Chapter Fifty-One

PETE woke up with Dr. Dawkins shining that little flashlight into his eyes again. He was back in very same hospital room from the beginning of this extended hallucination. "Minor scrapes and bruises only," said Dr. Dawkins. "Not bad, considering that you tried to use yourself for a crash-test dummy."

Pete squinted until the doctor turned off the light. Then he could see her… and something was different. Her ears were exposed, and they were indeed pointed like an elf's. He could see her ears, because her hair was done up in a tall beehive that gave Marge Simpson's a run for its money. Pete swung himself off the bed and said, "You're not real. You're not Tara, and you're not real, so get out of my way."

The doctor stood aside, and Pete was about to leave the room, when a man appeared in the doorway and stopped him. It was none other than Tisroc Ardeeb III… except that the emperor of the jinn was wearing the uniform of an NYPD beat-cop. "Where do you think you're going, buddy?" he said. "Do you realize what kind of trouble you're in? Assault and battery, grand theft auto, reckless driving, endangering the public, and speeding!"

"I know, I know," said Pete. "I'm a cop too, after all."

"You are?" Ardeeb hung his head in disappointment. "In that case, I can't arrest you. Have a nice day." Then he turned and left. Pete could see that Ardeeb had a "kick me" sign taped to his back.

"I don't get it," grumbled Pete, walking toward the hospital lobby. "Is Jadis purposely trying to drive me bat-shit nuts?"

"There you are, son!" said a man's voice.

Pete turned around and found his parents, none other than Charles and Grace Pevensie, waiting for him in the lobby. Only, Chuck was dressed like Napoleon, and Gracie like Wonder Woman.

"Go away," said Pete. "I know you guys aren't my real parents!"

"Uh-oh," said Gracie. "Chuck, when did you tell Pete that he's adopted?"

"Hey, I didn't blab!" said Chuck.

"Oh, well it must've been Eddie then," said Grace.

"Gah!" cried Pete. He turned and stormed out the front door of the hospital. Then he was greeted by the sound of squealing tires, and his little brother Eddie pulled up to the curb in a pink Cadillac convertible. He was wearing a zebra-stripe suit and cheap sunglasses… and in the back seat of the car, there were two mermaids. Cliodhna and Melusine, one dressed in a slutty sailor costume and the other in a Catholic school-girl uniform, sat arm-in-arm, staring into each other's eyes. Their faces were only an inch or two apart, as if they were about to start kissing.

"Hey, dude!" said Eddie. "You'll never believe it, but I picked up these two hot babes at the wharf! You've got to come along and be my wingman on this!"

More than a little dazed by all the bizarre stimuli, Pete slumped down into the passenger-side seat of the convertible. "It's not real," said Pete to himself. "It's not real, it's not real."

Eddie threw the car into first gear and sped out onto the busy street. With the wind whipping through her blue-green hair, Cliodhna leaned over the front seat and said, "Hey, Eddie, baby, where'd you dig up Captain Buzzkill over here?"

"Hey, he's cool, honey," said Eddie. "He's my brother!" Then he leaned over to Pete and said through gritted teeth, "Do not screw this up for me, man!"

Pete didn't say anything. He just opened up the car door again—while Eddie was still driving down the congested highway at close to sixty miles per hour—and stepped out. Eddie and the mermaids laughed, while Pete tumbled onto the road and cracked his head on the pavement.

When Pete woke up again, he was sitting in some kind of waiting room. There were plush chairs, a potted ficus in the corner, and an inspirational "Hang in there, Baby!" poster with the obligatory kitten dangling from a branch. A woman behind a receptionist's desk—no, wait, it was Brenawen, her face caked with blush and purple eye-shadow—said, "The doctor is in. He'll see you now, Mr. Pevensie."

Pete stood up and stumbled through a frosted-glass door into another office, this one with several full bookshelves, a long reclining-couch, and a large desk cluttered with papers. Seated at the desk was an enormous lion, wearing wire-frame spectacles and a nice Armani suit. "Ah, gut, you're here. Now ve can begin, ja?." He spoke with a terrible Austrian accent.

Pete just stared at the lion. "…Aslan?"

"Nein, my name is Dr. Joshua Carpenter. I am a psychoanalyst, and ve have an appointment, remember? Now, please sit down on ze couch and tell me about your relationship vis your mozer."

"You're a lion. In a suit and tie."

The psychiatrist nodded, stroked his mane, and took off the spectacles. "I see. And, do you distrust all professional people wearing suits and ties? Are zey all a-lyin' to you about somezing?"

"That's a terrible pun, and I don't have to put up with it!" said Pete. "What I mean is, this is all one big joke! It's fake! It's phony! Look!" He took out his wallet and opened it, emptying it onto the psychiatrist's desk. Colorful Monopoly money fell out. "Not real," said Pete. Then he took out his Smith & Weston .38, pointed it at Dr. Carpenter's head, and fired. The gun let out a squeak, and a "bang" flag unraveled from the barrel. "Not real!" said Pete.

"I see," said the lion. He reached his paw over to an intercom, pressed the button, and said, "Gladys, please cancel my next appointment. In fact, clear ze rest of my day."

But now Pete was fishing around deeply in his pockets, and his hand brushed against something else… something tiny, and kind of round and smooth… and he brought out an apple seed.

"Vhat is zat you have zere?" asked Dr. Carpenter.

Pete stared down at the small seed and said, "Reality. This is real. Aslan told me… in my dream… to focus on what's real, and what's not. This is real, and everything else here isn't. Like The Matrix. Blue pill, red pill, there is no spoon." Pete turned and walked out of the office. He walked past the waiting room, down the long and twisting maze of hallways, down a staircase, and out onto the streets. He looked up. He was in Manhattan—in Times Square. Up on the JumboTron, the White Witch was looking down and smiling evilly. Pete just ignored her. He went over to the sidewalk and looked around for a patch of loose earth. Then he planted the apple-seed. And the illusion shattered like a brittle sheet of ice.

"What have you done?"

Pete rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was back in Jadis's castle. He could tell, because all of the walls were made of that perfect, crystalline ice. But there was open sky overhead—he was in the courtyard, in the center of the palace. There were gardens here—frozen, dead gardens with trees of white and gray, covered in frost and icicles. And the ground underneath his feet was just as frozen. But there, in front of Pete, was the hole where he had driven Aslan's apple-seed into the ground.

"I figured it out," said Pete. "I figured you out, and I escaped from your little sideshow horror-movie." Pete looked down at himself and found that he had all of his Narnian weapons back—his heavy sword and his flintlock pistols. He pulled one of the guns and pointed it at Jadis, though the witch didn't seem scared of it in the least.

"I see," said Jadis. "In that case, since you think that you know everything about me, why don't you explain me to myself?

Pete shrugged. "Okay. Why not? See, at first, I thought that you were just another run-of-the-mill villain. You were, like, Brand-X generic evil; comes in two flavors, 'vanilla' and 'plain.' For crying out loud, lady, your shticks are older than you are. You've got clichés growing on your clichés. (I'd have a doctor take a look at that, by the way.)" As he spoke, Pete kept his pistol trained on Jadis, and he circled around the little plot of frozen ground in the courtyard.

Jadis, who yet stood several feet away from Pete, didn't move, but she followed the human with her stony gaze. "Do you have anything to say that isn't abject buffoonery?"

"Oh yeah," said Pete. "See, I got it a while back. Ever heard of John Milton? Paradise Lost? Hell, of course you have. You've seen my memories. When it comes to witches, my brain is a like a Google search, isn't it? I'm an open book to you guys."

Jadis smiled. "Ah. Then you mean to compare me to Milton's tragically heroic Satan? The work of a poet who was 'of the Devil's party without knowing it?'"

Pete rolled his eyes. "That's William Blake you're quoting. And you two have a lot in common, because you're both full of hooey. See, in Milton's poem, God comes off as this strict, controlling, demanding tyrant. And Satan? He's the rebel. The plucky underdog. He sticks it to the Man and fights for freedom, even though it costs him everything. And you know what? It's a load of crap." Pete stalked forward and closed the distance between Jadis and himself. All the while, he kept that gun pointed at her head. "See, the way I look at it, a tyrant is someone who gets in your face. Just like you, Jadis, all up in Narnia's business. But the Emperor-across-the-Sea? That guy doesn't bother us. Sure, Aslan comes along and tells it like it is, but we keep our free will, and the Emperor stays on his side of the world. That suits me to a tee, because it means I never have to set eyes on his ugly mug. You, on the other had… lady, you're a real eyesore."

Jadis just glowered at Pete and uttered a simple challenge: "What are you going to do about it?"

Pete put the gun to Jadis's head and said, "I'm gonna make sure I don't miss."

But then the ground began to rumble and shake. Jadis shrieked, and Pete lost his footing and slipped to the ground. The plot of earth behind the human, the spot where he had planted the seed, churned and shifted… and then a great apple-tree burst forth from the ground, grew to a height of ten, twenty, thirty feet and more, and it blossomed. Green leaves and silver apples. And Jadis looked upon this tree and howled with rage.

"No!" cried the witch. "Get it away! The sight of it is loathsome to me, and I cannot bear it!"

Pete stood up. He looked at the tree, and then down at the struggling witch. Jadis was trying desperately to shield her eyes, cover both of her ears, and plug her nose all at the same time. It was a pitiful sight. He limped over to the witch and aimed the gun again.

"The smell!" cried Jadis. "The foul smell, and the humming in my ears! I can taste them, and they are ash and rot! Make it stop!" In the midst of her mad shouting and flailing, she lashed out with one leg and kicked at Pete. He lost his balance again, and this time the gun went off. The bullet ricocheted into one of the walls of the ice-palace, and a tiny hairline fracture formed… which then spider-webbed into a whole maze of cracks… and the cracks started spreading everywhere throughout the walls of the castle. Jadis, now crawling on all fours, fled from the courtyard and made for one of the exits.

And where she had been rolling on the ground and shouting in agony, she left something behind. The glint of gold caught Pete's eye, and he picked the object up. It was a jeweled circlet—the crown of Narnia.

Pete picked the direction that he hoped led to the front hall, and he ran. All around, chunks of ice and large sections of the castle were giving way and falling. Whole spires toppled over and crashed through layers of icy floor. Pete did his best to run, skate, and skid on the smoothly polished ice underfoot.

He dashed under another archway, and there he found his friends—Falon, Lumpkin, and Brenawen. They had overpowered the Black Dwarf Ginarrbrik and tied him up, seemingly to interrogate him. But now, Ginarrbrik was howling in panic, and the Narnians didn't seem to know what to do. The ice palace was falling apart around them, and yet the front gates were still intact.

"Lumpkin!" shouted Pete. "Shoot the doors!"

"Lord Peter!" cried the dwarf. "You've returned!"

"Later!" said Pete. "Shoot!" As he ran, he drew two more pistols from his bandolier and fired them both at the ice-gates.

The others caught on quickly. Falon and Brenawen drew their muskets, and Lumpkin aimed his blunderbuss at point-blank range, and between the lot of them, they put all kinds of cracks and holes in the doors. Then Pete rammed into the weak spots, and the dwarves did the same…. but they didn't give way until Falon added his muscle to the effort. One good shove from the hybrid, and the doors shattered. Pete felt the ice-crystals cut his face in places, but he also knew that they were free. The four of them ran away from the castle with all haste, leaving Ginarrbrik hogtied and screaming in the front hall.

They just ran. They sprinted, lungs burning and muscles aching, while behind them, the castle of Jadis imploded. It collapsed in on itself and shattered into a trillion tiny ice-crystals and snowflakes. When the debris settled, nearly an hour later, there was literally nothing left of the castle. No single chunk of ice stood more than a foot off the ground, and a fine layer of snow now coated the countryside. The dead body of Ginarrbrik the dwarf sat where the gates used to be, impaled through the middle by a large icicle. But there was no sign of Queen Jadis anywhere.

The only feature that stood out now was the silver apple-tree from the courtyard, tall and majestic. It rustled pleasantly in the wind and perfumed the air with a sweet scent. Pete looked down at the golden crown in his hands and examined it. As he did so, he noticed that everything was peaceful and quiet.

Chapter Fifty-Two

"SO you see," said Pete, "I knew from the start that the witch was pulling a fast one on me, just like Jada had tried to do in Tashbaan. A dream-world, made out of my memories. But Jadis wasn't trying to trick me—she was just trying to mess with me. And I got free, with a little help from Aslan."

The foursome followed their own track back to the south and east, retracing their steps on the long journey back to the Stone Table. Lumpkin, who had lived in the Western Woods for fifty years, was the most accomplished tracker in the group, and so he kept them on their course. Usually, when they came to a gap or a gorge, it wasn't any difficult matter to find the beaver-bridge that they had left behind them. Only once or twice did they ever have to spend a great deal of time searching for a crossing. In this fashion, they made fairly good time on the return journey, and they expected to be back at Table Hill before the winter really set in.

"That's the part that I don't understand," said Brenawen. "If Aslan died, and he came to you in your dream, how could he give you that seed in real life? And what was that tree, anyway? I've never seen apples that looked like those before."

"Whatever it was, the White Witch really didn't like it," said Pete. He punched his fist into his palm and said, "I just wish that we could've gone after her. I don't like leaving loose ends."

"She didn't leave a trail for us to follow," said Lumpkin. "So we can hardly worry about that. Anyway, from the looks of things, she must have fled into the far north. Nobody lives up that way but stone-giants and winter-wolves. If we're lucky, she'll never be a bother to anyone again. And if we're really lucky, she'll be squashed under a giant's foot, or torn to pieces by hungry beasts."

"I'm not so sure of that," said Falon seriously. "The White Witch is not so easily defeated. And yet… I had a funny feeling when I first saw that tree. Like… it belonged there. Like someone wanted it there, to drive Jadis away."

"Someone like Aslan?" asked Pete.

"I couldn't say," said Falon.

"Well, who else could it be?" asked Lumpkin.

"But… he's dead," said Brenawen. "Aslan's dead. We buried him. His body yet rests beneath a cairn at Table Hill."

Pete shrugged. "I won't pretend to know what's going on. Let's just worry about it when we get back and meet up with the others." His friends agreed, and so they resumed their journey in companionable silence or idle chit-chat, as suited the time of day and the mood. And, many days later, they came within sight of Table Hill and the rebel camp.

Though Pete had been gone for nearly a full month, the rebel army hadn't moved from this position. They waited here, for the return of their king. They waited, because only a short while after Pete and his friends had left, miracles started to happen. As Pete learned, once he entered the camp and met up with Phineas, Cynthia, and Oreius, it was but two days after the battle—and three days after Aslan's death—when a terrible earthquake had shaken the ground and shattered the Stone Table.

"I feared the worst," said Orieus, "and so I went up to Table Hill to see whether the statues of Penelope and the other Son of Adam had been destroyed—but to my amazement, when I got there, the human was simply gone, and Penelope was quite alive! She was confused and didn't know where she was, but she'd come back to us!"

Pete was overjoyed by this news. "Penny's alive? Jeez, why didn't you tell me that part first? Where the heck is she?"

"She's around somewhere," said Orieus. "She mostly keeps to herself. I've tried talking to her, but she doesn't want to see me."

"I'm sorry," said Pete. "Go on."

Orieus continued, "Even more unbelievable, when I came back to the camp, I discovered that Aslan's cairn had been destroyed. Every rock was scattered and overturned, and the great lion's body was nowhere to be found."

"Everybody's saying that Aslan has come back to life," said Phineas.

"But nobody's seen him," added Cynthia, "so we can't really be sure."

"I believe it to be true," said Oreius. "How else could Penelope have been cured, if not by Aslan?"

"That explanation is as good as any," said Pete. "Hell, this is Aslan we're talking about, right? If there's anybody who can come down with a bad case of 'stabbed to death' and then just get better, it'd be him."

"You're right," said Cynthia. "I think it was Aslan too."

"Okay," said Pete, "I'm going to go find Penny. We've got some unfinished business to hash out, so I'll see you guys later. Somebody let me know when we're ready pull up the tent-stakes and head home."

Pete found Penelope standing by herself before the decimated remains of Aslan's tomb. This was where they had had their last conversation, too. Pete cringed at the memory. He'd been a jackass to Penny, and now he was going to have to eat some crow. He never looked forward to moments like these; but then, nobody did.

"Hey there," said Pete. "It's, um… I'm really glad that you're okay, Penny."

The centauress turned and faced Peter. "My lord," she said with a curt nod. "You've returned."

"Yep. The White Witch… she got away. She's still alive, and she's out there somewhere, but… I think we've won. It's over, for now."

"That's good," said Penelope. "It means that you'll soon become our high king."

"Yeah," said Pete. "Do you, uh, know what happened to Sir Baelin?"

"No," said the centauress. "When I awoke, I found the Stone Table cracked, and the standing stones had fallen, but Sir Baelin was nowhere to be found."

"Huh. That's a mystery." Pete nervously scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, Penny, before all this happened… I went and stuck my foot in my mouth again, and I said some stuff that I'm not sure I can ever take back… but I'm not proud of myself for saying it, and I'm sorry. I wish that we could just forgive and forget."

"I can forgive," said Penelope, "but I won't soon forget."

"Okay," said Pete. "I guess that's fair. I just… I wish that we could put the past in the past, and maybe just start all over again?"

"You want things to go back to the way they were before?"

"Yeah," said Pete. "Back when we were friends. You know… if you'd like that."

"I would like that," said Penelope. She held out her hand to Pete. "Friends, then."

Pete took Penny's hand and shook it. "Friends." The human smiled, and the centauress did likewise. "Wow," said Pete, "okay. Are we cool, then?"

"Not quite," said Penelope. "But give it time. I think we will be 'cool' again someday."

Pete grinned broadly and said, "I'll be waiting… General."

Penelope blinked. "I resigned my post… and you accepted."

"Forget all that," said Pete. "We both had a lot of crap going on in our lives right then. I was confused, you were confused. No way were we thinking clearly. Besides, they're going to make me king. Think about it. It's actually going to happen! I'm going to be in charge of the whole country. I can't do it without my best general in charge of the army."

"You could so do it!" said Penelope.

"But I don't want to," said Pete. "What do you say… help a guy out here?"

"All right," said Penelope. "I'll stay."

"Awesome." Pete gave the centauress a thumbs-up.

"I'm never going to understand humans, am I?"

