Out on the water, a half circle of massive floating platforms supported the launchball teams as they recovered from their efforts or waited for their turns. Syrah scanned to find Deli, but was arrested by the sight of the team from Olive. There was his sister Marsala, stretching her arms in front of her. Even from this far away, he could see that she looked nervous. Sick even. And, in spite of how much she had angered him the last time he’d seen her, Syrah felt a surge of something like brotherly pride. His sister was really going to compete at the ATC, representing the Olive Isles. He halfway hoped that she would win. Olive hadn’t won for years — Blue had beaten them out in the last three games. His family must have been wild with excitement.
Syrah looked around, expecting to find them nearby. The Huanuis had always claimed a box right next to the Gourds at the ATC.
But the closest royal boxes this year belonged to Orange on one side, and the Blue Kingdom on the other. Syrah peered to see if any of his relatives were in either of those groups, but couldn’t see a single one. He did see Dash Charming, though, looking golden as usual, his arm around a striking girl with bronze curls. Typical Charming.
Syrah hopped along the railing, frustrated. He had counted on his family being where they always were — close enough that he could safely hop to them. Where were they?
“Morning, Huck,” said Nexus Burdock, sitting down nearly as far as he could get from Governor Calabaza. He took a seat beside a large man whose skin was so sun-worn it looked like leather. He wore a farmer’s clothes, but they were tailored to him. His big country hat boasted a silver cord around the brim, and a huge silver buckle with an S on it glinted from his belt. Syrah did not recognize him. “How’s the oat business?”
“Exalted Nexus,” the man replied in a slow drawl. “The oats are fine and dandy, thanks for asking.”
“Are you here to watch the games?”
“I thought I was.” Huck chuckled. “Turns out I’m here to watch my son and make sure he doesn’t fall out of the box. Harrow!” Huck raised his drawling voice to a shout. “Don’t lean so far out. You can’t cheer for Deli with a broken neck.”
Harrow. That boy from the wedding. The one with the gold in his skin. Syrah hopped in a circle until he found him, standing at the front corner of the far side of the box, leaning out over the front wall, his skin glittering under the sun. He glanced back, looking solemn.
“I’m just looking around,” he said, his voice low and slow like his father’s, but softer. He pulled his hat down lower over his eyes as he turned away again.
Huck sat back and folded his muscular arms, his eyes still on his son. “I sure hate seeing him unhappy,” he muttered.
“Something wrong?” Burdock asked.
“Oh, he’s still sore,” said Huck. “He was getting real close with Deli Gourd, but after that mess at the wedding, she shut him down hard.”
Syrah smirked to himself. Deli had broken it off with Harrow after the wedding? Of course she had. She must’ve felt miserable over Syrah’s disappearance. She had probably cried for months, regretting how cruel she had been to him. She was probably still grieving.
“That was over a year ago,” said Burdock in surprise.
Fifteen months, thought Syrah. One week, four days …
“Ever been in love, Nexus?” asked Huck, smiling a little. “A year’s not much.”
“Feelings change quickly at that age.”
“Not Harrow’s.”
“Are you talking about your son?” The voice belonged to G. G. Floss from the Copper Door. She had just arrived, carrying a large, flat box in her hands — black lacquer with a copper CD engraved in the lid. She paused beside Huck’s chair. “What a lovely young man. If he hadn’t helped me set up my tents when I arrived, I never would have been ready for customers in time. I tried to pay him, but he wouldn’t take it.”
“I told him to stay busy,” said Huck, looking proud.
“Well, if he won’t take coin, I’ll pay him in chocolate.”
“Yes, you’ve got a good boy there, Steelcut,” said Calabaza loudly, plucking a short rib from the absolutely deadly-looking platter of foods that burdened the small breakfast table before him. He cleaned the bone in three bites. “He could give the triplets a lesson in manners.”
“So could a horde of imps,” muttered Roma.
“Glad you approve of him, Governor,” said Huck. “In fact, I’ll tell you truly — I hope that Harrow will make your home his own one of these days soon.”
