The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (36 page)

A gawky girl approached. “Hi, I’m Trancy
Jahobees. I’d like fifteen tickets, please. And can you tell me if
you are offering back stage passes? My friends and I are huge fans
of Dwyn…I mean, the theatre. Oops! Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry
about that! Will it stain?”

“Just forget it!” Root scowled at the girl.
She could care less about the orange Chuck now dripping down her
shirt, she had lost the entire conversation! Lian got rid of the
girl, making no promises of backstage anything and returned to
Root, who was concentrating again.

“What’s going on?” he whispered. “Hello, for
how many?”

“Sh! Rats! I can’t believe it! I can’t
believe I missed that whole bit! Stupid, dumb, clumsy oaf
girl!”

“You missed the name?”

“Yes! Now, she’s just rambling on about false
claims in the brochure.”

“What’s Picklepug doing?”

“He says he’s aghast but I can tell he’s not
telling the truth. He’s trying to get rid of her now.”

Down the hall, quite some distance away, the
door to the Office of the Guardian of DréAmm opened. “…will be most
assuredly dealt with in the most severe way.”

“Well, I hope so, because someone, like one a
these kids here, could get seriously hurt y’know. Or worse!”

“Madam, please!” Picklepug brought his volume
down. “No need for hysteria now. Remember your…er…new
confidentiality contract.”

“Oh. Right. Sure. So, my…er… cheque…sir?”

“It shall be delivered this day, as
promised.”

“Right. Thanks.” Ginovane Borealis slunk
away.

Root felt a flare of anger. She turned her
body, trying to block out the squawking line up and concentrate
more on Picklepug.

“Secretary!” Picklepug screamed.

Slim Pulpit, in perfect timing, was just
returning from his filing. “Sir.”

“In the future, I expect you to warn me
before I stick both my Whitney P Suresucker boots in my mouth!”

“Will do, sir!”

“Thank you. Now, take this complaint and burn
it.” He handed a parchment over to the thick fat fingers of his
secretary.

“May I suggest shredding instead? Easier on
the lungs.”

“Fine, whatever. Just get rid of it. The last
thing I need is a mob of concerned families down my throat.”

“Did I hear her mention the Dark Arts,
sir?”

“You heard no such thing. I will not lose
this to speculation. This race is will go on, Pulpit, mark my
words. I will see to that. Now, do what you’re told!”

“Right on it, sir.”

“That jerk!” Root turned back to Lian. “Just
dismissed the whole thing. And he’s paying her t’keep quiet.”

“Surprise, surprise…Hello, for how many?”

“But those were serious accusations. How
could he let this continue without even an investigation, when now
he’s fully aware of Dark Arts being used? He must know the
dangers.”

“Knows and doesn’t care…No, I’m sorry Dwyn
Puffler will not be signing autographs before the doors open.”

Lian was right, of course but there was
something about the Guardian’s Feel, like there was more to it. “He
said some thing about
him
not losing this.” Root added.

“Root, here’s a little politics 101. There
are a lot of cover-ups done in the months leading up to an election
date. I would imagine Studaben Picklepug would hold the
record.”

“No kidding.” Root released the grip on her
insides. Picklepug was swine, she’d always known this. Was it
really a surprise that he’d sweep this with the rest of his
accumulating pile under the rug? She had to just accept the fact
that he would never be an avenue for justice and she would just
have to find other means in this. She returned to the task at hand.
“Hello. For how many? No, I’m afraid Dwyn Puffler will not be doing
a nude scene.”

Sir Mathelopolick was decked out in red,
having found the traditional black to be passé. He whipped a
crimson scarf around his hyoid and traipsed though the foyer to his
favorite position with which to look upon his adoring fans.

“A double Zinger, Sardy. And hold the
ice!”

He announced like a true artiste a la rouge.
When three Zingers had splashed down his spine, he peacocked around
until enough people swarmed to create a definite celebrity affair.
His words were eloquently spoken and he only paused twenty six
times for the flashing bulbs of Imaginates.

Even, when yet another annoying girl asked
him what it was like working with someone like Dwyn Puffler, he
retained the cool composure of a star. “Mr. Puffler is young to be
sure and I am sure he was as excited to work with me as I was to
work with…the great master Jibbles.”

But Dwyn was no such thing. He was in fact
feeling like he was going to throw up.

