RISING HOSTILITY, it said, and beneath that, in low bold caps: CELLO’S ROYAL DILEMMA.
Elliot paused. Hostility was something he was hazy about. It had never affected Bonfire directly, and never been an issue on the other journeys he’d taken this last year. In the Magical North, however, he was actually more likely to come across a gang of Wandering Hostiles than a dragon or a werewolf. What did you do, did you stamp, blow whistles, play dead or look them squarely in the eye?
He smiled faintly. Politics was something that he’d always found tedious or pointless, so he’d never paid much attention. He guessed he should at least try to understand the issues now.
Page four of The Herald gave a brief survey of the history of Hostility in Cello, explaining the truce that had been reached, almost a thousand years before, between agitators, whose goal was democracy, and Royalists. In recent years, the report said, doubts about the current Royal Family, and particularly about the competence of the King, had sent cracks and fissures running through the truce.
An inset on page 5 defined the relevant terms. That was probably just to fill in space, as these were well-known, even to Elliot, but he read them anyway:
Registered Hostile: A town (or city, village, etc.) that has decided to opt out of rule by Cello’s Royal Family. Once it has registered as Hostile, the town (and its inhabitants) are immediately considered Hostile. The level of Hostility (mild, moderate, serious, etc.) is noted, at which point elaborate treaties come into play, enabling self-governance on a sliding scale. In exchange, the Hostiles forgo Royal privileges. This system is the cornerstone of the truce.
Below this was a definition of ‘Randomly Hostile’. Elliot thought of his friend Shelby and half-smiled. Some people might describe her as randomly hostile on account of her tendency to randomly blow things up. Dead trees, anthills, watermelons, tractors she was tired of looking at.
He read the definition.
Randomly Hostile: A town (city, village, etc.) that declares itself to be hostile towards royalty without taking any formal steps vis-à-vis the Register. This is a very recent practice, and is apparently related to animosity directed specifically towards the current Royal Family. It is commonly achieved by spray-painting the letter ‘H’, encircled with daggers, onto all official town signs. Security Forces and Register Administrators remain uncertain as to how to respond to the practice. To date, rather than treating such acts as treasonous, the Royal Family has either turned a blind eye, or entered the relevant town into the Register at the level of Moderate Hostility. Again, to date, there have been no reports of militant activity from any Random Hostile.
Finally, Elliot read the definition of Wandering Hostiles. Those were the ones that really mattered to him, since they were the serious problem up north.
Wandering Hostiles: Loosely connected groups whose members openly defy the truce system. Their objective is the complete overthrow of the Royal Family. They are responsible for clandestine, often opportunistic, acts of violence throughout the Kingdom, for which they routinely claim responsibility, inviting the Royal Family to step down in exchange for cessation of hostilities. While these groups have come and gone for as long as the truce system itself, in recent years numbers have swelled considerably, particularly in Magical North. Travellers in that region should be extremely wary of Wandering Hostiles.
Elliot sat back in his chair for a moment, and allowed himself to visualise a long line of obstacles. There were dragons, werewolves, bears and Wandering Hostiles. He saw himself dodging all of these, or vaulting them like furrows on a deftball field. He saw the Lake of Spells in a shimmering distance, saw himself reach it, and set up camp. He saw himself trap a Locator Spell. Here, his imaginings faltered a little. A circle of doubt, the size of a coin, opened in the centre of his chest. But he reached his hand out, and placed it on the cool, soft cover of the book that had central position on the desk: Spell Fishing: Tips and Techniques for Netting the Spell you Desire. The librarian had let him have it on extended loan. Sure, that phrase, ‘Spell you Desire,’ was a little abstract, a little reminiscent of romance columns in magazines—but the book’s bindings were solid. And it had a ten-page bibliography.
He trusted it. He shaded in the circle of doubt, and moved on with his imaginings.
Saw the Locator Spell, damp and filmy on the palm of his hand. Saw it guiding him across the Kingdom to a Purple cavern somewhere—where would it be? On the rim of the Inland Sea in Olde Quainte? In a crag in Nature Strip?