December marched on, and the rebel army marched for home. The journey east to Cair Paravel was a long one, and Christmas would come and go before it was done. Pete decided to purposely avoid Beruna for Penelope's sake, which was just as well, because the centaur city still had a lot of rebuilding to do. Nevertheless, when they came just north of it, General Oreius and most of the centaurs departed from the main group and headed south. They would doubtlessly be needed to help with both the defense and reconstruction of Beruna. So command of the rebel army—which wasn't in rebellion anymore, because they were no longer at war—passed from Orieus to Penelope, and they parted ways.

The Yuletide was celebrated when the army made camp south of the Owlwood. Winter—not the witch's cursed winter, but a real winter—set in, and snow fell in gentle flurries. It was neither very harsh nor very cold this season, and though the army was short on fresh supplies, there was much feasting and drinking and good cheer to be had in the camp. They were only a short distance from Cair Paravel, after all, and the promise of a coronation festival kept everybody in high spirits and in anticipation of a proper party to come.

The New Year came and went. Pete had come into Narnia near the beginning of December, 2008, and now he had spent all of 2009 in this magical world—thirteen months in total. At the end of the first week of January—2010 by Pete's reckoning and "Year 1 in the Time of the King" by the Narnians'—they came at last to Cair Paravel and home.

This time, nothing was spared. No effort, no expense, nothing was held back to restore and beautify Narnia's old capital. The city around the fortress had been buried by time long ago, but now people of all races came, and they built houses. Dwarves, especially, intended to make the city on the Cair into a marvelous place, a rival to its glory of old. All manner of furnishings and decorations were brought in from all over Narnia, from Archenland, from the Calormene Empire, and from the Sea Kingdom. Gold and glass, silver and gems, ivory and marble—much wealth was paid in tribute to the new Kingdom of Narnia, for hopes were high that it would be a friendlier nation than it could ever have been under Jadis's thousand-year rule.

January came and went, and as the cold drear of February set it, Pete decided that he had delayed things long enough. Cair Paravel was incredible now—polished to a shine, its golden surfaces reflected everything. In the daytime, the sunlight lit up every corner with a dazzling brilliance. It was a palace fit for a king… and now Pete knew that he had to become a king fit for the palace.

Outside the walls of the Cair, a great deal of progress had been made by Narnian's dwarves—mostly Red, but also some Black who had sworn to forsake Jadis and her ways and to follow Peter and Aslan for all time. They paved roads, erected buildings, built houses… soon, there would be a bustling city surrounding the palace.

Penelope was true to her word, and she solidified her position as the chief general of all Narnia's armies. She spent her time reorganizing the military, transforming it from a loose alliance of rebel troops in civil war to a regular and regimented force of national defense. Dwarvish gunsmiths continued to churn out muskets and cannon, and Penelope made sure that her soldiers were well-equipped and well-trained. She wanted them to be the best in the world.

Lumpkin and Brenawen, who all the dwarves now called king and queen of their people, were invited to come away with various tribes and clans. The Black Dwarves wanted them to rule from the hills north of Beruna, and the Red Dwarves wanted them to come back to Mount Pire. Lumpkin remembered his oath, made so long ago, to reclaim Pire from the goblins and the trolls and to see it become a dwarven stronghold again. So he and Brenawen made the promise that, once Pete was crowned high king, they would go to Pire, cleanse it of all evil, and rule dwarvendom from there.

Phineas and Cynthia couldn't wait any longer. One day, early in the month, Pete happened to mention that the fourteenth of February was a special day for humans: St. Valentine's Day, a holiday dedicated to lovers. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Phineas at once proposed marriage to Cynthia, and she agreed to become his wife on the fourteenth. Pete was elated to host a Valentine's Day wedding at Cair Paravel, and he kept telling everybody that it was "about damn time" for the faun and the nymph to be married. Cynthia's pregnancy was only just starting to show, but of course that couldn't detract from the beauty of the bride. They were wed in the palace's grand hall, Phineas in the garb of a gallant soldier, and Cynthia—her hair once again as white as winter-snow—in a sable gown trimmed with lilies and white rosebuds. Pete himself officiated at the ceremony, a privilege he carried as Count of Cair Paravel. And when they were finally married, and the groom kissed the bride, there was much jubilation. None applauded more loudly than Lumpkin and Brenawen, and even Penelope looked as if she were going to cry tears of joy.

As for Falon and the elvish infantry, they meant to remain in Cair Paravel for a time, for they wished to honor Pete by attending his coronation. Others intended to do the same, as Pete discovered when the ships began to arrive. Soon, Cair Paravel was home to a number of distinguished guests. King Rashiel of Archenland was among the first to appear. Eventually, Tisroc Ardeeb sailed into the port along with a small fleet of Calormene ships, each one carrying an important Tarkaan or Tarkeena. Islander ships came in droves, and Pete had many dear friends and honored guests to greet: Grand Admiral Pwyll, Prince Diarmuid and Princess Cliodhna, and Melusine and the Bards of Narrowhaven. Conspicuously, Queen Morrigan had chosen not to attend. But when Pete met Cliodhna and Diarmuid again, they both assured him that the queen was powerless to harm them now. Diarmuid, it seemed, was regarded as something of a war-hero—in no small part because Admiral Pwyll had had the foresight to reinstate his old naval commission, with a promotion to the rank of commodore, before they had gotten all the way back to the Lone Isles.

"Do you remember how I told you that Diarmuid was a captain in the navy before he turned to piracy?" said Cliodhna. "He was only discharged when Mother found out about his affair with me. But Admiral Pwyll has taken care of all that, and it's worked out for the best. The people of the Sea Kingdom quite liked you, Peter, but they positively love Diarmuid. A Son of Adam is one thing for a prince, but a hero from among their own people is something else entirely."

Pete was happy to hear that everything was working out okay for Clio and Diarmuid. He still wished that things could've been that simple in his own life. But if it wasn't meant to be, then it wouldn't happen. Pete had acquired something of a "que sera sera" attitude since Jadis had been deposed and defeated. And now it was time for him to ascend to the high throne of Narnia—because this was meant to be.

Chapter Fifty-Three

LUMPKIN was the first person to have met Pete when he had originally come into Narnia, so it was none other than Lumpkin whom Pete asked to place the crown upon his head. He knelt down low, and that most singular of Red Dwarves placed the golden circlet above Pete's brow. All around, the grand hall of Cair Paravel shone with a brilliant morning glow. Rows of centaur knights and faun musketeers stood at attention, their weapons raised in honor of High King Peter I. It wasn't as lavish a ceremony as those he had seen in the Island Kingdom, but it suited Pete nonetheless. There was grandeur aplenty, as far has he was concerned. When Peter stood and Lumpkin moved aside, all the attendees bowed low before their high king—except of course for the distinguished royal visitors. When everybody rose again, Lumpkin stepped forward and proclaimed, "I give you Peter the Magnificent, Count of Cair Paravel, Duke of the Eastlands, and High King of all Narnia!"

A cheer broke out among all in the crowd, and even the honor guard lowered their weapons so that they could applaud. Pete raised his hands and waited for everybody to quiet down. Once silence fell upon the hall, he spoke: "My friends. It's the first of March today. Still wintertime, but at least we know that spring is just around the corner." Polite laughter rippled through the audience. Lumpkin looked up at Pete encouragingly, and the human continued, "It's been a long road coming to this place, and you all honor and humble me by placing this crown on my head and making me your king. Now, as some of you already know, in the country where I come from, we don't have kings. We used to, but now the people rule themselves with elected representatives. You see, where I come from, we hold a firm belief that power doesn't belong in the hands of any one man, and that people are happiest when they can decide their own destinies. Having a king, on the other hand, is kind of like taking medicine: fine when it's necessary, but you wouldn't want to put up with it any longer than you have to." Pete smiled, though perhaps the people in his audience didn't know whether he was joking or not, and so nobody let out even the slightest chuckle at that. Certain guests, like the Calormene nobles, were visibly less than amused. Pete cleared his throat and went on, "Now, maybe Narnia isn't ready for a government like that yet, but I hope that someday soon, she will be. Until that day, though, I'll do everything I can to uphold the trust that you've placed in me. I promise that I won't let you down."

More cheering erupted from the Narnians, but Pete quieted them down again and said, "To that end, I'm going to entrust the rule of Narnia to people that I know and rely on. People who have fought at my side, and who have time and again proven their honor, their courage, their ability, and their loyalty. Phineas of the Western Woods and Cynthia of the Shuddering Woods, come forward."

Phineas the faun stepped forth from the crowd, and he led by the hand his now obviously pregnant wife, Cynthia the dryad. Phineas bowed low, and Cynthia curtsied, but Pete was quick to get them both up again. "None of that," he said quietly to both of them. "Especially you, Kiddo. I might just make it a law: no bowing until the baby comes."

Cynthia giggled a bit and whispered, "I can already feel his hooves kicking against me. Or her hooves; I can't tell that part yet."

Pete grinned and then presented the both of them to the assembled guests. "From this day forth, Phineas, former Marchwarden of the Runners and onetime Colonel of the Rebel Army; and Cynthia, his lovely and accomplished wife; will be the Duke and Duchess of the Westlands—everything west of the Great River and the Archen River are their sovereign lands and their solemn responsibility."

Neither Phineas nor Cynthia had expected anything like this, so it was with stunned minds and dropped jaws that they thanked Pete for their elevation to nobility and excused themselves back to their seats. Pete chuckled to himself at their reaction and then continued, "Lumpkin and Brenawen have already been named King and Queen of Dwarves by their own people, and I can't accord them a higher honor than that. But I can do this for them: henceforth, Lumpkin and Brenawen are also created Duke and Duchess—of all the lands in the south of Narnia. In the hills and mountains between Narnia and Archenland, there are still monsters and other evil things. Are the both of you willing to take charge of these lands, drive out the evil, and make them safe for good people to live in?"

Brenawen came forth and stood next to Lumpkin. "We are, Sire. Thank you."

Lumpkin was speechless and only gaped at Pete, but Brenawen dragged him off the dais.

"Speaking of Archenland," said Pete, "Commander Falon, you're half-elvish. The Archenlanders are your people, and they've accepted you there—but you also have friends in Narnia, and if you ever want it, you've got a home here too."

Falon came forward, bowed stiffly, and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty. But after today, I will return to Anvard with my sister's people. I long to be home again, and for me, Archenland is that home."

Pete nodded to Falon, and then he turned at last to Penelope. The centauress stood near him on the dais, glittering in her knightly armor, her two swords sheathed at her withers. Pete whispered, "What about you, Penny? The Midlands need a ruler too. You could be a duchess. Or even just the Countess of Beruna. Whatever you want."

"I don't want any of those things," said Penelope. "And besides, I thought that you needed me here, as your general."

Pete smiled. "I thought you'd say something like that." Then he turned to the crowd and said, "Last, but certainly not least, General Penelope has served Narnia faithfully, and for that, I name her Countess of the centaur city Beruna and all the lands around it. But since her post as chief General of the Narnian Armies will keep her here in Cair Paravel most of the time, I leave it to Penelope to name a viscount or viscountess to fulfill her duties in Beruna and rule over her people in her stead."

Penelope didn't know what to say. So she knelt down on her forelegs and bowed before Peter. "Thank you, Sire."

Pete scrambled to help her up. "Jeez, Penny, you definitely don't need to bow for me," he whispered. "And quit it with the 'sire' business. Everybody else can call me whatever they want, but you call me 'Pete.' That hasn't changed."

"It's improper, Your Majesty," said the centauress, who blushed at being helped up by the high king in front of everybody in the grand hall.

"Stuff proper. I could just make it a law if I wanted to." Pete stared at the centauress, and she could tell that he wasn't joking.

"Fine, I'll call you by your given name, but not in front of other people," hissed Penelope. "And especially not here and now!"

"Deal," said Pete. Then he stood back from her and went over to the throne. Since the restoration of Cair Paravel, this too had been repaired. The stone was inlaid with gold and ivory now, and a purple cushion made it a whole heck of a lot more comfortable than it used to be. Pete faced his people… and he sat back onto the throne.

A Son of Adam was High King in Narnia. All would be right. Thrice more, the people cheered.

That evening, Pete stood alone on the balcony of the royal bedchamber, looking out over the Eastern Ocean. Today… today had been unbelievable. There had been the coronation ceremony, and then feasting, and music, and dancing, and general merrymaking… and wine… Pete's head was fuzzy. Tomorrow morning would not be fun. On top of everything, it would be the first day of the rest of his life as High King of Narnia. Mel Brooks used to say, "It's good to be the king," but right now, Pete couldn't disagree more.

"High King Peter."

Pete looked around for the source of the voice. It couldn't be…

Aslan stepped forth from the shadows. "You've fulfilled the first part of your destiny and become king. I'm very proud of you, Peter, and I'm glad that this day has come at last."

"The first part?" said Pete. "What else is left?"

"Now the difficult leg of the journey begins," said Aslan. "You must rule with strength, wisdom, justice, and compassion. No easy task, let me assure you."

"Oh, trust me, I know," said Pete. "Absolute power corrupting absolutely and all that. But I don't plan on doing this forever. Sooner or later, I'll set up a parliament or a congress or something, and I'll help the Narnians stand on their own."

"That's not how this land was meant to be ruled," said Aslan. "There are too many races here, too many different kinds. They need a human being to guide them, because I can't be here to do it myself."

"Why not?" asked Pete. "And how the heck did you come back to life, anyway?"

Aslan only answered, "There are many worlds, and many realities. I am a part of more than just this one."

"More things in heaven and earth than I've dreamt of in my philosophy?" asked Pete.

"Something like that," said Aslan.

Pete leaned on the railing of the balcony and said, "What makes humans so special, anyway? From what I've seen, the people here aren't too different from me. The talking animals… okay, sure, I don't know what's going on there. Some kind of magic spell that I definitely don't understand. But everybody else… they've got human heads, human brains, human thoughts, human souls."

"No," said Aslan. "The human soul is different. The Four Peoples are made from earth, from fire, from water, from air... but you, Peter, have all of these in your makeup, plus a fifth element. Something quintessential."

"I don't believe in medieval alchemy!" said Pete. "If the human soul is made up of anything, it's electrons bouncing around inside brain-cells, not some hocus-pocus fifth element. And what about the other races? Centaurs and fauns and nymphs—they're not any more or less important than I am."

Aslan tilted his head to one side and said, "Nobody ever claimed that they were. Just because some of Narnia's inhabitants are persons, and some are spirits, and some are beasts, that doesn't mean that I love them any less. I take the form of a beast, after all."

"But they rank themselves based on these divisions," said Pete. "And they think that it's a decree from your dad."

"Then show them a better way," said Aslan. "Help them come together. A unified Narnia would indeed be capable of governing itself, just as you dream it someday might be."

"Yeah," said Pete. "I've got a lot of work to do here. But now I know what's got to be done first. I have to bring this country together. So, uh, thanks, Aslan, for… Aslan?" Pete looked around, but the lion was gone.

He had vanished, just as mysteriously as he'd appeared.

Time passed, and eventually Pete's acquaintances, allies, friends, and loved ones drifted away from Cair Paravel. Tisroc Ardeeb and the Calormenes were the first to leave. Then Cliodhna, Diarmuid, and all of the Islanders departed for the Sea-Kingdom. Eventually, Falon and the Archenlanders left as well. And then only Narnians remained, and they had work to do.

Phineas and Cynthia, now Duke and Duchess of the West, meant to return to Silenopolis. With Count Serpens long gone, and his army of the dead never again to haunt the world of the living, the old city of the fauns wouldn't be a desecrated ruin anymore. They could rebuild it, restore it to its former splendor and prominence. In the days before Jadis, it was said, Silenopolis had been the seat of learning in Narnia and the home of its greatest library. Phineas, who was fond of ancient lore, hoped to make it so again. Pete promised to contribute everything that he knew about science and technology to the effort, which wasn't very much, if the truth be told. But what little Pete knew was enough to astound the faun, just as it always had been. As for Cynthia, her departure from her friends was deeply emotional, but she extracted a promise from all of them to come visit in the summertime, when the baby was due. "Especially you," she said to Peter. "I know that you didn't really want to be king, so this will give you an excuse to take a vacation." Pete agreed, and he made the promise to visit often.

After that, Lumpkin and Brenawen, now Duke and Duchess of the South, departed as well. They were bound for Mount Pire, and with them they took all of the guns and dwarvish soldiers they could. "Because fauns and centaurs are really quite useless in tunnels," Lumpkin explained, "and since we're fighting to make a home for dwarves, dwarves should be the ones who see it done."

"And what about your little house?" asked Pete. "The hovel under the old tree, by the Lamppost?"

"Oh, it's probably become a nest for a family of badgers by now," said Lumpkin, "or overgrown with weeds and vines and who knows what else. Bah. A faun could move into it now, for all that I care."

"That'll be the day," said Pete with a laugh.

After that, the dwarves were gone, and then Pete was left in Cair Paravel with only one person that he could truly call a friend: Penelope. If it had to be one good friend, he was glad to have it be her. Because, God help him, Pete was still in love. Their friendship had been slow to repair itself, not least because Pete was kept very busy anymore, and he didn't have a great deal of time to spend with anybody of his choosing. Ministers, officials, and functionaries, it seemed, made up the bulk of his social circle now that he was king. But time heals wounds, and it dulls pain, and it helps us to forget petty slights and hasty words. Penelope didn't seem to be angry with Pete anymore, and for that, he was grateful. Still, he was afraid. He was afraid that if he shared his feelings, it might cost him something too precious to give up: the hope that she might somehow still feel the same way.

Chapter Fifty-Four

KING Peter was to dine that night with General Penelope and a faun by the name of Quintus, who had been chosen by the people of the city of Cair Paravel to be its lord-mayor. Quintus was a born bureaucrat and an insufferable bore. He had bushy gray hair; a frazzled look about him, as if he were always busy or distracted; and all the charisma of a nursing-home resident at nap-time. Pete couldn't understand how Quintus had been elected mayor, but he wasn't about to interfere with the will of the people so early into his reign.

With only the three of them there, it wasn't exactly a state dinner, but the faun's presence nonetheless made things more formal than Pete would've liked. As the minutes dragged by, the conversation drifted between such exciting topics as city planning and waste disposal. At last, the elderly faun seemed to have had his fill and said his peace, and so he rose from the table, bowed to Peter, and excused himself.

"Whew," said Pete, once Quintus had left. "That was an ordeal."

"The poor man has a great deal on his mind," said Penelope. "He has to run a city. That's a very difficult job. You, on the other hand, need only concern yourself with fending off all the many noblewomen who look at you and see nothing more or less than the world's most marriageable king."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Give me the mayor's job any day. Do you remember when the Tisroc's party was still in town? That one Tarkeena… what was her name, again?"

"Lasaraleen," said Penelope.

