Shovelhovel thought for a moment. “RoyLee, untie her—all but her wrists.”
“Good enough,” said Jerome. RoyLee set to loosening the knots, while Jerome addressed the rest of the wombats. “Now please. We will need to confer. Can you kindly back up and give us space? It will take a little time for the genius to emerge.”
Jerome sat down next to Eloise, who was now mostly untied and sitting up. She leaned toward him, grateful he was there. “No sudden moves, El. Just make motions like you’re thinking really hard,” he whispered. Eloise nodded, and put her bound hands to her forehead, closed her eyes, and started rocking slowly back and forth.
“Thank you for finding me,” she whispered. “I had no idea what I was going to do, and the burrow was getting to me.”
“Take your time and let the creative waves flow through you,” Jerome told her loudly. Then whispering, he added, “Thank goodness you’re OK. I’ve been crashing about the place trying to find you. I was starting to think you were gone for good. Can you moan a bit, for effect?”
Eloise gave a low moan and increased the sway of her rocking. “You were brilliant. And this is ridiculous.”
“Think! Think, oh, genius one!” encouraged Jerome for the wombats’ benefit, then added quietly, “I don’t suppose you have any names for them?”
“What?”
“We have to come up with something. Do you have any names?”
“None that are polite.”
“Keep up the moaning. Now sway side to side, just to change it up. Keep going…”
Jerome left Eloise with her hands on her forehead, moaning and swaying from left to right, and walked over to Shovelhovel. “Um, this isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.”
“Why not?”
“Creativity like hers needs nurturing, encouragement, and proper conditions. When was the last time she ate?”
“She refused our food. And me wife’s mighty upset about that, too, matey.”
“Fresh air? Has she had the chance to breathe something other than burrow dust?”
“Er, no. We keeps ’em tied up, like you saw. We don’t want to be carryin’ them in and out all the time.”
“Fair enough. It’s just…”
“What?”
Jerome sighed. “It’s just that I want her to get you the best name she can. She can’t do that while she’s cooped up like a, um, like a kidnap victim. She needs the inspiration of nature! She needs fresh air in her lungs. Can we get that for her? No, let me say that differently. Can we get that for you, since the name will be yours?”
“Oh, alright then. For the name’s sake,” said Shovelhovel. “Follow me. There’s a big opening up the back entrance.”
Eloise tried to look lost in a trance as she, Jerome, and the wombats moved out of the burrow. They led her to a clear spot where she and Jerome could sit down.
“Back up, back up,” Jerome said to the wombats. “She needs space for her muse to express itself.” The wombats still surrounded them, but backed away enough that they could whisper without being overheard. “Got anything?” asked Jerome. “You are, after all, the creative genius of this business.”
“Only because you said I was.”
“True. OK, make a big show of it for another two minutes. We’ll come up with something.”
Eloise moaned louder, rocked and swayed, and threw in some wavy arm motions. Jerome let this go on for a dramatically long time, then whispered, “On the count of three stop suddenly, then lean over and pretend to say something to me.” Eloise did, reaching a crescendo that involved some drool, a cross-eyed look, and a sudden cessation of all movement. She leaned down to Jerome. “Actually, I’ve got something.” She whispered it in his ear.
Jerome rocked back a little, his eyes widening. “Why, El.” He lifted his tail like he was hoisting the purple flag at a hockey sacking match, and mimed chiming the gong. “Two points to the princess.”
Jerome stood up and threw his arms wide. “That’s brilliant! Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Our clients will be thrilled. You’re a genius. You’ve done it again!”
Eloise bowed to the wombats, sat down, and tried to look her most serene.
Shovelhovel came forward. “So, what she get?”
Jerome held out his paw “Sorry, coins first.”
At a nod, RoyLee scampered into the burrow and came back with ten coins in his fist. Jerome took them, bit one, and then dropped them into his pantaloons pocket. He cleared his throat and declaimed, “The Wombanditos are no more! Henceforth, the world shall tremble in fear at the name of the roughest, toughest wombat gang in all the realms—the Pillagiarists.”
