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) (39 page)

Pigface Psychopomp on a Pogostick! I should be able to remember.
She
remembered, and after years and years. For me, it had only happened last night. How could I forget so soon? But so much had happened since then, and so lightning fast, that my memory was a blur of rushing, running, swearing, fighting, running, screaming, et cetera. Some of the details—such as exactly where Tiny Doom had gotten that stupid Key—had fallen through the cracks.

"Thanks for nothing, Mother.” I threw the letter down in disgust and picked up the ferrotype that had been lying beneath it. Inside the elaborate hard rubber case was the silvery image of a woman I recognized clearly as Tiny Doom, older but just as furious-looking, holding a lacy bundle that I guessed was probably me. A dog sat at her feet, its head blurred by movement.

Underneath the ferrotype lay Tiny Doom’s supercool buckskin jacket. It was a bit tight across the shoulders but otherwise fit perfectly. A loud thump in the bedroom jerked me out of further inspection of the trunk’s contents.

"Paimon?” There was no answer, but I knew it wasn’t Paimon. There was another thump and the tinkle of breaking glass. I picked up the iron from the shirt-folding table; it wasn’t hot, of course, but it was heavy. I crept on little mouse feet to the open door of the Closet. The thumping noise was closer now, and rhythmic. I peered around the edge of the door and saw glittering red sparkles and wild blond hair.

Udo. Who had, I judged from the shards of glass on the carpet, just sprung through the bedroom window. Now he bobbed silently in the middle of the room; by this I knew he was still zombified. I set down the iron and grabbed a heavy cloak from the clothespress, using it to corral him the way you use a towel to capture a cat, but much easier, because he didn’t howl, spit, or claw. The snake heads on the boots had sluggishly awoken, and they did hiss at me a little, but that’s all.

Now that I had Udo corralled, I realized I should leave him for later, deal with the boots when I had more time. But I needed him more than I had ever needed him before—for courage and company and because he would understand. I needed him and I wanted him, and I was going to have him. Boots be damned.

Before Axacaya’s attack on Crackpot had sent me fleeing, Valefor and I had
almost
removed those stupid boots with a lavish application of soap. I closed my mind to the possibility that the boots had permanently adhered to Udo’s giant gunboats, and decided that a little more slipperiness might do the trick. But what was more slippery than soap? A jar of Madama Twanky’s No-See-Um Vanishing Cream stood on the vanity; it was goopy, but there wasn’t enough to do both boots, and the consistency was too viscous. I needed something that I could pour.

Next to the Vanishing Cream stood a bottle of Madama Twanky’s Bear Oil.
FOR A GROWLING GOOD COIFFURE
proclaimed the angel on the label. I would be satisfied with a growling good success; never mind the coiffure. When I unstoppered the bottle, the rancid smell of long-dead bear wafted up.
Yuck!
Whatever perfume had masked the oil’s origins had long since evaporated. Well, I had no time to be dainty, nor to dart out to the chemist for a fresh bottle. Udo would just have to be stenchy.

I had to sit on his legs and press down with all my weight, but finally I got a good grip on the boot and poured. As much stinky bear oil got on me as went in the boot, and when I was done, I was slippery and stenchy, too. Paimon wasn’t going to be happy when he saw his nice carpet sodden with oil, but then wasn’t it really my nice carpet, too?

Despite the slipperiness, the boots wouldn’t budge. Maybe it was too late. No, I refused to give in to too late.

“Now, listen to me, Boots, Jack, whatever you are,” I said threateningly, leaning down to glare at the snakes. “I’m done playing games here. You can’t have Udo. Let go of him!”

The right snake’s head drooped, but the left head peered up at me through slitty eyes and hissed, tongue flickering. Udo’s body didn’t move, but his mouth opened slightly and a rough voice said, "Must bounce...”

"That’s fine,” I said. "You can bounce all you want, but you can’t use Udo to do it. I’ll help you find someone else, but only if you let go of Udo.”

" ... young and strong...,” Jack croaked. "Beautiful blue-eyed boy...”

"Ayah so, but think about it: His parents are going to be looking, and when they find you, they’ll take you back to Case Tigger and ground you. You’ll have to deal with all Udo’s evil siblings, and think of all the homework you’ll have to do. That wouldn’t be much fun for an outlaw, would it? Babysitting and homework? Come on, you can do better than that! I’ll help you find a much better avatar—an orphan who doesn’t have to go to school anymore, perhaps. Someone even taller and more good-looking. An actor, maybe?”