"Yeah, her. She kept following me around, and she just would not shut up!"

"Something of a shameless flirt, wasn't she?" said Penelope. "And the flattery did get a little out of hand."

"And here, I thought she was all sweet on the Tisroc, but I guess Lasaraleen was just another gold-digging mercenary." Pete sighed, leaned on the dinner-table, and gazed at Penelope. "I wish I could just marry you. Then they'd all have to quit bothering me."

Penelope fell silent and stared down at the table-top.

"Oh. Oh, Penny, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"You shouldn't joke about such things," said the centauress. "It's cruel."

Pete sat up and looked Penelope in the eyes. "What if I wasn't joking? What if I was being completely serious?"

Penelope pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's impossible. You and I… cannot happen."

"Why not?" asked Pete. He got up from his seat at the head of the table and walked over to Penelope so that he could sit down next to her. He looked around. There weren't any guards or servants at hand. For the first time in too many days, they were alone together. "I wasn't kidding when I said I was in love with you. I know it's weird, but somewhere along the line, you became more than just a friend to me, Penny. You became the person I want to spend the rest of my life with! Maybe it's wrong, because of what we are. But it's just like Brenawen said when we first met her: you don't choose who you fall in love with. It just happens."

"But it is wrong," said Penelope. "We're too different."

"Do you really believe that?"asked Pete. "If so, please explain it to me, because I don't get how these things work in Narnia! I wasn't born in this world, remember? Do centaurs just not marry outside the species?"

"For the most part, no, we don't," said Penelope. "I'm sure that it must happen, but if so, it's very rare and never mentioned."

"I'll admit, it's a new idea for me too," said Pete. "In fact, all really I have to go on here are Hercules and Xena reruns, so I haven't got a clue. Would people in Narnia really have that much of a problem with you and me being together?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I believe that they would."

"Well, that's just tough," said Pete, "because they went and made me high king. So they can gossip behind our backs, talk until they turn blue in the face, and it won't make a damn bit of difference! It sure as hell won't change how I feel about you, Penny. Which means that there's really only one question here." Pete swallowed. It was another one of those make-or-break, moment-of-truth times. He hated those. "How do you feel about me?"

Penelope bit her bottom lip and looked into Pete's eyes. "Oh, Peter… it doesn't matter how I feel…"

"Like hell it doesn't!" said Pete. "Either you love me, or you don't! So this is it, sweetheart. No take-backs this time; no do-overs. If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don't have any feelings for me, I'll drop the subject right now and never bring it up again."

Penelope swallowed and gazed into Pete's eyes, and she tried to answer him in the only way that she knew she must: "Peter, I don't love you." But she couldn't bring herself to say those words. Her voice simply failed her. So she stared at him with an open mouth and said nothing.

And her silence spoke volumes.

"I didn't think so," said Pete. "You do love me."

Penelope nodded. "Yes," she said. "Life can be very cruel sometimes, can't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because, despite what you want from me, I cannot give it to you," said Penelope. "If you ask me to marry you, I will refuse. Ask me a hundred times, and I will refuse a hundred times."

"But, why, for God's sake? I don't understand!" said Pete.

"Many reasons," said Penelope, whose eyes now brimmed with tears. "Many reasons beyond the simple fact that we belong to such different races. You are the High King of Narnia. It's expected that you will save your hand for a foreign princess, to cement an alliance by royal marriage—"

"Excuse me?" scoffed Pete. "Have we met? Do you know me? That's just not going to happen!"

"And in the eyes of my people," Penelope continued, "I am still the lawful mate of Orieus. Every centaur in Narnia considers me his rightful property. And unlike the merfolk, centaurs do not practice divorce."

Pete noticed that in his frustration, his hands had formed tight fists. His fingernails were digging into his palms. He let out a breath and relaxed his hands. "Okay. Another detail. Anything else?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I still can't trust you to stay."

Pete looked up in surprise. "What? Where else would I go?"

"Back home," said Penelope. "Back to Earth. I know how much you miss your world. If you ever found a way back, you would leave."

Pete sat back and stared at Penelope. Home… he'd been fooled by witchcraft once too often to dare and dream that there really was a way back. But if he found a doorway for real, would he leave Narnia and go back to Earth? Back to New York, back to his old life? Back to his family and humankind? Give up everything that he had fought for in this world? "You're wrong," said Pete at last. To illustrate his point, he took off his crown, bent forward, and showed the top of his head to Penelope. "Take a look. What do you see?"

Penelope just stared at Pete oddly. "Hair."

"I mean right there," said Pete, pointing along the middle of it.

"Gray hair. A streak of gray hair."

Pete sat up and replaced the crown. "Exactly. I've only been in this world for a year and change, but it already feels like I'm growing old here. I've got reasons to stay that I didn't have before. You're one of them. In fact, Penny, you're the main reason that I'm not wandering around the Narnian countryside, trying to find a way back to Earth. I want to stay here and grow old with you!"

Penelope gave a sad smile and said, "Well, that's one thing that you never would have been able to do with Queen Taraiel."

"Nope," said Pete. "And don't go thinking that you're some kind of second choice, or backup plan. You're it for me, Penny. It's you, or nobody. Christ, maybe it was always you…"

"Don't say that," said Penelope. "You loved Tara."

"Sure I did," said Pete. "And, probably, I would've asked her to marry me. But it wasn't in the cards, so it doesn't really matter. This is the here and now. You and me. What do you say?"

"I say… no," said Penelope. "I do love you, but it has to be 'no.' I'm so sorry, Peter."

The centauress rose to leave, but before she could turn away, Pete grabbed her by the arm. "Wait."

Penelope turned. "What?"

And then Pete kissed her. He just threw his arms around her torso and planted a kiss on her full, red lips. He ran his hands through her golden hair, and she grabbed him around the middle and squeezed him tightly as well. Pete and Penelope melted into each other, and their lips parted open, and their tongues danced… and then Penelope pushed Pete away yet again.

"I'm so sorry," Penelope repeated. And she turned and ran. She fled from the dining hall at a full gallop. The clop of her hooves clattered off the marble floors of the palace, echoing as it faded with distance.

Pete was left alone, very confused, very annoyed, and more than a little angry at himself. He mentally kicked himself for slipping up and dropping the ball. It had been too soon to try and start anything, and now he was sure that he'd blown it. He only hoped that Penelope wouldn't run away from Cair Paravel altogether. He wasn't sure what he would do with himself if Penelope weren't even around anymore.

"I have to go away," said Penelope a few days later.

Pete was in the grand hall, sitting on his throne. A row of faun guards and a small band of ministers and scribes were nearby. There were footmen, valets, and other servants, waiting at hand to do Pete's slightest bidding. (It would be a very long time indeed before Pete got used to that idea.) There were also talking animals of many different species present, most of them simply curious about their new king. They wanted to observe the human and see what he was like.

Pete leaned forward in the throne and asked, "Go where?"

"Beruna," said Penelope. "I have unfinished business there. I still haven't appointed a viscount to represent me."

Pete knew that she had been delaying her choice on purpose, because she didn't want to go back to Beruna again for any reason. But now, apparently, Cair Paravel was even more uncomfortable than Beruna. So she was leaving. "You are coming back, right?" asked Pete.

"Of course I am!" said Penelope. "But I have to see to some personal matters as well. Family business."

"Stuff involving your dad and Oreius."

Penelope nodded. "Just so, my king."

"If you wanted," said Pete, "…I could come along with you."

"I'd rather you didn't trouble yourself, Sire," said Penelope. "I should prefer to see this done by myself."

"Even still," said Pete, "it's three weeks to Beruna, and three weeks back. That's a long way to walk all alone."

"Yes, Sire," said Penelope.

"Just out of curiosity, who are you planning on appointing viscount?" asked Pete. "Anybody I know?"

"Yes." Penelope fidgeted uncomfortably and looked away.

"It's Oreius, isn't it?" said Pete.

Penelope nodded.

"That's… good. He's a good guy. Exactly who I would've chosen." Pete stood up and offered Penelope his hand to shake. "In that case, General… I mean, Countess… good luck. And hurry back."

Penelope bowed, and then she left the throne room to prepare for her journey.

To his credit, Pete lasted a whole week. Seven entire days passed between the moment Penelope left Cair Paravel and the moment Pete decided that he had to go after her. It was stupid, he thought. Ever since Pete had spilled his guts to Penelope in the dining hall, they walked on eggshells around each other. They exchanged awkward, one-word sentences, like flustered teenagers with schoolyard crushes. The conversation in the throne room, when Penelope had announced her intention to go to Beruna, was the most that they'd spoken to each other since that fateful evening. Pete just couldn't stand to leave things as they were. And he wasn't about to give up on Penelope. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but a man… even Congress hath no stupidity like a scorned man.

So Pete armed himself; and he packed provisions; and just to make sure that he wouldn't be followed by a veritable horde of soldiers and servants all hell-bent on protecting him from imagined dangers and tiny inconveniences, he snuck out in the middle of the night. With nothing but a parchment map and his own experience (which was by now considerable) to guide him, he set out all by himself for Beruna.

Chapter Fifty-Five

PETE wore a suit of brown and black leather traveling clothes, rugged enough to withstand all the rigors of the road. And though the weather was warm again now, he kept a cloak drawn over his head most of the time while he walked. In the early morning, it kept off the chill and the dew; and as the afternoon wore on, it kept off the sun. Springtime in Narnia was a beautiful thing to behold, though. For the first time in far, far too long, every growing thing in this country was vibrant and green, and animals—both talking and dumb—were everywhere. The intelligent animals would flee from Pete's path as often as they stopped to greet him, but that was understandable, considering that not everyone in Narnia yet knew what a human being looked like. Most, in fact, probably had no idea what to expect of their new high king—and Pete, with his hood drawn, could easily be taken for an elf, or a jinn, or some kind of warlock. This suited Pete well enough, though, because he preferred to travel anonymously. There was no sense in drawing attention to himself, he decided, unless it became absolutely necessary.

As Pete hiked across the country, he also discovered that he had somewhat miscalculated the travel times: it had taken three weeks to march an army between Cair Paravel and Beruna, but armies on foot are slow beasts that creep across the land, whereas a lone traveler can make much better time. So, Pete found, it would be closer to two weeks when he arrived at his destination. And Penelope, he figured, with her four legs and equine endurance, would probably have made the journey even more swiftly. Which meant that she had one hell of a head start.

When Pete at last came to the valley where the rebel army had camped before the Battle of Beruna, he stopped here to rest and regain his strength. He didn't need to ponder or fret or anticipate anymore; two weeks on the road all by himself had taken care of that already. Pete was quite finished with worrying about whether Penelope would be angry at him for following her, or what kind of trouble she might run into with her family. He could deal with that when he arrived and finally tracked her down. None of that mattered at the moment anyway. She loved him—she'd admitted it, in spite of all her misgivings—and Pete would not give up on that. There simply had to be a way that they could be together, centaur or no, high king or no. But first Pete had to convince Penelope to give it—give them—a chance.

The human kept his cloak drawn tight around himself as he approached the centaur city. Beruna's battered and broken buildings were still undergoing repairs, and the walls hadn't even been touched yet. The city itself seemed quiet—nearly deserted, in fact. But on the plains around the city proper, there were many large camps—collections of tents made from deerskins and other natural materials. The centaurs' tents reminded Pete of Native American tipis, except that they were significantly larger.

Pete walked through the streets of the city, but nobody bothered him or paid him any heed. At any rate, there were simply too few people here to have Pete worried. He didn't think that he would be recognized too quickly as long as he remained in this ghost-town.

After some time, though, he spotted a familiar face: Jocasta, one of the centaur knights from Penelope's company. Instead of returning to Cair Paravel with the rest of the original company, this centauress had chosen to follow Oreius's group back to Beruna. Presumably, she had been here ever since before Pete's coronation. So, quietly, Pete approached her and greeted her.

Upon seeing the human, she reacted with surprise and said, "Lord Peter! Oops—I mean, Your Majesty! When did you arrive in Beruna?"

"Just now," said Pete, "and if it's all the same to you, I'd appreciate it if you could keep this quiet."

"Of course, Sire," said Jocasta. "Is there any way that I can help you with your business here?"

"I'm looking for General Penelope," said Pete. "I made her the Countess of Beruna, and she was supposed to come here and appoint a viscount. She would have arrived more than a week ago."

"Strange," said Jocasta. "I haven't heard anything about that! But the city is fairly quiet these days. Most of my people have followed Creon and moved out onto the plains, to live off the land as our ancestors did."

Pete quirked an eyebrow. "Creon suggested that centaurs should go live the simple life? He doesn't strike me as the type."

Jocasta shrugged. "I don't understand it either. But he dwells in one of the large encampments to the south of the city, perhaps two leagues and a mile distant. General Oreius lives there as well, so if you're looking for General Penelope, that would be the place to start."

Pete thanked the centaur-woman and took her advice. He left Beruna quickly, and he traveled south.

Following the course of the Rush River, Pete left the city and made for Creon's camp. He didn't get it: why would the centaurs just abandon Beruna? Certainly, they wouldn't need to live there to defend themselves from the witches anymore, but didn't city life have other advantages? Then again, the centaurs were supposed to be a people close to nature—or, at least, that's how they were always portrayed in movies—so maybe this was what they really wanted.

Except, of course, the centaurs of Narnia weren't like movie centaurs, just as the mer-people of the Eastern Ocean didn't have too much in common with movie mermaids. They were physically different, for one thing. The merrows, of course, had those long and powerful tails which allowed them to slither onto the land, something you would never see in a Disney movie. Likewise, Narnia's centaurs weren't so very "Hollywood." They didn't have the hairy torsos and horsey faces that Pete might have expected from watching the Harry Potter movies. And with those pony-sized bodies, they were a whole heck of a lot smaller than actual horses.

Pete had to admit, though, that he didn't know much of anything about centaur culture. All of the centaurs that Pete had ever met were knights and soldiers, and they seemed very urbane. But perhaps they really did prefer the rustic life. He simply didn't know.

When the camp came into view, Pete kept his head low, but he didn't make much of an effort to remain unseen. These were open plains; cover was nonexistent. If they had any sentries at all, he would be spotted from a mile away. So he just walked toward that cluster of deerskin tents, and he hoped that these nature-loving centaurs were still civilized enough to ask questions before they started shooting.

Two burly, barrel-chested centaurs—neither one wearing armor or covering of any sort—came forth from the camp to stand in Pete's way. "Halt," said one of them. "Who approaches the campsite of Creon, our chief?"

Pete decided that this was a good time to push a little bit of royal authority, so he pulled back his hood and said in his most important-sounding voice, "It is I… High King Peter!"

Then centaurs' eyes widened, and at once they both bowed down. "Your Majesty," said the guard who had spoken, "forgive us our suspicion. We act on the orders of our chieftain, who told us to watch carefully for the approach of strangers."

"I understand," said Pete. "I'm here to speak with Creon, and if they're here, Oreius and Penelope as well."

The two guards looked at each other worriedly. Then the first centaur explained, "They are all here. But there has been some kind of trouble or misunderstanding. Lady Penelope arrived many days ago, claiming that Your Majesty made her the high general of all Narnia's armies, and that she was now the Countess of Beruna."

"That's all true," said Pete. "Penelope already was a general, and I made her a countess on the very day I got crowned king."

"But… Creon supposed that she was telling falsehoods," said the centaur, "and so he has had her arrested for trying to undermine his authority."

"What?" said Pete. "That's ridiculous! Take me to see Penelope, right now!"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said the guard. "Chief Creon has ordered us—"

"Never mind what Creon said," said Pete, pointing his finger at the centaur. "I'm ordering you, as High King, to show me where Penelope is. This instant."

"Your Majesty," said the centaur, bowing his head. "Follow me."

Pete was led the short distance through the camp to the tent where Penelope was being held. As he moved among the centaurs, they all stared at the unexpected visitor, and rumor spread quickly that the Son of Adam, High King Peter the Magnificent, had come among them. Pete noticed that the centaurs no longer wore their armor, and few of them carried weapons. The males were completely uncovered, and the females—at least, most of the females—only went about with a piece of cloth wound around the bust. Pete wasn't familiar enough with centaur custom to know whether they had forsaken clothes because they had moved out of the city, or simply because it was springtime now and the weather was warmer.

The prison tent was guarded by two more centaurs, unarmored but carrying long spears. When Pete approached, they both recognized him, lowered their arms, and bowed. "Is Countess Penelope in there?" Pete asked.

"She is," said one of the jailers.

"Let her come out," said Pete.

The centaur turned about, peeked in past the tent flap, and said something in a low voice. A few moments later, Penelope emerged. She had been stripped of her armor as well, though an immodest scrap of cloth covered her bosom. Her golden hair draped over her bare shoulders, and her white fur shone in the sunlight. Pete thought that she was beautiful, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was unharmed. As for Penelope, she only stared at Pete with a mixture of gratitude and despondency.

"You came for me," said Penelope.

"Yeah," said Pete, "but I didn't know that you were in any kind of trouble. What's happened here?"

"I'll explain everything," said Penelope, "but first we have to—"

The centauress was interrupted by the appearance of her father. "What is the meaning of this outrage?" said Creon, who arrived with a number of spear-wielding centaur males. "I told you to keep my daughter confined!"

Pete stepped out from among the guards and approached the elder chieftain. "You had no right to take her prisoner, Creon!" he said. "What in the living hell were you thinking?"

"I am her father!" said the centaur. "I have every right! She either lives in my house or in that of Oreius; and since she has time and again refused her proper mate, she remains subject to my authority!"

"I made her the countess of all these lands," said Pete. "She's in charge. She's your immediate ruler now!"

"Not so!" said Creon. "Centaur laws and traditions are clear. Any power that you have given to this female must devolve unto the male who keeps her. For the moment, that is me. Which makes me the acting Count of Beruna."

Pete snorted with laughter. "Are you kidding me? That doesn't make any damn sense!"

"It is our way," said Creon. "I would not expect you to understand."

"Well try this on for size," said Pete. "I'm king around here and you aren't, so you set Penelope free and let her go where she pleases. Consider that a royal order."

Creon bowed his head condescendingly and said, "As you wish, Your Majesty. But before you take my daughter from this place again, you should be made aware of what has happened here. She has caused us considerable trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" asked Pete, looking back at Penelope. The centauress turned red and hung her head in shame.

Creon sniffed derisively and said, "She had the gall to try and issue a challenge."

"A challenge?" said Pete.

Creon explained, "It is one of our oldest traditions. We centaurs do not permit a mated pair to divorce, but there is one way to dissolve a marriage. When two males dispute possession of a female, they may agree to fight for her hand. One male issues the challenge; and the other must either accept, or forfeit his claim."