It could be anywhere. The point was, he’d break his way into that cavern. He’d skirt the Purples, shine his flashlight deep into the darkness. There’d be a hoarse call, a whisper maybe, the sound of quiet breathing, something anyway—and he’d take a dagger, cut down his father from the Purple trap, untangle him, get him out of there. Bring him home.
Something rose from the pit of Elliot’s stomach, ran down his legs to the soles of his feet, clouded his eyes.
He straightened his shoulders against that surge of emotion, looked towards the sunlight—and saw his friends.
Cody, Gabe, Nikki, Shelby and Kala were all lined up along the window, foreheads to the glass, looking in at him. They must have been walking along Aubin Street, and spotted him here.
They were dark shadows out there, but he could see enough of their faces to know they all had the same expression. It was smiling, like glad to see him, and half-laughing too—at themselves, for lining up in that way. At the same time their eyes were sad, because they knew he would be leaving again soon.
Nikki and Gabe tipped their chins a little. They meant Elliot should come out and race with them. Their favourite thing was street-racing on motor scooters. The Sheriff was not as keen on this as they were.
Shelby clapped her hands together and let her fingers fly backwards, away from one another. She meant she wanted to go blow something up on a paddock with Elliot.
Meanwhile, Kala and Cody were giving Elliot their fierce looks, the ones that meant he should quit the research and come and have a coffee with them.
Elliot laughed at them all, and next thing they’d opened the door to the library and were heading inside.
They pulled up chairs, or sat on nearby desks, turned over his books, flicked the back of his head.
‘What do you do if you come across a Wandering Hostile?’ Elliot said.
‘Run,’ said Gabe. The others nodded.
‘Run fast,’ Nikki amended.
‘Don’t,’ said Kala. ‘Don’t come across any.’
‘Helpful,’ Elliot murmured.
Cody took the Herald out of Elliot’s hands, and began to leaf through the pages.
‘Here it is,’ he said, and he must have just been telling the others about this, because they leaned in right away, saying, ‘Where?’
It was on page 47, in tiny print, under the heading, ‘Sporting Events’.
Provincial Deftball Championship: Bonfire Antelopes v Horatio Muttonbirds, Bonfire Oval, Bonfire, the Farms, Saturday, 2pm.
‘In the Herald,’ said Kala. ‘You’ve hit the big time.’
‘Sort of makes me wonder why you guys are not training right now,’ Cody mused. ‘Day before the game. Isn’t that what people do?’
Elliot, Gabe and Nikki, who were all on the team, shrugged as one.
‘Can’t get any better than we are,’ said Gabe.
Shelby chewed a fingernail. ‘And you leave the day after the game, Elliot?’
Elliot nodded.
‘Let one of us come with you this time?’ she suggested.
‘Let all of us come with you,’ Nikki said. ‘You didn’t let us come on your other trips, but you can’t do Wandering Hostiles on your own.’
There was a moment then, when they were all talking at once, about what they would pack, and how much money they had in their savings accounts, and how they’d always wanted to see the Lake of Spells or take on a werewolf—a moment when, behind their talk, their lives together seemed to move between their eyes. All the
things they’d shared—fruit-picking right across the Farms; towing each other down-river behind trucks; the year that Nikki’s farm did so well they’d all worked day and night, only turning the tractors off for an oil change; the year the dewbirds were swooping and they’d walked everywhere as a group, paper bags on their heads, faces drawn on the backs by Cody to scare the birds away.
Elliot shook his head.
‘None of your farms can do without you,’ he said.
‘Mine can,’ said Kala. ‘I’ll make my sisters cut down on ballet classes and start working on the farm instead.’
‘My family’s farm’s gone to hell anyway,’ Shelby said.
Cody was still turning pages in the newspaper.
‘Forget Wandering Hostiles,’ he said. ‘Watch out for the Princess Sisters, Elliot. They’re still on Tour.’ He was scanning a page as he spoke, a grin forming around his words. ‘Listen to their column,’ and he put on a Princess voice and began to read:
Well, trample me underfoot and call me a lyrebird, this Tour is the bomb!