"... trust, dollymop. Tricked us before...”

"I only tricked you because you were trying to get me. I swear to you that I am not tricking you now. I’ll swear on—I’ll swear on my mother’s grave. How about that? And anyway, this is my final offer. If you don’t let Udo go, I’m going to put your feet in the fire and we’ll see how you like it all toasty and warm. So you can either do it my way and I’ll help you out, or you can do it your own way and burn. Whatcha think?” Not a nice threat, but I was no longer a nice person. I had knocked Axila Aguila in the head and killed her; what then was a little torture by fire? Clearly I was my mother’s daughter.

"Swear!” Jack whispered. One of Udo’s pinkies wiggled. I hooked it with mine and shook, then I wiped my hands on the carpet. Grasping toe and heel, I pulled. For a second, the boot resisted.

"You swore,” I said. My hands started to slip, and then—just like that—the boot popped off. The second one came even easier, as though it were filled with butter instead of Udo’s meaty foot—Udo’s meaty, smelly foot, for obviously he hadn’t changed his socks for quite some time, even before he started bouncing. I hoped he’d at least gotten around to changing his drawers.

Drawers!

Underwear!

And just like that, I remembered where Tiny Doom had found the Key: Hardhands’s underwear drawer. Finally, some part of Udo’s escapade had proved useful.

Udo moaned and thrashed. Just in case the boots had left a little Jackness behind, I sat on his chest and said, "Udo, is that you?”

"Flora?” Udo groaned. "Why are you sitting on me?”

"Is it you, Udo?”

"Wha’? Wha’?” He struggled to sit up, and I got off his chest and let him. Sieur Vanity was going to kick when he saw himself in a mirror; he looked like an entire cavalry company had ridden over him. "What happened? Pigface, my head is splitting like a rotten tomato. And what’s that horrible smell?”

“Are you sure it’s you, Udo?”

“Pigface, who the hell else would it be?”

“What did I give you for your tenth birthday?”

“How the hell do I know? Hey, ain’t this the Bedchamber of Downward Dreaming—how the hell did I get here? Hey! Where’d you get those duds? That jacket is killer—and what happened to your hair?”

I didn’t need to hear any more. Obviously, Udo was Udo again. I grabbed him in the biggest squeezy hug. He caught me and squeezed back, and we were both laughing with relief, hugging and clutching, and suddenly we were clutching and kissing. Not just practice kissing, but real kissing, the kind that makes your blood bubble and your knees weak, and your heart feel as though it might explode.

Gradually, I dimly realized that the shaking of the floors and walls was not inside me but, rather, outside me.

“Udo, let go. The earth is shaking.”

“I know I’m good, baby,” he said, nuzzling my neck.

“UDO!”

We crawled across the heaving floor, into the Closet and under the ironing table, which would surely protect us from anything short of Bilskinir actually falling in. And surely Bilskinir could not fall in? Could it? Paimon would not let it. He was the most powerful denizen in the City. But then, the very fact that this temblor was affecting Bilskinir at all was worrisome; maybe Axacaya’s attacks had weakened Paimon too much and this earthquake would be the final blow.

"It’s not fair,” Udo said. "I don’t want to die smelling so bad. Though after that kiss, at least I would die happy Smelly but happy.”

"We aren’t going to die,” I answered, though I wasn’t so sure. I closed my eyes and held on to Udo’s hand. The furniture jiggled and the walls creaked and cracked, but nothing actually fell in or over or off.

When the temblor finally calmed, I slithered out from under the table and gave Udo a quick rundown of everything he had missed while he had been gallivanting around as Springheel Jack (a short and sweet rundown, minus some of the more embarrassing bits). He said, "That is
so
cool!”

"What, the part about where I have to die?” I asked sarcastically.

"You have your own House! You are always complaining about being a Fyrdraaca. And now you find out you are not a Fyrdraaca after all! Buck can never tell you what to do again! How blissful to be you! And look at all these clothes! Divine!”

"Fat lot of good it does me to not be a Fyrdraaca now! Ayah, so I have my own House, but the City is going to be torn apart by a giant magickal squid, unless I
die!”

Udo said, “Don’t shout, Flora. Of course you aren’t going to die. Didn’t Tiny Doom say that she had the answer to your problem?”

“So she said. But why should I trust her?”

“Come on, Flora. She wouldn’t have left this letter with the clue for you if she didn’t care. Rangers don’t give up. Come on—but first, kiss me again.” He made a grab for me, but I twisted away.

