Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog (Magic Carpet Books)

by Ysabeau S. Wilce

  Before this ordinary gate, Flynnie sat, licking his bottom while he waited for us. Beyond the threshold lay an immaculate sand driveway, as white and smooth as new snow. The sky ahead, framed through spreading trees, was as bright as blue paint, and the air was hushed and tranquil.

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the waves had resumed their fury and were hitting the roadway hard. The crash of the surf shuttered us in, and I could no longer see the Playa below. In contrast to the bright day before us, behind us the sky was still gray.

  Once again, Flynnie was point dog; while we hesitated, he bolted onward. No giant Butler swooped down to snatch him up as a tasty mouthful, and this emboldened us. But before I could touch her sides with my heels, Bonzo took matters into her own hooves and shot forward as though she had been spiked from behind.

  She flew through the gate and down the path, hooves kicking up all the nice white sand. I yanked hard on the reins and not a whit did she slow down. We tore down the roadway, which curved through a copse of tall shady trees, and rushed through bright flower beds, blossoms kicking up around us.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” I hollered.

  Udo jounced behind me, his chin banging hard into the top of my head, knees knocking into my sides. Bonzo shifted from the jarring trot into an effortless canter. That made it easier to stay on, but I could still not stop her.

  “Hold on!” I could feel Udo starting to slip behind me, but I couldn’t do anything other than saw back and forth uselessly on the reins. Ahead, the trees broke open to the blue sky and the bulk of a gray stone building.

  “I am holding!” Udo shouted.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Something loomed up in our path—a sundial, I think—and Bonzo bounded over it like a jackrabbit. Then suddenly she skimmed into a halt, but Udo and I kept going and tumbled over her neck, toward the hard ground.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Kinda Creeping. Not So Crawling. Caught.

  WE WERE MUSSED, grass-stained, and breathless, but otherwise all right. My side burned from Udo’s pointy elbow, and my back hurt from landing hard on the grass. The pain felt surprisingly good: It proved I was still solid. Flynnie stood over me, licking and drooling. I hadn’t been dumped in years, and now twice in as many days; Nini Mo would not be proud.

  “Get off!” I pushed at Flynnie, and heaved up to my feet. Bonzo had already recovered and was now tearing great gobs of grass out of the lawn, as though she had never done a snapperhorse thing in her entire life.

  Udo clambered to his feet, grimacing at the grass stains on his jacket. “Now I’m wet and dirty.” He wrung out the hem of his kilt and straightened his hat. “But at least I am alive.”

  “For the moment,” I said sourly.

  The way we had come was a wreckage of bent branches, torn turf, and crushed flowers. So much for our sneaking in. I hoped hoped hoped that Paimon was truly puny and weak, or we would be in serious trouble.

  “You’ll dry,” I told Udo. “Come on. We should keep moving.”

  I retrieved Bonzo’s reins and pulled her from her chomping. The weather had completely changed. No longer chill and foggy, the air felt warm and springlike, and the sky sparkled with gentle sunshine. I took my soggy buffalo coat off and shoved it into one of Bonzo’s saddlebags. Bonzo’s stampede had led us deep into the gardens, and now there was no sign of the House itself.

  “Come on—we have to find the House. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  “Flora,” Udo said, very quietly and carefully. “Look.”

  Flynnie, who had been twisting around my feet, went taut and anxious. His tail sprang up, and his back drew out, his nose pointing. I followed his point, then froze.

  Three red dogs stood in the middle of the sandy white drive, staring at us. Each of them was nearly as high as my waist, and they had squat toadlike heads with huge wide-set eyes and ears clipped into batlike triangles. Their massive jaws looked like they could snap up Flynnie with one crunch. They looked like they could snap up Udo in one crunch.

  “Don’t move,” I hissed to Udo without taking my gaze from the dogs. They stared back impassively Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flynn’s brushlike tail cautiously move from side to side. Carefully, slowly, maintaining my stare, I reached for Flynn’s collar with my free hand and got it tight in my grip.

  “Good doggies, nice sweet doggies!” said Udo brightly, friendly. The dogs ignored him; their silent contemplation was all about Flynn. Bonzo had taken advantage of my distraction to go back to grazing, and I didn’t dare make a strong enough gesture to pull her head back up again. But the dogs ignored her, as well. I wished I had a weapon, a stick, a rock, anything, but I was afraid to move.