Pete mulled this over for a second. "And… Penelope tried to call for a challenge?"

"Yes," said Creon, "but her claim was illegal. A female cannot challenge her own marriage. If we allowed such a travesty, why, our very society would crumble into anarchy!"

Pete turned to Penelope and said, "If you sent this challenge out to Oreius, who did you think was going to fight for you?"

Penelope sighed heavily and admitted, "I said that I would fight for myself. I would rather risk armed combat than remain in a marriage that my father has imposed on me." Penelope spat the word "father" with such contempt that both Pete and Creon appeared taken aback.

Creon said, "Do you see? The very idea, that a wife would choose to do battle with her husband rather than submit to him, as is proper! It would be a shameful crime to allow such a thing, and so I chose to hold my daughter prisoner, rather than risk letting her anywhere near my good son-in-law, Oreius."

Pete looked from the smug face of Creon to the forlorn and ashamed visage of Penelope. He considered the situation, but unfortunately, he didn't see any other way out of it. "A male has to issue the challenge?" he asked.

Penelope's eyes perked up, and she stared at Pete in wonder.

"Yes," said Creon.

"Then… I challenge Oreius," said Pete. He waved a hand in Penelope's direction and said, "I'll fight him for possession of this female."

"No!" said Penelope. "Peter, you cannot!"

Creon's eyes widened in shock, not least when Penelope called the high king by his given name in front of everybody. "That's… I cannot… such a thing… it's utterly impossible!" spat the centaur chief. "You are a Son of Adam! Why would Your Majesty lay claim to my daughter?"

"Never mind that," said Pete. "If I win, she's free? She's not married to Oreius anymore?"

"Obviously, she wouldn't be married anymore," said Creon. "Since Oreius would be dead."

Pete blinked. "What?"

Penelope came forward and explained to Pete, "The challenge is a fight to the death. If you do this, either you or Oreius must die!"

Pete rolled his eyes and threw up his hands in exasperation. "What the heck is wrong with you guys? There are easier ways to split up a marriage than mortal freaking combat!"

"It's not supposed to be an easy way," said Creon. "It's supposed to dissuade such disputes! The challenge is an effective deterrent: it's almost never called. No centaur in his right mind would fight to the death for possession of a mere female."

"Unless he was in love," suggested Pete.

Creon said, "That hardly qualifies as right-minded. True love is borne out of years; not some heady, youthful infatuation."

"Maybe you're right," said Pete. "But then again, maybe you're a whole lot of wrong." He turned to Penelope and said, "I'm doing this. Oreius is a good man, and I don't want to fight him. I sure as hell don't want to kill him. But I will fight to set you free."

"Don't," said Penelope. "It's madness. Let's just leave, and go back to Cair Paravel! My freedom is not worth your life!"

"Yes it is," said Pete. "You're worth it."

"But… Oreius is a great fighter, and you're still just a novice with a sword!"

"Yet another detail," said Pete. "You shouldn't get so hung up on the little things."

Creon interrupted them by saying, "Am I to understand, then, Your Majesty, that you mean to got through with this lunacy?"

"Yes," said Pete. "I'll fight."

"Very well," said Creon. He turned to his people and held up his hands in benediction. "Let the word go forth: Oreius of Beruna, general and warrior, has been lawfully challenged by Peter, High King of Narnia, for possession of the female Penelope. If Oreius accepts, he will do battle with King Peter at sunrise tomorrow morning."

Penelope shook her head at Peter and said, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Trouble," said Pete. "Same as always. Lucky thing we're so good at getting out of it."

Chapter Fifty-Six

OREIUS waited for Pete by the blacksmith's tent that evening. "You put me in a difficult position, Your Majesty," he said when Pete arrived. "Honor demands that I must accept this challenge. It would go against our every sacred tradition to refuse it. But I dare not raise arms against my king!"

"I know what you mean," said Pete. "It's a very 'rock, meet hard place' kind of situation. But it's you guys' tradition, not mine." While Pete and Oreius conversed, the blacksmith stood nearby, took up one of the spears that would be used in the upcoming fight, and sharpened its edge against a grindstone. Pete watched this operation and then said, "So, how do you want to play this? I consider you a friend, Oreius, and I'm not going to kill you, no matter what the rules say."

"A friend, Sire, would not come between a man and his wife," said Oreius.

"Maybe you should take the hint," said Pete. "Penelope doesn't want to be your wife. For the life of me, I don't know why she's got it in for you, but when a woman like that makes up her mind about something like this, you should probably listen!"

The centaur shook his head. "I cannot. I… I still love her, and I believe that, given time, I could convince her to love me as well."

"Then we've got a problem," said Pete, "because I love her too."

The blacksmith looked up from his work and regarded Pete with a quizzical expression. Then he looked at Oreius and back at Pete again. The two rivals had each folded their arms and now stared menacingly at each other. The blacksmith decided that it would be best not to say anything. He simply took the bundle of sharpened weapons and unobtrusively retreated back into his tent.

"You love her," said Oreius. "You love her…" Pained by the realization, he closed his eyes. "I had suspected as much. And Penelope… she returns your feelings?"

"I think she does," said Pete. "But I can never be sure. She's prone to changing her mind about me every now and again."

"That's more than I ever got from her," said Oreius. He sighed the long-suffering sigh of a victim of circumstance and said, "But no matter. I won't give her up without a fight. If you truly love Penelope, you'll understand why."

"Damn straight, I do," said Pete. "She's something special. And, you're right; she's worth fighting over if anybody is. So," he held his hand out to Oreius, "may the best man win?"

"May the best centaur win," said Oreius, taking Pete's hand and squeezing tightly. "And I promise not to slay you in tomorrow's duel, my liege."

"Gee, thanks," said Pete, rubbing his now-aching hand. "You're all heart."

As High King of Narnia, Pete was accorded every honor and convenience. In Creon's camp, this meant a tent of his own to sleep in, with all the comfort that coarse blankets and animal pelts could provide. Pete rose early the next morning, just before daybreak. All too soon, the fated hour arrived. In the twilight immediately before the dawn, the human exited his tent and found a myriad of centaurs assembled outside—not just those from this camp, but centaurs from all over the Beruna Plains, and from the city itself as well. Their hero, General Oreius, was to do battle with their High King, the human Peter Pevensie—and over the hand of a centauress, no less, the infamous General Penelope. Needless to say, this was a big deal. It was a sensation and a scandal—a spectacle that people had come from miles around to witness.

The centaurs gathered in a great crowd outside the camp, at the bottom of a gentle slope near the banks of the Rush. Pete didn't dare to guess how many centaurs had shown up to observe this little scuffle, but it was definitely more than a hundred. In the center of the throng, Creon waited with another centaur who would act as a judge and preside over the duel in an official capacity. Oreius was near them, waiting for Pete. Around these three, the other centaurs kept clear of a broad circle of ground—leaving plenty of room for a centaur like Oreius to charge and trample during a fight.

On the edge of the crowd, Penelope waited for Pete. "You can still give this up," she said. "Take back the challenge."

"Why would I do that?" asked Pete, tenderly taking her hand in his.

"Because you can't win. Oreius is bigger than you. He's stronger, faster, and he has more skill at arms."

"Okay. Those are his assets. What about mine?"

"You… don't really have any," said Penelope.

"Yeah," muttered Pete. "If only I had a wheelbarrow and a holocaust cloak, then we'd have something here."

"Human nonsense won't save you this time!" said centauress imploringly. "Please, just come away with me! Oreius could kill you!"

"Hey! Nothing the Dread Pirate Roberts ever said was nonsense! And besides, Oreius and I promised that we wouldn't kill each other," said Pete. "So relax. I'll be fine. And, lest you forget, human nonsense is one of my best assets!—the others being my trademark razor-sharp wit and a little plain old New York attitude."

"I don't think that those things will be enough this time," said Penelope. "This is armed combat! Accidents happen, even when a match is friendly. And I couldn't stand it if I lost you!"

Pete shrugged. "I've got a few more marks in my favor. They may be enough to keep me alive."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, for one thing," said Pete, hopping onto the balls of his feet and punching the air like Rocky, "I have all the natural agility of a biped descended from a long line of primates. For another, I've got that special human something-or-other that Aslan called 'the fifth element.' But, just between you and me, if we're going to phrase it in terms of Bruce Willis movies, Fifth Element doesn't hold a candle to Die Hard. Corbin Dallas was a cab-driver, see, but John McLane was a cop, like me, so… 'ho-ho-ho,' and 'yippee kai-yay, motherfucker.'"

Penelope crossed her arms and said, "If this were an insanity contest, you would have Oreius beaten already." Then her expression softened into a caring smile and she said, "But, now that I think about it, you do have a knack for accomplishing the impossible. Perhaps you do have a chance."

"Sure I do," said Pete. "We had to take judo classes at the police academy. I got a yellow belt. So, really, I can't lose."

"You're making jokes because you're nervous, aren't you?" said Penelope.

Pete nodded. "You can read me like a book." Then, suddenly, he darted forward, placed his hands on Penelope's cheeks, and kissed her on the lips. And she pulled him close and kissed him back, right in front of everybody. Cries of surprise and the steady hum of intense conversation rippled and eddied through the assembled crowd of centaurs. Pete's action had just confirmed about half a dozen shocking rumors and started a great many more.

In the middle of the circle, both Oreius and the judge looked incredibly flustered. Creon stared directly at Pete, and if looks could kill, the human would be a smoldering pile of ashes right now. Then the centaur chieftain signaled to a drummer, who beat the skin of a large drum several times in a steady rhythm. This caused all the conversation to cease, and the crowd fell silent. Pete walked toward the circle, and the crowd parted to let him through, closing up behind him after he passed.

Creon proclaimed, "All of you here know why we have assembled. Peter Pevensie of Cair Paravel has challenged Oreius of Beruna. The prize is Penelope of Beruna. The battle is to the death."

Pete came forward and looked Oreius in the eyes. The centaur met his gaze with a stern look of his own. Oreius was going to fight his damnedest; that much Pete knew for sure. The centaur meant business. Nobody here was taking a dive for the sake of anybody's feelings.

The blacksmith came forth from the crowd and presented Oreius with two short-hafted spears. Oreius took them both and gripped them low, twirling them like a pair of batons. The smithy presented another pair of spears to Pete, and the human took only one of them. He didn't have a prayer of fighting the way Oreius did.

Then Creon started the fight with a single word: "Begin!" And all at once, the crowd erupted in cheers and shouts: some for Peter; most for Oreius.

Oreius wasted no time. He galloped into a charge and swung the spears in front of himself—swung them like clubs, rather than thrusting with the points. Pete dived to the ground and rolled away, forcing Oreius to turn around and face him (no deft maneuver for any centaur). By the time Oreius had righted himself, so had Pete, and the human swung his own spear like a Louisville Slugger. Oreius blocked the two-handed strike with both of his own spears, and the wooden hafts cracked together with a resounding clatter.

Pete reversed his attack and tried to strike again, but he wasn't anywhere near quick enough. Oreius just twirled his own spears and lashed out twice, one swipe high and one low. Pete could only dive back again, and one of the spearheads slashed through his shirt. "Apologies, Sire!" said Oreius, who then threw all of his bulk into a bum's rush and slammed his shoulder into Pete's chest. The human was thrown off balance and fell to the ground. A gasp rose from the crowd.

Oreius swung one of the spears overhead, forcing Pete to hold up his own weapon with two hands to block the strike. Then, with another quick swipe from his second spear, Oreius managed to disarm Pete… but as the human dropped his own spear, he grabbed the hafts of both of Oreius's, just beneath the spearheads. Oreius tugged, but Pete held fast, and the centaur's pull only managed to help Pete to his feet, if awkwardly. Then Pete kicked forward with one of his feet, slamming the centaur in the middle, just under the waistline where the human shape transitioned to a pony's body—and, incidentally, where the centaur's lungs were located. Winded, Oreius let out an "Oof!" sound and dropped both of his spears; but Pete couldn't hang onto them either, so he just rushed at Oreius again with his fists flying.

Pete threw everything he had into a hard right hook and connected with the centaur's jaw. Oreius responded with a haymaker, which hit Pete right in the breadbasket and caused him to double over. Then Oreius whirled around and tried to kick out with his rear hooves; but Pete saw that coming from a mile away and hit the dirt. He kicked straight up with both his feet and caught Oreius in his equine ribcage. Winded again, the centaur backed away, and Pete scrambled to his feet.

Now both combatants were breathing heavily and soaked in sweat. Oreius wasn't wearing much in the way of clothing, so he wasn't bothered by this as much as Pete. Pete, though, pulled off his torn and soiled shirt, revealing an upper body which had grown significantly more muscular since he'd arrived in Narnia and become something of a warrior. Then both fighters heard the voice of Penelope—calling Peter's name. The centauress had fought her way to the edge of the circle, and now only a couple of guards stood between her and the dueling ground. "Peter!" she was saying.

Pete turned and caught Penelope's eyes. What was it that he saw? Worry? Pride? Hope? He couldn't say. The exertion and the adrenaline had him on edge and unable to focus on anything but the fight.

Oreius saw it too—the way that Pete and Penelope looked at each other. He didn't understand it. It made him sad. And then in made him angry. Why the human over him? Because the human was a king? It certainly couldn't be because he was a better man, or because he'd be a more loving husband. And how could a human love a centauress, anyway? Oreius's face twisted with rage. He picked up one of the spears and approached Pete.

Pete, though, was still looking at Penelope, trying to figure out what she meant to tell him. Then the centauress's expression turned to one of horror, and she pointed at Oreius. "Look out!" she cried, though her voice was still drowned out by the crowd.

Pete turned and faced Oreius again, and just in time, because the centaur was upon him. Oreius pulled back his fist and punched, clocking Pete on the side of the head. The human was stunned, and he fell to the ground in a daze. Then Oreius raised up the spear, and the crowd fell silent, eager in its anticipation…

And Oreius couldn't bring himself to do it. Of course he couldn't kill his king. He threw down the spear.

Pete struggled to stand and spat up blood. No loose teeth yet, but still, that blow had been one heck of a ringer. Oreius waited patiently while Pete rose to his feet. Once the human had righted himself, the centaur lashed out again, fighting with naught but bare knuckles. But Pete put up both of his arms to block the punches, though it bruised and numbed them to do so. Then he jabbed, and he gave as good as he got—Oreius took a blow to the head as well. Now boxing in close quarters, they exchanged several more dire strikes before finally splitting up again and keeping their distance.

Oreius spat some blood of his own onto the ground. Pete reached up and felt his left eye, which was now a painfully tender, black-ringed shiner. But Oreius wasn't finished, and once again, he galloped at Pete, his arms outstretched. He meant to grapple the human and wrestle him to the ground—with the centaur's superior size and strength, that would end this match quickly. But Pete had an unexpected trick up his sleeve: a yellow belt in judo. Reacting largely on instinct, he lowered his center of gravity, caught Oreius by the wrists, and pulled with all his might.

The centaur tumbled overhead, crashing bodily into Pete. They both fell to the ground in a heap… and Oreius didn't get up again, but Pete did. The human scrambled to retrieve a spear, and as he did so, Oreius opened his eyes and looked up at the human in a daze.

"Knocking me down while I wasn't looking," said Pete, panting heavily, "was a cheap shot."

Oreius remained on the ground, focused on the spear in Pete's hand. He said, "End it."

And so Pete took the spear in two hands, and he stared intently into Oreius's eyes, and he let out a primal cry… and he jammed the spearhead into the ground.

"What is this?" said Creon from the sidelines. "One of you must finish the battle! Tradition demands it! The law demands it!"

But Pete only offered his hand to Oreius and helped him to rise. "I don't think so," said Pete. "See, this is just like that one episode of original series Trek, where Kirk and Spock had to fight to the death over Spock's wife, but they just couldn't kill each other, because they were friends. I won't kill Oreius!"

The centaur got back onto his hooves and said, "Neither will I raise another hand against my king. This fight is over…" Oreius turned and gave Penelope one final, hopeful look… but the centauress was only looking at Pete with deep concern painted on her face. "…I yield to King Peter. I withdraw my claim on Penelope of Beruna."

Creon stared at Oreius angrily. "So be it," he said. And the chieftain left without another word. The crowd parted to let him pass, but nobody followed him. Everyone but Creon remained there to watch the judge come forward and pronounce Pete the winner.

Penelope now pushed her way past the guards and caught Pete in a fierce embrace. She hadn't forgotten Oreius, though, and she looked over to him and said, "Thank you. For being honorable."

Oreius simply nodded; and then he turned and left. He couldn't bear to watch Penelope and Peter together. And he preferred to suffer his heartbreak alone.

As for Peter, he was only barely still on his feet. He swooned, and Penelope held him up. Pete laughed bitterly and said, "I guess if I threw up my arms and shouted, 'Yo, Adrian!' right now, you wouldn't have any idea what I was talking about."

"No," said Penelope, "but I wouldn't care." She smiled and touched her lips to his cheek—very gently, because Pete had several cuts and bruises on his face. Then, carefully, she helped the human climb onto her back, and she bore him away from the dueling ground and the crowd of astonished centaurs.

Carefully setting Pete down on the bedding in his tent, Penelope stroked his hair and said, "You mad, wonderful human. I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you've done."

Pete laid back and looked up at the beautiful face of the centaur-woman. "Yeah. I've set you free. You're not married anymore."

Penelope tilted her head and said, "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I beat Oreius, so he's not your husband anymore, and now you're free to marry whoever you want." Pete looked off to the side, staring at the deerskin wall of the tent, so that he wouldn't have to meet Penelope's eyes.

But the centauress shook her head and said, "No. According to centaur custom, you've won me. You are my husband, and I am your wife."

"Penny… I'm not going to force this on you if you don't want it. And I think you've made it pretty clear that you don't wagumph—" Pete was cut off when Penelope leaned down and kissed him again. Pete's eyes welled up with tears, not from emotion, but because Oreius had given him a split lip with one of those left jabs. When they finally broke the kiss, Pete said, "You know I love it when you kiss me, babe, but… ow!"

The centauress smiled down on the human and said, "I love you, Peter."

"I love you too," said Pete. "But… do you really think that we can make this work? People are going to talk…"

"Let them talk," said Penelope. "And quit teasing." She lay down on top of the furs and blankets and snuggled up next to Pete. He took her into his arms.

"You know," said Pete, "this makes you the Queen of Narnia now."

Penelope's eyes widened. "I'd forgotten!" Then she said to Pete, "When we get back to Cair Paravel, what are we going to tell everybody?"