Dearest, sweetest, most collateral inhabitants of this! our fine and beauteous Kingdom of Cello!—Hello!!!
And we hope you will forgive the rather ‘informal’ opening to this! our fifth, or what is it, seventh? [Editor’s note: ninth] column for that sweetbean of a newspaper, the Herald. It’s just that we feel so close to you all now! Having spent so much time with your shy gazes upon us, it’s just as if you, our totally munificent subjects, are now our friends!!
Oh, listen, about the opening line? We should explain our use of G.C. slang. For those who have not spent time in Golden Coast, as we have these past few days, when you say that something is the bomb! you mean that it goes off! [Editor’s note: ‘goes off’ is itself G.C. slang for a ‘fun’ event. The Princess Sisters seem to be saying they are enjoying the tour.]
As for Golden Coast, it is a sparklewhirl of starshine! A dazzlespin of haywire! We were unplussed! yesplugged! clothespegged!
Writing now from the Emerald Carriage, Ko and I (for it is I, Princess Jupiter, who writes this passage)—are thrown back and forth, our glasses of bubbling teakwater spilling so—ah! there goes a drip smudging the paper!—can you see it?! [Editor’s note: for obvious reasons, you cannot.] It behoves me to say that Queen Lyra (our mother) suggested we not partake of bubbling teakwater— but luckily we forswore! (is that the word?) and we partook, and partook, and still partake!! Where were we? Yes! Getting flung from side to side as the carriage takes tight corners! Thus, too, as we try to decide on our favourite part of Golden Coast, we are flung from side to side inside our minds!! Because we can’t decide! The whole place is the livin’ circumcision!! [Editor’s note: the Princesses here seem to have misunderstood a G.C. phrase that is generally used to connote a highly unpleasant experience.]
We have swum with dolphins, and gasped at cliffbells. We have attended movie premieres, and I (still Jupiter) was honoured to do a guest spot at the Dkveira Awards. Of course, we are already close buds with the movie-star likes of Bram Rickstein and Cynt Latte, and it was swanning to catch up with them again.
To put it bluntly, the Golden Coast is naught but surprises—none more startling, of course, than the Swamp. Pray tell, by the peeling bark of the long-snouted pug, what is that Swamp doing there?! It is naught but dangerous creatures and patches of slime that expand (we are told) if they sense you nearby! Aiming to slip into your sneakers and creep up your legs! (Ew.) We only flew over the Swamp in the Emerald Helicopter, rather than visiting it, but even so we almost collided with one of the hovering Hideums!
It is our humble declaration that the entire Swamp should be banished forthwith from this, our fine and beauteous Kingdom! We intend to take the matter up with King Cetus (known to us as ‘Dad’) the moment he returns from his Royal Botanical Expedition to the Cranes. [Editor’s note: we have been informed that the King is actually studying the flora of the Creens at the moment: islands not far west of the Cranes.]
. . . Just had to pause for a visit to the city of Pearl, where Ko admired the famous shadow effect (while I rested in the carriage). Due to a quirk in the topography, shadows remain for up to an hour after the person or object that made them has gone! Ko’s own shadow is no doubt still there, in various places, as we write! She says it’s not quite so exciting as she thought it would be as there’s often just a total mess of overlapping shadows, and it just looks like someone’s spilled a whole lot of buckets full of water. Never mind.
However, Ko was also able to make an announcement in Pearl, and I will make it again now!
For the remainder of our Tour, sweet and noble Subjects, we are going to be on the lookout for certain young people! That’s right! You heard it here first! [Editor’s note: presumably, unless you already heard it in Pearl, from Princess Ko.]
You see, we have been thinking about how splendid the young people are, whom we’ve met on Tour, and we thought: why not select three to form a sort of elite royal youth alliance (only with capitals; so, you know: Royal Youth Alliance)! It will meet with us regularly, this Alliance, and share thoughts on Issues affecting Young People in our Kingdom today. (If we’ve already visited your town, or we’re missing it altogether, don’t despair. Simply write a letter explaining what you can offer the Alliance, and why you best represent your particular province. You might be in luck.)
