“Why didn’t I think of that?” groaned the newcomer, and two strong hands slapped onto the big branch just below mine, but then the figure grunted, I heard a splat, a thok, and a hiss of pain, then a breathless laugh. “Million trees ... never looked up once ... blasted skirt!”
I realized she’d tripped on her skirt while trying to get purchase on the tree trunk, which made her slow in climbing.
Irene shouted something angrily —
And then the clearing filled with red torchlight as twenty or so Night-eyes stampeded in, all of them looking up at us.
Never mind the ignominious trip to the Shadow. It had happened enough times to one or another (or a few of us) by now to make us scared, and determined, but not terrified.
Kwenz’s orders, we’d realized by now, were not ‘kill on sight’ but ‘grab for hostages’. So we’d learned not to do any fighting while we were vastly outnumbered, at least not at night.
I kept trying to get near the newcomer to ask her questions, but she was far ahead of me, surrounded by the biggest group of Chwahir patrollers. On either side of me, Irene and Dhana still kept up their squabble, in terse muttered insults that, I swear, made one of the Chwahir — a tall gangling fellow maybe six or seven years older than we were — snort and then clear his throat. Supposedly only the leaders understood Mearsiean (Kwenz didn’t want them fraternizing) but you never knew.
We got to the Shadow and were tossed in the holding cells just outside the stable, some took up station as guards, and others went off to do whatever it was they were supposed to do. Their leader, of course, had miles of stairs and halls to tramp in order to report to Kwenz.
As soon as we were alone, I muttered, “Let’s do a head count.”
“Here,” whispered the new girl, then she laughed.
“Here,” said Irene. “No thanks to Mistress Pickle-tongue.”
“Here,” Dhana promptly replied. “Our gift from Princess Bigmouth.”
“Here,” Sherry sighed.
Faline did not reply, and I knew she’d been grabbed. That meant she’d managed to slip off somewhere.
Relieved, I whispered in Irene’s ear, “Why are you crabbing at Dhana?”
“Because she will not leave me alone,” Irene replied. Loudly. In her most injured voice.
Dhana snorted. The cell was wholly dark, but I could hear her fingers rubbing over her forehead. I’d meant to remind Irene that Dhana’s moods were always nasty when the weather was dry, but my words withered before my tongue could shape them. She knew it. But she was enjoying her battle too much to listen.
So I turned to the new girl. “Glad Diana managed to find you, but who are you?”
“Has Clair told you — ”
Just then we heard voices outside, and the clatter of keys in a rusty lock. Then the door swung open, torchlight streamed in, and Kwenz stood outlined in red light. We couldn’t see his face, only the faint reflection of light on the outside of his eye sockets, and in his beard, but he could see all of us.
“Ah,” he said, looking at me. “I shall prepare a suitable message for that young brat up on the mountain.”
“Prepare a suitable message like you’re going to drop dead,” Irene stated.
“Like you’re going to take up the flute,” Sherry added.
“Ho hum,” I snarled. “The usual sinister speechifying.”
I’d like to think we made him angry with all our backtalk — I certainly believed it back then — but the truth is, I think he thought we were funny. He wheezed a laugh that we all thought sinister, motioned, and the door was slammed shut.
Not long after it opened again, and this time there was no Kwenz. The guard in charge said, “They’re all yours,” in a bored voice.
And a deep, growly voice that was somehow familiar, “Joy.”
A laugh, and the guard was gone.
“Come along,” a guard snarled at us.
There was something odd about that guard. I couldn’t tell you how I knew, I just knew he was familiar. Like I’d known him well, yet I didn’t recognize his pasty face.
“Fire!” came a shout from the other end of the stable.
All the other guards looked round. The stable had the most wood in it, and of course their horses. We heard stamping and whinnying, and the Chwahir stampeded, forming a bucket line to the great trough leading off from a well.
The guard had vanished.
“Diana,” Sherry breathed, and we all relaxed a little. The horses would be safe, then. Diana would have looked out for that first thing. And that meant we didn’t have to stay and help save them — we could get away.
