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) (47 page)

I ignored the chattering and continued to work. I couldn’t leave until all my copying was done, and I intended to leave exactly on time, if not a minute or two early. Normally I hate copying, but today I welcomed it. The concentration kept me from feeling jittery about what I had planned for later that night.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” Private Hargrave said.

“I’m working.” I did not look up from my ledger.

“Are you going to see Califa’s Lip Rouge tonight? They got a new lead singer, you know.”

A sharp, sour feeling jabbed me in the liver. Califa’s Lip Rouge did indeed have a new lead singer, and just the thought of him made me feel a weird combination of jealous and mean.

“No, I’m not going,” I answered.

“I thought Udo Landaðon was your friend,” Sergeant Carheña said. “He used to come in to the office with you all the time.”

“That was a long time ago,” I said. “He’s a courtier now. He’s busy He’s important.”

“The Zu-Zu is so sweet,” Hargrave said. “She plays a mean guitar. I’d like to—”

“That’s the Infantina you are talking about, Private,” Sergeant Carheña said sharply. “Be respectful of the Warlord’s granddaughter!”

“I am being respectful!” Hargrave protested, winking at me.

I did not wink back. Instead, I wiped my pen and put it on my pen rest, and went down to the lav. There I locked myself in a stall and spat up the Gramatica Word lodged in my throat. The Word was black and shiny, with wiggly antennae. I didn’t recognize it, but when it landed in the toilet, the water roiled and bubbled pinkly, so I knew it was a hot one. Well, I’d known it was a hot one already; my throat felt like I’d been eating sandpaper.

I used to think you learned Gramatica. Now I know Gramatica learns you. I hadn’t gotten far with my Gramatica Vocabulary before I had to give up my studies, but the Words I had already learned still skitter around inside me like mice. I can feel them crawling through my veins and scrabbling in my brain.

Most of the time, I can control the Gramatica, keep it inside where it belongs. I know it’s dangerous to let the Words out, but sometimes I just can’t help it. It’s either spit or explode. Literally, maybe.

B
ACK IN THE
office, the clerks were now bent over their papers, silent and industrious. Lieutenant Sabre had returned. After lunch, Buck rushed in from her meeting in an absolute fury. Between the pirates and the Birdies and the Warlord and the budgets, she was almost always in a fury now. In a clipped voice, she told me not to disturb her unless there was a fire or a war, then shut herself and Pow in her office. Lieutenant Sabre dumped a rush copy job on my desk and went off to another meeting.

The afternoon crept by as slowly as the morning, the quiet of the office punctuated only by the scratching of our pens, Flynn’s sleepy yawns, the hiss of the gas lamps, the click of the office clock. No sound at all came from behind Buck’s door. I suspected she and Pow were napping. The closer it got to dismissal, the more excitement pricked at me. Finally, after all this time, tonight.

Finally

At a quarter to nineteen, Sergeant Carheña picked up his bundle and said he had some papers to deliver. I doubted he was coming back. Hargrave was still copying away With Lieutenant Sabre out of the office, I was in charge, and even though I’d finished the rush job, I couldn’t leave until Hargrave was finished. So I took advantage of my rank and dismissed him, even though he wasn’t done yet.

Private Hargrave did not wait for me to tell him twice. He threw down his pen, shoved his papers into a desk drawer, grabbed his sack coat and forage cap off the coat rack, and ran out the door, not even bothering to salute. I dumped my completed copies on Lieutenant Sabre’s desk and rushed back to the outer office to gather up my overcoat and hat. As the sounds of Retreat spilled in through the open window, Flynn sprang out of his snooze and ran to the door expectantly. We were now officially off-duty. I was pulling the office door closed behind me, when I heard Buck calling my name. I froze, hoping that if I didn’t answer, she would think I had already left.

“I know you haven’t left yet, Flora!”

Fike. Buck has catlike hearing. I sighed heavily, flung my overcoat on my chair, and answered Buck’s call. She was sitting in her nursing chair, Pow curled in her lap like a pill bug, slurping noisily The faint smell of apple pipeweed lingered on the air, and I looked at Buck sharply Had she taken up smoking again? Surely she wouldn’t smoke around Pow.

Buck said, “Hotspur won’t be here to pick up Pow for another half an hour; can you keep an eye on him until then? As soon as Tiny Man is done, I have to run over to the stables to check on Sadie. In the meantime, can you read me the officer-of-the-day report? It’s too awkward to balance the logbook with one hand, and also could you make me some tea?”

“But I’m off-duty! I’m going to the Califa’s Lip Rouge show!” I lied.

“It won’t take very long, Flora. I know it’s a big night,” Buck said. In her lap, Pow’s pink feet waved and kicked; he is a very energetic eater. “Please. I really need your help here. You’ll still be able to make the show. Don’t cross me. I’m in a bad mood.”

