Epilogue to the Epilogue

A month on from the volcano, Sarah decreed a Family Day picnic.

The inter-demesne situation had not improved in spite of additional diplomatic arm-twisting by Sarah and more late-night visits by Everett to the usual band of cutthroats and reprobates. The Kingdom of Alarsaria was slow to withdraw its forces from the Summer Pass and had made claims to the areas that its army had occupied in the Unclaimed Flank. The Republic of Zheria was making rumblings about “border adjustments” along the Broken String River, wherever that was. Lots of members of the Assembly in New Zindersberg were talking about a preemptive deployment of “peacekeepers” to Irkisnukberg.

The notebook was behaving odder than usual. Weird entries such as “Pink polka-dot chartreuse melon to be delivered NLT almond ice cream in my bathtub” would appear and just as quickly disappear, as if rival, brain-damaged editors in the non-corporeal realm were fighting savagely over the contents.

Everett had engaged Giuseppe and his network of intelligence gatherers to try to locate Marilu. Her kind of fanatical hatred would not simply disappear offstage. She would be back, he was sure, and something would need to be done about her before she could attack again. He had also considered the possibility that she might try to strike at him through his family, and that could not be allowed.

If Marilu could not be contained, she would be resolved.

Before very long it would be back to the grindstone for both him and Sarah and their normal life — raising children, enjoying each other’s company, writing down his latest exploits (mildly embellished and with some names changed to accuse the guilty) to be sent off to a publisher under a pseudonym — would be again put aside.

As there had not been time to make arrangements to travel to some idyllic, heather-carpeted glen with invigorating mountain air or some white-sand beach with a breathtaking turquoise ocean vista, they had hauled their brood (with assistance from friends and relatives) and various blankets, baskets, lounge chairs, tents, awnings, tables, trash bins, wading pools, and so forth to the forecourt of Lydia’s Folly. Ralph had gracefully ceded his abode for their use while he flew off to the lower town, where he was now perched on the belltower of the town hall. Everett’s interpretation of the not-a-dragon’s occasional trumpeting roars was that he was proclaiming a direct challenge to all resident and visiting teenagers, “Come try to steal my hoard, if you dare!”

Since it was impolite not to ask all the friends and relatives who had served as pack mules to stay to have a wiener in a bun sandwich and a shaved-ice slushie, the small family outing that Everett had anticipated had, of course, become a general, all hands on deck social event.

This was fine because aside from grilling wieners over hot coals and dispensing same in a bun, Everett had plenty of time to sit in the sun with Sarah, chat and hold her hand, put up an awning over the babies when it got too sunny, teach Joseph how to arm wrestle/collapse in a fit of giggling, and splash water from a wading pool at Rose until she gave him the evil eye to signify that she was much too old for such childish pursuits.

And Granny Miri napped most of the time, which was the best possible outcome.

Because when she was awake, she would say things like, “If you had read the Odes of Merch like you were supposed to, you would have known that Mount Doomish was the birthplace of Evil.”

And, “Rose has big shoes to fill — mine.”

And, “I like mustard with my grilled wiener bun sandwich.”

Which had compelled him to go fetch some, since although they had literally every other condiment that any sane person could want on a grilled wiener in a bun sandwich, somehow mustard had been left out.

A letter from Poubelle had finally found its way home:

Expedition proceeding as planned. Everything is fine and everyone is well except for my broken left foot. The baby was a boy. Marshlight sends her love and has taken up fencing. Regards: Ambassador.

Mabel and Calvin were getting along well.

Except when they were not, and since Mabel had no trouble expressing her feelings at a high volume, everyone knew in advance to avoid the blast area.

Today, both were in fine spirits. Calvin seemed rather more calm and assured (particularly so since he was eating a very messy grilled wiener in a bun sandwich with everything, and mustard, ketchup, and relish were consequently dribbling all over his coat) when standing next to Mabel, and Everett felt confident that the two would eventually arrive at some happy medium without the further necessity of his intervention or the need to call in four large men to restrain Mabel.

Josephine was acting odder than usual, peering from shadows at Everett in a hungry way and making unusual noises in the middle of the night from underneath his and Sarah’s bed. Since he did not really want to know, he had not attempted to investigate that situation.

Other than that, Everett considered everything else under control, or at least not actively butting him in the head.

By mid-morning the picnic had taken on the atmosphere of a public festival, with numerous townsfolk — including quite a number of whispering teenagers scouting the location — “just stopping by to say hello” (along with side dishes, kegs of apple cider, folding chairs, card tables, yard games, and sports equipment) by climbing the long, steep path of walkways, stairs, and ramps to reach the forecourt. “Impromptu” games broke out along with a general unfocused mingle and chat. Everett sent for more wieners and buns and enlisted assistants for wiener in a bun sandwich production while Sarah set up an assembly line for slushies. Joseph, Guiney, and Everett Jr., all fed, burped, and wearing clean clothes, were evacuated to the cool shade of the arches of the south arcade just two steps away from Everett’s position on the front lines and were resting comfortably with Aunt Louise sitting in a lounger and watching over them.

