That evening, the arches and turrets of Castle Bones lay sprawled under a large, pale moon in the Caddy's rearview mirror. There was Gothalinda waving, radiant in black velvet, holding the silver chain lead attached to the spiked collar of the wolf that would be Igor until the moon waned a bit. And there in the Caddy were the happy faces of Death Eric, Buddy, and Lou, on their way home with the new songs in the can. Even before the Caddy passed between the twin mausoleums at the end of the drive, Enid was on the phone, steering with her mighty knees, arranging dates.
After ten minutes she turned. "They're mad for it," she said. "They're paying cash, to us, not Per."
"Who are?"
"The tour venues. The Wheel and Martyr. And the Dark Holler. And a few others."
"The Dark Holler?" said Fingers Trubshaw.
"Are we worthy?" said Kenyatta McClatter.
"Rice," said Eric. "I could just fancy a plate of rice."
"Bit of a big gig, the Dark Holler," said Sid the Soothsayer. "I'd be worried, if I were—hey!"
For the Caddy had swerved violently as Enid grabbed him and dragged him into the front seat and covered his face with burning kisses.
"With chicken," said Eric. "Not crow."
He fell into a brooding silence. So did everyone else, or as much of a silence as was possible with six MP3 players going full blast.
"The Dark Holler?" said Buddy, shifting an earpiece.
"I know what the Dark Holler is," said Lou. "But presumably you asked me that question so you could explain, and the reader could sort of eavesdrop."
"Bit tacky."
All right. The Dark Holler had once been a greyhound track. Then it had been a football stadium. Then it had been—
All right, all right. The important thing about the Dark Holler, set as it was on the far outskirts of Smoke City, was that it held half a million people, and it was the funkiest, chainwearingest, headbangingest, airguitarplayingest, crowdsurfingest rock venue on planet Earth. Everybody knew it. Play the Holler well and your career, if off track, was back on track, and the wads of cash came thundering in.
"We could get really fabulous school uniforms then," said Lou, who knew the facts above. "And books. And snakes."
"And scientific instruments beyond the dreams of Newton," said Buddy. "Also bears."
"If they play well," said Enid.
More silence. Bands that did bad gigs at the Holler got torn limb from limb. If they were lucky.
"Orright," said Eric. "So let's go get some warming up done. We're on tour now. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Call the house. Tell the housekeeper to fill up the pool, plus we want a chainsaw in every room."
The happy silence fell again. The lights of Smoke City crawled up the sky. The limo turned between the huge white marble Costa de Lott gateposts and crunched to a halt on the gravel acres in front of the house. Everyone was wildly excited. The children were riding mountain bikes up and down the double staircase, while from the bedrooms there came the sound of chainsaws and wild laughter.
Enid sat in the kitchen, sipping a moody mug of tea and thinking about lost love. From outside came a whistle, a crash, and an explosion. She looked out of the window; her brooding look changed to an indulgent smile. "First TV in the swimmin' pool," she said. "Happy days."
"Bleep!" cried Flatpick the budgie, delighted to have people to swear at again.
Beside Enid, Sid the Soothsayer smiled as he peered into his tea leaves. "It's gonna be . . . mph," he cried as Enid's great hand blocked his mouth.
Consider the facts, though. Death Eric was going on tour to promote their excellent new record. The band would attract vast crowds and be paid spot cash. Per had vanished, but everyone was managing quite nicely without him. What could possibly go wrong?
Wait for it.
*
The house was in sunny mood at breakfast time. Gone were the days of dry bread. The cooks had lashed out. Enid dug into steak, salmon, bacon, eggs, more bacon, hash browns, toast, fried bread, papayas, pineapples, and melon, topped off with a generous layer of brown sauce and maple syrup. Lou and Buddy ate two helpings of cereal, followed by mushroom omelettes of the highest quality, washed down with strawberry milkshakes made with real strawberries.
"Right," said Enid, belching in a gigantic but ladylike manner. "Shopping, anyone? The limo will be at the door in half an hour."
