Fugitives of Chaos

Vanity said, 'Do we all get to pick nationalities? I'll be Spanish.'

Her tone of voice was so light and gay that I had to laugh. So, I can't stay mad at her. I said playfully, 'A Spanish redhead?'

'Everyone knows the Spaniards are the most romantic people on Earth. Spanish women get to knife their unfaithful lovers'She said to Quentin, 'Nemo is Latin. I guess that makes you an Italian.'

Quentin said, 'Don't I get to pick, myself? The Ro-mani, whom you call the gypsies, retain the remnants of the Egyptian lore. All the true practitioners of the Art these days are Romani.'

Vanity looked at me. 'What about you, Amelia?'

'Easy,' I said. 'American. Neil Armstrong, Chuck Yeager, the Wright Brothers, and Sally Ride. What do they all have in common? Americans.'

'Yuri Gagarin was Russian,' said Vanity.

'Women in America carry guns and own businesses. They kick ass and they use rough language like

'kick ass' and nobody looks cross-eyed at them. American women are the greatest.'

Vanity said, 'Victor… ?'

Victor said, 'We are picking a destination, not choosing nationalities. This conversation is irrelevant'

Vanity said, 'Wherever we pick, we might be there for a long time. We may have to become natives. So which nationality would you pick, if you had to?'

Victor decided to play along. He did seem more easy and relaxed than the Victor I knew. Of course, the Victor I knew had spent every minute of his life inside what he thought of as a prison. Maybe this Victor was new.

He said, 'Logically, from the way the question is asked, given that wording, only Amelia's answer is correct.'

'Thanks!' I said. 'But how can there be a right or wrong answer to a question of opinion?'

'The question was asked, which nationality would I choose? The question contains a false-to-facts assumption. Every nationality—with one exception—is something you are born into. It is not a matter of choice. One must be born Spanish to be Spanish, born Gypsy to be Gypsy. Americans are a self-selected group. Americans are people dedicated to a proposition that all men are created equal. It's a matter of choice.'

Vanity said, 'Can I be Spanish-American, then?'

I said, 'If we are really going to pick a destination… ?'

Victor said, 'I don't mind being back on topic. Yes?'

'I do not want to go to Australia.'

Quentin smiled, and said, 'It is not really peopled entirely with criminals, any more than Cornwall is all smugglers.'

'A woman cannot own a gun there,' I said.

'Why is that important?' said Quentin. 'I hope we're not planning to shoot someone.'

I said only: 'The next Grendel gets it.'

There was a moment of dull silence after that.

Victor said calmly, 'I vote with Amelia. Only an armed man is free; anyone else is the ward or dependent of such a man. Besides, America is richer than Australia, bigger. Easier to blend in. We can hide.'

Vanity said, 'Hollywood. Everyone in the world watches the movies made in America. We can be famous:?

Quentin just laughed, and spread his hands. 'The only people on Earth with no tradition and no lore, a people utterly cut off from the ancient masters. A land famed only for its materialism and lack of high culture. Fine. Not only am I outvoted, but we all are going to go wherever Vanity wants, because she is the only one who can steer the boat.'

Vanity sat down on the bench, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She meditated for a moment, or maybe she slept, or maybe she entered another state of consciousness for which I have no name.

The Argent Nautilus leaped about, and sped like an arrow in another direction.

A ship—as huge as a city floating on the water—was spotted off the bow, came abreast of us, and was far astern in a matter of moments. I saw the giant ocean liner astern, a shadow on the bright horizon behind us, only a dot.

Vanity smiled, opening her eyes. 'I asked for the biggest ship I could find, heading for New York. The Queen Elizabeth II Do you think they'll pick up four kids and a bird in a stranded motorboat? They might make us work, but maybe we have enough money to pay for tickets. Ap Cymru gave us a lot. A whole lot. I wonder why he gave us so much?'

1.

It was a palace.

I found it hard to believe that mortal men, the same race that lived in such humble circumstances in the fishing village of Abertwyi, could construct something so fair, and yet so mighty in size. If someone told me later that it was the handiwork of immortal elves, or the proud sons of Atlantis, I would have been less surprised. Of course, it was made by Englishmen, who probably have more than a touch of the blood of magical races in them. How many a sailor out of Bristol brought back a mermaid as his wife, whose fishtail dropped off, replaced by legs when the church bells rang on her wedding day?

Since the gods destroy the memories of men, we can be certain of no answer.