Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog (Magic Carpet Books) (37 page)

“I’m sorry I am so late,” Mamma said. “I thought I would miss the entire ceremony. That blasted fog, I was cursing the weather and the Goddess; the pilot said that he’d never seen such a fog bank before, so thick and squat; we thought maybe it would never lift. But it did lift and here we are, like the cavalry in the nick of time. Get down, wretched dogs, get
down
! Will you forgive me, darling?”

I hugged her tightly. “It’s all right, Mamma. You are here now, that’s all that matters. But Mamma...” Guilt twinged at me, and for one mad moment, I almost blurted out everything.

Mamma saucered her forage cap toward the bust of Azucar Fyrdraaca, but it missed its mark and was immediately seized by a chasing dog. “Dash—drop that hat—what is it, darling?”

“I skipped school!” If I had to confess something, that seemed the safest sin to admit to.

“Oh pooh! A little fault, I think, on this big day. Look at this room, it’s so full of gifties there is almost no room for us! Are you ready, darling? I’m sorry to cut it so close—you look lovely, how well your dress turned out—but we need to redo your maquillage, darling. I sent Aglis on ahead, to make sure that everything was ready at the O Club.”

With a flurry of commands, Mamma took charge. She ordered her outriders to load my gifties and the dogs into the barouche. She ordered me upstairs to get my cloak and hat, and not to forget my speech. She ordered herself upstairs to get her dress uniform, and then ordered me to help her find her silver aiguillettes, which we didn’t find because, she suddenly remembered, they were in the luggage she had taken to Moro. Back downstairs, she ordered her outriders to get Flynn back into that barouche and keep him there. Twenty minutes and twenty more orders and we were ready to go.

“And now, do we have everything and are ready to go, darling?” Mamma asked, surveying the parlor one last time. “Your speech?”

“I have it. Mamma—” I had something to say and now seemed like as good a time as any to say it.

Mamma didn’t hear me. She said, “I lost my Catorcena speech, what a disaster! My lady mother almost had apoplexy. I had left it on my desk and then that blasted denizen came and tidied it up, and couldn’t remem—” Mamma stopped midword. She was looking beyond me, at the doorway, her face suddenly rigid and set.

There stood Poppy, his face white as paper but scrubbed completely clean. His eyes were muddy green, but they were clear. The Skinner scars on his cheeks were faint, barely visible. He had changed out of his ragged clothes into a green and gold brocade frock coat, black kilt, and polished black boots. His stock was untied. His hat, a gorgeous beaver bicorn, with black fur trim and a bright silver cockade, was on crooked. Poppy smiled at us, a small shy smile that lit like a lamp, and suddenly that beautiful young man I had seen at Bilskinir stood before me—bent, twisted, older, but still recognizable.

“Happy birthday, Flora,” he said. “Ave, Buck.”

“Ave, Hotspur,” Mamma said. “What you are doing downstairs?”

“It’s Flora’s birthday.”

“So I know,” answered Mamma. They looked at each other and something passed between them, something I couldn’t quite read. But one thing was clear: Though Poppy may have loved his dead general, he loved Mamma, too. And Mamma loved him back.

“Can you tie my tie, Buck?” Poppy said. “My arm don’t reach that high.” He came forward and stood in front of Mamma expectantly. She quickly knotted his tie and tucked the ends into his weskit, then reached up to straighten his hat.

“Do I pass inspection, General?” Poppy asked, with the shadow of a smile.

“You will do, Colonel. There! We are all ready. You both look very nice,” Mamma said brightly. “I hope I can get cleaned up well enough to match, or I shall be the disgrace of the family. Shall we go?”

Now or never. After I had faced Axacaya, after I had faced Poppy, what could Mamma say? It was my birthday. And Poppy had washed his mourning off and come out of the Eyrie to face life. Maybe things—people—could change after all. Or at least
try
to change.

“Mamma—Poppy—I want to say something.”

“Ayah, darling? What is it?” Mamma said impatiently. “We don’t have much time. Can it wait until later?”

“No, Mamma. It can’t.”

“They won’t hardly start without Flora, Buck,” Poppy said. “Let us sit down for a minute and listen.”

