Chapter Twenty-One

"THIS is insane," said Jill. "I'm no Buffy Summers, and Pete's not exactly Dr. Van Helsing. How can he just decide, 'hey, why don't we all go slay a vampire tonight?'"

The foursome crept through the dark and deserted halls of the Tisroc's palace. Lumpkin and Phineas led the way, while Cynthia and Jillian followed closely behind. The faun held a torch; each of the others carried one of Pete's firebombs; and they were all armed with a flask of the garlic-juice, just in case.

"Clearly," said Cynthia, "one of you is destined to rule Narnia, and the other is not. I wonder which?"

"Are you calling me a coward?" snapped Jill.

"'If the shoe fits,' to use a human phrase," retorted the nymph.

Phineas smiled to himself. Cynthia had become entirely too proficient at "speaking human."

Pete, Taraiel, and Penelope moved quickly through the hallways, occasionally ducking out of the way when a servant or a guardsman passed by. In cases like these, Penelope was something of a hindrance, since her hooves made a distinct clopping noise on the marble floors. But in the dead of night, walking among the heavily decorated and furnished passages of the Tisroc's palace, hiding-places were in generous supply. Even if they were bound to be heard, it wasn't likely that they should ever be seen.

Deeper and deeper they went into the mazelike interior of the castle, the minutes ticking by and drawing into hours. Pete began to fear that they were wasting their time.

"This is pointless," said Penelope. "Serpens could be anywhere in the castle, and we would never know."

"We could ask," suggested Taraiel. "Somebody must have seen where he went after the banquet."

"All right," said Pete. "We'll head back to the dining room and see if anybody stuck around. If not, we'll have to bag us one of the servants and... you know, 'ask real nicely.'"

Taraiel had the best sense of the palace's layout, and eventually she was able to lead them back to the dining hall. It was late enough by now that all was dark and empty. Not a soul awaited them in the great, high-vaulted chamber—only a bare table, and deep shadow in every corner of the room.

"Here, Serpy, Serpy, Serpy," sang Pete. He dog-whistled and strode into the room, torch and makeshift grenade at the ready. "Here, boy... Come and get your num-nums…"

Taraiel followed closely behind. "Are you sure that's wise? Letting him know that we're coming?"

"I seriously doubt we could sneak up on a creature like Serpens," said Penelope.

"Oh, how right you are, Milady Knight," said a voice from the shadows. Ahead, the very darkness of the banquet hall itself seemed to shift and coalesce, taking on the shape of a man. A man in black armor. Count Serpens. "Have you all come looking for me? How marvelousss. I had ssso desired to… ssspeak with all of you. Essspecially you, Peter."

Pete replied, "Sure, if you're done twirling your moustache like a card-carrying Legion of Doom member…" He was about to light the small bomb with his torch, when he heard the sound of hooves beating on hard stone. A suit of decorative armor was situated nearby, with a long spear in its gauntleted grip. Penelope had pulled this weapon free, and now she was charging the vampire with the polearm leveled like a lance! "Penelope, get out of the way!" shouted Pete.

But the centauress acknowledged the human's words not at all. She dashed straight for Serpens like a lancer in a jousting tourney, and the vampire hissed and drew his over-heavy sword. With a sidestep and a parry, the iron blade clanged into the haft of Penelope's bronze spear. "Who do you think you are, little mare, to challenge the likesss of me?" said Serpens.

Penelope's hooves skidded on the smooth floor as she spun about to charge again. "I am Penelope of Beruna," she said. "I am a knight of Narnia, and a captain of knights! And you are nothing but a dead man!"

"True," said Serpens, "but you cannot ssslay the dead!"

Penelope howled and charged, waving the spearhead out in front of herself. Once again, Serpens dodged aside with unnatural grace. This time, though, his blade did not strike the spear. This time, he aimed for Penelope's unprotected head. The flat of the blade struck her skull, and with a sickening thwack, the centauress fell to the ground. Her own momentum caused her to skid across the floor, carrying her some distance past the Count.

The two exchanges had been so brief that Pete and Tara had barely had time to react. When Penelope fell at last, both the human and the elf called out her name in dismay. "Hey Serpens," shouted Pete. "I've got a present for ya!" He held up one of his clay-shelled bombs and touched his torch to the cloth strip that served as its fuse. The cloth was soaked with oil and took to flame instantly. "You like dodging bullets? Dodge this!" Pete aimed the flaming missile in such a way that it would land before the vampire without going anywhere near Penelope.

Count Serpens saw the bomb coming, and he was no fool. "Stupid mortal!" he hissed. "Your tricksss…" But then, the explosive went off, and a fireball easily five feet across erupted in the middle of the room. Serpens leapt away and somehow melted into the shadows. He vanished, as if the substance of the shadow itself were the surface of a pool, and he had just dived under the water.

"What happened?" cried Taraiel.

Pete echoed the sentiment. "What the crap?" Then he saw Penelope lying unconscious on the floor, a trickle of red running down her temple. "Oh no."

Pete and Tara rushed over to the centauress's unmoving form. Her lungs were still heaving with breath, and when Pete reached down to feel her pulse, it confirmed that she was alive. "But she might have a concussion after a blow like that," pointed out Pete. "We have to wake her up!"

"I know a little something of the healer's art," said Tara. "We should—" And then the elf screamed with surprise, for two strong and pale hands gripped her roughly by the shoulders and held her fast.

"Clever human," snarled Count Serpens, for it was indeed the vampire—he had reappeared behind Taraiel, and now he held her with all his unholy might. "Your blasting fire might very well have destroyed me after all! But be aware, Peter, that I shall brook no more close calls from you and yours!" Serpens's voice was no longer a suave hiss. Now it took on the low rumble of some bestial growl.

Taraiel was held fast and paralyzed with fright. Wise and ageless though the elf-queen was, the vampire was a fiend of power and cruelty, and his fangs hovered eagerly over Tara's white neck. "P-P-Peter," she stammered, "take it," and she tried to throw her own unlit bomb to the human.

Count Serpens saw this and wrenched her arm viciously. The elf cried out in pain, and the clay object fell to the floor and shattered. The powdery contents scattered and became worthless. "None of that," said Serpens. "But if the horse-maid carries another such flask, please, tell me how you mean to use it without also burning this… lovely… frightened… Daughter of Air."

"Tara!" said Pete. Penelope did indeed have the last grenade, and it seemed unharmed by her fall. But Pete could never bring himself to do such a thing. "Let her go, you monster! It's me you want, not her!"

"Why, Peter. No clever jest? No quip at my expense?" Serpens bared his fags and gripped Tara around the throat.

"Do it," choked Tara. "K… kill him!"

Count Serpens sniffed deeply and sighed, almost with pleasure. "Yessss… Peter… you feel for this one. You… love her." He fixed his eyes on the human and said, "You don't dare risk any harm to your beautiful queen."

Pete, though, didn't see very many options. Slowly, he circled around, and retrieved the bomb from Penelope's side. "How are we gonna play this, Serpens? What can I do, to make you let her go? What do you want?"

"I want you, Peter!" said Serpens. He cackled with glee and exclaimed, "Don't you know? Can't you feel it in your blood? You were in my power once, and now you'll never be free of me. Soon, you will be mine!"

"What are you talking about?" shouted Pete.

Serpens said, "In my fortress beneath Mount Pire, dear Peter… I bit you. You and I are bound by blood. I am poison to your very life! And, sooner or later, you will give in to the sickness. You will waste away, Peter, and eventually, you will die. And when that happens, then… then you will rise again, as my obedient servant! A willing squire to the Champion of Jadis!"

The truth struck Pete like a thunderbolt. His heart sank. A wave of nausea slammed into his guts, and he felt like throwing up. Serpens… a vampire… had bitten him… "Can't be," said Pete. "There were no marks… there were no marks!"

"Concealed by my will," hissed Serpens. "It is a very simple spell. A mere obfuscation. Here… I dismiss it with a word."

And suddenly, Pete felt two sharp pains lance through his neck. He reached up and felt the scars—two puncture wounds that had never quite healed. Wounds he had unknowingly borne since Mount Pire.

"You bastard," growled Pete.

"Peter," said Tara again. She had been forced to listen to this whole conversation with Serpens's hand clamped around her throat. She barely had breath enough to speak.

"Ah, yes," said the vampire. "Taraiel. Your reason for living on through this waking nightmare of a world. Well, let's take care of that then, shall we?"

Time slowed down for Peter. He dropped the bomb—that wouldn't help to save Tara's life. He dropped his torch as well. He reached for the things that would ward Serpens off—the phial of garlic, the hand-carved crucifix that he had made but a few short hours ago. But the vampire was a fiend of great dexterity, and he already had Tara by the throat. With an animalistic snarl, he sank his teeth into the elf-maid's neck… and tore it out, drinking down her lifeblood.

Pete was stunned as if from a blow to the head. He skidded to a halt, looking on in horror, his eyes fixed on Tara's blank stare. Pete was powerless to save her, and she was powerless to save herself. "No!" cried Pete. "Nooo! Tara!"

Serpens snarled again and threw Tara to the ground. Pete rushed to her side and knelt down. Tara's mouth was moving, but she had no power to speak. Her breath escaped through the wound in her throat. Pete whispered, "Tara…"

The elf reached a hand up to touch Pete's cheek… and then she died.

Pete looked up at Serpens and said, "She's coming back, right? That's what happens when a vampire kills somebody. They come back. Right?"

Serpens shook his head. "Oh, no. Were you unaware? Elves are immune to vampirism. As are dwarves… and centaurs... and all the creatures of this world. Only humans can be turned."

"Then… you… you're?"

"Yes," said Serpens. "I was human. Once. A very long time ago. But Queen Jadis… she showed me the glory of immortality! And soon, dear Peter, you will join me. After all," he said, "what have you got to live for now?"

With all the speed he could muster, Pete jumped to his feet and roared, "You killed her! I'll never join you!" He held up the cross and presented it to Count Serpens.

The vampire hissed and put up one arm to shield his eyes. "Where… did you get that?"

"Listen to me!" yelled Pete. He took the bottle of garlic-juice and hurled it into Serpens's face. The substance burned on the vampire's skin like acid, causing the creature to howl in pain. Pete grabbed for the tunic that covered Serpens's armor and pulled the vampire close. "Listen good! You killed Tara! I will never be the Smithers to your Mr. Burns, you sick, evil, fuck!" The cross was still in his hand. He pressed that against Serpens's face, and it burned as well, leaving a t-shaped mark of red scar-tissue on the vampire's cheek. "You killed Tara! Burn, you son of a bitch!"

Count Serpens gathered all his strength and heaved. Pete was tossed clear into the air, and he landed on the hard marble in a crumpled heap. "Not today!" hissed the vampire. "Perhaps the next time we meet, Peter, but not today!"

"Come back here!" roared the human.

But the vampire retreated into the shadows, and once again, he vanished. He melted into the darkness and disappeared from sight.

Pete rose up on his knees and felt all the rage, all the sorrow, all the pain rise to the surface. He screamed and the top of his lungs… and collapsed between the unconscious Penelope and the lifeless body of his beloved Taraiel.

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE Tisroc and his personal guard found Pete a broken man, openly weeping over Tara's corpse. He whispered to her, stroked her hair, and placed a soft kiss on her bloodied lips.

"Lord Peter, who has done this vile thing?" demanded Ardeeb. He spoke in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer and merely wanted to hear Pete affirm it.

Pete looked up at the Tisroc, and the jinni saw bleary eyes set in a pain-wracked face. "Serpens," spat the human. "He killed her."

Ardeeb surveyed the scene and proclaimed, "You armed yourselves to do battle with Count Serpens, after I commanded otherwise. You could be held responsible for Taraiel's death."

"So could you, for letting that monster walk in through your front door!" said Pete.

The Tisroc only nodded. At length, he said, "For this crime, committed as it was by an agent of Jadis, the White Queen will receive no aid or quarter from Calormen. Your revolution, Lord Peter, should it ever happen, has nothing to fear from our empire. We will not interfere on Jadis's behalf. Thus is she repaid for taking our beautiful Taraiel from us."

Pete rose slowly to his feet and looked the Tisroc in the eye. "She wasn't your Tara."

"No," admitted Ardeeb, "perhaps not—"

"Perhaps nothing! We loved each other!"

In that moment, Penelope groaned and stirred, though she did not awaken.

"See to her," said the Tisroc to his soldiers. "And have the body of Queen Taraiel borne to an—"

"Don't you touch her!" said Pete. "She—she—"

"Lord Peter, there are certain proprieties that must be observed in a situation like this! Get a hold of yourself!" said Ardeeb in a harsh voice. More softly, he explained, "Taraiel was a sovereign monarch. Her body must be prepared for its return to Archenland, to her people." The Tisroc closed his eyes, and Pete saw pain in the jinni's face that mirrored his own. "You are hardly the only one who loved her. If it were up to me, justice would be… but, alas, it is not up to me. We are Calormen, and we must look to all of our borders, not just the north." The Tisroc put his hand on Peter's shoulder and concluded, "But this, we can promise. Our imperial messengers will convey Queen Taraiel home, and our missive will make clear that Jadis's knight was her murderer. The Archenlanders will not shirk their alliance with your rebellion. Rather, they will be doubly committed, to vengeance and to you."

"No offense," said Pete, shrugging off the Tisroc's hand, "but that's not exactly the first thing on my mind right now."

"I never imagined that it was," said Ardeeb.

"Then do me a favor, and get out of my way." The human rudely brushed past the Tisroc. One of the palace guards stepped forward to arrest the infidel that had just dared assault the imperial person, but the Tisroc waved him off. Ardeeb let Pete go, because, considering what the human had just lost, he couldn't be blamed for anything.

The news of Tara's death fell on shocked ears, and none more so than Penelope's. The centauress was convalescing in her bedroom, awkwardly spread out on the huge mattress as only a quadruped with twice a human's body mass could be. "She is… truly dead, then? Somehow, I cannot bring myself to believe it."

"Nor I," said Lumpkin. He sat by the side of Penelope's bed, his hood drawn down over his face, wringing his hands in grief. "I feel as if we have lost the best of our number."

Pete came into the room, and Cynthia broke down when she saw the forlorn look on his face. With tears streaming from her own cheeks, she ran to catch the human in a tight embrace. More than anyone, she had a real sense of what Pete must have been going through right now—of how much more deeply this loss affected him. Without a word, Pete took Cynthia's hands and gently extricated himself from the nymph's hug. He walked intently over to Penelope's bedside and asked, "How are you feeling, Captain?"

Penelope noted the formality and replied, "Well enough, my lord."

Pete nodded. "Good. Make sure all the happy campers have their stuff packed. The Tisroc already gave us what we wanted, so there's no reason to stick around here. First chance we get, we blow this popsicle-stand."

"Popsicle…?" repeated Cynthia.

Pete trained a cold glare on the nymph. "I'm sorry? Is this going to be another 'Idiot's Guide to Idioms' moment? Because, let me tell you, it was kind of cute the first couple hundred times, but now it's wearing a little thin. We're leaving tomorrow. Period."

The Narnians were stunned by the unfeeling calm in Pete's voice. He was pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot, but his manner was steady and purposeful. Penelope looked up at him questioningly. Though her voice cracked and tears rimmed her eyes, she said to the human, "My lord? Peter…? Before you go… I wish to apologize… for being reckless, and—"

"I don't want to hear it, Penny!" snapped Pete, suddenly angry. Then, in a flash, he was calm again. "Serpens… could have grabbed any one of us from behind like he did. So it wasn't your fault." He left Penelope in the bed and went for the exit. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated.

