The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  On the big screen, countries took it in turns to deliver their scores. Someone just gave the ultimate thirteen votes for Slaegal. Zings of happiness zipped through Ondine on behalf of her sisters.

  Hamish squished her around the middle. “Margibelle are in front lass!”

  The crowd roared enough to shatter the roof. Luckily they were outdoors and there was no roof to shatter.

  The next set of votes came in, and the voice giving those votes sounded hideously familiar.

  “Good evening Europe, this is Venzelemma calling!”

  The crowd’s enthusiasm flew off the scale.

  There on the screen was Lord Vincent’s face, five times larger than life. He had his back to the rapturous audience in Savo Plaza, delivering his long-winded time-wasting piece about how wonderful the night had been and what a brilliant show everyone had put on.

  Ondine’s eyes moved from the big screen, to see Vincent in the flesh on the stage below. He was speaking into a camera, a chunky cable trailed from the back of it. That cable had to lead somewhere, and it had to be plugged into something in order for Vincent to get his live messages across to the millions of people watching PopEuroTube all over Europe.

  “I’ve got a plan,” she said, grabbing Hamish by the hand. “Let’s unplug him!”

  Pulling the plug wouldn’t stop the show, but it would stop Vincent’s grandstanding by killing his live feed.

  The crowd hushed as Lord Vincent delivered the lowest five scores. Ondine hoped he’d drag it out so they’d have time to get to whichever power socket that cable was connected to.

  Keep talking, wind bag.

  Then Vincent announced, with a long drawn out pause, that Brugel was giving nine points to Craviç.

  A small part of Ondine wanted to know the rest of the results, but they had to pull the plug on Vincent and get people out of the plaza before the Fort Kluff cadets and Mrs Howser arrived.

  There it was! The cable fed straight into an outside broadcast van.

  Bang bang bang Ondine smacked the van’s door with her palm. A frazzled woman wearing a headset opened the door and glared at them. “What do you want?”

  “Who are you?” Ondine said, fuelled with bluster and adrenaline. “Where are Yovanna and Berol?” There was no Yovanna and Berol, she’d made those names up, but she hoped the tone of her voice would confuse the staff inside.

  Vincent dragged the points out, delivering “Ten points to the outstandingly wonderful performance from Haute Montagne.”

  “Never mind who I am, who are you?” The woman said. “And what do you think you’re doing banging on the door during a live broadcast?”

  Not falling for it, then.

  “Ondi lass, will ye hold me?” Hamish said, one eyebrow raised as he held the door wide so the woman inside couldn’t slam it closed.

  “Yes darling. Of course.” Ondine wrapped her arms around his waist, threading her thumbs through his belt loops as she did so. The man she loved made a howl of pain and crumpled into her chest. His clothes fluttered in the cold air and she quickly rolled them into a ball in her hands.

  “On guaaaard!” Hamish cried out, leaping his Shambles-ferrety self up the steps and into the van.

  The woman’s screams pierced the sky. Madness filled the van. Shambles leapt from shelf to shelf, down to the floor, spun in the air, leapt onto his feet, twisted and tumbled, scarpered up a wall and somersaulted down again. A mesmerising display of agility and insanity.

  Outside, Vincent delivered Brugel’s eleven points to Moldova. A small part of her wanted to know who Brugel would give thirteen points to, but there was an army on the way and she had to act now.

  The frazzled woman screamed again and charged after the furry intruder.

  Ondine slipped inside the van and looked for the ‘live’ video feed amongst the technology and the wizz-bangery. There! She saw a label stating “LIVE CROSS UPLINK.” That had to be it.

  Flick!

  People outside in the plaza hollered and booed.

  She must have done something right.

  The van rocked. With a crunching thud Ondine landed on her tailbone. The van door slammed shut as the mob outside rocked them back and forth.

  “What have you done?” The woman held on to the walls for balance as she rounded on Ondine. “You’ve cut the live cross. Get everything back the way it was or we’ll have a riot on our hands!” The woman, who should now be called The Furious Woman, turned to Ondine and yelled, “Get out!”

