The Order of Odd-Fish (35 page)

Jo shook herself awake—she and Fiona were back in the arena, their ostriches clashing at close range, Ethelred squealing piteously as Fiona forced him to fight against Jo. She brandished her lance, but Fiona had one bullet left.

Fiona shot Jo point-blank.

The bullet turned aside in midair.

Jo stretched out her hand and blasted Fiona across the arena. A black flower opened up inside her, dark and angry. She was using the power, using the Ichthala blood—she felt the All-Devouring Mother grow wildly inside her, calling out to the Silent Sisters as she smashed Fiona against the cage, again and again and again.

She looked into the crowd and saw Aunt Lily staring at her in horror.

Blankness rippled through Jo like a cold poison. She let Fiona fall, and the unconscious girl dropped into the water.

Jo had won.

A thunderous cheer went up from all sides, intolerably loud. Jo clutched Dame Delia’s ostrich, hovering in the center of the ring, staring around at the fans, at everyone screaming her name. It was over.

She had betrayed them all.

J
O
landed and was overwhelmed. Pressed in by shouting fans, she couldn’t even dismount her ostrich, and was forced to ride it through the crowd. It was the wildest duel ever at the Dome of Doom. Everyone was exhilarated to be there, and everyone wanted to be near the winner.

Jo was in a daze. Nobody knew she’d used the Ichthala’s powers, but she knew something horrible would soon follow. Her dread mounted as she waited for the other shoe to drop. It reminded her of when she was six, living at Aunt Lily’s ruby palace, and her bedroom doorknob had unexpectedly come off in her hand. For an instant Jo had almost expected the rest of the palace to fall apart, too, a chain reaction bringing ceilings, walls, and floors crashing down.

Jo felt that way about everything now. If she could send bullets careening away from her and fling Fiona across the arena with a wave of her hand, then anything was possible. It made the universe seem flimsy, as if one wrong move could send it all flying apart.

Ian and Nora led Jo through the back passages of the Dome of Doom. Fans jammed the tunnels, so loud that Jo had to scream when she asked Ian, “Where are you taking me?”

Ian yelled back, but she couldn’t hear him. A door opened, and she rode her ostrich into a grand ballroom.

It was a victory party. Jo dismounted and was mobbed. Everyone was slapping her on the back, kissing her, shouting congratulations in her ear, lifting her up on their shoulders—she tried to draw the line at that, but nobody cared what she thought, and up she went. After they lowered her, Phil Snurr pumped her arm and declared, “What a fight! You nailed her,
nailed her
!”

“And she had it coming,” said Daphne. “I still can’t believe Fiona shot at you! Oona Looch is going to eat her for breakfast.”

“If Fiona’s not already dead,” said Albert. “Laid it on a bit thick, didn’t you, Jo?”

“Had it coming,” said Daphne again.

Jo said, “Have any of you seen Dame Lily?”

“Uh, no,” said Maurice. “Sir Oliver and Colonel Korsakov haven’t come back, either. Sorry, Jo. I’m sure Dame Lily would have loved to see that fight, though.”

“But I thought I saw Lily.”

There was a respectful silence. Maurice coughed in embarrassment.

“I don’t think she came, Jo,” said Daphne. “But if Lily was still with us, she would’ve loved this victory party, wouldn’t she?”

“But I could’ve sworn I saw her,” said Jo. The image of Aunt Lily staring at her was burned in her eyes. She knew what that stare meant—Aunt Lily understood what she had done.

“Just relax, have fun,” said Daphne. “This is your night. By the way, don’t you have a change of clothes? You’re kind of nasty right now.”

Jo went back to her ready room to shower and change. Luckily, her dress had a high neck that covered up her wound. Jo hoped it hadn’t worsened, but there was no time to check—Nora and Ian were already knocking on the door, yelling for her to come back out into the party.

Jo had to accept congratulations from a hundred different well-wishers, and then the band cranked up, and music drowned out further conversation. People started to dance, and Jo was sucked into the frantic merriment. She didn’t want to dance; she was battered and weary, scared of what the night had in store for her. Time after time she tried to get away, but someone always shouted, “Hey! The lady of the hour is escaping!” and good-naturedly shoved Jo back among the dancers.

Finally she gave in. She began to dance, and soon she forgot her bruises and cuts and aches. Her exhaustion fell away and to her surprise, out of nowhere, she felt brilliant.