"Ideal," said the children. They strolled down to the Blue Room, where they played A Small Music for Shortly After Breakfast by J. S. Brick. As the last notes died away, the kids sat back in their beautiful mahogany chairs, drinking in the complete silence.
"Hist!" said Buddy, raising a finger.
Of course Lou was already listening.
The silence was no longer complete. A very small puttering noise was creeping into the Blue Room. The children looked at each other, wild-eyed.
"Perhaps it's a lawn mower," said Lou brightly, hoping against hope.
Buddy shook his head with a deep, deep weariness. "It sounds to me like a French car. A small one."
"Oh," said Lou.
For a moment, there was only the engine noise, getting louder. Then Lou and Buddy got up and opened the Blue Room door and gazed across the lawn to the front drive.
A saffron-yellow Citroen 2CV was put-putting slowly across the gravel. It stopped. A door opened. A tall figure wearing an orange sari got out, went down on its knees, and stuck its nose into the gravel.
"She is kissing the ground," said Lou, her green eyes narrow.
"Means she's here to stay," said Buddy, heavy brows low over his deep-set eyes.
"Hmm," said both children, like depressed bees. They walked across the lawn to the little car.
The woman in the sari turned to look at them. Her eyes were very wide open and there was a small red palm tree painted on her forehead above the join of her eyebrows. She was amazingly thin.
"Hello, Mum," said the children, smiling hopefully.
The eyes rolled back in the head. "Ing ang bing bang shangalang," chanted the mouth. "Children!"
"That's us," said Buddy.
Lou did not even speak.
It was going to be like that again.
Their mother had bent forward. At first Lou thought she was going to kiss them, and cheered up. But there was no puckering of lips, just sniffing.
"Breathe," said their mother.
Lou and Buddy obeyed. They had to, or suffocate.
"Argh!" cried their mother sharply, recoiling in a flutter of sari.
"Wha?"
"There is bacon in the air!" cried Wave, in a high, keening voice. "The cry of unborn animals!"
("Eggs," said Buddy.)
"The shrieks of roots ripped from the earth!"
("Mushrooms," said Lou. "We didn't have carrots.")
But Wave was not listening. "Is this what I find?" she cried. "I come back from a few months' meditation and find my house polluted with the flesh of animals slain in anger?"
"Not anger, exactly," said Buddy, feeling at a disadvantage.
"And mostly vegetables," said Lou, unsure of her ground.
The long hennaed hand patted them on their heads. "Little ones, you understand so little," said their mother. "But I will reveal it for you. Now, come into the house and we will get you out of these nasty blazers and trousers and skirts and into lovely orange robes, and you will be little Sanyasins and know Bliss!"
"We'd rather know English Literature," said Lou.
"And Math," said Buddy.
Their mother gave a laugh that tinkled like temple bells. "All is maya," she cried. "What you in your simple fashion call Illusion. I have come to teach you the ways of the Void. Follow me, disciples!" She swept into the house.
"Actually," said Buddy to her back, "we see ourselves more as your children than as your disciples."
But Wave's nostrils were twitching to the fumes of fillet steak wafting from the kitchen, so she paid no attention to the little people following her.
There was a bit of a scene in the kitchen. This was caused by Wave flinging the meat in the pans out of the window, followed by the contents of the fridge and the freezer. Lou did not want to go in, but Buddy stuck his head around the door.
"She is talking to a beet," he said. "She is telling it that she knows exactly how it feels. She is mentioning to it that from now on we are going to drink only spring water. We will eat only whole grains that have fallen naturally from the plant, not been ripped from the ear by the violent hand of the farmer."
There was the crash of breaking glass and the fire alarm went off and Flatpick the budgie started swearing. It was an extra-loud fire alarm. Rock stars' usually are, what with there being a lot of chainsaw fuel and highly flammable tattoo inks about the place, and people sleeping at all hours. Within three minutes, all nine of the house's occupants were in the drive, plus four small fans who had parachuted into the attic in 1994 and had been camping out there ever since. There was a lot of eye rubbing. Eric was wearing a spider-silk sarong, and the night bear tattooed on his back seemed to blink in the unaccustomed light. Fingers Trubshaw was wearing striped flannel pajamas, and Kenyatta McClatter an elegant paisley dressing gown with quilted lapels. They all milled around, bumping into each other and saying "Where's the fire?" and "Wha?" except Eric, who was peering about him, presumably seeking birds of ill omen.
