Flora's Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand Her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room) (37 page)

A
T THE BOTTOM
of the bolt-hole stairs, I stopped to reconnoiter. From above: gunfire (Poppy’s last stand?) and distant shouting, coming from upstairs, not outside. With a muffled thump, something rolled out of the darkness and landed at my feet. The ice water receded from my veins when I saw it was Pig.

I snatched him up, riding him on my hip like a toddler. He felt heavy and reassuring in my arms. When I cracked the door open and peered out cautiously, I saw a serene afternoon garden. So, I ran, without cover, because there wasn’t any, across the yard and into the tangled bushes of the Gardens Beyond. Once, these gardens had been perfectly manicured, pruned, and organized, thanks to Valefor. Now they were an overgrown, tangled mess, for which I was grateful. I might be leaving a trail that a blind gazehound could track, but at least I had gained some cover.

I hustled by the Bog and tore through the Pet Cemetery, by the Casa de Hielo. I didn’t think anyone was following me, but I couldn’t hear much other than my labored breathing and the war-drum thump of my heart. Still, I didn’t look back. I just kept going, glad, so very glad, that I was still wearing Tiny Doom’s stays so I wouldn’t expire from breathlessness after about the sixth step. My dead mother had done me a favor after all.

As I reached the top of the Straight-up Stairs, a horrible shriek tore through the air, and for a moment it seemed as though a huge cloud had blotted out the sun. But the sky was a cloudless, flat blue. Poppy? Valefor? I teetered on the top step, wanting to go back, but also—
coward
!—wanting to put miles between me and Lord Axacaya’s Birdies.

But whatever had happened behind me I could do nothing about now, so that decided me. I flew down the steps as though my feet had wings, and thank the Goddess Califa I didn’t stumble once—it was an awfully long way to the bottom. My heart bounced, Pig bounced, I bounced, but I didn’t fall. I reached the bottom in record time, my calves grinding in pain, and saw, as I tore through the gate, Sieur Caballo waiting in the alley. He’d been eating someone’s geraniums, and now he looked up, nickering through a mouthful of purple blossoms.

I flung myself onto Sieur Caballo’s back as a red streak bounded down the last step and squeezed through the gate—Flynnie! Hot on his tail was a bouncing, lumbering shape: Springheel Jack. The pillowcase was gone from his head, and his arms and legs had been untied—by Poppy probably, who had not realized that Udo wasn’t quite himself. His eyes looked like red-tinged fried eggs, and his smeared eyeliner made his eye sockets look like holes. He was drooling. Damn him! Well, at least he was still zombified and would follow my command. The last thing I needed now was Springheel Jack.

“Come on, Udo—Jack—whoever you are,” I said, and he obediently bounced up onto the horse behind me and put limp arms around my waist. I wiped his chin with my sleeve so he wouldn’t drool into my hair, and we took off, Flynn dashing behind us.

The fastest way to the Presidio from Crackpot is straight out the Post Road, but of course the fastest way is also the most obvious. As cool as it might have been to go flogging through the streets, scattering people and clattering hooves, it also would have been predictable and easy to follow. So instead, we went a long, roundabout way, ambling along slowly, trying to blend in. Each moment, I expected to see wings above me, hear the incoming shriek of a diving eagle.
Play it easy,
said Nini Mo.
Try to look unimportant.
I was so easy, I was shaking. And Pigface, was I trying to look unimportant. But I must have succeeded, because no one paid any attention to us, not even the City militia that pounded past us at one point.
They
were easy and important—they never looked at us once.

At Abenfarax Boulevard and Turk Street, a rider drew alongside me, another fell in behind me, and another jostled in front: more City militia. I sucked in my breath and tried to quell my panic, before realizing the rider next to me, swathed in a captain’s cloak, was Idden.

“Ave, Flora. Pig. Udo. Keep moving. Look unconcerned.”

“Are you all right? How did you get away from Axacaya?”

“We have our ways. Don’t you worry.”

“Have you been following me all this time?”

“You don’t cover your tracks very well, Tinks. Anyone could follow you. We’ve had you in our sites for a long time—Poppy too.”

“Poppy’s been following me, too?” Now I felt like a complete snapperhead. Being able to cover your tracks is basic rangering. I hadn’t even managed that.

“What’s up with you, Udo?” Idden asked. He didn’t answer, of course, so I told her, briefly, and she rolled her eyes, said, “Oh, Udo,” and then no more. We rode in silence for a while, and now that I had a moment to think, my thoughts were not happy.

