainty Pirate, up north. I think she has a crush on him.”

“Sorry” I wasn’t the slightest bit sorry, really.

“It’s fine,” Udo said. “She was just a distraction. A captain can’t afford distractions, you know—”

“Captain?”

“Ayah. Dainty has promised me my own ship. It’s not big, but it will be mine. I think I’ll change the name, though.
El Pato de Oro
isn’t really a suitable name for a pirate ship.”

“That’s Captain Ziyi’s ship!” I protested. “The Dainty Pirate can’t give it to you. And anyway I thought the
Pato
was sunk.”

“We spread that rumor around so the owner could collect insurance on it. See, Dainty ain’t all that bad.”

“It’s still not right.”

Udo gave me a scornful look. “This is war, Flora, in case you hadn’t noticed. Or it will be soon. You can’t be dainty in a war; didn’t Nini Mo say that? But listen, that Wraathmyr fellow. He’s shifty, don’t you think? He needs a haircut and some moisturizer.”

“Leave him out of this, Udo. He has nothing to do with you.”

“I think you are being pretty foolish, Flora—”

“Foolish? Me? Are you fiking kidding, Udo? Look at your feet and tell me I am the foolish one.” I gestured to his boots, sparkling and glittering. “After what happened before? The Jack Boots almost got you; they almost turned you into a killer, a thief. You barely escaped, and now here you are wearing them again.”

“That was different. I was unprepared. And the Jack Boots and I have an agreement now. Unlike some people, they keep their word.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“A private kind. Look, I know you think I’m an idiot and that I can’t do anything right—”

“I never said that—”

“Oh, yes, you have, and even when you don’t say so, you look it. See—you are doing it right now!”

“I’m only thinking of you!”

“No, you are thinking of yourself. You don’t trust anyone to know what they are doing. I’m helping Califa and you are gallivanting around like this is some sort of game. Jumping ship like that, with some fellow you don’t even know.”

You don’t know the half of it, Udo,
I thought,
and don’t think I'm going to tell you, either.
But I am willing to admit when I am wrong and I did so now.

“I was a total snapperhead. I know it,” I admitted.

“You gotta grow up, Flora. There’s a lot going on in the world, and not all of it centers around you. Think about someone other than yourself, for once.”

“I said I was a fool—”

“Ayah, you say so, Flora, but you don’t really believe it. You think you are smarter than everyone else.”

I didn’t have to listen to this. I had admitted my faults, and still that wasn’t good enough for him. If he wanted me to crawl, well, he was in for disappointment. “Fine. Have fun with your pirates and your sparkly red boots. And if they turn you into a monster, don’t come crawling to me.”

“No fear of that!” Udo answered hotly.

I jumped off the barstool. I was so pissed that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going; all I knew was that I had to get out of there before I blew up. Blindly, I roared out of the bar, far away from a vain popinjay of a pirate.

“Hey!”

A man had run into me broadside, almost knocking me down.

“Lo siento.”
He caught my arm. I turned to tell him to watch where he was going, but he raised his hand and flicked his fingers toward my face. I saw a brief twinkle of glittery dust, and then, before I could react otherwise, I had sucked it in. My muscles went weak and my knees gave out. I started to fall but the man caught me, and at his touch, my muscles stiffened again, but now they moved of their own accord.

“Come,” he said, and I obediently followed him through the lobby, toward the elevator.

The clerk at the desk waved at me, calling my name, but when I tried to answer, my tongue lay in my mouth like a piece of dead meat. I tried to stop, tried to turn around, but my legs would not obey. Puppet like, I followed the man into the elevator. The elevator door shut. He was standing behind me, so I could not see his face, but the hand that reached around to push the elevator button was long and narrow, and his fingernails were painted jade green.

Only Birdies paint their fingernails jade green.

I would have shrieked if I could, but I could only stand there, stock-still, as the elevator whirled upward. That glittery dust must have been Sonoran Zombie Powder, which paralyzes all who touch it. Udo had once used it to catch Springheel Jack, and I had used it to catch Springheel Udo. Now someone had used it to catch me.

At the sixth floor, the elevator shuddered to a halt and the cage door sprang open. I walked down the long hallway, hearing soft footsteps padding behind me. At room 65, the long, narrow hand unlocked the door, and I marched inside. The door shut behind us. I walked over to the chair by the dresser and sat down. My captor walked into my field of vision and crouched before me, smiling.

“Who are you?” the Birdie asked.

I
HAD NEVER SEEN
the face of an adult Birdie before. Birdie aristocrats wear masks of jade, leather, or gold. Everyone else obscures their features behind thick paint. The Birdie’s silver mask dangled from his hand, and the face thus revealed was horrifying. The sides of his skull had been shaved and his warrior lock was long, stiff with blood, woven through with feathers, bones, and tufts of fur. His face was painted black, bisected with a yellow stripe across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Golden thorns pierced his ears and his nasal septum, and his lower lip. His teeth, when he opened his mouth to speak, were stained red, the canines sharp.

The Birdie said, “You are traveling with Wraathmyr, the wer-bear. You were with him at Valdosta’s.” He paused to lick his lips. His voice was strangely familiar. When he spoke again, saying, “You helped the skinwalker escape me,” I knew where I had heard him before.

He was Madama Valdosta’s buddy at the lodge. The man who had set us up. “He belongs to the Lord of the Smoked Mirror, the skinwalker does. He has been marked. But you, you are very ... familiar to me. Who are you?”

The Birdie licked his lips again. He needed to get some Madama Twanky’s Lip Repair, I thought somewhat hysterically.