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) (28 page)

“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.”

Suddenly I was hungry again. I reached for another egg sandwie, but this time it didn’t taste nearly so good.

“Why not?” Udo asked.

“A Semiote Verb is extremely dangerous. Mispronounced, it could cause great harm, not only to the mouth that mangles it but also to the Waking World around it. I cannot allow it into untried hands. I beg your pardon for doubting your ability, but I must be careful.”

I said piteously, “But it’s my only hope. What else can I do? I shall disappear.”

Paimon continued, “But besides the question of the Verb’s potency, it would not affect Valefor’s restoration, and therefore be of no help to Madama Fyrdraaca. Valefor has been abrogated by the Head of Fyrdraaca House—General Fyrdraaca. Only she has the power to restore him.”

“Mamma,” I whispered. “Mamma will kill me if she finds out what I have done.”

“I doubt that very much. General Fyrdraaca has a temper, it is true, but she does not have a reputation for bloodlust. No doubt she will be angry, but hardly homicidal,” Paimon answered.

“You don’t know Buck,” Udo said darkly.

“I think it is you who underestimate General Fyrdraaca, sieur,” Paimon said. “But then I understand how it is when one wishes to avoid censure for one’s actions. Anyway, I suspect that that option is moot, anyhow. General Fyrdraaca’s ferry has been fogged in off Point Lobos, and the fog is not reckoned to lift until midnight. Flora doesn’t have that much time; by then it shall be too late.” “I don’t see any fog,” Udo protested. “The sky has completely cleared.”

“Within my vista, that is so. I do hate the chill and prefer the blue sky, and thus I arrange my view within my environs as such. But I assure you that outside Bilskinir’s boundaries, the day is drear, and the fog thick.”

Paimon could control even his weather! And Valefor said Paimon was the lesser of the Houses in the City. Why had I ever believed a word Valefor had said? What a fool—me.

“Then Flora is pegged,” Udo said in anguish. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“There may be,” Paimon agreed. “It may be possible to destroy Valefor completely.”

“But wouldn’t that destroy Flora as well?” Udo asked. “It would depend on the sigil used, and the skill of the adept.”

“But I don’t think I want to destroy Valefor completely,” I said. “I mean, he can’t really help himself, he is not supposed to be banished and he is so hungry—” “Why are you sticking up for that pinhead, when he tried to do you in, Flora?” Udo demanded.

“He couldn’t help it, maybe. It’s hard to be so hungry—”

“Pah! I don’t care about Valefor,” Udo said hotly. “I only care about you.”

“In any case, we must not act hastily,” Paimon said. He stood up and began to collect our plates, then to stack them on the tea trolley. I grabbed the last cake before he whisked the plate away. Flynnie, done with his chow, came over and lay his heavy head on my lap.

“But we are running out of time,” Udo protested. “You yourself said we didn’t even have time to wait for Buck. We
have
to act hastily.”

“I have some small influence over the passing of time within Bilskinir’s boundaries,” Paimon answered. “And thus I can offer you some latitude. Enough to give us time to consider alternatives. I have an idea, but I must seek advice before I offer it. Do not fear; my consultation shall not take long.”

“Thank you, sieur denizen.” I ignored Udo’s protesting looks. “I could use a nap, and we do appreciate all your help. You have been so very, very kind.”

“It is my pleasure. Come.”

We followed Paimon through Bilskinir’s humongous front doors, into a rotunda so lofty that the ceiling (if there was one) was lost in a sunny haze. I thought this must be the Hall of Expectant Expectations, where back in the day when the Pontifexa Georgiana Haðraaða ruled Califa, people would wait to be received by her. The hall was big enough to fit a crowd, but there was no place to sit. Here Paimon took our jackets and Udo’s hat, and shooed the dogs back outside after giving them stern instructions to leave the sheep alone.

