Dean-Na and the Hairless Rose

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Dean-Na and the Hairless Rose Page 8

by Robyn Fraser


  What was it that Rose was so knowledgeable about, wondered Deanna. It felt ominous, though perhaps the chicken was just being dramatic. She was good at that.

  “It will take you several days by the feet to reach the Riddled Ridge,” continued Hercules. “You must cross it of course—this will also take quite some time. But if you follow the most southern road through the Dehydrated Desert, it will lead you between mountains and lake, and is not nearly so treacherous as crossing the mountain peaks.”

  The fish glanced at both of them. “I wish I could tell to you otherwise, but this route you must take to Magus, it will not be a safe or easy one.” He returned his attention to the map. “Once you have passed the Riddled Ridge, you must navigate the Fantabulous Forest if want to save time.” Hercules pointed to a green area between the mountains and the Magitoria capitol. “It is not so much physically dangerous as it is, how do you say? Distracting.”

  Rose nodded. “I’ve had friends go in there and never come out again. They do send me postcards every now and then, so I know they’re still alive.” She glanced meaningfully at Hercules. “I’ll make sure Deanna comes out the other end of the Fantabulous Forest, don’t you worry, Mr. Poisson.”

  “Bien. And once you are past, it is not so far to the capitol and Magus Manor. Which is, I believe, mademoiselle Deanna, your destination.”

  “Yes it is,” Deanna agreed, using as confident a tone as she could muster while her heart sped and her insides shivered with worry over the upcoming expedition. She turned to Rose. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I can go alone.” Deanna really, really hoped Rose wouldn’t take her up on this offer.

  Thankfully, the chicken shook her head adamantly. “Not a chance, D. You’re stuck with me for the whole trip. I made a promise to your mother and I plan to keep it.”

  “Well, this is where I must say au revoir, mademoiselles.” Hercules folded the map and handed it to Deanna. “But two other gifts before I go.” He fished in his tuxedo jacket pocket, pulled out a small package wrapped in paper similar to the map, and placed it in Deanna’s palm, closing her fist around it. “You may need this disguise where you will be traveling.”

  “Thank you,” said Deanna, with no idea what it was.

  Hercules searched in another pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. “These are the moneys Concretian,” he said. “They serve me no purpose now that I have made my home in Slightly Silly, but they may be of value to the two of you.”

  “Oh, that’s a lot of money, Mr. Poisson,” said Rose, watching the exchange. “Really, we shouldn’t—”

  Hercules held up a fin. “No, mademoiselle, I will not hear of it. It is my gift to you. Please use it as you see necessary.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Poisson,” said Rose. “Thank you very much.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Deanna, taking the coins and pocketing them. “Um, I have something for you, too. Just a sec.” She rummaged in her backpack, tore a page from her sketchbook and handed it to Hercules.

  “Why, mademoiselle, this…this, c’est magnifique!” Poisson’s eyes smiled as he scanned the sketch. He then turned it around so Rose could see.

  “The likeness of me, it is the perfection, is it not, mademoiselle Rose? And the moustaches, they are even grander than my own!” He touched his tenderly with one fin.

  “Yes, Deanna is an excellent artist, Mr. Poisson. Her work has already saved us from a pleonger.”

  The fish’s eyes widened. “That is saying something, mademoiselle. Truly.” He fished into a vest pocket and pulled out what looked to be a large, waterproof envelope. “I will have this laminated immediately, but until then, it will be safe in here.” Hercules inserted the drawing and tucked the envelope back into his vest.

  “Now I must go. I wish to you both a safe journey.” He moved away from them, stepping carefully into the water. “If you have the need at any time, please do not hesitate to contact me using the grey cells, if you can access one.” He pointed to the paper in Deanna’s hands. “I have left my number on the back of the map.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Poisson,” called Rose as Hercules floated farther out into the choppy lake, the rain pelting down, making him hard to see. “Thank you for everything! I definitely owe you!”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Deanna, feeling rather sad about his departure. She quite liked the fish. “I hope to see you again.”

