Lieutenant Sabre finished his lecture and returned to his office, taking the mail with him, and I went back to work. The morning crept by like mud until just before lunch, when Buck, long since returned from her meeting, came out of her office with Pow in his cradleboard slung over her shoulder and went off to an inspection, Lieutenant Sabre in tow.
As soon as they were out the door, everyone but me gave up any pretense of work and started to chatter about costumes and pirates and candy The enlisteds didn’t dare shirk off around Lieutenant Sabre—as the old Army saying goes, he’s so regulation, he pisses at attention—but I was only a second lieutenant (provisional), so they weren’t particularly worried about me. All they cared about was that tonight was Pirates’ Parade, the holiday that commemorates the time long ago when pirates tried to plunder the City but were kicked back by resourceful citizens. Once a year, kids celebrate this event by dressing up as pirates and going door-to-door, demanding a candy tribute. Later, pirate effigies are burned in the old City Center zocolo. Since no one remembers the exact day the pirates came, the holiday now falls on the night of the year when the Current is at its highest. Hence, it’s also magickal amateur night, which I intended to take full advantage of.
I ignored the chattering and continued to work. I couldn’t leave until all my copying was done, and I intended to leave exactly on time, if not a minute or two early. Normally I hate copying, but today I welcomed it. The concentration kept me from feeling jittery about what I had planned for later that night.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” Private Hargrave said.
“I’m working.” I did not look up from my ledger.
“Are you going to see Califa’s Lip Rouge tonight? They got a new lead singer, you know.”
A sharp, sour feeling jabbed me in the liver. Califa’s Lip Rouge did indeed have a new lead singer, and just the thought of him made me feel a weird combination of jealous and mean.
“No, I’m not going,” I answered.
“I thought Udo Landaðon was your friend,” Sergeant Carheña said. “He used to come in to the office with you all the time.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said. “He’s a courtier now. He’s busy He’s important.”
“The Zu-Zu is so sweet,” Hargrave said. “She plays a mean guitar. I’d like to—”
“That’s the Infantina you are talking about, Private,” Sergeant Carheña said sharply. “Be respectful of the Warlord’s granddaughter!”
“I am being respectful!” Hargrave protested, winking at me.
I did not wink back. Instead, I wiped my pen and put it on my pen rest, and went down to the lav. There I locked myself in a stall and spat up the Gramatica Word lodged in my throat. The Word was black and shiny, with wiggly antennae. I didn’t recognize it, but when it landed in the toilet, the water roiled and bubbled pinkly, so I knew it was a hot one. Well, I’d known it was a hot one already; my throat felt like I’d been eating sandpaper.
I used to think you learned Gramatica. Now I know Gramatica learns you. I hadn’t gotten far with my Gramatica Vocabulary before I had to give up my studies, but the Words I had already learned still skitter around inside me like mice. I can feel them crawling through my veins and scrabbling in my brain.
Most of the time, I can control the Gramatica, keep it inside where it belongs. I know it’s dangerous to let the Words out, but sometimes I just can’t help it. It’s either spit or explode. Literally, maybe.
BACK IN THE office, the clerks were now bent over their papers, silent and industrious. Lieutenant Sabre had returned. After lunch, Buck rushed in from her meeting in an absolute fury. Between the pirates and the Birdies and the Warlord and the budgets, she was almost always in a fury now. In a clipped voice, she told me not to disturb her unless there was a fire or a war, then shut herself and Pow in her office. Lieutenant Sabre dumped a rush copy job on my desk and went off to another meeting.
The afternoon crept by as slowly as the morning, the quiet of the office punctuated only by the scratching of our pens, Flynn’s sleepy yawns, the hiss of the gas lamps, the click of the office clock. No sound at all came from behind Buck’s door. I suspected she and Pow were napping. The closer it got to dismissal, the more excitement pricked at me. Finally, after all this time, tonight.
Finally
At a quarter to nineteen, Sergeant Carheña picked up his bundle and said he had some papers to deliver. I doubted he was coming back. Hargrave was still copying away With Lieutenant Sabre out of the office, I was in charge, and even though I’d finished the rush job, I couldn’t leave until Hargrave was finished. So I took advantage of my rank and dismissed him, even though he wasn’t done yet.
