“Yes.”
“Did your father?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you see anything else?”
“Somebody faded.”
“Did they tell you anything?”
“No—but she wanted to.”
“Hmm. And how did you know to visit Zane’s place?”
“Dad gave me his spoon,” I said with a nervous squeak in my voice. “It had his postcode engraved on the back.”
Jane stared at me for a moment, then shook her head sadly. “So you really are as stupid as you look?”
“I’m far more stupid than that,” I assured her, “but then curiosity has always gotten me into trouble. You should have heard Old Man Magenta sound off when I tried to improve queuing.”
“Normally I would tend to look on curiosity with favor,” she said, “but I think this time it’s far safer to just have you eaten. Unless, of course, you can think of a good reason why I shouldn’t?”
The very real possibility of death focuses the mind wonderfully. Chasing an intriguing Grey girl with a retrousse nose was as pointless as her killing me now. But all was not lost. I still had something to barter with. Perhaps the only thing I had ever had to barter with—here or anywhere else.
“Listen,” I said, “I have no idea what you’re up to, and it’s none of my business. You can kill me if you want, but it’s just possible I might turn out to be useful.”
She laughed. “What makes you think you have anything that I could possibly want?”
“Your hair,” I said. “It’s red.”
She stared at me. I had surprised her.
“Who told you that?”
I pointed to my eyes. I could see more red than most, and perhaps as much asany. Everyone would know for sure after my Ishiharaon Sunday, but right now Jane needed to understand that I might one day be up the ladder. I could be of use. She cocked her head to one side and stared at me. I could see that my plea was having an effect, so I told her I would be so unobtrusive from now on that “even the mice wouldn’t see me.”
“No,” she said after a moment’s thought, “I think you should carry on being curious. To keep the prefects distracted.”
“Did I say unobtrusive? I actually meant annoyingly inquisitive.”
“Annoyingly inquisitive is good—just not anywhere near me. Breathe a word about Zane, Rusty Hill or anything else and I’ll make good on my promise. If you agree, nod your head.”
I nodded my head, and she walked away without another word.
“Hey!” I said, although not too loud, as a yateveo can sense vibrations. “What about me?”
But she had gone. I looked nervously around at the barbed vines, which were still poised, ready to strike if I moved even a muscle.
“Plums,” I said to myself.
Heading Home
2.3.06.02.087: Unnecessary sharpening of pencils constitutes a waste of public resources, and will be punished as appropriate.
In case you’re confused, don’t be. This wasn’t the time that Jane had me eaten by a yateveo—that comes later. As far as carnivorous trees go, she and I have some past history, and none of it good. Or at least, not for me.
It took thirty-eight minutes for Dad and Fandango to finally come and look for me, and when they found me, I was all sweaty, with tremors in my leg muscles. They were more amused than concerned.
“Well, well,” said Dad with a faint snigger, “outwitted by a tree, Eddie my lad?” He kept his voice low, and trod carefully.
“Sweet revenge for all those crackling log fires,” added Fandango. “Where’s my water can?”
“It’s over there. Can you do something? I’m beginning to get cramps.”
Dad walked quietly to the other side of the tree, then rolled a log into the area under the spread. With lightning speed the yateveo’s barbed vines dove down, grabbed the log, whisked it high up into the canopy, paused for a moment and then flung it off into the forest, where we heard it land with a distant thump. The tree looked large enough to multiple-strike, so after waiting a minute or two for the vines to settle, Dad rolled a second log in, and the branches again descended, but this time slower. By the fourth log the barbs were striking at a decidedly languid pace, and I simply walked out, easily dodging the vines as they made a lazy swipe in my direction.
“I got caught by one once,” said the Colorman a few minutes later, once they’d had a good laugh at my expense. “I wouldn’t be here now if there hadn’t been several people half digested beneath me. Mind you,” he added, “if you do get eaten, upside down is the way you want to be—it’s all over quicker.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said grumpily. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. Oh, and you missed a pair of rhinosauruses, by the way. Crossed the road about thirty yards away. I logged their codes if you want them.”
Ordinarily, missing megafauna might have been annoying. But I had a lot more on my mind. Most important was how I should leave Jane well alone and concentrate on winning Constance and getting away from East Carmine just as quickly as I could. I’d throw in some misdirected curiosity, too, just to keep Jane happy.
About three-quarters of the way through the quarantine, Dad ran through the list of specifically Rot-like symptoms, such as accelerated nail growth, numb elbows and a certain brittleness of the ears. None of us had any of those, so we knew by then that we were clear. Mildew makes itself known within two hours of infection. Sometimes sooner, but never later.
“I understand that you’re taking your Ishihara with us?” asked Fandango once the quarantine period was up and we were heading back to East Carmine.
“It’s a huge honor,” I said, and meant it.
“My daughter Imogen is being shown the spots this year as well,” he remarked. “She’ll be quite Violet—a recessive throwback to a very purple maternal grandmother, you know.”
“Is that so?” I said, recalling Tommo’s accusation that Imogen was the product of purchased parentage at the Green Dragon. “You must be very proud.”
“We are hugely proud, and want only the best for her. Speaking of which, you don’t know any Purples who are a bit slack-hued but rolling in moolah? I’ve had a bit of interest, but nothing terribly exciting—mostly Lilac lowbies wanting to pay in bouncing goats.”
I thought of Bertie Magenta. His smarter, elder and Purpler sister would inherit Old Man Magenta’s Synthetic Pigment Enrichment Plant and the head prefecture. Bertie had scored a dismal 53 percent Purple on his Ishihara last year, and had a brain the size of a broad bean. Despite this and solely due to his hue, he would live a very comfortable life. If his sister married away and no higher Purple arrived, he might even make head prefect—which was a chilling thought right there all on its own.
“Does he have to be at all smart?” I asked.
“If he’s got the cash, I’m not bothered.”
“I know this fellow,” I said, “not the sharpest banana in the bunch. In fact, some might say he has the mind of a clodworm. But his father is the head prefect.”
“Totally perfect!” said Carlos with a grin. “Two percent finder’s fee, lad.” “How does Imogen feel about it?”
“She’ll do what we think is best,” replied Fandango in a tone of voice that I didn’t much care for. “Besides, an engagement will bring closure to an unsuitable attachment. You could compose a telegram to your friend, speaking of Imogen’s dazzling attributes. You might like to mention that she’s willing to offer any serious purchaser an evening on appro. I’ll get a photograph and a list of her virtues to you just as soon as I can.”