  “Moi aussi, mademoiselle. Me too.” And with a last wave of his fin, he slipped under the darkened waters and was gone.

  Deanna and Rose stood silently for a few minutes, watching the dark lake where their friend had disappeared. The wind was beginning to gust, creating large, frothy waves, and the rain was beating down hard now, soaking through Deanna’s clothes and, she could only assume, through Rose’s feathers.

  “Let’s see if we can get out of this bumblepoop beach and onto something flatter,” said Rose. “There should be a road up by those trees.”

  Together, they trudged and tripped away from the shore, Rose occasionally flapping her wings and taking low flight to avoid the worst of the rubble.

  “This must be one of Concreta’s tree farms,” said Rose as they neared the swaying, perfectly measured lines of trees. Deanna thought they looked rather sad. As in pathetic, but also as in depressed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Deanna, having to raise her voice over the howling wind.

  “Rumor has it that Mr. Sactual, in his most infinite wisdom, clear-cut all the old forests when he first came to power so that there would be more room for factories. But since even he knows that Illusiland needs trees to survive, he had tree-farms planted as sparsely as he possibly could throughout Concreta.” Rose stopped on a large boulder and stared at the trees just a hundred feet ahead. “They seem sad, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, they do,” agreed Deanna. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Rose sighed. “Well, we should get inside the tree farm and head north—at least it will be a bit of cover for us for a while. Both from the wind and rain and from people.” She turned to Deanna. “It’s very important that neither of us are seen, you know.”

  Deanna nodded. She knew that Mr. Sactual’s people were looking for her. Maybe they knew of Rose too? That was probably the case.

  They continued to trudge forward and eventually slipped in amongst the trees and the sickly looking weeds that were struggling up between them.

  “From what I’ve heard, these tree farms are never more than a mile long and half as wide,” said Rose, “and there’s usually a road running through them, heading north-south. We should find that and take it north.” She stopped, squinted and pointed. “There. I think the road’s just ahead. It looks like there’s a clearing.”

  The duo trudged on and, sure enough, they came onto a paved roadway, one that would be the equivalent of two narrow lanes of traffic back where Deanna came from. Rain was pounding down on it.

  “We’ll stay to the edge of the road and slip back into the trees if we hear anyone,” said Rose. She pointed to the left. “I’m almost certain that’s north.”

  They walked in that direction, the flat road making their steps easier and faster. The rain and wind too loud for easy conversation, they walked in silence for the next little while. Though there were no signs of life, Deanna felt on high alert. She was in enemy territory and the enemy was looking for her.

  After thirty minutes or so, she noticed that there seemed to be a clearing up ahead—they must be at the end of the tree farm. It looked a bit brighter up there too, as though the storm was passing. She’d just turned to Rose to say as much when the chicken shoved her toward the trees at the side of the road. “Quickly!” said the chicken. “Something’s coming!”

  They dashed to safety just in time. A few seconds later, as Rose and Deanna lay flat on their stomachs behind two tree trunks, a long grey truck came motoring toward them on the road. As it passed, Deanna saw that it contained row upon row of stacked slatted metal boxes. Each was not m
ore than a foot high and maybe three feet square. Every box was stuffed with crying chickens—Deanna could hear their fear and despair even through the noise of the storm. Wings and beaks and claws tangled and poked out between the slats. The view lasted only seconds before the truck took a bend in the road and disappeared, but Deanna knew the image would never leave her mind.

  She lay there for a while, too stunned to speak. Eventually she turned to Rose, who had buried her face in her wings. “Rose, are you okay?”

  Rose lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with crying. She wiped them with a wing and snuffled.

  “What was that?” asked Deanna. “What’s going on with all those chickens?”

  Rose shook her head. “They’re going to their deaths, Deanna. The people here in Concreta eat people like me for dinner. And lunch. And whenever they feel like it, really. Which, as I understand it, is pretty much all the time.” She choked back tears and took a deep breath.