In the hallway outside of his own room, Pete ran into Jill. The woman from New Jersey was leaning on the inside of his doorway, waiting. "A penny for your thoughts, detective?"

"I'm tired. I'm going to get some sleep."

"That's it?" said Jill. "Your lady-love just got her throat torn out by the illegitimate lovechild of Monty Python's Black Knight and Killer Bunny-Rabbit, and all you've got to say for yourself is 'I'm tired?'"

"I am tired!" said Pete. "Tired of everything. And you, Miss Greene, can be a real pain the ass sometimes."

"I sure can. How about you? Ever acted like a pain in the ass before? Because, if not, you're a natural for a first-timer."

Pete sighed and ran a weary hand over his face. "Just tell me what you want, and then leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

"I wanted to ask you if… maybe… instead of me tagging along with you and the crowd from Narnia, you wanted to come with me instead?"

Pete snorted. "No offense, but where could I possibly want to go with you?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Jill, folding her arms and smirking. "How about back home to our world?"

"Oh yeah? Just how would we get there, genius?"

"Well for starters," said Jill, "you've spent the last, what, four months? Almost four months, jacking around in Narnia and Archenland on your big, important save-the-world quest. But me, I've only been in Tashbaan a few weeks, and I've already got a lead on a sorceress who can send us home."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "A… sorceress?"

"The word on the street is, she's good at what she does," said Jill. "It sounds legit."

"Then why aren't you already gone?"

"Are you kidding? Have you seen what a royal horndog the Tisroc is? I'm not getting out of this castle unless you take me out of here. Once we're out in the city, then we can go find the sorceress and get back to our real lives!"

Pete shook his head. "I don't know… I'm gonna need to think about this."

"Why?" asked Jill. "Got any particular reason to stay in this universe?"

"Killing Count Serpens jumps to mind," said Pete darkly.

"Revenge fantasy. Kinky. And I totally get where you're coming from, Petey-boy, but this isn't our world. You and I, we don't belong here. So when we leave this palace, I'm going home. You can feel free to come along for the ride. Or not."

Jillian left Pete standing in the doorway to his bedroom with an entirely new set of problems dumped unceremoniously into his lap.

The next morning, the Narnians watched as Taraiel's embalmed body was placed in an ivory casket and borne out of the palace at the head of a somber procession of some two-hundred jinn. By order of the Tisroc, a day of mourning was declared in Tashbaan, and many jinnyah wandered throughout the city, wailing and crying and singing Calormene dirges. The mood was even more oppressive than the glaring sun that shone overhead and beat down on the desert city.

Pete, Jill, and the Narnians gathered at the gates of the palace. Pete stood next to Jill, facing his four onetime companions. Opposite them, Phineas and Cynthia stood together, arm-in-arm, with Penelope on one side of the couple and Lumpkin on the other. Pete had made his decision. "I have a chance to go home," he said. "It's a long-shot. Probably nothing. But if I don't check it out, I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"I can't say that I'm surprised," said Phineas. "You did warn us, more than once, that going home was your chief aim."

Cynthia wasn't so kind. "How could you?" she sobbed. "After everything we've gone through? After Tara…?"

Pete scowled. "Tara saved my life. And I got her killed. I'm no good for this world. Trust me, you'll all be better of with some other human who wants to be a king."

"But there are no other humans, not if you both leave us!" said Lumpkin. "What of Aslan? What of the prophecy?"

Pete shrugged. "Not my prophecy; not my problem. If it's meant to be, someone else will come along to help you guys out."

Penelope was infuriated. She was mad at Jill for drawing Pete away, and she was mad at Pete for wanting to leave. She was so angry, in fact, that it was all she could do to bottle up the emotion and push it deep, down inside of herself. "So… that's it, then? You just mean to leave us here, if you can?"

"Got it in one," said Pete.

"Then perhaps," said the centauress, "you are not the man I thought you were. I cannot believe that I ever considered bowing down and calling you my king."

"Never wanted you to," Pete retorted. "I'm sick of this place. I'm sick of all the pain and all the death. Sick of Count Serpens and the White Witch. I'm sick of you guys: Goat-Boy and Flower-Girl; Short Round; and even you, Mrs. Ed. But mostly, I'm just sick of this whole crapsack, primitive screwhead universe of yours. So… smell ya later."

Jillian took Pete by the hand and led him away from the flabbergasted rebels. Pete had just hurt his friends deeply, more deeply perhaps than he had ever hurt anybody in his life, and he knew it. But right now, he just didn't give a rat's ass.

Chapter Twenty-Three

IN a rough and seedy part of Tashbaan's poor quarter, where beggars and starving orphans mingled freely with thieves and women of the night, and where squalor piled in the streets outside ramshackle houses, Madame Azaroth kept her tent. The sign outside was inscribed in several languages, from the flowing Calormene script to plainly-drawn Narnish letters. The Narnish writing, of course, looked just like English to the humans' eyes, and so Pete and Jill could read at least that much. The sign said, "Madame AZAROTH, retired priestess of TASH and all the GODS of Calormen. FORTUNES told; SPELLS cast; PRICES reasonable."

"A fortune teller?" said Pete. "I thought you said she was a sorceress."

Jill said, "Well that's what I heard. Everyone I asked said that Madame Azaroth was the best in the city. Anyway, what does it matter if she has magic that can send us home?"

Pete sighed. There was no point in turning back now. "All right. Lead on, MacDuff."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Shakespeare? Even for you, Brooklyn, that's pretty cliché."

The first thing Pete noticed about the inside of the tent was the smell. Then again, "foetid stench" might have been the better description. It was like… dried blood, pungent mildew, and formaldehyde, all mixed with just a touch of frog-slime for flavor. Then the cloth flap rolled shut behind Pete and Jill, and their eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight. Candles… there were several in the tent, all made of a drippy wax that melted over the sides of the candleholders (and some of these were made from humanlike skulls). Strings of dried herbs, gourd rinds, and chickens' feet dangled from the roof of the tent. A small table was cluttered with books, flasks, phials, beakers, a mortar and pestle, and other apparatus. Next to that, a cauldron bubbled over a fire-pit.

Pete leaned over to Jill and whispered, "You were saying something about clichés?"

Before Jill could answer, the tent was suddenly filled with wisps of opaque, gray smoke that emanated from the cauldron. The vapors cleared, and an old woman appeared—or rather, a jinnyah appeared, because she had the same bronze-red skin, sharply pointed ears, and Amazonian build of all the Calormene females that Pete had seen. Her face was creased and lined, but she didn't hunch or hobble. Her hair was curly and silvered, and her eyes were a deep violet. She addressed the two humans in a low and flowing voice: "I have only just arrived from a transcendent journey to the spirit world, where I conferred with a messenger of the gods themselves, and he has revealed to me—"

"Bull," said Pete. "You were standing behind that curtain over there, and you threw a chemical into the cauldron to make smoke. Neat trick, though." He shot an incredulous glance at Jill, who for her part was trying desperately not to laugh at the whole scene.

The old woman coughed and cleared her throat. "Ahem. Ah, yes… yes… I see it now. The two of you are not my customary fare. You are connoisseurs, yes? You cannot blame an old woman in my profession for using a bit of theatricality, can you? No sense in Madame Azaroth wasting her good magic on the ordinary fortune-telling, after all…"

"I think I've seen enough," said Pete. "Come on, Jill, let's get out of here."

"Wait, Pete," said Jill, holding him by the arm. "I want to hear her out!"

"Are you joking?" said Pete. "If this were New York, I'd be arresting 'Madame Azaroth' here for misdemeanor fraud."

"But this is not New York," said Madame Azaroth. "It is Tashbaan, O Son of Adam—and here, magic is no fraud! Listen to the Daughter of Eve. Please. Stay for a while and tell me what you desire." The old woman pushed two stools into the middle of the tent and motioned for the humans to sit.

"How did you know what we were?" asked Jill.

"I know many things," answered the sorceress. "I was once a high priestess of Tash. Do not mistake my beggarly surroundings for anything but a self-imposed exile, for the sake of my privacy."

"And yet, you tell fortunes," said Pete.

"We must all make a living," said Madame Azaroth. "Now, what would you have of me?"

Pete looked at Jill, and she raised her eyebrows at Pete and tilted her head at the jinnyah, indicating that Pete should ask the question. Pete sighed. "Okay, here goes. Madame Azaroth, can your magic send us back home to our own world? Back to Earth?"

The sorceress didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes it can."

Pete blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," said the sorceress. "To craft a door between worlds, this is either very difficult or very easy, depending on how close or far apart the worlds. You have come into this world from your own, so your world must be close. The spell will be an easy one. My price is sixty crescents apiece."

Jill looked over at Pete and shook her head. "I've only been here for three weeks. I don't have any money."

"I don't suppose you'll take Visa?" Pete joked. He took a pouch from his belt. The rebel army had carried some Narnian gold ever since the liberation of the garrison, and Taraiel had provided her friends with Archenlander currency when they had first set out for Calormen. "This is all I have," said Pete.

Madame Azaroth took the pouch and dumped it out on the table. She spent several agonizing minutes carefully separating out the Narnian, Archenlander, and Calormene coins, stacking the coppers, the silvers, and the gold pieces, and counting them carefully. "You have perhaps eighty-five crescents here," said the old woman. "For this, I can send only one of you back. Unless you have anything else of value…?"

Pete drew his elven sword, the blade given to him by Taraiel. It was a lot like Tara's own sword. And it reminded him of everything. Despite the lump in his throat, he put the sword on the table, next to the pile of coins. "There," he said. "I'd rather not keep this."

"Elven steel," said the sorceress. "A precious thing indeed. This blade will cover the remainder of your debt."

Jill leaned over to Pete and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I know what that sword means to you."

"We have a deal, then?" said Madame Azaroth.

"Yeah," said Pete. "Deal."

"Very well. I will prepare the necessary potions. It will take no more than an hour."

"The sooner the better," said Pete.

A short time later, Madame Azaroth placed two crystal goblets on the table in front of Pete and Jill. The potions gave off a reek so sickly-sweet that Pete nearly wretched. The mixture was bright green and bubbled with smoke of the same color. "It is done," said the sorceress. "Drink, and you will find yourselves home."

"This juice is going to send us back to our own universe?" said Pete.

"It will," said Madame Azaroth.

Pete took one cup, and Jill took the other. "Wait," said Pete. "How's your aim? I only ask, because I don't want to wind up in, like, Afghanistan, or, I don't know, sucking hard vacuum twelve parsecs out from Alpha Centauri."

The sorceress smiled. "This magic will send you home—wherever you think of as 'home.' It cannot send you anywhere else."

"Okay," said Jill. "I'm game. Down the hatch, Brooklyn?"

"Down the hatch," said Pete.

Both humans held their noses, tilted their goblets, and drank deeply.

Pete was dreaming again. It was about Taraiel. But it wasn't a happy dream. She was a vampire. Count Serpens had turned her. He saw them both, pale, fanged, laughing cruelly over Pete. Pete looked around and saw that he was lying in an open coffin. A coffin of ivory—Tara's coffin.

"Soon," hissed Taraiel, "soon, my love, you will join us. Then we will be together… forever…"

"Not real," gasped Pete. "Can't be. Serpens said… it was impossible for elves…"

"Why, how right you are, Peter!" said Serpens. "I've made a terrible mistake! I'm sorry, Taraiel, my dear, but you have to go away now."

And then Serpens grabbed the vampire Tara from behind, and while she laughed hysterically, he sank his teeth into her…

Pete gave a startled cry and woke up. He looked around. He was in his own apartment, in Brooklyn—in a building just off Atlantic Avenue, in the Heights. It was daytime. A quick glance at his old digital clock-radio showed eight thirty in the morning. A throbbing pain lanced through Pete's head, like a hangover headache, but worse. "What the hell?" he grumbled. He rolled over. He was on his bed, above the covers. And he was still wearing the Archenlander clothes that he had been given by the elves. "It was all real," he said to himself. "Duh. Of course it was real. Can't make that stuff up."

He turned and sat up on the side of the bed. His phone and answering machine were on the bedside, and the light on the machine was blinking. Without thinking, Pete hit the "play" button and stood up. "Hey, big brother. It's Lucy! I'm getting together with Sue, Frank, and the kids tonight, and Eddie's gonna be there too. I hope you show up this time, ya big lug!" BEEP. "You have… ninety-eight … new messages." The answering machine was digital, but it couldn't store any more messages than that.

Pete groaned. He only thanked his lucky star that his apartment was on a biannual lease, and not a monthly rental, or else he might've just dropped in on some very surprised new occupants.

There was a pile of mail on the floor of his apartment, just beneath the slot in the door. Mostly bills, with lots of angry red "final notice" stamps on them. Thankfully, utilities came with the apartment. The electricity was still on, the water still ran, and the phones still worked. For the first time in four months, Pete took a hot shower and shaved with a real razor. And then, he went into his kitchen… and promptly decided on going out for breakfast. The trash can and the refrigerator both gave off a stupendous funk that said, "Hey, we haven't been emptied in four months."

Pete decided that he would deal with it later, after eating a real meal at his favorite diner. Then, maybe, he would worry about what kind of story he could tell the precinct captain to save his job.

The rest of his mail and newspapers had been kept in a bin by the apartment superintendent, Mrs. Berkowitz. "Finally came back, eh? Where were ya, Detective? On a bender in Vegas, or what?"

"Well, whatever it was, it was a trip all right," said Pete. "It's good to see you, by the way."

"Oh, so now you're polite all of the sudden," sniffed the super. "I hope this means you'll start paying bills again. And clean that stink out of your place—the family in 3B has been complaining for a few weeks now."

"I'll take care of it," said Pete. "Hey, where's today's paper in all of this?"

Mrs. Berkowtiz handed him the whole bin. "Find it yourself. It should be on the top."

Pete unrolled the paper and checked the date. He had disappeared close to the beginning of November, and now it was the end of February. The headline said something about President Obama and falling stocks. "Thanks," said Pete. He rolled up the paper and put it back in the bin.

"Hey!" said the super. "Aren't you going to take this stuff?"

"I'll get it on my way back up," said Pete. Then he left the building.

The next day, Pete had a stocked fridge and a whole mess of air-fresheners and plug-ins all over the apartment. A stack of rented DVDs sat on top of his TV, and an open pizza-box with two slices left sat on the couch. On the coffee table, several empty bottles of Sam Adams surrounded an uncorked bottle of Jameson.

The doorbell rang. Pete looked up from the sofa, grabbed the remote, and snapped off the TV. Then he went to the door and peeked through the peephole.

"Hey, bro, I know you're in there! Open up!"

It was Eddie.

Pete opened the door. "How did you know I was back?" he said.

Eddie pushed his way into the apartment and grabbed Pete in a rough bear-hug. "My God!" he said. "Where the hell have you been? And what happened to you? You're all covered in… shit, man, where did the scars and bruises come from?"

"How did you know I was back?" Pete repeated.

"Oh. Uh, your superintendent. Mrs. B-something. She called the emergency contact on your lease-form."

"That's Mom and Dad!" said Pete.

"Yep. And they called me, and Lucy, and Susan. And they're flying down from Albany tomorrow to kick your sorry ass in person for making them worry half to death!" Eddie grinned and slapped Pete on the back.