“I left Poppy fighting off the Quetzals. They stormed Crackpot Hall.”

Idden grinned wolfishly “Don’t worry about Hotspur, he’s more than a match for a bunch of mangy birds.” She thrust something at me: my dispatch case.

“Idden,” I said, dolefully “I was a total snapperhead. I let Axacaya suck me in. I believed him.”

“Don’t be a pinhead, Flora. Axacaya’s tricky. You aren’t the first to be caught by him.”

No,
I thought,
but I wager when I’m done with him, though it may take the rest of my life, he’s gonna wish he’d caught someone else.

“But he was right about me being a Haðraaða. Why did Mamma never tell me?”

“To keep you alive, snapperhead. Do you think for a minute the Birdies would have let you live if they’d thought you had any connection to Azota?”

“But Buck could have told me she wasn’t my mother. Owww—why’d you whack me?”

Idden said fiercely, “Because Buck
is
your mother, Flora! Love counts as much as blood. And Buck loves you and has done everything she can to protect you. Don’t you dare forget it. We’ll talk about it more later; this isn’t the time and place. You can feel sorry for yourself when you’re home free. Right now you need to focus.”

Idden was right.
That day, that sorrow,
said Nini Mo. Several times our journey was punctuated by temblors that reminded me of my current sorrow. I might be momentarily in the clear, but the Loliga still threatened the City I didn’t want to have to die in order to save her. Surely Mamma would not let me die; Mamma would come up with another plan. Mamma would know what to do.

At last we reached the edge of the City and turned onto Goat Hollow Track, the rough road used by the Outland Dairy Company to move their herds from the dairy in the Outside Lands to their pastures near Cow Hollow Lagoon. For about a mile, the track skirts along the edge of the Presidio; it’s an excellent shortcut, and one that not many know about. The sun disappeared behind a fog bank—typical Califa summer weather—and a chill wind began to blow. The track is narrow and rough, and we went slowly, single file, the outrider moving ahead, the file-closer falling back.

A few more miles and we would be inside the Presidio gates. I wasn’t sure what I would say to Mamma, but I knew, despite all, I would be mighty glad to see her indeed. And she was not going to be happy when she heard that Axacaya had invaded Crackpot. He was going to be very sorry he had messed with the Fyrdraaca family. Mamma would take care of him, and take care of me, and take care of the City.

The road dipped between two sand dunes—at least now we were screened from the biting, sandy wind—and then twisted around a scrubby pine tree and turned behind one of the dunes. We turned that corner, and there was our outrider, lying on the ground like a broken doll, his clothes oozing red. Axila Aguila stood in the road, wiping blood from her beak with the hem of her cloak. Apparently it takes more than bullets to kill a Quetzal. (Oh, Poppy!) Three other Quetzals stood behind her, obsidian knives in their hands.

“Get out of our way,” Idden hollered, and drew her pistol.

“I cannot,” the Quetzal said. “Flora must come with us.”

“The hell with you,” Idden said. “And the hell with Axacaya. Fike you both. And your stupid Birdie Virriena, too. You got one of my sisters already You cannot have this one.” She spurred her horse and tried to ride down Axila Aguila, who leaped, wings fluttering, out of the way at the last minute. Another Quetzal soared into the air and made a grab for Sieur Caballo’s head; he pulled back, half-rearing, and lashed out with his front hooves.
Crack
went the sound of metal on eagle skull and the Quetzal went down, but so, too, did Udo, sliding off Sieur Caballo’s back, to lie in a motionless heap.

“Run, Flora, run!” Idden screamed, wheeling around for another charge, as a Quetzal jumped at her. She shot him point-blank in the head, but he fell forward and managed to pull her off her horse. Barely missing being trampled, they rolled and thrashed on the ground. Flynn had the other Quetzal; he was snarling and tearing and leaping at her throat. Flynnie is thin, but he’s wiry.

Udo still lay sprawled. I couldn’t leave him behind, but before I could reach him, Axila Aguila landed before me with her arms outstretched, her wings unfurled, the obsidian knife gleaming—Pigface, I hadn’t known she could really fly. Blood still dripped from her beak, staining her tunic. Screeching, she lunged. Sieur Caballo, who had tolerated a lot, couldn’t quite manage this. He jumped sideways, and his twisting motion caught me unprepared—I dumped right off his back and landed heavily, winded. The horse and Axila kept fighting, wings flapping and hooves slashing, both of them shrieking.