“All right, but quickly.” Mamma sat on the settee, and Poppy sat down next to her, taking her hand in his and holding on to it tightly.

I moved in front of the fireplace and took a deep breath. Somehow Flynnie had again escaped the barouche, and now he ingratiated himself between Poppy’s legs. Poppy rubbed his silky ears absentmindedly and stared at me. Mamma was looking at me quizzically.

Dare, win, or disappear.

“Mamma. Poppy. I don’t want to go to the Barracks,” I said in a big rush, the words almost blurring together. “It’s not for me, I know it’s not. I know that’s probably disappointing to you, but I really don’t want to go. I know all the other Fyrdraacas went, but please, not me. My Will lies elsewhere.”

Mamma didn’t answer. She looked at me, but at least it wasn’t that cold
I’m in Charge and You’d Better Not Gainsay Me
look. It was more of a
Where Did This Come From; I Can’t Believe I’m Hearing This
look.

Then she said slowly, “All Fyrdraacas go to the Barracks. It’s our family tradition.”

Poppy said softly, “Perhaps, Juliet, it’s time to start a new family tradition.”

Mamma turned her Look upon Poppy, but he only gazed steadily back.

“You never mentioned this before,” Mamma said to me.

“You never gave me a chance, Mamma. You never acted like you cared what I thought.”

“You have your duty, Flora.”

“Ayah, I know, but there is more than one way to be loyal, Mamma.”

“We don’t have time to discuss this now. It’s a serious thing you have said, Flora.”

“I know, Mamma. I know that we don’t have time now, and it’s all right, but I just had to say.”

“All right, Flora. Your objections have been so noted and will be discussed further at a later time.”

“Thank you, Mamma,” I said, relieved. “That’s all I ask. I know it’s a serious thing and must be discussed seriously, but that’s all I want—to discuss it.”

Nini Mo said talk was cheap and it is action that counts. She was right, but I now realized it takes a certain amount of words to get things done. I guess I wasn’t a ranger yet, nor had I yet escaped the Barracks, but I had escaped something much worse—Nothingness. I was still me, and right this moment it felt pretty good, actually, to be me, Flora Nemain Fyrdraaca ov Fyrdraaca.

Behind Mamma and Poppy’s heads, above the bust of Azucar Fyrdraaca, a purple spark glimmered briefly and then was gone.

L
ATER, AFTER WE HAD
ridden in the barouche to the O Club—Mamma, Poppy, me, and the dogs, like we were a real family, with Mamma looking at Poppy as though she couldn’t quite believe it, and the escort following behind, loaded with my gifties—

Later, after I had made my speech and sworn my oath, and curtseyed to the Warlord (who, thankfully, did not remember we had ever before met), and received the Warlord’s beery kiss upon my cheek—

Later, after Mamma welcomed me to adulthood and presented me with my Catorcena chest, and the gifties were opened, most of them pretty good, except that someone had sent me a plushy pink pig, as though I had just turned four, instead of fourteen—

Later, after my Catorcena cake was cut, and slices handed around, and toasts made, and congratulations of' fered, and Dash and Flash stole a turkey off the buffet and were chased from the room by a posse of infuriated waiters—

Later, after I had danced with the Warlord, who trod heavily upon my toes, and then with Mamma, who was as light as a feather, and then with Poppy, who was surprisingly spry, and who had not gone near the punch bowl all evening—

Later, after all that, I was in the loo, trying to figure out how to wad my giant poof of skirts into such a small stall, when I remembered the small box Poppy had pressed into my hand at the end of our dance. Before I had been able to open it, Udo had descended on me and I had shoved it into my pocket as he whisked me away for a mazurka. And after Udo, Lieutenant Sabre and a waltz, and then Udo again, and so I had forgotten all about the little box.

Now I pulled it from my pocket. The box was small, made of worn red leather, and held closed with a small gold clasp. Inside, a tarnished silver badge lay on a crumple of velvet. Not a civilian identification badge, like the one Mamma makes me and Idden wear, but an actual Army-issue badge, enameled in smoke gray and dusky purple, the kind you wear around your neck so they know who to ship you to when you are killed.