"I don't know," said Pete. "How about, we fell in love and ran away together so that we could elope?"

"You don't want a royal wedding? With all of our friends?"

"Already had one of those," said Pete, recalling the Island Kingdom. "I like this better."

"Me too," said Penelope. They fell silent for several more minutes, simply enjoying the closeness and the company.

Then Pete said, "I've got to ask, Penny: why me over Oreius? He seemed like an all-right guy. Why did you run away in the first place?"

"I don't know," said Penelope. "I just… never wanted my father to decide my destiny for me. I wanted… something better. I wanted to fall in love with a man like Cyrus… or you. Someone kind… and witty… and, I don't know, different from what everybody expects."

"Different. I am that," said Pete with a laugh. "But… if you had been allowed to fight… could you have killed him?"

"No!" said Penelope, shocked. "How could you even say such a thing?"

"Sorry," said Pete. "I didn't mean to suggest… sorry…"

Then Penelope closed her eyes and admitted, "But I was prepared to loose the challenge. I could have let Oreius free himself by… by…"

"By killing you?" said Pete. He shook his head. "He wouldn't have done that."

"I'd have begged for it," said Penelope. "Better to die than let Creon win."

"Creon is probably thrilled right now. Guy gets to tell everybody that he's the High King's father-in-law. But I think we're going to have to do something about him," murmured Pete. "And, incidentally, now that you're queen, it's high time Beruna got a noble to rule over it. How does 'Oreius, Count of Beruna and Duke of the Midlands' sound to you?"

"I think it sounds wonderful," said Penelope. Then a wicked and sultry look crept into her eyes and said, "You know, this is our first night together as a mated couple. You once tried to shock me by suggesting that a human male wouldn't 'measure up' to a centaur…"

"I know," said Pete. "But we humans do have a saying. Something about how it's not the size that matters…"

"I think we'll manage just fine," said Penelope.

And, some time later, Pete couldn't help but agree.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

PETE and Penelope spent their first night together in that camp on the Plains of Beruna, and it was, to say the least, out of the ordinary. The sheer, physical mechanics of their activities were awkward at the outset, and there was much clumsiness and lighthearted laughter on both sides. But nothing about it was strictly impossible, by any stretch of the imagination; and eventually they found their rhythm. One might say that the two lovers arrived at a mutually satisfying understanding.

The next morning, they decided to depart Creon's camp in a hurry. Neither Pete nor Penelope wanted to remain there any longer than they were obliged to. But before they could leave, they had to track down Oreius, which wasn't difficult. The centaur had remained in the camp, brooding about recent events and the unexpected turn that his life had taken. Pete made a point of publicly creating Oreius the Duke of the Midlands, declaring before all the gathered centaurs that the newly-made noble was to be their ruler from that day forth. Oreius was more than a little surprised, but he accepted the responsibility and reaffirmed his fealty to the high crown of greater Narnia. And Pete and Penelope both got the supreme pleasure of seeing the horrified look on Creon's face when his power as elder chieftain was suddenly and irrevocably rendered meaningless by royal decree—for the transformation of the Midlands into a duchy meant that Oreius would now have all the power formerly ascribed to Creon.

After that, the High King and his new bride left Beruna together. It would be a little more than two weeks' journey back to Cair Paravel, but since it was just the two of them—and, effectively, Pete and Penelope's honeymoon—they decided to take the trip home at a more leisurely pace. That way, they would be able to arrive at many more understandings.

The Eastlands were perhaps the safest of places in all Narnia these days, since the country around Cair Paravel was well patrolled by soldiers. Penelope had seen to that, long before Pete had been crowned king. But with Pete's sudden and unexplained disappearance from the royal palace, a little over a month ago, Cair Paravel had been thrown into a positive tizzy. In his rush to leave without being discovered, Pete had neglected to leave any word or notice of where he was going, so the people living in Cair Paravel had no idea whether he had gone away of his own accord or been kidnapped.

As it happened, one morning, a patrol of faun soldiers stumbled across their king and their general while the two were in a rather compromising position. The Great River (of which the Rush was a tributary) had many small creeks and streams that fed into it, all the way down from the highlands in the west of Narnia to the lowlands along the eastern shore, and it was in one of these streams that Pete and Penelope had decided to bathe together. That morning, they were but a days' short hike to Cair Paravel, and they wanted to wash off the dust and grime of the road before entering the city. But as they bathed, one thing led to another, and, well…

"Oh, yes, another one!" said Penelope.

"Already?" said Pete.

"Yes, indeed! You've explained these 'movies' to me countless times before, but I'd had no idea how entertaining the stories were!" The stream was cold, but pleasantly so, and the centauress swam with the water up to her shoulders. Pete was a few feet away, enjoying the sensation of floating with the stream's lazy current. The human's clothes and the centaur's armor were spread out on the riverbank, waiting for their owners to reclaim them.

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Pete. "All right, well, I've already gone through The Lord of the Rings. That one was a book, by the way, before it was ever a movie."

"I liked how you did Sméagol's voice," said Penelope. "He must have been a very strange creature."

"Yeah, he was a pretty weird little guy. 'Like Yoda he was, mm, yes.' Hey, that's it! I've got to tell you Star Wars next!" And so, excitedly, Pete began to recite what he could remember from that movie trilogy, starting with "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…" and then explaining every little detail that Penelope couldn't understand, like what "galaxies" and "droids" and "blasters" were.

Penelope was delighted by the story of the two mechanical men, one prissy and golden and the other spunky and cylindrical, and the strange message from the mysterious girl that they had to carry to Obi-Wan Kenobi. Pete was just getting up to the point in the story where Luke and Threepio followed Artoo out the Jundland Wastes and met up with old Ben Kenobi, when he was interrupted by a startled shout from up on the riverbank. "It's him! It's High King Peter! I've found him! Come quickly, everybody! High King Peter is alive and well!"

Perhaps because he had Star Wars on the brain, Pete couldn't resist muttering, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Feeling?" said Penelope. "I know this isn't going to go well."

Then, from among the bushes, there emerged a small battalion of faun troops. And the lead faun, the one who had called to the others, only now noticed that Pete and Penelope were swimming together. Embarrassed, he said, "Oh… my. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty, but… you've been missing from the castle, and we've been looking everywhere for you!"

Pete lowered himself into the water up to his neck and said, "And now you've found me. Congratulations. Go away."

"But… Your Majesty, aren't you coming back to Cair Paravel?"

"Yes!" said Pete. "Just as soon as you take your company and get out of here, so that we can come out of the water and make ourselves decent!"

"Ah… I understand. Once again, I beg Your Majesty, forgive me." The flustered faun bowed low and then hustled his staring and snickering fellow soldiers away from the riverbank.

Pete gave Penelope a worried look, but the centauress only smirked. "Well, that settles the question of how we'll break the news," she said. "In a day or so, everybody in Narnia will know."

Pete answered in a deadpan, "Yippee skippy."

Once they were dried and clothed, Pete and Penelope came away from the river and found the fauns waiting for them. Pete didn't bother mincing words. He stood up on a stump and said, "You guys look curious, so I'll make this short. General Penelope is now Queen Penelope. We're married."

In reaction to this announcement, the fauns stared at Pete for several beats, as if they were all silently weighing whether their king were joking or not. Then one of them cheered and applauded, and soon all of the soldiers were congratulating the happy couple.

Pete broke away from the soldiers and whispered to Penelope, "They like you. So much for old grudges and bad blood between fauns and centaurs."

"They're fauns," said Penelope. "Satyr-folk. They're quite used to the idea of mixed marriages. But other Narnians won't be so accepting."

"We can cross those bridges when we come to them," said Pete.

After that, they returned to Cair Paravel in style, with a full escort of faun musketeers. A few hours later in the day, the great palace by the sea could be seen, its towers peeking out above the treetops. They marched through the city streets, and as they did, Pete ordered the fauns to disperse among the people like criers and spread the news that High King Peter had brought his bride home with him—General Penelope of Beruna was now Queen in Narnia.

The reaction from Cair Paravel was lukewarm. Of course the dwarves and the nymphs and the animals of Narnia all came to congratulate Peter and Penelope on their nuptials, but for the most part, it was a great show of politesse and affectation. Several noblewomen of the Islands, Calormen, and even Archenland who had arrived during the month of Pete's absence now made hasty excuses and departures—much to Pete's relief and delight. The truth of the matter was, Pete didn't particularly care how the Narnian people took the news of his marriage to Penelope. He was the only Son of Adam they had, so it wasn't like they could just choose another high king. But there was one matter that did have Pete a little worried: he didn't know how his closest friends would react. Phineas, Cynthia, Lumpkin, Brenawen, Falon, Diarmuid and Cliodhna… he would have to send messengers to deliver the news.

"I wouldn't worry," said Penelope. "At the worst, they'll be sorely grieved at not having been invited to the wedding." She and Pete lingered in the throne room, long after a bevy of officials, ministers, and well-to-do citizens had come and presented themselves in order to pay their respects to the King and Queen.

"Do you think we should explain that in the letters?" asked Pete. "'Dear friends, sorry you weren't invited to my fight-to-the-death-at-sunrise for Penelope's hand in marriage?'"

"Hmm. Yes, perhaps it might be best to save that part until we see each other next," said Penelope.

"Speaking of that," said Pete, "we need to plan a trip to Silenopolis soon. If we don't, Finny and Kiddo'll never forgive us."

Penelope smiled. "What is it with humans and nicknames, anyway?"

"We're lazy," said Pete. "We don't like to pronounce too many syllables."

"And yet, you never cease talking."

"Oh, that's not all humans. Just me, baby."

That night, the king and queen retired to the royal bedchamber and stress-tested the royal bed, just to make sure that it would support their combined weight. Thankfully, there were neither accidents nor injuries. But, long after Penelope was spent and sleeping, Pete lay awake. He didn't know where the strange insomnia came from: he was exhausted, he was contented, and so he should have had no trouble drifting off to dreamland. But something compelled him to rise from the bed, put on a nightshirt, and walk out onto the balcony.

Aslan awaited him there.

Pete recognized the great lion at once and said, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Peter." The lion's voice was stern and booming.

Pete asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," said Aslan. "She rests in your bedchamber, yonder."

Pete looked over his shoulder at the centauress, who rested peacefully beneath the bedcovers. She rolled over once, and her arm reached for the spot where Pete had lain a few moments ago. He turned back to Aslan and said, "I don't see any problems there."

Aslan shook his head and said, "Peter, this was not meant to be. It is not why I restored Baelin and Penelope to life."

"Hey, that reminds me," said Pete, "what ever happened to Baelin, anyway? We haven't seen him since."

"I stripped him of that dark power that the witch had bestowed, and I sent him back to Earth," said Aslan. "Back to his own time, where he yet had a role to play in your world's history."

"You just… sent him on back home," said Pete.

"Yes," said Aslan.

"And… did he want to go back?"

"Yes," said Aslan. "I gave him the choice, and he chose wisely. He thought that you would make a better king. But now… now you, too, have another choice."

"And what would that be?" asked Pete.

"Forsake the centaur. Return to Earth. Make way for another human to come here and rule Narnia."

"And if I say no?"

"It is not my will to force a decision upon you," said Aslan, "but you must know that there will be consequences, no matter what you choose to do."

Pete considered Aslan's offer… for about a tenth of a second. "I can't leave her," said Pete. "I love Penelope. And I don't care if anybody thinks it's wrong, because she's not human enough, or whatever else. She's human enough for me, and that's all that matters."

"So be it," said Aslan, "but know this: the line of Pevensie kings must begin and end with you. So long as you should remain in this world, no Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve will issue from your union with the centaur, and your legacy will fail. Another human, one not of your blood, will someday ascend to the high throne of Narnia."

"For some reason," said Pete, "that doesn't bother me in the least." In truth, these were only words of bravado. He didn't really care about the throne, or the crown, or whose descendants would be king. But the idea that he and Penelope might not be able to have children… that cut Pete to the quick.

"Do not presume that you can avoid this destiny," said Aslan. "I know that you someday wish to abolish monarchy in Narnia and institute democracy in its place. But all I have spoken shall come to pass, regardless of what you do."

"Understood," said Pete. "Are we done here?"

"We are," said Aslan. "And this is the last time that we shall meet in this place. You'll not see me again in this lifetime."

"That doesn't bother me either," said Pete caustically. "I wonder why."

Then Aslan opened his mouth and roared. He roared in Pete's face; and the human felt the lion's hot breath blow across his cheeks and hair, and he heard the deafening noise ring in his ears…

And he gasped and sat up in the bed. Pete wasn't on the balcony at all. He was under the covers, still next to Penelope, who had slept undisturbed the entire time. Had it all been a dream? Somehow, Pete didn't think so. He looked down at his wife, her beautiful face smiling as she slumbered, her golden hair draped over the pillow. She was worth it, Pete thought. He'd even give up Earth for her.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

IT would be wrong to say that Pete and Penelope had an easy road ahead of them. Their relationship had always been rocky, after all, so peace and quiet and living happily ever after would have probably proven disappointing anyway. But peace did reign in Narnia—for one full year following Penelope's return to Cair Paravel as Pete's queen. For the duration of that year, they ruled Narnia together, and they ruled well. Much of the land was still full of danger in those days, and so, rather than concerning themselves with improving the lives of the citizens as Pete might have wished, they had to devote a great deal of their attention to stamping out the remnants of the White Witch's armies—hags, giants, werewolves, devils, and other such monstrosities.

Pete's skill as a warrior continued to grow, and he lived up to his reputation as "King Peter the Magnificent"; while Penelope, though she always carried herself like a soldier, came to be known at court as "Queen Penelope the Gentle." But if one were to visit any of the taverns or dockside dives common in Cair Paravel—where the Narnian citizens were known to be rough, bawdy, and supremely patriotic—then one would hear the common folk refer to their beloved rulers as "Mad King Pete and Good Queen Penny." Needless to say, Pete never failed to get a kick out of that.

THE dwarves made astonishingly rapid work of clearing the monsters from the Southlands. By coordinating her maneuvers with Falon of Archenland, Brenawen Dwarf-Queen led her people to victory after victory against the goblin and hobgoblin tribes. With dwarves attacking from Narnia in the north, and elves from Archenland in the south, the monstrous tribes were eventually driven completely into the Red Mountains, and then back to Mount Pire alone, where they were surrounded and trapped. By the time the dwarves and elves were ready to launch their final pincer attack on the mountain stronghold, the reputations of the troll-slayers Lumpkin Dwarf-King and Falon Half-Elven, had already preceded them. Rather than face such fearsome foes, the creatures beneath the mountain chose to evacuate the dwarven mines. They fled deep underground, down into the very bowels of the world, and it became a rare thing indeed to see a goblin or a troll while that age persisted.

AS for the new rulers of the Westlands, Duke Phineas and Duchess Cynthia did indeed rebuild the old faun city, and there in Silenopolis did they dwell ever afterward. The ancient evil fled from the forests, and the Western Woods became a safe and wholesome place once more. Farther to the west, in the Western Wilds and the Lantern Wastes, monsters still lurked and dangers were many, but fauns and nymphs and most animals never went into those places.

As promised, King Peter and Queen Penelope made the journey to Silenopolis when it was time for Cynthia to bring her child into the world. Of course Phineas and Cynthia were thrilled to learn that Pete and Penny had wed—though perhaps their elation was somewhat tempered by surprise. Certainly, if they had ever suspected the human and the centauress of having feelings for each other in the early days surrounding the War, they never let onto it. But now, regardless of what they might have thought before, they couldn't be happier for their dearest friends and onetime comrades-in-arms.

Cynthia gave birth to a healthy baby boy-faun, and she named the newborn "Vertumnus," a word which meant "the changing of the seasons" in one of the old tongues of fauns. She wanted to commemorate the fact that her son had been born in the first year after the end of the thousand-year winter. Of course, King Peter decided immediately that the baby's name was just a little bit too long, and so he christened his little godson with a nickname by dropping that superfluous first syllable.

...

IT was in the middle of the second year of High King Peter's reign that trouble returned to Narnia—a series of events that sparked the final episode in this portion of our chronicle. The tale begins on a day of celebration: the first anniversary of Pete and Penelope's unorthodox wedding. After they married, the King and Queen of Narnia were dismayed to discover that relations with rulers of other countries—Rashiel of Archenland, Morrigan of the Islands, and especially Ardeeb of Calormen—frosted over quickly. Tisroc Ardeeb, it seemed, had a particularly low opinion of Penelope and of centaurs in general, and in any case, the Calromene Empire had little reason to remain on friendly terms with Narnia. As for Archenland and the Islands, it was perhaps the case that both King Rashiel and Queen Morrigan resented the lost opportunity to forge an alliance through royal marriage with the High King of Narnia—but then again, perhaps they thought that by marrying Penelope, Pete was slighting either Taraiel's memory or Princess Cliodhna herself. But Pete knew that this wasn't true, and certainly those who mattered most to him didn't think so—not Taraiel's brother Falon, and certainly not Princess Cliodhna or Prince Diarmuid.

As it happened, Cliodhna and Diarmuid chose to attend the anniversary celebration, though Queen Morrigan sent only a curt message of refusal. Diarmuid was in especially low spirits, though, due to personal reasons. As he explained it, "My mother-in-law might be my queen, but she grows more demanding and insufferable by the day! In order to please her, I have been forced to take elocution lessons, to learn how to speak like a prince—and now my old crew can barely understand a word I say!"

Cliodhna only laughed at this speech and said to Peter, "He's exaggerating, of course. His men can understand him; only, now that he's in the habit of speaking properly, they do tease him mercilessly for it."

"Tease, how?" asked Pete.

"They do impressions of me," said Diarmuid resignedly. Slipping back into his old accent, he said, "I cannae hope ta take it much longer…"

After that, Cliodhna offered her heartfelt congratulations to Pete and Penelope both, and the Princess and Prince of the Sea Kingdom followed the King and Queen of Narnia into the grand dining-hall of Cair Paravel. There, they met the other honored attendees: Lumpkin and Brenawen, rulers of dwarvendom and the Southlands; Duke Phineas of the Westlands, who had left his wife and infant son back in Silenopolis; and Duke Oreius of the Midlands, whose attendance had been something of a surprise to the rulers of Narnia.

Of course there were many entertainments to accompany the feasting, like musicians and acrobats and things of that sort. There weren't any court jesters, though, because Pete simply couldn't stand that style of humor—he was too used to ordinary American standup comedy to get any kind of rise from the slapstick and putdown humor of a medieval jester. "Why would I want some schmuck in a coxcomb making fun of me to my face?" Peter would say. "It might be funny to let Don Rickles or maybe Triumph the Insult Comic Dog have a go at me, but really nobody else." The dinner conversation was pleasant enough at the outset, and it stayed centered on light topics; but as the night drew long, so too did the moods of the partygoers, and eventually weightier matters emerged.

