Transcription
Hi, I am excited to be reading with you this fall. Um, the sequel to the book *The House in the Cerulean Sea*. It's called *Somewhere Beyond the Sea* and it's by TJ Klune. I'm going to break this up into 12 segments. And rather than go by chapter, I'm going to just go by page count to make the recordings more even. All right, let's begin.
Stepping off the ferry and onto the island for the first time in decades, Arthur Parnassus thought he'd burst into flames right then and there. He did not, but it was a close thing. The fire burning within him felt brighter than it had in years. He itched to break out of his skin and spread his wings, to take to the sky and feel the familiar salt-tinged wind in his feathers. But he knew if he did, chances were he'd fly away and leave this place behind forever. And that wouldn't do. He'd come back for a reason.
The owner of the ferry, an orary fellow with a pockmarked face, stained overalls, and the charming name of Merl, called down to him from the railing 10 ft overhead. "You better be sure about this. Once I leave, you're stuck here. I don't come out here after dark."
Arthur didn't look at the ferry operator, transfixed by the dirt road stretching out before him, winding its way into a wood with a canopy so thick the light from the midday sun barely reached the moss and leaves covering the forest floor. The sound of the sea lapping at the white sandy shores filled his ears, a reminder of his youth, the good, the bad, everything. "Thank you, Merl. Your assistance has proven invaluable." He glanced back at the ferry. "I think I'll be just fine. Should I need to return to the mainland, I'll summon you."
"How?"
"No. No phones connected on the island, no electricity, no water."
"That will change. Utilities have been scheduled to come out tomorrow morning at 10 on the dot. You'll bring them over, won't you?"
He scowled, but Arthur saw the greedy flash in his eyes. "They and gone."
"Rates will fluctuate," Merl said with a haughty sniff. "Petrol isn't cheap, and running one person back and forth will..."
"Of course," Arthur said. "You deserve to be appropriately compensated for your time."
Merl blinked. "Yes, well, I suppose I do." He looked down at the two suitcases sitting on either side of Arthur, one old, the other new. "Why'd you come here?"
Barely a cloud in the sky. The blue above matched the blue below. The tail end of summer, warm, but then he was always warm. The salt in the air tickled his nose, and he breathed it in until it filled his lungs.
"Why not?"
"This is a terrible place," Merl said with a shiver. "Haunted, or so I've heard. No one lives here. Hasn't for a long time," he spat over the side railing. "And when they did, we weren't supposed to talk about it. Hush, hush."
"You know I know," Arthur murmured. Then, raising his voice, he said, "Merl, you wouldn't happen to know a man named Melvin, would you?"
"What? How did you?"
"He was my father."
"I thought as much," Arthur said. Oroborous, a snake eating its own tail in an infinite cycle. Maybe this was a mistake.
The village they'd come from across the sea looked the same from this vantage as it had years before. Buildings in pastels of pink and yellow and green. People in summerwear without a care in the world, safe because why wouldn't they be? They were humans. The world was built for them.
The ferry was the same, though a few upgrades had been made over the years. A fresh coat of paint, new seats to replace the cracked and split ones. Even Merl did not bring a sense of dissonance, looking so much like Melvin, mouth turned down, eyes flat. It was the same. All of it was the same, except for Arthur.
"I knew him once."
"You, too," he almost added, remembering the glowering teenager who sculpted around the ferry with a mop.
Merl grunted. "Dead now, 10 years. I'm sorry for your loss."
Merl waved him off. "How did you know him?"
Arthur smiled. "I'll be in touch."
With that, he picked up both suitcases, squared his shoulders. He was here. Finally, at last, it was time to see what he could see, and hope this endeavor would not be in vain. "Your kindness will be remembered. I'm off. Cheers, my good man."
The dirt road wound its way through the thickening wood, the sun casting shadows that flickered with a breeze. He wasn't sweating, not yet. But the road proved longer than he remembered. Such as the folly of youth, he thought to himself. Boundless energy, where a mile could have been six or seven for all it mattered. Nearing 40, Arthur was in mostly good shape, but the days he could run endlessly were long gone.
He rounded a corner and stopped. Trees blocked the way, five in total. They'd grown across the road, trunks so close together it would be impossible to slip through. They reached toward the sky, towering over him, looking far older than they should have, a hundred years, if not more. But they couldn't be. The last time he'd walked down this road, they hadn't been here. Not even tiny saplings, which meant it was something else. Rather, it was someone else. Not the trees themselves, of course. No, he was being watched.
He set down his suitcases and approached the tree in the middle. The bark was cracked, tough against his skin as he pressed his hand against it. "Are you there?" he asked. "You must be. These are your doing, I expect." The only answer came in the form of bird song.
"You know me," Arthur continued. "Or who I used to be," he laughed, though there was no humor in it. "I've returned to this place in hopes of making it more than it was." Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the trunk. "And I'll do it alone if I have to, but not without your permission."
He opened his eyes when the trunk began to vibrate. Moving back slowly, Arthur watched as the trees on the path trembled with a low rumble. Roots bursting up through the earth like tentacles. They slithered around the along the ground, wrapping around trees off the road. Wood groaned as the roots tightened, pulling the trees aside to make an opening. Only the middle tree remained. It shivered, limbs rattling, leaves shaking. He didn't flinch when a thin branch caressed his cheek, a green leaf tickling the side of his nose. In it he heard a whisper. "The boy, the boy with the fire has come home."
"Yes," he whispered back. "I have returned."
The tree twisted, the dirt rope cracking and breaking apart. The tree roots rose up through the ground, and he grinned when they acted as feet, walking the tree off to the side of the road. Once it found a place to settle, the roots sank back beneath the ground once more. Ahead, dirt rose in the divots left behind, filling them in. A moment later, the road ahead was as smooth as the road behind.
"Thank you," Arthur said with a little bow. "If and when you're ready, I'll be here."
Picking up his luggage, he moved on.
The moment he stepped out of the wood and saw the house for the first time in 28 years, was unremarkable. Set back over a jagged cliff, it loomed above him, backlit by the sun. An empty cement fountain sat out front. The basin streaked with green and black mold. The brickwork appeared to have fallen into disrepair, cracked and broken, pieces half-buried in the grass around the house. Shattered windows and white frames were surrounded by crawling ivy half covering the front. The turret, a tower that rose 20 ft from the top of the house, looked as if it would fall over at the slightest nudge.