Jo spun past the eelmen, thrashing around in a traditional jig, and wove in and out of a high-kicking line of Oona Looch’s daughters. It hit her: she’d really won. She hadn’t been killed. She hadn’t been exposed. She was giddy and flushed, and she felt violently alive. She shook off her fear, forgot her guilt. She didn’t care anymore. She had used the Ichthala’s power, but the world hadn’t collapsed. She hadn’t turned into a monster. The Silent Sisters hadn’t come to get her. Jo felt as though she’d awakened from a long nightmare. And even if what everyone had said was true and the world was about to end, she didn’t care anymore. She’d go out with a bang.

She looked for Ian. He was pushing through the crowd, Oona Looch not far behind, her arms outstretched, shouting, “I can’t wait anymore! I must have you, Ian!”

Jo crossed the room, grabbed Ian’s waist and arm, and started to dance.

“Hey! What are you doing?” said Ian.

“We’re dancing,” said Jo.

“Why?”

“I’m helping you escape Oona Looch,” said Jo. “Dance with me, and she’ll get the hint.”

“Oh, I get it. Thanks, Jo. I owe you one,” said Ian. “But, as you can see, I can’t dance.”

“Let me lead.”

“Hey, you’re good at this!”

“Aunt Lily was grooming me for vaudeville,” said Jo. Then: “I can’t see Oona Looch. Has she given up?”

“No. She’s still coming…she’s almost right behind you,” said Ian.

“We need to drop more hints,” said Jo.

“These subtle hints aren’t working,” said Ian.

“This isn’t subtle,” said Jo, and kissed him.

Ian’s eyes stayed open the whole time. Jo drew it out for as long as possible, her lips mashed up awkwardly against his teeth. She didn’t know what she was doing but she didn’t care.

Oona Looch stopped in her tracks.

Jo turned. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I never knew…I never…ohhh,” said Oona Looch in a small voice. “I thought Ian and me were going to my love hideaway…it was going to be all swell, and…I had surprises, like a…Are you two…are you…boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yes,” said Jo. “We are.”

“Well, do I have egg on my face,” said Oona Looch. “You could’ve told me! And now I’ve gone and made a darned fool of myself. Fair’s fair, I suppose, to the victor go the spoils. Imagine, me trying to seduce your boyfriend on your victory night! My apologies, Miss Larouche.” She turned to Ian. “But you…you broke my heart, Ian.
You broke my heart.
”

Oona Looch’s face darkened with pent-up emotion, and her body quivered; for a moment it seemed she might burst into frustrated violence; and then she started blubbering. Oona Looch waved away the dozens of handkerchiefs suddenly offered by her daughters—like a sudden display of a hundred flags of surrender—and trudged out of the room, sniffling.

Jo and Ian kept dancing. They danced closer, and her hand was sweating in his. They didn’t speak, but danced for the next song. Jo felt they were walking on thin ice. But she wanted the ice to break. She didn’t know where they would fall, but she wanted to find out.

The band stopped playing, and a bell rang for the midnight feast. Jo and Ian stopped dancing and looked at each other uncertainly.

“So, thanks for getting Oona off my back,” said Ian.

“Did you mind that I kissed you?” said Jo.

“No…no,” said Ian.

They were still holding each other, and neither knew what to do. Slowly they let each other’s hands go and went up to the victor’s table, where Nora and Audrey and the rest of the squires and some of the butlers were already waiting.

Nobody had seen that Jo and Ian had kissed. But as dinner went on, they exchanged glances, and Jo felt something unfamiliar open up inside her. She wondered how it would be different with Ian after tonight.

Nora said, “Hey, does anyone know how Fiona is doing?”

“Still unconscious, but she’s alive,” said Albert. “Jo just knocked her out, that’s all. Say, how did you finally beat her, Jo? Everything was too crazy for me to see.”

Jo looked away. “Just a lucky hit.”

Nora said, “Hey, Jo. Chatterbox kept nagging me while you were dancing. Says he wants an interview.”

“How can Chatterbox sleep?”
thundered Sefino. “Now he’s twisting the arms of my
friends
to dig up dirt about me! Jo, don’t do the interview. He’ll take advantage of your generosity in the afterglow of victory, and wrangle all manner of scuttlebutt from you.”

“Sefino,” said Jo patiently, “do you think it’s possible Chatterbox might really want to ask about the duel and not just you?”

“Jo, Jo. Always the naive crumpet. He’ll start with the duel, of course, but before you know it, you’ll be deluged with shameless inquires such as ‘What manner of scandalous underclothes does Sefino wear?’ or ‘What unnatural vices does Sefino practice when alone?’”

“Fortunately I can’t answer those questions.”

“Jo, he’s diabolical. Beware his perfidious machinations.”