"I forgot to ask, Finny, how's the little bean-sprout doing?" Pete said at one point.

"A fitting description," said Phineas, "since he seems to grow by about an inch a day. Soon, Cynthia and I shall truly have our hands full."

"Ain't that the truth," said Pete. "Toddlers… whew. I remember when my niece and nephew, Susan's kids, were that age… and, jeez, did they get into everything." Suddenly nostalgic, Pete fell silent, and he seemed to go elsewhere for a moment.

"This always happens when he thinks of Earth," said Penelope to the others. Then she took Pete's hand and squeezed it tightly. Pete squeezed back. "You miss your home," said Penelope.

"This is home," said Pete. "But I do miss my family. The rest of my family, that is."

The table fell silent as thoughts turned to loved ones lost and places left behind. Then Lumpkin cleared his throat and said, "High King Peter, I understand that the northern borders are giving you some trouble again. The giants of the Ettinsmoor have grown restless?"

Pete remained quiet, but Penelope answered for him. "Yes, it's true. We've been considering a full campaign, but…"

"But I'd rather not get us involved in another war," said Pete. "It's too soon."

"With respect, Your Majesty, I disagree," said Oreius. In the intervening year, the centaur who was now Duke over the country's central plains had remained involved in military matters, as befit a former general of the rebellion. The Northlands were as much a problem for Oreius's territories as they were for the lands around Cair Paravel, and the centaur had been forced to devote a great deal of attention to securing his northern borders. Most of his attention had been given over to this task, in fact, and he still had yet to remarry. Though the duke had received many offers from other centaurs in Beruna—fathers who wanted their daughters well-matched with a noble lord and royal favorite—Oreius had rejected all of them. He really was a romantic at heart, and he was firmly set on the notion that he would not marry until he found someone who made him feel the way that Penelope used to. But none of this did he disclose to his king and queen, of course. He only wished to discuss the military issue.

"How so?" asked Pete.

"Something is stirring in the north which grows in strength," said Oreius. "Raids and attacks have become more frequent, more organized. Your Majesty… it could be the White Witch, making another grasp for power."

Pete sighed. "Penny?"

"Oreius is right, Peter. We cannot simply defend our borders and ignore the threat."

"I was hoping that we'd have more time," said Pete.

"I know," said Penelope, still holding his hand. "But the army has recovered all its strength since the Battle of Table Hill, whereas our foes are still marshalling, still organizing. We should strike sooner rather than later. It increases our chances of success."

"You're talking about a preemptive attack," said Pete. "Hit them before they hit us."

"It is the best option, Sire," said Oreius.

"Phineas, Brenawen, what do you guys think of this?" said Pete.

The dwarf-woman answered right away, "It sounds reasonable to me. No sense in waiting for the enemy to grow more dangerous."

Phineas, though, only said, "I have no advice for you, my king. But if war is your chosen course of action, I will join you without hesitation."

"Of course you have our support as well, whatever you choose to do," interjected Cliodhna, and Diarmuid nodded his agreement.

Pete fell silent for several moments, considering the matter. Then, at last, he said, "Okay. You're right. The witches and warlocks live up north, and we can't take the risk that one of them might come to power again. Especially Jadis. So we'll go to war." It was a sad decision, and a reluctant one on Pete's part, but it was the only choice he felt he could make.

"It's the right thing to do," said Penelope. "We fight to protect the people of Narnia."

"For Narnia!" said Lumpkin, raising a wine-glass. And everybody else repeated the toast, except for Pete. Pete got up from the table and went away, leaving Penelope saddened and the guests discouraged. Penelope hastily excused herself and followed him.

Queen Penelope chased after King Peter, who she supposed must have retired to their bedchamber. As she walked through the halls of Cair Paravel, her hooves echoed off the marble floors like they always did, and she passed several tall mirrors that reflected the image of a beautiful centaur woman with a tiara on her golden head and a soft, green gown that clung tightly to her bust and waist before it swept back and draped loosely over her withers and haunches (though the yellow of her pony's tail peeked out from beneath the back of it). She walked through the corridors that she had come to know so well in her time here—this castle that had become her home, a fact that had never entered into her wildest dreams before she'd met Pete and which still managed to astound her. Then again, even after Pete had come into her life, she hadn't dared to dream that he would love her, marry her, and make her the Queen of Narnia.

She found her husband where she expected to, on the balcony that overlooked the Eastern Ocean—the place where, Pete claimed, Aslan had twice appeared to him. "What troubles you, my love?" she asked.

Pete turned around. "Penny… I've got a funny feeling about this business in the north. Like… something terrible is about to happen, and I can't tell what it is… but it's coming for me, or for you, or for somebody we both care about." He came away from the balcony railing and placed a hand on Penelope's cheek. "I have this awful premonition, like I'm going to lose you."

Penelope kissed her husband on the forehead and said, "You're not going to lose me, Pete. I'll promise it. We will always be together, and when we must fight, we'll fight at each other's side. Do you remember, not long after we met, the very first battle we faced together?"

Pete laughed. "The skirmish with the wolves. At the beaver dam. I was still injured, and you carried me into battle on your back."

Penelope smiled. "We, um…" she searched for the right human colloquialism, "made 'one hell of a team,' didn't we?"

"Hell on wheels," chuckled Pete. "Or horseshoes, as the case may be."

"That's how I always want us to be," said Penelope. "Together. Close enough to touch. Close enough that if you fall, I can pick you up and carry you away."

Pete smiled wistfully and said, "I can't do the same for you."

"Then it's a good thing I'm the better warrior," said Penelope. "I'll just have to take extra care for the both of us."

Pete followed Penelope back into their bedchamber, but he still seemed bothered. "This war…" he said. "I know it's necessary, but I don't have to like it."

"Who likes going to war?" said Penelope. "But, come. You're neglecting our friends. We really should get back to them."

"You're right," said Pete, and he turned and accompanied the centauress back into the corridors, back toward the dining hall.

Once they were outside the bedroom, they walked together, arm in arm. Then Penelope smiled broadly and said, "By the way, my dearest, when we get back to the party, I'll have an announcement to make."

"Like what?" asked Pete.

But Penelope only gave her husband a coy look and said, "It's a surprise."

"A surprise for everybody at the party?"

"You'll see," said Penelope.

"No hints?" said Pete.

"Well… it's a happy announcement," said Penelope. "It should dispel some of this melancholy that seems to have come over you of late."

"I can't wait," said Pete.

Together, they returned to the small celebration and the company of their friends. But neither Pete nor Penelope saw the long, greenish silhouette that followed behind them, stalking them, silently flitting from shadow to shadow, formless but now taking shape…

Peter and Penelope swept into the dining hall together, and all the guests stood up to greet them. Lumpkin raised his goblet again and said, "Hail! The valiant High King and his beautiful Queen return to us!" But then the dwarf's face turned ashen white, and the goblet fell from his hand, spilling wine all over the tabletop. All around, the other guests stared in shock and horror, their mouths agape and their cheeks pale. Brenawen stood up on her chair and reached for a dagger; Phineas and Oreius pushed away from the table and drew swords; and Diarmuid moved to interpose himself between Cliodhna and the two rulers of Narnia.

Pete and Penny looked at each other in confusion. "What's the matter?" asked Pete. "Why does everybody look like they've just seen a ghost?"

At the same time, Brenawen pointed her knife and said, "Your Majesties, look out! Behind you!"

The king and queen turned around, and there behind them in the hallway was a huge, green snake with venom dripping from its enormous fangs and a long red ridge, like a fin, running down the back of it. The creature almost looked more draconian than serpentine, except of course that it had no limbs. And it was nearly big enough to fill the hallway.

Now, Pete had once or twice in his life seen demonic spirits that looked very much like giant green snakes—the first time when he had been exorcised by the Bards of Narrowhaven, and then once again when they had performed the same ritual to drive Count Serpens from the body of Sir Baelin. It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Pete had developed an extreme distaste for serpents of all kinds, to a degree that bordered on the phobic. This creature was no demon—it was quite solid, and very much a physical, corporeal being—but, regardless, when Pete saw this monster behind him in the hallway, he froze. He was paralyzed with fright. He thought that it might really be the demon spirit of Count Serpens, come back to take its revenge by dragging Pete off to Hell with it. It reared back on its coils and prepared to lash out, but Penelope screamed Peter's name and pulled him away from the corridor and out into the dining room.

The giant serpent darted out into the open, barely missing Penelope with its fangs. Penelope, meanwhile, was only concerned for her husband. "Peter! Pete, are you all right?" she shouted.

Pete shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. "Huh? I'm fine. God, did Indiana Jones ever have it easy!"

"We need weapons," said Penelope, for both she and Pete were unarmed and unarmored.

For the moment, the giant snake seemed distracted by the other party guests. Phineas and the dwarves were trying their best to hack at its long trunk with their blades, while Oreius dueled with the creature face-to-face, swords versus fangs. Pete pointed to a pair of swords and a shield that hung decoratively from the wall above the head of the dinner table. "There," he said, and Penelope took his direction and quickly retrieved the pieces… only to find that they were welded together, both swords firmly fixed to the back of the shield.

"Shit," said Penelope, who by now was quite well versed in human expletives.

The serpent now slithered the rest of its immense bulk out of the corridor, and as it did so, it seemed to grow in size. It coiled itself up and reared its head, nearly filling the high-vaulted dining chamber. The Narnians' weapons had little effect on it; blades only blunted or glanced off those unnaturally thick scales, which now looked themselves quite like green shields. The creature flexed its muscles, sending a ripple of movement down its body, and Phineas, Lumpkin, and Brenawen were all flung away. Then it snapped at Oreius, causing the centaur to dive aside and drop his weapons. It spotted Peter and Penelope, and it knew who its intended prey was. It slithered toward them, preparing to strike…

The two swords attached to the shield made for a cumbersome sort of weapon, but Queen Penelope didn't really have other options. So she gripped one of the sword hilts with two hands and hefted the whole mess up over her head—no difficult feat for someone with her physical strength. Then she charged, galloping toward the snake with the improvised weapon swinging overhead. The serpent saw this and swept out with its tail, knocking Penelope away. The centauress screamed and fell over, all four of her legs taken out from underneath her. The not-very-dangerous decoration slipped from her hands and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

Pete looked up at the monster, and he knew that it had come for him. His feet were rooted to the floor, so frightened was he. The human king of Narnia had faced goblins, vampires, demons, devils, and witches, but this was something different. When it looked into Pete's eyes with its own gigantic reptilian orbs, Pete was transfixed—almost hypnotized. The snake opened its mouth and bore its fangs, and Pete was only vaguely aware of Penelope shouting his name in terrified agony. Then the serpent struck…

…And Pete vanished from sight. Swallowed whole. His friends all called out to him, but he simply wasn't there anymore to hear their distraught pleas. The snake, with blood on its lips, seemed to smile… and then it, too, vanished. It melted into a green vapor, and it seemed to disappear altogether. When it was gone, all that was left was the overturned dinner table, and a small puddle of red fluid.

The flummoxed Narnians picked themselves up and looked around. There was no sign of the snake, and there was no sign of High King Peter. Penelope only stared at the empty spot on the floor, too shocked to process what had just happened.

Lumpkin fearfully crept forward and looked at the place where Pete had only just now been standing. He knelt down and examined the red stain. The dwarf opened his mouth once or twice before he found his voice. "…Blood," he said. "It's blood."

Phineas came up to it as well, dipped his fingers in, and then brought them up to his nose to smell. He sniffed it and said, "Blood… and snake-venom."

That was when Penelope came back to her senses. "Noooooo!" she howled, the anguish too great to bear. She crawled forward on all sixes, but Oreius and Brenawen held her back and kept her from approaching what appeared to be Pete's mortal remains—and precious little of them, to be sure. She collapsed into a heap, sobbing incoherently, though all present could make out Peter's name being repeated over and over. No eyes remained dry in that chamber, not even Oreius's, for all those who had assembled here loved Peter in some capacity, whether as husband, friend, or king. To a degree, they all felt what Penelope felt—absolute and utter devastation.

Queen Penelope of Narnia cried on into the night, and her pain-wracked sobs and wails echoed throughout Cair Paravel.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

IN a lavish room with stone walls and no windows—with expensive rugs and tapestries and ornaments and an oversized canopy-bed—in a room with everything you could ask for save sunshine, Pete woke up. He was sitting on top of the bed, above the covers, which left the intricately sewn blankets and lacy throw-pillows mostly undisturbed. He looked at his surroundings—wealth and opulence, to be sure, but a far cry from the brilliance of Cair Paravel. The only light in this place came from oil-lamps on wall-sconces, their smoke wafting up into tiny ventilation-shafts in the ceiling. Pete sat up in the bed and examined himself. No wounds… no bite-marks… but his clothes were stained with blood. "What in the hell…?"

The room's only door, finely carved from some kind of heavy wood, gave a click and swung open. In the doorway appeared a person… though of what race, Pete could not be sure. He'd never seen anything quite like this creature before. It was no taller than a dwarf, though it was slenderer, and it wore a plan robe made from gray cloth that somehow managed to resemble bare stone. Its skin was also cobbled and gray, colored (if not textured) like granite. For a moment, Pete wondered whether this being weren't actually made of rock. It came into the room, looked up at Pete, and said in a pleasant voice, "Please come with me." And Pete could tell from the creature's voice that she was female.

"Who are you?" asked Pete. "What are you?" While he waited for answers to his questions, he followed the odd little gray woman out into a corridor.

"I'm a gnome," she said simply. "My name is Ipsum."

As Pete walked along, he noted that the walls in these hallways were all beautifully decorated with every sort of hanging, painting, or piece of bric-a-brac that one might imagine—but still there were no windows. The ceiling was low and the walls narrow, giving this place so oppressive an aspect that Pete might as well have been deep underground in a mineshaft. "How did I get here?" asked Pete. "And for that matter, where is here?"

"You are in the palace of my mistress, the Queen-Under-Stone," said the gnome. "As to how you came here, I imagine that the Queen must have brought you."

"She brought me here… using a giant, man-eating snake… that teleports?"

Ipsum only shrugged and continued leading Pete through the hallways.

Eventually, they emerged from the maze of tunnel-like halls into a much larger chamber—a dining room with a long table of stone and rows of silver chairs, like thrones, all along both sides of it. This room was lit by many lamps and braziers, and it too was decorated with all manner of beautiful objects, but yet again, the total effect of the place was one of drab, sunless gloom. And there were people here—many people, some seated at the table and others moving about and serving them. All of the servants were like Ipsum: the small-statured, granite-skinned gnomes. But the people at the table… they all looked human.

They had the shapes of human beings, to be sure, only… something was strange about the lot of them. Pete couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were all fair-skinned (quite pale, actually); and from an objective standpoint, they would all have to be called attractive, since each was youthful and basically well-formed in both face and body. But they weren't a lively bunch. Nobody spoke, unless it was to whisper a command to one of the gnomes. The gnomes served their charges dutifully, though they went about their work in a plodding, sullen fashion. As for the people at the table, they picked at their food listlessly; stared blankly into space; or even rested their heads in their hands and slept while sitting up.

The large chair at the head of the table had its back to Ipsum and Pete, and so Pete couldn't see who sat there. But on the right hand of that chair, there was an empty spot at the table. The gnome conducted Pete to this chair and motioned for him to sit.

Pete circled around, so that he could see who waited for him here—so that he could see the Queen-Under-Stone. And her identity didn't surprise Pete very much at all. "Jada," he said when he saw her sitting in the silver throne.

"Peter, my love," said the Green Witch, "please, be seated. You're probably wondering why—"

"Why you brought me here?" said Pete.

"—Why it took me so long!" said Jada. She stood from her place and smiled brightly. "Oh, Peter, my dearest, I have missed you so!" All the while, the other diners remained in a stupor, seemingly unaware of either Jada or Pete.

"I'm touched," said Pete. "When can I go home?"

"Oh, this is your new home," said Jada. "For a time, at least. But, come, sit. Dine with us. I'll answer all of your questions, if you'll only share a meal with me."

Right about now, Pete was starting to realize that Jada might just be the craziest stalker ex-girlfriend that anybody had ever known, in all the long history of crazy, stalker ex-girlfriends. But he wanted information, and Jada was offering that freely, so Pete decided to play it cool. He smiled and sat down at the Green Witch's right hand. "Okay," said Pete. "There can't be any harm in that. Unless, of course, all these guys are stoned out of their gourds because you put some special hash in the food."

"Who, them?" asked Jada, indicating all of the humanlike persons at the table. "Don't mind them. They're only my brothers and sisters."

"Your… what, now?"

Jada smiled. "My siblings. Fellow witches and warlocks. I keep them occupied within dream-worlds of their own making, for protection. Trust me, it's the only safe way to have them about."

"Your own brothers and sisters…" said Pete. "Wait, but… are they all… are they all Jadis's children?"

Jada laughed and said, "Of course they are! Where else could the race of witch-kind have come from?"

"You tell me," said Pete. "I don't know anything about you people, or wherever it is that you guys came from."

Jada said, "It's a short story, really. My mother, Jadis, escaped from a dying world called Charn. There was a great disaster, and she was the only survivor. She was forced to flee to this world—to Dünya. But when she got here, she found another race of people whose form was so similar to her own—human beings, which we now know came from Earth, thanks to you!" As she spoke, Jada motioned for gnomes to come and fill her glass and Pete's with some kind of strong, pungent drink. She sipped from the cup, smacked her lips, and continued, "Jadis had to use many, many Sons of Adam to procreate our kind. The survival of the Charnian people was at stake, you must understand. But we, all of us, have a certain talent for magic. Nothing like Mother, of course—her Charnian blood is pure, and so her power is greater than any of ours—but, even still, we were all ambitious and sought what she possessed. There used to be many more of us, especially warlocks, but Queen Jadis had to destroy many of her own children over the centuries, to keep her position safe."

"She killed her own children," said Pete. On the one hand, Pete knew that he shouldn't have been surprised—this was the White Witch they were talking about, after all—but on the other, Pete had simply never heard of such a thing. He'd never imagined that even Jadis could be so twisted.

"It was no great loss to the world," said Jada. "Each and every one of them was ruthless, wicked to the core, and quite mad with lust for power. What your people might call 'psychopaths.' Yes. They were all psychotic, and Mother put them down like the dogs they were."