Next to the house was an overgrown garden with flowers in golds and reds and pinks overtaking the gazebo where at the age of nine a boy with fire in his blood had carved his initials into the brick to prove he existed. A.F.P. Arthur Franklin Parnassus.
Set away from the house was a second building, one he'd never seen before. It hadn't been here when he'd left as a child, crying out against the bright sunlight after having been trapped in darkness darkness for so long. A strong arm wrapped around him, guiding him up the stairs and out to a waiting vehicle. This other building was small, made of similar brick as the house he dreamed about time and time again. He knew the so-called orphanage had changed owners a time or two over the years, but as far as he could tell, no one had lived here for quite a while. The guest house, for that was what it seemed to be, would do for now. The windows were intact, and the roof looked to be in better shape than the main house, where some of the shingles had been blown off by storms past.
He had left his luggage near the front porch steps, moving as if in a dream. The path through the garden was difficult to navigate, the plants and shrubbery thick, encroaching. He passed by the gazebo, pushing his way through the wild garden. The path wrapped around the side of the house to the back, and there affixed to the base of the house, stood a pair of double wooden doors that led underground, streaks of scorched black upon them. The doors were sealed with a rusted padlock. He had the key. He had all the keys.
He didn't go inside. He knew what was down there. Tick marks scratched into the wall. Blackened stone from when he'd burned. Perpetual darkness. Aside from this, his fire. A ghost then rose behind him, wrapping an arm around his throat, holding him captive. Captive. "You earned this," it snarled in his ear. "You You'll learn your place. Mark my words, boy. Say it. What are you?"
"An abomination," Arthur said dully as the arm faded away. He stared at the wooden cellar doors as the sun drifted across the sky. He couldn't do this. He didn't know why. He thought he could. Too much. It was all too much.
Arthur fisted his hair as he walked back around to the front of the house. His luggage was where he left it. He bent over, hands brushing against the handles of his suitcases. "Arthur," a voice said. Loud, clear, as if someone stood on the porch right in front of him. He lifted his head. He was alone. Except that wasn't quite true, because he saw something he'd missed upon his arrival. A tiny yellow flower growing through the warped wood of the first porch step, barely the size of his thumbnail. The flower had persisted, pushing through the wood until it reached sunlight.
He walked toward it slowly. Reaching the porch, he crouched down in front of the flower, touching the yellow petals gently, sunwarm against his fingertips. Rebirth, perseverance, color, life, everything important in the smallest packages. He smiled and for the first time in a long time felt something write itself in his chest. "Well," he said, "if you can do it, I suppose I can, too."
Summer drifted toward autumn, the leaves changing, the air not quite as warm. Arthur stood on the porch, sanding down the railings so he could repaint them. He was thinking white to match the window sills he'd already redone. Merl had proven to be an asset of sorts, one who grumbled about all the materials Arthur brought to the island on a weekly basis. To be fair, his grumblings subsided upon receipt of payment. He'd even half-heartedly helped load supplies into the back of a maroon van that Arthur had purchased weeks before. Arthur had almost finished sanding the last railing, and it was time to check the grout between the kitchen tiles to make sure it was drying correctly.
He was about to step back into the house when something fluttered at the back of his mind, the gentle touch of butterfly wings against his skin. He looked at the road. A woman stood there wearing a long flowing white dress, her feet bare. Her head was cocked, her white afro like a cloud. In her hair, pink and white flowers opening and closing in the afternoon sunlight. Her skin was a lovely shade of deep brown. She looked ageless, her youthful face at odds with her dark eyes, ancient and unsure. Her wings, four appendages growing from her back, each longer than Arthur's arms, fluttered slightly translucent, the sunlight shining through them and sending a cascade of colors onto the ground. She bared her bare arms rested at her sides, her delicate fingers shaking slightly.
Arthur walked down the steps slowly. When he reached the bottom, he stopped, more nervous than he expected to be. He wasn't sure what to say, where to begin. She glanced over his shoulder to the house before looking back at him. "You're here." She sounded like he remembered, soft, melodic, with a tinge of sadness.
"I am," Arthur said.
"Why?"
"Because it's the right thing to do," he said simply.
She nodded as if that were the answer she thought he'd give. She took a step toward him and beneath her feet, grass sprouted through the dirt. Behind her, he could see similar grassy footsteps showing her path up the road. "This house," she said, "this place, it should have burned."
"Yes. And yet here you are." He smiled quietly. "Here I am. And here you are together again."
She shook her head. "How can you stand to be here? How can you even think of?" She sighed, her wings drooping. "I thought about destroying it after after you left. I thought about coming here and opening the earth to swallow the house whole." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"But you didn't."
"No," she said. "I didn't. She looked away off into the trees. And now I wonder why. Why I didn't do it? Why I waited? Why I even came here today?"
"I can't answer that for you," Arthur said. "All I can do is tell you that things will be different this time around. I will give the children I will give the children what I never had. A place to be whoever they want to be, no matter what they can do or where they came from."
"You can't do this alone."
"I can," he said, "and I will if I have to."
"No," she said. "You won't." She marched by him without so much as a glance in his direction, snatching the sandpaper from his hand, muttering under her breath. She climbed the steps and frowned down at the railing. She nodded and then began to sand down where Arthur had left off.
"Your dress," he said. "Do you want to?"
She paused. "It's fine. It's just a dress."
He watched her for a while, a long while, feet refusing to move. When she eventually looked up at him, he said, "Hello, Zoe."
Zoe Chapelwhite said, "Hello, Arthur." Her bottom lip trembled. "I'm..." Then, in a breathy rush, "I'm sorry for..."
He held up his hand. "I don't need that from you. I never have. But I did nothing to stop..."
Zoe. "He said, 'You aren't to blame. You never were. You ran the risk of outing yourself. If they discovered you, they'd have come for you, too.'"
"Well, never know," she said, eyes on the railing.
"Perhaps," Arthur said, "but you're here regardless. What does that say about you?"
"Something good, I expect." Eyes wet, she said, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore."
"Emma Lazarus," Arthur said, pleased. "Yes, Zoe. We will take them all in."
"You mean that?" she whispered.
"I do," he said. "I could use all the help I can get, but if this is something you can't do, I understand. I will continue on as I have been. Might take a little longer, but I'll get there."