Ah, long column, long day. We are both somewhat fatigued as we roll past the waving folk of Dreevill—there they go! . . . okay, gone . . . and we miss out sweet parents (known to you as King and Queen) and our gorgeous brothers (Prince Chyba and little Prince Tippett), and I feel the need to stretch out this final paragraph with nothing but a series of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
(goodnight!)
By the time Cody had reached the end of the column, the five were laughing so hard that the librarian approached with a frown.
‘Oh, you’re reading the Princess Sisters’ column,’ she said, her frown transforming to a smile. ‘Isn’t it a hoot?’ and she laughed too.
Cody pulled the page out of the newspaper, made a paper hat from it, and stuck it on Elliot’s head.
4
Seems like tambourines are clashing and jangling, but they’re not; it’s just the atmosphere.
It’s the next day, and the morning of the deftball finals. The sky is high with summer blue, and the Town Square is lined with trestle tables. These are loaded with hats, scarves, t-shirts, streamers, noise-makers and huge foam hands (fingers and thumbs in various states of celebration), all in the Bonfire Antelopes blue and gold.
The pyramid of pumpkins is gone and in its place is a fibreglass antelope, painted in blue and gold stripes and mounted on a stand. Kids are climbing on the antelope or tossing deftballs high across its head. A couple of very small kids carry a crateload of tomatoes in the direction of the grocery store. They slow down, watching the flying deftballs. With a glance at each other, they dump the crate, take a tomato each and fling these into the air. The idea catches on: tomatoes fill the air.
Meanwhile, all over the square, little girls are searching under tables and in coffee mugs, and standing on their toes to check window ledges. Someone up north has predicted that the Butterfly Child will arrive in the province of the Farms today, and the little girls of Bonfire are determined that they’ll find her if she’s here. Some of these girls have pinned chiffon butterfly wings to the back of their denim overalls.
Elliot and his mother are having breakfast at the Bakery. People are calling, ‘Good luck!’ to Elliot, and ‘We’re counting on you, buddy’, or ‘Knock ’em dead.’ Others shout, ‘How you doin’, Petra?’ and ‘Proud of your boy?’ to his mother. And still others stop right by the table to exclaim, ‘Well, aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes! Look how tall you’ve got, Elliot!!’ because people who moved away from town in the last year—trying to find work, their own crops having failed—have come home today to watch the finals.
Mostly Elliot and Petra are just eating and calling ba
ck, ‘Thanks!’ or ‘Fine, how’s yourself?’ or ‘Well, if it isn’t Sarah-Jane Marshall?! And you’ve gone and got your teeth fixed!’
Elliot’s friends wander into the square in a group and cross to Elliot’s table. Gabe and Nikki, already dressed in their blue and gold uniforms, lean against the table, but their eyes have the edge and self-consciousness of star players on the big day.
Shelby holds up her arm to show Elliot and his mother the antelope that now adorns her cast.
‘Cody did it.’ She points sideways at Cody. ‘He wants to do a series on cast, so we’ve all got to break our bones for him.’
Cody nods. ‘I’d appreciate that.’ His face is painted blue and gold, and he’s inked tiny antelopes up and down the bare skin of his arms.
Petra Baranski takes a mouthful of coffee, puts it down and scolds, ‘You want to give yourself ink poisoning, Cody?’
‘Look at the little guys on his right arm,’ Gabe points out. ‘He had to do them with his left hand, see, but they’re perfect. That’s talent right there.’
‘So he’s ambidextrous,’ says Petra. ‘Won’t save his life.’
‘Ah,’ says Elliot. ‘Ink poisoning’s a myth.’
Kala has blue and gold beads braided through her hair. She’s wearing a Bonfire Antelopes t-shirt with tie-dyed cotton pants. Now she takes two woven wristbands from her pocket, and hands them to Elliot.
‘One’s for luck today,’ she says, ‘and one’s for luck on your journey tomorrow,’ and she kisses him fast on the cheek. The others watch this silently, and keep watching while Elliot slides both bands onto his left wrist and holds it up to show her.
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