Mearsies Heili Bounces Back (20 page)

“Grab her!”

The muscle-bound clods in berets who stood in the background
jumped forward to grab my arms, and push me forward three feet toward the
circle of light, as if I hadn’t been about to go there anyway.

The biggest man glared at me. “Are you a—uh—A.U.N.T.I.E.?”

“I’m not an uh, but yes, an A.U.N.T.I.E.”

“Anti-agent?”

“Agent, no. A.U.N.T.I.E.”

“Hvat?”

I repeated it carefully.

“Hvoo
are
you! Hvat do you know!”

“I know my name, what country this is, how to burn toast,
how to—”

“Hvat do you know about T.H.R.U.S.H.?”

“Say it, don’t spray it. Pshew. What I know about
T.H.R.U.S.H. is none of your business.”

He folded up a fist the size of a watermelon and tried to
smack me. I ducked. “Hey, striking a kid is bad manners!”

“Shut up or you’ll get ze thrashing of your vorthless life,
brat. Now, tell us all—hvoo led you here, and hvat you know!”

I shut my mouth tight.

Pill, from the chair, said helpfully, “How can she talk when
you told her to shut up?”

“ANSWER MEEEE!”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound scared. “Ask the
C.O.U.S.I.N.S..”

“Cousins?”

“Or the S.T.E.P.M.O.T.H.E.R.S. Or I know, how about the
F.O.B.O.S!”

 “F.O.B.O.S! Is that a secret agency for espionage
?
”

“No, they’re a bunch of very annoying ladies who think they
are queens.”

o0o

Who knew a bunch of guys the size of water buffaloes could
move that fast? When the stars cleared there we were, on chairs, tied up, with
Pill.

“You awake?” Pill asked.

“Wow, what a stupid question,” I grumped.

“CJ, are you tied up, too?” Gwen asked.

“That’s an even dumber question. What are we doing here,
anyhow?”

“For the dumb question contest, that clinker just took the
prize,” Irene muttered, and all the girls loudly agreed.

“Where are we?”

“They dumped us in the basement storeroom of the East Wing
of the Croaklin, or Crumblin, or Groatmoat?” Irene said. “I couldn’t hear that
last bit.”

“Kremlin,” Pill supplied.

I sighed. “Well, is everybody ready to escape? Or should we
make a plan first?”

“You must be kidding!”

“Nope, I’m CJ.”

“We cannot escape,” Pill said. “We—U.N.C.L.E.—the world is
doomed.”

“Not the A.U.N.T.I.E.S.” I trilled in my best Fobo
imitation. “It’s time to give Tinfinger the bird.”

“I got a great idea for a plan,” Faline said. “C’mon, CJ,
let me make the plan. I never get to make the plan. Me first, okay?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Everybody do what they can. Okay?”

“Great idea, Faline! Glad I thought of it!”

“Hey.”

Pill had his eyes closed, as if he hoped the next thing he
saw would be a firing squad. That being a step up from Present Company.

I took pity on him, and muttered a special Reverse Knot
spell, made for spies. Pill’s eyes flapped open when he felt the knots untie
themselves, the ropes whizz around in a reverse of being wrapped, and drop to
the floor like dead snakes.

“Well, you kids were right, you do have special abilities,”
Pill said. “But it takes bravery to pick a deliberate fight with the dreaded
Tinfinger.”

“Tinhead,” Irene commented.

“Looked more like Fathead to me,” Faline put in. “Wow, talk
about no sense of humor.”

“Tinfinger, Tinhead, same difference,” I said, in a bad
mood. “His fingers are as fat as his head.”

“C’mon CJ, let’s go.” Irene kicked a pile of ropes. “This
place is for the birds.”

“Yeah. T.H.R.U.S.H.!” Faline bent over laughing at her own
joke.

Pause.

“Sorree, sorree... .” Faline wheezed. “I can’t help how
funny I am even when it’s not me being me.”

“So what now?” Diana said, turning to me.

“Where are we again?” I asked Pill.

“In a part of the Kremlin which officially doesn’t exist.”

“That has to mean where all the nastiest stuff is done.” I
rubbed my hands. “Okay girls, here’s the plan. Er, Faline’s plan. Everybody go
upstairs and wreck the place, and every mess you make, leave some sort of sign
that points to Tinfinger.”

