Chapter Eight: Reporting and Learning

“Report, first,” her mother said.

She followed her mother and bibi-daj to a small kitchen. There was an old stove with an iron teapot atop, cupboards beneath the counters, and a sink. The counters held tins of tea and sugar. Stella set her newspaper beside them and filled the teapot without a word from the others. Whilst it slowly heated on the stove, she turned to them.

“After you departed, I re-entered the warehouse.” She heard her bibi-daj’s sharp intake of breath and pushed on before she could be scolded. “I searched the office. There, I discovered account ledgers in a cypher I couldn’t understand, and the fire was dangerously close, so I left them.”

“Del me,” her bibi-daj muttered. “Stella, why did you not take the books out of the burning building?”

“Oh.” Stella froze. “Why ever did I not… it seems perfectly obvious now.”

“This is why you require supervision,” her mother said. “You are still learning. Continue.”

“I did find one piece of evidence, though I confess I do not yet grasp its meaning. The warehouse is receiving shipments of coal from Europe.” She produced the letter and her bibi-daj took it.

“Twelve, from Austria,” her bibi-daj muttered.

“It is not coal, then,” her mother said.

“I beg your pardon? What have I overlooked?” Stella asked.

“Twelve of the teenagers we rescued came from Austria,” her bibi-daj replied, handing the letter over to her mother.

“Then it is more of a clue than I had imagined,” Stella smiled. Behind her, the teapot began to whistle. As she turned to it, her bibi-daj reached up and smacked her shoulder.

“A clue to what, hmm? Some grand mystery you think is yours to solve? You did well, tikni stardi, now let it rest, yes?”

“I am not certain we can,” her mother said, defending Stella’s actions as she searched for teacups. “We may elect to pursue the matter no further; however, do keep in mind that we are not the only parties concerned. The proprietors of that warehouse will, of a surety, be seeking us out.”

“Oh, yes,” Stella said, as she pulled three cups out of a low cupboard. “I believe I may have encountered him last night. The owner, I mean. Well, we were not formally introduced, of course, but I may have encountered his motorcar.”

“Of course you did.”

“Do try not to proceed out of sequence, Stella,” her mother admonished her gently.

“Of course, mama,” Stella agreed, as she strained three cups of tea. “After searching the warehouse, I removed the fellows I had subdued to a canal boat behind it. I then called Detective Inspector Donald to the scene. It took the poor man a full twelve minutes to arrive, what with his cane and injuries and all. I delivered to him the criminals with the charge sheets and then remained undetected in the vicinity as he arrested them. His superior was not pleased by the situation, but I will keep a watch over this to ensure it does not become untenable.” She smiled softly as she said that. The newspaper had quoted the Portuguese president as saying they had pulled the diplomats out after the situation in Spain became untenable. She’d already worked it into a sentence. That was almost worthy of peaches. “After the fire brigade, police, criminals, reporters, and a considerable crowd of onlookers left the scene, the one who may have been the owner arrived. I followed him when he left, but alas he was in a motorcar and I was not, so he got away.”

“Not your fault,” her bibi-daj said gently, accepting the tea that Stella offered her.

“The two who had no outstanding warrants?” her mother asked, then sipped at the tea she had just been given.

“After I fetched them from a large cupboard in the canal boat when everyone else had gone, I left them unconscious, bound, blindfolded and gagged. They should be able to free themselves eventually.”

“Where did you leave them?”

“Behind some crates in the back of a railway goods wagon. It should reach Edinburgh in around four hours’ time.”

Her bibi-daj choked on her tea.

“Very good, Stella,” her mother praised her. “There are areas that we shall aspire to improve upon, but you have done well. This was the first time you have encountered an experience out of what is ordinary for you, whilst on a mission, and you have behaved more than adequately. You kept your mind in a difficult situation and requested support when required.”

“I’ve been well trained, mama,” Stella demurred, then held her tea up to her mouth to hide her grin.

“We can further evaluate your performance when there are less pressing matters,” her mother said, after another sip. “Do note that I am happy with your progress. Now, let us discuss the ones you rescued; unless we miscounted last night, one slipped away on their way to the church. But that is no matter, we cannot force them to accept our aid. As to the ones who remain, their stories are most tragic.”