Private Hargrave did not wait for me to tell him twice. He threw down his pen, shoved his papers into a desk drawer, grabbed his sack coat and forage cap off the coat rack, and ran out the door, not even bothering to salute. I dumped my completed copies on Lieutenant Sabre’s desk and rushed back to the outer office to gather up my overcoat and hat. As the sounds of Retreat spilled in through the open window, Flynn sprang out of his snooze and ran to the door expectantly. We were now officially off-duty. I was pulling the office door closed behind me, when I heard Buck calling my name. I froze, hoping that if I didn’t answer, she would think I had already left.
“I know you haven’t left yet, Flora!”
Fike. Buck has catlike hearing. I sighed heavily, flung my overcoat on my chair, and answered Buck’s call. She was sitting in her nursing chair, Pow curled in her lap like a pill bug, slurping noisily The faint smell of apple pipeweed lingered on the air, and I looked at Buck sharply Had she taken up smoking again? Surely she wouldn’t smoke around Pow.
Buck said, “Hotspur won’t be here to pick up Pow for another half an hour; can you keep an eye on him until then? As soon as Tiny Man is done, I have to run over to the stables to check on Sadie. In the meantime, can you read me the officer-of-the-day report? It’s too awkward to balance the logbook with one hand, and also could you make me some tea?”
“But I’m off-duty! I’m going to the Califa’s Lip Rouge show!” I lied.
“It won’t take very long, Flora. I know it’s a big night,” Buck said. In her lap, Pow’s pink feet waved and kicked; he is a very energetic eater. “Please. I really need your help here. You’ll still be able to make the show. Don’t cross me. I’m in a bad mood.”
Thinking many sweary evil thoughts, I went to the stove to make the tea. Poppy had better be on time; I had a lot of prep work to do still. Buck leaned back in her chair, eyes closed. Pow was sleeping six hours at a stretch at night now, which Poppy said was pretty good for a five-month-old. But Buck had been back at her desk within forty-eight hours of Pow’s birth, which had been a bit rough, and she’d never had a full chance to recover.
Well, I didn’t have any sympathy. No one made her have a baby at her age, and no one made her do all the extra work. She took it all upon herself, and she should know her limits. Not very charitable, I know, but it was hard for me to think charitably about Buck at all—not after my discovery of how she had let me believe for all those years that she was my mother. Just because my true heritage had to be a secret from our Birdie overlords didn’t mean that it should be a secret from me. Buck could have trusted me with the truth. She had not. And I had suffered.
“Here’s your tea.” I carried the cup over to her and put it on the arm of her nursing chair. Buck jerked awake and handed Pow over to me. Wobbly with fullness, he was soft and pliable like a doll, and he smelled warm and cozy I balanced him against my shoulder; he wrapped his pudgy hands around my dangling aiguillettes and almost strangled me. He was a Fyrdraaca, no doubt about that.
Buck said, “Thanks. I needed that. Pigface, I wish this day were over. Can you read me that logbook, please?”
I disengaged Pow from my aiguillettes, put him down in his pen, and gave him a stuffed horse to strangle while I dug the logbook out of the mess on Buck’s desk. Three tedious pages later, a tapping interrupted m
e. A pigeon had alighted on the windowsill and was gently rapping at the glass with its beak. When I opened the window, the bird glided across the room and took up perch on the carrier stand on Buck’s desk.
“Pigface, I hope this is good news. I deserve some,” Buck said, putting down her cup. The pigeon extended one dainty pink foot and she unclipped the message cylinder from it, withdrawing the tiny message roll. I hoped for good news, too, but all the news I would consider good (that Lord Axacaya was dead, that the Birdies were withdrawing from Califa, that Udo had broken up with the Zu-Zu) was pretty unlikely.
“Pigface!” Buck said. “Hotspur’s stuck across the Bay He won’t make it back until tomorrow morning. And I have to go to the Pirates’ Parade party at Saeta House. You’ll have to sit with Pow tonight.”
“But I have plans, remember?” I said desperately. It had to be tonight.
“I’m sorry, Flora, but I can’t take Pow with me. You’ll have to watch him. I’ll try not to be too late.”