Little flames licked here and there (she must have touched a torch to every bit of scrubby grass around) as we dashed away. When I looked again, out of the side of my eyes, Faline had suddenly appeared. And she was wearing black clothes that looked a whole lot like Chwahir guard clothes.
She was running beside the newcomer, who was quite tall — even taller than Seshe — and had a very long stride.
Over the drawbridge, which was empty just then, and then Diana hissed, “Up here!”
She knew all the trails through the scrubby mountainside; she led us to safety.
Much, much later, we collapsed into the Junky, glad to be back in the warmth and quiet. The night had gotten considerably colder, a sharp, dry cold wind howling over the desert to the west.
We all dropped down onto the rug, and Seshe came from below, still in her clothes, though by now it was very late. She went straight to the MP to write a message, and then to the kitchen, where I smelled the lovely scent of chocolate.
But I forgot about that as I stared at the newcomer, who stood in the middle of the rug, looking around in amazement. Dhana was trying not to laugh, though I could see she had a headache; Sherry shook with silent laughter. This girl had to be the strangest looking girl I’d ever seen: a square, brown face, long arms and legs. She was the size of a grownup but there was no grownup figure in that horribly fitting pink gown — flat front, no hips, big bony wrists and hands, muscular arms, and big bare feet sticking out below. The dress had been made for someone much shorter and plumper through the middle. We stared at her, and she stared at us and the underground cavern, then raised a hand to scrape back her mop of short, thick brown hair that looked like it had been sawed with a knife sometime last summer.
She looked at us. “Which one of you is the shape-changer? That was a good trick.”
Irene gaped. Dhana looked vague; Diana stared.
Sherry gasped, turning to me — I spread my hands, but even as I did it, I sidled a peek at Faline, who had gone so white her freckles stood out like some of Fobo’s polka dots. Except her expression was so stricken I had no desire to laugh.
Before anyone could speak, Clair appeared, took one look at the girl and her eyes rounded. Then she did something surprising: she took hold of the girl’s thick wrist and transferred both of them out, all without saying a word.
“Shape-changer?” Irene said in a dramatic voice.
Seshe brought out the chocolate on a tray. “I think,” she said, without quite looking at anyone in particular, “maybe we ought to settle that among ourselves. But only so we’re comfortable. I don’t think Clair would care.”
“I’ll drink hers,” Diana said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at where the newcomer had been standing. She obviously wasn’t going to nose into anyone’s secrets.
Faline said in a brittle voice very unlike her own, “But Clair hates Yxubarecs.”
I said, “No. She hates what they do to people.”
Seshe nodded firmly.
Faline said to the wall, “So do I. Which is why I ran away.”
Irene’s mug dropped with a crash. “What?”
Dhana said crossly, “Can’t you ever do anything without a fuss?”
“All right,” Irene said, turning on Dhana. Her tone was one of great sacrifice. “I’ll get rid of the extra trunk. But then you’ll have to groanboil up to the White Cas
tle and get all the stuff if we want to do plays. Maybe you like that transfer worms-through-the-head but I do not.”
“So we’ve heard,” Dhana breathed, but down into her chocolate, and only I was aware. And maybe Seshe, but she didn’t make a sign. Dhana sighed, set her cup down, and said, “It’s just that we don’t have any extra room any more. You’ve taken it all up with all your stuff.”
Faline looked from one to the other. Her shoulders had been hunched up to her ears. “That’s your earlier fight. Isn’t it?” And when Dhana and Irene both rolled their eyes, she said in a squeak, “Isn’t anyone going to say anything? About me?”
Dhana flipped her graceful fingers. “No one says anything about me.”
“But your people never pushed anyone off a cloud.”
“You never pushed anyone off a cloud,” Seshe said calmly. It wasn’t even a question.
Faline shook her head so hard her braids flapped. “My brother ran away first. Then I did.” She looked down. “I — I just felt like I was more real, like this. Not with anyone else’s face. I was trying to find out where to do — what to do — when Clair found me.” She looked sad. “It was easier to lie about where I’d come from.”
“You don’t have to,” Sherry said earnestly.