  “When Sactual took power nine years ago, he banned all but human people from Concreta. Most immigrated to Magitora, some to other, farther off lands. But he kept chickens, inspired by Munda’s dietary habits. He had them rounded up and imprisoned in factories where they’re forced to breed and birth more chickens, all of whom are to be killed and eaten.”

  “Oh.” Deanna couldn’t think of anything else to say. An unwelcome brew of guilt and horror were pouring into her soul. Just a day ago, if someone had asked what her favorite food was, she’d have said chicken nuggets. But now the vision of those feathered beings—crammed, clearly in pain and fearing for their lives—was playing like a looping film in her mind. This was what Hercules and Rose had been talking about. Why Rose couldn’t be seen. She would be killed and eaten if she was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Where We Skip Chapter Thirteen Because It’s Bad Luck

  (And Deanna and Rose don’t need any more of that)

  The storm passed as Deanna and Rose reached the northern edge of the tree farm, but the sky remained a dull grey. A small town sat just a few hundred feet ahead. On either side of the main road were dark wooden or grey brick buildings, store-signs hanging from their fronts. Several side-roads ran off from the main, where identical square houses sprouted up from the ground like tumors. They were easy to see because the land here was flat and there were no trees.

  To the east, away from the shoreline, sat several large, grey, factory buildings. Their tall chimneys were emitting black smoke. A sewage-like smell thickened the air, making breathing more than a touch unpleasant.

  “You’re going to have to put me in your backpack, D. If I’m seen I’ll end up in one of those.” From their hiding spot in the trees, Rose pointed to the factories. Deanna nodded. “You might get a bit squished, there’s not much room in here.” She lifted off her pack and opened the zippered top.

  “Oh, mangoes!” said Rose. “That reminds me of just how hungry I am. And thirsty.”

  “I’ve got some water.” Deanna pulled out the small fruit juice bottle she’d filled on the island, realizing just how hungry and thirsty she was too. “We can share it.” She held it out for her friend.

  “Thanks, D.” Rose grabbed the bottle and took a long sip. “But you know, I think this is the only town we’re going to pass through before we hit the desert.” She pointed to the backpack. “Can you grab the map? I want to see if there are any rivers or streams along the way.”

  While Rose took another sip of water, Deanna grabbed the map and unfolded it.

  “No, there’s nothing,” said Rose a moment later, drawing a wing along the eastern shoreline. There were blue lines, which Deanna assumed meant rivers, or at least water of some sort, on the map, but Deanna and Rose would not be traveling near any of them. “We’re going to have to stock up on water here. And we’ll need more than this bottle,” she added, passing the now half-full water container to Deanna. “Do you mind if I have a mango, D?”

  Deanna shook her head. “Help yourself. I’ve got a knife in here somewhere if you need to peel it.” She rummaged through her pack and found the small zippered pocket on the inside, where she always kept what she considered her second-most precious possession, after her drawing supplies.

  “Thanks, D, but I’m good. This beak isn’t just for looks, you know.” Rose grabbed one of the mangoes and began to skillfully rip the skin away.

  A handful of feathers were scattered around Rose, which Deanna thought odd, but maybe it was normal for chickens to shed like that. She decided not to mention it, instead opening up the large blade of her Swiss Army Knife and peeling a mango for herself.

  “You should get out the disguise that Mr. Poisson gave you,” said Rose after they’d both finished their fruit.

  Deanna had placed the small package in her pack. She pulled it out and unwrapped it. There was a small, slim box inside, much like the shape of a mini harmonica case. She opened the lid.

  “A mustache!” exclaimed Rose. “That’s exactly what you need right now.” The chicken picked up the dark brown, upward curling tuft of hairs. Beneath it was a smaller goatee-like thing and a tiny bottle labeled ‘Glue’. “We should get this on you right away. You’ll never be recognized if you’re wearing them. That Mr. Poisson, he’s a smart one. Here, let me do it for you.”