Pete got a good look at his brother for the first time in far too long. Same old Eddie: sharp suit, power-tie, slick haircut. The model attorney. "It's, uh… I'm really glad to see you, Ed."

"Same here. So, where have you been all this time?" As he talked, Eddie walked into the apartment and looked around. His eyes fell on the stack of movies by the TV. "Let's see… Empire Strikes Back, okay. Godfather, excellent choice. And… Bugs Bunny's Greatest Hits, Volume 2. Well, that's just you all over, isn't it, Pete?"

"I needed something to make me feel like I was… finally home," said Pete.

"What the hell happened, man?"

Pete ran both of his hands down his face. How to explain this to his family? "I, uh… I'll tell everybody everything when they get here. Until then, I'm not sure that I can… uh… I can't."

"That bad, huh?" said Eddie. "Any hints?"

"Well… I was somewhere else. And I got beat up a lot. And I met a girl."

"But she broke your heart, didn't she?"

"She died, Eddie. I got her into trouble, and she died."

"I'm sorry, man." Eddie reached into his pocket and fished out a cell phone. He handed it to Pete and said, "If you need anything, no matter where you are, you call me, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," said Pete.

Eddie said, "Tomorrow night, my place. Be there. Then we're all going out to Fred's on 132nd."

Pete smiled. "My favorite."

Eddie went for the door. "See ya later, bro. And don't go disappearing on us again!"

"Don't worry," said Pete. "This is exactly where I want to be."

Chapter Twenty-Four

THE 84th precinct station was like a second home to Pete. He knew the place like the back of his hand. And in four months, nothing had changed. The same young rookie cop at the front desk; the same repeat-offenders being marched from booking to temporary custody; the same noise, bustle, and general chaos of an NYPD police station.

More than a few surprised stares from well-known colleagues greeted Pete when he walked by. There was Sanchez, from vice, rubbing his eyes. And over by the water-cooler stood Wilson, who worked larceny—she was too busy staring at Pete to notice that the water was running over the rim of her mug. Pete half-smiled and waved at her. Then Wilson realized that she was spilling water on herself.

Pete hurried on his way, eager to avoid a scene. He went straight for the captain's office.

Captain O'Hara was a large, stern man with freckles on his round face and bright red hair that he kept cut short. He had never been known for his calm disposition. "'Trouble' doesn't begin to describe what you're in, Detective. Even 'deep shit' is so far over your head, you only wish that's where you were!"

"Actually, considering where I was, this is pretty cushy by comparison," said Pete.

"Oh yeah?" said O'Hara. "Why don't you enlighten me? Explain how you can just drop off the face of the planet for a few months, and then walk back in here like nothing's happened!"

"Well," said Pete, "if you must know." He took off his jacket, removed his necktie, and started to unbutton his shirt. Captain O'Hara's eyebrows shot up, but a certain morbid curiosity kept him from saying anything. Pete uncovered his chest, and every mark of the torture he had suffered under Mt. Pire—every scar, every burn—was made visible to the captain.

"Holy shit, Pevensie, what happened to you?"

Pete took a breath and buttoned up his shirt again. This was it. The moment of truth. Only, Pete had no intention whatsoever of actually telling the truth, since that would only get him locked up in a nuthouse. So, really, this was more like the moment for a stone-cold lie. "It was only supposed to be for a weekend," he said. "I took a cab to Atlantic City to hit some bars, some casinos, you know? But on my first night there, some muggers got the drop on me. They kicked the crap out of me. Must have beaten me within an inch of my life."

"Sure as hell looks that way," said O'Hara.

"They got my wallet," said Pete. "All my cash, my ID. And they dumped me off in front of some dinky little unlicensed clinic. Or, at least, that's what must've happened, because I don't remember anything until I woke up there. I was in a coma for pretty much the whole time, and they didn't have any way to identify me."

Captain O'Hara gave a low whistle. "And the guys who did this to you?"

"Couldn't say. Like I said, it was nighttime, and they took me by surprise. I didn't have much to tell the Jersey cops, but they said they'd take care of it." This was a sticky point: if the captain decided to look into Pete's story, to see if he'd really talked to any police in Atlantic City, there wouldn't be any record. He'd just have to trust that O'Hara would take him at his word on this, at least for a little while. "When I woke up, I called a friend for a ride back to New York. I only got back yesterday."

The captain nodded. "That's some story. Sounds like you've been through hell, Detective."

Pete said, "Honestly, now that it's all over, I'd like nothing better than to get back to work."

O'Hara shook his head and said, "You know how this has to go, Pevensie. It sounds like you've been through some serious trauma. I can't let you come back until you've had a full physical and passed a psyche evaluation."

"A psyche eval? Captain—"

"No buts, Pevensie. You're a good cop, but you're lucky I don't bust you back down to patrolman for this stupid stunt." The captain reached into his desk and pulled out some papers and a business card. "This is the address to the shrink that the department keeps on retainer. You see this guy within a week, and if he signs off on this release form, you can come back to work. Not a minute sooner, though. Understand?"

"Yes sir," said Pete. Needless to say, though he was grateful to still have his job, he was not happy about this development.

At Fred's Bar and Grill that night, the Pevensie family got together for the first time in several months. Eddie was already waiting when Pete arrived. Then Lucy, the youngest sibling, showed up and hugged Pete with teary eyes. She punched him the arm and said, "Don't you ever go doing something that stupid again! You had us all worried sick!" Not long after that, Susan arrived with her family—her husband, Frank, and their kids, Bobby and Jenny, ages twelve and ten. And finally, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie, or Chuck and Gracie to their friends, got out of a taxicab and came into the restaurant.

Charles Pevensie was a quiet man, a war vet, and a retired salesman. He was balding and wore bifocals, but still he managed to exude an aura of strength. His wife, Grace, was more outgoing, with a pleasant face and a keener sense of humor. At parties and social gatherings, when they were getting ready to leave, Chuck liked to deliver the old line, "Say goodnight, Gracie!" to which his wife would dutifully repeat, "Goodnight, Gracie!" And everybody would laugh, even if they were too young to know who Burns and Allen were.

The gathering was animated. Susan's kids always loved being around their Uncle Eddie, and Bobby always wanted to know if Pete had ever shot any bad guys. Usually it would astound Pete how much Bobby and Jenny had both grown since he saw them last, but not this time: they hadn't changed a bit. Nobody had. He hadn't really been gone all that long.

"I wish you wouldn't swear like that in front of my kids, Ed," said Susan. "Do you talk like that in front of the judge?"

"Your mother raised you better than that," added Chuck. "Both you boys."

"Yeah," giggled Lucy, "both you boys!"

"Aw, come on, Lu! You curse like a sailor when Mom and Dad aren't around!" said Eddie.

"Eddie, enough from you!" said Grace. "Pete still hasn't told us what happened to him."

Suddenly the table fell silent and all eyes were on Pete. "Uh… I don't know if I should get into it in front of the kids. But, uh…" And he decided, right then and there, that he would have to give his family the same story had he had given to Captain O'Hara. There was no way that they would believe the truth. And so, he told them that he had been in a hospital the entire time, comatose and with no identification, and that was why it seemed that he had disappeared for so long. What's more, they all believed this story… except for Eddie.

Eddie knew Pete like nobody else. He could tell when his brother was lying, and right now, Pete was lying through his teeth.

A couple of hours later, the party broke up, and Pete received emotional embraces and heartfelt "welcome backs" from his parents, his sisters, and his niece and nephew. His brother-in-law shook his hand. Then only Pete and Eddie were left, and Eddie said, "Okay, what was that line of crap you just fed everybody?"

"They wouldn't believe the truth, Ed. I just couldn't."

"Well you can tell me," said Eddie. "I'll believe it, because I know when you're telling the truth and when you're just blowing smoke."

"Okay," said Pete. He pointed to the bar, and they both sat down. Pete said, "What I'm about to say… well, it sounds crazy, so just don't interrupt until it's over, all right?" Eddie ordered a beer and agreed to Pete's condition. So Pete began, and he told the whole story: his investigation of Professor Kirke's suicide; his arrival in Narnia; the journey through Archenland; and what happened in Calormen. He spoke of Lumpkin, of Penelope and Cyrus, of Phineas and Cynthia, and of Queen Taraiel. He told Eddie about the White Witch, about Lubash the giant, about Count Serpens and mad Falon, and about the Tisroc Ardeeb and Miss Jillian Greene.

When it was all over, Eddie stared down at his third empty pint-glass. It was true—or, at least, Pete believed that it was true. "I don't know what to say," he admitted.

Pete shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's all over with now."

"For what it's worth, I think Tara loved you as much as you loved her. It sucks that it didn't work out for you two."

"I've been thinking about that," said Pete. "She was an elf. She would have lived forever. So whenever I died, I would've just been setting her up for the same kind of heartbreak. Maybe it was never meant to be."

"Better to have loved and lost, though. Right?" Eddie ordered another round for the both of them. Pete looked like he needed it.

"I don't know," said Pete. "'Loved' is good, but 'lost'… 'lost' just hurts like hell."

That Thursday, at one o'clock in the afternoon, Pete showed up at the door of a therapist's office in one of those oversized and impersonal, all-purpose medical centers. Painted on the glass office-door was the name, "J. Davidson, PHD, Licensed Psychoanalyst."

Dr. Davidson was an odd-looking man, in his fifties perhaps, with piercing eyes and a bushy beard of bright, blond hair. Pete thought that he looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When he first saw the doctor, he said, "Excuse me, but have we met before?"

"No, no, I think we'd both remember it, eh?" said the doctor. He sat down in a large leather armchair, and Pete was made to recline on a couch. "So," began the doctor, "let's get started, shall we? It says here that you were in a vegetative state for several months… any dizziness? Forgetfulness? Hallucinations?"

"Nah," said Pete. "None of that."

"It's a documented medical fact that people in comas can experience some very lifelike dreams. Whole worlds, detailed characters… they can come to life in a person's subconscious mind. Do you recall having any experiences like that?"

Pete stared at Dr. Davidson, but he didn't say anything right away. His hesitation was enough of a cue for the doctor, who pushed a call-button on an intercom and said, "Doris, please cancel my two o'clock."

"Very funny," said Pete. It was going to be a long day.

It had taken some finesse, but eventually, the shrink had signed off on the release form. Now Pete officially had a clean bill of mental health. He would be able to go back to work at the precinct. The only problem was, the idea of getting back into the old routine, of adjusting to his old life… it just wasn't as exciting as it used to be. Catching bad guys, protecting the innocent… Pete was starting to feel that he had abandoned an even more important responsibility in Narnia. Something that even outweighed his duties as a detective. His decision to come home might have been a hasty one… but, in any case, it didn't matter. It wasn't like he could just decide to go back.

One evening, about a week later, Pete was drinking alone at Fred's Bar, when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. A familiar voice said, "It's surprisingly hard to track you down, Brooklyn!"

Pete spun around and saw Jill standing by the bar. She was wearing one of those mainstays of the clubbing set, the infamous "little black dress," and Pete couldn't help but notice that she filled it out very nicely. "That looks much better on you than the I Dream of Jeannie getup."

"Thanks, you're so sweet!" laughed Jill.

Soon, the two of them fell to talking of their respective experiences in that other world, the world of Narnia and Calormen. They were, after all, the only two people who could really talk to each other about it. Even though Eddie believed Pete, he hadn't actually been there. Jill had seen it first hand, and that counted for a great deal in Pete's estimation.

"Say," said Jill, "you want to get out of here? Go do something?"

"There's probably still time to take in a late movie," said Pete. "Come on."

A little while later, they stood outside an old bijou, looking up at the movie selection. "I don't get it," said Pete. "Where are all the new movies?" The placard above the ticket-booth read, Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The African Queen, and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.

"It must be some kind of classic film festival," said Jill. "A Humphrey Bogart quintuple feature."

"Not that I don't love a good Bogey flick," said Pete, "but I can't remember this theater ever showing old movies before. Weird." He shrugged his shoulders and went up to the ticket-booth, arm-in-arm with Jill. "Well, whatever. Which one's your favorite, babe?"

"Normally I'd say Casablanca, but Maltese Falcon is about a detective. Detectives are sexy."

"Why, Miss Greene, I do believe you're trying to insinuate something."

"Maybe I am, Mr. Pevensie," said Jill, drawing Pete into her dark eyes with a siren gaze. "You'll have to stick around until after the movie to find out."

Jill took her ticket and sashayed into the theater. Pete smiled to himself and said, "Whew. Play it again, Sam." Then he followed her inside.

Chapter Twenty-Five

PETE saw quite a lot of Jill after that first date. Since Jill mostly did freelance work, her business brought her into the city frequently. Over the next couple of days, they shared many dinners and many old movies. Then, one evening, she mentioned to Pete that she would have to go to work right here in New York the next morning. Instead of paying for a hotel room, Pete said, why couldn't Jill just stay at his place? She accepted the offer.

The next morning, Jill got dressed in the bedroom, while Pete lazily ate a bowl of corn flakes in the kitchen. Jill crept into the kitchen, now wearing a very executive skirt and blazer ensemble, and she kissed Pete. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Morning," said Pete. He opened up a newspaper and flipped through it, while Jill looked on. None of the articles caught his eye. The opinion pages rehashed the same old debates. And for the life of him, he couldn't find the movie times. There must have been a listing of new movies somewhere in the Times, but it was probably hidden away in section D or whatever, and so Pete put the paper away.

"You know, we should probably talk about last night," said Pete. "I mean, about what we—"

"What do you want to do tonight?" interrupted Jill.

"Oh, uh, something new," said Pete. "Something different."

"Sounds mysterious," said Jill. "Well, I have to be off. See you later, gorgeous!"

Pete just chuckled at that.

Jill went over to the front door and slipped on her shoes. Pete heard her mutter, "Honestly. Heels. Why do Earth women do this to themselves?"

Pete looked up. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" said Jill. "Bye, sweetie!"

Pete's specialty was homicide investigation. But in the week or so that he had been back on the job, things had been strangely quiet. And so, he spent most of his time at the station going over old cases and catching up on paperwork. His little jaunt into Narnia would probably eat up most of his sick leave and vacation time for the next year or two, but Pete didn't mind. He really had missed this old life of his, even if desks and pencils weren't quite as adventuresome as broadswords and arrows.

That night, he met Jill back at the apartment. And the two of them took to the streets, until Pete hailed a cab. They climbed in the back together, and Jill snuggled up against Pete. It was still early March, after all, and pretty darned cold in New York.

"Where are we going?" asked Jill.

"Somewhere new. I want to find a theater that isn't showing old movies. Something worth watching must have come out since we, uh, went away, right?"

"Oh," said Jill. She didn't sound very excited.

"It's funny," Pete went on. "All the TV that I've seen since we got back… reruns. Episodes that I'm pretty sure I'd seen before."

"Is that so?"

"And all the newspapers and magazines? It seems like the dates and the numbers are the only things that changed about them. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention before, but now it seems like every time I open up a paper to read it, it all looks really familiar. Too familiar." Pete wasn't even hiding the suspicion in his voice now.

Jill was looking out the window of the cab, pretending not to listen.

"Jill. What's going on? You can't tell me that you haven't noticed how… funny… everything is."

Jill turned to look at Pete, and tears formed in her eyes. "Driver," she said, "don't take us to the theater."

The cab-driver was a young man of Indian descent. "Then where to, miss?" he said.