Faline wiped her eyes. “No. I don’t have to.”
Everyone drank chocolate; the atmosphere stayed tense, so I said, “Who do you think that weird girl was?”
“And how about that trunk?” Dhana asked.
Irene swung around, hands on hips as she looked between us. I knew that the truce could turn into another squabble, so I said, “How about if we sleep now and try to rearrange things better tomorrow?”
Everyone agreed.
Faline and Sherry were whispering as they went off to sleep.
I climbed into my hammock and snuggled down under my blankets. What a weird day. A jangly day. We’d triumphed over the Chwahir, but I didn’t feel any triumph at that escape — just a whole cloud of questions.
The air, finally, had turned cold in the Junky as it stirred slowly and gently in and out. I lay there with only my nose and eyes above the blanket, staring at the ground overhead, and feeling quite strange. Faline — an Yxubarec. Then there was that mysterious girl who Clair obviously knew. Would she take my place? No one had joined the group since I had.
I struggled against feeling left out. I knew better than that. But I wondered how we would make room for another girl, when we were already so crowded down here. Maybe I, as the princess, would have to move upstairs.
o0o
When we woke up, it was to find a note waiting for us on the MP, in Clair’s awful scribbly handwriting:
Girls, come Upstairs.
Half the girls were awake — Faline lurking around with her polka-dot freckle face again. While everyone ate some breakfast (Sherry had used our kitchen magic to bring down fresh bread and honey-butter from Janil) Faline cornered me.
“Are you going to tell her?” she asked abruptly.
I’d been thinking about that. I said, “Feels like I’m being a big nose. But I will if you want.”
“No. Yes. No.”
“There you are, CJ! Let’s go!” Irene looked at us both, and her expression changed.
Faline said, “I was just thinking of a joke.”
I sighed. What did “No. Yes. No.” mean?
Everyone got dressed and assembled. They seemed fairly cheerful — including Dhana. I later found out the weather had changed during the night, a heavy cloud cover moving in. The air was now cold and wet, something only Dhana enjoyed, but enjoy it she did.
Faline was doing her worry thing again — cracking a stream of stupid jokes, bouncing around.
We transferred Upstairs, and as soon as the ickies wore away, we ran down to the kitchen, where we found Clair, a happy grinning Clair, sitting next to a tall boy with a grin that looked a lot like hers.
I was in the lead. As I neared, I heard him saying, “... and I found out ol’ Jonnicake — what did you call him last night?”
“PJ,” Clair supplied, still grinning.
“I found out PJ isn’t learning magic any more. Kwenz seems to think he’s too stupid, and PJ thinks the ol’ geez goes too slow and won’t teach him anything important.” The boy broke off and both he and Clair looked up at us.
A boy? We’d never had any boys visit before. All of us stopped, some staring doubtfully, Dhana narrowly, Sherry with her lips parted, and Seshe with a slowly dawning smile.
Clair said, “Say welcome to my cousin, Puddlenose Sherwood.”
She paused while we made various noises of either surprise or greeting. Sherry and Seshe, who had met him a long time ago, both said it was good to see him again.
Faline didn’t speak; she was laughing so hard her face was almost as red as her hair. “T-tell ... t-t-t-ell ... . name,” she gibbered, pointing to Sherry.
Clair laughed. “His name?” She turned her head. “Well, Puddlenose?”
He lifted a hand, and something familiar about his gesture reminded me suddenly of the girl last night. Then I realized who he was: our visitor from the night before. Remembering that horrible pink dress, and the way he kept tripping on that hem, I grinned — just as Sherry, snickering helplessly, pointed and said, “He’s the girl!”
Diana guffawed. Irene gasped, both hands to her cheeks, then she crowed. Sherry and Faline laughed so hard that the rest of us had to too, at least a little.
That was before Clair got to his name.
“Well,” she said, making an effort to keep her face serious, “You could say his full name is — ”
The Chwahir words were apparently cuss-words, but the way I heard some in English and the others in Mearsiean, we cracked up. Especially when I repeated them in English. “ — Prunebald egg-brain addle-pate — ”
“Eluded-glue?” Faline cut in. “What could that possibly be?” She was giddy — but kept sneaking looks at Clair.
