Chapter 19

The tiny Frama-12 lake had reminded Winnie of the one at her family’s vacation home. Lake reminders always brought up thoughts of her mom. As she jogged ahead of the palm cart, her mind fell into a memory from the summer Mom died. After friends and relatives returned to their own lives, Winnie and Dad had withdrawn deeper into their grief. They spent days just staring vacantly at the TV. Then Uncle Ned, Dad’s older brother, showed up.

“Clive, Winnie,” her uncle said in a stern tone. “Put on your running shoes. You’re coming with me. Now.”

Neither had the energy to protest. Uncle Ned drove them to an unused high school track.

“Follow me,” he said. “We’ll start slow.”

For the first fifty yards, Winnie’s legs felt zombie stiff. Eventually, her muscles warmed. The skiff, skiff of her sneakers on the track almost sounded joyful. Almost. At the straightaway Uncle Ned was only half a dozen steps in the lead. Daddy lagged far behind.

“Keep up, Clive,” he said over his shoulder. “Hey, Win, I bet you can’t catch me.”

Her uncle’s taunt brought out her inner warrior. A sudden will to win surged through her. She burst ahead, easily passing him. With each stride she felt fierce, strong, and powerful. The faster she ran, the better she felt. She flew around the first curve so far ahead of the grown-ups she saw them across the grassy center of the track. She wanted to show Uncle Ned and Daddy she could beat either one in a race. Their cheers motivated her to run faster. For a full minute, she forgot about missing her mom. Face hot, puffing for breath, she slowed to a walk. Then her grief flooded back. She crumpled to her knees, sobbing.

Daddy reached her first and hugged her tight. “Let it all out.”

The permission to cry seemed wrong. Mom never cried. If Winnie wanted to be a warrior just like her mom, she had to stop. She stood with one final sniff. “I’m okay,” she’d lied.

Even on Frama-12, running lifted her spirits. So did spending time with Kip. Now, though, she worried she’d made a huge mistake bringing up her mom. She reached the castle gate ahead of Kip and the palm cart, which gave her time for more uneasiness to set in. What if she’d said too much? Would he think her weak for missing her mom? She’d had people tell her to “get over it” more than once.

She frowned, annoyed with herself. Warriors lived private lives. At least she thought so. Until Mom couldn’t hide it anymore, she’d kept her illness a secret. Maybe Winnie was supposed to keep secrets too.

The cart rolled through the gates. Before Kip hopped out, Winnie knew she couldn’t face him. Not right now at least.

“Thanks, it was fun, see you tomorrow,” she said in one breath and dashed away. If he tried to follow, she could outrun him. She sprinted up the staircase but slowed to a walk in the hallway to her rooms. Soft laughter from inside drew her to the balcony. Nita and another mel-yew woman sat at the balcony table.

Winnie considered asking them to move the party, but a plate of cookies lay between them. “Hi, guys.” Maybe they’d invite her to join them.

The women threw themselves at Winnie’s feet, wailing and talking over each other. She stared down at them, baffled. Had they broken something of hers? With the exception of her watch, which the queen still borrowed, she hadn’t brought much to Frama-12. Her locket! She gasped and reached for it. Thankfully, it still lay safely inside her T-shirt, along with the whistle to call wiggets.

“What did you guys do?”

Nita looked up. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “My sister and I…” She waved at the snacks on the balcony table. “We paused in our duties.”

“That’s it? In my world everybody takes a break. It’s so you don’t work yourself to death. This is your sister?” She smiled at the other tiny mel-yew woman. The two looked identical, except Nita wore a red chemise, and the other woman wore a plain gray tunic.

“Her name is Nola, good General. She toils in the royal laundry.”

“You definitely need a rest from that. Come on, ladies.”

The women rose.

“Sit back down before your tea gets cold.”

They stood woodenly in place.

“No, really. Sit. Sit.”

Nita curtseyed. “May I get you some tea, General?”

Winnie pulled a third chair to the table. “That would be great, thanks. I wouldn’t say no to one of those either.” She nodded toward the cookies.

Nita scurried away and quickly returned with an extra teacup and a silver tray filled with more cookies. These had cinnamon sprinkled on top. At least it looked like cinnamon to Winnie.

“What do you guys call these? Cookies?”

“We call them sweet-treats, General.”

They were sweet and definitely a treat. In fact, they tasted like snickerdoodles. Winnie sighed. “These are amazing. Did you make them?”

“The cook bakes all treats,” said Nita. “He made these from a new recipe he received from the wizard.”

Kip had done that? He possessed more good qualities than she realized. Winnie bit into another scrumptious cookie. She could learn to like a guy who knew how to make snickerdoodles.

****

After that two-day break, Winnie returned to warrior mode. She didn’t care if the attack was weeks away. She still wanted to check the ocean for any signs of lurkin. Just in case.

No one passed her on the staircase. The castle, usually bustling with official-looking began hopping through the corridors and servants scurrying back and forth, was strangely vacant. Even the royal doormen had abandoned their posts. She was so used to having it immediately swung open for her that she almost walked into the door.

Outside, the courtyard buzzed with activity. Vogan shouted orders. Mel-yew servants rushed to do their bidding. Palum trotted through the open spaces, setting up long tables and chairs. Mel-yew cooks, wearing chef hats, tossed ingredients into bubbling cauldrons. A team of apron-clad toad men fired up a row of barbecue grills. It looked like all the queen’s subjects were prepping for a party.

The hunt, Winnie guessed. If it kept the queen occupied, Winnie liked it. She eased past the hubbub to the wig get sanctuary. The large gray birds dozed from their perches.

“Hi!” she called out. “I need to take another trip to the beach.”

The trainer didn’t appear.