She did not leave. It took them the better part of a year to bring the house back up to code. If all went as he hoped, there would be inspections of every little detail, and he knew if even one thing was amiss, he'd be held—it would be held against him.
One day, Zoe told him to stop. "What?" he asked, looking up from the last bit of paint he was putting on the wall in the kitchen. It wasn't exactly needed, but he'd noticed the paint had dried with tiny bubbles in one section. Small, but about 2 in wide and 4 in tall, and that wouldn't do. It had to be perfect.
"Come with me," Zoe said.
He shook his head. "I can't. We're busier than ever. We have a mulch delivery tomorrow. And don't even get me started on the gazebo. I found a loose nail in one of the floorboards, and that means I need to go through and check every single nail in the entire house to make sure..."
"Arr, the work is finished," Zoe said. "It's been finished for close to a month. You know it, I know it." She stared at him for a long moment, then, "Go to your office. You know what needs to be done."
She turned to leave, but stopped in the entryway to the kitchen. Without looking back, she said, "The island used to be bigger. Did you know that?"
She left him standing in the kitchen, staring after her. He did as he was told and found a typewriter sitting on top of an old desk. A blank piece of paper had already been fed into the typewriter with more sitting on the desk next to it. The top page had spiky writing on it. Zoe had left him a note. "It's time to bring them home, Z."
He laughed. He cried. "I'm frightened," he whispered. "More than I've ever been in my life."
He began to type. He did not stop until he finished.
To whom it may concern at the department in charge of magical youth, my name is Arthur Parnassus. I write to you with a proposal. I have assumed ownership of a particular house on Marcus Island. For the last year, I, along with some associates, have renovated the property to make it not only livable, but suitable to serve once again as a home for orphaned magical children. Enclosed you will find photographs documenting the work.
He did then what the 10-year-old version of himself could not. He mailed a letter. As he dropped it in the public mailbox in the village, he caught sight of something he'd never noticed before, and his blood ran cold. There, hanging in the window of the post office, a poster of a family. A boy and a girl, both towheads with bright smiles. On either side of them, figures who appeared to be their parents holding their hands as they walked through a sun-drenched field of wild flowers. Below them in stark block lettering, words that Arthur read over and over again in disbelief. Protecting your family begins with you. See something? Say something. And below that, sponsored by the department in charge of magical youth and magical adults.
He turned and hurried back to the ferry.
A month passed, then two, then three, and four, and five. He did not despair. He knew it was only a matter of time before they got a response. Then on a cool autumn day, the doorbell chimed. A man stood on the porch, suitcase in one hand, the other holding a briefcase. He was younger than Arthur expected, 30 or thereabouts, and handsome, too. His wavy dark hair slightly must from the trip over on the ferry. His black suit was tailored to his thin frame, his tie a furious shade of red, his dress shoes coated in dust from the greeting from the road. He said, "Greetings. I'm looking for a Mr. Arthur Parnassus."
Arthur held out his hands. A minor test. "You found him."
The old uh... The man only hesitated briefly before shaking the Crawford hand. His grip was solid, skin warm. When they let go, he smiled. "Ah, how wonderful. I come as a representative on behalf of extremely upper management for the department in charge of magical youth. My name is Charles Wernern. I'm here to discuss your proposal. And we have a proposal of our own. It's a bit unorthodox, but I think it's something you'll be interested in." Bait on a hook. Arthur knew that, and yet he did the only thing he could. He stepped aside and invited Charles Werner in.
Later, Arthur Parnassus stood on the dock as the ferry approached. On board, a child, the first, but not the last. The sun lowered toward the sea, turning the waves into small rushing mountains of fire. Next to him, Zoe asked, "Are you afraid?"
"Ah," he said, "I suppose I am of many things. But this, no, never this. I have no reason to be afraid." And in his head, a seductive whisper, "They are the ones who should be afraid." He banished the voice to the depths of his mind. And as the ferry grew closer, Arthur Parnassus began to sing quietly under his breath.
"Somewhere beyond the sea. Somewhere waiting for me. Somewhere beyond the sea."
Chapter 1.
Years later, on a warm morning in June, Arthur Parnassus opened his eyes and frowned. The sun filtering in through this window was too bright. His sleep-addled mind put forth drowsy, terrifying thoughts that a certain son of the devil might have something to do with it. Last week, he threatened to crash the sun into uh Earth after he'd gotten in trouble for attempting to give life to a mudman he'd made after a fierce storm. Arthur had discovered him covered head to toe in filth, the mudman half-formed. When Arthur reminded him that it would not do to give sentience to mud, the boy had promised vengeance in the form of a planetary annihilation as per his usual. So when Arthur shot up in his bed, he was sure he couldn't be blamed. It wasn't as if he thought Lucy could would really merge the sun and Earth. But then he'd really seemed fixated on the mud man who was now nothing more than a mud puddle. When he glanced at the alarm clock sitting next to the bed, Arthur realized it wasn't the sun bringing the end times. No, it was something far, far worse. It was 8:32 in the morning on a Saturday, and the house was silent.
When one had six children of varying shapes, sizes, and magical abilities, one knew that having a lion was nothing more than a fanciful dream. Children, especially these children, didn't seem to understand the concept of time. Why, just the day before, an amorphous green blob had entered their bedroom at 5 in the morning, his squishy voice loud with glee, shouting that he'd accidentally squirted ink from his nose, something that he didn't know he could do. "I didn't shove a pen up there or anything. Why am I inking all over the place? Oh my goodness, do you think I'm becoming a man? And also, how do you get ink off the ceiling?" This, of course, had led to a discussion in which the ink was decided to be a mark of puberty, something the blobby boy had grimaced over before pivoting to how he'd look with a mustache or a mat of chest hair. By the time he'd settled back down, three more children had wandered in, and it had barely been 6 in the morning.
Arthur had noticed now that he was in his mid-40s that 6:00 in the morning came far sooner than it used to. Joints grumbled and cracked as he stretched. His light-colored hair with shots of gray that seemed to spread daily, sticking up every which way. His back popped deliciously as he flexed his bare toes. Muddled thoughts became clearer as the last vestiges of sleep fell away. Where were the children?
He turned toward the lump in the bed next to him. Comforter pulled up high, leaving only a mop of thinning brown hair visible along with the sound of small snores. He shook the lump, glancing toward the door to the small room attached to theirs. It was open. The occupant, the destroyer of sons, was gone, leaving only a half-made bed, discarded socks on the floor, mismatched, and cracked records hanging from the walls.