Jillian rattled off an address in East Flatbrush. Pete recognized it at once: Professor Digory Kirke's home. The rest of the cab-ride passed in tense silence.

The taxicab pulled to the curb in front of the old professor's house. "Well, well," said Pete, stepping out of the car. "A little trip down memory lane. How do you know about this place, Jill?"

Pete turned around and almost jumped out of his skin. Jill was standing in the street behind him, but the taxi and driver had vanished. So had all the other cars parked up and down the street. There were no people around. There was no traffic, no noise. It was as if all of New York City had suddenly become deserted.

"I didn't know about it," she said. "You did. It came from your memories."

"My… memories?"

"Everything you've seen, Pete—everything since we 'came home'—has been a memory."

"No," said Pete, shaking his head, "that doesn't make sense. I've talked with people. I've seen my family. None of that ever happened before, so it can't be any damn memory!"

Jillian stepped forward and took Pete's arms to steady him. "Listen to me! The people you think you've seen, they're not real! They're not here! It's all been based on your memories of them, on your expectations! Your preconceptions. How you think they'd act and talk. But they're not real."

Pete felt his throat tighten. He shut his eyes tightly. "They're real," he said. "They've got to be real."

"No," said Jill. "They're illusions. Constructs. I made them… with my magic."

Pete opened his eyes and stared at the woman before him. She was beautiful, and she was sad, but Pete felt no sympathy. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me? Do you even have a concept of how wrong this is?"

"If it's wrong to show you your old life, to let you see your family again, then, no," said Jill, "I don't. Even if they weren't really here, the experience was real to you. You and I… we were real!"

"You and I…?" said Pete, gaping at the sheer audacity of it all. "We are a lie! I don't even know who you are! Christ, I don't even know what you are!"

Jillian Greene closed her eyes, and her human clothes melted away—the dress, the handbag, the shoes—and they were replaced by emerald robes and a jeweled girdle that clasped about her waist. She also wore an emerald-studded coronet on her brow, and she carried a wand of mistletoe. "I am a witch," she said. "My true name is Jada."

"Jada," echoed Pete. "Any relation to someone else we know?"

"Jadis is my mother. She is the White Witch, and the Queen of Narnia. I am the Green Witch, Princess of Narnia, and Duchess of the Ettinsmoor and the North Country."

Pete stared at Jada, his expression one of stone-faced calm. "Who was dad?"

Jada tilted her head to one side, as if trying to decide whether it was worth answering all of Pete's questions. She elected to be forthcoming. "My father was a human man. A knight, by the name of Sir Baelin. During the time period that you call 'the Crusades,' he came into Narnia, and he tried to depose my mother. But he failed, and the Queen brought him over to her side. That was seven-hundred years ago."

Pete laughed at that. Actually, he giggled and snorted like a man whose sanity dangled by a thread. Because, at this point, it probably did. "You're… seven-hundred years old? God, I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?"

Jada looked pleadingly at the human and said, "Please, Pete! This… vision… that I've given you, it doesn't have to be the end! I have real powers of my own! I can take both of us to Earth—for real!"

Pete sniffed loudly and contained his giggling. "Oh, really? And you'd come with me, why, exactly?"

"Are you joking?" smiled Jada. "From the moment I first peered into your memories, first saw your world, I fell in love with it! It's glorious! So many people, so much knowledge, so much to do! And movies, Pete! I simply adore movies! And the foods… chocolate alone is reason enough to live on Earth! If only—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Pete cut in. When he had Jada's full attention, he placed both of his hands on her cheeks, leaned in close, and said, "You've screwed with my head. You've screwed with my heart. And you've screwed with me. Get stuffed."

Jada's jaw dropped. "But… but, I thought… you and I…"

"Oh, come on, lady! Get it through your thick skull! There is no 'you and I,' and there never was! It wasn't real! You made sure of that." Pete forcibly pushed Jada away, and the Green Witch fell to the ground in a tussled heap.

"We could… we could still be allies, Pete! We could work together, defeat my mother, free Narnia…"

"Nice try," said Pete, "but whatever it is you're selling, I'm not buying. Just tell me how to get the hell out of this… this fun-house of yours."

Jada sat on the ground, stewing in rejection and humiliation. Pete didn't want her. And she couldn't understand why. "In truth, we never left Tashbaan," she said, her voice forlorn and defeated.

"Okey-dokey," said Pete. "I guess I'll find my own way out." He left Princess Jada sitting alone on an illusory sidewalk and went up to the illusory front door of Professor Digory Kirke's illusory old house.

It really was a flawless replica of the old man's attic, right down to every last detail on the ornate wardrobe. Pete opened the door and saw fur coats. He pushed his way through and felt around. The wardrobe had no back. On the other side, it was warm. But it was a dry heat, like a desert.

When Pete woke up again, he was in a gutter. To be precise, he was lying in a puddle of filth and garbage on the side of a Tashbaan street. He felt terrible. And really hungry. And he had to pee. Pete stood up and brushed himself off. The street was deserted. Judging from the position of the sun, it was mid-afternoon. His muscles ached, but there was no time to waste. He had to hurry.

Pete made his way out of the poor quarter and into the northeastern part of the city, where the banks of the Calormen River could be found. He asked around for a bit, until a group of jinn remembered seeing Narnian travelers at a riverside inn. Pete thanked them and followed their directions.

At the inn, he pushed his way through the front door, and there he found his friends. They were all seated at a small, round table and talking amongst themselves in low tones. "Hey," said Pete. "Got room for one more at this table?"

"That depends," said Lumpkin. "Can you stomach the company of a few sickening, primitive screwheads?"

"Yeah, about that," said Pete. "I was… a total jerkass. I know that. None of you deserved the things I said, and I…"

"And you didn't really mean them," said Cynthia. "You were grieving. We understand."

"Taraiel's death has affected all of us," added Phineas. "It's only to be expected that you would feel it the most deeply."

Pete walked around the table and sat next to Penelope. He said, "Penny, I, uh… I need to—"

"You don't need to say anything," said the centauress. "Just let it drop."

"Okay," nodded Pete.

"So, Lord Peter, do tell us," said Lumpkin, "where have you been all this time? You look like you just took a nap in a trash-heap!"

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of a long story. First off, um, how many weeks have you guys been waiting around for me? I would've thought—"

"Weeks, Lord Peter?" said Phineas. "You only left us this morning."

"Oh," said Pete. He looked down at the table. The others were silent, waiting for him to speak. "Jill… she wasn't who she said she was. She was a witch. The Green Witch."

The Narnians all paled when Pete made this revelation, and Penelope exclaimed, "The daughter of Jadis? The Lady of the Emerald Kirtle? Why, her guile and wickedness are legendary in Narnia! By the Lion's Mane, we are all fortunate to be alive! And you, Peter, you are lucky that she did not steal your soul!"

Pete reached up and felt the two marks on his neck, the bite-wound left by Count Serpens. "I guess you didn't get the memo," he deadpanned. "Another bad guy already has first dibs on that."

Chapter Twenty-Six

FOR the sum of a few Calormene crescents, the five companions were able to book passage on a river-barge making its way for the coast. Eastward and downriver they floated, on a journey that would take some eight days in total. Only occasionally did the barge ever put ashore on the riverbank, as the jinn who piloted it were traders, and they wanted to make good time. These jinn could deftly steer the craft with long poles that touched the riverbed, while the current itself carried it along swiftly.

The further they got from Tashbaan, the more wan and sickly Pete became. He was frequently ill, and the bloodshot redness never left his eyes. Even the slightest exertion left Pete winded anymore, so it was a good thing that they weren't hiking overland to their next destination. Such a journey would probably exhaust the human's fading strength.

One night, while the Narnians slept on the barge, Pete laid back and looked up at the stars, mostly because he was too queasy to rest comfortably. Everything that had happened so far… it was almost too much. Taraiel was dead. Thanks to Count Serpens, Pete was slowly dying too. Jill was actually a wicked witch. And his return home—to New York, to his family, to his life—that had all been her sick joke. He was still stuck in Narnia. He was still the only human being—the all-important Son of Adam—the one destined to sit on the High King's throne. Taken altogether, it was too much.

"My Lord Peter."

Pete looked up. Lumpkin was awake. The dwarf sat by the railing that ran along the edge of the barge. "Hey," said Pete, his voice raspy. The human had been having trouble keeping food down, and this left his throat dry and scratchy.

"You haven't spoken much since we left Tashbaan," said Lumpkin.

"I'm not feeling well. And I've got a lot on my mind."

"I can see that," said the dwarf. "The others… they worry. As do I."

"You worry about little old me?" asked Pete.

"Of course. For many reasons. You were ready to abandon us, my lord. If you had found your path home, your way back to the old life you knew, what would you have done? Would you have taken it?"

"No question," said Pete. "Yes. I would have. But that doesn't matter now."

"Not right now, it doesn't," said Lumpkin, "because there was no way home for you this time. But what about the next time? What happens when you really do find a door back to your world?"

Pete looked over at the dwarf. Lumpkin's expression was somewhere between anxious and angry. The human sighed. "You've got me all wrong," Pete said. "It doesn't matter now, because I'm not going to try and go home anymore. Between the White Witch, the Black Knight, and the Green Witch… the things they've done to me… it's fucking personal now."

"So… you'll stay and fight, not because you want to save Narnia or become our king, but because you have a private vendetta against our enemies?" asked Lumpkin.

"Yup."

"Good," said Lumpkin. "Now you're thinking like a dwarf."

Pete suddenly burst out laughing, and Lumpkin joined him. Their mirth was short-lived, though, because Pete's stomach gave a sudden turn, and he winced in pain. Soon, both man and dwarf fell into a melancholy silence.

After a while, Pete said, "I miss her."

"As do we all," said Lumpkin. He sighed. "It is a terrible thing to lose a lover. I know what you go through, my friend."

"Do you?"

The dwarf nodded. "Do you remember… when I told you of my exile? The crime that I was banished for?"

"You taught a Black Dwarf to forge weapons the way Red Dwarves do."

"Yes. The Black Dwarves are primarily warriors, not smiths. And my protégé… she was incredible. Her skill with the sword, the axe, the bow… you wouldn't believe it. And beauty… the loveliest creature that I had ever laid eyes on. Ah, but I was much younger then. It was so long ago…"

"I'm sorry," said Pete.

"So am I," said Lumpkin. "Every day."

They both fell silent again, as the night deepened and grew colder.

The Calormene village at the mouth of the river, Rash Emekh by name, was dominated by warehouses, trading posts, and a broad quay with many piers. At all hours of the day, ships put in and out of the docks, carrying goods and people to and from all the corners of the world. But today, five rebels from Narnia needed something more precious than foreign wares. They needed a ship that would bear them to the Kingdom of the Isles, the realm of the sea-people, out in the vast Eastern Ocean.

Pete was glad to be off the barge, and though he was still feeling weak, he walked with his friends along the docks. The salty air coming off the ocean was fresh and invigorating, and it seemed to do him some good. As they strode along, he casually asked the others what the mer-people were like in this world. "The elves and dwarves are pretty much what I'd expect," he explained, "but the jinn didn't quite match the legends we have back on Earth." They didn't live in bottles or grant wishes, after all. And not one of them had looked like Barbara Eden.

Phineas replied, "I have never seen the Children of Water. For all of my days, I have dwelt in the west of Narnia. This is as far from home as I have ever traveled." The same was true of Lumpkin and Penelope, since the dwarf had only ever lived in the Red Mountains and the Western Woods; and the centauress, who was by far the youngest of the lot, had only ever known the Beruna Plains.

Cynthia, though, said, "The sea-people are different from the other three Great Races. The dwarves of Earth, the elves of Air, the jinn of Fire… they're all shaped more or less like you, Peter, and like me. The Sons and Daughters of Water, though, they only have a human shape above the waist. Like the fauns and the centaurs."

"And yet, they get to be called People rather than Beasts," said Pete. "Real nice."

"It's not their shape that makes it so," said Cynthia. "All the races of this world were made differently from one another. You humans have souls that were made in the image of something greater than all of us. The souls of the elves and the dwarves, the jinn and the merfolk, they're a reflection of yours—similar, but not quite the same. And everybody else… the talking animals and the half-beasts, the spirits of the trees and the rivers… we were put here for your kind to rule over. We're just… different."

Pete still couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he didn't really have the stamina to argue right now. He did notice, though, that neither Penelope nor Phineas objected to being called 'half-beasts'—and neither did they deny what Cynthia said about their purpose in this world. They really believed that they were meant to be ruled over by a human, and that was that. "Whatever," said Pete. "Go on."

"Well, the merrow-folk look rather like fish below the waist," said Cynthia. "I mean, not exactly like fish, but they have tails in place of legs. And they're great sailors and shipwrights. They ply all of the trade routes between Narnia, the Isles, and Calormen."

"They have fish-tails," said Pete, "but they sail ships? How does that work out? Or do they build submarines?"

"I don't know what a submarine is," said Cynthia, "but as to how they sail, you'll just have to wait and see."

"I've found a ship that might suit our needs," said Lumpkin. The other rebels were sitting on the quay in a small circle, chatting amongst themselves and waiting for the dwarf to return. Gulls circled overhead and the mid-morning sun shone brightly on the choppy seawater. "It's an Islander ship," said Lumpkin, "and they're bound for home—for Narrowhaven in the Lone Isles."

"That's the capital of the sea-kingdom," Cynthia clarified for Pete. "Queen Morrigan dwells there, in a palace on the shoreline."

"But on which side of the shoreline?" asked Pete. "The land or the sea?"

"Neither," smiled Cynthia. "It's exactly on the shoreline. Only at lowest tide is it ever completely dry."

"So, about this ship…" said Penelope, eager to get down to business.

Lumpkin said, "Of course. She is called the Dawn Treader, and her captain is a Son of Water by the name of Diarmuid. It seems a fine, sturdy vessel. And doubtlessly swift, though she will be riding low in the water for the first leg of our journey—she has cargo bound for Terebinthia, the first isle of the sea-kingdom."

"I remember seeing that on the maps, back in Anvard," said Pete. "It's the big island, way south of Galma, right?"

"Yes, that's correct," said Lumpkin. "To get to the Lone Isles, we will first have to pass Terebinthia and the Seven Isles. All in all, it is a journey of some six or seven weeks, if the wind is with us, and we meet no delays."

"Delays," repeated Pete.

"Indeed," said Lumpkin. "Hurricanes, doldrums, pirates, scurvy… all manner of potential dangers await us at sea."

Pete only seemed to grow sickly again, but Phineas smiled. "What are we waiting for?" said the faun. "Cheer up." He slapped the human on the back (which knocked the wind out of him) and chuckled heartily.

Captain Diarmuid of the Dawn Treader was indeed a Son of Water—a merman. He had hair and eyes of the deepest blue-green, almost turquoise, and he wore a puffy white shirt, like something strait out of an old Hollywood pirate movie. A cutlass was tied to a sash around his waist. Below that, though, he wore no clothes at all—since, instead of legs, he had a long tail covered in blue-green scales, with a fishy dorsal fin that ran all the way down the back of it and a large caudal fin on the end. As Cynthia had said, the merfolk didn't look exactly like fishes below the waist. Their tails were long and coiled, and they rather reminded Pete of old nautical maps with drawings of sea-serpents on them. This, then, explained how the merrows got about on land and sailed above water on ships: their tails were long enough that the mer-people were quite capable of balancing and standing on them. Pete watched curiously as Captain Diarmuid moved down the gangplank of his ship to greet them. The merman walked with a motion that was… more like a slither than a hop, but not altogether graceful either. The sea-people were able on land, but nonetheless awkward.