So I magicked us upstairs, and we went to work.

Faline and Gwen played bowls with the computer reels,
snapping them with wrist action so that they unreeled, until the floor was a
spaghetti plate of tape. Irene and I rampaged through file cabinets, yanking
them out and tossing papers in a snow of carbon copies. At first we started to
cut the originals into paper dolls, but that didn’t last long. Too much
trouble.

One time a guard jumped out and started to strangle Diana,
but I whistled up my Shoe—and kicked him ten feet! He took off running.

I loaded more magic onto the Shoe, and ran around kicking
the guards through the windows. One of them just before he could aim his pistol
at Pill, who was looking the other way at another guard taking aim.

All the Kremlin guards got angry, and pretty soon Tinfinger
arrived in the first of a fleet of smoky-windowed black sedans. A bunch of
Commissars were uttering threats, and Tinbrain kept waving his hands and
insisting he hadn’t ordered anyone to do anything in the Secret Chambers of
Doom.

When he saw me, he pointed a finger and shouted, “SHOOT!”

A bunch of guns went off, but I had a spell ready. All the
bullets stopped in mid-air, then dropped into my hands with a bunch of clinks
and rattles. I tossed them over my shoulder, where they turned into petunia
pots.

Then I melted the weapons. The bad guys threw the guns into
the air, bellowing, wringing their hands, and blowing on their fingers.

Tinsplat roared, “American spy!”

The guards all started toward me—then stopped. Their eyes
bugged. Their mouths grimaced, then they started moving like teenagers dancing
to rock and roll.

Pill gasped. “Are they poisoned? What terrible secret weapon
is this?”

“Itchweed,” I said. “The
really strong
stuff.”

I turned back to Tinbonefat. “You want some?”

“No. I’ll go peacefully,” he whimpered, forgetting his
Secret Spy Accent.

I made handcuffs appear on him.

“Where’s Napoleon Solo?”

“On an airplane to a secret site known only to—”

I did my seeker spell, and sure enough, he was flying over
the ocean. A couple of spells, and he stayed midair, while the plane flew on
by, minus one prisoner. He looked down just once, then squeezed his eyes shut
again.

With a mighty spell I made us all appear in U.N.C.L.E. HQ.

“Well, another world problem solved,” I said heartily, as
the spy duo sank wearily into chairs near Wavey.

He turned to them. Nap just shook his head. “Never mind.
Nobody will believe it.”

“We need to ask questions,” Wavey addressed us girls. “Why,
you could be an enormous help to national security—political goals—”

“And that’s why we’re going home,” I said.

And we did.

o0o

When I finished the story, I discovered that Clair had come
in halfway through. She was grinning with the rest.

“I sure wish we could do that kind of magic,” Sherry said
wistfully.

“So do I,” Clair said. “Well, we can in our stories, at
least.”

I don’t know what it was, but something made me ask, “Is
anything wrong?”

“Klutz and Id said that Kwenz sent out a whole contingent of
riders along our border.” Clair looked worried.

“Ugh.” I pinched my nose. “All the more reason to have more
chocolate pie.”

“You already had two pieces,” Irene scolded.

“First course,” I said, though I hadn’t really wanted more.
Instead I loaded three more pieces onto my plate.

“Irene, mind your own business,” Dhana muttered.

Which spoiled the atmosphere of my story, so I dug in, just
to spite them both.

Much later, I—Princess Cherene Jennet Sherwood of Mearsies
Heili—said that our toughest adventure so far began not with prophetic words,
heroic poses, or even a warning rumble of thunder.

Nope. I had a gut ache from being a hog with the chocolate
pie.

Typical.

I flopped over on my bed in the underground cave we girls
called the Junky. No sleep. I flopped back. No sleep. I wished I could wake one
of the others up, just to get her to put on my Shoe and launch me into next
week, where I’d be past the stomach ache.

I rolled around in bed, repeating over and over, “Do NOT eat
more than two pieces. Even if all your stories are spoiled by the others being
as annoying as you are when you’re in a Mood. Even if the pie is still warm
inside and cool on top, with a skin of chocolate ... You will never run out of
chocolate pie!
You are not going back to Earth for real!
”

I groaned in disgust, and got up to take a walk.