“That’s what it sounds like,” I stated firmly. “So that’s what it shall be, and not any nasty cuss-words.”
Clair grinned, and Puddlenose said, “Excellent idea. I like the sound of that pronunciation. Most impressive.”
“You want that one up front, then?” Clair asked. “We can do that. Eluded-glue prunebald egg-brain — ”
“Butter-fingers, louse-face — ”
“Those are real,” I gasped. “I mean, actual Earth terms.”
“What’s that?”
“Earth,” Puddlenose said grimly. “Shnit has gone there.”
“That sounds nasty,” I muttered.
Puddlenose turned to Clair. They looked a lot alike, I realized, with their square faces and even features. Only his coloring was brown, his eyes a greeny brown that changed with the light and his mood. Clair waggled her hand toward me, and he said, “’Twas nasty. Far as I can tell, he didn’t find what he thought he would. But he did bring back some ripe language.”
“Go on with the name,” Faline declared, smacking the table.
“Where was I?” Clair asked. “Dumb-bell, rat-face, umbrella-head — ”
“Umbrella-head?” I squawked. “A Chwahir called someone an umbrella-head?”
“That’s what it sounds like in Chwahir.”
“Yeccch,” four of us splorched at the same time.
“Don’t forget mish-mash!” Sherry put in. “That’s my favorite.”
“Now you made me lose my place.” Clair held up her hand, and started counting on her fingers. “Mearsiean translations we already know: Ugly-slob, nut-nose, stupid-head ... oh, I think I might have forgotten one or two, but the nickname is Puddlenose, as that’s what he heard most often.”
“I sniveled a lot, as a baby,” Puddlenose said.
“Who wouldn’t, raised by Chwahir?” Irene demanded, arms crossed.
I looked from one cousin to the other. They were smiling, but not like they were pulling a joke on us. “That’s not a name,” I said, “it’s a pocalube.”
> “Pocalube?” Puddlenose asked, obviously ready to laugh.
“It’s our form of proper villainy insult,” Irene exclaimed. “You have your describer words before — at least seven — and then your word itself — “
Clair made a rueful sort of wince. “We don’t know what Puddlenose’s given name was, since he was taken away from my mother and my aunt either before or after his parents vanished. He was taken by our uncle Doumei, who joined the Chwahir when he was our age, since he couldn’t be king here.”
It was clear by the way Puddlenose held his nose and made a gag face that he didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, so no one said anything.
Clair went on, “The king of the Chwahir wanted to make him come back and conquer us, but Puddlenose was not a good little villain.”
“Bad little villain?” Irene put in.
“Obedient little villain.” Puddlenose grinned, shaking his head slowly. “Which explains some of my fine name. All I ever heard before I escaped from Land of the Chwahir were taunts and insults,” he said. “Those are the ones I heard most often. I treasured ’em up, because each one meant I was winning. So I counted ’em up one day. Except for louse-face, which I thought was extra-special, since no one in the world knows what a louse is, and I had to go to a lot of trouble to find out.”
“What is it?” Irene asked, making a dramatic face.
“An insect that crawls in your hair, or on your body, or both.”
Ugh! And Eeeuw! burst forth, and nearly everyone scratched at their hair or ran hands over their sleeves, as if invisible bugs had suddenly taken up residence.
“Anyway,” he said, “how about telling me who’s who?”
“Here’s CJ,” Clair said, indicating me.
Puddlenose grinned. “You’re the one who thought up that nacky hideout, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, feeling my face burn.
“Wish I had,” he said, his admiration plain. “And I wish you had more room. I’d move right in.”
“Then you should learn who everyone is.” Clair pointed at each of us, saying our names, as the girls began to sit down.
I was trying to figure out whether or not to stick my nose into Faline’s business when I realized that Clair and Faline had just vanished, but the others were too busy chatting, repeating Puddlenose’s Royal Name, and eying the table to notice. Janil had set out a massive breakfast with at least one of everyone’s favorite dishes.