“You’re gonna be just fine.” Root said. “It’s
a bit of stage fright is all.”

“I’m gonna forget my lines!”

“Not unless you didn’t take my Spunkleaf like
I toldjya to.” Lian said.

“It tasted like Hover puke.”

“Well…” Lian shrugged in a
you-snooze-you-lose attitude that sent Dwyn farther into panic.

“Oh don’t be a ninny, Dwyn. Just sit down and
breathe.”

After a few breaths Dwyn turned to Root.

“Did you call me a ninny?”

“No.”

“Yes, you did. You said ‘ninny’.”

“No, I said…Okay maybe I did. So what?”

“Nothing.”

A knock on the door put an end to this
incredibly intelligent battle of wits. Without being answered Hilly
Punyun pranced in. She must have considered this to be a rather
shwanky affair for she had accented her standard pink with an
undoubtedly expensive grey fur stole around her shoulders. Its long
fluffy tail was clasped in its mouth, and Root found the point of
its nose and beady eyes to be an all too familiar mirroring of its
host.

“Just coming to say ‘break a leg’ and all
that.” Hilly trilled.

“I’m sure you are.” Root said under her
breath.

Hilly took advantage of her time, scanning
every inch of space. “Nice dressing room, Dwyn. I must admit I was
quite intrigued to hear of this latest undertaking of yours.
Especially in such short notice. I mean, it has mystery written all
over it. One might think there were ulterior motives.”

“Wha’d’y’want, Punyun?” Dwyn sneered.

“Like I said, I just wanted to…”

“Get outta here. You’re nothing but a
troublemaking…”

“Ninny!” Root filled in.

Hilly Punyun was caught by the door on her
way out. She fumed at the laughter that erupted immediately after.
“We’ll see who gets the last laugh first. Or last. Or whatever!”
She took her seat in the front row and pulled out a pair of theatre
glasses. She wasn’t going to miss a thing.

Sir Mathelopolick nervously smoothed back his
cranium (some habits die hard). He cued the music and claimed the
stage. His audience, his sold out all the way to the nosebleeds
audience went quiet.

“Greetings fans…” This was the tip of the
quintessential iceberg that was his speech. “Blah, blah, blah…self
important…blah…I’m so great…blah…”

His rambling ended abruptly upon the loud
sighing of a girl a few rows down. She had quite clearly whispered
to her friend how she hoped Dwyn Puffler was going to do a love
scene. It created quite a titter.

“Right.” Sir Mathelopolick knew how to take a
cue. “And so, without further ado, may I present ‘The Return of the
Royal Silken Oxback!’”

Murder, betrayal, jealousy, revenge, all the
trappings of a great tragedian production flew off the stage and
into the wide eyes of its audience. The director found it
intolerable that every scene with Dwyn was punctuated with applause
but the rest of the cast seemed to eat it up. In the end he too
caved in and fell under the Puffler charm, even allowing a few
sniffs during the famous Silken Oxback suicide scene. Dwyn fell
with gusto, raising a suitable amount of gasps from his audience.
Tissues flew in grand supply and when the last word of the prologue
rung in the fateful ending, nothing could stem the tears.

The curtains closed.

The curtains reopened.

The audience jumped to its feet.

The cast bowed.

A particularly tall skeleton in the back row
cried like a baby.

The director blew kisses at the audience.

The audience blew kisses at Dwyn.

The stage manager tripped over incoming
roses.

And Root and Lian and Tamik raced
backstage.

The friends were clutched in a jumping
embrace when Sir Mathelopolick entered with something behind his
back. “I want you to know that we all chipped in together for this,
and it seems like a lot but it’s the least we can do to thank you
for this truly historic evening of the Lord Sclerous Players’
company.” He smiled proudly and presented a bouquet of daisies.
“For you!” he said to his leading man.

“Oh thank you!” Dwyn took the flowers and put
them down beside hundreds of other bouquets. Most of them five
times the size.

“Maybe…over here.” The irked director said
and moved the wimpy bouquet to a less conspicuous spot. “Well, it’s
not what you were really expecting anyhow. I believe this is what
you want.” He pulled another prize from behind his back, this one
far grander. The iridescent feathers sparkled brighter than ever.
“I hope it serves you and your bride-to-be well!”

