by Gabby Fawkes
"Anyone have a plan?" Demi whispered, sneezing.
Not to pound on a dead horse, PV said glumly, but burn them all?
For once, I was desperate enough to try anything. As my whole body burned and I felt rage and adrenaline spike through my veins, I let the heat overtake me and –
SHRIEK!
I collapsed, my body sizzling.
“What the eff was that?” Kian said, leaning over me. “You okay?”
“Tried to transform,” I croaked, waving a prickling arm. “Cage must be enchanted to prevent anything.”
“Yeah, don’t mind us,” Kian said. “We’re just in the same cage as you.”
“Wouldn’t have crushed you guys,” I grumbled as my friends helped me up.
“Amigos! I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you!” a jolly voice sounded off from up ahead. A pause. “Then again, maybe I would. No matter. Neither of us would succeed, at any rate.”
“Maybe if we just talked to them,” Demi said hopefully.
"Don’t bother," Kian said glumly, "You heard them. We’d have better luck reasoning with Jenna."
"The others could still find us," I suggested.
Although privately, I doubted it. Who knew how far off we were by now. Plus, the only sign the others would have of what had happened were two flustered-looking stone flamingos. Which wouldn’t tell them jack shit as to where we actually were.
Kian was the one with the magical map, so that was out. Maybe Linnie could do some sort of locating spell for them? In the meantime, though…
"You won’t even hear what we know?” I called out to the Romamagi, wherever they were. “What we have to say?”
Nothing.
By the sounds of the far-off music, shouts and laughter, they were in another cart, separated from ours.
The revelry continued for much of the night.
We didn’t talk much. After all, what would we have said: “Oh no, what do we do now?” Or maybe the more apt “Oh crap, this completely blows.”
Sleep was a no-go too. My mind kept running like a hamster wheel, around and around, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. How I could make the Romms see that we were on the same side. That they needed us as much as we needed them.
Problem was, they didn’t. Clearly, the Romamagi were already experts at avoiding capture and fending for themselves without us.
Seemed like only seconds after I finally nodded off, a crash! was jolting me awake.
Heee-hawwww, the donkeys brayed crossly.
The star-studded afghan atop our cage concealed everything that was happening outside. Although I could tell we were moving based on how the cage rattled every few seconds. And… was that smoke I smelled?
“Where are we going?” Kian called out to them.
No response. Although after a minute, the afghan was ripped away.
Uh-oh. Our cage was being carried through a large open field, past other Romms and the colorful, pattern-crammed tents and banners they were setting up, toward a bonfire.
“Did Linnie mention anything about the Romamagi being… I don’t know, cannibals or just plain sickos?” I hissed to my friends.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but we were still heading – yep – straight for the bonfire.
“They wouldn’t,” Kian hissed, although she didn’t sound so sure.
“Anyone come up with a plan during the night?” Demi asked brightly.
Kian shot her a look that could kill. “That a rhetorical question?”
“You’re the witch,” I reminded Kian. “Maybe you could try and appeal to their sisterly sensibilities?”
Kian snorted. “You did see what they did to those warlockfficers, right? Flamingo statues?”
“I don’t get it,” I said, frowning. “They’re not even a bit curious about us.”
“Why would they be?” Kian asked and, echoing my earlier late-night thought, added, “They seem to be doing just fine by themselves.”
“Don’t you think maybe….” Demi suggested tentatively, looking from Kian to them.
“What?” Kian said. “That we have some kind of importante connection because they happen to be witches who speak Spanish too? Come on. How many people in the world speak Spanish?”
“Besides,” she added, almost dolefully, “I’m not sure they’d even care.”
Our captors set our cage down in front of the great fire. I exhaled the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding in. At least they weren’t going to burn us… for now.
The bonfire’s flames were like none I’d ever seen… orange, yellow and purple. On a rotating spit was a massive befuddled-looking black hairy warthog – thankfully dead. Further in, a giant scratched-up steel cauldron was filled with something delectable-smelling.