"But you," said Pete, "you only keep them trapped in their own minds."

"They're my flesh and blood," said Jada, batting her eyes sweetly. "I could never do them any real harm."

Pete shook his head. "You're one sick puppy, do you know that? Like mother, like daughter."

Jada only threw her head back and laughed aloud at that. "Oh, Pete, how I really have missed you! And, now that you're here at last…"

"Yeah, let's go over that," said Pete. "Why am I here?"

"I knew that somehow, someday, you would come to back to me," said Jada, "but I must confess, I grew a little impatient." She rolled her eyes and giggled madly. "So, to speed things along, I sent for you. Did you enjoy playing with my pet?"

Pete took hold of his shirt and pointed at the blood-stain. "Does this look like I had fun to you?"

"Oh," said Jada, "that. Merely another illusion of mine—a little something to fool all of your 'loyal subjects.' We can't have them thinking that you're still alive, now, can we? Or else they might get some nonsensical idea of mounting a rescue." The Green Witch waved her hand, and as she did so, the blood smear disappeared from Pete's clothes—as if it had never been there. Because, in fact, it never had been—it wasn't real.

Then, quickly, like a striking cobra, Jada's hand darted out and grabbed Pete's arm by the wrist—hard. Pete tried to pull away, but he couldn't. Jada was freakishly strong. She said, "But we both know better than that, don't we, my love? We know that you don't want to be rescued. You'd much rather stay here with me and be my King-Under-Stone."

"Let me go," said Pete through gritted teeth.

"Of course," said Jada, releasing Pete's arm. Then she saw the red welts that her fingers had left around his wrist and said, "Oh, no! Have I hurt you? Please, beloved, tell me that I haven't hurt you!"

Gripping his wrist, Pete stood up from the table and said, "Lady, you're whole new kinds of crazy! You're so far beyond delusional, they haven't come up with words for it yet! Because this," he motioned between Jada and himself, "does not exist. It's even less real than your 'magical mystery holodeck' trick!"

Jada shook her head, and tears formed in her eyes. "No!" she said. "That's not what you're supposed to say! You're supposed to tell me that you'll love me forever, and that you'll take me back to your world with you!"

Pete's eyes widened and he snorted laughter. "What in the name of Jesus H. Christ ever made you think that?" he scoffed. "I don't even like you! I'm a married man, for God's sakes!"

Jada glowered at Pete and said, "Ah. Yes. The centaur. I would have thought you'd be thanking me right now, for rescuing you from her clutches."

"Rescu—?" Pete slammed both hands down on the table and leaned in close to Jada. "I love Penelope. I will always love Penelope. And I will never so much as touch you again, so long as I live!"

"Is that so?" said Jada. "You can't honestly tell me that you'd rather lie down with the arse-end of a horse than with me!"

"Right now, I think I'd rather bang an actual horse than look at your psycho face one minute longer!" snarled Pete

"Well, you have had the practice," Jada spat back. "But, come now, don't let's quarrel. Insults and curses—you really shouldn't say such things. It's certainly no way to speak to the mother of your child."

Pete reeled and staggered back. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'the mother of your child.'" Jada signaled to her gnome servants, and a short moment later, Ipsum came into the dining room leading a two-year-old girl by the hand. The toddler had Pete's eyes, Pete's hair…

Pete fell back into the chair by the table. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No. It's another trick. One of your… one of your damned tricks…"

"No tricks," said Jada. The Green Witch knelt down to the floor and opened her arms. The little girl said nothing, but she ambled from Ipsum over to Jada and let her mother pick her up. "There we are," cooed Jada. "Jillian, baby, this is Daddy. Daddy, would you like to meet your baby girl?"

Pete stared at the witch, and the toddler in her arms, in utter shock. The little girl—Jillian—put her thumb in her mouth and started sucking. Pete's mouth went dry, and he took up a goblet from the table and drained the strange drink in one swallow. He looked again. The girl was still there, resting in Jada's arms. She was actually a beautiful child. "You… named her Jillian?"

"I thought that it was appropriate," said Jada. "Something that we shared."

Pete closed his eyes and fought against it. He tried to wish it away, tried to make himself believe that it couldn't have been real. "That… world… was an illusion," said Pete. "You conjured it up in a back-alley in Tashbaan!"

"But I was there," said Jada. "I was real. And what we did… that was real too. And after you left me, when I discovered that I was with child, I shut up my old castle in the Northlands and sent away all my servants and soldiers. I came here, to this place, to raise our child in peace—away from Jadis. And I've been waiting here ever since—for you."

Pete looked up at Jada and said, "Where is here, exactly?"

"Deep underground," said Jada. "A mile or so beneath the city of Harfang, far to the north of Narnia."

Once again, Pete rose from the table, loudly scooting his silver chair across the stone floor as he did so. "Thanks," he said. "Now I know which way home is." And he turned for one of the corridors, which he chose at random, meaning to follow it away.

"Where are you going?" asked Jada. "You cannot leave this place. There's no way out, unless I will it. No tunnels, no caves, no passages. Only by means of my arts can anybody come and go from here."

Pete turned. "You mean I'm trapped here? I'm your prisoner?"

"Not my prisoner!" said Jada, laughing merrily. "My husband! And now, you'll stay here with me, and with our daughter, and we will be a family. I know that you'll be a good father to Jillian, Pete, because she is your child—and you are such a good, honorable man."

Pete eyeballed the little girl, who now stared at him intently. "What makes you think I care about her? She's just another witch, right?"

Jillian laughed. "I know you, my beloved, perhaps better than you know yourself. You would never abandon a child of yours, and you would certainly never let her come to any harm, so don't ever think that you can bluff with me. And, besides, she's only one-quarter witch, at most. My father was human too, remember."

"Not that you'd ever know it," said Pete. "Baelin was a good man. You… you're the devil."

"No," said Jillian. "I'm your angel! In fact, I can be anything that you desire—you know that, right? I can even be… any of your former lovers…" The Green Witch set baby Jillian carefully onto the floor, and then she mumbled a spell, and she changed. She suddenly assumed the form of Pete's wife, Queen Penelope. In every aspect, she was identical—just as the centauress appeared in Pete's most recent memories. "I can be anybody you want. Penelope… Cliodhna… Taraiel…"

Pete felt sick. "Stop that," he said. "You're not my wife. You're not any of them. Don't you ever do this again!"

"As you wish," said Jada, dismissing the illusion and returning to her own form. "Actually, I prefer it this way. It's best that you forget them, and learn to love me. Especially since we'll be living here for… a while longer."

"How much longer?" asked Pete.

"Until I have everything I need," answered Jada cryptically. "But until that day, you will remain here. Please, my love, do try to be happy. There's no way out, and all of your old friends must now think that you're dead, so don't waste yourself on hope. Just… accept it."

"Never," said Pete. "I never give up hope."

"Pity," said Jada, "since this time, there isn't any. At least, not for you."

Baby Jillian, now curious, stood up awkwardly and toddled over to Pete. She raised her arms to the human and uttered, "Da! Up!" But Pete didn't pick her up. He just walked away from the dining hall, down one of the many branching corridors. If there was a way out, he meant to explore this place until he found it. And Jada let him go, because she knew that he wouldn't find anything—except a reason to give up.

Chapter Sixty

MANY days of aimless wandering passed by before Pete learned the whole truth. He explored every inch of every tunnel that made up Jada's underground hideout, and it was as the Green Witch had said to him—there was no way out. There weren't any gates or passages that led away from this place—just a series of underground hallways, carved out of the very rock by some arcane process of witchcraft. Only Jada, it seemed, could come and go at will—but it was a rare thing when she left Pete to his own devices.

Without the sun to mark the passage of days and nights, Pete really had no way to tell how much time went by. But, by counting those periods that he spent awake as "days" and the times he slept as "nights," he figured that three weeks or so must have gone by before he stumbled upon a room that he wasn't supposed to find. So far, Jada had been content to let Pete wander about the complex freely, because she didn't believe that he could do any harm by going where he pleased—and because she still meant to elicit Pete's affections for her. Furthermore, the human still needed to eat and drink, and the only food and water in the place seemed to come from Jada herself, provided as they were by her magical arts. So Pete was frequently obliged to return to the witch's dining room, where Jada would sit down with Jillian and Pete and play the part of a pleasant, agreeable "woman of the house."

But when Pete searched the lowest levels of the palace and found the dungeon cell, Jada was livid with anger. She had wanted to keep its sole occupant a secret from Pete, at least for the time being.

Pete had been wandering through one of the many tunnels—though they were all adorned with different sorts of ornaments, they all ran together in Pete's mind, and he still had difficulty finding his way around—when, one day, quite by accident, he found a locked wooden door with a tiny, barred window in it. And he heard a voice coming from within the room beyond—a woman's voice. Pete drew nearer to the door, and he could hear the woman inside it, babbling incoherently. "Reddest sun, squeezed by Father Time, end of the world… my fault, all my fault."

Pete peeked through the bars, but the room was dark. He couldn't see inside. "Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

"It's him," said the voice. "Him, Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, bringer of the apple, bringer of sin and death."

Pete looked up and down the hallway and saw many lamps hanging from sconces. He retrieved one and brought it back to the cell. Shining the light through the little window, he was stunned to find none other than Queen Jadis trapped therein—but she was dirty, beaten, and disheveled, and madness now gleamed in her eyes where there had once been frigid emptiness. Some of her hair had been torn out, and she was covered with cuts and bruises. She wore only plain rags. "Hello, little lion's cub," said Jadis. "Hello, little apple-seed."

"Jadis!" said Pete. "Where in the world did you come from?"

The White Witch didn't answer him. It seemed as if her mind were utterly gone. She only ran up to the door and put her grimy face against the bars. "Peter, dear, I used it. I used it once, and it ruined everything. And now she wants it. She wants it for herself, the madwoman!"

"Look who's talking," said Pete.

At this, Jadis started shrieking and screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to squeeze her fingers through the bars to reach out at Pete. "The word!" she cried. "She wants the word, wants the word that ends the world, but I'll never let her have it!"

Pete was so surprised by this that he staggered back… only to run into Jada, who stood behind him, watching, staring angrily. Pete spun around and saw the Green Witch, and he nearly leapt out of his skin. "Gha!"

"Peter," said Jada in a stern voice, "you shouldn't be snooping like this. You weren't supposed to know about her."

"Know what?" said Pete. "That you're keeping your own mother locked up in a dungeon cell, when she ought to be in a padded room and a straitjacket?"

"I have to keep her here!" said Jada. "She has something that I want, you see. Something that I need before we can leave."

"I don't get it," said Pete. "Why can't you just tie her up and take us all out of here? Why are keeping us trapped in this damn bunker?"

Jada's expression changed from stony anger to smug amusement. "You really don't get it, do you? I don't mean that we'll leave this palace, darling. I mean that once I've gotten what I want from Mother, we will leave this world behind. When that day arrives, I will use my powers to take us to Earth."

"Over my dead body!" said Pete.

"Unlikely," said Jada. "You'd be surprised what a mortal can live through."

Pete mentally shuddered at the thought, though he tried his best to stand firm in front of Jada and keep a brave face. Then he heard the White Witch shriek again from within her cell, "You can't have it! You can't have it!"—and Pete was reminded of Jadis's ravings. "Jadis said something about a word. 'She wants the word.' What's the word, Jada?"

The Green Witch responded, "It is… the Deplorable Word. The most powerful enchantment ever devised."

"And what does it do?"

"It kills," said Jada simply. "It kills every living thing on a single planet, except for the person who speaks it. My mother uttered this word but once, when she still resided upon her home-world of Charn. She destroyed it all—every living soul, every member of her own race, every animal, every plant—and then she came here."

Pete gaped at Jada. This was… okay, to be perfectly honest, it was just about on par with finding out that he had a daughter. But, still. "Jadis has a doomsday word, and you want to learn it from her? What the fucking fuckity-fuck for!?"

"To end this world," said Jada. Her voice was weary and drawn as she explained, "I have tired of Narnia, tired of Calormen, tired of all Dünya. And so I will wipe it out. And then, once there is nothing left for you here, you will be glad that I've sent you away from it. You'll be glad to see New York again, won't you, Peter? Happy to have your family all in one place?"

But Peter didn't say anything to that. He just turned away from Jada, walked over to Jadis's cell, and said, "Jadis, come here." Behind Pete, Jada watched curiously.

The White Witch once again put her face to the bars. "Peter," she said, "I told you that she was mad. Don't you agree with me? Isn't she mad?"

"Yeah," said Pete. Slowly, from his sleeve, he drew out a table-knife which he had stolen from the dining room, and he palmed it. Pete had kept the knife for days and days now, thinking to use it on Jada if the opportunity arose. But he hadn't, of course, because as far as he knew, the Green Witch was the only way in or out of here—and the only one providing food for Pete and for their little girl. But now, here was another opportunity that Pete had not foreseen. If he was quick, he could end Jadis's life right here, right now—and the Deplorable Word would die along with her.

He kept his body between himself and Jada, and he gripped the knife. Jadis clearly saw what Pete was doing, and she fell silent. She didn't scream or babble anymore. Indeed, the look in her eyes was almost one of gratitude. Pete suddenly lunged forward with the blade… only to have Jada stop him by once again latching onto his wrist with her vise-like grip. From within the cell, Jadis gave a hopeless giggle and canted a little song about the end of the world.

"Naughty Peter, trying to stab Mother like that," said Jada. She squeezed and gave Pete's wrist a turn, and he cried out and dropped the knife. "This will never do, will it? I'm afraid that I'll have to keep you locked up from now on." And that's precisely what Jada did. She held Pete firmly by the arm, and she dragged him bodily back to the very bedroom that he had been in when he had first awakened in this place, after having been kidnapped by the giant, illusory snake.

There, in that glum and over-decorated little room, Pete was forced to count the days and the nights, the days and the nights, the days and the nights, on and on and on and on and on…

Three years later.

Three long years. Or, at least, that was Pete's best estimation of the time elapsed. He had stopped counting the days once their number surpassed one-thousand. Three years without sunshine, without moonlight, without sky, without the open air. Three years without his wife, without a friend, without anybody he could trust. He certainly couldn't trust the gnomes, since they were Jada's slaves; and except for the servant-girl called Ipsum, they rarely spoke two words at a time to the human. In fact, Pete couldn't even trust himself down here, since he could never be sure what was real and what wasn't.

He hoped that Jillian was real, though. She was the one bright spot in a sea of darkness—the one thing that kept him sane. Without that little girl, he would have plunged over the precipice of insanity long ago. Probably close to five years old now, she was a dead ringer for Pete's younger sister Lucy at that age. When Lucy had been five years old, Pete had been thirteen, and so the memories were actually fairly clear. Jillian had a similar personality—the same curiosity, the same intelligence, the same sweet disposition. When Pete was permitted to spend time with little Jill, those were his only happy moments. He talked with her, and he tried to teach her things. He told her stories, he told her about Earth and about Narnia, and he tried his best to teach her right from wrong. His worst fear was that she might grow up to be like Jadis and Jada.

Jada, of course, did everything in her power to keep Pete comfortable. She provided him with small gifts, little conveniences and luxuries—but never anything that he might turn to use as a weapon. Continually, she pressed her suit for love upon Peter, but always he rejected her. She tried kindness, temptation, seduction, and bargaining; but all of those things failed. Eventually, Pete rebuffed her advances one time too many, and so she decided to take what she wanted from him. At first, she resorted to guile and trickery. Using her mastery of illusions, she would take the form of Penelope or Cynthia and appear in Pete's bedroom at night, as if that long-dreamt-of rescue had finally come. The first time, she had taken Penelope's form, and Pete had been fooled. The second time, she used that shape again, and Pete knew that he was being played. After that, Jada tried to use the shapes of Cynthia and Cliodhna, but this only made the human angry. From then on, what Jada could no longer take through trickery, she obtained from Pete by brute force.

On other fronts, the Green Witch continued her work with equal persistence. Pete knew that she was doing something horrible to torture Jadis, to try and extract the details of the Deplorable Word from her. But the White Witch must have been either extremely strong-willed, or she was too far gone to comprehend her own torment—because, whatever the reason, the vile syllables never fell from her mouth, and so Jada was continually thwarted. That Jada could not seem to obtain what she desired most was of some comfort to Pete, but not much. It was only a matter of time, he believed, before the Green Witch acquired the knowledge that she sought, and that would mean the end of the world.

In short, Pete's life had become a dreary routine of terror, hopelessness, humiliation, and psychological deprivation. He would have given anything at all to escape from this place, to see Narnia and Penelope and his friends again, except for one very important thing: Jillian. On that one point, Pete was determined. He wouldn't try to save himself from Jada, unless he could save his daughter from her as well.

After three torturous and depressing years, help finally arrived from a most unexpected quarter. It was one of those rare days when Jada had vanished from the underground palace, off to who-knew-where, to go and do who-knew-what. It happened every month or so, as near as Pete could tell. But on this particular day, the lock on his bedroom door clicked open, and there was Ipsum the gnome. For three years, Pete had tried every means of escape: the sick prisoner routine, his own useless attempts at lock-picking, and everything else that he had been able to think of. But he'd never dared to dream that one of the gnomes might simply open the door for him. "Come quickly, Your Majesty," said Ipsum. "The day has come at last, but we haven't much time."

"What day?" said Pete, sitting up in the bed. "Don't tell me that Jada finally learned the Deplorable Word!"

"Of course not, thank Aslan!" said Ipsum. (It was the first time that Pete had heard Aslan's name spoken in three years, and it came as something of a shock.) "I mean the day of our escape! Ortz has finally finished digging his tunnel!"

Pete recalled having heard Ortz's name once or twice. He was another gnome, one who performed some kind of laborious drudgery on the lower levels of the complex. "Tunnel?" said Pete, standing up excitedly.

"Yes!" said Ipsum. "A tunnel which leads to the under-caverns, and the way back home to Bism!" Ipsum motioned hurriedly for Pete to follow, and the human fell into step behind her.

"What's Bism?" asked Pete.

"The country of the gnomes," said Ipsum. "It lies far beneath us. Mistress Jada never permitted us to discuss it before, and so we had to keep silent. But now that we're ready to leave, we gnomes have all agreed that you ought to come with us, since you've been even more of a prisoner here than we have."

"That's… very friendly of you," said Pete. "How do I know that this isn't one of Jada's tricks?"

"I suppose you don't," said Ipsum. "But, thinking logically, isn't it worth the risk?"

Pete stopped in his tracks, and he did consider it logically. If this was Jada in disguise again, what was the downside? Pete really didn't have anything to lose right now. He was playing Pascal's wager, not with the question of God's existence, but with his own shot at freedom. "Okay," said Pete, gesturing for Ipsum to lead on. "Ladies first."