I heaved to my feet. Udo still lay on the ground, only now a Quetzal leaned over him, screeching.

“Udo!” I screamed, but my voice was lost in the din. I ran at the Quetzal, grabbed at its wings, yanking feathers. The Birdie turned on me, razor beak snapping at my nose. I recoiled and the Birdie lunged again.

“Pig! Pig!” I screamed. A weight launched off my back and flew pinkly toward the Quetzal. The Quetzal screeched again—in pain this time—as it grappled with Pig’s pink fury.

“Get up, Udo! Get up!” I pleaded, shaking him.

He staggered up. I grabbed at his shoulders and jumped. It had been a while since Udo had given me a piggyback ride, but somewhere deep in that zombified outlaw-infested brain, he recognized my action and locked his arms around my legs, supporting me.

Axila Aguila sprang up, abandoning Sieur Caballo, her wings ripping the air as she flew aloft, preparing to dive.

“Jump, jump!” I screamed. Udo made a tiny little hop.

“Higher!”

This time we soared up as though we’d been shot from a cannon. My stomach lurched alarmingly, and I clutched Udo with all my might. We landed with a thump some feet from where we had started, out of Axila’s reach. She pulled up just before she hit the ground and wheeled around, coming at us another time. The boots lifted us out of her reach, one bounce ahead, but we couldn’t keep up jumping around like hot corn in a skillet while Axila tried to peck us to death.

Don’t wait to be cornered,
Nini Mo said.
Turn and bite.

I could hear the snapping of her wings as they cleaved the air, could almost feel the breeze of their strokes.

“Around—turn around and then jump over her!” I whispered in Udo’s ear. Udo hit the ground, swiveled, and jumped again. As we did so, I leaned over and kicked at the Quetzal. My kick was weak but lucky, catching her in the wing. Feathers flew and she shrieked, wheeling down.

I felt a brief pang as we soared by her again, and then reached out with the pistol that I had wiggled out of Udo’s holster, and buffaloed her on the side of the head with the pistol butt. She collapsed, and I saw by the angle of her head that she was not likely to get up again—ever.

Idden staggered toward me; her face was a mask of blood, and a knife hilt protruded from her shoulder. “Go, Flora! I ain’t planning on dying for nothing! GO!”

“Idden...” I leaned over Udo’s shoulder, reaching out my hand. For a moment, our fingers touched, and then she pulled back and pushed Udo hard. Those boots gave him lift—each stride was several feet long and several feet high, and the faster we went, the higher the bounce, until it seemed as though we were flying. I wrapped my arms around Udo’s neck and held on, hoping that his iron grip wouldn’t slacken.

When we burst out of the Goat Track onto the Point Lobos Road, I screamed for him to go left, toward Bilskinir House. I couldn’t go back to Crackpot Hall, and Axacaya would only follow me to the Post; the Army might keep him out, but for how long and at what cost? Too much blood had been spilled already Bilskinir House was my only hope.

A red streak ran alongside us: Flynnie, tongue lolling, legs moving so fast that it looked as though he was suspended in midair. I don’t know how he could keep up with Jack, but somehow he did. Plushy pink clung to Flynn’s back—Pig, riding him hard. I risked a glance over my shoulder, but the road behind us was clear. I doubted it would remain that way for long. So far Axacaya had relied on his servants to do his dirty work—now his servants were done. Surely he’d come after me himself. He was not going to give up until he had me. But I was determined that he would
not
have me.

Udo bounded down the Point Lobos Road, bouncing over refugees and carts, and hit the Playa at full tilt, scattering people, dogs, children, chickens. Ahead, Bilskinir was invisible behind a soggy billow of fog. The wind blew my hair in my face, blinding me, and when I managed to brush it away, I realized that Udo was following Flynn and Pig, who had burst out ahead of us. Flynnie was arrowing not toward the causeway, but to the base of Bilskinir cliff.

“Udo! The road! The road!” I shouted. We were going at full speed; if we hit that rock, we’d smash into pieces. Flynn was practically a blur—snapperdog!

“Udo! Stop, Udo! Flynn—stop! No, Flynn, no! Pig!” I screamed, and the words were torn from my mouth, shredded by the wind. We rode into the shadow of the cliff, as dark as night. But ahead was a flicker of lamplight. A carved arch sprang into focus, its mouth blazing with light, as though someone had just unrolled a canvas scenery cloth. Through this arch we bounced and then whizzed through a tunnel, into daylight. Ahead of us was Bilskinir’s long driveway lined with yellowing trees.