The Singular Six (The Chronicles of Eridia)
4
Everyone in town turned out for the celebration, and most of them brought food. Indeed there was so much food that the three tables designated for it were deemed insufficient before half the townsfolk had arrived, and more tables were hastily set up. Before long the tables were laden with roasted chicken, beef pies, barbecued rabbit, boiled giant squirrel, athelok burgers, braised chingo wings, boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, hash browns, French fries, corn on the cob, Brussels sprouts, green beans, red beans, purple beans, baked beans, yellow eithel, onions, beets, parsnips, cauliflower, apples, pears, stewed prunes, sixteen different casseroles, sweet potato pie (with marshmallows), cherry pie, apple pie, toadberry pie, brownies, rolls, muffins, bread, Cap’n Crunch, Count Chocula, Periwinkle Pops, Chocolate-Frosted Sugar Bombs, Spam, Beef Jerky, Cinnamon Gorka Bugs, Plumtree’s Potted Meat, Hoshi’s Bubblegum-Flavored Happy Party Crabs, and Twinkies (which everyone who had been at Yoyodyne avoided like the plague).
The finest wine that could be found was brought out, and innumerable toasts were drunk to the abductees and their rescuers, all of whom sat at tables of honor at the front of the packed room.
Rin made the final toast, and she made it especially for Adam.
“Here’s to a fella I know darn well probably didn’t want to do all he did. But when it came down to it, he did it anyway, and in my book that makes him a hero.” She raised her glass. “So here’s to my hero.”
Everyone boomed their hearty agreement while Adam squirmed.
Maggie nudged him in the ribs.
“Hear that?” she said. “They’re talking about you. I knew you had it in you.”
Adam grunted. “Frankly, I think I would be more comfortable if they were chasing me with pitchforks and torches.”
After the feast, half a dozen townsfolk pulled out instruments and started playing, while dozens more got up and danced a peculiar local dance that involved lots of spinning and stomping.
“Ugh,” groaned Dagmar. “If I try to dance, I think I’ll explode.”
Kukalukl sighed. “I see you learned nothing from your horrid feast of pies and cakes in Happyvale.”
She frowned. “Oh, don’t even talk about that.”
“I apologize. I thought you would have put those silly animals behind you by now.”
“It’s not that. I meant don’t talk about food. Just hearing the word ‘cake’ makes me feel like puking.”
“So,” Maggie said to them, “have you two decided what your plans are? Will you travel with us as we escort the other women we rescued back to their hometowns?”
Not caring one way or the other, Kukalukl looked at Dagmar, leaving the decision to her.
Dagmar shrugged. “I dunno. I was thinking of, you know, going home again. To the old palace. Just one last time, to say goodbye. But hopefully we’ll be done with that in time to help you hunt down Centivert and Emily and all that.”
“And after that?” said Adam. He was thinking of Granite’s tales of teams of heroes patrolling the world to protect the defenseless from the wicked.
Dagmar hesitated. “I…I dunno. I thought it might be cool to go back to Yoyodyne. I think I’d like to live there. Besides, they could use a queen’s guidance. A proper queen. Not some evil witch.”
Adam said nothing. He hadn’t told anyone the truth about Dagmar and didn’t plan to. Dagmar had done enough, and suffered enough, that he didn’t have the heart to reveal her lie.
Still, it would have been nice to be part of a team of heroes. Somebody needed to keep the chaos of this world from overwhelming those who adhered to order. Then again, it seemed likely that sooner or later he would meet others who could help him out with that.
He realized what he was thinking and smiled to himself. Not so long ago, he would have ridiculed such thoughts of heroism. And yet here he was now, the recipient of toasts and food and outpourings of gratitude.
Slowly his smile faded and he found himself staring down at his hands splayed on the tablecloth before him.
“Excuse me,” he said brusquely, rising. “I must attend to something I forgot about. I will return shortly.”