“I haven’t had a full night off in weeks. Lieutenant Sabre authorized my leave and you endorsed his authorization.”
“I’m sorry, Flora. Someone has to watch the Tiny Man.”
Buck has lots of nicknames for Pow: Powser, Powie, Chubblet, and Scratchy, but Tiny Man is her favorite. Buck has nicknames for Poppy and my sister Idden both (Glorious Boy and Pudgie). She even has even a nickname for Lieutenant Sabre. But she never calls me anything but Flora.
“Can’t Lieutenant Sabre do it? I’ve been looking forward to the show forever,” I pleaded. “It’s Udo’s big debut.”
“Lieutenant Sabre has gone on sick leave. He’s got the ague, so I sent him home. Besides, I thought you and Udo were no longer friends.”
“We made up,” I lied hastily. “Can’t you take Pow with you? He went with you to lunch with the Mayor of Millos last week.”
Buck switched from mother to commanding general. “I don’t understand why you are arguing with me, Lieutenant. Shall I make it an order?”
I could play this game, too. “The Articles of War, section twelve, paragraph fifty-two, forbid any superior officer from asking a subordinate to do personal work.”
“Why don’t you prefer charges against me, then, Lieutenant ?” Buck said. At her tone, Pow burst into a frightened howl. Sighing heavily Buck scooped him up and over her shoulder, where he began to gum her shoulder board. “Can’t you just help me out, Flora? Please?”
A nasty Gramatica Word was making my blood tingle, my head pound. “I don’t see how I have a choice.”
Buck bounced Pow and kissed his head, making hushy noises. “You don’t. But you could be gracious about it. I count on you, Flora. You are the only person I can rely on. You are all I’ve got. Also, can you file this letter before you leave? It got mixed up in my mail this morning.”
My jaw clenched tight enough to bite silver, I took the letter from her. If I was all that Buck had, she was in sorry shape indeed.
And now, so was I.
TWO
Rain. Offerings. Resolution.
I WALKED BACK to my quarters, depressed and furious. I had to do the Working tonight, when the Current was at full flood and I could hide amid all the other magickal noise. It would be a full year before the Current was this high again. I couldn’t wait that long.
Where there's a Will, Nini Mo said, there's a way. I had the Will, and while I was changing out of my dress uniform into my civvies, I thought of a way.
When I got to the Commanding Officer’s Quarters, Buck was waiting impatiently, a soggy Pow wailing in his pen. She kissed him, saluted me, and disappeared into her carriage in a flurry of black skirts and flapping wig. As soon as the carriage was gone, I changed Pow’s diaper, bundled him into his sleepy-suit, and stuffed him into his cradleboard. Five minutes after that, we were on our way to the stables.
Buck had ordered me to watch Pow, but she hadn’t said a thing about where that watching should take place.
The night was clear and chill, and despite the hour, there was a lot of activity on the post. The barracks buildings on the north side of the parade ground blazed with light; in addition to the party at the Social Club, each of the regiments was hosting its own Pirates’ Parade party The sidewalks were thick with soldiers, making their way from one punch bowl to the next. The guardhouse was going to be very full in the morning.
At the stables, a private sat in the tack room, reading the CPG and splashing tobacco juice haphazardly into a grain bucket. Sieur Caballo leaned over his stall door and huffed reproachfully After the rousted private saddled Sieur Caballo, I strapped the cradleboard securely to the saddle and we set off. At the Lobos Gate, the guards waved jauntily and bent down to fawn over Flynn, but they didn’t ask where I was going or if I had a pass or remind me to be back before curfew. Oh, the privileges of rank.
Flynn darting ahead like a furry hummingbird, I rode down the Battery Road, the soggy corduroy drumming beneath Sieur Caballo’s feet. Above, the stars were washed out by a brilliant full moon. As we crested Bannock Hill, I could see, to the east, the lights of Lone Pine Hospital. To the south, a bright blue star burned high above the dark swell of the Pacifica Ocean: Bilskinir House, seat of the Haðraaða family, my true home. Of the six great houses in the City, Bilskinir is the greatest. Its Butler, Paimon, is the most powerful denizen in Califa. As the last living Haðraaða, I’m the Head of the House and Paimon is my Butler, subject to my Will. Yet I dared not go near it or him. If the Birdies saw me there and guessed why ... The thought made my blood curdle.