Wave snapped her fingers. "Stepladder!" she said curtly to Enid.
Enid fetched a stepladder, her large face resembling a huge, beautiful landscape becoming aware that there would soon be an earthquake.
"Here," said Wave, pointing at a good stepladder site on the gravel. "Megaphone."
"You don't need a megaphone," said Enid.
Wave opened her mouth to make a spiritual remark, saw that what Enid had said was quite true, and climbed the ladder. "AHEM," she said, to attract everyone's attention.
Everyone looked at her.
"I am BACK," said Wave.
"Orange," said Eric. "She's orange, not black."
"Not black, back."
"Wha?"
"WELL," said Wave. "I turn my back for a mere eleven months and thirty days and WHAT DO I FIND?"
"Not much, really—," said Eric.
"I find ANARCHY. KARMIC DISASTER. Vegetables ripped untimely from their MOTHER EARTH. The breath of my children polluted with POOR SCREAMING, er, EGGS. Not to mention the muscles of DEAD ANIMALS being CALLOUSLY SCORCHED in the kitchen."
"Really?" said Eric, his interest roused. "Like, a nice steak?"
"Peace, gormandizer. I have DESTROYED IT ALL." She swept the horrified faces of her audience with a laser eye. "And the roadies tell me you are going on tour. Well! It seems I have arrived in the nick of time!" She plunged her hand into the bosom of her sari and came up with a sheet of paper. "Here is your timetable."
"Table?" said Eric. "Time?"
"Cast your eyes over it," said Wave, ignoring him. "Eight hours' yoga a day is a nice, easy way in. And there is a rota for drawing water from the spring and waiting by blades of grass for the seeds to fall out." She smiled, a wide smile, completely barmy. "Any questions?"
"Small one," said Fingers Trubshaw.
Wave spread her hands. "Ask and it shall be given, my child."
"Yur," said Fingers. "Only, seeing as we got a tour, what about the music?"
"Ah, music, my worldly one," said Wave, now in a distinct North Indian accent. "Is it not truly said, it is learning to learn that is the greatest learning?"
"Come again?" said Fingers.
"Clean out yer ears, blockhead!" shrieked Wave, who had a short fuse for a spiritual person. "What I mean is, if you do exactly what I tell you, eveiything will work out just the way I planned."
"So no playing, then," said Kenyatta.
"Playing will not be necessary. Soundwaves are an intrusion on the air. How would you like it if something sent waves through you and made you wobble? Plus it is bad karma for our brothers and sisters the wasps and mosquitoes and similar. I shall be in the Blue Room in ten minutes, dispensing wisdom. Class, dis-MISSED!"
"But that's our music room," said Lou.
"Not anymore it isn't," snarled Wave.
Everyone turned up. Wave was a powerful character. Once Wave had decided on something, that was that. Even Buddy and Lou went.
"Right!" said Wave. She was now dressed in orange tights, and her eyes looked in two separate directions. "On the count of three. Yogic exercises. BEGIN!"
First they stood on their left leg, and Eric fell over to the right. Then they stood on their right leg, and Eric fell over to the left. Then they stood on their heads, and Eric fell over in all directions. Then they sat cross-legged. After five minutes, Eric began to snore. Wave clapped a Japanese rice flail next to his ear and he fell over again.
During the meditation, Lou had been edging cross-legged closer to the back of the room, and Buddy had been edging after her. They waited until Wave's eyes had rolled back in her head. Then they made the final dash out of the door and into the shrubbery. Here they sat on garden chairs made of old guitars and waited for the parts of themselves that had gone to sleep to wake up.
"What do you reckon?" she said.