“Kiss yourself, Udo. We don’t have time for this. We have to find Hardhands’s underwear drawer.”

Udo followed me out from under the ironing table and was immediately dumbstruck by the sartorial glories surrounding us.

“The thing that will save my life is in one of these drawers,” I said.

“What thing is that?”

“I don’t know. When we find Hardhands’s underwear drawer I’ll know.”

“That’s a lot of drawers,” Udo said in dismay.

Udo was right; there must have been a zillion drawers in the Closet, all shapes and sizes, long and wide, short and narrow, tall, tiny, medium, round, oval. The walls that weren’t covered in drawers were covered in closets, cupboards, recesses, and alcoves.

But which one was Hardhands’s underwear drawer? Surely, after all this time—he’d been dead fourteen years—Paimon would have cleaned his underwear drawer out?

Given them away to charity or something? But also surely; Tiny Doom—my mother—would have put my answer in a place she was certain would be safe all this time. And the size of the room and the number of storage places in it made
me
certain that every item of clothing ever worn by any Haðraaða must be right here.

“This is going to take some time,” Udo agreed. “And I thought I had a lot of clothes. This is crazy; I am super-jealous. Maybe I can find something that fits me. I can’t stand these rags. I need a bath, too.”

“After. Right now; look. Let’s split up and try to be systematic about it.”

Udo took the left side and I took the right, and we started yanking. Drawers full of scarlet gloves; cerulean gloves; cerise, amarillo, lavender, fuchsia, tan, and black gloves. Gauntlets. Mitts. Mittens. Hair ribbons. Waist ribbons. Shoe ribbons. Queue ribbons. Queue bags. Nightgowns. Nightcaps. Day caps. Dressing gowns. Sack coats. Shirts. Blouses. Sweaters. Polonaises. Baby dresses. Nappie covers. The Haðraaða family had been hot for clothes. There was even a closet for magickal garments: a Holocaust Cape, a Greatcoat of Impenetrability, Seven-league Boots, a pointy hat that obviously did something (though that something was unclear, and I wouldn’t let Udo put the hat on to find out).

I said, “Even if we find a drawer full of underwear, how are we going to be sure that it’s Hardhands’s underwear? There’s years worth of stuff in here; I don’t think Paimon ever got rid of a single item of clothing that any Haðraaða ever wore. Look at these.”

I held up a teeny-tiny pair of red velvet shoes, taken from a drawer filled with teeny-tiny shoes, all neatly lined up and covered with tissue paper.

“They are cute—oooh, but look at these.” Udo held up a pair of azure silk stockings with embroidered dragons curling up the calves. “Aren’t they gorgeous? Can I have them?”

“You have to ask Paimon.”

“But you are the Head of the House. So that makes them yours. Come on, I think they’ll fit me perfectly.”

“Sure, fine, whatever, keep looking.”

The more drawers we pulled that did not contain any underwear, the more panicky I became until—

“How do you like these?” From his perch on the top of a ladder, Udo waved a pair of red satin drawers like a flag. “I am the champion. King of all I survey. The most fabulous boy in the world. Udo saves the day!”

“How do you know those are Hardhands’s?”

“They are monogrammed: B-M-H-B,” he said. “Banastre Micajah Haðraaða ov Brakespeare.”

Excitedly, I pulled the other ladder over, and together we rooted through the drawer, scattering underwear everywhere. Hardhands had flamboyant taste. His underwear came in every color and style, but that was all that was in the drawer: underwear and nothing more.

"It’s not here. There’s nothing in here but underwear!” I said.
“Blast it!”

I scrambled down the ladder and gave it a good kick, even though none of this was the ladder’s fault, poor thing. "Do you think he might have had
two
underwear drawers? Or maybe this isn’t really his underwear drawer—just his underwear that was moved from somewhere else.”

"Hold your horsies, Flora.” Udo yanked the drawer all the way out, climbed down, and showered garish undies on the floor. As he started to throw the drawer aside, I saw a flash of white on its bottom.

"Hold your own horsies—what’s that?”

The flash of white was an envelope, partially tucked into one of the joints. It was sealed with lumpy red wax, and on the outside was written:
I knew you’d remember!

Using the stem of my earring, I slit the top of the envelope open and withdrew a thin booklet. Nini Mo, Coyote Queen:
Nini Mo vs. the Ice Weasels, or the Ultimate Ranger Dare.