"Are ye Lord Peter, who means to sail for Narrowhaven?" asked Diarmuid. He spoke Narnish, but with a peculiar brogue, more like a Somerset accent than any Irish or Scottish.

"Yes I am," said Pete. "What's your price, to carry the five of us?"

"Already paid," said the sea-captain with a smile. "Master Lumpkin tells me that ye be part of a diplomatic mission, to see our queen about an alliance against the White Witch. So me ship and I be at yer service, Son o' Adam."

Pete grinned and thanked the merman for his generosity. "When do we set sail?" he asked.

"On the morrow, at dawn's first light," said Diarmuid. "'Tis the best time for a ship like Dawn Treader to put out, wouldn't ye agree?"

"I can't argue with flawless logic like that," said Pete with a laugh. "Just one question, though. I'm curious about something."

"Aye?"

"Are all the sea-people able to move around on land like you do? I mean, do you live on land more, or in the water more?"

Diarmuid nodded and considered how to answer Pete. "In truth, we merrow-folk be something of land and something of sea alike. 'Tis why we can breathe both the water and the air, I suppose, what with us having both lungs and gills." Here, the captain turned his head aside, first one way and then the other, and Pete could see three tiny gill-slits on either side of the merman's neck. They were closed tightly at the moment, though, for the captain was in the open air, and breathing with his lungs. "As to land-walking, though, not all of us learn how. Can all the Sons o' Adam and Daughters o' Eve swim in the ocean?"

Pete shook his head. "No, but most learn how."

"Same kind o' thing," said Diarmuid. "Land-walking is a trick our people learned a long time ago, from the Dufflepuds."

"Dufflepuds?" said Pete. "Who're they?"

The captain smiled and said, "Oh, they live on an island, far, far away from here. Don't mind about 'em, since you'll probably never meet one."

The Dawn Treader was an impressive galleon, three-masted, with square sails and a figurehead carved in the shape of a serpentine dragon. From bow to stern, she was painted in bright greens and reds, which gave the whole ship the appearance of a live sea-monster. Above the crow's nest, she flew the aquamarine flag of the Island Kingdom: a silver dolphin and trident backed by a field of blue-green. At the crack of dawn on the following morning, she put out from Rash Emekh and made for the island of Terabinthia.

The wind was with them, and their course was true. Captain Diarmuid and all the mermen on his crew were sailors of great skill, for the sea was literally in their blood. The days passed quickly, and Pete's health, though it didn't much improve, at least didn't get any worse. He was still enervated and pale, but at least he was up and about as often as possible. Penelope, on the other hand, got the worst of it, for the tossing of the waves made her constantly sea-sick. The weather was by all accounts mild and ideal for sailing, but the centauress had to spend most of the journey with her head hanging over the gunwale. And when the great boat heaved and listed, she would slide one way or the other on her hooves, little able to find any footing. In short, though she had more legs than anybody else aboard the ship, none of them were proper sea-legs.

At night, the sea-folk would gather on the decks and sing songs. They weren't the bawdy sea-shanties that you might expect from sailors, though. Far from it. They songs they sang were wordless and haunting, like melodious wind. Pete could only describe them as "siren songs." They tugged at the heartstrings and invoked pure emotion. They reminded Pete of Taraiel.

Penelope and Cynthia were given a cabin in the aft section of the stern, for the sake of the females' privacy. Pete, Lumpkin, and Phineas were made to sleep on the lower deck, along with much of the crew. They made themselves as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. As it happened, though, Penelope simply couldn't sleep in a cabin. It wasn't that the cabin was too cramped for a centaur, but rather, that being enclosed seemed only to aggravate her motion-sickness. She much preferred to be up on deck, where she could quickly run to the side of the ship if need be. The contents of a centaur's stomach, after all, could be prodigious in volume—no matter which way they traveled.

This worked out rather well for Cynthia, who by now was in the habit of disappearing with Phineas whenever the two of them could slip away to be alone together. After a couple of days, Penelope stopped visiting "her" cabin altogether, out of fear that she might interrupt something that she wasn't supposed to.

As for Lumpkin, he was most frequently in the galley. It quickly became something of a joke among the merrow-folk that their smallest passenger could eat more hardtack and drink more grog than anybody else aboard the ship. This unusual talent made the dwarf a favorite with the crew, and he came to enjoy their company quite as much.

Thus did the Dawn Treader sail for a week and more, ever eastward, following a steady course that the captain had plotted, first for Terebintha, and then onto the mer-people's Isles.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ONE evening, long after the crewmen of the Dawn Treader had finished their nightly carousing and retired to bed, Penelope wandered alone on the upper deck. She spied Pete sitting above the forecastle, near the bow. She approached quietly and leaned on the forward gunwale, but she didn't say anything. She just waited for Pete to speak.

"Something wrong with your cabin, Penny?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. It's presently occupied by a nymph and a satyr, erm, doing…"

"Doing what they've been doing at least since Tashbaan, if not further back," said Pete. "The horizontal mamb—"

"Yes, thank you, I don't need another unsolicited mental image," said Penelope quickly.

"Ah. Almost walked in on them at the wrong moment, eh?" chuckled Pete.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, it happened to all of us at least once in college."

"Be that as it may," said Penelope, "I much prefer to remain above deck." Another couple of minutes passed in tense silence. Then Penelope said, "Lord Peter?"

Pete just stared at her.

"I mean… Pete. You once told me that if I ever needed to speak to you, you would listen."

"Yeah. I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did. So, please, listen to me now, and do not interrupt. I feel that I must…," Penelope swallowed before continuing, "take responsibility for my actions. In Tashbaan, I was reckless, and I charged at Count Serpens before you could destroy him with your blasting-fire. It was my—"

"Don't… go there, Penny. I said that I didn't want to hear it."

"It's my fault that Queen Taraiel died! I should have—"

Pete interrupted by pounding his fist on the deck. "I shouldn't have split us up. I shouldn't have had us go after Serpens like that. Shoulda, woulda, coulda… The war hasn't even started yet, Penny. But we're both going to lose more people that we care about before this thing is all over."

Penelope knew exactly who Pete was talking about. It wasn't just Taraiel and Cyrus he meant. Many others had already died, and many more would follow them before the White Witch was defeated. "I understand," she said.

"You know, you got hit pretty hard in that fight yourself," said Pete. "I'm really glad that you didn't die too."

Penelope was nonplussed, but she managed to reply, "Um… I'm glad of that too."

Pete nodded, but he said nothing more. He just went back to looking at the sea.

Pete was continually plagued by nightmares these days. In fact, they were a nightly occurrence now, as regular as clockwork. They typically involved Count Serpens gloating over a helpless Pete. "Soon," he would say, "soon you will join me in everlasting undeath…" But sometimes, he would dream about Jill instead. Not about Jada, the Green Witch of Narnia; but about Jillian Greene. He would dream that she had been real, and that he was home, with his life, his job, and his family. Those were by far the most painful dreams of all.

When the Dawn Treader was but two days out from Terebinthia, another ship was spied on the horizon. She was Calormene by the looks of her, but she didn't fly the colors of the empire. Indeed, her mast had neither flag nor banner. As soon as this ship came into view, it changed course—bearing straight for the Dawn Treader. The lookout gave warning from the crow's nest. (As to how the merman sailors managed to climb rigging, Pete never did figure it out, but manage it they did.) Captain Diarmuid had a spyglass handy, and he used it to observe the other vessel. "A Calormene ship-of-the-line," he said, "but they've no… wait… they're running a flag up their mast. A pirate flag!"

Pete and the Narnians were nearby, and Pete asked, "May I?" The captain handed him the spyglass, and the human sighted in the other ship. Through the glass, he saw that two flags now fluttered from atop its mast: the first, a black flag with two crossed scimitars of white; and the second, a snowflake on a field of icy blue. "Not pirates," he said. "Privateers. Mercenaries working for the White Witch."

Diarmuid took back the spyglass and said, "If that be true, milord, these Calormene bilge-rats pose a particular danger to ye and yer mission, aye?"

"Yeah, s'pose so," said Pete.

"Argh, well, that being the case, we'll just have to slip past and outrun 'em," said the captain. "Mayhap our hold is full o' cargo, but if it's a race they want, I'd still bet on the Treader over a Calormene ship, any day." Diarmuid turned to the sailors and shouted, "Isn't that right, lads?" and the mermen answered back with cheers and shouts of "Aye-aye, Cap'n!" and "For the Sea-Kingdom!"

"But if they catch up and board us, it'll come to a fight," said Pete. "I'm going to need to borrow a sword again." He had lost his elven blade in Tashbaan, after all.

"I think not," interrupted Penelope. "You're too ill, Pete. You can barely stand, let alone hold a weapon! You should stay below decks until we get away from them."

But Pete wouldn't hear of it, and even though he really was far too weak to fight, he took up a cutlass and waited on deck with his friends. Diarmuid gave the order, and the crew unfurled the sails to their fullest. With all sheets to the wind, the Dawn Treader picked up speed. The race was on.

The Calormene ship pursued the Dawn Treader for a full day and night, neither gaining nor losing on its prey. Yesterday, Pete had taken the opportunity the spy on the enemy ship further with the captain's telescope, and he saw that it was crewed by jinn in black clothes and masks, like the assassins who had attacked them in the Calormene desert. "It's the guys in the ninja costumes again," he told his friends. "Hmm. Jinn ninjas. Jinnjas? Or maybe… nin-jinn…"

"Oh, marvelous," Phineas had complained. "Now he's going to spend the rest of the day trying to decide which clever nickname to use for our adversaries." And Cynthia and Lumpkin had enjoyed a good laugh at the human's expense. Penelope hadn't thought it proper and had tried her best to hide any amusement. Pete was good sport, though, and hadn't minded at all.

Today, however, the wind slackened a bit, and as the island of Terebinthia came into view, the privateer ship slowly closed the gap between itself and the Dawn Treader. "Perhaps she'll back off the chase if she sees that we're well armed," said Captain Diarmuid, who ordered all able archers to the deck and instructed them to be ready with arrows. Phineas, Cynthia, and Lumpkin added their own bows to the count.

Pete, though, disagreed with the captain. "In Calormen, they fought us to the death," he said. "They won't back off."

The ship came ever closer, and eventually, she entered arrow-range. Cynthia and Phineas were the first to loose their darts, and on the other ship, two of the black-robed buccaneers fell dead. Then he jinn assassins and the merrow sailors were exchanging full volleys of missiles, but by and large, the arrows fell short of their marks. On both sides, arrows only landed in the water or embedded themselves in the hulls of either ship. A few more volleys came from each side, but then the distance between the ships grew again, and a shout came down from the crow's nest: "Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! 'Tis the Queen's Navy!"

And sure enough, from Terebinthia came sailing another ship, a great man-o-war, and this was an Islander ship. It belonged to the sea-people. And the very sight of it drove off the Calormene ship. The jinn privateers tacked their boat into the wind and fled—while the navy ship turned to escort the Dawn Treader safely into port.

The Island of Terebinthia was centrally located between Narnia, Calormen, and the Island Kingdom. As such, it was something of a trading hub between the three nations, despite the fact that it was properly a province belonging to the Islanders, the mer-people. When the Dawn Treader put in at the docks, Pete and the others debarked and found themselves in the midst of an immense and bustling market-town. By far, most of the people here were either merfolk or jinn, but Narnians of all races could be seen as well. Pete spied several dwarves, a couple of centaurs, some goblins and harpies, and even a minotaur. But then Pete saw half a dozen Red Dwarves, their legs chained together with manacles, being pushed and prodded through the crowd by a Black Dwarf and a hobgoblin. "What's going on here?" Pete asked.

"'Tis the slave-market they're bound for," said Captain Diarmuid. "Narnian exiles they be, and most likely they'll find their way into the hold of a Calormene galley."

Pete punched his fist into his palm and swore, "God damn it." There was one good thing, at least, about everybody wanting to make him a king someday: if he ever succeeded in freeing Narnia and taking the throne, then, maybe, he would be able to put a stop to all this.

"We do what little we can, of course," said Diarmuid. "The Dawn Treader, for example. Her hold is full o' gold at the moment. 'Tis my aim to buy what slaves I can—"

Pete turned to face Diarmuid and said angrily, "You're going to buy slaves?"

The merman put his hands up and said to Pete in hushed tones, "It be not what ye think, Lord Peter! Our business be to buy as many as we can and turn 'em free! We smuggle 'em to Redhaven, in the Seven Isles, to keep 'em safe from Jadis and the slavers!"

"You free them?" whispered Pete. He realized that Diarmuid wanted to avoid being overheard.

"Aye," said the captain.

"But… where did the gold come from?" asked Pete. "This 'business' of yours doesn't sound like it has much profit in it."

"We keep what gold we need to get by," said Diarmuid. "It comes from prize-ships. We take them at sea when we can, especially if they fly the flag o' Jadis."

"You're a privateer?"

"Argh, no!" said Diarmuid with a hearty laugh. "If Queen Morrigan had her way with me, sure'n I'd hang from a gibbet like any other honest pirate!"

"Pirate with a heart of gold," corrected Pete, grinning. "You're a regular a Robin Hood. Han Solo. Jack Sparrow. No, wait, forget that last one…"

Captain Diarmuid said, "I ken not what ye mean, milord, but if 'tis a compliment, I'll take it with pride!"

While Diarmuid and his crew unloaded the Dawn Treader's hold and went about their business, the rebels from Narnia explored the port-town on Terebinthia's southern shore. Everywhere they looked, they saw Narnian slaves and gloating slave-traders; Calormens and Islanders counting stacks of coins; the intersection of commerce and misery. "I can't believe that the Sea-Queen just lets this happen," said Pete. "I sure as hell wouldn't."

"And for that, we're glad," said Lumpkin. "But, realistically, until a crown sits upon your head… I'm afraid, my lord, that there is very little we can do about it."

"Is there?" said Pete. Since they had arrived on Terebinthia and witnessed the slave-market first hand, Pete had been thinking. Planning. Anticipating. "I wonder who's in charge of all this."

"My guess would be them," offered Cynthia. She pointed to a raised dais with a canopy-roof for shade, a kind of spectator's box overlooking the slave-market. Below, auctioneers paraded chained Narnians across wooden platforms, while bidders, mostly Calormenes, offered coin for flesh. Above, in the shade-covered box, two figures watched the proceedings. One was a jinn, tall and slender, with a pointy beard, a jeweled turban, and silken robes. The other was a mermaid, pudgy in face and figure, with blue hair wound into a mass of braids, and a complicated pink dress that seemed all frills, folds, bows, and ribbons.

They seemed to be truly enjoying themselves.

"You're probably right," said Pete. "Yeah. I bet they're the ones in charge, all right."

"You're planning something," said Penelope.

"You bet your horsey ass I'm planning something," said Pete. "How much influence do you think the White Witch has over what goes on here?"

"Given that she's doubtlessly the primary source of the, erm, the merchandise," said Phineas, "a great deal of influence, I should think."

"Let's hope so," said Pete. "Lumpkin, you're a pretty good blacksmith, right?"

"Uh… why, yes, I suppose. I am a Red Dwarf, after all."

"Do you think that you could make me a suit of armor?" said Pete.