“They come from all over Europe,” her bibi-daj added. “Language has been an issue.”

Stella frowned at that. She knew her mother was fluent in Latin, Japanese, Russian, French, and Spanish, as well as being a native English speaker. Farnika knew Prussian, French, and English, and apparently had two native languages, Hungarian and Kalderash Romani. This left large areas of Europe unaccounted for.

Twelve of the teenagers were Austrian? Austria had been part of the Holy Spanish Empire for centuries, so those would all speak Spanish. Any Greeks should speak English, surely; it was practically a British protectorate, even if they still had Constantine as king. The British invasion of Italy, another part of the empire, had launched from Greece. The only language Stella knew that neither of them were fluent in was Arabic, but she wasn’t sure if it was a language any of the teenagers spoke.

She’d also forgotten to mention the Voice.

The current situation was too important. She could tell them about the Voice after she’d helped with the Europeans.

“Language is hardly the sole concern,” her mother said. “At present, they remain quite overwhelmed. We have seen to their washing, ensured they have eaten, and provided sufficient comfort for them to rest. In time, as their wits return, they will look about them and fully comprehend who stands beside them.”

Stella frowned. “Who stands beside them?” she asked.

“Each other. They come from every corner of Europe, Stella.”

“Oh my! How many have been knifed?” The Second Aetherium War had officially ended two years ago with the dissolution of the Holy Spanish Empire, and unofficially ended in 1918, when King Alfonso XIII had surrendered, but the British and French forces had only left Spain at the beginning of this year. The Holy Spanish Empire had begun the First Aetherium War eighteen years ago, with the Bohemian Crisis, then spent most of the next two decades battling Prussia and its allies. The fighting had ended up worldwide. With the dissolution of the Holy Spanish Empire, Austria, Italy and Switzerland were trying to learn how to be self-governing countries again. The briefly occupied France was celebrating its freedom, as was Portugal.

The victorious Prussia was bankrupt and had fallen to revolution, becoming the Weimar Republic. Britain had forced Weimar to give land back to Poland, its “ally,” that it had seised “for the war effort.” The deposed Kaiser Wilhelm II had taken refuge in the East Prussian enclave, which refused to be part of the new republic, and the republic was not taking this well. Greece was basically a British protectorate, and British forces held Italy, too. Most of Eastern Europe was in flux, with newly formed countries, regime changes, and the aftereffects of the war they had been forced to join. Only Finland, Sweden, and Norway had really managed to remain neutral.

Almost every single rescued teenager would have known someone who died in that war, or because of it. No one had come out of it unscathed. Stella’s own father had died because of the wars, because of the Spaniards, because of the parents of some of the children in this room.

“We fed them with spoons only,” her bibi-daj said.

“We did not,” her mother replied, and Stella realised her bibi-daj had been joking. She did that sometimes, even though her jokes were so bad neither Selene nor Stella even noticed them, unless her bibi-daj explained. “It has not occasioned any real concern, as yet. However, this is merely a momentary respite. We must devise some plan for their future, one that prevents discord from erupting amongst them. That is precisely what we have been endeavouring to accomplish today.”

The children were not their parents. They were too young to have had anything to do with her father’s death; he had died when Stella was three. They were victims, and she would save all victims, everywhere. Even ones she wasn’t entirely happy about saving. “Whatever is there to arrange?” Stella asked. “How best to see them safely home?” She sat her empty teacup on the counter beside her mother’s. Her bibi-daj was still sipping her own tea.

“If we are to send them home, Stella, and whatever is to be done should we decide otherwise.”

“We send them home,” her bibi-daj added, “they just get kidnapped again.”

“If they stay, they shall surely do one another proper,” Stella countered, her speech slipping slightly down from her usual upper middle-class register as she got caught in the passion of the moment. Ugh, she sounded just like Speaky, the warehouse gangster. She didn’t want gangsters rubbing off on her, she’d catch a disease. Terminal stupidity, or something.