Califa in Sunshine and Shade
had wasted few splendiferous adjectives in describing the House, but now I realized that no splendiferous adjective would ever do Bilskinir justice. The House was so splendiferous that I could not take all the splendor in; everywhere I looked, straining both neck and eyes, was such glory that it almost made me dizzy. We rode upstairs in an Elevator the size of a small boudoir, with walls lined in blue flocked velvet and mirrors that made it seem as though there were a dozen Udos and a dozen Floras. But there was only one denizen: Paimon had no reflection.

After escorting us down a hallway whose length was punctuated with portraits of dogs, Paimon halted in front of an enormous door. It opened, with no obvious action from Paimon, and he ushered us over the threshold. He clicked his heels together and bowed his enormous white-hatted head. “Rest. I shall return for you. Do not wander.” The door closed behind him.

Udo reached out and tried the doorknob.

The door was locked.

W
E ARE TRAPPED
!” Udo rushed to the window and rattled it, but that was locked, too. “We are trapped!” The bedroom was decorated in an oceanic motif—if the ocean were bloodred. Crimson walls were traced with silver lines to represent the flow of water, over which swam sinuous eels, languid fish. Crimson carpets were scattered with woven shells, coral, seaweed. A polychrome mermaid perched on the huge chimneypiece, her carved crimson hair spilling over her round white shoulders and down her white bosom, to wrap around a muscular blue-green tail. A blue enamel stove crouched below the mermaid, in the fireplace cavity. A huge wardrobe, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, took up one whole wall. The bed was silver gilt, with a huge wooden tester and sangyn red curtains. Burnished blue gargoyles perched along the footboard; the tall headboard was painted with a scene of a stormy sea.

I hardly heard Udo. I climbed up on the bed, and sank into a feathery comforter that did not smell like moths, cedar, or dust. Oh, the bliss of a nap. I felt yummy-full and very tired, and reassured by Paimon’s reassurances. Surely he, a great denizen, could come up with a solution to save me, and keep Mamma in the dark, and all would turn out happily after all. All I had to do now was rest.

Udo said, “The chimney is sealed. There’s no way out. We are trapped. Are you just going to lie there?”

“I’m not just lying here,” I said. “I’m thinking.”

“Of what?”

“Of nothing.”

“If you are thinking of nothing, then you are not really thinking. You should be thinking about how to get out of this trap.” From the thuds and rattling, I gathered that Udo was trying the door again, and then the window.

“It’s not a trap, Udo,” I said, without opening my eyes. “Calm down.”

“Ayah so? Flora, come on. You believed Paimon, what he said?”

“Why should I have not? He was so nice, Udo, and kind, and he said he’d help us.”

“Ayah, right to the stew pot. Didn’t you notice how the table was full of food, and yet he didn’t eat anything? And how he kept urging food on us, as though he was fattening us up? And he never took his hat off, either, so we could hardly see his face. Don’t you wonder why—what’s he hiding? Slavering jaws? Fangs? And then he says he can’t help us, and it is too late to get Buck to help us, so we are at his mercy, and then he locks us in here, to waste our time, until it is too late for you. How can he be so strong if he hasn’t been eating someone, something? Look at Valefor—he’s been alone barely fourteen years and he was hardly there, and yet Paimon looks as good as new.”

I had not noticed that Paimon hadn’t eaten, actually, being myself so busy eating. And Udo had a point about Paimon’s obvious stability. And yet, he had been so nice, and kind, and
sincere.
Surely Udo was just being paranoid.

“Didn’t Nini Mo say to expect poison from standing water?” Udo continued. The bed creaked as he sat down on it. “Flora—it’s classic—you lure the prey into the trap, baited with honey, lull them, and then when they are relaxed and at their most tender,
snap
the trap shut.”

“If Paimon were going to eat us,” I said reasonably, “why would he put us in the best bedroom in the House? I think from the design, this is the Bedchamber of Downward Dreaming. You should be excited, Udo. General Hardhands slept in this bed.”

“And look where he is now,” Udo said, which was stupid because even though Hardhands was dead, it had nothing to do with Paimon. The bed creaked as Udo stood, and then the window rattled again. “Look—Paimon said that he would slow time down, to give you more time, but the sun is going down. It’ll be dark soon, Flora, and I don’t want to be here after dark. Come on, Flora—focus. We have to get out of here—get that Word and get going—”

“Can I have a drink of water, Udo?”

