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“Well . . . ,” began Prue.
“Is she going to make an announcement?” someone asked from farther down the stairwell.
“I think so!” shouted another.
“Excuse me,” said an older man who’d pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Are you going to say something about taxes?”
“Pfft!” said another, a rabbit. “The Bicycle Maiden’s got more on her mind than taxes. She’s here to start another revolution!” The rabbit then looked up at Prue. “Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not,” corrected Prue, though in truth, she really didn’t know what she was going to say, and the noise of the crowd made it difficult to compose her thoughts.
“Perhaps you could spare a word or two about water quality,” said someone who Prue couldn’t see. “Or public transportation.”
The crowd murmured approval. “It has gone a bit messy, the bus system,” someone conjectured.
“What about street repair? There’s a pothole on my street that’s the size of a bear’s fat belly,” said another.
“Hey!” shouted an offended bear.
“The firemen haven’t been paid since March, Maiden,” said someone else.
“The fire marshal had his head chopped off in April, so no surprise there.”
“Didn’t improve the service much.”
“The tariffs on poppy beer imports are outrageous!”
“The food in your tavern is outrageous, Citizen Fox, that’s what.”
“Shhhh! She’s about to speak.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“She just said something, listen carefully.”
“What did she say?”
“Are we to teach the writings of the Synod in schools, Maiden?”
“She’ll get to that, citizen. Haven’t seen you in the chapel lately.”
“I thought the revolution freed us of all that stuff.”
“Watch it, or the Spokes will free you of your head.”
At this point, Prue was completely paralyzed by the noise, and her hands moved instinctively to her head, cupping her temples in the way she’d seen her mother do when Mac had torn apart some precious craft project. She was also paralyzed by indecision. She felt like she was on the cusp of some major action, the consequence of which she still couldn’t quite see.
“Maiden?” came a voice at her heel. She looked down. It was a mouse, tugging gently at her pant leg. “Are you going to speak?”
“Yes,” whispered Prue.
She then realized what must be done: She needed to get away from these people. She pushed her way through the teeming mob, which had now surpassed the top of the stairs and was encircling her. Arriving at the balcony overlooking the crowded foyer—following the commotion, many more onlookers had crushed into the building—she raised her hands out in front of her, willing silence.
“QUIET!” she yelled. “PLEASE!”
The crowd, after some shushing between one another, did as she requested. Every eye in the room swiveled to f
all on her.
