Fugitives of Chaos

I broke in on his ruminations: 'You are our leader! Our chief. Only you; you always have been. There was no ambiguity.'

He smiled and sipped his lemonade. 'Amelia, when we were young, you and I had to be the ones leading the others, just because we were older. We had the self-control they lacked; we knew things they didn't.

I don't think those conditions obtain anymore. If anyone, Quentin is the natural leader at this point; the information in his book is giving him insights the rest of us don't have. I have made several suggestions as to how to defend ourselves against the next attack, which we have reason to believe will be a lethal one.

Mostly, I have been ignored.' His eyes twinkled, and he threw back his head to drain the sour and sweet dregs of the lemonade.

He stood, as if preparing to have us depart. I put my hand out and took his hand. It was still warm and sweat- touched by the exertion of skating.

I said, 'Wait. There's something I want to ask you.'

He looked down at me, his gaze level and patient.

'It's about—oh! Can't you sit down?'

'You wanted to ask me whether I can sit down?'

'Please sit.'

He resumed his seat.

'Victor, I have an important question to ask you.'

He looked attentive.

'I—I—'

'You…? You…?'

'It is about us.'

'Define'us.''

''Us'means'us'!'

'The whole group, all five, or just you and me? English is ambiguous when it comes to inclusive versus exclusive first person plural.'

I said crossly, 'This would be easier if you would at least try to guess what I am about to say!'

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with what I can only call a Boggin-like expression. 'What wavelengths can your brain generate? If you have a way of broadcasting a signal I can pick up, it would be very useful to secure communications practice.'

I sat in miserable silence for a few moments. 'Well—'

I could not ask him. I groped for some different question to ask.

I finally said in the most lame and insincere tone that has ever come out of a girl's mouth, 'I was wondering if you knew what Vanity and Quentin were keeping from us… ?'

'Of course,' he said in a tone as bland and certain as could be. 'It's obvious.'

'What?'

He seemed a little surprised. 'Quentin does not want to tell us that we ought not go home.'

4.

I blinked. 'Not… home… ?'

He favored me with that Victor-raising-an-eyebrow look I knew so well from my youth. 'Back to Chaos. Myriagon. Ialysus. Cimmeria. Phaeacia. And wherever Quentin's people hail from. We ought not go back.'

'Why can't we go back? We don't even know what's there. It's unexplored terrain!'

'I did not say we could not. Obviously, we could jump on Vanity's boat as soon as she can summon it here, and, if the Argent Nautilus functions as promised, and nothing stops us, we could be in those places within a day. I said we ought not, not if we want to preserve the human race and the organized universe from attack. Our enemies, even when talking among themselves (in a situation we have every reason to believe was not arranged for our ears) seemed honestly to think this was the most likely outcome of our escape back to Chaos. I think we cannot ignore that opinion without some clear proof that is it false.'

'But what about seeing our parents? Our families?'

'Good question. The people whom the war would kill have parents and families, too. Now then, they are just mortal men, or, as Corus would say, 'cattle.' But since you seemed to think it inadvisable for me even to influence the captain's glands while he was thinking, I assume you do not share the view of Corus on this matter.'

I said, 'I certainly do not share Corns' view on the matter. How dare you think that of me?'

'Well, there is also the matter of the promise you and Quentin and Vanity made to the Head of Bran.

Quentin takes such promises very seriously; broken promises directly interfere with his abilities to manipulate his magnetic entities he calls 'spirits.' Need I say that, if the universe is destroyed, it is unlikely that the British Isles will be preserved? You at least would need to exact a promise from our relatives to spare England from general and universal destruction before we went home and triggered the general attack from Chaos.'

I sat there, a sinking sensation in my stomach. I had been hoping to see my parents, whom I had never seen. Helion and Neaera. I am sure Quentin felt the same way: people who would understand us, for once; people who