The Autumn Palace (22 page)

On his brain went, telling him how clever he was to be able to think of Ondine when he was fair starving. Not that he'd given any thought as to how he might deliver such a meal to her in his present state. Perhaps he might find a wee bag or box he could carry the food in. What it lacked in presentation, he could more than make up for in affection and perhaps a grovelling apology, if that's what it took to get back in her good books.

As he neared the kitchen, a strident female voice echoed through the hall: ‘I've never sheen such wanton washtage!'

The kitchen noises stopped. No chopping, no washing, no sounds of blenders or grinders. Mindful that people might run out of the kitchen at any moment and step on him, Shambles kept to the edges and poked his furry head around the doorway to see what was going on.

It was Duchess Kerala in full rant. She made quite a sight, her head moving madly from side to side, all without so much as a hair breaking free from her shiny helmet-do. One hand held a glass of white wine, while the other gesticulated wildly to Emphasise! Every! Word!

‘Look at that pile of perfectly good food you're about to throw out! All those potato shkins can go into shoups, not the composht bins. You're throwing out the bread crusts when any chef with half a gram of shense can make croutonsh with them. And I can't believe you're throwing out half the shelery! Shelery tops taste just like parshley and you've brought that in by the truckload. And I can't believe you're throwing out the parshley shtalks instead of putting them in the casheroles! The washtage! It beggars belief!'

At this point, some people might draw breath, but the Duchess seemed beyond such mortal constraints.
⁸⁶

‘What's thish? A ton of rhubarb leaves? You cannot
throw thish out. I've told you before, it makesh a perfectly good substitute for spinach!'

Nobody said anything in response. Shambles looked around the room at the trembling, pale-faced kitchen staff. They looked so young, barely older than Ondine. None dared answer back.

No chance of snaffling even a morsel of roast lamb while the Duchess kept storming around the kitchen, finding more and more things to complain about, her voice growing ever more shrill with each discovery.

Tummy rumbling even more loudly, Shambles turned tail and ran back to Old Col's room. Drat, her bed was empty. The only thing to eat was a bowl of cat food one of the staff had set out in a bowl.

‘Ah, weil, when in Brugel.' Shambles took a deep breath and a small bite.

After a few mouthfuls, he started to feel better. But then he thought past his hunger and a fresh pang of regret hit him. He needed to make it up to Ondine, but huffing fish-breath all over her wouldn't help if he wanted to kiss and make up.

It was imperative he find some mouthwash to
get rid of the lingering fishiness. He trotted into the bathroom and jumped on to the sink. Not in one leap – even a ferret has his limits – but two leaps. Floor to toilet seat – ooops, nearly fell in, must remember the lid's not always down! – then to the edge of the sink. He found a tube of toothpaste and managed to chew the flip-top lid off.
⁸⁷
Stepping on the tube, he forced out a neat white pipe of minty paste. A few licks later, his mouth filled with foamy freshness and he felt really pleased with the results.

At that moment, Draguta Matice walked into the bathroom with arms full of fresh towels and screamed, ‘Aaaaaah! Rabies!'

‘Hnnnnggggff!' He tried to respond but he had a mouth full of foam. In desperation he spat out as much as he could into the sink, but the white bubbles coming
from his mouth only made Draguta scream louder.

Draguta dropped her bundle on the bathroom floor and ran out of Old Col's room, shouting all the way, ‘Pyotr! Pyotr! Rabies!'

No, no! Shambles forgot about the height and leapt to the ground. Crack! He landed hard on the floor, smacking his chin. Pain lanced through him. His head went all fuzzy and wobbly. If he'd had a chance to think, he would have descended in two stages, back to the loo seat, then the floor. Desperation had made him forget how small he was and how far he'd fall. Trying to shake out the pain only made it worse.

Ye daftie wee bampot, ye've broken ye jaw!

Still not thinking – he seemed to be doing a lot of that – Shambles ran after Draguta to make her stop. She didn't know he was really Hamish, but if he could explain himself, she might realise her mistake and stop screaming. He called out, ‘Wait!' but his jaw hurt so much it came out like ‘waaaad' and even he barely understood it.

People came rushing towards Draguta's screams,
adding to the commotion. Maids, visitors, Pyotr the seneschal and, worst luck of all, Lord Vincent.

‘I'll handle this,' Lord Vincent said, raising his booted foot.

Arrggghhh!
The blood froze in Shambles's veins as the size eleven sole filled his vision. Pain or no pain, he bolted sideways to avoid certain death and scarpered back into the safety of Old Col's room.

Not safe for long! Everyone from the hall poured into the room and began talking at once.

‘Where did it go?'

‘Over there, look!'

‘It's under the bed.'

‘Is that it over there?'

‘Throw a blanket on it.'

‘Someone get the dog-catcher!'

‘Someone get a gun!'

Trembling with fear, Shambles cowered under the bed. He wiped his mouth with his furry front paw to clear away the foam. Not gentle enough! Fresh pain speared his jaw. A little bit of sick burnt his throat as he feared for his life. Any second now one of them
would look under the bed and it would be goodnight Shambles.

Wiping his mouth again – gently! – he managed to get rid of the remaining gobs of toothpaste. It still looked bad because his front legs were streaked with saliva. If anyone saw him, they could mistake his wet limbs for profuse sweatiness. The only option left to him was transforming into his human shape. If he concentrated hard enough and fixed Ondine's smiling dark eyes in his mind. Sure, he'd have a mountain of explaining to do when he crawled out from under the bed without a scrap of clothing on. But at least he'd be their size, and he'd be able to take on Lord Vincent on a level playing field.

‘What's going on?' a woman said.

