The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  Ondine wasn’t entirely sure Melody hadn’t lost her mind already. Why had she arrived now, of all times? Was she here under Vincent’s orders or had she really left him?

  Hamish grabbed an extra chair while Ondine piled more logs on the fire to keep the warmth coming.

  “I’m so sorry for behaving so badly,” Melody said without prompting. “I lost sight of what was important. And I know I let you down.”

  It sounded genuine to Ondine, what with the contrite look on Melody’s face and the complete absence of ‘ifs’. “What if Vincent asks you to come back and work for him again?”

  She shook her head. “He won’t. Well, he’d better not, because I’ll send him off with a flea in his ear.”

  “A what?” Ondine asked.

  “I’ll tell him to shove it,” Melody said. “Anyway, he doesn’t know where I am. I left a note saying I’d gone to my grandparents in Craviç.”

  Old Col said nothing as she looked into the flames, but her worn face told Ondine all she needed to know. They were well and truly defeated. Vincent had won and nothing would ever be the same in Brugel again.

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  Part Two

  Eight Months Later

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  Chapter Fifteen

  If life could be measured in suckage, Ondine’s life easily out-sucked the most powerful vacuums in the world. Every day of Vincent’s reign brought fresh bad news.

  The morning after Lord Vincent had become Duke of Brugel, a palpable sense of dread descended as they waited to see what would happen to their country. At first it was the little things. The newspapers Da loved to read each morning suddenly weren’t available at the shop. In the afternoon, when they’d tuned the radio to their favourite music channel, they’d heard nothing but static.

  Then things became much more blatant. Cadets turned up at intersections all across the city. They weren’t doing anything, as far as Ondine could tell, but seeing them in such public positions, in such great numbers, made her uneasy. As if she couldn’t simply go for a walk down the street without someone watching over her.

  Reporting on her.

  The seasons passed in a blur of misery. Summer had been brief and hot, giving everyone sunburn and sleepless nights. Not that people enjoyed walking in the late afternoons as the streets were full of mean-looking cadets. Autumn had been pretty with all its changing leaves, but Ondine’s mood was too sour to enjoy it. Her mood didn’t improve in winter either. Instead of glorious snow dusting the world with magic, it had rained something rotten, making everything soggy. The winter festivals and the snow maze didn’t happen, on account of the lack of snow. Christmas had come and gone with few customers in the pub and scant tips.

  And now it was heading into spring again, but Ondine didn’t dare hope for anything good happening any time soon. Life was too crapulent for that. They weren’t living. They were existing.

  “It’s called ‘outrage fatigue’ dear,” Ma had said one morning over breakfast. “One unrelentingly ghastly thing after another tends to wear you down.”

  Eight months of ‘unrelentingly ghastly’ things had worn Ondine down, that was for sure.

  The worst of ‘the ghastlies’ had to be the curfew at sundown. All citizens had to be off the streets by five at night and they couldn’t emerge until seven the next morning. Which made evening travel and socializing near impossible! This had devastated the DeGroot’s earnings immediately, as most of their business came from the dinner crowd and overnight guests. Although everyone had been equally affected by the massive changes to Brugel daily life, Ondine couldn’t help thinking Vincent had targeted her family in particular.

  Education had gone by the wayside, too. Ondine had planned to enrol in a business degree in the autumn, so she could learn even more about running a business and one day take over the family pub. Alas, the college she’d chosen had tripled its fees and closed half its courses. This necessitated taking a gap year to defer her studies. Officially she was working in her parents’ hotel. Unofficially she was just as broke and unemployed as everyone else.

  The private family room behind the kitchen was often overcrowded. They could eat in the dining room, where there were plenty of tables and chairs, but they had to keep the restaurant clean and tidy on the off chance a paying customer might come in. So they huddled together in their little private room, taking breakfast in shifts.