  “Sweet darling puppies,” Udo said encouragingly “Precious sweet babies.”

  Then, Flynn yanked and jerked in my grip, trying to pull away. Though he’s wiry, he’s strong, and he easily tore out of my hold.

  “Flynn!” I shouted. But of course Snapperdog paid me no never mind, just continued his headlong hurtle toward the Dogs of Doom.

  They broke formation and flung themselves forward with a sudden chorus of rumbly barking, which was answered by Flynn’s hysterical yip. Flynn and the three strange dogs crashed together, and for one horrible sickening moment, I thought that was it. But instead of dissolving into a frenzy of snappy teeth and tearing jaws, they dissolved into a scrimmage of nose-licking and bottom-sniffing. Flynn began to spray with joy, turning around and around in ecstatic circles.

  One dog bounced over to Udo and tried to lick his face, and another shoved his head under my hand to be petted: His thick silver-studded collar had an enamel badge on it that read BUMMER.

  “You scared the stuffing out of me, Bummer,” I said, rubbing his pointy ear. Bummer looked up at me, grinning a doggy grin, and licked my hand in a doggy apology. “Can you show us the way to the House?”

  In answer, Bummer set off down the driveway at a trot, the other dogs falling in behind him. I tied Bonzo’s reins to one of the lightposts that lined the drive, promised her we’d be back soon, and Udo and I followed.

  Bummer diverged from the driveway onto a brick walkway. It curved around huge circular flower beds brilliant with ramrod-straight tulips, ambled through a copse of tall flame-tipped beech trees and droopy eucalyptus. The stillness was broken only by the purring of the fat doves preening on the close-cropped lawns and the papery rasp of the breeze-tossed leaves.

  “The grounds look in awful good shape,” Udo said, uneasily. “Don’t you think if Paimon were really weak that they’d be a mess, like Crackpot?”

  “Ayah.” The same dismal idea had occurred to me. I thought about the invisible wall that kept the waves from washing us away, and I looked at the dogs cavorting with Flynnie, so sleek and well-groomed. These were not hungry dogs, and this was not an abandoned garden. Outside Bilskinir’s grounds, the day had been cold and gray; here were gorgeous sunshine and clear skies. These were not the signs of a paltry starved denizen. A little tiny fear shivered in my blood. To keep everything so nice must require a great deal of power, and Bilskinir House had been empty of its family for over fifteen years.

  Something was nourishing Paimon and keeping him strong.

  I just hoped it wouldn’t be us. Nini Mo said, If you can’t be secret, then you should be speedy. “Let’s hurry,” I said, “and then get out of here.”

  “Ayah, let’s,” Udo agreed, and we picked up our pace.

  The dogs trotted by a shrubbery clipped into the shape of a rearing gryphon, and by another, shaped like a manticore. We went down a slow slope of wide marble steps and by a flat reflecting pool. In the pool’s center, the bronze figure of an archer stood tippy-toe, taut in the act of pulling back her bowstring. The water flickered with orange and white, and two bulbous eyes peered up at us: a fish the size of a large house cat.

  “That’s the biggest goldfish I’ve ever seen,” Udo said. The fish flipped a fin against the surface of the water, splashing him, and he drew back in surprise. “I meant
that nicely.”

  “Never mind the fish—come on.”

  But Udo lingered and the fish splashed at him again, this time smacking its tail and sending up a soaking sheet of water.

  Then, behind us, a deep dark voice: “She wishes to be fed, but dinner is not yet ready. She must wait.”

  A chill started at the bottom of my feet and worked its way up, leaving my blood freezing cold in its wake. Udo stared at me, his eyes as round as marbles, his face a sudden sickly white. We were stock-still, and did not dare turn around. The back of my neck prickled coldly.

  “Ave, Madama Fyrdraaca Segunda and Sieur Landaðon Uno.” The voice was so rumbly I could feel the vibration in the back of my throat, and it reminded me, somehow, of chocolate, yet a silvery strand of lightness ran through it as well, like the gentle ring of a bell.

  Udo and I turned around, and my hand groped for his. We squeezed, tight as death, and as damp.

