Hamish X Goes to Providence Rhode Island (34 page)

His loss hung over them like a cloud that refused to open and drop its rain. They had no proof of his death. Though it was foolish, each held out hope that he had been able to escape the fires, the explosion, and the flood that had marked the demise of ODA Headquarters. They all knew in their heart of hearts that the chance was very slim indeed.

Maggie and Thomas were left on the beach in Turkey whence Captain Ironbuttocks had plucked them weeks before. They promised not to breathe a word of what had really happened and swore they would find a way to keep in touch.

The return to Atlantis was an occasion of joy and sorry. The death of his sister hit Xnasos hard. He wept in his home for several days before finally emerging into the company of his fellows again.

The funerals of Xnasha and Mr. Kipling were sad affairs. Xnasha's body still lay in the depths of the wreckage of Angell Street. Mrs. Francis dressed her husband in his finest uniform, lovingly repaired and restored. Mimi had lost the sabre during the fight with the bugs, so the scabbard hung empty until Xnasos came forward with a blade salvaged from the Hall of Objects. Mimi, Parveen, Cara, and Aidan all cried, but Mrs. Francis comforted them.

“He was a good man,” she said, offering each child a clean handkerchief from the endless supply secreted up her sleeve. “We were lucky to know him even for a little while.”

“It ain't fair,” Mimi sobbed. “You only just met him and now he's gone.”

Mrs. Francis crushed Mimi in her ample embrace. “No, honey, it isn't fair. But some people go through their whole lives without having anyone love them. I was lucky. And now I have you.”

Speeches were made over Mr. Kipling and Xnasha. Songs were sung in the strange yet beautiful Atlantean language. Mr. Kipling was lowered into a stone tomb carved in the vaults beneath the Temple of the Crystal Fountain. In lieu of her body, some of Xnasha's favourite items were placed in a box and lowered into a tomb as well. The tombs were sealed and the funeral ended.

Mimi was extremely busy. The Hollow Mountainers chose in a vote to name Mimi as interim Queen of Switzerland, Mimi the First. She accepted, but only until someone better could be found. Cara and Aidan took up their old posts as first and second in command of the Royal Swiss Guards.

Parveen and Noor were hard at work figuring out the arcane technologies of the Atlantean civilization. Bit by bit, they began to restore the mysterious machinery and return the ancient mythical city to its former glory. The one thing that continued to puzzle the brother and sister was the exact nature of the Crystal Fountain. They knew it controlled everything in the city, but … well, how?

When Parveen and Noor entered the temple and saw the artifact within, they simply stood, mouths open in wonder. When Parveen finally broke the silence, he did so with a single word.

“Cool.”

George was dug out of the lava flow in the Hollow Mountain and brought to Atlantis, where he worked with Parveen and Noor. He was a bit sulky at first about being left in the solid stone for so long, but he soon came around
and began the manufacture of a new batch of robot servitors: lobsters, in keeping with the Atlantean theme.

And so, Atlantis became, in essence, the new Hollow Mountain. In concert with the Atlantean council, Mimi watched over the children in jeopardy all over the world from her headquarters and hidden refuge beneath the sea. The world had become a less dangerous place for children since the demise of the Orphan Disposal Agency and the banishment of the Grey Agents. But there are still children in danger. The world is a big place. There are bad people.

But don't worry. If anyone gets uppity, Queen Mimi the First is gonna kick their butts.

So there you have it: the saga of Hamish X is complete. The heroes win. The bad people lose, and harmony is restored. My work here is done. Have a nice day. Goodbye.

What?

You're still here?

WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT? Three books full of words aren't enough for you?

You're upset, you say? Hamish X, or rather Hamish, is dead? What did you expect? You can't have everything.

I know Hamish's death is hard to accept, but you're going to have to come to terms with it. He's gone. You have to move on.

Hmm.

You still aren't happy, are you? Oh. I see.

Well, reader, I wasn't supposed to do this. He a specifically not to publish this next bit. He wanted a little privacy and I respected his wishes. Now, I see how upset you are, so I think I'm going to have to break my promise to him. But don't let anyone know. This is between you and me. If the Guild heard about it, they'd have my licence and I'd be heavily fined.

Here is the epilogue. Just don't tell anyone I let you read it.

EPILOGUE

She sat at the table in the kitchen, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. The window over the sink was open a crack, though the weather had been cool lately. She liked the smell of the ocean, a hint of salt and seaweed that filled the room.