“I thought Chatterbox didn’t even write about you anymore.”

“Undoubtedly Chatterbox is conserving his resources for a final, all-out onslaught of libel,” said Sefino. “What can I do, other than wait for the inevitable slander? It is widely claimed that I have the patience of a saint. I do not necessarily dispute such claims.”

“By the way, thanks for making the armor.”

“Further proof of my virtue,” said Sefino. “Needless to say, the
Snitch
never publishes anything about my tireless charity work.”

Audrey suddenly stood up, her eyes narrowed.

“What’s wrong?” said Jo.

“Um…nothing.” Audrey gazed around the room as though searching for someone. “I’ll be back in a second.” She dropped her napkin on her plate and walked quickly away.

Jo didn’t have time to wonder, for she saw a familiar friend across the ballroom. With a shout of joy she leaped up and dashed toward Ethelred, who had just been brought in by some of the Dome of Doom’s ostrich doctors, freshly bandaged and cleaned up.

“Are you all right, Ethelred?” said Jo, hugging him and burying her nose in his feathers. “Fiona didn’t hurt you, did she?”

The doctor said, “He’s banged around, but he’s not seriously injured. He’s probably more upset that Fiona forced him to fight against you.”

Ethelred gurgled and sheepishly looked away. Jo whispered in his ear: “It’s okay, Ethelred. I understand. Look at me. I’m proud of you.”

Ethelred peeped back up at Jo, making little squawks, and seemed to smile. Then he carefully nipped Jo’s shoulder. Ethelred was given a place of honor at Jo’s table, with all the lizards and weeds he could eat. (The ostrich had impeccable table manners.)

It was a half hour later, during dessert, that Jo saw Dame Isabel and Sir Alasdair out of the corner of her eye, entering the ballroom with grim faces. Then a dozen policemen came in after them. Jo put down her fork, her hand trembling. She looked around the room for Dame Delia, Sir Festus, Sir Oort, any of the knights who had supported her duel.

They were gone.

“Attention!” shouted Dame Isabel. “Quiet, all! We are here to make an arrest!”

Everyone saw the policemen. The buzz of conversation died.

“Aw, Isabel, what gives?” shouted someone. “Okay, Jo Larouche dueled, it was illegal, but big deal—why rain on her parade now?”

“Dueling is the least of Jo Larouche’s crimes!” shouted Dame Isabel. “I knew about the duel, of course. You’d have to be deaf and blind and an idiot not to! But that’s not why I’m here. Ever since Jo Larouche arrived among us,” she growled, pointing at Jo and approaching her, “she has lied to, endangered, and bamboozled all of Eldritch City. But tonight she will be exposed!”

“What are you talking about?” yelled someone else.

“I could mention the
ring
we found in Jo’s room,” said Dame Isabel, and Jo’s stomach dropped. “I could even mention that, by order of the mayor, all Odd-Fish knights are now under arrest. Sir Alasdair and I volunteered to go to jail as well. I thought I’d never say this, but today I am ashamed to be an Odd-Fish. But I won’t bother listing all the evidence. I just want to hear Jo deny it and add one more lie to her
mountain
of lies! Go ahead, Jo. Tell everyone you’re not the Hazelwood baby. Tell them you’re not the Ichthala—tell them you’re not the All-Devouring Mother!”

Jo tried to force words out of her mouth. Nothing came.

“Do you deny it?” said Dame Isabel. “Go on, deny it! Why stop lying now?”

Jo turned to Ian. “Ian…”

Ian shrank away, shaking his head in shock.

“You won’t admit it?” said Dame Isabel, standing over Jo. “Well, here’s what we found in
Dame Lily’s
room! It turns out it was
she
who had cut that hole from the tapestry. And why?”

Dame Isabel unfurled a ragged piece of tapestry for all to see. It was a picture of the Silent Sisters, standing in a circle, bowing to a girl in the center.

The girl was unmistakably Jo.

Jo said, “I’m—don’t—it’s not—”

“You
still
deny it?” shrieked Dame Isabel. “Then let’s show everyone the final proof!”

Dame Isabel grabbed Jo roughly and turned her around. Jo shut her eyes tight as Dame Isabel tore open the back of her dress, exposing her neck. The room broke into screams.

“Look, Ichthala!” said Dame Isabel, pushing a mirror into Jo’s hand. “Look at what you’re turning into!”

Jo took the mirror in her shaking hand and forced herself to look. The wound had become much worse—scaly and reptilian now, oozing with black blood, bristling with hair, its lips trembling, gasping like a small gray mouth.