  On this particularly miserable spring morning, Ondine and Hamish took first shift with Melody, Margi and her husband Thomas Berger. Adding to the squeeze was Thomas’s younger brother, Alexei. Alexei was a brash young thing, full of grand ideas about where Brugel had gone wrong, and how to fix it. He loved regaling them with historical facts about revolutions, which he’d learned about in school the previous year. He’d make a wonderful lecturer in politics, when things returned to normal.

  Whenever that was.

  Fortunately for Alexei, he had terribly sensitive skin, so he was unable to submerge his hands into hot soapy water. Alexei and his parents had moved in with Ondine’s family during the miserable winter just past. The Bergers had worked at the Brugel Science Institute all their careers. A month after taking office, Lord Vincent declared a budget emergency and cut all science funding. With months of no income, the Bergers put their house up for sale and moved in with Ondine’s family. After all, the pub had plenty of vacant bedrooms.

  Ordinarily, having a crowd of people in the pub was no big deal. But these were not paying guests, they were extended family, and that meant Ondine had to spend extra time finding useful things for people to do. This in turn gave her less time with Hamish. Much to her continued frustrations, Hamish had even less time for Ondine. His ‘staying spell’ that Old Col had put him under from the very beginning was losing its potency. Hamish aged far too quickly during the day and had to recuperate as a ferret all night.

  Melody, who’d also come to stay, was earning her keep by creating health spells for Hamish.

  Ma and Da had taken in family on Ma’s side – GrannyMa and GrandDa had come home from their retirement travels, because their pensions had been cut off. They’d parked their caravan in the beer garden. Old Col had also come to live with them full-time, which was excellent as it meant they could keep an eye on her health, both magical and physical. And her mental health, truth be told.

  Old Col and the grandparents were in the second breakfast shift with Ma, Da, Cybelle and Henrik. Col had always been batty, but since her horrible night with Mrs Howser, which she still refused to talk about in any detail, she’d been even battier.

  At least she was still with them, which was more than they could say for Anathea. Ever since her abdication, there had been no sight of Brugel’s former duchess. Rumours swirled about her fate, from living in exile with her ex-husband in the mountainous kingdom of Haute Montagne (the kindest outcome) to not being amongst the living at all (an awful outcome) to being kept prisoner in a rat infested cellar (the awfullest).

  The only nice thing to happen was when Margi and Thomas announced they were having a baby. That had at least shone some light into their dim world. They’d announced the news soon after Christmas, and all the oldies had immediately burst into tears of joy and love and they kept hugging all afternoon. This conveniently overshadowed how miserly their Christmas had been.

  Now, each time Da walked past Margi, he stopped her, kissed her on the head and then said, “see you soon my little Berger,” directly to her belly. [335]

  A creaking door and chiming bell told them someone had walked into the dining room.

  A customer?

  Wiping the breakfast egg from her mouth (the family had brought in chickens and were raising them in the laundry, where it was warm and the hens could produce all year round), Ondine headed out to see who had walked in.

  It was Ms Cebotari! “First Minister, how wonderful to see you!”

  “Just Nata
lia these days,” she said with forced smile. Her dark hair had grown longer, revealing a wide parting of grey roots. Without makeup, her skin looked spottier, with little red blotches along her jawline. She slipped on a pair of glasses and looked closer. “Ondine? It is you. I’m so glad you’re still here.”

  With a mirthless laugh, Ondine said, “Where else would I be?”

  “I’ve come to see how you are faring.”

  “ ‘Badly’ pretty much sums it up.” Then Ondine remembered her customer service training. “Would you like breakfast? Coffee? We still have real coffee if you’d like.”

  Natalia creased her mascara-free eyes in seriousness. “You’re not cutting it with chicory are you?”

  “No ma’am. We’d sooner close for good than do that.”

  “I always knew you were a good sort,” Natalia embraced Ondine in a hug. Then she dropped her voice into conspiracy territory.

  “Is Vincent still your patron?”

  “No way.” Ondine kept her voice low as well. “We haven’t seen him for months and I hope we never see him again.”