“The Pill… The Pillagiarists?” Shovelhovel looked unconvinced. “What’s it mean?”
“It is your new identity, my friend. Your new brand. It represents all that you are in four simple syllables. The Pillagiarists! It combines ‘pillage’, which you know.”
“Yeah, we like ‘pillage’. That’s stealin’ and stuff.”
“And ‘plagiarism’.”
“Plagiarism?”
Jerome swooped his arm, like he was introducing something grand. “Plagiarism is a form of stealing. So your name has not one, but two—count them, two words for stealing in it.”
Shovelhovel looked like he was warming to it. “So, from now on, we be the Pill—, the Pillagiarists, the fiercest gang with bad eyesight in all the realms.”
“Lose the bit about the eyesight and you have it,” said Jerome.
Shovelhovel raised his sword. “We be the Pillagiarists! The fiercest gang in all the realms! Heeyahhhh!”
“Heeyahhhh!” cried the wombats as one.
And with that, Eloise was free.
They said their goodbyes and walked toward the road, and with any luck, a fast ride home.
“Thank you, Jerome,” Eloise said as they walked away from the burrow. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
“My pleasure, El. It is what friends are for.”
They strolled past the brunchberry stand, but Eloise had lost her desire for them. “Just one thing,” she said. “‘Thin, not-particularly-attractive nobody.’ Really?”
“Just trying to keep the price down, El. Just trying to keep the price down.”
9
Sulky
It was a relief to be waiting by the road again for the chance to catch a ride, sitting on the blanket and cushion. The cover was gone; it had been commandeered by the Pillagiarists for the brunchberries while Eloise lay mind-numb. By the time she’d woken up, they’d eaten the berries and cut up and sewn the cover into a scarf, a cap, a decorative wall hanging (although no one would ever see it), and a serviette.
“It shouldn’t take too long to find someone headed to Brague,” said Jerome. “The Waft! An Autumnal Festival wraps up today.”
So they waited.
Eloise worked out that it was almost exactly a day since she had found the brunchberry stand, which meant that she would be almost exactly a day late for dinner. It was going to be ugly.
They hadn’t been waiting very long when a man with a horse-drawn sulky finally turned in their direction from the Mooondale intersection. The two-seater sulky only had the one person on it. Maybe he’d give them a lift? Jerome could sit on her lap. Eloise and Jerome stood up, ready to wave him down.
As they came up the road, Eloise thought there was something familiar-looking about the large, muscly man, and possibly the horse as well—a salt-and-pepper Clydesdale the size of a barn with magnificent white feathering on his feet. Even before Eloise waved, the horse slowed to stop near them. The man was in his early twenties. He wore civilian clothes, so it took her a moment to realize who it was.
“Why, Guard Lorch Lacksneck. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Princess Eloise. Master Jerome. Thank Çalaht we found you.”
“Found us?”
“Yes, we have been looking for you.”
“Oh.” Eloise’s shoulders drooped. “Looking for a while?”
“Are you hurt, Princess Eloise? Your clothes…”
Eloise had not been able to brush away all the dirt from her outfit. Clearly, the Pillagiarists had dragged her into their burrow, not carried her. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s OK. I fell, but I’m alright.” She gently touched the side of her head. “Bit of a bump is all.”
“Very good.” Lorch gestured toward the horse. “Please allow me to introduce Älbërt de Clydesdale. He’s a friend of mine from Lower Glenth, although he’s mainly in Brague now.”
“Pleased to meet you, Master de Clydesdale. I’m Eloise. This is Jerome Abernatheen de Chipmunk.”
Jerome waved hello. He’d instinctively moved to a spot where the horse could see him, so it was less likely he’d get stomped on by a dinner-plate-sized hoof.
“Thank you, Princess Eloise and Master Abernatheen de Chipmunk. Pleased to be making your acquaintances. I’m Älbërt.” For such a large horse, he had the voice of a guinea pig.