"Was it?" the lump muttered. "No, grandmother. I don't want to help you find the yams."
"Lionus," Arthur said, giving the lump another shake. "Wake up. Something's wrong."
He almost fell out of bed when Lionus Baker shot up, pajamas a wrinkled mess, hair and eyes wild as he looked around. "Who is it?" he demanded. "Who stole the yams from grandmother's cellar?" He blinked. "I don't know why I just said that. He patted the thick slope of his stomach. "Must have been a dream. That's what I get for having cake before going to bed." His hand dropped as he frowned. "Arthur, why are you staring at me like that?"
"I adore you," Arthur said and meant every word.
"Oh," Lionus said, face flushing. "Yes, well, I happen to feel the same. Is that why you woke me up? That's lovely. But why is the sun so bright? What time is it?"
"Half 8."
Lionus's eyes bulged. "In the morning? That's impossible. We've never been allowed to sleep this late. The closest we got was 6:42, but that was only because the children were staying with Zoe. And even then, they still came back and woke us up." He hurried toward the door, snatching their matching blue robes that hung from a hook. "What on earth are you still doing in bed? We have to find them."
Arthur rose and moved swiftly. But instead of taking the robe from Lionus, Arthur cupped his face and kissed him soundly. Morning breath be damned. Lionus blinked slowly, dazed, and Arthur hoped it would always be this way.
"What was that for?" Lionus asked.
"Because I could."
"I see. You could do it again if you wanted."
"Could I?" Arthur leaned forward to do just that, only to be met with a hand in his face, pushing him back gently.
"You could," Lionus said. "Or we could go and see why we were allowed to sleep so late. I swear if they've brought a home another animal they call a friend, we're going to have words."
"The last one wasn't so bad," Arthur said, taking the robe and sliding it on.
Lionus made a face. "It was a lizard the size of Colliopy that tried to eat my loafers and you handled it with your usual grace and a plum by shrieking and calling it a boa constrictor. I know you got it in your head at some point that you're funny and you are. But now is not the time for humor. Now is the time for panicking."
"Perhaps nothing's wrong and we're overreacting," Arthur said, trying to be semi-reasonable.
Ar Lionus rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I do with them it would not be overreacting. Remember when Talia..."
Where's Colliopy? Colliopy, the so-called thing of evil. A cat, but unlike any other cat Arthur had seen before. It wasn't just her size. Her gorgeous fluffy hair made her appear large, far larger than she actually was. Or her coloring, mostly black with a small patch of fluffy white on her chest. No, it was her bright green eyes that made her different. Watching, always watching, undoubtedly plotting the demise of anyone she seemed deemed unfit to exist in her presence. Though Arthur knew humans had a tendency to anthropomorphize their pets and extol their intelligence, he's so smart he can do what I trained him to do over a period of six months. Colli was something else entirely. If Arthur hadn't known any better, he'd have thought she understood them. But true to her species, she held her own counsel and tended to ignore everyone, everything else. Most nights she lay curled at the foot of their bed, purring in warning should they even move their legs an inch. But her space was empty, leaving only behind black hairs on a blanket that S had knitted for her. When he presented it to her, Colli had meowed her pleasure so loudly it could be heard throughout the rest of the house.
"She must be with them," Arthur said. "And if she is, I know they're all right. She wouldn't let anything happen to them."
"Too right," Lionus said. "I pity anyone who tries to cross them with her around. I expect it's painful to lose your eyes to a cat."
The long hallway was quiet. All the bedroom doors belonging to the children were open and the rooms empty. S's room had his desk in front of the window, typewriter tucked away in a monogrammed oak case Arthur and Lionus had gifted him for Christmas. Chanty's room smelled faintly of salt. Warm sea water covering the floor, pumped in from the ocean through heated pipes. In Fee's room, amidst dozens of plants hanging from the ceiling. A mural covered the wall showing a forest in varying degrees of talent as all the children had helped. Lucy's tree looked like skeletons, while Talia's appeared to be green candy floss on top of brown sticks. Speaking of the garden gnome, Talia's own room was oddly plant-free. Instead of flowering vines, there were corkboards attached to each wall displaying a magnificent collection of garden tools. And last, but certainly not least, through a hatch in the ceiling up to the attic, where a particular wyvern had built one of his several nests. Climbing up the ladder that descended from the hatch, Arthur peered into the semi-dark of the attic. Theodore's nest. Blankets, towels, and a brick he'd had a three-week love affair with, but no wyvern.
Arthur didn't want to panic, but not knowing where the children were caused an icy grip to squeeze around his heart. Zoe would have warned them if someone had attempted to come to the island uninvited, but that did little to ease Arthur's worry.
"Anything?" Arthur called up from below him.
"Nope," Arthur said, looking, climbing back down. "Where could they be? They wouldn't leave without asking, so it's not as if..."
A thump from the first floor followed by a loud crash. "Kitchen," Arthur and Lionus said at the same time. They calmed as they neared the stairs that led down to the first floor. Peeking over the railing, Arthur and Lionus saw Fee sitting on the bottom step, her fiery red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her wings fluttering behind her. The forest sprite wore shorts and a green tank top, her pale shoulders dotted with freckles. Shortly after her 12th birthday, she'd gone through a bit of a growth spurt, sprouting up like one of her trees. In front of her stood Chanty, the amorphous green boy with tentacles for arms, suckers lining both lengths. On top of his head rose thin foot-long stalks, his eyes at the top bouncing up and down excitedly. He was wearing a trench coat cinched around what could either be his waist or his chest. And it didn't take long for Arthur and Lionus to learn why.
"You think they heard that?" Chanty asked, a voice like a thick wet sponge being squeezed into a metal bucket.
"Shh," Fee said. "Not so loud." His stalks shrank until his eyes rested on top of his body, wide and unblinking. "You think they heard that?" he whispered.
"Probably not," Fee said, tugging at the bottom of his coat. "They both snore, so I think they I don't think they heard anything."
Lionus huffed next to him, and Arthur did little to hide his smile.
"Oh," Chanty said. "Do I snore?"
"You're a boy, so probably."
"What's with the trench coat?" He puffed up proudly. "We're on a secret mission. Everyone knows when you're on a secret mission, you have to dress like it." He flipped up the collar of his coat. "Secret agent Chanty at your service. I thought you wanted to be a bellhop."
