Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island (28 page)

“I hope we aren't taking up too much of your time,” Mr. Kipling said.

“Not at all.” The old lady smiled, her face wreathed in wrinkles. “I rarely have visitors.”

“Children.” Mrs. Francis's voice was oddly detached. “Make sure you wipe your feet.”

“Oh, I don't mind. Just sit down and I'll get everyone some cookies and milk.” The old lady clapped her hands, delighted. “Won't that be nice?”

“I'll help you,” Mrs. Francis said, moving towards the kitchen.

“No.” The woman's voice was firm. She looked into Mrs. Francis's eyes and said, “No. You will sit down right there on the settee. Now.”

Mrs. Francis nodded absently, doing as she was told.

“All of you,” the woman said in that same commanding voice, “sit down.” The Guards moved to obey, sitting on a Persian rug that covered the entirety of the parlour floor. They moved with dreamy slowness, as if through liquid. Mimi and Cara joined them.

Xnasha grabbed them each by the arm. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” Cara said.

“I want some cookies,” Mimi mumbled.

“Yes. Cookies for everyone.” The old lady fixed Xnasha with a blue-eyed stare over the top of her bifocals. “Sit.”

Xnasha felt something in the old woman's voice tug at her. Obviously, the woman's voice had some form of hypnotic power. Xnasha didn't move.

“Sit,” the old woman said again.

Xnasha felt the pull again but knew she could resist it. She decided, however, that until she knew what power this old lady had over the others, she would bide her time and wait for her moment. She pretended to be like the others, lethargically slumping to the floor and sitting.

“Fine. I'll be right back. Don't go away now. Don't move a muscle.”

Xnasha looked around the room. She had never been inside a surface-dweller's house before, so she couldn't be
sure if this one was unusual. The furniture was made of dark wood, meticulously polished. On every available surface there were woven circular mats made of white material. She reached over and picked one up. The fabric was soft, the pattern intricate.

“Admiring my doilies?”
⁸⁶
The old woman was back in the room, carrying a tray laden with little pale brown discs speckled with smaller, darker bits. “I made cookies. I hope you like chocolate chips.”

The children all reached for the cookies. Even Mr. Kipling and Mrs. Francis grabbed one. Xnasha stayed where she was.

“What's the matter? Allergic to chocolate?” The old woman stared at Xnasha.

“I don't think I've ever had chocolate.”

“I see.” The old lady thrust the tray at her. “Try one.”

Xnasha looked at the tray, then back at the old woman. “No, thank you.”

The old woman frowned. Her voice became harder. “Take one. Now.”

“No,” Xnasha refused.

“I see,” the old woman said sharply. “I guess I'll get the tea, then.”

The old woman slammed the tray down on the coffee table and stomped off into the kitchen.

“Don't eat the cookies,” Xnasha whispered urgently.

Everyone was holding a cookie. They looked at Xnasha like she was crazy.

“There's something wrong here.”

“Whatever,” Cara said and raised the cookie to her lips.

“No,” Xnasha said. She slapped the cookie out of Cara's hand. It bounced on the carpet and crumbled into pieces.

“What's the big idea?” Mimi snarled.

“Mimi,” Xnasha said. “Don't you see? There's something wrong.”

“Yes.” The old woman's voice was cold and hard. She stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen, her blue eyes gentle no longer. They were blazing with rage. “There is something wrong. You have gotten cookie crumbs all over my carpet!” Her voice rose to a high-pitched screech. She held a teapot in her hand. “I hate when people get crumbs on the carpet!”

Mrs. Francis seemed to wake from her daze. “It was an accident.”

“Shut up!” the old woman screamed. “You are trespassing in my house! You didn't eat the cookies! You will pay!”

Mr. Kipling rose to his feet. “See here, my good woman.”

“No, YOU SEE HERE!” She cocked her arm and flung the teapot at Mrs. Francis. The flying pot rocketed straight at the housekeeper's head and would have struck her if Mr. Kipling hadn't thrown himself in the way. The teapot struck him directly in the chest and exploded. Mr. Kipling was flung backwards through the front window of the house. Glass shattered and burst outward as he was pitched out onto the lawn.