“What are the odds of them sharing?” Kian grumbled hopefully, probably as starving as I was.
“Good?” Demi said, which both of us knew was as good as a doomed decree.
In fact, the Romms virtually ignored us as they moved around, getting ready for whatever it was they were getting ready for. Once their tents and banners were all set up, they gathered by the fire, took the warthog off the spit and the cauldron out of the flames, and started serving food and laughing and dancing and eating all at once.
Only when the warthog had been picked clean and the cauldron drained dry, and just about every Romm slumped in what looked like a very pleasant food coma, did the dreadlocked man, Jules, rise.
“My friends,” he said. “My comrades. My dear idiots and my kind fools. I am sure it has not escaped your notice that we have some guests today.”
As he gestured our way, laughter hooted through the crowd.
I ground my teeth together. This was not off to a good start.
“These are the fabled monster-girls the DSA is looking for,” he continued happily, before pitching his voice to a ludicrous tone of faux-judgment. “The ones who have committed crimes so heinously horrifically bamboozling, so atrociously vile-ly bad, that even our own council of the Seven Sisters was prepared to hand them over to… the DSA.”
There was a genuinely surprised-seeming pause, before more snickering echoed around us. Looked like this was as good a time to speak up as any.
“You haven’t heard our side of things,” I called out.
Jules sauntered over, delivering me a winning smile. “Indeed.”
Turning back to the crowd, he said, “It is not ours to determine whether these monster-girls are innocent, guilty, or all of the above. The main question is, what shall we do with them?”
“Hand ‘em over to the DSA!” someone called, spitting on the ground as they did so.
“Torture them for what they know,” a small girl declared, shaking an oversized spoon to the merriment of the onlookers.
“I think she was joking,” Demi said quietly, though I wasn’t so sure.
Already, someone else was yelling out, “Throw ‘em in the Farewell Well.”
This caused an impressive hush to fall over the onlookers. Something told me I didn’t want to know what the Farewell Well was.
Jules was stroking his hairless chin, while he shook his dreadlocked head thoughtfully. “All magnificente ideas, if I do say so myself. But Milsindra has raised some very apt concerns in handing the girls over to the DSA.”
“They’ll chop off our fingers and toes!” cried the same little girl as before, who had patches of hair in blue, pink and purple.
I gaped at her. She couldn’t have been older than three.
“Kids are weird,” Kian said darkly.
A smile was playing on Jules’ lips as he mulled over the little girl’s dire words. “A distinct possibility. As well as merely locking us up for a long tedious time. Or turning us into stone.”
A mutinous grumble went through the crowd.
Jules started to pace around us, like a panther ready to pounce. “But as for the Farewell Well…”
“What is the Farewell Well?” Kian asked. “And why don’t y
ou just call it the Fare-well?”
Jules beamed at us, evidently delighted we’d asked, at least the first part. “Why, it’s a most marvelous innovation. One that is entirely impartial in its justice.”
“Meaning?” I said.
The last time I’d experienced what the witches thought was their ‘impartial’ justice system, it hadn’t been good.
“Meaning that it will dump you wherever it sees fit,” he said. “Could be in the Andes Mountains, could be back in Mathusalem. Could be in the Dragon Badlands, although I’ve heard you’ve already been there.”
He winked at us. My friends and I exchanged a look. Was him knowing this a bad thing, or a bluff?
“So it doesn’t kill us then?” Demi asked. Which was really the main question at this point.
“Not sure, to be honest,” Jules admitted. “I make no promises. If, for instance, it dumps you in the middle of the ocean, well, perhaps your magical powers would be able help you, perhaps they wouldn't.”
His eyes twinkled and I resisted the urge to lash to out and slap him. We were all still trapped in this stupid enchanted cage, after all.
“All right,” Jules said with a decided nod. “All for the Farewell Well?”
“Here, here!” yelled the crowd, with a few chants of, “DSA! DSA!”