"I can do both," he said. "Save the day and carry your luggage. It's called going undercover. I read about it in a book." His eyes turned 360°. "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone before?"
"Sure," Fee said. "What is it? You all right?" He flapped a tentacle at her.
"Yeah, I'm good. No, not just good. I'm prodigious."
Lionus elbowed Arthur gently. "You hear that?" he whispered excitedly. "My vocabulary lessons are working."
Which means to cause amazement and wonder, Chanty was saying when they looked back down the stairs. Fee laughed. "What did you want to tell me?"
"Right," Chanty said. "Have you ever been walking through the woods and you see a pine cone on the ground and no one is there to tell you that you can't eat the pine cone?"
"Well, sure, but..."
"Oh my goodness," Chanty breathed. "Me, too. I thought I was the only one. I feel better now. Did Did you eat the pine cone?"
"I did," Chanty said proudly. "Guess what it tasted like?"
"I have absolutely no idea." Chanty's eyes leaned forward, stopping only a couple of inches from Fee's face. "Do you remember when Talia tried to make pecan pie, but we were out of pecans, so she used candy corn instead, and there was so much sugar in it? Lionus said it had rotted our teeth, but we ate it anyway and didn't sleep for 3 days because we could all smell colors."
"That's what the pine cone tasted like?" Fee asked with a frown.
"No, I just like that story. The pine cone tasted bad and it took forever to chew."
Fee coughed, sounding like she was trying hard not to laugh. "You You ate the whole thing."
Chanty blinked. "First the left eye, then the right. Yes."
"Why?"
"Female pine cones have edible seeds called piñoli," she explained. "They're a little sweet, a little nutty. In Italy, they make piñoli biscuits."
Chanty's skin darkened to the color of pine needles. "Are you saying I ate a girl?"
"Oh no," he threw his tentacles up in the air, tilting his head back. "I didn't mean to do it. I fell on her and she just went into my mouth."
"Oh dear," Lionus said. "Then not a word," Parnassus. "Not a single word."
"Not like that," Fee said. "Plants can be male or female, but not in the same way you and I are. They're alive, but it's different. Many plants are hermaphroditic, which means they're both male and female, like roses and lilies. When I say female, I just mean they're the ones you get seeds from."
Chanty blinked. "Oh, I get it. So, it's not like eating people when I eat pine cones."
"Uh, no."
"Oh, thank God." He looked away as his skin changed to a pea green. "They're already scared enough of me as it is."
"Absolutely not," Lionus muttered, starting to move toward the top of the stairs. Arthur took his wrist gently, pulling him back, shaking his head. Lionus's mouth twisted angrily. "I'm not going to let Chanty think he's..."
"I know," Arthur said quietly. "But let's give Fee a chance."
Fee reached out and tugged on the trench coat, pulling Chanty toward her. He wrapped his tentacles around her, laying his eyes on the top of her head. "Did something happen?"
Chanty sighed. "Maybe. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Maybe. You don't have to do it right now, especially if you're not ready," she stroked his back.
"It's stupid," he mumbled. "A woman came in. She had like seven suitcases and..." He continued drearily. "Mr. Swanson, the hotel's lead bellhop, my true hero, was busy with another customer, so I went to help her."
"Sounds like you," Fee said. "But when I offered to take her bags for her, she screamed that a sea slug was trying to steal her belongings."
"A sea slug?" Fee said. "Please. She should be so lucky. Right, Cha?"
"Right," Chanty said, pulling out of the hug. "Mr. Swanson heard her and came over. I thought he was going to take her bags instead. But you know what he did? What? He told me that people like her aren't welcome in our fine establishment, and then he kicked her out of our hotel."
"Whoa," Fee said, sounding as impressed as Arthur felt. "I bet that pissed her off."
"I thought she was going to explode," Chanty said. "Then Mr. Swanson said it was lunchtime and we ate sandwiches and he told me all about the other bellhops he'd met. But..."
Fee said, "But..."
Chanty said, "I just don't get it. All I want to do is help. I can't control how I look. It's not my fault I'm handsome as crap."
Fee said, "Handsome? You're handsome as crap. And even better, unique. I've never seen anyone like you. Your eyes, get out of here. Those are so cool. You think any of us could pull off a trench coat like you do? Remember how funny I looked when I tried on your bellhop cap? But when you put it on, all I want to do is pack a bag just so you can take it from me, even though I'm not going anywhere. I am pretty good at taking luggage."
"You are," she said. "I can't tell you something like I can't tell you something like that won't happen again. But all you need to do is remind yourself it's on them, not you."
"I'm not a monster," Chanty said.
"Nope," Fee said. "You're Chanty, the best Chanty I've ever known. And I'm handsome as crap. Hell yes. And I can eat all the pine cones I want because they're not human."
"Except it probably won't feel good when you have to poop."
"All my poops feel good, so no worries there."
Another crash from the kitchen, followed by a small devil cursing in colorful language that he absolutely did not learn in this house. "Gangrous donkey testicles!"
"Follow my lead," Arthur whispered, pulling Lionus partway down the hall. They stopped in front of S's room, winking at Lionus. Arthur raised his arms above his head in a stretch, yawning quite ferociously. Raising his voice so that the sound carried down the hall and stairs, he said, "Oh my, that was such a restful sleep. Wouldn't you agree, dear Lionus?"
"Quite!" Lionus practically shouted. "I'm not even remotely concerned about the state of the kitchen and instead am focused on how rested I feel."
They both had to stifle laughter when Chanty began to yell, "Battle stations! Battle stations. The chickens are coming home to roost." Another den from the kitchen, this time followed by Lucy shouting, "But we're not ready yet. Choke the chickens."
When Arthur and Lionus reached the top of the stairs, Fee and Chanty smiled up at them as innocent as the day was young. "Good morning," Arthur said cheerfully as he and Lionus descended the stairs. "Fee, Chanty, did you sleep well?"
"So well," Chanty warbled. "And even better, we're not doing anything illegal yet," Lionus said.
Arthur and Lionus took turns hugging Fee and Chanty, both of the children holding on tightly. Once done, Lionus glanced at Arthur and said, "Time seems to have slipped away from us this morning."
"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"Who?"
"Us?" Fee asked, batting her eyelashes. "We have no idea what you're talking about," Chanty said.