For a second, everyone froze in shocked disbelief.

“Rupert!” Mrs. Francis flung herself out the gaping window after her husband.

Mimi, Cara, and the other Guards shook off their stupor and brandished their fighting sticks. Xnasha pulled her crossbow from her back.

“Who are you?” Mimi demanded.

“I am Mrs. Guardian,” the old woman snarled. She flexed her muscles and her torso rippled. Long metal claws sprouted from her gnarled hands. Her teeth grew long and sharp. She crouched in the kitchen doorway. With a voice like gears grinding, she said, “You shall not pass.”

“I'm Mimi Catastrophe Jones,” Mimi said, spinning her stick. “This is Cara and Xnasha and the Royal Swiss Guards. And you? Yer Texas toast.”

As one, the Guards leapt at Mrs. Guardian. With an ear-splitting roar, she sprang to meet them.

A few seconds of close combat were enough to dispel any lingering doubts that they were fighting an old woman. Mrs. Guardian's reflexes were blindingly fast. She met all their attacks with ease. The Guards were hampered by their own numbers in the cramped quarters of the parlour while Mrs. Guardian had only to stay with her back to the kitchen to hold them at bay. The fighting sticks were a poor match for metal claws. The talons were razor sharp and chewed through even the toughened wood of the staves. One of the Guards was disarmed immediately and a backhanded strike sent her smashing into a wall, destroying an end table and a lamp. The girl lay on the ground groaning, out of the fight. She was soon joined by two others.

Mimi ducked and swung, looking for an opening. The claws scythed through the air, swinging in deadly arcs. Mimi waited until the thing was occupied fighting two other Guards and took her chance. Rolling in low, she kicked out with her feet, hooking Mrs. Guardian's ankle and sending the creature smashing onto its back.

With a cry, all the remaining Guards leapt in. They swung their sticks at the prone creature, but it sprung to its feet. Grabbing a flowered ottoman, it swung the foot-stool in a wide arc, knocking the Guards away like so many bowling pins. The Guards smashed into the walls and fell in heaps. A few of them struggled to their feet, but most merely lay there, unmoving. Mimi was left standing alone.
Where are you, Xnasha?
The Atlantean was nowhere in sight. Mimi gritted her teeth and held her stick out in front of her.

“Is that all you got?” Mimi taunted. “'Cause I ain't impressed.”

The thing grinned, showing its vicious metal teeth. “You should have taken the cookie.”

The creature lashed out a foot with impossible speed, driving it into Mimi's chest and sending her through the gaping front window and out onto the lawn. Mimi slammed down onto the grass hard, forcing the air from her lungs. Gasping, she tried to rise.

“Mimi?” Mrs. Francis was kneeling beside Mr. Kipling, holding his head. The older man's eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged. His skin had an unhealthy grey cast. The entire front of his coat was burnt away as if by acid.

Mimi felt rage course through her. The sight of the sweet and polite Mr. Kipling lying injured on the grass flipped a switch in her head. Mrs. Francis watched with tear-streaked cheeks as Mimi hauled herself to her feet.

“Mimi, you can't go back in there,” the housekeeper pleaded. “You'll be killed.”

Mimi bent and pulled the sabre from Mr. Kipling's scabbard. The blade snaked free with a reptilian hiss. “Nobody smacks my friend with an exploding teapot and gits away with it.”

She grasped the hilt of the sabre in both hands and ran towards the house, leaping through the shattered window. She landed in a tuck and roll and came to her feet with the sword raised above her head.

The thing that called itself Mrs. Guardian stood in the kitchen doorway. It held the tray of cookies. During the fight, its dress and flesh had been torn to reveal the silvery wires and steel sinew, the inner workings of the malevolent machine it truly was.

“So, you came back,” Mrs. Guardian sneered. It held out the tray. “Cookie, dear?”

“No thanks, Granny,” Mimi said sweetly. “I don't wanna spoil my dinner.”