“Now, now,” Jules said, waggling a scolding finger, “We already decided that was a no.”
“All right then,” he said with a nod as the shouting continued, “to the Farewell Well it is!”
Bad idea … PV said. Well … water … cold…. hideous, wretched, villainous idea…
Huh. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of me shifting into a dragon on the way down. But considering I’d end up in water, I might not have enough time. Anyway, despite my PV’s murderous inclinations, it did have a good sense for when things were bad.
Which meant that I’d better do everything in my power to stay out of that damn well.
“Wait,” I said. “We know things about the DSA, about Ulrulu-”
The crowd around us burst out laughing.
“I can't see why the DSA wants them,” Milsindra said, quirking her head. “They are quite farcical.”
She tapped at her full red lower lip. “Are you sure we shouldn’t hear them out before we dump them?”
“Nah,” Jules said. “Better to leave the DSA shenanigans to the DSA.”
Already she and Jules were among the witches who were carrying our cage toward the colorful tents on the far side of the fire. As we passed by one, a slapdash structure that had to be the Farewell Well came into view.
It almost looked like no two alike stones – in color, shape or size – had been used. Not to mention material of every other sort – forks, bits of plate, entire cups, a seriously creepy-looking doll – nothing had been spared in the creation of this well.
As they set our cage down, Milsindra snapped her fingers. A pita filled with green and brown food stuff appeared… Hang on, was that a quesadilla?
Quesadillas, Spanish… where had we heard that all before? In Kian’s memory of life before the School for the Different.
I elbowed Kian as they opened the cage and hauled us out.
“Any final words?” Jules asked, looking genuinely interested. “We do like to record them in our little book.”
He pointed to what was, sure enough, as part of the well’s wall facing us– an open book, with a fake frog-headed pen on a string.
DIE IN HELL GYPSY SCUM, was the block-lettered red-penned entry before ours.
As soon as I began to respond, he commented to Milsindra, “You know, the newbies from the Stonetary are jonesing to hit up Dollar Tree.”
She gave him an unimpressed, low-lidded look. “Earth trips are risky.”
“But the chips!” he crooned. “The neon pink and yellow plastic water guns!”
He glanced back to us. “No words? Okay, then off you go!”
“Wait,” Demi protested.
“If you’ll just let us explain,” I pleaded.
He yawned. “Those are boring last words – not even worth writing, really.”
His magic lifted us into the air. Over the yawning void of the Farewell Well – no bottom in sight – we hovered.
A second before plummeting into the dank watery depths beneath, Kian shouted, “Inka Chips!”
15
We stayed hovering. Jules glared at us. Milsindra had her red-nailed hand wrapped around one of the well’s stone and plate-flecked columns.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“At the Dollar Tree,” Kian said, glaring back at the both of them furiously. “You buy Inka Chips. Plantain banana chips.”
What the what now? Had Kian actually remembered this, or was she pulling it out of her ass? Did it matter?
“How do you know that?” Milsindra said in a tone betraying nothing.
Kian lifted her hand. With a slash, she smacked the man in the face with one of his own dreadlocks.
“I have magic too,” she said. “If you’d taken the time to listen to us, you’d have heard that before I was in the creepy fake school for orphans, I was taken from my family when I was little. But I have some memories of them.” She glared at them all. “Spanish. Quesadillas. Dollar Stores. Being on the run.”
Milsindra sucked in a low breath. “It can’t be.”
“She isn’t,” Jules said hurriedly. “Must be some trick.”
“The Great Ballena will want to know of this,” Milsindra stated with a sigh.
“Blast the Great Ballena,” Jules said, spitting on the ground.
“Jules,” Milsindra hissed, in a warning tone. “You know we have to take them to her now.”
“Ach, a plague on this all! Blibbflucker! Blimeyhit! Pistules! Pie-blung-dungain!” Jules roared, pounding his fists into the well, his magic flinging us forcefully to the ground.