“Won’t be long,” she said, even though the birds seemed to be alone. She slipped into the shed and helped herself to a vest, belt, and ankle protectors. Back outside, she blew into her golden whistle. No sound came out, but all the birds jumped awake. She puffed into it until three wig gets swooped from their perches.

“Wigget-wigget, where-to, where-to?” they squawked.

“Big beach.”

They honked and flapped, lifting her into the air. The wig gets caught a warm current and flew higher. Now that flying had become familiar, Winnie laughed at the speed and the wind whipping through her hair. She enjoyed the ride until the odor of dead fish and rancid oil brought back old worries. She never should have let Kip and his picnics keep her from her mission.

The gray beach loomed in the distance. Far below the only movement came from a herd of palm picking berries. After landing on the sand, she wobbled over the rubbery sea to the palm on guard duty.

He held the binoculars and even pointed them at the horizon but looked through the objective lenses.

“Pall, you’re holding it backward.”

The palm snorted in surprise. He lowered the binoculars to bow. “What a great general you are to remember the names of all your lowly scouts.”

“May I?” She eased the binoculars out of his hands. Clear, all the way to the horizon. Still safe. That comforting thought gave her the patience to teach the scout which end of the binoculars to look through. She didn’t even mind that it took three tries.

Confident the enemy hadn’t begun their march, Winnie flew back to the castle grounds and the queen’s banquet. She stepped to the end of a long queue of began and mel-yew. As she moved closer with the line to the first steaming cauldron, the smell of rotten eggs and moldy cheese filled the air. She breathed through her mouth to keep from gagging.

A female server, stirring the cauldron, smiled up at her. “Greetings, General.”

“Um, what is that?”

The server beamed. “Scrambled wiggies, dear General. Made fresh this morning.” She lifted her ladle full of weird brown blobs in yellow goo. “It’s a delicacy.”

“What exactly is a wiggie?”

“Wigget hatchlings.” The server grinned. “They can’t all fly for the royal guard, can they?”

Winnie’s insides clenched. “Maybe later.” She reached for a crystal goblet. The reddish-brown liquid inside looked like a syrupy version of the raspberry tea she drank at home. “What kind of berries are in this?” She lifted the glass to her lips.

“Vill wine comes from no berries, good General.”

Winnie took a sip. Thick spicy fluid burned her tongue.

“It’s made from the fermented blood of the snaps.”

Her eyes bulged. The back of her throat constricted. She returned the glass to the table and bowed out of line. Thick, peppery liquid rolled around in her mouth. She ducked behind a bush to spit it out. Smoke rose from the ground where it landed.

She returned to the buffet line and grabbed an orange wedge. At least her eyes told her it was an orange. Her taste buds shouted, rotten lemons soaked in brine! Winnie darted to another bush to spit out her second mistake. Where was Kip? He knew what was edible. On her third pass through the food line, she found the yummy bread. She stacked ten slices onto her plate.

“There you are,” Kip’s British accent spoke from behind her.

“Hey!” She smiled, glad to see him. “I had some of your cookies yesterday. Why didn’t you tell the chef about grilled hamburgers? I’ve been eating poison out here.”

He chuckled. “Baby steps. Desserts are easier than changing a whole diet.” He turned serious. “For what it’s worth, the mel-yew are on your side.”

She cocked her head. “Huh?”

“They appreciated your kindness to the servants. In return, they’re keeping their ears open for you. Listening and whatnot. Unfortunately, it’s bad news. Polo’s got a song for you. I’ve enchanted the lyrics so only we can hear the true message.”

“Wait, what?”

Polo bounced onto the outdoor stage to the crowd’s applause.

Kip nudged her. “Listen.”

Polo strummed a mysterious tune on his lute. “Beware,” he sang, “beware! The hunted must beware. If you are here but come from there, beware, beware!” His little black eyes bored into Winnie’s. “Hunters have blood in their eyes. They’ll harm you; it’s you they despise. It will seem a mistake, but your life they shall take. Be alert, be aware, stay alive!”

The audience laughed harder with each worrisome line. Winnie shivered.

Kip wrapped his arm around her. “The oracle would never allow it. Still, there it is.”

“Death to the different, the hoppers, the glunt,” Polo sang. “If you cannot be changed, you’ll be lost to the hunt.”

Her plate, forgotten, slid out of her hand, shattering on the hard ground.

Kip hugged her tighter. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

Loy, her page advisor, joined them. “General Windemere, Queen Bogen has asked me to convey an invitation for you to join her party on the hunt today.”

She gulped. “Me?”

He bowed. “This is quite an honor. As a rule, only began go out.”

And only began come back. She tried to swallow with a dry throat.

“Please send the general’s apologies,” said Kip. “She doesn’t feel well today.”

Thankful for his excuse, she played along, pressing a palm to her forehead. “I might have a fever.”

“Dear General,” the voga said, “to refuse Her Majesty’s request would be a grave insult. Surely, you don’t wish to insult your queen.”

She had insulted the queen a dozen times already. “Tell Her Majesty I thank her for the honor. I’ll join the hunt even though I don’t feel well.”

“Splendid! The queen will be pleased.” Loy bounced away.

She shivered in the warm air.

“Nobody’ll tell me what they do out there,” Kip said in a low voice. “But when you get right to it, they’re just amphibians. I mean, without teeth, they can’t tear you apart.”

“What?” She stumbled back a step.

“I meant it as a good thing. Not getting eaten alive, I mean. I’ll follow you, shall I? On the wiggets. To make sure you’re safe.”

Technically, warriors took care of themselves, but she was willing to make an exception. The more people looking out for her the better. “Thanks.”

He leaned so close his lips bumped against her cheek. “Cheers.” He hurried away.

Winnie lifted her hand to her cheek. A herd of toads was about to maul her, but one question jumped ahead of all the others. Did he just kiss me?