Along with four rugged individuals with hawk-like gazes whose casual, Picnic Day clothing did nothing to camouflage the fact that they were elite members of Pauly’s “special lethal operations group.”

Pauly was only visible when Everett was looking around to see where he was.

Everett passed four wiener in a bun sandwiches to the Decorum Society president, who piled them on the top of a plate that was already struggling under a load of potato salad, coleslaw, and candied yams. This worthy was saying something about “… and so you see that we must take action immediately to suppress this lewd teenage behavior.”

“I’ll set up a committee right away to look into it as soon as possible, weather permitting,” Everett assured the woman. “With a report due on my desk not later than next year! Or possibly the following year, just to be thorough.”

“Excellent! Excellent! I knew that I could count on your cooperation!”

After the woman moved on, Everett continued to dispense grilled wiener in a bun sandwiches as fast as he could pluck them from the grill, and, as he did every few minutes, swept his head around to count his progeny.

“Where’s Rose?” Everett asked Sarah, who was at the next table dispensing slushies.

“Rose is spending some quality Aunty time with Mabel. Rose will soon become a young lady and it’s important that she is exposed to strong female influences that can teach her useful skills.”

“Like front snap kicks.”

“Of course.”

Everett nodded, avoiding looking grim. Rose’s accelerated growth had not slowed and her intellectual development was racing ahead. At the current rate, she would be a teenager — he shuddered — in a matter of weeks.

“I’m going to go have a chat right now with Granny Miri,” he told Sarah.

She nodded. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

After passing off his grilling tongs to Uncle Alec, Everett went to the awning near the west arcade where Granny Miri was snoozing on a lounger with her bare, bony feet propped on a pillow.

Everett prodded her shoulder — not gently — until she sat up blearily and eyeballed him. “What is it? Is the picnic over? Are there any grilled wiener in a bun sandwiches left?”

“How long will Rose continue to age too fast?”

Granny Miri rolled her eyes, then cleared her sinuses by blasting out one side and then the other. “Until she’s grown up, say eighteen or nineteen or maybe even twenty, and then she’ll stay that same age.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as she has the notebook.”

“I’ll take it away from her.”

Granny Miri shook her head. “It’ll just come back. No matter what you do, it will always come back.”

“You can take it away.”

“Not within my power as long as I’m in the corporeal realm.”

“That’s easy to solve.”

The old woman shrugged. “The me that’s here is some different in her way of thinking than the me that would be there.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I have human feelings here for my descendants. There I have none. My non-corporeal sentient entity persona — Magic — has reasons for wanting Rose to have the notebook. She won’t take it away.”

Everett was quiet for a moment. “Is there anything that you can do?”

“There is one thing that I can do. You won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

“I can arrange through the non-corporeal realm for a duplicate of the notebook to be made and have it given to someone else to create a sort of antipole. That would slow the rate of Rose’s maturation by half.”

“Give it to me.”

“It doesn’t work that way. It has to be someone at the other end of the good-evil dichotomy. That person would grow progressively younger, but also at a reduced rate.”

“Who would it be?”

“No idea. The entities in the non-corporeal realm would determine that.”

“Alright. Do it.”

“Are you sure? There will be consequences.”

“I’m sure. Do it.”

Everett went back to find Sarah taking a break from slushie making and reclining on a lounger under an awning right next to the south arcade where the twins and Joseph were still napping.

“I talked to Granny Miri,” he told her. “She’s going to do something to cut Rose’s growth rate by half.” He explained the rest.

Sarah grimaced. “Another notebook in the hands of an evil person can’t turn out well.”

“But at least it gives Rose more time. I’ll deal with whatever happens.”

Sarah patted the lounger beside her. “Sit with me and let me put my head on your shoulder and let’s not worry about anything for a little while.”

After a too-short bit, Rose ran up. “Dad! Mom! Great news!”

Everett tensed. “Great” news tended to come with complications that either involved lots of work for him or some new calamity that required immediate attention.

Trying to cling as long as he could to his fleeting moment of peace, he did not respond right away.

Rose waited, nodding and smiling and vibrating.

“What’s the great news, dear?” Sarah asked, poking Everett gently with her elbow.

“Josephine is going to have puppies!”

Everett shook his head. “I hardly think that’s possible. There isn’t another Werecat within several thousand miles.”

“The daddy isn’t a Werecat, Dad! Aunt Mabel said that Josephine told her ‘it was a burrowing cactus that done the deed.’ Can I have one of the puppies? Pleeeeeease?”

Everett groaned.