"What for?" said Penelope. "You couldn't possibly be thinking of fighting your way in and—"

Pete waved both his hands and shook his head. "No, no. It doesn't need to be real armor. It's just got to look scary. Black cast-iron, like the stuff Count Serpens wears."

"In that case," said Lumpkin, "if it's only for looks and doesn't need to function, I could have something made for you in a day or so. Assuming, of course, that I had an adequate supply of iron and a working forge. I have neither."

"We'll deal with that in a moment," said Pete. "First, all of you, tell me how I look. And be really honest."

The Narnians all got a good look at their leader, and the appraisal was surprising. He was ghost-white and sickly, with red splotches under baggy eyes. When his mouth was open, they could see that his gums were emaciated and receding, making his teeth (and particularly his canines) look longer, more like fangs. "Honestly," said Cynthia, "you look like death warmed over."

"That's what I figured," said Pete. "I feel terrible. And if I look anything like I feel, well, then… good. Because that's exactly what we need right now. Here's what I have in mind…"

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THAT night, a dark figure stalked the port-town of Terebinthia. Pale and worn, with red eyes and sharp teeth, clad in black iron mail, he looked like the very avatar of death. The island folk—mostly merrows, but also people of many other races—hastened to clear a path for this agent of fear. They turned away or scurried off, just to avoid his wicked sneer and his terrifying, glassy-eyed gaze. Narnians were especially quick to flee or cower, for they knew a servant of Jadis when they saw one.

"It's all in the eyes," Pete whispered to himself. "Confidence. I can do this." Earlier that day, thanks to a favor called in by Captain Diarmuid, Lumpkin had been able to forge a suit of black armor with the help of the local blacksmith. It wasn't real armor. In fact, it was practically paper-thin, and good thing, because if it were any heavier than it already was, Pete wouldn't have had the strength to move while wearing it.

The slave-market was empty now, cleared of stock and bidders for the night. On the far side of the field, there stood a large tent of purple silk. Phineas and Cynthia had spent most of the day spying on the two individuals who had watched the slave-auctions from the dais. According to them, this tent was where the jinn stayed. The mermaid, meanwhile, had an actual house on the island somewhere, probably on the beach. A bit of asking around in the port-town had revealed their names: Ranakeet Tarkaan, merchant of Calormen; and the Lady Aribeth, Governor of Terebinthia.

Pete kept all of this information fresh in his mind as he crossed the open lot and approached the tent. There were guards outside. Calormenes. They moved to block his path, but Pete just called up all the contempt and condescension that he could, and he gave the guards a withering glare. They hesitated. Now, Pete knew, it was time to see if this deception could work. He affected a snooty British accent (because villains in movies always have them) and said, "Why are you fools just standing there? One of you, announce me to the Tarkaan."

The guards looked at one another confusedly, until one of them disappeared into the tent. Pete waited with a smug smirk on his face, though on the inside he could only pray that the guards didn't decide to pull something. Eventually, the one guard emerged from the tent, stood aside, and silently nodded his head to Pete. He pointed at the tent-flap, and Pete pushed his way inside.

The interior of the tent was opulent to the point of disgust. Piles of rugs, furs, and pillows lined the ground. Silk scarves hung from the walls in great number. One table had been set with a feast, a roast duck and bowls of oranges and coconuts and puddings and wines. Next to this table stood two meek-looking nymphs, green-haired dryads with their eyes downcast, both clad in skimpy harem-garb. A second table was piled with gold coins, some stacked and counted, others scattered in lose heaps. Next to this stood Ranakeet Tarkaan and the Lady Aribeth, running their fingers through the gold and laughing all the while. Pete wasn't sure whether he should be more disgusted by their misanthropic villainy, or by the whole money-grubbing cliché. He cleared his throat. "Ahem."

The two slave-traders looked up and saw Pete. Lady Aribeth simply sniffed and looked on curiously, but Ranakeet Tarkaan paled visibly.

"Do you know who I am?" said Pete.

"I don't!" said Lady Aribeth. "What gives you the right to come in here and—"

But Ranakeet hushed her quickly and said, "Yes, I know who you are. You are Lord Serpens, Count of Cair Parvel and Champion of Jadis." At these words, Lady Aribeth quailed and moved behind the Tarkaan.

Pete, though, hadn't planed on impersonating Serpens. He had hoped to pass himself off as some other vampire working for Queen Jadis. This… was a fortunate turn of events. It could make his job easier. "Then you know what kind of authority I wield," he said. "As the proxy for Her Majesty, the great Queen of Narnia, my words are her words in any negotiation."

The Tarkaan gulped and nodded. "Yes, of course. We… negotiations? What negotiations?"

"Ah," said Pete, grinning wolfishly and showing his teeth. "To the business at hand, then." Here, he reached into a satchel and produced a document, a royal missive from Queen Jadis. (In truth, it had been skillfully forged by Cynthia, and so it looked more than authentic.) Pete handed the scroll to the Tarkaan and said, "As you may have heard, war is brewing between Narnia and Archenland. The Queen desires that every able body join the war-effort, and the slaves in this market are to be purchased back and pressed into Her Majesty's service."

"Purchased back?" snapped Lady Aribeth. She seemed to have recovered her courage, and she slithered slimily around the Tarkaan to look Pete in the face. "We don't give refunds!"

"Oh, you'll be appropriately compensated, of course," said Pete. "I trust that the Queen of Narnia has good credit here. Presuming, of course, that you would like your operations to continue in the future… unmolested."

"Of course, of course!" said the Tarkaan, elbowing the portly mermaid out of the way. "How many slaves do you require?"

"Why… all of them," said Pete, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They are to be transported back to Narnia at once, to be dropped off at the mouth of the Glasswater, on the south shore. I can promise that you will both turn a handsome profit for this transaction, Tarkaan, Lady."

The fear in the eyes of the jinn and the mermaid was suddenly replaced by the purest avarice, and Lady Aribeth's demeanor changed all at once. She slid up to Pete and bowed gracefully, all the while balancing on her scaly tail. "Your wishes are as commands to us, my Lord Serpens. It shall be done at once."

"Good," said Pete. "You've made a very wise decision. Good night to you both." With a curt nod to each of the slave-traders, and a sly wink aimed at two very confused dryads, Pete turned and left the tent.

The next morning saw a mass emigration of Calormene ships from Terebinthia. Once word had gotten out that all of the slaves had been purchased, and no more auctions would be held for some time to come, all of the Calormene traders pulled up their stakes and left in a hurry. All the slaves in the market, meanwhile, were herded onto Islander ships for transport back to Narnia. Pete had ordered them taken to the mouth of the Glasswater, a river in the south of Narnia. It was a sparsely populated region, and about as far from any stronghold of Jadis as one could hope. Pete had single-handedly disrupted the whole Terebinthian slave-trade, and he had given all the slaves this one shot at freedom, however slight it might be. Hopefully, it would be enough.

For Pete, it was his good deed for the week. He had collapsed from exhaustion last night, not long after leaving the Tarkaan's tent, and now he slept soundly in a room at the port-town's best inn. He was awakened by an angry pounding on the door of his room. Groggy, his muscles aching from the burden of wearing armor last night, he pulled himself out of the bed and opened the door.

Captain Diarmuid stood in the hallway, a scowl on his face. "What have ye done?" he said.

"I played a little prank on the slave-traders," said Pete. "And I bought all the slaves in the market."

Diarmuid stared, open-mouthed. "Ye bought… all…?"

Pete nodded. "Yep. All of 'em. And I'm having them shipped back home to Narnia."

The merman gaped. "Back to…?"

"Don't worry," said Pete. "It's a safe place they're heading for. I think. And if they're smart, they'll run away and hide as soon as they can. It's the best we can do for them right now."

Diarmuid's face broke into a grin, and a deep chuckle rumbled forth from his lungs. "Lord Peter, ye… ye…" Quite at a loss for words, the merman grabbed Pete in a crushing embrace.

All of the wind was expelled from Pete, and he wheezed, "Okay… ouch…"

Their business in Terebinthia concluded, the crew of the Dawn Treader set sail that day for the Seven Isles. Once again the wind was at their backs, and the sailors were in high spirits after witnessing the slave-market suddenly empty itself that morning. The Narnian rebels were particularly elated, and they congratulated Pete on the success of his cunning plan.

"I can't believe it worked!" said Cynthia, once they had left the island far behind. "Peter, you must have been magnificent!"

"Indeed," said Phineas, "a most clever deception. I never would have thought of it."

"You've done a grand thing," said Lumpkin. "Stories will be told of this day!"

Pete was still feeling groggy. The sensation hadn't subsided since this morning. In fact, he was too dizzy to stand up straight, and so he sat on a coil of rope near the port-side gunwale. "Groovy," he said weakly. "Glad I thought of it."

Captain Diarmuid approached and said, "We should make the Seven Isles in a tenday, and the Lone Isles another ten after that."

Pete nodded. "Hey, Captain," he said. "You said that if Queen Morrigan caught you, she'd hang you. Is it safe for you, going to the Lone Isles?"

"No, not exactly safe," said Diarmuid, "but as long as I avoid Narrowhaven, I'll not be caught. We can part ways at Felimath Island, and all will be well for me and mine."

Still only half-awake, Pete giggled. "What did you do, Diarmuid? What made you persona non grata in the capital?"

The merman winked at the Narnians and then said to Pete, "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Not even a gentleman pirate."

"Aha," said Pete, stumbling as he tried to stand up. Lumpkin and Phineas rushed to support him. "Aha. Girl trouble. I… know what that's like." He looked down at Lumpkin and mumbled, "Hey… Lumpy… old buddy. Where'd Penny go?"

The dwarf looked around, but he couldn't spot the centauress. "She was feeling sea-sick again, so she must have—"

But Pete interrupted him. "Sea-sick. Sounds good. Think… I'll join her." And then he leaned over the railing and decorated the port-side hull of the Dawn Treader with his breakfast.

Pete didn't remember much after that. He recalled being removed to a cabin and placed in a bed. He remembered Cynthia standing overhead, telling the others that it was a fever, and that he would be in and out of consciousness until it broke. He remembered Lumpkin holding his hand, Phineas saying something friendly, and Penelope tenderly stroking his sweat-soaked brow. But of the Seven Isles, and what happened at Redhaven on the isle of Brenn, he remembered nothing at all.

When the Dawn Treader put in at Redhaven, almost a month had passed since leaving Rash Emekh. Pete was unconscious and couldn't go ashore, but the Narnians joined Captain Diarmuid in a seaside tavern called the Inn of the Dancing Dolphin. The captain drank rum; the Narnians, wine and ale. "This town," said Diarmuid, "is where we drop off most o' the freed slaves that we pull out of Terebintha. The ones from Narnia aren't especially eager to go back home, so they stay here for the most part." This was true enough. The population of Redhaven seemed evenly mixed between mer-people and the Narnian races. "It works out well for us Islanders," Diarmuid continued, "because these islands have high mountains and deep mines with plenty o' gold and riches in 'em. And we sea-people can stand on the land when we need to, but we're next to useless in rough mountains."

"So what do you do?" asked Cynthia.

"We give the mines to the dwarves," said Diarmuid. "That way, they have a home free from Jadis, and a trade to support themselves… and the Sea Kingdom can buy what they dig up."

"Are there many dwarves here?" asked Lumpkin.

"Very many," nodded Diarmuid. "Red Dwarves, to the last of 'em, I should think. They have a town o' their own up in the mountains of Muil Island. Pyrstead, they call it. Would ye like to visit it?"

Lumpkin seemed unsure, though, and he hesitated to answer.

"You should visit your people," said Phineas.

"If you do not, you will regret it," added Penelope. "Believe one who knows. You will regret it, for all your days."

Lumpkin sighed. "I cannot. The Red Dwarves cast me out. I want nothing to do with them!" He pushed away from the others and left the tavern.

Lumpkin walked alone through the cobble-paved streets of Redhaven. He was angry with himself. He knew that he was being selfish and cowardly. He didn't want to face his people, because he was afraid to meet their scorn again. And yet, he knew, Lord Peter needed help. He needed soldiers, and Red Dwarves could fight. They would rally to the Son of Adam. He had to meet with them. He had to persuade his people to join Lord Peter. That settled it.

He asked around the town, until one of the sea-women told him of a ferry that ran between Brenn and Muil. "Not many dwarves living here in Redhaven," commented the merrow-maid. "They all work the mines on Muil Island, near Pyrstead."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," said Lumpkin, biting back his exasperation. "Just tell me where the ferry is."

"Of course," the mermaid went on, "there is one dwarf who stayed on Brenn, I suppose because she's a Black Dwarf, and the Red Dwarves don't like her very much. It's a good thing she did, though, because she helps us keep the peace. A better warrior than any Islander that I've ever seen, and make no mistake."

Lumpkin rolled his eyes at the chatty mermaid and said, "Well obviously, a dwarf is going to… wait. Did you say 'she?'"

"Oh, aye," said the mermaid. "Captain of the Redhaven Watch she is, by the skill of her sword. Nabbed a pickpocket and broke up two tavern brawls just this past week! Why, she—"

"Her name, woman! What's her name?" interrupted Lumpkin.

"Her name? Oh. It's Brenawen. Captain Brenawen, she is."

Lumpkin gasped, turned around, and took off running down the street. He didn't even thank the mermaid for the information. For her part, the mermaid was a little shocked at how impolite these foreigners from Narnia could be.

Lumpkin ran through the streets of Narrowhaven, until he found the office of the watch. A pair of mermen stood outside the building, spears in their hands and badges on their tunics. "Your captain!" cried Lumpkin, running up to them. "Where is she?"

One of the guards pointed to the office. "Inside. She sees appointments on Tuesday mornings between nine and eleven, unless you file a dispensation for—"

The dwarf just ignored the both of them and ran inside. The office was sparse, little more than a desk full of papers, a closet with a weapons-rack inside, and an empty gaol-cell with a single cot and a barred window. A clatter came from inside the closet, and a voice swore, "Fumes and ashes! They know I can't reach the swords when they hang them from the top shelf!"

Lumpkin recognized the voice. "Brenawen?" he said.

"Who's there? I don't have any appointments today. Is it Watch business? Has something happened?" Out of the closet came a dwarf woman with long, black hair. Crow's feet lined her eyes, and her face was a little care-worn, but she still had some semblance of the beauty she'd been graced with in her youth. Or so Lumpkin decided, anyway. Her hair was long and black, for she was a Black Dwarf, but streaks of silver ran through it. Her eyes were black as coal, and they stared at the visitor standing in the doorway. Brenawen gaped and searched for her voice. "L… Lumpkin?"

"Hello, Brenawen."

"Is it… is it really you?" The dwarf woman came forward to examine the newcomer's face.

"Yes. It is I. After all these years, I have found you at last!" Lumpkin ran forward and embraced the dwarf woman.

"Oh, my love!" said Brenawen, tears forming in her eyes. She kissed Lumpkin and said, "Where have you been all this time?"

"In Narnia," said Lumpkin. "I… didn't know where you were. I didn't know if you were alive or dead! But… it doesn't matter now. I have wonderful news!"

"Never mind that," said Brenawen. "All that matters is that you're here now! Oh, my Lumpkin, how I've missed you!" And they kissed again.

"But It's important," said Lumpkin a few moments later. "What I have to tell you… it's a miracle! The prophecies are coming true. The Son of Adam is here!"

"What?" said Brenawen. "Here? Now? In Redhaven?"