  Shambles leapt onto the (furious) woman’s lap. She yelped and jumped into the air, all arms and legs and pointy angles. “Get it off!”

  “I’ve called security,” a man said. He must have been in the van all along. His cardigan was so dirty and worn only the stains held it together. “I don’t know what your game is love, but we’ve got no money. No point robbing us at ferret-point.”

  Ondine took a desperate look at the array of buttons and knobs and things that slid up and down, and little windows with needles that wobbled from side to side. Why could there not be a simple master switch? It was one thing to silence Lord Vincent, but if the big screen kept on playing the rest of PopEuroTube, people would stay in the plaza and be trapped by the tanks.

  Great Pluto’s Ghost. There it was! A fuse box with a master lever.

  Flick!

  Everything switched off. The world turned black. Ondine groped for the door and shoved it open. Light spilled from outside as she scrambled to collect Hamish’s abandoned clothes. A blur whisked beside her; Shambles leapt clear out of the van and scarpered up a nearby pole. In the plaza, the great screen stood like a monolithic art installation. Impressive but useless. The crowd grew restless, throwing empty cheeseball cups and drink cans at the screen.

  Hope bloomed. She’d stopped it. The party in the plaza and the big screen showing PopEuroTube. All of it came to a shuddering stop. Surely everyone would go home now, right?

  STANDING ON THE BLACKED-out stage confirmed Vincent’s deep-seated fears that he wasn’t allowed to have nice things. “Melody! Fix this now!”

  “On it!” she called out from somewhere. It was so dark he couldn’t tell where that somewhere was. With a flash and a bzzt, the lights came back on, along with the rest of PopEuroTube on the big screen. The crowd behind him cheered and whistled. He kept looking down the barrel of the camera, waiting for the red light to come on.

  The operator behind the camera pulled his headphones off his ear and said, “After the live cross cut out, the show’s hosts in Craviç read out Brugel’s final votes going to Slaegal. So they’re not crossing back unless the vote is close at the end of the night.”

  Damn.

  The live feed restored, the big screen showed the delegate from Trajikstan announcing her votes. Thirteen points to Brugel.

  The crowd in Savo Plaza, so distracted by the power cut, were now firmly back on board, cheering and hollering Brugel’s top vote.

  The leader board had Druvitzia first, Slaegal second and Brugel third, then a huge gap of thirty votes to fourth place, Craviç.

  The broadcast went to a quick replay of all the acts during the night. On stage in front of the big screen Vincent grabbed a spare microphone from his jacket, flicked it on and spoke to the crowd.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, no matter the result, Battlefront has made Brugel proud tonight.”

  The crowd roared its approval.

  Adrenaline charged through Vincent. “Straight after the results, we will have a special announcement, but for now, try not to bite your nails off while we wait to see who wins!”

  It should be Brugel, but to Vincent’s disdain, the last two countries’ votes – and they took their sweet time delivering them – did not go their way.

  Then the PopEuroTube masters of ceremonies were back on screen with their rhyming couplets. ​

  “It’s the end of the night,

  we’ve had so much fun.

  It’s our pleasure to say

  Druvitzia won!”


  Savo Plaza erupted with howls of disapproval and deep rumbling booing noises. Looking out at the crowd, Vincent knew he had to keep things upbeat. It would have played out so much better had Brugel won, but things were already set in motion, so it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

  That’s when he looked out at the broadcast van and saw Ondine and Hamish standing nearby. Right then he knew they must have been responsible for the blackout a few minutes ago.

  He didn’t think he could hate them any more than he could right now.

  ​

  STARING LORD VINCENT right in the face, Ondine crossed her arms and willed herself not to leap on stage and strangle him with the microphone cord. Then she remembered she was a nice person who didn’t go in for public displays of aggression. Even though she was sorely provoked. Yet there he was, standing in front of the big screen, hogging the limelight and all the goodwill.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Battlefront was amazing tonight!” Vincent said.

  Behind him, the big screen changed from showing images of the winners at PopEuroTube to something very different. The interior of a public building.

  Huh?