Early morning was the hardest still. The loss could creep up on her even after all these years. She could go for days and weeks without thinking of him. But when it came back like it did today, she was crippled. She had called in sick to work because she knew the day would be a write-off: she would push papers around, try to look busy, but nothing would get done. Better to be home, where she could keep the tears to herself.

She sipped her tea and found it had gone cold. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stood, pushing back the chair with her thighs, and went to the counter to put the kettle back on to boil. In the act of pouring the cold tea into the sink, she froze.

She heard the front door open. The distinct sound of the door creaking made her start. She had often thought she should get that fixed, oil it or whatever, but such
little details seemed so unimportant somehow and she had let it go.

She turned to face the kitchen doorway. The hall ran straight to the kitchen from the front door. She heard soft footfalls approaching on the carpeted floor.

She knew she should reach for the phone on the counter-top, dial for help. The police could be there in an instant. There was an intruder in the house. She was alone. She should call the police.

But she didn't. She stood cradling the cup in her hands, half full of ice-cold tea, waiting.

He stepped into the kitchen, his bare feet soundless on the tiles. He looked at her and smiled.

“Momma?”

The cup shattered on the tiles. Tea pooled in the cracks. She stared in disbelief. He was exactly as she had remembered: the unruly hair, the eyes that were so like her own, the sweet, crooked smile. It was all so perfect, a dream come to life. It was the dream she had every night: he came home.

“Hamish?” She could barely make herself speak the word, the only word that mattered to her: her son's name.

“Hello, Momma. I'm home.” He stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.

It was impossible, but it didn't matter. She rushed across the kitchen, her old yellow slippers smearing the spilled tea. She gathered the boy into her arms and crushed him close, savouring the smell of him, the weight of him. She plastered his face with kisses. It was impossible. Impossible! She didn't care. He was back. Her Hamish had come home.

“Momma,” Hamish said in her ear.

“Yes, my beautiful boy? What is it?”

“Can you make me French toast?”

So. There it is. Done. You know everything that I know. I hope you're satisfied. Hamish is back with his real mother. End of story.

Or is it? That's the beauty of stories. No matter how final and fatal the end may be, there is always a slight chance there will be more to tell. Of course, I, your humble narrator, will always have tales to tell. I'm assigned new ones all the time. In fact, one came across my desk this morning that I bet you will enjoy. I can't tell you what it's about: that is forbidden by the Guild. All I can say is, Pester your librarian! Bother your bookseller! Make sure they let you know when the next story comes out.

Yes, Hamish X is done, but who's to say when something new may come to light? You never know. If you wish hard enough, anything is possible.

¹
     There are no actual chickens. It's just an expression that means all the loose ends will be tied up . . . which is another expression that means . . . oh, it just means that the story will end! All right? All right.

²
     Advanced Narrators' Certification College in Helsinki. See Book I.

³
     Originally, the books were to be accompanied by a scratch-and-sniff card highlighting some of the more thrilling odours featured in the story. Sadly, budget constraints have forced me to cancel the cards. If only you were able to smell the sea captain's rust-stained trousers for yourself! Alas, it was not to be.

⁴
     One instance of these terrible punishments occurred in 1768 in Portsmouth, England. A narrator was telling the story of the Tortoise and the Hare to a group of children when he stood up too quickly, bumped his head on a low beam, and knocked himself unconscious. As a result of the blow to the head, he couldn't recall the end of the story and therefore couldn't finish it. The Guild was swift to enact their punishment. The narrator was forced to marry a fish. The Guild was not without sympathy for the poor man. As it had been an accidental lapse, they made sure the fish was very pretty indeed.

⁵
     The sound of a crying toddler is the most piercing noise in nature. There is no sound more capable of destroying the mind of an adult human being. In ancient Parthia, the armies of the King commonly sent in front of their invading forces a corps of soldiers wearing wax plugs in their ears and crying infants strapped to their chests. These Babytroopers completely demoralized the enemy, driving them mad, making conquest much simpler. Of course, in ancient times, babies were much angrier and therefore more deadly.

⁶
     Slaloming, the act of skiing back and forth as one descends a mountain slope, is named for its inventor, Gustav Slalom. He discovered the manoeuvre accidentally while trying to avoid bears that he believed were leaping out at him as he skied down a mountain in Austria in 1772. The bears were a hallucination, induced when Slalom drank a keg of tainted corn syrup. Observers were delighted by the manoeuvre and began to imitate Slalom's style. (No one ever learned why Gustav had drunk an entire keg of corn syrup.)