"Yes!" said Lumpkin. "And he means to overthrow the White Witch! It's war, and he needs soldiers! You were the finest warrior I'd ever met, my dearest, and I so I must ask, will you join us?"

"You follow the Son of Adam?" asked Brenawen.

Lumpkin nodded. "I shall follow him to the ends of the world."

"Then I must follow him as well, for I am never leaving your side!" proclaimed the Black Dwarf. "Now tell me, my darling, how you found me at long last!"

"That is a long story," said Lumpkin. "It begins at a lamppost…"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

PETE awoke to find that he was bed-ridden and too weak to move. Judging from the toss of the cabin, they were still at sea. He didn't know what day it was, or where they were along their journey. He wanted to call out, but his throat was so parched that felt stuck shut. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Shh. Don't speak. Just drink this."

Pete looked to the side and saw Cynthia holding a skin of water. Pete nodded and gratefully drank.

"Slowly," said Cynthia. "A little at a time, or you'll just cough it up again. We can try giving you some food a bit later, when your stomach is stronger."

Pete looked up at the dryad, with her green eyes and green hair and youthful beauty. She looked like springtime itself. "I'm dying," he said.

"Shh," whispered Cynthia again. "No. Don't say that. We'll find a way to cure this. There must be healers in Narrowhaven who can help."

"Narrowhaven?"

"We left the Seven Isles nearly a week ago. You've been suffering from a fever for many days." Cynthia bent down and kissed Pete on the cheek. "Oh, Peter, we were worried that we'd lose you before the end!"

Pete took another sip of water and swallowed tenderly. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes stared straight ahead at nothing, but he was more or less lucid and alert. "That… could still happen," he said. "I feel like crap."

"Good," said Cynthia. "Hold onto that. If you can feel anything at all, it means you're still alive."

Pete closed his eyes and laid back on the pillow. "You're a nice person, Cynthia," he mumbled. "Maybe I should've fallen in love with you, instead."

Cynthia smiled and breathed out a tiny laugh, even as she was wiping away a tear. "Well don't start now," she said wryly. "Or you'll disappoint Phineas so very much."

"I'm happy for you two," said Pete. "I really am."

"Be happy for Lumpkin as well," said the nymph. "When we were in Redhaven, he found his lost love."

Pete's eyes snapped open. "Really? That's a surprise."

"Yes it is," said Cynthia. "I suppose you'll want to meet her soon, since she decided to come with us."

Brenawen had informed Lumpkin, in no uncertain terms, that she had stayed in Redhaven by necessity, not choice. The Red Dwarves of Pyrstead simply wouldn't tolerate the company of a Black Dwarf, never mind that she too had been sold into slavery under the auspices of the White Witch. And so, after she had been rescued from the slave-market by one of Captain Diarmuid's many passes through Terebinthia, Brenawen had remained in Redhaven as a city guard, instead of moving into the mountains with the other dwarves. Lumpkin decided, based on this knowledge, that it might be too soon to try and recruit the dwarves of Pyrstead to their cause. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best to wait until Lord Peter was well again. Then the human could do it himself, and the Red Dwarves would be more likely to listen. That was Lumpkin's justification, at least, for leaving the Seven Isles with only Brenawen added to their company. This brought their number up to six once again, for even though Pete was incapacitated, he was still the Son of Adam and their leader.

When Pete awakened, Cynthia was quick to inform the others. Soon enough, they all showed up to welcome him back to the land of the living. Phineas and Penelope, Lumpkin and Brenawen, and even Captain Diarmuid, all paid their respects. When Pete saw Brenawen for the first time, he asked her, "So, you and Lumpkin, huh? What do you see in him, exactly?"

Lumpkin's face turned bright red, but Brenawen smiled and said, "Well, to be honest, he was better-looking when we were younger… but he's also very sweet, and quite clever when he needs to be. And, you know what they say: we can't choose who we fall in love with."

"No, we can't," agreed Pete. "Well… I'm glad you two kids found each other again. Not everyone gets a second chance. Don't waste it."

"We don't intend to, my lord," said Lumpkin. "In fact, I've asked the lovely Brenawen to marry me at once, and she has consented!"

Pete sat up in the bed when he heard that. "You're getting hitched? Congratulations! My boy Lumpkin, give me five!" The human held out his hand with the fingers spread out.

Everybody in the cabin, squeezed uncomfortably together like canned sardines as they were, stared at Pete's hand. "Um… five of what?" asked Lumpkin.

Pete looked down at his open hand, and then he used it to smack himself in the forehead. "I deserve that for not explaining first," he said.

That evening, precisely at sundown, Captain Diarmuid officiated a wedding between a Red Dwarf and a Black Dwarf. Lumpkin and Brenawen became husband and wife, while Pete and the other rebels stood witness. The ceremony was a simple affair, performed aboard ship as it was, but no one had any complaints. Certainly, Lumpkin and Brenawen just wanted to be married as soon as possible, and it was obvious to everybody that time and distance had not dimmed their love for each other.

Pete had felt strong enough to stand by the groom at the wedding. Even if he hadn't, he probably would've insisted that they prop him up on the deck until the ceremony was done. There was no way that he would miss Lumpkin getting married! During the event, he had nudged Phineas with his elbow and whispered, "Wedding bells are in the air. I wonder which one of us takes the plunge next?"

The faun had only become flustered and turned crimson at that. And Phineas's embarrassment was amusing to no end for Pete. Today, Pete thought to himself, it was a good day to be alive.

The Lone Isles—Felimath, Avra, and Doorn. Each of these islands rose from the sea to a different elevation. Felimath, for example, was high and mountainous. The only people who lived here were merrow-folk who herded sheep. (It might seem strange to you that sea-people would even consider shepherding, but the fact was, they had been practicing this kind of husbandry for quite a long time. At first, they only herded great fish underneath the waves, but as they had colonized the islands within the borders of their maritime realm, they discovered the many advantages to life on dry land. Advantages like cooking with fire, writing with ink and paper, and even keeping sheep.) Doorn, on the other hand, was mostly flat for an island, and this was quite amenable to the mer-people's monopedal method of above-water locomotion. It was here, in a natural harbor behind a lagoon, that the Islanders had built their capital, the port city of Narrowhaven.

Like everywhere in the Island Kingdom, the merfolk of Narrowhaven lived by sailing, trading, and fishing (which merfolk regard in much the same way that you or I might think of hunting and trapping). Those that didn't live above the water still dwelt on the island, on the sandy slopes beneath sea-level, for this was where the waters were warm and more or less safe. Needless to say, seafood was the staple of daily life in the Sea Kingdom, though the merfolk also enjoyed the fruits of the land that their islands produced.

As Captain Diarmuid had suggested, the Dawn Treader stopped at remote Felimath to let off her six passengers. The Narnians and the ship's crew had kept each other's company for more than five weeks now, and they were all very sorry to part ways at last. After so much time, Captain Diarmuid had come feel like one of the Narnians' boon companions, and if he could have gone with them, he would have. But he had his ship, his crew, and the responsibilities that came with them—to say nothing of his prudent avoidance of Narrowhaven—and so, the two parties said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Diarmuid and the mermen boarded the Dawn Treader and set on a course back south and west, to return to the Seven Isles; while the Narnians set out overland, to cross the rugged, grassy heights of Felimath Island.

On the other side of Felimath, a raft ferried dry goods between all the islands. The sea-people didn't need it for themselves, of course, but it was a necessity for transporting anything that didn't tolerate seawater very well. That category just happened to include Narnians, so we can only imagine the surprise of the ferryman at seeing six land-travelers appear on his dockside to request passage to Doorn Island! The raft-pilot was an elderly, blue-bearded merman who could only stand up with the aid of crutches anymore, but he seemed nimble enough when plying the ferry.

When the Narnian rebels arrived on the opposite shore, they thanked the ferryman and offered to pay him, but he refused. The story alone would keep the Felimathians entertained for a week, he said, and that was worth its weight in gold. So, the Narnians left him to his own devices, and they tramped as one along the beach until Narrowhaven came into view.

Narrowhaven: now here was a sight to behold! The city seemed all marble, with grand spires and towers and bridges, and everything was of brilliant white, highlighted in pastel pinks and blues. The city sat precisely on the shoreline, partly in the water and partly on the land—not unlike the merrow-folk themselves. Some of the buildings were high and dry, while others only had their rooftops poking up from the shallows, and this state of affairs probably changed throughout the day as the tides ebbed and flowed. Every building seemed to be decorated with pearls and colorful seashells. Narrowhaven was a beautiful city, and a fitting capital for one of the four great nations.

They entered the city via a straight path that led through the dry, higher ground. There were no gates or defensive walls, for indeed, why would the Islanders ever need them? But Pete did notice that there were dikes and dams throughout the city that kept the tides at bay and made sure that certain quarters were always dry. Even still, all of this had been built upon sand—wet sand, no less. It was an engineering marvel that had Pete both stumped and awed.

The palace was situated in the center of the city, and the main dike seemed to run through the base of it. The upper levels of the palace were buttressed well above the high-tide line, and a causeway ran from the grounds above the beach to the palace gates, like a bridge that overlooked and bypassed the whole of the city.

When word of the Narnians' arrival reached the ears of the mer-queen Morrigan, she admitted them at once into her throne room. And so, that very day saw Pete, Lumpkin and Brenawen, Penelope, Phineas, and Cynthia standing before the monarch of the Island Kingdom. Queen Morrigan was neither young nor beautiful, though "handsome" and "stately" would both be apt descriptors. She certainly carried herself in a regal and dignified manner. She wore a billowing gown of aquamarine and white, with a long train of cloth that followed her tail-fin when she slid over the ground. The front of the gown was open, though, displaying the turquoise scales on the underbelly of her fishtail. Strings of pearls were woven into the queen's gray-green hair, which she wore up. Her voice was commanding and bewitching at the same time. "So this is the famous Son of Adam," she said. "Forgive me for asking, Lord Peter, but… are you quite well?"

Now Pete knew perfectly well that anybody with two brain-cells to rub together could see that he was in bad shape. So, for his part, he wondered if the queen were intentionally trying to goad or insult him for some reason. "Me? I'm fine," he said. "I just had a bite that didn't agree with me."

Penelope stepped forward and said, "Our apologies, Your Majesty, but Lord Peter is being facetious. He—"

Pete raised his hand and said, "It's one of the things I do best."

"—He has indeed fallen ill," the centauress continued, "and after our business here is concluded, he really must be taken to receive the aid of healers."

"By all means, let it be done," said the queen. "We have excellent healers in Narrowhaven: bards, whose spell-songs call to the Deep Magic on the far eastern shore of this very ocean."

A medley of gasps ran through the Narnian party. "The tales are true, then?" said Lumpkin.

"I'd only heard stories," added Brenawen, shaking her head in amazement.

"But… the country to the east… is Aslan's country," said Phineas.

Cynthia and Pete shared a poignant look, for among those present, only she had witnessed Pete's meeting with Aslan. "If that's all true," said Pete, "then these bards are probably the only people around here who can cure me."

"Oh, they are, I assure you," said Queen Morrigan. "I know the effects of an evil curse when I see them, Lord Peter, and you can trust me when I tell you, ordinary medicine cannot help you now. Only at my command, Son of Adam, can your life be saved."

Pete didn't like the sinister turn that the queen's speech had suddenly taken—not one little bit. "At your command?" he repeated. "You… want something from me?"

"I do," said the queen.

"Something in exchange for my life," said Pete, who was now suitably appalled at Morrigan.

"Precisely," said the queen. "You know, you're rather more intelligent than one would guess, judging by reputation and appearances alone."

"Yeah, I'm all full of surprises," said Pete sarcastically. "You should see me pitch a knuckle-ball."

Queen Morrigan threw her head back in a laugh and said, "You sound as if I were trying to take advantage of you, Peter! Do not underestimate your good fortune until you've at least heard the terms of the bargain I have in mind." The queen was laughing, but her eyes were as hard as steel. There was no fooling around with this woman, and the human knew it.

Pete began to feel sick, and he slumped down onto the floor. Lumpkin and Penelope knelt down at once to help him, but Pete shrugged them off. "Let's hear it," he said to the queen, the venom in his voice completely undisguised.

"The deal is simple: I will allow the Bards of Narrowhaven to free you from the curse that ravages your body, and thereby save your life. In exchange, you will grant my daughter, the Princess Cliodhna, your hand in marriage." The queen smiled warmly at Peter and added, "Long live Narnia's once and future king."

Chapter Thirty

PETE couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of all the shocking things that he had seen and heard since arriving in this bizarre world, the cake-taker had to be Queen Morrigan of the Sea Kingdom, offering Pete his life in exchange for his bachelorhood.

"Let me get this straight," said Pete, standing up off the ground. "You want me—me, Pete Pevensie from Brooklyn, New York—to marry your daughter."

The queen nodded. "It is a good match."

"A good…?" Pete stared at the queen. Then he snickered. Then he burst out laughing. "How screwed up is that? Lady, since I came to this world, I've been beat up, shot at, dragged around, captured, tortured, bitten, cursed, mind-raped… I'm damaged goods! I mean, I'm sure that your princess is a really nice girl and all, but if the two of us are a 'good match,' then I've really got to ask, what in the hell is wrong with her?"

If the queen was shocked by Pete's tirade, she didn't show it. She kept her composure and said, "The only thing wrong is an unfortunate shortage of suitable men. My daughter requires a husband of royal blood."

Pete looked over at Penelope and shook his head sadly. "How come nobody ever gets the memo?" To the queen, he said, "You're in for a bit of a disappointment, Your Majesty. I don't have a drop of royal blood in me. We don't have kings and queens anymore where I come from."

"That doesn't matter," said Queen Morrigan. "You're a Son of Adam. A human being. That is as good as royalty! Only you can rightfully sit upon the throne of Narnia, and so you are eligible to marry my daughter."

"Uh… yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Really. I mean, I've got to hand it to you: it takes a genuine brass pair to make an offer like that. But… I'm the wrong person to ask. And I happen to know that one Tisroc Ardeeb III of Calormen is the most eligible royal bachelor on the market right now—"

"The Tisroc is an oaf and a barbarian," said the queen. "I could never subject my beloved Cliodhna to his boorish advances."

"But… I've never even met this princess. How could I just agree to marry her?"

"That's not so unusual among royalty," said the queen. "You are fated to become a king. Did you truly think that marrying for love was ever an option?"

"Uh… yeah," said Pete. "Kinda."

"Oh. How quaint," said Queen Morrigan. "Of course, you will be introduced to the princess at your earliest convenience. Who knows? You might find that you like each other right away."

"And what if she doesn't like me very much?" said Pete. "What happens then?"

"It matters but little," said the queen. "She doesn't have a much of a choice. And from the looks of things, neither do you. You suffer from the curse of the vampire, do you not?"

Pete's head swam and he felt faint again, but Penelope held him up. Pete managed to nod. "Yes."

"I thought as much," said the queen. "I fear that you don't have long to live. I suggest you choose quickly."

Pete looked at his friends. Cynthia and Brenawen seemed horrified, but Lumpkin and Phineas both looked thoughtful. As for Penelope, she was scowling at the queen in open malice. "What do you guys think?" he asked.

Penelope gaped at Pete. "You cannot seriously be considering this! There must be another way to save your life—"

"But," said Phineas, "it is an advantageous match. The future King of Narnia and the Princess of the Islands… and we could use the aid of the Islander Navy to assault Cair Paravel from the sea."

"You would have that aid and more," said the queen. "The resources of the Island Kingdom would be at your disposal."