"Bad. They're meant to be, you know, warming up for the tour. Playing and breaking up rooms and getting psyched up. As it is, they're getting psyched down."
"Perhaps she'll stop."
"Probably not," said Buddy.
"No." Lou unbuttoned the pocket in which she kept her Tales from the Brothers Grime. "She is only one woman," she said.
"A very mad one."
"Exactly. Buddy, I am going to read you a story. 'Once upon a time—'"
"Cut to the chase."
"OK. It is about a frog and a bus. The frog reckoned it could be as big as the bus. The bus was getting really sick of this bigheaded frog giving it the verbal, so it said, 'Here's a bicycle pump. If you blow yourself up, you will be just as big as me.' Then it drove off."
"And?" said Buddy, interested in spite of himself.
"The frog pumped himself up until he exploded. Splat. All over the landscape. No more trouble from him."
"You are going to give her a bicycle pump?" said Buddy.
"In a manner of speaking."
"What manner?"
"Easy," said Lou, her green eyes taking on the old dangerous glitter. "She will soon become involved with the Amalgamated Orphans of Hongania."
"What is Hongania?"
"A very, very long way away, and that is all you need to know. Now, we have some telephoning to do."
*
The yoga class broke for lunch at one o'clock. The band lurched out, groaning and holding on to bits of themselves that were bruised, stretched, or twisted. The only person in reasonable shape was Enid, who had managed to have a refreshing doze in the back row. And, of course, Wave, who wore a large white smile slung under her madly glowing blue eyes.
Buddy and Lou were waiting outside, hands joined, smiling inscrutably.
"The noon grains are served," said Lou. "And we got the spring water."
"Wha?" said Eric, hobbling.
"Lunchtime," said Buddy, translating.
"Far out," said Eric, sniffing the air. "I'm, like, starving."
The kitchen table was laid for ten. Incense burned in holders down the middle. Wave sat at the head of the table, Eric at the foot, everyone else in between. It had been a hard morning and everyone was hungry.
There was silence, except for sneezing caused by the incense. Finally Eric said, "What's for lunch, then?"
Buddy pointed to a dish in the middle of the table. On the dish was a brownish mound, which steamed faintly. "That," he said.
"Grains," said Wave. "Beautiful."
"Oh," said Eric.
There was a stirring from the corner of the kitchen. Flatpick the budgie had just caught sight of the pile on the table. "Bleep," said Flatpick, deeply moved. "Get your cotton-picking hands off my lunch."
"Woooh," said Eric, contemplating his birdseed. "Is this it?"
"No, no!" cried Lou heartily. "There is spring water, too!" She picked up a wholesome earthenware jug from the sideboard and walked around the table.
Wave nodded. "It is very right that the young disciples should serve their olders."
"Whaddyamean, old?" said Kenyatta.
"And wisers," said Wave hastily.
"It would be wise not to eat this filf," said Fingers.
"Bleep!" cried Flatpick.
"Water, madam?" said Lou.
"Mmm!" said Wave, beaming.
When Lou poured, the water did not so much trickle out of the jug as fall out in a greenish lump. Wave was so busy beaming healthily down the table that she did not have a chance to look at her glass before she took a huge energy-giving sip. "Mmmargh," she said.
"You got grass on your teef," said Kenyatta.
"Duckweed," said Fingers Trubshaw.
"I wanna beer, dear," said Eric, getting right to the point for the first time in his life.
"Ha bleeping ha!" cried Flatpick.
"Put a cloth over that," said Eric.
"I poured all the beer down the drain," said Wave, munching a spoonful of birdseed one hundred times. "I can just feel the energy building."
"I can feel the hunger building," said Kenyatta. He flipped out a mobile phone and dialed a number. "Roger?" he said. "Of Roger's Champion Burgers? We want, what, ten, no make that nine of your Big Burgers. Pure beef only, low fat, Roquefort dressing, salad, sesame buns, extra ketchup. The roadie will be round in—"
Long hennaed fingers snatched the phone from his hand. "That order is cancelled!" cried Wave, and slammed it shut. "Honestly!"