“What? Oh yeah!” Dwyn flung his arm around
Tamik. “Yeah, we are so happy, aren’t we angel…heart?”

“Oh yes! Thank you Sir Mathematical! Thank
you so much! My grandma thanks you too…uh… ‘glakwonk’, she
says…that’s uh…Ekladian.”

The director looked at them, pleased beyond.
If he had eyes they’d have welled up for sure. And there was more.
A distinct expectation. “Aren’t you going to kiss your bride?” he
cooed.

“Wha?…Oh!…Oh…well…um…” Ah, what the heck?
Dwyn dipped Tamik.

The director sighed and clapped his bones.
Root giggled.

Lian looked away disapprovingly, though it
had nothing to do with Quest guidelines this time. More along the
lines of…well, hormones are tricky things, aren’t they?

The snoggers came up for air when the door
suddenly swung open. Hilly Punyun’s scheming eyes instantly took
attention. “Well now, congratulations! What a performance!” She
caught sight of the HaloEm Quill. “And lookie here! See, I knew
there was something to this. Why, it’s a genuinely replicated
HaloEm Quill prop! How nice for you.”

Before anyone could say anything, before
anyone could stop it, the fur of Hilly Punyun’s stole moved.

And the last HaloEm Quill in all of DréAmm
was gone, snapping and crunching and sizzling in the acidic saliva
of the longhaired Silverfox’s mouth.

“Oops! It
was
just a prop wasn’t
it?”

Ten thousand years could have gone by and
still no comprehension would have come. Time was obliviated in the
wake of stunned gasps and crashing jaws.

Gone. Just like that. There were no Quills
left, none, and now two teams would be eliminated from the race.
The Chernbrights and the Valadors
.
It was over. Done.

The longhaired Silverfox belched.

And Dwyn snapped.

The transformation was slow at first. Dwyn’s
mouth took shape. The lips curled back with a lethal calm that made
the skin crawl. From them came a growl that meant no one would
escape alive. Certainly not Hilly Punyun who was now backing into a
corner. No one stopped him. The director because he was too frozen
with fear. The others because they wanted nothing more than Hilly’s
head on a platter. The rest of Dwyn took shape, black and seething.
“You have gone too far this time, Hilly Punyun.” He said from the
darkest, heaviest guts of his throat. He bared his teeth revealing
steel tipped razors fit for revenge.

“But I didn’t know it was a…”

“Yes you did! And you’re gonna pay!”

Hilly Punyun was just about to experience
real pain when, to her luck, the door burst open again.

Jorab towered in the threshold. His eyes were
urgent. “Miss Karbunkulus. I think you better come with me!”

Early winter was making its way into the
trees, plucking the last of their leaves and making their branches
thick black cracks against the deepening sky. Everyone shuffled in
line behind Jorab, including Hilly Punyun albeit at a great
distance. He led them to an open pen outside the stables where the
air was cool and soothing. Mordge was kneeling over CPR, wiping a
warm cloth across her head. The creature’s eyes were wild and she
was convulsing more than ever. Root ran to her side. “What’s wrong
with her? Is she…is she dying?”

Mordge said nothing. She applied another warm
cloth at CPR’s neck.

“No! She can’t! She can’t die! Jorab, there
must be something! Is there nothing you can do?”

Jorab’s eyes met Root’s and she thought he
might Mind-Speak but he only gestured his head. A lift of his chin
that said ‘be with her now.’

Root threw herself over CPR. There was no fur
left on her frail body, just the blotchy remains of skin. “I don’t
understand. She was getting bigger and everything. Why now?” Root’s
eyes were blurred in tears. Oh, how sick she was of crying. Why was
this happening? When was it ever going to end?

She paused as a realization reached her
heart. Maybe it
was
ending. The suffering at least. Maybe
dying was the best thing now, what CPR wanted. In that moment Root
realized she had to let go. The poor, delicate thing just should
not suffer another instant. She had been through enough.

If her time has come, let it be easy. Let
it be as gentle as…she is
…Root sobbed. Her eyes and nose leaked
relentlessly. She didn’t care. A sleeve smeared across her face
while she tenderly stroked the length of her beloved companion’s
back. “It’s okay, girl. Let go if you need to. Don’t stay for me.
It’s okay. I’ll be…I’ll be okay.”