Thinking many sweary evil thoughts, I went to the stove to make the tea. Poppy had better be on time; I had a lot of prep work to do still. Buck leaned back in her chair, eyes closed. Pow was sleeping six hours at a stretch at night now, which Poppy said was pretty good for a five-month-old. But Buck had been back at her desk within forty-eight hours of Pow’s birth, which had been a bit rough, and she’d never had a full chance to recover.

Well, I didn’t have any sympathy. No one made her have a baby at her age, and no one made her do all the extra work. She took it all upon herself, and she should know her limits. Not very charitable, I know, but it was hard for me to think charitably about Buck at all—not after my discovery of how she had let me believe for all those years that she was my mother. Just because my true heritage had to be a secret from our Birdie overlords didn’t mean that it should be a secret from me. Buck could have trusted me with the truth. She had not. And I had suffered.

“Here’s your tea.” I carried the cup over to her and put it on the arm of her nursing chair. Buck jerked awake and handed Pow over to me. Wobbly with fullness, he was soft and pliable like a doll, and he smelled warm and cozy I balanced him against my shoulder; he wrapped his pudgy hands around my dangling aiguillettes and almost strangled me. He was a Fyrdraaca, no doubt about that.

Buck said, “Thanks. I needed that. Pigface, I wish this day were over. Can you read me that logbook, please?”

I disengaged Pow from my aiguillettes, put him down in his pen, and gave him a stuffed horse to strangle while I dug the logbook out of the mess on Buck’s desk. Three tedious pages later, a tapping interrupted me. A pigeon had alighted on the windowsill and was gently rapping at the glass with its beak. When I opened the window, the bird glided across the room and took up perch on the carrier stand on Buck’s desk.

“Pigface, I hope this is good news. I deserve some,” Buck said, putting down her cup. The pigeon extended one dainty pink foot and she unclipped the message cylinder from it, withdrawing the tiny message roll. I hoped for good news, too, but all the news I would consider good (that Lord Axacaya was dead, that the Birdies were withdrawing from Califa, that Udo had broken up with the Zu-Zu) was pretty unlikely.

“Pigface!” Buck said. “Hotspur’s stuck across the Bay He won’t make it back until tomorrow morning. And I have to go to the Pirates’ Parade party at Saeta House. You’ll have to sit with Pow tonight.”

“But I have plans, remember?” I said desperately. It had to be tonight.

“I’m sorry, Flora, but I can’t take Pow with me. You’ll have to watch him. I’ll try not to be too late.”

“I haven’t had a full night off in weeks. Lieutenant Sabre authorized my leave and you endorsed his authorization.”

“I’m sorry, Flora. Someone has to watch the Tiny Man.”

Buck has lots of nicknames for Pow: Powser, Powie, Chubblet, and Scratchy, but Tiny Man is her favorite. Buck has nicknames for Poppy and my sister Idden both (Glorious Boy and Pudgie). She even has even a nickname for Lieutenant Sabre. But she never calls me anything but Flora.

“Can’t Lieutenant Sabre do it? I’ve been looking forward to the show forever,” I pleaded. “It’s Udo’s big debut.”

“Lieutenant Sabre has gone on sick leave. He’s got the ague, so I sent him home. Besides, I thought you and Udo were no longer friends.”

“We made up,” I lied hastily. “Can’t you take Pow with you? He went with you to lunch with the Mayor of Millos last week.”

Buck switched from mother to commanding general. “I don’t understand why you are arguing with me, Lieutenant. Shall I make it an order?”

I could play this game, too. “The Articles of War, section twelve, paragraph fifty-two, forbid any superior officer from asking a subordinate to do personal work.”

“Why don’t you prefer charges against me, then,
Lieutenant
?” Buck said. At her tone, Pow burst into a frightened howl. Sighing heavily Buck scooped him up and over her shoulder, where he began to gum her shoulder board. “Can’t you just help me out, Flora? Please?”

A nasty Gramatica Word was making my blood tingle, my head pound. “I don’t see how I have a choice.”

Buck bounced Pow and kissed his head, making hushy noises. “You don’t. But you could be gracious about it. I count on you, Flora. You are the only person I can rely on. You are all I’ve got. Also, can you file this letter before you leave? It got mixed up in my mail this morning.”

My jaw clenched tight enough to bite silver, I took the letter from her. If I was all that Buck had, she was in sorry shape indeed.

And now, so was I.

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YSABEAU S. WILCE is the author of
Flora Segunda
,
Flora’s Dare
, and
Flora’s Fury
, and she has also published work in
Asimov’s Science Fiction
and
The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction
. She has been nominated for the World Fantasy Award and the Tiptree Award, and Flora’s Dare won the Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy. Trained as a military historian, she claims to have turned to fiction when the truth no longer compared favorably to the shining lies of her imagination. She lives in San Francisco with her family.
www.yswilce.com