Calabaza, who had been pushing aside a bowl of porridge, stopped and looked up. “Make my home his own?” he said. “He’s not still courting my daughter, is he? Even if he was, they’re children! Well — not children — but marriage isn’t —”
Huck laughed. “You’ve got me all wrong,” he said. “I don’t want him to move in with your family. I was thinking that he and I might move in to the Thatch together, on our own.”
“Together?” Calabaza looked astounded. “On your own?”
Harrow glanced back at his father. He looked uneasy.
“That’s right.” Huck sat back and crossed one boot over his knee. “See, I’ve decided to run for governor, and I’m going to do my best to beat you. Hope it doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. I appreciate the invitation to share this box with you today. What a view!”
Calabaza let out a thin wheeze of air, like he’d tried to laugh and failed.
“Run for governor!” said Roma mildly, from her husband’s side. She fanned herself without stopping. “Well!”
G. G. Floss regarded Huck with new interest. Nexus Burdock said nothing and kept his eyes on the games below, but a flush had risen in his cheeks, and Syrah thought he knew why. That red X through Calabaza’s picture in the Town Crier had made it pretty clear: Burdock didn’t want to see Calabaza in office for another seven years.
It seemed like a lot of people didn’t.
“My mother recruited you, didn’t she?” said Calabaza, when he’d recovered his voice. “She’s helping you run.”
“Nope,” said Huck. “I asked her to endorse me, of course — any sane person would. But she refused. She’s got her own candidate in mind, she said. A good one too, I’d reckon.”
“Well!” said Roma Gourd again, but this time, there was a tinge of worry in her voice.
“Well,” Calabaza repeated. “What an exciting election this is shaping up to be.”
“Yes it is,” came a clipped, cool reply, and Syrah turned his eyes to see that Grandmother Luffa had entered the box. Most people her age would have struggled to climb those wooden stairs outside, if they’d been able to climb them at all, but thanks to her fairy blood, Luffa wasn’t even breathing hard.
Behind Luffa followed a very short woman, no higher than her waist, with short, dyed-purple hair and a rectangular valise in her hand. Syrah recognized the woman from the time he had spent shadowing Nexus Burdock — she was Clementine Pease, Yellow Country’s minister of agriculture.
“Ma.” Calabaza made no attempt to sound pleased.
“Calabaza.” She swept to the front of the box. Miss Floss bowed as Luffa passed her, and Huck and Burdock stood and did the same. Harrow removed his hat.
“Madam Governor,” he said. “Minister Pease.”
Luffa inclined her head. She wouldn’t let the people call her “Your Majesty” anymore but they wouldn’t stop calling her Madam Governor, even though Calabaza had been the one in charge for decades. The people of Yellow obviously didn’t want a democracy, Syrah thought. They wanted things to stay the way they were supposed to be.
Luffa took her place at the center of the front row. She gave a dignified bow and wave toward Orange’s box, and then toward the Blue Kingdom’s, and then she sat, perfectly erect, and raised a spyglass to her eye.
“Minister,” said Huck Steelcut. “Good to see you.”
“Mr. Steelcut,” Clementine Pease replied. “Your business is booming as usual, I hear.”
“Sure is.”
“Terrific.” She unlocked her valise with a flick of her thumb. It opened into a large, flat rectangle and locked into place with a click. The handle of the case now stuck out of the center of the rectangle, but Clementine pushed it down into a hidden slot, releasing four long metal legs from the corners of the rectangle. The transformation took about five seconds, and when it was done, she had a tall stool. She set it down beside Luffa’s chair, hoisted herself onto it, and sat at a height that allowed her to see the games on the lakeshore just as easily as anybody else.
“How’s the competition shaping up?” she asked.
“Excellent,” answered Calabaza. “Marvelous event so far.” He eyed the black lacquer box that G. G. Floss carried. “I wonder what you have there, Miss Floss.”
“Oh these!” said Miss Floss, and she opened the box. “I made them in honor of your daughter.” Inside the box were a dozen shining golden balls, miniature versions of the kind used in launchball. They looked exactly like the real thing except that they were only as big as egg yolks.
Calabaza let out a whistle of appreciation. “You’ve topped yourself again,” he said. “They’re nearly too beautiful to eat.”
