The Chronicles of Ether Drive 16

  

Chapter 16: Net and Lemonade

Anemo walked slowly beside his editor toward the house. He was still barefoot, as his plush slippers were too muddy to be worn, so he carried them in one hand like a fresh catch from a day of hunting or fishing. He didn’t walk on the pavement but along its edge, through the grass, struggling to keep his soles clean; he tried to appear relaxed, breaking the awkward silence between him and Stone with an occasional "Ahem" or a "So..." tossed out aimlessly, just to give himself time to think, to remember whether or not he had actually sent the manuscript. He was so confused that he had begun to wonder if he had truly finished writing or if he had only dreamed it, but now there was nothing left to do but continue his journey alongside the man of "grounding," swinging the arm holding the slippers and launching an occasional small projectile of mud that Fleur, a few steps behind them, had to dodge. From time to time, a more stubborn fragment would land dangerously close to Archibald's polished shoes, making him flinch almost imperceptibly.

All this time, the furry ones from the House of Winds had their own plan:

"If you help me get to the mail slot in the door faster, I can find a solution from inside!" Aeolus whispered directly into Mistral’s ear.
"Me? Mon Dieu, but you’re supposed to be the climber, Aeolus! How else do you get onto the fireplace, the cupboard, and the highest places in the house?"
"You know very well I shouldn't be seen, Mistral! We must act as a team!"
"Do-do we have to do that 'loility' thing again?" Sirocco cut in, all eyes and ears to the seniors who guided him every day.

"It’s called loyalty, kiddo! It wouldn't hurt if you delayed those two just a little, just enough for Aeolus to get into the house. Are we clear?"

Mistral barely finished his thought before Sirocco ran back to Anemo and the editor, beginning to spin between their legs like a living ball of fur. Reaching the door, Mistral arched his back, rubbing against the wood, and in one, two, three tries, managed to hoist the little mouse high enough to slip inside through the mail slot.

"Did you land safely?" Mistral whispered through the metal opening.

"Yes!"

"What now? Are you going to open the laptop and send the material yourself?"

"You realize I can't do that on my own... if you were here, it would be different. I’ll turn off the internet! That’s not too hard; it’s enough to move a certain plastic 'gadget' a few millimeters..."

The grown-ups were already inside, followed by their tufted shadow. Anemo tucked the laptop he had picked up from the kitchen table under his arm and asked Archibald to follow him upstairs to his well-equipped office—the one we know he never used for writing. The heavy office door closed behind them, leaving Fleur and the furry ones completely in the dark.

"What do we do now?" Aeolus asked from under the sideboard in the living room. "If only the tufted one understood us... she would surely help us help Anemo!"

"I'll try something!" said the chat noir, rubbing his fur against the girl's legs and then darting like an arrow toward the "tricky" plug in the living room where the router was supposed to get its "energy."

Fleur understood exactly how things stood immediately, and with a mischievous smile, she headed for the kitchen.

"You furry guys are geniuses! I’m making a lemonade now and... from here on, the whole problem is as good as solved! I will go in to serve them, and you just have to push that plug back in, right, Mistral?"

In the heavy office upstairs, Archibald Peter Stone sat like an ice mountain on the mahogany chair. The silence was broken only by Anemo’s fingers drumming nervously on the desk and the "dead" sound of the laptop refusing to load any page.

"Mr. Gale," Archibald said in a sharp voice, "this 'writing fever' Miss Fleur mentioned seems to have consumed even the last drop of signal in this house."

Anemo, still barefoot and feeling the chill of the floor under his soles, stammered, looking for an excuse, when a light knock on the door saved the situation. Fleur entered, carrying a tray with glasses misty with cold dew.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve prepared a lemonade... for you to cool down a bit until the internet comes back. You know, the whole street has been complaining since this morning; the signal must have dropped overnight! Anemo was so caught up in his writing he probably didn't even notice it didn't send!"

Archibald took the glass, amazed by the little girl's confidence. In that second, under the cover of her voice, down in the living room, Mistral and Aeolus were making their move. Since Aeolus was too light, Mistral turned his back and, in a maneuver of rare absurdity, propped his bottom directly against the plastic plug. He dug his claws into the carpet and pushed with all his weight. Click.

Upstairs, the Wi-Fi icon suddenly turned green.

"Mais ce n'est pas possible !" Mistral muttered from the hallway, overhearing her. "Even I am starting to melt at this tufted girl's words..."

Anemo finally pressed "Send," saved by the alchemy of the lemonade and the strength of a Parisian cat's backside. Archibald stared at the screen, then at Anemo, with a bewilderment that cracked his icy mask.

"Did you write all this last night? Did you write this entire volume in just a few days, since you decided you were no longer interested in the 'Shadow Thief'?" Archibald asked, somewhat rhetorically. "Who exactly are you, Anemo?"

"Well, me, as you can see! Who else would have written it, my cats?" Anemo replied with a tired but bright smile. "Arci, you’ve known me for years, and yet... you don’t know me at all."

---