  While Deanna sat still, Rose spread a thin layer of glue onto the back of the mustache and placed it carefully over Deanna’s upper lip. She repeated the process with the goatee, sticking it centrally under Deanna’s lower lip and pressing it to make sure it wouldn’t fall off. Then Rose sat back and stared at her work with a critical eye.

  After a moment, she smiled. “It’s perfect! I barely recognize you myself.”

  Deanna brought a hand up to carefully examine the foreign objects on her face and found herself adjusting the curls much like she’d seen Hercules do with his. She rather liked the feeling.

  Once they’d repacked Deanna’s bag, Rose hopped in on top. A large quantity of feathers fluttered onto the tree-farm floor, a mix of purple, yellow, orange, gold and especially the butt-feather greens. There were several patches of exposed skin. “Ummm—” Deanna began, but was cut off.

  “Keep the zipper open a bit so I can breathe, okay, D?” Rose settled further into the pack and wrapped what Deanna couldn’t help but think were two shorter-than-a moment-ago wings around her torso.

  “See if there’s a shop where you can buy water bottles with that money Mr. Poisson gave you.

  “And if someone wants to talk to you,” continued Rose, “try to speak as little as possible; say you have a sore throat or something. It wouldn’t make a drop of difference in Magitoria or the border regions, but here in Concreta, a person with a mustache is supposed to have a lower voice than yours.”

  Deanna nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her chest. “Okay.”

  “Good. Now let’s get going and get some water, and some food if you can, and get past this awful town.”

  Deanna zipped up the top of her pack, leaving a small opening so Rose could breathe. Then, with a determined grimace, she hefted the pack over her shoulders, walked back onto the road and headed into town.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where Rose Dies

  (And where we discover that naming chapter thirteen differently doesn’t actually help anyone avoid bad luck. Sorry, I tried.)

  A few cars, which looked remarkably similar to ones in Mundaland, passed Deanna as she walked. Some of the occupants, all human-looking, stared at her briefly, but no one stopped or questioned her. Without exception, each vehicle took a turn onto a paved road that led straight to the smoky factories in the east.

  It took only a few minutes to reach the town. In the first block to Deanna’s left were the South-West Concreta Hair Salon, South-West Concreta Clothing (where all the items on display were some shade of grey) and the South-West Concreta Food Market.

  To her right was the South-West Concreta Butcher Shop, where Deanna was appalled to see the featherless corpses of over a
dozen chickens, just like Rose, hanging on display in the window. Next to this was the South-West Concreta Furniture Store, followed by the South-West Concreta Diner.

  A handful of men and women, all dressed in grey, all human-looking, passed her on the side of the road as they did their shopping. A few seemed to glance with mild curiosity at Deanna (possibly because her t-shirt was green and her jeans blue), but no one seemed to be overly interested in her or her facial hair.

  “There’s a grocery store across the street,” whispered Deanna to Rose. “That’s probably the best place for food and water.”

  “Good call,” replied Rose from inside the pack. “Remember, just try not to speak too much and you’ll be fine.”

  Deanna crossed the paved road, walked up to the food market door and almost fainted.

  A poster was plastered on it: It was a life-like drawing of Deanna’s face with the following:

  REWARD:

  100,000 Gold For

  Information Leading to the

  Apprehension of this Girl.

  Goes by the Name Deandra

  “There’s a reward poster on the door with my picture on it,” she whispered to Rose, trying not to move her lips too much. She could see in through the store’s window and the cashier was staring out at her.

  “Don’t worry, you look nothing like yourself with that disguise. You’ll be fine,” said Rose. “You can do it.”

  Okay. She could do it. Deanna took a deep breath, attempted to calm the shivers that were running though her, and pulled open the store door.

  Rows of packaged and canned goods filled the several aisles of shelves. The cashier who had been staring at her was directly to her left, behind a cash register that looked like it was pulled from an old-time movie, with metal buttons to punch in the price and a roll of paper for receipts. The store was fairly empty—only a couple of other shoppers strolled the aisles.

 

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