She offered him the box.
“Raspberry chocolate truffle!” he said as he bit into one. “My favorite! You do spoil me.”
“Madam Governor, can I tempt you?” asked Miss Floss, just as Harrow let out a gasp.
“She’s up!” he shouted. “She’s up, she’s about to launch!”
Everyone in the box stood, and Syrah could no longer see anything. He bounded quickly along the side railing to the front wall to get a clear view of the lake. Deli, her black curls slicked close to her head and her dark figure lither and more muscled than ever, stood on her platform, straight and tense, saluting the judges who floated on their own buoyed platform. Her partner, Kai, saluted with his bright green fins. When the referee whistled, Kai plunged underwater. Deli picked up the golden ball and held it cradled in both hands at her chest, and pivoted to the diving board that extended from Yellow’s floating platform. Her chest rose and fell with one deep breath. Then she rose up on the balls of her feet and broke into a swift run, which ended with a controlled bounce at the end of the diving board. She soared up, somersaulted, twisted into a downward position, and then her arms shot over her head like arrows, her hands still gripping the ball. She sliced into the lake with barely a splash. The Yellow team whooped. Syrah saw Cassis Swill pump his fist.
Deli did not surface. One second passed. Then two. And then she shot like a cannonball into the sky, one arm tight around her knees, one arm tucked like a wing, her hand clutching the golden ball. As Kai surfaced beneath her, Deli flew up — up — over the launchball bar. She unfurled with the grace of a Bardwyrm and her whole body arched victoriously, arms flung wide, feet pointed behind her — she looked like she could hang there in the sky forever. Then she took aim and fired the golden ball at the target rings that floated on the lake below. She hit dead center, jackknifed, and dove straight down, penetrating the lake once more without seeming to disturb the water at all.
The stands erupted. Screaming cheers swept along the shore. The judges held up their scores, and every single one was perfect. Artistry, height, and accuracy — she’d nailed them all. Syrah’s heart swelled. Unless somebody tied that score and forced her into a second round — and nobody was going to beat that launch — she was finished. She had done it. She’d won. She flung her arms around Kai, who hugged her back hard, and then her human teammates hauled her out of the water and enveloped her in a jumping, screaming mob.
Beside Syrah, Harrow Steelcut howled with joy. “YEAH, DEE!” he hollered, and he chucked his hat in the air.
Dee? Syrah eyed him viciously. Nobody called Delicata Dee. Harrow thought he could give Deli nicknames even after she’d broken up with him? Pathetic.
“Well, I’ll be a mermaid’s tail,” said Calabaza. He lifted his hat and rubbed his bald head. “A perfect score. Roma, she got a perfect score! Isn’t she marvelous! Our daughter!”
She was better than marvelous, Syrah thought. She was spectacular. The next time she kissed him, he definitely wouldn’t swim away. He entertained himself for a moment imagining how Deli would react when he became a man again. “It was all my fault,” she would say. She would probably be crying too. “I should never have treated you so terribly. I’m so sorry for all you suffered — can you ever, ever forgive me?”
The sound of wet, violent retching interrupted Syrah’s fantasy. One of the staff — a server at the banquet tables — was vomiting over the back wall. Everyone turned toward the back of the box as another server rushed to his side with a rag in her hand.
“My stomach,” managed the young man, when his retching was done. “My — stomach —” He doubled over and braced his hands on his knees. “Can’t —” he gasped, and he dropped to the floor and retched again, this time toward the governor’s chair. The substance that surged from his mouth was thick and white, like no vomit Syrah had ever seen.
Calabaza sprang up and backed away, quite nimbly for his size. Roma rose beside him.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Should we —”
Burdock was beside the servant already, crouched, a hand upon his brow.
“Fever,” he muttered. “And it’s high. How long have you felt like this?”