The Junky was quiet, deep breathing the only sound coming up
the short tunnels leading to the other girls’ rooms. I rounded the short curve
from my room and emerged into the den, where the faint slivery-white light of a
glow globe appeared day-bright to my eyes. I sighed, and wormed my toes into
the woven rug on the magic-smoothed dirt floor to the main tunnel entrance,
which was framed by the intertwined roots of an ancient, lightning-blasted
hollow tree. Being there, alone, in the middle of the night, made me see anew
what had become so familiar, and a little spurt of happiness splashed through
me, like melted gold, or the light caught in water—
I’m really here. This is
my home
, I thought gratefully.
Even when I do dumb stuff like eat too
much Just Because
.

But thankfulness didn’t take away the gut ache. So I stepped
directly under the inside of the hollow tree and held out my hand to feel for
rain dropping down.

None.

Good.

I made my way up the tunnel to the cave entrance, then
slipped out into a quiet, moonlit night. The forest leaves were silver-tipped,
the shadows faint. I walked out onto the grassy slope and over the soft hummus,
breathing deeply of the beloved scents of the woodland. My stomach seemed to
settle a little as I listened happily to the cheerful chitter of crickets, and
the rustle and plappity-plap of some forest animal racing about in its night
life.

I peered around, sniffing the scents of wildflowers, so busy
enjoying myself I didn’t notice when the crickets went silent. A light
flickered, surprising me. Dummy! Too late I realized the animal might have been
running from something—there was a crashing noise in the shrubs behind me. A
muffled voice, and more crashing to the right.

Running footsteps from the left.

Because whoever it was with the light had, of course, seen
my figure in its pale nightgown drifting along.

It had to be Chwahir—who had that magic-enhanced night
vision.

I whirled around, but by then the 360 degree crashings and
thuds of footsteps made it clear I was surrounded; someone or something thumped
into my from above, and I crashed down, struggling and kicking and yelling—or
trying to yell.

But someone else had had a magic spell ready, and the weight
of a stone spell numbed my limbs.

Yours Truly had not only managed to ignore what signs and
portents really
did
exist, she’d gotten up and walked smack dab into a
roving patrol of Chwahir.

“Oh, barf.” I tried to say it, but my lips were too heavy to
frame the word; it came out “Blllllrrrrggggh.”

And that, I decided later, about summed up my feelings.

Magic tipped me into the sleep that had evaded me naturally.

o0o

I woke slowly, drifting upward through foggy wisps of
dream-vapor that made me feel groggy and listless. Magic—

Magic! Chwahir—had to be! Jilo and his friends had learned
by grim determination the general area the Junky was located in.

I groaned. And heard a soft hiss of breath.

Someone was there!

I hadn’t opened my eyes yet. Now I kept them closed—like
that would help, if I was stuck in Shnit’s dungeon! But—sniff, sniff—the air
did not smell like home, but it did not smell like vintage dungeon either, and
I’d experienced enough of the aroma of Chwahir Dungeon by now to know.

Plus, the gold on my eyelids hinted at real sunlight.

Okay. No dungeon stench, no gloom. So far, so ... not good,
but hopeful.

I cracked an eye—then flipped up both eyelids in surprise
when the face hovering nearby turned out not to be a villain, a Chwahir, or
even a monster, but a girl somewhere near my own age, with curly golden hair.

The girl had looked anxious at that very first glance, but
now she smiled. “You are awake! Just when the Wise One promised.”

She spoke Mearsiean, but with a strong accent. I’d heard
that accent before.

I croaked, “Wise One?”

“Your guardian,” the girl said. “Elderly man in a mage’s
robe. I only caught the briefest glimpse of him. “ She added soberly, “Raneseh
told us the Wise One sent you here because of troubles in a faraway kingdom.
You will be safe here.”

“What?” I squawked. “Elderly—do you mean a geez with a long
white beard? One that has needed an emergency laundering for a couple of
centuries?” The girl looked puzzled at this last, then gave a hesitant nod, and
I gave vent to a moan with extra tremolo and verve. “No, no, no—that cannot be
good.
Guardian?
Oh blech, I gotta get outa here.”

The girl rose from her stool and moved to glass doors that
let in the light. She opened drapes and let the crack of golden light widen to
mellow sunshine that filtered through the greenery of a substantial garden.

Then she returned. “I am sorry,” she said, and looked so. “But
the Wise One requested that you be kept here, for your own good. As well as for
the good of the kingdom he guards.”