“Do you mind if we ride in your sulky?” Eloise didn’t really need to ask, since it was clear what the purpose was, but it was the polite thing to do.
“My pleasure, Princess Eloise, Master Jerome,” Älbërt squeaked. “Hop aboard.”
Lorch offered his arm to help her step up. “I don’t mean to assume. Are you ready to return to Castle Brague?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I am.”
Eloise slid into the seat and lay the blanket across her legs for warmth. Jerome settled on the cushion between her and Lorch.
“Ready when you are, Äl,” said the guard.
“Rightio, Lorchio.” The horse eased into a walk, then sped up to a trot. At that speed, given how big Älbërt was, they’d be back in Brague in half the time that the radish cart had taken going the other way.
The three travelers rode in silence for several strong lengths. It was an awkward silence. Eloise didn’t know Lorch all that well, and after all that had happened, she wasn’t sure what she should say to whom. It seemed Lorch was disinclined to chat, and Jerome, who normally filled the air with words, had fallen asleep, head back, mouth agape, issuing small, undignified, chipmunk snores. The effort of finding her must have caught up with him.
Finally, Eloise asked, “Guard Lacksneck, on a scale of, say, ‘stern finger wagging’ to ‘prepare to be flogged and pilloried’, just how much trouble am I in?”
“It would be fair to say your absence was noted, Princess Eloise.”
“Noted with raised voices? Raised alarms? Raised sticks? Please, Guard Lacksneck. What will I be walking into? Just so I can be ready.”
“I spoke only briefly to our queen.”
“Right. And what did my mother have to say?”
Lorch’s face flushed a little, and he deliberately avoided eye contact. It was as though the topic was uncomfortable for him, and he’d rather not talk about it.
“Guard Lacksneck?”
“It is possible I was not entirely forthcoming with our queen. I’m sorry, Princess Eloise. As such, our queen said, ‘Have a nice time, and I shall have words with the princess on your return.’”
“That’s it? Words?”
“Words.”
“What did you say to her?”
“When I saw you, you indicated that you would not be long. You and Master Abernatheen de Chipmunk were riding with BB and BdB. I guessed where you were going. I mean, who wouldn’t want to see Waft! An Autumnal Festival? My family used to go every year when I was growing up. But BB and BdB would not be coming back to Brague for a few days at the soonest. So I guessed you did not have a ride back.”
“That is a lot of very good guessing.”
“The pieces fit together well enough, Princess.” Lorch adjusted his seat so he could look at her more directly. “I stayed on duty at the gate for the rest of the day, and when you had not returned by dusk, I asked Älbërt if he’d be willing to miss his dance class and go on a short trip.”
“Dance class?” asked Eloise.
“I do competitive equine gavotte,” said the Clydesdale. Without missing a beat, he shifted the clopping of his trot to a graceful set of gavotte moves. Then, just as suddenly, he was back to a straight trot. The sulky barely registered the change.
“Very impressive,” said Eloise. She turned back to Loch. “How did you get an audience with my mother?”
“Mistress Odmilla set it up. When I met Her Majesty, I said as little as I could, while conveying that I would be bringing you home after the festival dance.”
“Which bought you some time.”
“Yes, Princess.”
They rode another strong length in silence. Then Eloise said, “Thank you, Guard Lacksneck, for being so observant, and for going beyond what anyone might normally have done.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Lorch.
“And mine,” added Älbërt, throwing in a bit more equine gavotte as punctuation.
10
Chewed
Eloise fully expected to get chewed out by the queen when she got home, and her mother did not disappoint. Eloise went straight to her room, where she had to apologize and explain her absence to Odmilla while the platypus helped her clean up and change. Eloise hoped she could just slip into the dining hall for dinner, so that any rebuke might be tempered by the presence of servants and guests. But that hope disappeared when a herald arrived, summoning her to the Declaiming Room.
Her mother was going with formality. That meant she was somewhere between really, really steamed and absolutely livid.