For a while, nobody spoke.

Penelope said to Pete, with desperation in her voice, "We can find another way."

"I don't see any other way!" hissed Pete. He faced the queen and quietly said, "Deal."

"What was that?" asked the queen.

Pete spoke louder. "I said, you have a deal. Save my life… and I'll marry your daughter."

"Delightful!" said Queen Morrigan. "I'll fetch the Princess Cliodhna at once. You'll want to meet your new fiancée, after all!" The queen stood up from her throne and slithered up to Pete. "You've made the right decision, Lord Peter. Guards!" At the queen's command, a squadron of mermen armed with tridents snaked into the room. "These," she told them, "are our royal guests. See that they have whatever they desire, and make sure that no harm comes to any of them—especially Lord Peter. Keep a most careful watch on this Son of Adam."

Queen Morrigan went away to speak with her daughter, and the guards led Pete and the Narnians to a lavish suite of rooms in the palace. All the furniture here was carved from coral or stone and inlaid with seashells and mother-of-pearl. The view from the open balcony looked out on the ocean. The smell of salt spray and the cries of gulls filled the air.

When they were alone, Pete collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Penelope. "This is a very bad idea!"

"Why would that be?" asked Lumpkin. "Phineas was right. A royal marriage to a princess of the Island Kingdom would forge a valuable alliance and add weight to Lord Peter's claim on the throne of Narnia. And we could certainly use the help of their navy…"

"Lumpkin, my husband, I'm astonished at you!" said Brenawen. "Lord Peter has just been asked to marry someone he doesn't even know, never mind love! Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Well, yes," said the dwarf, wringing his hands and shuffling his feet under the piercing gaze of his wife, "but I'm not royalty. This is a completely different situation!"

"Ever has it been the fate of kings and princesses to marry for convenience and not desire," said Phineas. "This is no different."

"Yes it is!" said Cynthia. "This is Peter we're talking about! You heard what he said: there aren't any kings where he comes from! This custom of arranged marriages—it's perfectly ordinary to us, but it must sound positively barbaric to him!"

Pete listened while his friends debated his future and weighed his decision, but he chose this moment to interrupt. "It doesn't have anything to do with any of that," said Pete. "Royalty, alliances, whatever. This is all about one thing. Penny, you asked me what I think I'm doing? I'll tell you: I'm saving my ass. The queen can have me cured; she named her price; and I bought the deal. That's all there is to it."

Everybody fell silent and stared at Penelope. As for the centauress, she was glaring at Pete with fury in her eyes. "I would like a moment alone with our good lord, if you please," she said in her coldest tone.

"Of course," said Cynthia, who took Phineas by the hand and pulled him out of the room. Lumpkin and Brenawen followed, though they were both a little bit perplexed by Penelope's resistant attitude.

Once she was alone with Pete, Penelope said, "I have to tell you something, my lord. It's… rather embarrassing, and I wish that you wouldn't repeat for anyone the things that I must say to you now."

Pete rolled over in the bed and tried to sit up, but the best that he could manage was to prop his upper body on one arm. He grunted from the exertion and said, "You know you have my confidence, Penny. Whatever you say doesn't leave this room."

The centauress nodded, but she remained quiet, searching for the right words. "I… have always had some difficulty discussing my past," she began. "The memories are painful. I don't like to talk about my early life."

"This is about… before we met? When you were a soldier in the Witch's army?"

"Even before that," said Penelope. "It is about… how I came into the Witch's service. I grew up on the plains of Beruna, in centaur territory, and I lived there all my life. But when the time came for me to take a mate—to marry—I…"

"What happened?"

"First, my lord, understand that centaurs practice arranged marriages," said Penelope. "Females, especially, are expected to marry the males chosen by their fathers. My father chose a mate for me whom I did not love, and… and…"

"And you refused," said Pete.

"I ran away," said Penelope. "I fled. It was my only choice." She sighed. "With nowhere else to go, I was caught by one of the Witch's press-gangs and conscripted into her army. But by then, it didn't matter, because I had neglected my duty to my father and my family. I no longer have any honor among the centaurs of Beruna. I could never go back there."

"And that's why you couldn't elope with Cyrus," reasoned Pete. "Your people don't take it kindly if you back out of a done deal."

"Precisely so, my lord. Peter."

"So…" said Pete, breathing a weary sigh, "you know a little bit about this arranged marriage stuff. You know how it can go bad. What about when it works? Aren't most of your people happy when they get married?"

"Most of my people, Peter, are fortunate enough to have parents who take their wishes into consideration when arranging matches. I... I was not so fortunate."

"Then… this whole mess I'm in… it hits kind of close to home for you," said Pete. "I get where you're coming from, Penny. Believe me, I do. But I can't see any way out. Maybe after the queen has me cured. If it even works. But for right now, we have to play along."

"I get the feeling," said Penelope, "that Her Majesty is deadly serious. If you make this 'bargain' of yours, and then fail to honor your side of it, I foresee no mercy from the Sea-Queen."

"I know what I'm getting into," said Pete, "and you know what the funny thing is? The more I think about it, the less I care."

"Peter… my lord? What do you mean?" said Penelope.

"I mean, Penny, that the odds of meeting another queen or princess that I could ever be in love with are looking pretty slim. Betting zero on a Vegas roulette table would give me a better a shot. So… if I've got to marry somebody royal, this Princess Cliodha sounds as good as any other."

"You can't mean that!" said Penelope. Then her face darkened and she growled, "…I see what this is about. You're still mourning Queen Taraiel. Still feeling sorry for yourself, instead of looking ahead to your future!"

"I'm trying to make sure that I actually have a future!" said Pete. "If I don't do this, I'm gonna… I'm gonna turn into the thing that killed Tara! I can't let that happen!" Pete rolled off the bed and fell to his knees in front of Penelope. He clutched the white knight's-tunic that draped down over the front of her armor and said, "I'm scared, Penny. I don't want to die, and I don't want to become like Count Serpens…"

Penelope nodded and looked into Pete's eyes. The human truly was terrified. She knelt down and clutched him in an embrace. "If… this is your decision, Peter, then I will respect it. I might not agree, but I will support you as I always have. As a friend should."

Pete pulled himself back up onto the bed. "You've been my best friend through all this, Penny. Thank you."

The centauress nodded her acceptance. Then she went to speak with the other Narnians, leaving Pete alone in the bedroom.

Detective Peter Pevensie of New York, leader of the Rebel Alliance of Narnia, stood before Queen Morrigan of the Island Kingdom in her palatial throne room. Behind Pete stood his five Narnian companions, dressed in fresh regalia that the queen had provided to them. Pete himself wore a fine suit of satin clothes in colors of coral and soft blue, with a coral-toned cape that swished behind him as he walked. Opposite Pete, a mermaid stood on her turquoise fishtail, its scales the same color as the queen's. Her hair was a flowing mass of bright sea-green, and her eyes were of the same color. She was curvaceous and beautiful, with full lips and rose-pink cheeks. Above the waist, if one ignored the color of her hair and the gill-slits in her neck, she was more than perfectly human—she was one of the most gorgeous women that Pete had ever seen. Whereas Taraiel had been beautiful, Princess Cliodhna was hot. (Of course, from the waist down, her form was that of a finned sea-serpent, but still…) The princess wore a simple garment consisting of a pair of large scallop-shells that covered her bosom, with a drape of sheer green fabric that covered her midriff in theory only.

Pete and Cliodhna faced each other. Around them, the throne-room was packed with sea-people, various nobles and courtiers and soldiers, all present to bear witness to an historic moment. Pete stepped forward and whispered to the princess under his breath, "Hi. I'm Pete. We haven't really met, but will you marry me?"

Princess Cliodhna smiled. "What a romantic proposal," she said. "I'm so very sorry that my mother has done this to you."

"I should be the one apologizing," said Pete. "Look at me. You're the one who's got to say 'yes' to a walking cadaver in front of all these oh-so-very important mer-people."

The princess nodded. "I'll admit, I'd hoped you'd be better-looking. But… you're ill. I understand that. And my mother tells me that you'll improve quickly once you've been treated by our bards."

"I sure hope so," said Pete. "So… what do you want out of this?"

"What do I want?" said Cliodhna. "I can't ever recall being asked that before… but since you pose the question, I want to be married, so that I can inherit the throne and become queen."

"You have to get married to inherit the throne?" asked Pete. "That's new. Nobody thought to mention that part to me."

"I have to marry someone of royal blood," said Cliodhna.

"So I'm your ticket to the throne, and you're my life-saver. Sounds like we both get something we want."

"Yes it does," said the mermaid princess.

"All right," said Pete. Raising his voice to normal tones, he knelt down in front of Princess Cliodhna, in front of Queen Morrigan, in front of his five companions, and in front of the Islander court. "Princess Cliodhna, will you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"

The princess smiled, and the loveliness of her face multiplied manifold. "Yes," she said. "I will."

The crowd of nobles applauded politely. Queen Morrigan came down off of her throne to kiss her daughter and future son-in-law. Peter and Cliodhna, holding hands, faced the court, and the courtiers' applause gave way to exuberant cheering. Lumpkin and Phineas came forward to clap Pete on the back and shake his hand—and Lumpkin even gave the human a "low five"—but Cynthia and Brenawen exchanged worried looks, and Penelope exerted all her willpower to keep her face like stone.

Amidst the cheers, Phineas whispered to Pete, "Congratulations, my friend. Your princess is quite the catch."

Pete grinned at the faun and said, "Was that a fish joke?" When Phineas nodded, Pete said, "Not bad. Hey, come by later, and we'll go for a beer. And then you can tell me when you'll finally work up the guts to make an honest woman out of Cynthia."

"Someday," said Phineas with a grin, "but not too soon."

Pete and Phineas slapped each other on the back—the "bro hug," as Pete described it—and then Phineas pulled away to stand by Cynthia. Pete and Cliodhna continued to stand before the crowd, basking in their adulations. Pete looked over at Penelope and caught her gaze. The centauress's eyes softened, and she smiled at Pete, but it was only half-hearted.

Here Ends Book One of the Chronicle

First Interlude

PETE was led to a platform on the top of one of the palace's many towers. He was told to go alone. His friends would have to wait until the ritual was complete. Even his newly betrothed princess wouldn't be allowed to watch. Only the Seven Bards of Narrowhaven could accompany Pete up to the tower's roof. The chief of these sage singers was a white-bearded merman by the name of Oghma. Pete thought that he looked the spitting image of King Triton, from the Disney cartoon, except for the fact that he carried a harp instead of a trident. The other Bards, mermen and mermaids both, carried other instruments: strings and drums, but no horns, for they all had to sing as well as play.

When Pete and the Bards came to the rooftop, Pete looked down and saw that the platform was inscribed with a geometric design. It wasn't some kind of occult symbol or arcane circle. Rather, it looked more like a Celtic cross, with intricate loops and bands arranged in the shape of a "plus sign" within a circle. Pete was instructed to stand in the center, where the arms of the cross-design came together. The "x" marks the spot, Pete thought to himself.

Overhead, the stars had long since come out. It was imperative that they wait until nighttime, Oghma had said, for they had to be sure that the vampire had taken physical form before they could attempt to expel its influence from Pete's body and blood. When midnight drew near, Oghma announced to Pete and the other Bards that it was time to begin.

And so the Seven Bards began to sing. As with the mermen aboard the Dawn Treader, it was a wordless song that reminded Pete of whistling wind. It was still a siren-song, but this time… this was a song of power. It had magic. It was a mournful song, a funerary dirge, a song of requiem. It called out to the restless spirits of the dead and bade them be at peace, to put aside evil and fear and to embrace whatever destiny lay beyond this mortal world. The power of the song struck Pete like a lightning bolt between the eyes.

And the human fell unconscious

Pete sat up and looked around. It was dark, but tiny fires in coal-burning braziers cast meager light on the chamber. It was the torture-chamber beneath Mount Pire, in the Tomb of Ancient Kings—the long-forgotten elvish monument that Count Serpens had made into his fortress. Nothing frightened Pete more than his memories—and his continuing nightmares—of this place. Nothing, that is, except for Count Serpens himself.

As if he had been summoned by Pete's very thoughts, Count Serpens stepped out of the shadows. Pete scrambled to his feet and backed away. He wanted to scream, but he was too terrified to find his voice. The vampire in black armor advanced menacingly on Pete, but he said nothing. Pete took several more steps back… and then he realized something.

In his nightmares, he had always been paralyzed. Helpless. But here, now, in this dream or vision or whatever it was… he could move. Boldly, Pete approached Count Serpens, balled his fist, and struck the vampire square on the chin. "That was for Tara," said Pete.

Count Serpens said nothing, but rose to his feet and glared angrily at the human.

"What's the matter?" said Pete. "Not feeling talkative?" He lunged at Serpens again and tackled him to the ground, striking him repeatedly on either side of the face. The human let out a primal yell and punched the vampire one last time before pushing himself away and getting back onto his feet.

Serpens's face was now a bruised and bloody pulp, but still the vampire only stared at Pete with a look of pure hatred.

"You can't talk," Pete realized, "because you're not real. You're just a shadow. An idea. You're that thing in the back of my mind that I've been afraid of for way too long."

Count Serpens stood up and rushed at Pete, his arms outstretched. Pete just grinned and lowered his center of gravity. This was an old high school wrestling move. He caught the vampire and heaved with all of his might, flipping Serpens's ragdoll form clear over his head and slamming him down behind himself. Serpens landed on something much higher up than the ground, waist-level with Pete.

Pete turned around and saw what it was: a box, an open coffin with a layer of brown soil in the bottom of it. And on a table nearby, there sat a wooden stake and mallet, just waiting for Pete to pick them up and use them. "This may not be real," said Pete, taking up the stake, "but I'm going to enjoy it anyway. A whole lot." The vampire was too dazed to do anything by lie in the coffin, until Pete placed the point of the stake over his heart. Serpens's blood-red eyes snapped open, and he bared his fangs at Pete in rage and fear. "This," said Pete, "this is for me." And he brought the mallet down onto the stake with all his strength.

Pete was awakened by the extraordinarily painful sensation of something trying to crawl its way out of his body through the mouth. He was flat on his back, on the rooftop of the palace tower. The stars were overhead. And a cloud of noxious green vapor was pouring out of his mouth and nostrils, choking off his breath, keeping him from crying out in pain. The cloud of gas took on a shape: that of a great green serpent, like a viper. It wriggled and it writhed as it floated in the air, and then it broke up and dissipated. It just vanished… and that was that.

Pete laid his head back and felt the cold stone beneath his body. He felt… pretty good. Tired, but basically okay. He reached his hand up to his neck… and felt smooth skin. The bite wounds were gone. Count Serpens was gone. Pete was free of him. All around, the Seven Bards were smiling, and Oghma was nodding in satisfaction. Pete looked up at the stars, thanked his lucky one, and laughed with joy.

Many miles to the west, in a chamber deep beneath the castle of Cair Paravel, a vampire was writhing on the ground and vomiting up blackened blood. A dire pain pierced his heart, and it was like nothing he had felt in seven-hundred long years of undeath. He rose to knees and screamed, "No! I will not be denied my triumph! Nooooo!"

But his cries were in vain. Peter Pevensie was free, and Count Serpens knew it.

The human was coming. Peter was coming for him, of that Serpens had no doubt. And along with Peter, wide war would come to all of Narnia. The Count of Cair Paravel knew that he would need to be prepared.