H Arthur said. "Well, I suppose we should start preparing breakfast. Lionus, why don't you see where the other children are, and I'll just go into the kitchen?"
And Fee and Chanty hurried toward the kitchen doors, blocking the entrance. "You can't," Fee said. "It's occupied."
Above them, through the port hole windows in the double doors, Arthur saw a flash of reptilian scales fly by with what looked to be a whisk grasped in his claws. A moment later, a lovely face appeared in one of the port holes, eyes widening. S disappeared a second later, followed by Lucy shouting, "What do you mean they're right outside?"
"We're going to be in so much trouble," Talia said out of sight.
"How did you get batter on the ceiling?"
"By aiming," Lucy said. "Duh."
"Oh no," Chanty said. "I just remembered that I needed to talk to Arthur and Lionus about stuff and things."
"Name two," Lionus said, folding his arms.
"Potatoes and Portugal," Chanty said promptly.
"What about them?" Arthur asked.
"I have absolutely no idea," Chanty said. He deflated. "Sorry, Fee. I did my best."
"You sure did something," Fee said. "Well, our cover's blown, so we might as well get this over with." She glared up at Lionus and Arthur. "It was all of our all of our ideas. So if we're going to get in grounded, you have to ground all of us."
"Sounds serious," Arthur said gravely.
"And more than a little worrying," Lionus said.
"Hold, please," Fee said. She grabbed Chantzy by the tentacle, backing them both through the double door slowly. Though she did her best to keep Arthur and Lionus from seeing the kitchen, the doors cracked open enough for herself and Chantzy to slip through, but also to give Arthur and Lionus a glimpse of the kitchen itself. When the doors swung closed, Lionus said, "What was that on the walls?"
"It looked like ketchup," Arthur said.
"Isn't it wonderful?"
"You and I have very different definitions of the word. Perhaps you need to attend a vocabulary lesson," then he teased. Inside hushed voices. But since these voices belong to a group of six children, being who they were, hushed was perhaps a bit of a misnomer.
"They know," Chanty whispered shouted. "They're standing right there and they know everything. We're doomed."
"Lucy," Fee said. "What the hell did you do to the counters?"
"I had trouble cracking eggs," Lucy said. "And then Collia walked in and now we have neat sticky paw prints on the floor."
"How'd they get on the ceiling?" Chanty asked.
"I accidentally reversed gravity when I was trying to measure batter."
"Oh," Chanty said. "That makes sense. I bet that happens to a lot of people because cooking is hard." Theodore chirped loudly and Sal said. "Theodore's right. We should take responsibility for the mess we've made."
"You didn't make any mess," Talia said. "Lucy did. And so did I because it's not fair that he gets to smash all the eggs."
"I didn't. I tried to let you do one and you threw it against the wall."
"No," S said. "We're in this together."
"Yeah," Chanty said. "Let's all get grounded. Who's with me?" Why is no one raising their tentacles? Theodore clicked in his throat voice, followed by a low growl, and the children burst into laughter.
"Yeah, Lionus would do that, wouldn't he?" Fee said. "I bet his face would turn red, too."
Lionus huffed quietly. "Well, I never. Your face is a little flushed, Arthur whispered. Are you ill, dear Lionus?"
"They think they're funny because of you," Fee, S said. "You distract them until we're ready. Everyone else, let's clean up as best we can. The quicker we work, the sooner we'll be done."
Fee slipped through the double doors, smiling widely. "Hello," she said, as if they hadn't heard every single word. "Thank you for your patience. It's appreciated."
"Wonderful," Arthur said. "Shall we go into the kitchen right this very second?"
"Uh," Fee said, glancing back over her shoulder. "Not yet. Oh, I just remembered. Lionus, I wanted to ask you something very, very important. It's all I've been thinking about for the last minute or so."
"We await with bated breath," Arthur said.
"Right," Fee said. "So, um..." she winced. Then something fell to the kitchen floor in the kitchen. Before Arthur could comment on it, Fee blurted quite loudly. "Your organs."
Lionus groaned. "This again? How many times do I have to tell Talia that no matter what she says, I won't sign a do not resuscitate while also granting permission for her to harvest my liver, kidney, and lungs. I don't know where she got the idea my organs would help her roses, but they won't."
"That's what I told her," Fee said. "And then I reminded her that it was only a matter of time, so win-win."
Arthur lowered his voice. "We heard you talking to Chanty."
Fee fidgeted uncomfortably. Out of all the children, Fee was the biggest enigma. She loved her brothers and sisters and supported them completely. Arthur knew her to be compassionate, kind, and more than a little prickly. That being said, she still struggled with being complimented or having attention placed upon her. It was a tricky line to walk with her. Lay it on too thick and she'd shut down, waving it off and changing the subject. He'd made it his mission to tell her at least once a day how proud he was of her.
"It's not a big deal. Chanty needed someone to talk to, and I was right there. Anyone would have done the same," she shrugged, averting her gaze.
"Perhaps," Arthur said, "Chanty didn't come to me with it. He did not come to Lionus, nor any of the others. He came to you, Fee. He trusts you with his happiness, but also with his troubles."
"He shouldn't have troubles," Fee retorted. "I thought things were supposed to be better. You said they would be," she deflated before they could reply. "Sorry," she muttered. "That wasn't fair."
"It's absolutely fair," Lionus said. "We did tell you that, and I wish I had a better answer for you other than these things take time. I'm sorry." He took his her hand in his. Fee looked back at Lionus, and Arthur was struck by the softness in her eyes, a in her formidable armor. Every now and then she'd grace them with a peek of the girl underneath. And he treasured these moments as much as Theodore did his buttons.
"Thanks, Lionus. You're all right."
He squeezed her hand. "Anything for you. Now, are we going to see the kitchen or are you?"
But before he could finish, Lucy yelled in unfettered joy. "You can breathe fire. Holy crap, Theodore. Let's burn everything!"
"And that's our cue," Arthur said.
"This is what happens when you sleep late," Lionus muttered. "Just when you think you'd you're getting extra rest, someone breathes fire."
Chapter 2.