“Yes,” her bibi-daj agreed. “This is why your codename’s Tee, you always bring us such trouble, tikni stardi.”

“That is not my codename. Your codename should be Honey.”

“Aww, tikni stardi, you think I’m sweet?”

“What? No! I meant the ants!”

“There’s one further matter,” her mother said, as if she hadn’t even noticed that they were devolving into the kitchen-ant-blame argument again. Stella straightened up, coming to attention. Her mother was always so focused, so mission-oriented; Stella could be distracted by any errant thought, which happened every four seconds or so, some days. “Rosalia, who is one of the youngest, can create a small sphere of water, no larger than a clenched hand, and control it for a few minutes. You witnessed Javier’s efforts last night, when he assisted the others with their washing; he all but conjured a veritable river and held it in command for the better part of a quarter‑hour. And his cousin, Diego, ignited his entire person on flame.”

“Some of them are very powerful.”

“Sek tos! You think it’s just that they’re stronger, then?”

“Stop making up swear words, miri phabaj,” her bibi-daj grumbled.

“Teach me real ones then! And stop calling me an apple. There’s nothing apple like about me.”

“No.” That was efficient, Stella knew. Her bibi-daj was refusing both points at the same time.

“We fear that whoever seised them may have interfered with some amongst their number,” her mother said, ignoring the squabbling. “However, this is conjecture, not fact. There may just be individual differences. The fact that two are cousins suggest a lineage component, but again, merely conjecture.”

“That’s not good,” Stella said, which she knew was a pointless thing to say as soon as she had uttered it. Her mind was on the teenagers with more power, though. Were they simply a higher level? Had their abductors known about the levels, and been able to force it? It was the perfect segue into telling her mother and her bibi-daj about the Voice she heard.

“It is not,” her mother said, stealing the moment, “but you are at least forewarned. Come now; we shall present you to a few of them.”

“Later, we shall discuss you entering burning buildings, tikni stardi.”

That was not good. Her bibi-daj was heading for aetherium overload. Stella had already made her tea and everything. She bit her lip and glanced at her mother.

“It was perhaps not the most desirable path forwards,” her mother said, “but it netted a good result.”

Yes! Mother to the defence. Winning made everything aright, and the coal letter was winning in a way she hadn’t expected. Relief. Escape. Everything was resolved, the tea had worked, the plan was perfect.

“Which is exactly why Stella and I shall discuss it later, when you are busy with something else, miri jili.”

Nooooo, the sudden reversal. Her bibi-daj was not giving up. She must have been really annoyed, actually. That wasn’t good, Stella didn’t want to annoy her bibi-daj. Maybe she could… conciliation, gift, dissension, and force? Force would just result in her bibi-daj disciplining her. It wasn’t an option. They were already conciled, they couldn’t dissent as they all had only each other, and the thought made Stella feel sick anyway. That meant, if her mother didn’t stop this, a gift was the only option.

“Very well, if you must.”

Oh no, abandoned, betrayed, by her own mother, so an angry Romani woman could lecture her about risk-taking, as if she hadn’t brought a bow and arrows to a gunfight. No, that was bad reasoning, Stella had had no weapons at all, and her bibi-daj had arrived after the guards went down.

A gift was her only hope of survival now.

She’d read a book about the language of flowers once. She had been hoping it was a language she could learn to speak, but it was even better than that: it was a secret code of hidden meanings in floral arrangements. It was a window into the world of florist-spies, and she had mastered it.

Now, what flower combination said: I’m sorry I went into a burning building but I had to and it worked out and was useful and I’ll do it again if I have to? Purple hyacinths for the apology, of course, and then…

Previous Chapter: Chapter Seven

Next Chapter: Chapter Nine

Author’s Note

Hello.

Today’s craft chat on the queerguide is about writing dialogue. It, uhh, might be slightly dense. No pressure to read it, please feel to just continue reading the story instead.

The craft chats are mainly for me anyway.

Also for other writers who want to read them.

Leave a comment if you’ve not been tied up and shipped off to Edinburgh. If you don’t comment we might need to do a wellness check.