The thing was, Eloise knew she deserved whatever was coming. So, having tidied herself up and fortified herself with a haggleberry tea, she followed the herald to the Declaiming Room to cop whatever was coming.
The queen sat on the Speaking Throne wearing the Judgment Cape. Eloise had hoped for the Attention Cape at least, or maybe the Adjudication Cape. Nope.
The herald stood at the doorway and announced, “Princess Eloise to see the queen.”
Queen Eloise had a pile of scrolls stacked on the table next to her, and one lay unfurled on her lap desk, which she was writing on. Eloise entered the room, curtsied, then bent to one knee, lowered her gaze to the floor, and waited.
The queen did not even glance her way. The quill scratching seemed to go on forever. Eventually, without pausing her writing, the queen said, “How many?”
“How many?” repeated Eloise, confused. “I’m sorry, how many what?”
“How many people?” The queen dipped her quill and continued whatever it was she was doing.
Eloise kept her head down, but glanced up slightly, trying to work out what her mother was writing. A list, perhaps? “Apologies, my queen. I do not have the context or reference point for your question.”
“The context is clear enough. Your…” She wrote some more. “The context is your absence. As for a reference point…” More writing. “The reference point is those affected. How many people do you reckon you worried, inconvenienced, or brought under suspicion by failing to declare your intentions before engaging in an allegedly spontaneous outing?”
Eloise swallowed. She didn’t particularly like where this was going. “I don’t know. I’ve not thought about it.”
“Obviously not.” The queen finished the second column of whatever she was doing and started writing a third. “Take a guess. Feel free to round down.”
Eloise had no idea where this was going. “A dozen, perhaps. Maybe twenty?”
That stopped the queen, who looked straight at her. “Twenty? Twenty?” She gestured at the scroll. “I’m already up to 92. I’m guessing I’m only two-thirds of the way there.”
“My queen, I’d like to apologize for my behavior. It was unthinking and irresponsible.”
“Keep going.”
“Self-centered, impulsive, and inconsiderate.”
“And?”
“Keep going?”
“Yes, keep going.”
“Is there somet
hing in particular?”
“You might say something about putting yourself in harm’s way. Or causing distress to your family and those charged with your care and protection. You could add that you were gullible, if you believed you could just sneak off without consequences, intended or unintended. I’m sure the radish monger told you a fine tale about the glories of that Waft! An Autumnal Festival. I hear it is pretty.”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t—”
“You’re lucky that Guard Lacksneck was intending to go to the festival dance on his time off with his friend the dance instructor. Apparently his family goes every year. He volunteered to keep an eye on you and little Jerome, and provide you a ride home that did not involve sitting next to fresh produce.” The queen continued writing. “I assented. It was easier and less obtrusive than sending a squadron of guards to find you. I trust you had a good time? Did you have the punch? I hear the punch is nice. All those autumn ingredients. Did you dance?”
“Again, my queen, I’m sorry.”
“Well, that makes everything OK, doesn’t it?”
Her mother wasn’t sarcastic often. That made this chat even more disconcerting. Eloise calmed herself by counting the pieces of wood in the parquetry floor.
The queen let a silence settle while she continued writing. Eloise remained on one knee, head still down. That she had not been allowed to stand was another sign of how badly peeved her mother was.
After a few more dips of the quill, the queen put the feather down and blew on the ink to dry her writing. “There. I’ve made it an even 120. That’s only 100 more than you guessed.” The queen handed the scroll to Eloise. “Have a look. Tell me if you think I have listed anyone who should not be there.”
Eloise scanned the list. The first few names were obvious. Her parents. Lorch. “Guard Lorch Lacksneck’s friend—the one who dances.” Jerome’s mother, Seer Maybelle de Chipmunk. Odmilla. Eloise’s sister Johanna (in the category of inconvenienced, presumably, not worried or under suspicion). Those were all fair enough. Then came less obvious names. “Chef? The Venerable Prelate Herself? And who is Baron Baggerlader von Ellbogen?”
The Wombanditos Page 4