Arthur pushed through the kitchen door so quickly they bounced off the walls. The conversation ceased immediately as everyone froze. First, there was Lucy dragging a chair across the kitchen. His tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration. His eyes were ringed with red, as they often were when he was doing something that might be dangerous. The cowlicks on either side of his head, giving the appearance of black horns made of hair. He wore a frilly pink apron over his frayed plaid shorts and billowing white shirt. Then there was Talia, a short squat garden gnome holding at least a dozen eggs. Her white luxurious beard rested on her chest, the end curled.
into a little loop. A top her head, a pointy red hat, the end of which crooked crooked to the left, a tuft of her white hair curling out onto her forehead. She wore a blue vest with a black ve belt around her waist and brown trousers with black work boots that rose to the knees spotted with what appeared to be yolk. Her exposed skin, face, and hands was tanned, evidenced of the hours she spent out in the garden. Her cherry red lips turned into an O as her blue eyes narrowed.
Next was S, their resident shifter, who could turn from a boy into a tiny fluffy dog in the blink of an eye. At 15, S was the oldest child on the island, the one the other children looked up to. Coming into his own, the once quiet boy had begun using his voice more and more, an extension of the words he put on a page that never failed to enchant whoever was lucky enough to read them. He was tall, as tall as lioness now, much to their chagrin. And while obviously a teenager, lamenting over spots on his nose and forehead, few though they were, he was an old soul, his dark eyes catching almost everything. He too wore shorts, tan, and a short-sleeved collared shirt, a warm yellow, with pearl snap buttons complimenting his dark brown skin. His hair was longer these days, tightly coiled in a way Zoe had taught him how to manage.
Shantonyi sat in a mock mop bucket on the floor near S, a soap bubble resting on top of his head between his eyetocks. Above him, sitting on the counter, a Machavelian feline colliopy near the sink, tail swishing dangerously, licking batter off her right front paw, dismissive gaze trained on Arthur and Theodore. Maw wide open, rows of sharp wyvern teeth on display. He stood on the floor, wings spread, head cocked back, smoke rising from his slitted nostrils. When he saw Arthur, his jaws snapped closed, and he swallowed down whatever had been about to come out. A moment later, he burped out a black cloud of smoke, frantically, using his wings to try to make it dissipate in a poor attempt to hide the evidence.
"Uh," Lucy said. "Can I? I can explain."
"Can you?" Arthur said mildly as Fee and Lionus crowded behind him. "because it sounds as if you're trying to get Theodore to start fires."
"That's exactly what I was doing," Lucy said. "You know me so well. We don't need this chair, right? It's Lionuses, but he told me he likes standing when eating."
Lionus snorted. "I said no such thing."
"Theodore," Arthur said, "Is it true? Can you create fire?"
The wyvern glanced at Sam, who nodded. Theodore began to click and growl, spreading his wings and moving his head up and down. Arthur listened intently as Theodore explained that he'd woken up a few days before with a brightness in his chest he'd never felt before. He ignored it at first, but it made him itchy, like his skin was vibrating. He hadn't said anything because he thought it had pass on its own. It wasn't until this very morning when he'd woken up, stretched, yawned, and breathed a small gout of fire. "It hadn't hurt," he added, clicking and chirping, that it had felt good, like stretching a stiff muscle. He chirped a question that Arthur, for all he'd seen and done, didn't have the answer to.
"I don't know," he said, tapping his chin. "I was under the impression that wyverns, though descended from dragons, were incapable of creating fire. Lionus, have you ever heard of a wyvern making fire?"
"No," Lionus said from somewhere behind him. "Granted, uh, Theodore is the only wyvern I know, but I thought they hadn't evolved in such a way as to make fire. Something about not having the gland that secretes the oily mixture needed to ignite."
"It's green," Chanty said from his bucket. "Like me."
"Green fire," Arthur said. "Can you control it?"
Theodore hesitated for a moment before nodding. Arthur took a step back and said, "Show me if you feel up to it." Theodore pranced on his two feet, claws clicking on the tile floor as he spun in a circle. Obviously eager, he waved his right wing for them to take a step back to give him enough room. Lionus, for his part, opined that perhaps indoors wasn't the best place for a de demonstration of fire, but he was quickly outvoted when everyone, including Arthur, booed him. Lionus then reminded them of the last time an event involving fire had occurred indoors, Talia's birthday. "too many candles and not enough fire extinguishers. And that's the reason I think we should consider going outside to"
It was about this time that Theodore reared his head head back, eyes narrowed. A ripple of iridescent light moved across the black scales along his back toward his head. As Theodore opened his mouth, Arthur smelled the comforting familiarity of smoke and flame. And then a jet of green fire shot from Theodore, stretching at least 5 ft, the heat immense. It only lasted a few seconds before the fire died out. But Theodore was obviously pleased with himself, puffing out his chest and hopping on either foot as smoke leaked from between his jaws. Pleased, that is, until the banner hanging above the table caught fire and began to burn. Arthur whirled around, raised his hand, and sucked the fire down into his palm. It formed a crackling sphere that snuffed out when he closed his fingers around it.
"Well done, Theodore," Arthur said, suitably impressed.
"Again," Lucy yelled, punching his fists in the air. "Again."
"And this is why we don't breathe fire inside the house," Lionus said, hands on his hips. "You can't just"
"There's not," he frowned. "Why does the sign above the table say happy Bert?"
"It's supposed to say birthday," S said, scratching the back of his neck.
"I like Happy Bert better," Talia said as she tossed the eggs into the mop bucket, causing Chanty to proclaim he was egg drop soup.
"It sounds dumb and amazing like Lucy," Fee muttered.
"Happy Berts," Lucy crowed. "I knew this was going to blow up in our faces."
"Oh no," Chanty whispered as eggs bobbed around him. "What are we supposed to sing now? The happy birthday song doesn't work when it's a Happy Bert song. Happy Bert to you. See, it sounds like nothing."
Lionus shook his head. "It's not someone's birthday. The next is Chanty's in August."
Arthur closed his eyes, suddenly realizing what all this was about. The mess in the kitchen, for yes, there was batter on the walls and ceiling along with paw prints was a small price to pay for what the children had done on their own. He opened his eyes when S said, "It's your birthday, Lionus."
Lionus laughed and said, "What? Of course it isn't. My birthday is in." His mouth moved silently as he ticked off his fingers. "Wait, what day is it?"
"June 8th," Arthur murmured. "Your birthday?"
My Lionus looked around the room. The happy Bert sign was still smoldering slightly, but below it on the table were place settings for each of them. In the middle of the table, a fry up. Platters of burnt sausages, half-burnt bacon, fried eggs with bits of shell in them, a plate of baked beans that were still in the shape of the can they'd been poured from, tomatoes and mushrooms from Talia's garden, and a stack of toast that appeared to have had each piece gnawed by on by a certain child of reptilian persuasion.