  Paimon loomed, taller than me, taller than Udo, taller than Mamma. He wore a blindingly white flannel suit, and white patent leather shoes, long and pointy, like loaves of bread. A white straw skimmer hid most of his face, but not the tips of the tusks, or the long mustachio protruding beyond the brim of the hat. The tusks looked very sharp, and the mustachio was a lovely shade of velvety blue. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly what the brim of that hat was hiding. One enormous blue hand held a basket of violets, and another violet was tucked in his lapel.

  “Welcome to Bilskinir House,” he said, and again I felt the vibration of his deep voice in the back of my throat.

  “Ave, sieur denizen, thank you, ave,” I squeaked. I made a deep courtesy and, despite my quaking knees, managed to make it down and up again without falling over.

  “Ave, sieur denizen,” said Udo. His voice had dropped about four octaves. He gave Paimon a courtesy bow that was deep and flourishing and involved much inclining of head and waving of hat. Blast, I’d given Paimon the courtesy Respect to an Elder. Udo had given him the courtesy owed to a ruler, or overlord. Better idea.

  The dogs gave Paimon no courtesy at all. They frisked joyously around his feet, bouncing and licking, pawing at his knees. He pushed them down gently with an enormous hand, whose fingernails, I couldn’t help noticing, were as silver and sharp as pins.

  “Well then, Flynn, I am pleased to see you again, as well,” Paimon said. “Sit.”

  Flynn, who had never obeyed such a command in his life, promptly sat, looking up expectantly. Paimon’s hand looked like it could squash his skull like a grape, but instead Paimon used those pinlike fingernails to scratch Flynn’s ears. Flynnie closed his eyes and looked blissful.

  “Thank you for receiving us, sieur,” Udo said. “Your House is magnificent, and we are privileged to be granted this honor.”

  “I am honored by your visit,” Paimon responded, and his courtesy was so low that his azure mustachio trailed on the ground.

  Paimon looked as solid as bricks, as bright as noontime. He did not look the slightest bit forlorn or paltry—or hungry, for that matter, though this was no reassurance. To be that robust, he had to be well-fed, and what was he eating, then, if not trespassers and those who strayed too close to his boundaries?

  “We made a bit of a—I mean, there was a mess. Bonzo got too excited. I am very sorry, sieur denizen,” I said, not particularly suavely. “Very very sorry.”

  Paimon gazed down at me and rumbled, “Think nothing of it. Bonzo was just in a hurry to get home.”

  “Home?” Udo asked.

  “Ayah so. Did you not know that she was born in my stables? General Haðraaða Segunda rode her, and then, upon the General’s death, she went to General Fyrdraaca. Who, I hope, is well?”

  “Very well, sieur.” I was amazed at Bonzo’s secret history, but now her stampede made sense. After her ordeal in the water, she was eager to get back to a place she recognized.

  “Come. You are wet and bedraggled, and I would not like to see you become ill. Will you do me the honor of coming this way?”

  We had no choice but to follow, and so we did, not daring to protest. Now did not seem a good time to mention that we were there on a mission of thievery. Now did not seem like a good time to say anything at all. Silence is bliss, said Nini Mo.

  So we followed Paimon past the fountain and through an arch in an enormous boxwood hedge, thick as a stone wall. Beyond the hedge lay a huge lawn, as lush as a velvet carpet, its gorgeous deep green studded with yellow and gold daisies. And there, at the far end of the lawn, was Bilskinir House itself.

  No longer as dark and ominous as it had appeared from the beach, now the House glowed brilliant blue, a shade darker than the sky above. The deep blue, I realized, matched Paimon’s own hue. Silver-tipped spires and turrets pointed loftily, and above all, a huge dome floated, looking like nothing so much as a giant scoop of blueberry ice cream. The roofs of Bilskinir glittered like silver fire, and the House shone like a sapphire, almost too beautiful to be real.

  The dogs scattered across the lawn at a dead run, to menace the fluffy white sheep peacefully cropping the grass, but with one stern no! Paimon brought them back to heel. Although the lawn seemed to be as wide as a polo field, somehow we crossed it in only a few steps, and then went up a long swathe of light blue marble steps, whose risers were lined with slender trees with silver trunks and silvery blue leaves.

