I sank deeper into the cushions of Rikky’s couch, staring up at the slow rotation of the car-door fan blades. Pan was down at the Inhemsk Project local office, which was basically a janitor’s closet with some file cabinets and a perpetually irritated clerk, if both Rikkys and Pan’s claims were to be believed. There wasn’t really enough room for two, so he went there alone to try to find out more about Áibmoráigi and Orra Fågel, and Rikky had gone to her part-time job as a nursing assistant at the Omte clinic.
My meeting with Bodil ended way before Rikky had gotten done with work. When she had dropped me off, she said she’d be back around eleven to get me. Waiting at the palace was far easier and safer than me attempting to navigate the wild swamp on my own, so that’s what I did.
I had assumed that the Omte palace would have a library or a museum. The Trylle palace even had a small gift shop that sold gilded stationery, jewelry with their vine insignia, and various other emerald trinkets. But there was nothing at the Omte palace. The Queen directed me to wait in the front hall.
I passed the time by counting the snails crawling on the palace walls. Before visiting here, I never would’ve guessed that this was something I would be doing, and I never would’ve fathomed that if I did, I’d make it into the upper double digits. To their credit, though, the snails were truly spectacular. They were semitransparent and shimmery, with vibrant swirls of purple, blue, and red wrapping around their shells.
The only thing that drew my attention from my newfound hobby of snail-watching was a strange sound coming from deeper inside the palace. It was like muffled shouting … or maybe yodeling? I was alone—the guard had gone to his post, and the Queen had gone off to wherever she goes—so I walked down the hall, past the narrow corridor that led to the Queen’s sitting room, until the hall ended in a set of dark wooden doors.
Despite the heft of the doors, they pushed open rather easily. The brass doorknobs were dull, worn down, and apparently no longer lockable. I peered into the empty ballroom to see the nine-year-old Crown Prince Furston running around, wearing nothing but a burnt-orange cap and a pair of boxer briefs.
Or at least I assumed it was the Crown Prince, because I didn’t know what other little boy would be running around the palace half nude.
He had his back to me, his long unkempt curls flying behind him as he brandished a large stick, carrying it around like a trident. Flying above him and keeping pace was a huge bearded vulture with rusty white and black feathers, but I couldn’t tell if the bird was chasing the boy or escaping from him.
Furston’s cracking tenor made it difficult to understand the words he was singing, but I think it was some type of nursery rhyme. It was catchy and cheery, but something about the way he sang it, with his vulnerable vibrato, made it strangely haunting.
Sing, sing the heroes,
The worm is full of flowers,
Hush hush the morning light
Down falls the darkest night
And now the end is ours
“Miss,” the guard’s voice boomed behind me, and I jumped a little before quickly turning to face him. “I believe your ride is here.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t snooping,” I apologized hurriedly. “I heard a noise—”
“Miss, I don’t really care one way or another,” he interrupted me. “I’m only here to escort you.”
“Right. Thank you,” I mumbled and followed him back to the main hall.
He paused near the front door to pluck a snail off the wall and plop it into his mouth with a loud crunch. After that, he ushered me out and onto Rikky’s airboat. As the boat took off, I leaned back into the seat, relishing the way the wind felt after the dank, stale air of the palace.
The ride back to her house went surprisingly fast. Once we got there, Rikky went about tending to her animals. I offered to help, but she told me to relax and poured me a glass of cold water.
“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” I asked her again. I was lounging on the couch, under the slowly spinning metal blades, and she’d come back in to feed Wade the squirrel.
“Nah, I got it covered.” She opened the door to the cage, and the gray fur ball scampered up her arm and perched on her shoulders. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”
“Are you talking to me or the squirrel?” I asked.
Rikky laughed, tossing back her head as she did, and Wade nibbled on her chandelier earrings. “You, Ulla.”
“No, it wasn’t a long day. Just…” I trailed off, not knowing how to say how I felt without coming off as ungrateful about meeting with the Queen.
“But you didn’t find out what you hoped to find out,” Rikky supplied for me.
“The Queen didn’t have very much information to share with me,” I answered diplomatically.
“What were you hoping she’d be able to give you?” Rikky worked as she talked, refilling food and water and tossing soiled shavings into a compost bag.
“I mean, I had hoped to get all the answers to all my questions,” I said with a dry laugh. “I thought she’d at least point me in the direction of something. Yeah, I didn’t really think I’d stroll up and she’d introduce me to my parents when I got there, but I did think she would have something more substantial than … nothing.”
Rikky went over to the sink, speaking louder to be heard over the sound of her washing her hands. “Did she give a reason why she couldn’t let you know anything?”
“Basically that there’s nobody left alive to tell me anything,” I said. “Not about Orra, not about Áibmoráigi, not about anything I asked about.”
“That’s not true.” Rikky put one hand on her hip and looked down at me.
“Yeah, I figured that, but that’s what she told me.”
“No, I mean, there’s a guy that hangs out at this bar, the Ugly Vulture. He’s not there a lot, maybe once a month, max, probably less than that. But he’s always talking up the ladies. I’m not gonna lie—I let him buy me a drink a couple times.” She pressed her lips into a thin smile, then rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t really my type—too old, and sort of intense. But he offered, and a free drink’s a free drink.
“Anyway,” she went on with a self-deprecating laugh, “he’s not shy at all but never shared anything about himself. So, one night, he’s talking me up, and I egged him on, ordering him enough shots to loosen his lips. He ends up telling me that he’s an Älvolk and he’s from the First City.
“I thought then—and I still think now—that he was full of crap and trying to impress me so he could get laid,” Rikky said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner. But he never says anything about it when he’s sober, so I think maybe there’s a kernel of truth buried there. And if the Queen is giving you the runaround, he’s probably better than nothing.”
I sat up straighter on the couch. “Do you think he’d talk to me?”
“I think he’ll talk to any attractive female, and you’re plenty attractive.”
My cheeks burned at the subtle compliment. “Thanks. I think.”
“Oh, whatever.” Rikky had her back to me as she filled a mason jar with raspberry lemonade from the icebox—then topped it off with a splash of vodka from the bottle she stashed on a shelf. “You’re young with great skin, unique eyes, and a nice pair of boobs. That’s hot enough for most folks out there.”
“I don’t know about that.” I tried to skirt around the topic as much as I could. “Do you think this guy would be at the bar tonight?”
“What’s today?” She took a sip of her drink and peered over at the Moomin calendar tacked up on her wall. “Tuesday? Oh, nope. Not today. The Ugly Vulture is always closed on Tuesdays. That’s when they have gator wrestling.”
“When would be a good time to go?” I asked.
“Any other night is as good as the next,” Rikky said with a shrug. “But if you really wanna find out more about him, you should talk to that Vallin girl.”
“Bekk Vallin from the Postkontor?” I asked, and I realized that this was the second time today she’d come up in conversation.
“That’s her.” Rikky nodded. “I don’t know her, but Fulaträsk isn’t that big a place, so I know of her, and everybody talks. Around six, seven months ago I heard around town that she was socializing with him, but the rumors fizzled out almost as fast as they started—until a few months later when her big old baby bump shows up.”
“You think that guy is having a baby with Bekk?”
“Maybe. It’s rumors on top of rumors, so it all should be taken with a grain of salt,” Rikky clarified.
“I planned on heading to the Postkontor tomorrow. I’ll ask about him, see what she says,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Indu.” She paused, thinking. “Indu Mattison.”