  Natalia sighed and smiled. “I’m so glad you said that.” Then she released Ondine, dashed for the front door, opened it again and said to somebody waiting outside, “The coast is clear.”

  In the next minute a dozen people walking in singles and pairs entered the dining room. Natalia made the introductions. “Everybody, this is Ondine DeGroot, a true friend of Brugel. Ondine, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to the Brugelish Resistance.”

  As the Brugelish resistance ambled in, Ma entered the dining room and clapped her hands with delight, instantly mistaking them for people with money. “New customers, how wonderful!”

  VINCENT COULD NOT REMEMBER ever being so happy. Which was saying a lot considering how well things had been ticking over this past year. He’d refinanced his life thanks to the generous Balakhans, removed his annoying aunt and become the Duke of Brugel. All before his twenty-first birthday.

  He sat behind a Brugel Oak desk, admiring the grain and the glossy finish. This was the desk his father Pavla had inherited from his father and his father before him. It wasn’t in such great shape when Vincent found it, covered in dust. Dented. Stained. That’s why he’d had the surface replaced, and the drawers remade and all the neglect sanded out and varnished. Some of the original Brugel Oak was still in the desk, and really, that’s all that mattered. The connection to history. Thankfully, he hadn’t had to keep dying his hand blue every couple of days, so that connection didn’t have to remain.

  Like many over-achievers, Vincent didn’t want to rest after his early victories. What would be the point? Resting meant stopping, and he wasn’t for stopping. Stopping would mean he’d peaked too early. The door to his office creaked open. Babak Balakhan and Birgit Howser walked silently across the thick carpet, folios tucked under their arms ready for their weekly meeting. From another door came a quick rapping sound, then a waiter walked in with a tiered tray of fruit, cheese and crackers. Unlike Vincent’s desk, the meeting table in the middle of the room was not made of Brugel Oak. That sacred timber was getting harder to obtain. Apparently the dust from Brugel Oak sawmills played havoc with people’s allergies.

  Vincent took a seat at the head of the meeting table. Once he sat down, Birgit and Babak took their seats. He nodded to both of them and said, “How goes our fair Brugel this week?”

  “More petitions to end the curfew, or at least drive it back by a few hours,” Babak said. “There are claims it’s bad for business to have to close so early.”

  “Most businesses close at five o’clock, don’t they?”

  “Yes, Your Lordship, they do, but the petitioners are saying their staff need to be home well before curfew, so many are closing as early as three. I have to say I can see it from their point of view.”

  Vincent shrugged. “What’s our next item?”

  “I’m proceeding with the database of all witches, as per your request,” Mrs Howser said. “And the normals who caught mutating magic. It’s enabling us to keep track of citizens with useful magic, now and in many years to come, when I am not here.”

  It was the first time she’d hinted at an inability to carry out her tasks. “You’re planning on leaving?”

  “I serve at the Your Lordship’s pleasure. But age catches up with us all, and there are some things not even magic can cure.”

  For a moment he’d thought she was planning on leaving. Now he understood it was more about her mortality, he wasn’t so concerned. “Let’s not get melodramatic about it.” He turned to Babak. “How are the negotiations proceeding with Slaegal?”

  “We’re on target for the merge in the next six months. We should work out a timetable for releasing information to the public. Advance warning runs the risk of stirring outrage.”

  “So? We closed all the media outlets critical to us.”

  “That is true,” Babak said with a satisfied smile. “My concern is any lingering doubters.”

  “I’m fixing that,” Mrs Howser jumped in. “The dampening field will be ready ahead of schedule, so we won’t have to worry about assemblies via astral projection.”

  Vincent loved the way Babak and Howser competed with each other to be the favourite. “We shan’t have to worry at all if we sell the merger right. Bringing Brugel and Slaegal together will make us stronger. What about Craviç, any feelers out there to see how that will be received?”