"I am not a budgie," said Kenyatta sulkily.
"Nor me," said Fingers.
"Nor us," growled the roadies.
"Bleep!" cried Flatpick from under his cloth.
"Guys! Guys!" said Eric, sensing a slight disturbance in the vibe.
"It is a matter of getting used to a correct diet," said Wave, sipping water and discreetly spitting out pondweed. "I am going to wait by an ear of corn all afternoon, so you will have to do without me."
"Oh," said Kenyatta, looking very cheerful.
"Dearie, dearie me," said Trubshaw, grinning broadly.
"Great, darlin'," said Eric as the message finally got through. "Oops."
"Not at all," said Wave, spreading her hands and giving a Mother Goddess smile.
"I mean, we can do some music. Oops!"
"But you can, you can!" cried Wave. "Of a noninterruptive type that will love the air and massage the mosquitoes! Look what I have got for you!" She clapped her hands. Two junior roadies scuttled into the room, carrying a big packing case. "Open up," she cried.
They opened up. Everyone gathered around and looked inside. Jaws dropped and swung, creaking.
"Wha?" said Eric.
"Sitars," said Trubshaw.
"One sitar. One sarod. One set of tabla. Now you can play spiritual raga."
"Wait, guys," said Eric. "Let's—"
"We play metal music," said Kenyatta. "Feedback metal."
"On these," said Wave.
"Wooooh, darlin'," said Eric, agonized. "No can do!"
"Can too. Pick 'em up. Wrong way up, Fingers."
"Oh."
"A-one, two, three."
The kitchen filled with a noise like cats fighting in a grandfather clock. It collapsed in a loud rumble.
"Nice drumming," said Fingers.
"That was me stomach, man," said Kenyatta glumly.
Wave chucked her chin in the air, took a raffia basket from the wall, and left. Lou uncovered Flatpick, who began to swear horribly, but not as horribly as everyone else in the room.
Everyone except Eric.
"Oi," said Eric.
"She goes or we go," said Kenyatta and Fingers.
"Ahem," said Buddy, breaking off the conversation he was having with Lou and putting his wrists together, miming handcuffs.
"So put me in jail."
"True," said Kenyatta.
Eric was sitting up very straight. "No way," he said. "I am old-fashioned about these things. What my baby wants, my baby gets. I will brook no opposition. Got any more of that birdseed?"
Flatpick the budgie led the swearing again.
Lou noticed that nobody had yet left. "Ahem," she said. "I have got an idea."
"A good one," said Buddy.
Six furious faces and one huge kindly one, belonging to Enid, turned upon them.
"Yes, children?" said Enid.
"How do you feel about orphans?" said Lou.
It had been a tough afternoon and Wave was eager for her mu tea. She had waited by an ear of corn and caught five kernals, though she had had a bit of a quarrel with a bird over the last one, and the bird had won, so that left only four. She could not get rid of the idea that four kernals of corn were not going to go far between ten people. She tried meditating, but the facts remained the same. So she went to SELFRODS and tried shopping, and that worked better, so she bought quite a lot of clothes on account, and a five-pound bag of lentils from the Food Hall. Then she snapped at Thick Rick, who was driving the limo, to take her back to Dunravin.
She sank into the cushions and tried to feel confident. It was hard to get the energy flow going. She was actually a bit nervous about Death Eric and its metal energy. They made her feel small. She needed to make a big gesture, so she would be doing enough. A really big gesture that would make her bigger. Like running the tour. "Yes!" she cried, clapping her hands very quietly. That was it\ She would run the tour! And they would have to do what she said!
Reader, you will have noticed that this thought process is not unlike that of the Frog in "The Tale of the Frog and the Bus."
Wait for it.
As the limousine turned in at the gates of Dunravin, Wave was surprised to see a large banner stretched from gate pillar to gate pillar. On it was printed ADVANCE GUARD FOR THE AMALGAMATED ORPHANS OF HONGANIA RELIEF TOUR WELCOME AND BON VOYAGE WOMANWAVE THRASHMETTLE.