He strode out of the hall. The others exchanged puzzled glances.
“What’s up with that?” said Dagmar.
Maggie just shook her head.
After several minutes had passed, she turned to Anna and said, “Perhaps I should see what’s keeping him.”
Anna nodded. “I think you should.”
Maggie stared at Anna a moment, then said, “You know what he’s doing?”
Anna nodded. “I think so.”
“Well, then, perhaps you should go and talk to him. You are much better at dealing with people than I am. I lack your innate empathetic instincts.”
“No. It should be you.”
“Why?”
“Because you were with him during the experiences that changed him. And he has changed since last I saw him, even if he refuses to acknowledge it out loud. You know the whys and wherefores of it; I do not, though I suspect some of it has to do with this Mr. Winston you told me about.”
Maggie looked down at her plate in silence. The mere mention of Bob’s name still tugged at her emotions like a fishhook. She fleetingly wondered what might have been had he lived.
She sighed. “You are right, as usual.” She got up and headed out of the hall to look for Adam.
He was where she thought he would be: in their RV. As she approached the back door, she heard the deep, gasping sobs from within. She rapped twice on the door and said, “It’s me.”
The sobs vanished. After a brief silence, Adam called out, “I am fine. There is no need to—”
But she was already opening the door.
“I am fine,” Adam repeated in a low voice. He sat on the edge of one of the two king-sized mattresses that served as his bed. As Maggie shut the door behind her, he wiped at the wet streaks on his cheeks with the back of his hand.
“What is wrong?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing,” he said, trying to sound surprised that she might think anything was wrong.
She sat down beside him and waited for him to speak. It was what she thought Anna would do.
He laughed a little too shrilly and turned his face away from her. “I am fine. Perhaps I am just a little tired from all the activity.”
Seconds ticked past. Maggie waited. Adam glanced at her, then looked away again with a grimace.
She put her arm around his middle back (he was too tall for her to put it around his shoulders). He stiffened, held that stiff, straight-backed position for a second, then let out a long gust of air in a rush.
“I…I do not deserve this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaky. She felt his back shuddering with the unevenness of his breath. He was trying not to start crying again.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. He just stared down at his hands, which lay curled and immobile in his lap like dead things.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “This celebration. They…they cheer me, they toast me, even the womenfolk look at me with new appreciation, but…”
He turned to her, eyes wet with fresh tears, and raised his hands before his face. “I can think only of William Frankenstein gargling out his death rattle as I choked the life from him. And the others I killed. I. With these monstrous hands. This festivity is wrong. I do not deserve it. I am no hero.”
She took his hands in her own and lowered them to the mattress between them.
“You have helped countless people. You have saved countless lives. Are you saying that that means nothing?”
“No, not nothing. But no amount of good will make up for the wrongs I have done.”
“Does that mean you will not try?”
“Of course I will try, but—”
“Do you not intend to continue helping people? Do you not intend to escort those poor women we rescued back to their homes, and then hunt down Centivert and Emily and the escaped Mara
uders?”
“Yes, but—”
“But even when you have accomplished all that, as I have no doubt you will, and received further accolades for having done it, you will continue to believe that you do not deserve it, is that not right?”
“I…” He thought about it. “Yes.”
She nodded and squeezed his hands with a smile. “And all of that is why you are a hero.”
He looked at her with his eyebrows raised and his upper lip drawn back—the sort of look you give someone when they’ve said something completely insane.
She just laughed. She didn’t mind his odd looks. Then she let go of his hands and stood up.
“I am returning to this well-earned celebration. I suggest you do, too. If you don’t, everyone will miss you.”
She headed back to the Community Hall. At the door she paused and gazed up at the crescent moon, which hung clear and white in the sky. Then she smiled softly and whispered, “Thanks, Bob.”
She opened the door and rejoined the celebration. Before long, Adam did too.
Other works by J. S. Volpe, available from fine e-book retailers everywhere