  “Their ramshackle protest movement is voicing concerns about us,” Babak said. “They’re putting the blue-flowered flags on their homes and cars.” [336]

  Vincent shrugged, “Blue flowers go well with blue hands.” Then he thought some more and came up with something better. “Let’s make new flags. We’ll put the blue hand holding the blue flower as a sign of our friendship.”

  “I like where you’re going with this,” Babak said.

  “What shall we do about the elections?” Mrs Howser asked.

  Vincent frowned. “Who’s banging on about timetabling them now?” [337]

  “Nobody. Or at least, nobody publicly. My thoughts are that we set a date in late summer –”

  “– That will give them far too much time to prepare.” Babak interrupted.

  “Not if we don’t tell them until August.” Mrs Howser said. “Say, four weeks’ notice?”

  “I’ve always liked the way you do business, Birgit,” Babak said. “Four weeks sounds perfect.”

  Nobody had touched the platter, fruit or otherwise. It was a game Vincent liked to play, knowing Babak and Birgit wouldn’t dare eat before he did. He made himself wait longer and longer without eating, to the point where his tummy cramped as the smell of the softly warming cheese teased his nose. “Do you have anything for me to sign?”

  Mrs Howser produced several pieces of legislation. “These are from your edicts last week.”

  “Good.” A government of three people was so efficient.

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  Chapter Sixteen

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  It didn’t look in any way suspicious to have members of the newly formed Brugelish Resistance taking afternoon tea at Ondine’s family pub, The Duke and Ferret. This is because nobody, aside from the members themselves, knew of the existence of the Brugelish Resistance. To people on the street, walking past the pub, it simply looked as if The Duke and Ferret had customers in the dining room.

  “It’s so lovely to have guests here for afternoon tea,” Ma gushed as she wheeled the samovar over to Natalia Cebotari’s table.

  Ma lit the candle beneath the pot and spooned tealeaves into the water. “Chef’s making puppy boxes for take-home dining. First Minister, may I show you the menu?” [338]

  “It’s just Natalia,” then she quirked a brow. “Puppy boxes?”

  “Our version of a doggy bag,” Ma said with a chuckle.

  Although Ondine constantly felt the resistance’s cover could be blown at any moment, it was also a massive relief to have customers again. When the restaurant was emp
ty, people walked past, noted the empty dining room, then kept walking. Thanks to Natalia and her buddies, the people outside walked past, saw that others were enjoying themselves and came in. A classic case of success creating more success.

  “Give me a hand with this out to the footpath will you love?” Ma said as she tottered over with an A-frame chalkboard. On one side she’d written, “Curfew special: A warm meal and a warm bed!” on the other side she’d added, “Come for dinner, stay for the duvet!” The two of them huffed as they lifted the heavy frame. “We have to try something for the evening crowd, the curfew is killing us! I can’t believe it’s still set at five o’clock when it’s light now until six. And when daylight saving comes in, it will be light until eight.”

  “Careful,” Ondine said as they shuffled the frame into position on the street outside. If someone overheard them, they might think her ‘careful’ was in the context of, ‘be careful with the board, you might hurt your back,’ but in fact she was hoping her mother would realise she really meant ‘careful’ in the, ‘Be careful what you say, someone could easily report you to Lord Vincent for being unhappy’ kind of way.

  Safely back in the dining room, Ondine noticed one of their patrons (not a member of the Brugelish Resistance as far as she could tell) sipping tea while working on a laptop.

  “Plugged into our wall and using our electricity!” Ma said under her breath.

  She had a point. Why would a person need to be working on a portable computer in a restaurant? Sure, electricity supplies were unpredictable at the best of times, so that might explain it. Or the customer could be writing a novel (she’d heard that sometimes happened). But the really scary thought, which pushed all other thoughts aside, was that the woman with the laptop, drinking only tea and sucking their power out of the wall, might actually be a spy. Which meant she had to suspect there was something worth spying on, here at The Duke and Ferret.