“If I get you a drink of water, will you get up and help me figure out how to escape from here?”

“Ayah. I will, I promise,” I said drowsily. Udo’s footsteps stepped, then a glass clinked. “And with ice, if there is any—”

“Pigface Pogostick! Jumping Jethro-in-a-rattailed-kilt!” Udo yelped.

“You needn’t swear just because I asked you for ice.”

“Hijo de mono y beso de naranja!”
I heard. “Who the hell are you, chupa?”

That wasn’t Udo’s voice. My eyes flew open. I crawled to the end of the bed and peered into the darkening room. Udo stood frozen, a pitcher in one hand and a glass of water in the other, and out of this glass something small and fishy was wiggling. It flipped up, and flapped a long tail as frilly and red as Udo’s favorite crinoline, until it hovered in the air above the glass. It was only half fish; above where the waist would be if fish had waists was a humanish form dressed in a fancy black jacket covered with silver conchos, open to show a brilliant red weskit and a perfectly tied four-in-one cravat. Perched upon the cravat was an angry face surmounted by a top hat.

“Why did you disturb my siesta, idioto?”

“I beg your humble pardon, sieur,” Udo said. “I didn’t know you were in the pitcher.”

The merman settled its top hat with a thump, then tugged on its weskit. “You never looked before you poured, did you, boy?”

“What
are
you?” Udo asked.

The merman scowled. “I am Alfonzo Guadaquevilla Ximenz Cimenes Perilla y Requesta, sieur.” He made the tiniest of bows and tapped the brim of his hat. “I am not a
what.
I am a water elemental of the highest order, a direct descendant of Escarius of the Deep and of impeccable lineage. I need not ask what you are—that is obvious. You must be dinner. And about time, too. I am famished.” The merman made a lip-smacking noise and slapped his tail on the air.

“Dinner!” said Udo. “Dinner!”

“Ayah, I can hear Paimon below, stoking the fire in the oven and mixing up marinade. And here you two are, so what else can this explain but dinner? You, sieur, look as though you might be a bit on the stringy side, but Madama”—and here Alfonzo flipped his tail and shot through the air toward me—“is quite nice and plump. A tasty little morsel,
muy dulce.
Though a bit waffly in the Will department, still tasty.”

“I told you, Flora! I told you!” Udo shouted.

Alfonzo zipped around my head, flapping his tail as though he swam through water, not air, and poked at me with his cane. “You know, too,
dulcinea,
you look familiar to me. Have we met before? Elsewhere, perhaps? Madama Rose’s Pirates’ Parade party?”

I batted him away. “No, I don’t think so. And Paimon isn’t going to eat us. He said he’ll help me! He was so nice.”

The elemental answered, “He is a tender butcher, of course, and wishes to make your last moments happy.”

“What did I say Flora? I said so, didn’t I?” Udo cried.

“I don’t believe you,” I told Alfonzo.

“Oh no? She who lives will see, eh? Or perhaps I should say, she who is eaten shall see. I think I shall go and I can lick the bowl. I hope there shall be sticky pudding for afters!
Mi favorito! Adiós, pequeños. Hasta la vista por cena!”

The elemental flipped tail and hat and disappeared in a blue twinkle.

Udo looked triumphantly at me, and I looked woefully back. I didn’t want to be eaten any more than I wanted to disappear to Nowhere. Would Paimon turn us on a spit like pigs? Boil us in a bag like pudding? The Huitzils sacrifice their enemies and make tamales with their ground-up bones, and mix their blood into hot chocolate and drink it. I thought of the Quetzals tearing at Boy Hansgen’s bloody heart—

“I’ll get the window if you get the sheets,” Udo said. “We can tie them together and lower ourselves down, like the Dainty Pirate did when he was escaping from the Angeles calaboose.”

My neck began to tingle.

“Udo—”

And then came the ominous sound of heavy footsteps in the hall.