On one side was the logo of the Ranger Corps: the Unblinking Eye.

And on the other side, the name of the badge’s owner:

REVERDY ANACREON FYRDRAACA OV FYRDRAACA.

Poppy.

In the second volume of her adventures, Flora Fyrdraacas aspirations to become a ranger are put to the test. She must save her city and her best friend—and face life-altering revelations about her family and herself.

Keep reading for a sample of
F
LORA'S
D
ARE
by Ysabeau S. Wilce

An Essay by
Flora Nemain Fyrdraaca or Fyrdraaca
Senior Class
Sanctuary School
City of Califa
Republic of Califa

1. Do not trust banished Butlers who promise they will do your chores but are actually tricking you into giving them all your Will so that you start fading into Nothing.
   
2. Accidentally inhaling a Gramatica Invocation really hurts and can result in very sparkly upchucking.
   
3. The trick to forging a signature is turning the original upside down before you try to copy it.
   
4. After a week in the bottom of an oubliette, even great heroes smell pretty bad.
   
5. Eight-foot-tall blue praterhuman entities with razor-sharp fangs, needle-sharp mustachios, and shiny sharp tusks can actually be quite nice.
   
6. It is easier to face your greatest enemy when you look fantastic.
   
7. Nothing is stronger than your own Will.
   

O
F COURSE,
these things are not what I was
supposed
to learn last term.

When Archangel Bob gave out this assignment (and I’d like to point out it’s entirely unfair to have to do homework over the holiday break), I know he expected me to list the things I’d learned last term at Sanctuary School. And I was supposed to learn a lot. For example, in Charm and Deportment I was supposed to learn how to say no without giving offense. In Scriptive I was supposed to learn how to write beautifully in Splendiferous Script. In Dressmaking I was supposed to learn how to inset sleeves and make cartridge pleats. In Math I was supposed to learn how to calculate square roots.

Ayah, so I did learn how to read Splendiferous Script (though I never quite managed to learn how to write it—at least not legibly), but who uses Splendiferous Script anymore? Only government clerks and really old people—neither of which I am. I didn’t quite manage the rest of the lessons, but so what? If people get offended when you say no, isn’t that their problem, not yours? I don’t like cartridge pleats; they make your waist look too big, and my waist looks big enough as it is. And who needs to know how to calculate a square root? Only engineers, accountants, and gunners, none of which I plan to be.

I am going to be a ranger. And rangers do not waste their time sitting in a classroom. The greatest ranger of them all—Nyana Keegan, better known as Nini Mo—chronicled her adventures in a series of yellowback novels called Nini Mo: Coyote Queen.
(Coyote
being the slangy term for ranger, of course.) There is no yellowback called
Nini Mo Sits in Math Class,
or
Nini Mo and the Curse of the Overdue Library Book,
or
Nini Mo vs. the Term Paper on the Orthogonal Uses of Liminal Spaces in the Novels of Lucretia McWordypants.

Rangers are not bound by rules and regulations. Rangers move silently through the world, unnoticed and unknown, and yet they see everything. They are clever, cunning, and shrewd. Rangers are adept at working the magickal Current. They can cross from the Waking World to Elsewhere as easily as moving from one room to another. They follow their own Wills, not the Wills of others. They are to their own selves true. They seek out secret truths, and find that which has been hidden.

Nini Mo did not let school interfere with her education, and neither do I. To be fair, I will admit that sometimes the stuff they try to stuff down you is helpful: For example, when you are running from a hungry domicilic denizen you are pretty glad that you didn’t skip gym class. And when you have to go to your family’s worst enemy and beg for his help, it is useful to have practiced your manners in Charm and Deportment until they are perfect.

But overall, after ten years of school, I can state with authority that formal education is all about sitting and listening and repeating and reading, and doing busy work. Calculate,
If Udo has four cupcakes and you have six cupcakes, which cupcake is blue?
And,
Define the word
defenestration
and use it in a sentence. (Before you defenestrate your math book, you should open the window first.)
Write out,
I will not return my library books two weeks late ever again,
one hundred and fifty times. Maybe these things are useful in school, but they are not very helpful in Real Life.