“There’s no need to be uncouth,” Milsindra said coolly.
When we landed in a heap, I muttered, “Thanks for that, I guess.”
“You guess?” Kian snapped. “Oh, that’s my bad. If you’d prefer to be flung into a well that’ll spew us out who knows where, then by all means.”
Clearly, we were all on edge. I chose not to respond.
“Oh, shut up,” Milsindra said with a weary flick of her fingers.
When I opened my mouth to respond, I found that no sound came out. Glancing at the others and seeing Kian’s lips also frantically moving, I realized the same spell had bound them too.
Fan-freaking-tastic. How were we supposed to state our case before this ‘Great Ballena’ – whoever she was – if we couldn’t even speak? Maybe that was the point.
We were marched away from the well, each with a Romm on either side. We passed more tents, and more Romms, who gawked at us and whispered amongst themselves. The only word I caught was ‘trick’.
If only. As it stood, I had no idea where we were going or what we were going to do once we got there. We'd spent less than a full day in the Romm’s custody – and I was already way over it. At least the Mathusalem witches pretended to listen and gave us a chance to speak – these ones wouldn’t even give us that!
And then there was the whole issue of what Axel and the others were doing in our absence. Part of me worried that me being taken would make Axel a bit… reckless. Or violent. Or both.
Then again, before he’d met me, he’d been doing just fine, right?
At the edge of the Romm camp, there was one tent that towered over and outshone all the others. Its fabric was a sequined magenta that glittered in the sunlight. On it were perched several tropical birds who squawked out a greeting to us.
“Go away, the Great Ballena’s sleeping,” they sang. “Go away.”
“I know she’s sleeping,” Jules growled, ripping out a rag from his pocket to mop at his forehead. “The old bat’s always sleeping. But this is important. Urgent.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Milsindra warned him.
But it was too late. Already the birds were chorusing, “Old bat! Old bat! Old bat!”
The tent shuddered.
“We might as well go in,” said Jules darkly. “Looks like she’s stirring.”
Stepping just inside, I could quickly see how appropriately named the Ballena was. Kian had mouthed to me that Ballena meant ‘whale’ in Spanish.
We had to stop one foot into the tent, because we encountered her large feet, which looked like massive loafs of bread, with apple-sized toes.
Farther in, we could see her trunks of legs, and then the swell of her hips, the curve of her giant bosom, her fleshy arms that were the size of pillars. All was draped in gauzy, sequin-covered teal and orange. With the sliver of sunlight falling through from the top, the effect was so dazzling I had to shield my eyes.
At the top, of course, was her head. It seemed improbably small for the gigantic body it rested on, so small, in fact, that I could hardly see it above her mass.
A loud yawn, a shudder, and then her neck extended, her head appearing, like a turtle.
The birds were still squawking, “The old bat! The old bat! The old bat!”
The woman yawned again, sneezed, and next thing I knew Jules was a bat, flapping angrily about us.
“He deserved that,” Milsindra said, addressing the woman, “but he is right. This is urgent. These girls here-”
“I know why they are here,” the Great Ballena said in a loud, sonorous voice that ruffled the whole tent. “Or do you think I am a seer who sees nothing?”
“You knew?” Milsindra said, startled. “But then why-”
“Didn’t I have them sent here immediately?” the Great Ballena said with a sniff, patting the top of her jet-black bun. “Because I needed sleep, of course. Besides, I saw you would bring them to me eventually.”
Her eyes fell on Kian and something like a smile pricked the corner of her slanted little eyes. “So, the stolen one has been returned. Just as I said she would be.”
“Pity your parents didn’t listen,” she told Kian.
“My what?” Kian said, her face lighting up. She craned her head over her shoulder. “Are they here?” She gulped. “Were they… one of the statues?”
“Oh no.” The Great Ballena puckered her lips. “Unfortunately, not. You see, they raised such a ruckus about your disappearance that they were sentenced.”