I turned Sieur Caballo onto Bannock Ridge Road, and we rode past the post cemetery. Though we were now outside the Presidio wall, we were still technically within the military reservation; the cemetery had been located well away from the main post for health reasons. In the bright moonlight, the small white headstones glowed like a long line of regimented ghosts. How nice it would be to someday lie among the peaceful dead, quiet and still. Forlorn hope. When I died, I would lie in the Antechamber of Eternity at Bilskinir House with the other chatty Haðraaða dead, my Anima added to the engine that keeps Paimon going. I’d be as much a slave in death as I was in life. That day, that sorrow, said Nini Mo. I didn’t aim to die for a long, long time.
As we passed the cemetery gates, I thought I saw movement out of the corner of my eye; when I turned to look back, the cemetery was full of ghost lights. The Current was rising and the line between the Waking World and Elsewhere was blurring. I put a heel to Sieur Caballo’s side and hurried him up. Not all ghosts are harmless.
At the Califa’s Grotto trailhead, I drew Sieur Caballo to a halt. The path to the Grotto goes through a tangle of live oaks too thick to take a horse through, so I dismounted. Lulled by Sieur Caballo’s gentle amble, Pow had fallen asleep. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I unhitched the cradleboard from the saddle and slung it over my shoulders, then shoved my dispatch case under my arm. I left Sieur Caballo ripping at some bushes and headed down the trail. Thanks to the recent rains, the mulchy path was wet and sucking, clogged with debris, broken sticks, and wet clumps of leaves. I had to go slowly, each slip sparking a sick fear of falling and dumping Pow into the mud. Flynn had already disappeared into the darkness ahead of me, even though I kept whistling for him to wait up. Coyotes lived in these woods, and while Flynnie was probably a bit scrawny for their taste, why chance it?
The trees closed in overhead and blotted out the moonlight. Ankle deep in mud, I stopped, took a deep breath to quell my jittery tum, and conjured up an ignis light. The pink glow was dim, but it was enough to show me where to put my feet. I was glad I had remembered to put the hood on the cradleboard and had swaddled Pow up extra tight. He should be nice and dry. Now he wiggled a bit and squeaked once, but when I jiggled back and forth, he quieted.
Ahead, Snapperdog stood in a suck of mud. He waited, bogged down, tail wagging anxiously, until I reached him and wrenched him free, and then carried him in front of me until we were out of the worst of it. Once, the combined
weight of Pow and Flynn would have seemed pretty heavy, but after six months of marching around with a forty-pound pack, the load seemed like nothing. A forty-pound pack doesn’t lick your ear, though, or give out occasional sleepy snorts.
After what seemed like a very long slog, I saw flickering lights ahead. Fike! I had hoped that the wet, combined with the festivities elsewhere, would ensure I had the shrine to myself. My Working required privacy. I extinguished my ignis light, but when I reached the edge of the glade, I saw that it was empty and completely underwater. The spring had overflowed its catch basin and turned the clearing into a small lake, a round stillness pinpricked with stars like eggshell candle boats. The smell of apple tobacco and rose incense mingled with the odor of wet mud and moldering leaves.
This serene image was ruined when Flynn flung himself forward with a splash. The water wasn’t deep, so, thanking the Goddess that my boots were waterproofed, I followed him. Long ago, this spring had been the City’s water source—and its source of Current. Back then, the City had a Governor, a praterhuman guardian, somewhat like a denizen only much more powerful, and the spring was the locus of the Governor’s power. No one has seen the Governor in a long time, and she is forgotten in all but name—Califa, of course—but the spring and the Current remain.
The spring has been channeled into a fountain; in the center of the catch basin, a marble statue of Califa stands on a plinth. The statue shows the Goddess as a hunter, a sturdy woman dressed in buckskin with a rifle slung over her shoulder, a powder horn clipped to her belt, and a limp marble fox dangling from her outstretched hand. A hound dog crouches at her feet, looking up at her with a panting grin. Of all the shrines to the Goddess, this one has long been the most neglected, due to its remoteness to the City.
Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo Page 2