  Ondine tried to work out where she’d seen this building before. It was cavernous, with dozens of well-cushioned chairs arranged in a u-shape around a long central table. That’s when it hit her. The inside of Brugel’s dentate building. At the centre of the room, near a long table, stood Brugel’s First Minister Natalia Cebotari. Beside her Duchess Anathea stood trembling, a sheet of paper in her hand.

  Ondine’s bile rose.

  The crowd hushed as they listened to the quavering voice of their Duchess.

  ​

  “To the people of Brugel. Congratulations on an outstanding performance at tonight’s PopEuroTube. You have done your country and yourselves proud. Brugel’s future on the world stage stands strong and assured.

  “Tonight, it is with an eye on such a future that I announce my abdication as Duchess of Brugel, effective immediately, handing over rule to my nephew, Lord Vincent, who will from this moment on be known as Duke Vincent the third.

  “I have also resolved to disband the dentate and open the government to free and fair elections at a time of Lord Vincent’s choosing.

  “I must stress that I arrived at this decision myself. The decision was mine alone to make.

  Thank you for being the best people in the world, from the best country in the world. I will as ever, be your humble servant, Anathea.”

  A pretty speech that hushed the crowd watching it in Savo Plaza.

  Ondine knew the duchess had not written it herself. For a start, it wasn’t written in that passive style of things being done by someone else that Anathea favoured. But mostly it didn’t ring true because of the way Valentin and Mrs Howser had treated Anathea at the ballroom earlier tonight.

  On stage Vincent spoke into the microphone again.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, people of Brugel. I accept this honour. I must now travel to the Dentate and sign the necessary paperwork. Thank you for making history tonight!”

  Ondine wanted to throw up, cry and tear her hair out all at the same time. The very worst thing had happened and she hadn’t been able to stop it.

  The mood in the plaza changed from friendly to confused in the snap of a twig.

  A metallic rattling noise came closer. But from which direction? Craning their necks, Ondine and Hamish looked around.

  “It’s over that way lass,” Hamish said, pointing to the right as a tank pushed its way down a street.

  “No, it’s this way,” Ondine said, pointing to the left as another tank creaked into the edges of the plaza. Cadets flanked both the tanks, blocking the exits.

  More tanks and cadets arrived and clotted access to the remaining streets. Riding on the top of one, came an all too familiar old witch. Mrs Howser, her cape flowing behind, looking like the queen of the world.

  “Mercury’s wings! We’re trapped like rats in a cage!”

  Wasting no time, Mrs Howser stood at the front of her tank and waved her arms. Sparks of dark magic flew through the air and landed like snow on people’s heads, melting into their clothes and hair.

  Any confusion evaporated as the crowd’s mood switched firmly into full-on support for Vincent. Cadet’s moved through the crowd, giving out blue banners and noisemakers. People chanted for Vincent in not-quite-unison (like they would properly chant at a football match). The original supporters held placards on sticks in favour of Vincent, yet covered their mouths with bandanas or surgical masks. Some of them wore those rictus-grinning face-masks from an inexplicably popular movie.

  The giant screen showed the buoyant mood, as the cameras captured the pro-Vincent crowd and broadcast it to the rest of Brugel.

  For a moment, Ondine lost her mind as euphoria for a new leader took hold. But wait, this couldn’t be right. Mentally shaking herself, she dug deep, all the way to her boots, to remember why she and Hamish were here in the first place. They were here to stop Vincent, not support him.

  No magic spell could counter-act such strongly held free will, and when it came to battling Lord Vincent, Ondine had an over-supply of free will.

  Uh-oh, Hamish’s face had already glazed over as he fell under Mrs Howser’s spell.

  “Snap out of it!” she yelled to her beloved.

  He did not snap, nor did he come round when Ondine gave him a shake.

  “Hamish, remember why we’re here! We can do this, this spell can’t stop us!”

  But he looked so far gone, as if he’d become another person. “Come back to me, Hamish!”

  With every fibre of her love, Ondine kissed Hamish, hoping it would knock some sense into him. If things weren’t so desperate, it could have been a timeless kiss that developed into a lovely snog session. But Ondine didn’t have that luxury.