Oo, thought Wave. Womanwave. Really, really me!
The limo rounded the last corner. Wave was amazed to see dozens of people standing on the gravel. When they saw the limo, they started to cheer. Wave had no idea what was going on, but these people obviously loved her, so she went all warm and pink and began to feel much bigger again.
The limo stopped. Someone opened the door for her and she stepped gracefully out.
"Wave!" the crowd chanted. "O Wave, all mother and all-around excellent person, greetings and congratulations!"
Wave stood and put her hands together and did namastes left and right and tried to look as if she did not think she deserved all this. From the corner of her eye she noticed Buddy and Lou, out of their saris and once again dressed in their rather severe school uniform-type clothes.
"Little ones!" she cried, folding them in her bony arms and hoping someone was taking a picture.
"Good afternoon," they said politely.
"All this for me?" she said.
"It is no more than your due," said Lou.
"As you know," said Buddy. "In your wisdom, that is."
"Yes." Wave was not quite sure what was real and what was not. She was definitely feeling bigger, though. "And . . . er . . . Hongania."
"Poor Hongania," said Lou, shaking her head sadly.
"Particularly the orphans," said Buddy, shaking his head too.
"I have always felt a really positive energy about the Honganian orphans," said Wave. "But—"
"Hoorah!" cried Buddy and Lou.
"Hoorah!" cried the crowd of people.
Around the corner, there came a bus. It was a small bus, white. Along its side it said GRAND HONGANIAN BENEFIT TOUR ADVANCE PARTY.
"Wha—," said Wave.
"Ssh!" said Lou, digging her in the ribs with a heavily bony energy.
Wave noticed that a small fat man was standing in front of her. Under his arm was a black cocked hat with white ostrich feathers. The parts of his chest and stomach not smothered in gold braid were dotted with medals. "Madam!" he cried.
"Who are you?" said Wave.
"The Honganian Ambassador," hissed Buddy.
"Oo," said Wave, who despite her yogic ideas was a sucker for a uniform.
"Madam, on behalf of the people of Hongania, I thank you for your promised help," said the Ambassador.
"Help?" said Wave. "But—"
"It will be a journey of many veeks," said the Ambassador. "The roads are bad, the plumbing atrocious. But I know you are not givink a fig or monkeys for comfort. You vill hav a varm Honganian velcom and all the grains you can stuff down. Und the help of our monarch, King Vlad the Remorseless! Brave woman, farewell!"
"Off already, Ambassador?" said Wave, dazed.
"It's you," hissed Buddy, pushing her toward the white bus.
Wave would have pushed back, but a great cheer went up, and she felt a size bigger, and it would have shrunk her to struggle.
"Your task is to find suitable spots for benefit concerts in aid of orphans," he said. "With positive energy and stuff like that."
"Ooer," said Wave, on the step of the bus.
"The telephones in Hongania are not great and the Ambassador says something seems to be eating the postmen," said Lou. "So we have packed you some carrier pigeons."
"Off you go," said Buddy. "Thick Rick will be your driver. He has his orders. Good luck!"
Wave turned on the bus steps and thought of doing a runner into the house. But everyone cheered and yelled, "Speech!" and she felt absolutely huge. "Energy!" she said. "Positive! I shall cherish the orphans, and if you obey my orders exactly, they will become rich!"
"Hoorah!" cried the crowd, and it surged forward, knocking her up the steps and into the bus. Someone slammed the door. Thick Rick trod on the accelerator. The bus roared away in the direction of the Channel ports. As it rounded the corner, the cheering stopped.
"Thank you, everyone!" cried Enid. "Please place your costumes in the box. Careful with that hat, Ambassador."
"Sorry," said the Ambassador, taking off his coat and revealing under it a T-shirt that said AVIS RENTACROWD WE SHOUT LOUDER. "So where exactly is Hongania?"
"Dunno," said Enid. "Other side of Russia somewhere."
"Phew," said Lou and Buddy. "So now let us cook some steaks and get on with it. The first gig is the day after tomorrow."
And on with it they got.