“Oh, I insist,” Mrs. Guardian shrieked. The claws plucked a cookie from the tray and flicked it at Mimi's head. Mimi jerked her head to the side, but the cookie still cut a groove along her cheek before it buried itself in the wall. More cookies lanced across the room. Mimi dodged each one and knocked the final missile out of the air with the flat of the sabre.

“Looks like you ran outta ammo, Granny.” Mimi held the sword high above her head, two hands gripping the hilt tightly. She ducked as the tray slashed through the space where her head had been an instant earlier, piercing the wall and quivering there with a loud
Whang
!

Mrs. Guardian clenched its fists and crouched down. Mimi did the same. The two adversaries eyed each other over the expanse of the Persian carpet, each waiting for the other to make a move.

Simultaneously, they leapt at each other. Mimi slashed with the sabre. Sparks rained down as one clawed hand reached up, parrying the blow. The other claw raked low, but Mimi stuck out a foot and jabbed her heel into the creature's wrist, blocking the blow but numbing her whole leg up to the hip. Mimi fell back. She parried furiously, but she was weakening. Mrs. Guardian came at her relentlessly, raining a flurry of blows that Mimi met with the sabre. Mimi knew she was tiring. She had nothing left. She raised the sabre with quivering arms to block one more blow, but the creature grabbed her wrist.

The old woman, thing, monster, whatever lifted her up by the arm. Mimi dangled like a fish caught by some proud sportsman. Mrs. Guardian raised Mimi until the girl's green eyes were level with its own icy blue ones. This was the end.

“Go ahead, Granny,” Mimi gasped, her teeth bared. “Go ahead and kill me.”

“Oh, I will.” Mrs. Guardian grinned, metal teeth glinting. It raised a gleaming claw, poised to rip out Mimi's throat.

“Excuse me.” Xnasha's voice was calm.

Mrs. Guardian twisted its head to see Xnasha in the kitchen doorway. The Atlantean had crept around through the kitchen from the hallway and come up behind Mrs. Guardian.

“You are a very mean old lady,” Xnasha continued, almost apologetically. “And ugly, too.” Xnasha fired the crossbow she was holding. The metal bolt flew straight and true, plunging into the metal forehead of the thing that called itself Mrs. Guardian. Its white wig tipped over one eye. It stood stunned, loosing Mimi from its grip then falling to its knees with a thud.

Seeing her chance, Mimi swung the sabre with all her might, slashing through the neck of the monster. Mimi staggered with the strength of her own swing, almost tripping over her own feet, but she caught herself.

Mrs. Guardian's head flew from its shoulders. Black fluid shot out in a high-pressure geyser, painting the ceiling. The head bounced on the carpet and rolled to a stop. The eyes blinked once, then stared lifelessly at the wall.

“How do ya like them cookies?” Mimi rasped, leaning on the sabre.

Xnasha stepped over the machine on the carpet and squeezed her friend's arm.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Where were you?”

“Performing a flanking manoeuvre. You ought to see something.” Xnasha tugged Mimi's arm towards the kitchen.

“No.” Mimi shook her off. “Just a sec.”

Mimi went around the room checking her fallen comrades. She found Cara sitting with her back to the wall.

“Nice job, Mimi.” Cara smiled weakly. “I'm okay. I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“When ya feel up to it, check th' others in here. I'm goin' outside.”

“Gotcha.” Cara pushed herself up and joined Xnasha as she surveyed the fallen Guards.

Mimi hopped through the shattered window and went to Mrs. Francis. The housekeeper was still holding her husband, who was awake but clearly in a lot of pain.

“How are ya, Mr. Kipling?”

“I've been better,” Mr. Kipling grunted. He coughed and winced at the pain. “I always seem to be getting hurt. I hate holding everyone up. I'll be on my feet in a moment.” He tried to rise but immediately subsided into a fit of coughing.

“Rupert, lay still, you fool,” Mrs. Francis cried. “You aren't going anywhere. Mimi! Your face is bleeding!”

“Jest a scratch. Mr. Kipling, I hate ta say it, but she's right. It looks like yer outta this fight.”