He knew that voice. It wasn't Ondine, but Old Col. Maybe her presence could bring him round? He anticipated the maelstrom of lurching and twisting as he willed himself to become human. But nothing happened.

‘Your ferret has the rabies,' Draguta said. ‘We must capture, before he bites anyone.'

‘He hasn't got rabies,' Old Col said. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?'

From his hiding place under the bed, Shambles saw Lord Vincent's heavy boots stamp about the floor.

‘How do you know it's not full of disease?' Vincent said.

‘It had foaming mouth!' Draguta added.

‘Nobody has rabies,' Old Col said. ‘That ferret is my pet. He is vaccinated and in perfect health. I have the vet bills to prove it. Now if you don't mind, you're in my room and I'd like some privacy.'

Lord Vincent snorted contempt. ‘You're a guest in this palace and you'll do what you're told.'

‘Hold your tongue!' Old Col snapped right back.

‘Abwath –' A strange noise came from Lord Vincent's mouth.

Shambles peeked out from his hiding place to see the Duke's eldest son holding his tongue between his thumb and two fingers. In fact, he didn't seem able to let it go.

‘Wha-hab-oo-dundame?' Lord Vincent cried.

‘I told you to “hold your tongue”. You're lucky it
wasn't “shut your face”, then you'd be in real strife,' Old Col said. ‘It will wear off when you reach the other side of the palechia.'

It took all Shambles's willpower not to burst out laughing. It was probably a good thing, because laughing would hurt like crazy.

Vincent looked furious and stomped out of the room.

‘Show's over, may I have some privacy please?' Old Col said.

When everyone else had left the room, Shambles craned his head out from under the bed. It hurt to speak, but he needed to thank her. ‘Tha' was goo' magic, Col.'

Old Col grinned. ‘Yes. I rather think it was. Now, why are you even more difficult to understand today?'

 

86
   It's called ‘circular breathing' and is especially useful when playing the didgeridoo
.

87
   Aren't flip-top lids on toothpaste wonderful? It's so easy to snap the lid back in place. In the days when you had to screw the lid on, many time-poor people would forget to replace the lid. Because clearly, it was soooo much effort to screw one tiny little lid back on the tube. It's enough to drive you completely insane
.

It's no coincidence that the introduction of flip-top lids on toothpaste tubes in the early 1990s dovetails neatly with Brugel's plummeting divorce rates
.

M
elancholy cloaked Ondine as she tidied the Infanta's rooms. For some reason, Anathea wasn't being a total cow and had refrained from telling her off every minute.

‘Where is my happy Ondine?' the Infanta asked after half an hour of heavy silence.

Ondine wiped her face, trying really hard not to bawl in front of her employer. But her chin wobbled and her vision started blurring. ‘I had a fight with my boyfriend and now I don't think he ever wants to talk to me again.'

‘You have time for a boyfriend?'

‘Apparently not.' Would this horrible pain behind her ribs ever go away?

‘You love him?'

‘With all my heart.'

‘And he walked away?' The Infanta's face seemed to soften.

‘Yes.'

‘He let you down. Now you know how I felt,' she said. ‘It won't be the first time. Mark my words, you will be let down time and time again.' Imperceptibly, the Infanta's chin trembled, but she turned away.

It felt so strange to be sharing this moment of honesty with Anathea. Something shifted between them, Ondine could feel it. For the first time, she saw things from the Infanta's point of view. Fate had taken her fiancé, the man she might have grown to love and spend the rest of her life with. Yet the moment she'd lost her title, he'd given her the flick.

Steeling herself for some kind of rebuttal that would put her back in her place, Ondine asked the question that had nagged her for some time. ‘I know your first engagement fell through, but what about later on?'

An icy glare greeted Ondine. ‘
He
was no better. I do not even say his name. I was young. My head was
lost. We had three beautiful daughters together, but it wasn't enough.' The Infanta shook her head and ground out the next sentence: ‘He wanted a boy.'

‘History repeated itself,' Ondine said.

‘That would have been preferable.' Anathea drew breath and Ondine could only wait, and wait a bit more, to hear the rest of it.

‘There was a boy born, but it was not by me. A week later I was served with divorce papers. And that is all that will ever be said of it. If you bring this up again, you will be dismissed immediately. Is that clear?'

Stricken with equal amounts of fear and sorrow, Ondine only nodded and hastily got back to work.

Pyotr arrived at the Infanta's door. ‘Ondine, the Duke will see you now,' he said.

The bottom dropped out of Ondine's world. Not that she was feeling particularly psychic, but she knew being summoned to the Duke's rooms couldn't be good news. But then a little spark of hope surged – if the Duke had asked to see her, he must be feeling well enough to see people. That had to be good, surely?

Feeling wretched for herself, Ondine followed Pyotr
to the Duke's office. The Duke looked a bit strange, as if he hadn't completely recovered from whatever ailed him. Perspiration sprang from Ondine's face, neck, armpits and elbows. Not from nerves but because of the temperature – it was roasting hot in here, with four heaters on full blast. As Ondine removed her scarf and fingerless gloves, she noticed Old Col looking calm but flushed in the face. Hamish was there too, in Shambles form, on her shoulder. Guilt spread through her at the sight of Shambles, because he looked so utterly pitiful. Oh, how she wished she could apologise to him and take back everything she had said. But this was not the place for domestic reconciliations. That's if reconciliation was on offer. Judging by the way he kept his ferrety gaze away from her, there might not be. Which set off another fresh burst of guilt and sorrow.

Ms Kyryl the teacher was also there, her face firm and set, like a . . . well, like a disapproving teacher, really.

Resentment towards Shambles sliced through her. If she hadn't cheated – if he hadn't encouraged her to cheat – she wouldn't have given Ms Kyryl enough
ammunition to bring this situation to the Duke.