  When they eventually pulled away, Hamish smiled, then winked at her. “I needed that. Right, let’s see what’s to do?”

  “Howser’s put a spell on everyone, taking the goodwill in the crowd and turning it into a pro-Vincent rally. Our kiss hasn’t affected anyone else. I can’t very well go around kissing everyone in the entire crowd to break the spell!”

  Looking about them, Hamish nodded. “We’re in the thick of it now, lass.”

  The tanks cranked up again and began reversing down the streets. The cadets marching along side them. The mesmerised crowd stayed behind, watching events unfold on the giant screen.

  A chant broke out in the plaza as someone started shouting on a loudspeaker, “Blue hand group. Blue hand group.”

  “I wish I had one of them,” Ondine wailed.

  “Like this?” Hamish produced a megaphone from behind his back.

  “Oh my stars I love you so much!” Ondine threw her arms around his neck and kissed him all over the face, including, obviously, the lips. Her lips stayed on his for a while longer, because she loved him that much. It was Hamish who pulled back, and handed Ondine the megaphone.

  Climbing onto the top of a stone plinth, Ondine cried out, “People! People, listen to me!”

  They weren’t listening.

  “Helps if ye turn it on,” Hamish said.

  “Oh.” Feedback whine. Take two. “People, listen to me!”

  Great volume!

  The people stopped. Actually stopped. Whoa, power! Ondine’s nerves jangled as the crowd turned to her.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this! You’re all under a spell, but it won’t last! It was obvious that Vincent forced Anathea to make that speech. She’s still our Duchess!”

  Hundreds of revellers looked at Ondine. Waiting for her . . . to do what? To know the right thing to say? To give them answers?

  “This is not the Brugel way. I love our country and I know everyone here loves our country too. Brugel . . . is what makes Brugel great.”

  Not the best start, because her brain hadn’t caught up to the situation yet. “I’m sorry Vincent and Anathea are fighting. But we can so
rt this out. Life will go on tomorrow. Because we are a thoughtful people, and we look after each other. We have so much love to give. That’s what our country needs now. We don’t need to kick out the Duchess, we need love!”

  Voice cracking with emotion, she flicked the button off so that she wouldn’t amplify her aside to Hamish: “D’ye think it’s working?”

  “Keep giving it laldy,” Which was Hamish’s way of saying, ‘give it all you’ve got.’

  She flicked the loudspeaker back on again. “I love my country, I love our Duchess Anathea, she is a national treasure. She needs us and we need her.”

  People lowered their blue fists and banners. Having their attention made Ondine bolder. “Go home to your families and loved ones. Show the people closest to you how much they mean to you. That’s the spirit of Brugel. That’s love.”

  One by one, people turned to each other, as if waking from Mrs Howser’s spell. They were shaking their heads, confused about what was going on.

  “It’s worked,” Ondine turned to Hamish.

  The crowd dropped their banners and signs.

  “Love is the answer!” Ondine cried out.

  She’d done it!

  As one, the crowd suddenly let out an almighty roar and charged towards Ondine and Hamish, turning on them. Panicked, Ondine dropped the loudspeaker. Hamish grabbed her free hand, hauling her away from the angry mob bearing down on them.

  “Up,” Hamish said as they reached a tree. He linked his palms together to make a step. Ondine slotted her foot in and he hoiked her up. She hauled herself into higher branches, the crowd forming a sea of people below.

  “Hamish?” She glanced at the base of the tree. Panic shot through her. He was nowhere. “Hamish!”

  “Right here lass,” he said, as his ferret form shot out of his clothes and scarpered up the trunk. “They’re raging now.”

  People began pushing each other up the tree. The branch Ondine clung to, now with a Shambles ferret on her shoulder, leaned over the awnings of a shop. She crawled along the branch, her weight bending the arm low. Splinters bit her hand. There wasn’t time to check for injuries as she scrambled from the branch onto the makeshift balcony. With a satisfying twang, the branch sprang back, throwing the other climber into the crowd below.