"You did all this for me?" Lionus whispered, handed his throat.
"It was my idea," Talia said. "You're welcome. But all of us chipped in," S said as Theodore climbed up his usual climbed up his you side to his usual perch on S's shoulder. "Everyone had a roll. Fee and me were the lookouts," Chanty said, eyes bouncing. "We did amazing, so you're welcome."
"You didn't have to do this," Lionus said with a watery smile.
"It's not just for your birthday," Talia said, taking him by the hand and leading him toward the table. Lucy shoved the chair against the back of his legs, causing him to sit down roughly.
"What else is there?" Arthur asked, taking the broom from Sal and motioning for the children to take their seats at the table. "The mess could wait."
Chanty climbed out of the mop, Beckett, announcing he was done being soup for the day, but that he did like to try it again tomorrow.
"It's a going away party," Fee said.
Arthur paused at the pantry. He took a deep breath, stored the broom away, and turned back around. Everyone was seated. Lionus at one end of the long table, Lucy, Fee, and Talia to his right, Chanty, S, and Theodore to his left. Aside from Arthur's spot at the other end of the table, there were two more play settings, one next to Talia, the other next to Theodore.
"Going away party," he said. "I see." He moved around the table, touching each of them on the shoulder before taking his seat, folding his hands on the table near his empty plate.
"Is it a going away party if we'll only be gone for a few days?" Lionus asked. His voice was light and easy. But Arthur knew him well enough to recognize the undercurrent of worry. He felt similarly, though perhaps not quite for the same reason.
"Yes," Lionus fredded over the children. The idea of the children le of leaving the children even if it was only for three days. leave tomorrow, and if all went well, back by Wednesday. But Lionus had been on the island for less than a year. It was the only thing Arthur had known for far longer, and it made him uncharacteristically nervous, stepping out into the world beyond the island in the village. What they were, he was about to do, had never been done before, at least not with the openness he planned to bring. So many things could go wrong.
"You've never left us alone before," Lucy said, attempting to spear a sausage and somehow making it shoot across the table, snatched out of the air by Theodore. "What if something happens and I have to be evil and take over the world?"
"But you won't be alone," Arthur said. "You'll have us," another voice said from the entrance of the kitchen. They turned to see Zoe Chapel White leaning against the doorway, the flowers in her hair open, the petals thick and colorful. Her dress was violet with pink blooms along the hem. her hands in the large pockets. She smiled and winked at Arthur.
"Oh my," another voice said. "Happy Bert, that's a new one." Helen Webb appeared in the entryway, stopping to stand on her tiptoes to kiss Zoe on the cheek. The mayor and owner of Talia's favorite gardening store had carved out a place for herself in their home. Arthur still remembered the wispy girl with big, pretty eyes, who'd served him ice cream when he was a child. Now she was pleasantly plump and wore her usual, a pair of denim overalls over a wrinkled workshirt, her boots similar to Talia's. The children all yelled their greetings, and Arthur chuckled at the cacaphony. He doubted he would ever go back to the quiet way it had once been there. Here, what it had when it had just been him, Zoe, and an unrealized dream.
"We're going to be with you," Zoe said as she took her seat next to Fee and Arthur. Colliapy, ignoring Helen as she tried to pet her in her spot on the window sill above the sink. Colli allowed it to go on for uh longer than normal before she raised a paw, put it on the back of Ellen's Helen's hand, and pushed it away as if to say, "Thank you, but enough."
"That's right," Helen said as she took the last empty seat. "And we're going to have so much fun. Anything you need, you just ask. Zoe and I will take care of it."
"Anything?" Lucy asked sweetly.
"Within reason?" Arthur said.
"Stupid reason," Lucy muttered, grabbing a piece of toast and munching mutinously.
"Can we stay at your house?" Chanty asked. "Zoe. It's my turn to use the tree hammock."
"No, it's not," Talia said. "You got it last time. It's my turn."
Arthur cleared his throat pointedly. "Or," Talia said. "We can share."
"Heck yes," Chanty said, eyes lowering toward the baked beans and inspecting the sloppy can-shaped tower. "But just remember that I ink now," Lucy called them my nocturnal emissions, which is a funny way of putting it because it doesn't always happen at night.
"Lucy," Lionus said sternly.
"Eat everyone," Arthur said. "We have much to discuss, and I think we'll all feel better about it with full bellies."
"Why is the bacon bleeding?" Zoe asked.
"It's not blood," S said. "Lucy wanted to use real blood, but we didn't know where to get any legally, so I mixed corn syrup, chocolate syrup, and red food coloring." Lucy rolled his eyes. "I know where to get real blood, but Arthur said I'm not allowed to do that anymore."
"I did," Arthur said simply.
"This meal certainly looks somewhat edible," Wina said. "Arthur, would you like to fry try the bacon first?"
"Oh, I couldn't," Arthur said. "It's your bird after all. You should get the first bite. I insist."
"Do you? How kind of you. I'm afraid I must insist even more."
"So many people want to eat my food," Lucy said in awe. "This must be what it feels like to be God. Fun fact, some people go to church and ritually eat Jesus and drink his blood. Isn't that interesting?"
"Oh my goodness," Chanty whispered. "I'll just stick to eating pine cones. Thank you very much."
"So very interesting," Lionus said. "I suppose I will have some bacon. One bloody endrail coming up," Talia said, stabbing a piece with her fork and lifting it off the tray. She handed the fork over to Fee, who sniffed the meat and grimaced. She gave it to Lucy, who in turn set it on Lionus's plate. Lionus poked at it for a moment until Lucy leaned in and whispered loudly, "I made it with love."
Lionus winced, took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out through his mouth, and then brought the wet bacon up to his lips. Lucy tracked every movement, eyes growing wider and wider as Lionus bit daintily, breaking off a small chunk. He chewed slowly, myriad emotions crossing his face. Horror, disgust, confusion, followed quickly by surprise, disgust again, then something that closely resembled forlororn acceptance.
"Well?" Lucy demanded.
Lionus swallowed thickly, throat bobbing. "It was surprisingly edible." And with that, he took another bite.
"Thank you. Bloody ends for all," Lucy cried. And the birch breakfast was underway.