  The stairs opened up onto a long portico, upon which sat a large round table surmounted by a cheerful blue and white umbrella. Next to the table was a tea trolley, and coming from it were the most scrumptious smells.

  “Would you care for refreshments?” Paimon asked.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Tea. Sandwies. Explanations.

  WE WERE NOT ON the menu. The tea was gunpowder, my favorite, and the sandwies were egg and cress, pea-butter, and red raspberry jam. There were little heart-shaped cakes sprinkled with red sugar, dark brown gingerbread decorated with gold foil stars, and lemon meltaways. There was a cheese rarebit, and fat sweet-potato chips, and vegetable stir-fried rice. All of my favorite things to eat, oh-so-delicious and warming.

  We had been prepared, if caught, for the worst. Yet here was just about the best: yummy food to fill the cavern that had become my belly, and Paimon so exquisitely nice, even if also somewhat overwhelmingly imposing. Nini Mo would have advised, Be guarded, and I was trying to be so, but the atmosphere was so ordinary, and Paimon so gracious, and the food so delicious, it was extremely hard not to be lulled. It was also hard not to gobble. With each bite, I felt a bit stronger, a bit more optimistic. Perhaps Paimon would just give us the Word if we asked nicely and remembered to say please. But the time didn’t seem right yet; Nini Mo says that to be sure you get the answer you desire, you need to phrase the question nicely and to offer it at the best possible moment.

  Beyond the stretch of green lawn, the patio overlooked a splendid ocean vista. The sea was only a slight shade lighter than the sky, and the color of both seemed faded compared to the House that twinkled behind us, as pretty as a spun-sugar treat. In the warm air, our clothes had already dried. The dogs had a table of their own, low to the ground, and each had a cushion to sit on and a silver plate off which to eat. Their manners were exquisite, too; they never barked or growled at each other, and even Flynnie seemed to be behaving.

  While we ate, Paimon made polite conversation about the health of our families, various current events, and the latest polo scores. He was a big fan of the Monona Blowhots, who were already being called as the sure winners of this year’s Pearly Mallet. Udo did most of the talking; my mouth was too busy chewing yummy delicious chow, and since Paimon was making sure that our plates never emptied, there was plenty of yummy delicious chow to chew. I felt much better.

  Until I reached for my teacup, that is, and realized that I could see the vague pattern of the floral tablecloth right through my hand. I tried to pick up my knife, and it was soft in my fingers, gummy and hard to grasp.

  “Ah,” Paimon said, noticing my d
ifficulty. He put the fish-shaped teapot down. “Please give me your hand, madama.”

  The hand he held out to me was as large as a dinner plate, blue as the twilight sky. His silver fingernails glittered. My own fingernails were purple, and Udo’s were a garish cherry red, but Paimon’s fingernails owed their shade to nature, not artifice, and, I noted again, they looked paper-cut sharp.

  “Come now, it shall not hurt, madama,” he chided.

  His hand enveloped mine completely and the warmth of his grip, tight but not crushing, was reassuring. The wheeze in my chest loosened up, and some of the iciness melted from my bones. When he released my hand a few seconds later and I held it up to the light, my flesh had become blessedly solid again.

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “I gave you some of my Will, madama—but you needn’t fear. You shall owe me no obligation for it. I have more self-control than young denizen Valefor does. And perhaps now is the time to discuss your problem and possible solutions to it. Please tell me all.”

  I let Udo tell the story, because I felt a bit foolish telling it myself. And also because my mouth was too busy chewing to talk. Somehow Udo managed to make me not sound like a complete and total idiot, and for that I was grateful to him.

  “More tea, madama?” Paimon asked, when Udo had finished with a request that Paimon let us borrow the Semiote Verb, for a while, a very short time, and we promise that we shall return it in perfect order very quickly, please, very pretty please?

  “No, thank you,” I answered. I felt as full as a tick; I could not eat another bite.

  “The tea was luscious,” Udo said winningly. “We should hardly like to trouble you further, but the Semiote Verb is necessary to Flora’s restoration. And we don’t wish to sound hasty, but we are in a bit of a hurry. Flora has not much time.”

  “Please,” I added, “please, sieur denizen, please?”

  “I would be happy to give you the Verb,” Paimon said. “But I cannot.”