“Pa?” the servant gasped, whiteness dripping from his chin. He clutched at Burdock’s hand. His pupils were so dilated that Syrah could not see what color his eyes were. “Pa, it’s so dark —”
Another retching fit seized him, and he convulsed, gagging. “Carry him,” Luffa commanded, and the guard at the door sprang to action. “Find a Hipocrath.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The guard had no sooner carried the sick servant down the stairs than the serving girl who had given him a rag clutched her own stomach and vomited thick white sludge all over her feet. She stared down at it for a moment, glassy-eyed, then fainted in a heap.
“Skies,” said Huck, now on his feet along with everybody else. “What’ve we got here? Food poisoning?”
“I’ve never seen any food poisoning that looked like that,” murmured Miss Floss, who looked pale and frightened. “It’s unnatural.”
Clementine Pease eyed the banquet table, then glanced at Huck and narrowed her eyes. He shook his head in reply. The two of them looked away from each other.
“I’ll get this one to the Hipocrath,” said Huck, lifting the sick girl in his arms.
“Quiet,” said Burdock with sudden sharpness. “Listen.” Everyone who was still in the box, including Luffa, fell silent at once. And then Syrah heard it.
More vomiting. A lot more. He looked down at the stands below, where at least a dozen people were now doubled over, spewing white sludge. More joined them every minute. Some of them were adults, whose small children were now crying, not knowing what to do. Some were small children, whose terrified parents began to shout.
From the Orange tent, a voice moaned in agony while a dog howled in fear. From the Blue tent, Dash Charming cried, “Tanner!” Out on the lake, on the floating platforms, launchball players began to crumple. Cassis fell to his knees beside Deli and retched into the water.
Marsala swayed suddenly and toppled into the lake, where she floated facedown. Syrah stared at her prone body, horror-struck, until her mer-partner grabbed her, flipped her upright, and swiftly hauled her to the shore.
The crowd dissolved into shrieking chaos. People ran for the exits, pushing each other to get ahead. Miss Floss looked down at it all, rubbing one of her copper bracelets with agitated fingers. “White magic,” she whispered. “Witchery. It has to be.”
“Do not start that rumor,” said Luffa. “We have no idea what this is.” She turned to Calabaza. “Call off the games,” she said. “Now. Get the people’s attention, and bring them to order.” She looked gravely out at the shore, where scores of people lay unconscious. Scores more were buckling to the ground. “You mus
t take charge before this gets out of hand.”
“But, Ma!” Calabaza cried, his voice a shriek. “Look at what’s happening! We have to leave!”
Everyone looked at him, openmouthed — Syrah included. Leaders weren’t supposed to talk like that. Calabaza sounded like a scared little baby.
“You are despicable.” Luffa’s voice was a lance. “An embarrassment.”
“I’m getting clear of whatever this is!” Calabaza donned his tall hat and pulled down the wide brim. “I’m not about to stay and get sick. Roma, let’s go.”
“You’re governor,” said Burdock. His eyes were cold.
The door of the box swung open and the triplets tumbled in. Tommy looked terrified, and Bradley didn’t look much better, still with bits of confetti clinging to him. Walter only looked glazed. He stood beside the tables of food, gazing emptily down at his father’s unfinished breakfast.
“Pa!” cried Bradley, rushing to him. “What’s going on?”
“Everybody’s so sick,” Tommy managed. Roma pulled him close.
“Let’s go, boys,” said Calabaza.
“What about Deli?” said Roma weakly.
“I’ll find her,” said Harrow. He sprinted out and Syrah watched him go, scowling as much as his frog face would let him. Harrow probably thought he was some kind of hero.
“Nexus Burdock, come with me,” said Calabaza. “You need to stay with me.”
But Burdock didn’t move. His eyes were on a speaking trumpet near Calabaza’s chair.
“Burdock!” Calabaza cried. Beneath the brim of his hat, his frightened face was sweating.
Burdock picked up the speaking trumpet in both hands, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. In a moment, the trumpet glowed gold. With high color in his cheeks, Burdock turned to Clementine Pease. “If the governor cannot or will not serve, the minister of agriculture is required to step into the role of provisional governor,” he said.
“True enough,” said Clementine. She glanced at Calabaza. “You truly won’t speak to the people?” she asked. “You’re leaving it up to me?”
Transformed: The Perils of the Frog Prince Page 10