They came to the dining hall in the center of the palace—that large and lavish chamber were all the glassy-eyed, empty-headed witches and warlocks lived on only in their dreams. Pete ran to the table and collected as many knives as he could find—that was only practical. Then he looked around at all the dazed, lifeless faces and said, "Keeping them here like this is cruel. I'm almost tempted to put them out of their misery."

"You're one to talk," said Ipsum. "You haven't had to clean their chamber-pans for the last five years."

Pete shuddered and decided that it would be best to leave them all be. Anyway, he couldn't bring himself to kill them in cold blood. "Okay, let's just get out of here," said Pete. "But… wait. Before we go, I have to take care of a few more things."

"Like what?" asked Ipsum. "The Green Lady could return at any moment! And we haven't got all day!"

"Like, making sure that Jada never learns the Deplorable Word," said Pete. "Like, getting my daughter out of here, so that she doesn't grow up to become an evil megalomaniac!"

The gnome sighed. "All right. But hurry."

Pete ran down the corridors, around twists and turns and corners, until he found Jillian's bedroom. This cozy little chamber was decorated in all pink, white, and frills. It was the bedroom of a born princess. When Pete burst in through the door, Jillian jumped up from the bed and dropped the three stuffed animals that she had been playing with. "Daddy!"

"Hey there, baby girl!" said Pete, scooping her into his arms. "Come on. We're going to take a little trip."

"Where?" asked Jillian.

"Somewhere else," said Pete. "Somewhere better than here."

"Okay," said the girl. She buried her head in Pete's shoulder and let her father carry her out of the room. "Is Mommy coming too?"

"Uh… no, Jilly, honey. Mommy can't come yet."

"Why not?"

Pete signed. "Because… she's been a bad girl. So she just can't come."

"Oh," said Jillian, as if she understood everything.

After that, Ipsum led Pete and Jillian down flight after flight of stone stairs, deep down into the very lowest levels of the palace—the levels where the dungeons were. As they hurried on their way, Pete said, "I still don't understand why you're doing this for me. In three years, this has got to be the most that we've ever spoken to each other."

"No, you're right, we haven't spoken much," said Ipsum, "but we gnomes have been watching. We prefer not to share knowledge, because we learned early on in the course of our enslavement that the Green Witch can see thoughts and memories whenever she wishes to look."

"Yeah," said Pete. "It's one heck of a Jedi mind-trick. Speaking of that, how did you manage to keep this escape-tunnel of yours a secret for so long?"

"Caution and foresight," said Ipsum. "Ortz and the other diggers simply kept out of Jada's way. She doesn't pay us much attention, and I don't think she can really tell us apart, so she doesn't much bother with peering into our memories. And, of course, we didn't tell you about the tunnel before now, so that she wouldn't learn of it from your mind."

"Oh. Okay. So… just out of curiosity, how did you guys end up stuck here in the first place, anyway?"

"Nothing more than bad luck," said Ipsum. "We were exploring these tunnels, when Jada happened upon them and decided to make a palace here with her witchcraft. She shut them up, changed them into hallways and corridors, and forced us to be her servants. That was nearly five years ago."

At last, they came to the bottom floor of the palace, and Pete set Jillian down onto the ground. "Stay here with Ipsum," he said to the girl. Then he followed a pathway which had been burned into his memory for the last few years, and he came once again to Jadis's cell. Only a wretched moaning could be heard coming from inside it. Pete took down a lamp and approached the cell. Therein, Jadis lay on the floor in a pool of her own filth. She was wrinkled and emaciated, as if she had aged thirteen years in the span of only three. Pete saw this pitiful sight, but he felt no pity. This was a woman, after all, who had destroyed an entire world. He whistled and said, "Yo. Witchiepoo."

Jadis looked up with the eyes of a ravenous animal.

Pete took one of the knives from the dining-hall and touched the hilt to his nose. "You want this?" he asked.

Jadis tried to crawl toward the door, but she seemed too weak to make the distance. Still, she stared at the knife, hungrily, imploringly.

"Okay," said Pete. He pushed the blade through the barred window and let it clatter onto the stone floor inside the cell. He saw Jadis grope for it… but that was all he could bear to watch. After that, he just turned and walked away from the cell.

Behind him, the White Witch moaned again… and then her voice was sharply cut off, and no more sounds came from within the cell.

Chapter Sixty-One

PETE once again took Jill into his arms and followed Ipsum the gnome through the drab stone hallways. Ahead, he heard the buzz of many excited voices. Then they emerged into a rough-hewn chamber, formerly a bare storeroom on the deepest floor of the underground palace. Now, though, it was filled with gnomes—dozens of them, all the gnomes who had been trapped here by the Green Witch these past few years. In the middle of the floor, a large hole had been dug into the ground, and this lead to a tunnel which sloped steeply downward.

"Ah," said a male gnome. He and two fellow gnomes stepped forth from the crowd. "Ipsum is back with the human… oh, my, and the hybrid child as well."

"And you are?" asked Pete, hugging Jill tightly to his chest.

"I am Ortz," said the gnome. "And these are Golg and Spar. We were well-respected engineers back in Bism, before Jada enslaved us; and we've been digging this escape tunnel for years now."

"So this tunnel… it goes back to your country? Farther underground?" Pete was eager to escape from this place, but he wasn't sure he liked the prospect of going deeper down.

"Not right away, it doesn't," said Ortz. "It leads to the under-caverns, the complex web of naturally eroded tunnels between the highest regions of Bism and the lowest caves beneath Dünya's surface. And a most fascinating geological feature it is, I must say."

"I don't know," said Ipsum. "I would be much more intrigued at the prospect of examining this child's genetic code." She pointed at Jill with a wide-eyed grin and said, "Imagine what she could teach us about surface-world biology!"

Pete blinked and looked around at the gnomes, who were all nodding eagerly at Ipsum's speech. "Wait, wait, wait a second!" said Pete. "You guys… you're scientists?"

"We're gnomes," said Ortz, as if that explained everything.

"So… you know about geology, and DNA, and… what else?" The idea of real scientists, here on Dünya… Pete had never imagined such a thing, but the implications were grave and astonishing.

"Oh, I don't know," said Ortz. "Ask me something."

"Okay," said Pete. He thought for a moment, and then said, "Tell me if this equation means anything to you. If 'E' is energy, 'M' is mass, and 'C' is the speed of light, then—"

"Then the amount of energy found in a given quantity of matter is equal to its mass times the speed of light squared," said Ortz, "or in terms of the variables you've just described, E equals MC-squared. Fascinating! I never thought that a surface-worlder would know anything about atomics! You all seem so… so primitive up there!"

Pete laughed loudly at that. "It is kind of primitive up there. But it's home, and I want to go back, so… can these 'under-caverns' get me back to Narnia?"

"Of course," said Ortz. "I was an explorer as well as an engineer, and I know the caverns backwards and forwards. I will lead you there myself, once my people are free of this place."

"So let us be gone," said Ipsum. "And good riddance!"

Everybody agreed, and so the gnomes all poured into Ortz's tunnel, and Pete and Jill followed them down.

The band of gnomes wandered through the tunnels for several days. Pete had been made to leave in a hurry, and the only things he had on his person were a few dull knives and his five-year-old daughter. But the gnomes had been planning this escape for quite a while, and they had food, water, and even lanterns with them. The gnomes were perfectly able to see in total darkness, but Ipsum had thought to bring lights for Pete's sake, so that he wouldn't have to stumble around blindly or be led by touch all the way. This turned out to be fortunate, since little Jill was already frightened and dispirited, and if she'd been compelled to wander in the dark with her father, it might have been that much the worse for them. As it stood, she cried frequently at having to leave her home behind—those rooms and hallways had been the only world she'd ever known—but Pete held her in his arms, stroked her raven hair, and whispered soothing things until the girl calmed down.

Eventually, they came to a dome-shaped cavern with many branching tunnels that went off in all directions, some sloping up and others sloping down. "This is where we part ways," said Ortz. He addressed his fellow gnomes and said, "I must lead High King Peter of Narnia back to his kingdom. It is a long road, and difficult, but I shall make the journey nonetheless. And when I am on the surface world and living among the top-dwellers, I shall learn all that I can about their ways, until the time comes for me to return to Bism. Then our knowledge of surface anthropology shall be greatly increased, to the betterment of our science."

The other gnomes applauded this speech, and Ipsum said, "I believe I shall come with you. It's strange, but I have grown fond of Peter and Jill, and I should hate to leave them so quickly."

Pete was grateful to have both of the gnomes along with him, though he understood that in Ortz's case, it was more a matter of scientific curiosity than an act of selfless kindness. But Ipsum was an all-right sort of person, and he was glad to have her along.

After the rest of the gnomes said their goodbyes and departed down one of the low-sloping tunnels, Ortz took up a lantern and led Pete, Jill, and Ipsum to one of the higher passages. This one twisted and turned for another two days, and then, sudden as you please, there was a light at the end of the tunnel—a brilliant, yellow-white light. Though it had been so very long, Pete knew it for what it was right away. Holding Jill tightly in his arms, he took off at a run, laughing aloud. The gnomes ran after him, fascinated by the human's behavior. "This gives us a particular insight into human psychology," Ipsum commented, and Ortz nodded his agreement.

Then Pete emerged from the mouth of the tunnel, and he found himself on the surface of the world again. The landscape was nothing more than dreary swamp, but the sky was blue, the sun was bright, and Pete decided that apart from little Jill, this was the most beautiful thing that he had seen in three years. "Haha!" he shouted. "Hello, sky!"

Jillian had never seen a light this bright before, and she winced and closed her eyes. "What is it?" she asked.

Pete pointed up at the sun and said, "It's sunlight, Jilly! Don't look right at it. Just… close your eyes and feel it on your face."

The little girl closed her eyes… and she felt the warmth… and she started laughing. Pete laughed with her, and he picked her up and kissed her cheeks, which made her laugh even more. They collapsed together on the muddy ground and laid down on their backs, looking up at the bright blue dome overhead, with its white wisps of cloud sailing by in the upper atmosphere.

"Truly fascinating," said Ortz, observing the father and daughter with empirical detachment.

They had emerged in a cool, clammy swampland—not the most delightful place to visit on the world's surface, but it was a sight more hospitable than any bare cave, and after three years underground, Pete didn't mind at all. So they sought the highest, driest ground that they could find, and they picked a direction and followed it. Pete didn't really have any idea where they were, but he knew that it must have been somewhere north of Narnia, so he aimed them on a more-or-less southerly course.

After a couple of hours like this, the land grew wetter, with more creeks, streams, shallow lakes, and stretches of muddy bog. It became harder and harder to find a dry path, and when Pete started sinking down to his knees in the mud, he knew that they couldn't take this way much farther. The gnomes would be up to their waistlines soon, and if the mud got any deeper than this, it could prove really dangerous.

So Pete decided to backtrack, and he led the gnomes along a different path, but this wasn't much better than the last, and soon, evening was upon them, and they were all turned about and quite lost in the swamp. "The logical thing to do," said Ipsum, "rather than worry about it now, would be to make camp and decide upon a solution to our problem in the morning."

Pete agreed that this was a very level-headed solution, and so he collected some dry branches to make a fire, and they camped out that night on a high mound of grassy earth that rose several feet above the swamp water.

The next morning, Pete woke up when Jill—who had been sleeping next to her father—fidgeted in his arms and roused him. "Daddy," said the girl, "someone's coming."

Pete was awake in a flash, and as he sat up and scanned their surroundings, he spotted a tiny sort of rowboat, rounded like a coracle, making its way across the muddy lake-water. Pete stood up and waved his hands. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey! Help! Over here!"

That noise woke up the gnomes as well, and Ortz and Ipsum sat up to see what was going on.

The boat's pilot was a strange little man, shorter than a human, but taller than a dwarf, with very long fingers and a mouth so wide that it almost reminded Pete of a frog's. Pete's first impression of this creature was that he looked like a cross between Gollum and a hobbit. The little boat ran aground on the dry mound, and the man stood up and said, "Oy, now. What're you about, bothering me like this?"

"Sorry," said Pete, "but we're lost in the swamp. We're trying to find our way to Narnia."

"Oh, you're already in Narnia, I'd say. Leastwise, the northerly parts of it. These are the Northern Marshes."

Pete's eyes widened. "The Northern Marshes? Those are close to Cair Paravel! I'm almost home!" He knelt down to Jill and said, "Did you hear that, baby? We're almost home!"

"I want Mommy," said Jill. "Can't she come home with us?"

Pete closed his eyes and frowned. But before he could explain anything to Jill, the strange boatman said, "From Cair Paravel, eh? No, that's not far at all. I s'pose I could show you the way. Not that there's anything in it for me, of course."

"Will you?" asked Pete. "We'd be very grateful."

"I don't know. You're all a funny-looking bunch. Never seen the likes of you before. Could be up to no-good, for all I know."

"That doesn't make very much sense," said Ipsum. "Just because you've never seen us before, why would you assume the worst?"

"Well, now, I don't mean any offense," said the man. "It's just my nature, you see. We marshwiggles are just skeptical like that."

"Marshwiggles?" asked Pete.

"You know. Swamp-folk. I'm Drizzlegrim the marshwiggle, by the by, at your service." At that point, Drizzlegrim stood up in his boat, took off his hat of woven reeds, and swept into a gallant bow.

"Well that case," said Pete, "I should introduce myself too. I'm Peter Pevensie."

Drizzlegrim stared at Pete. Then he snorted… and laughed aloud. "Right. You're Peter Pevensie. You're the High King of Narnia, who was killed and ate by a demon three years back."

Pete stared at the marshwiggle without flinching or even so much as cracking a smile.

Drizzlegrim became grimmer and said, "You're serious. Cor blimey, you're not joking! But you can't really be him!"

"I can and I am," said Pete. "No fooling."

"By the lion's mane," breathed Drizzlegrim. "All right… then where've you been all this time, eh? Can you answer me that?"

"Yes," said Pete, "but it's a long story." And so, as briefly as he could, he outlined the tale just lately recounted, of how he came to be imprisoned by the Green Witch.

When it was over, Drizzlegrim agreed at once to lead Pete, Jill, and the gnomes through the swamp by the safest paths. "If Cair Paravel is where you mean to go, Your Majesty, then that's where I'll see you to," he said. "But I wouldn't be too hopeful about what you'll find when you get there, just so's you know."

"Why's that?" asked Pete.

"Well… everyone's thought you dead for the last couple of years," explained the marshwiggle. "From what I hear tell, Cair Paravel ain't what it used to be. Every prince, duke, and backwater baron in the world, it seems, has tried suing for the hand of High Queen Penny. Whoever marries her becomes king, after all."

Pete blanched at that pronouncement. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, it probably started not long after you died. I mean, disappeared." Drizzlegrim shrugged. "Probably best to give up hope now, so you don't get disappointed when you get there. Like as not, she could already be remarried."

"No," said Pete. "Not Penny… she wouldn't… no." But Pete really had no idea what could have happened in the past three years. And he couldn't blame Penelope if she'd settled down with somebody else, because the Green Witch had purposely made it seem as if he'd died. So he resolved to do the only thing he could: he would go to Cair Paravel and find out for himself.

Jill looked up at Pete and asked, "Who's Penny, Daddy?"

Pete said, "She's somebody that your Daddy loves very much. I think you'll like her a lot too."

"Aw, that's sweet," said Drizzlegrim. "Pardon my frankness, but how many bastard children does Your Majesty have, anyway?"

Pete glowered at Drizzlegrim and said, "How about, the next time you want to say something like that in front of my little girl, you think twice and keep your cake-hole shut?"

"All right, all right," said the marshwiggle. "Just an honest question. Look, are we going to waste the daylight sitting here, or do you want to get going?" After that, the four escapees readied themselves to follow Drizzlegrim through the swamp. Their next destination: Cair Paravel, capital of Narnia and home of High Queen Penelope.

Chapter Sixty-Two

CAIR Paravel had grown into a busy, bustling sort of city in the last couple of years. But from the looks of things, it wasn't the friendliest of places anymore. The people walking the city streets—fauns, dwarves, talking animals, and even the occasional jinn, elf, or merrow—kept to themselves and went about their own business. During that first blessed year and a half, when Pete had reigned here as king, Cair Paravel was still growing into a city from little more than a village that had sprung up around the castle. Back then, it had seemed as if everybody had known everybody else. But now… it was just as impersonal as New York City. Pete stunned himself by making that mental comparison, but it was the truth.

Nobody gave the small party of travelers a second look, either. Pete, Jill, the two gnomes, and the marshwiggle might have seemed like an odd collection of unusual people, but here in Cair Paravel, nobody seemed to want to ask questions. Certainly, nobody bothered enough to stop and ask them about their purpose in the city. There were guards, to be sure—armed fauns and centaurs, watching the citizenry, keeping the peace. But they just ignored Pete and his group. Not one person they passed recognized Pete for who he was.

Granted, the human's appearance had changed somewhat in the intervening years. He was grayer at the temples, and instead of shaving every day while he'd lived underground, he'd let his beard grow in and his hair grow out. He looked a rougher sort these days—like a man who'd been through hell and back, only to emerge the tougher for it. In all that time underground, he hadn't let his strength wane either. Indeed, with very little to do in that small locked bedroom except exercise, Pete might have even been stronger now than before.

Drizzlegrim dodged aside when a cart, drawn by mules and driven by a dwarf, nearly ran him over on the cobble-paved street. "All right," said the marshwiggle. "Cair Paravel. We're here. Good luck, then, Sire, and may your fortunes improve from here on out, Aslan willing."

"You're leaving us already?" asked Pete.

"S'pose so," said Drizzlegrim. "It ain't like I've got any reason to stick around now, do I?"

"I guess not," said Pete. So, the marshwiggle took his leave of them, but not before Ortz and Ipsum begged him to answer several rude questions about marshwiggle anatomy, diet, culture, religion, and behavioral psychology. Eventually, Drizzlegrim got so fed up with the gnomes that he simply walked away, and he didn't speak another word of parting to either of them or to Pete and Jill.

"What a sullen fellow," said Ortz. "I wonder how their society can persist, if they're all like that."

"One marshwiggle isn't a statistically significant sample," said Ipsum. "We would have to do more research before drawing any reliable conclusions."

"Of course, of course," said Ortz with a dismissive hand-wave.

Pete whistled to get the gnomes' attention and said, "I hate to interrupt your little research-conference, but we really need to get a move-on. I want to get off the streets and out of sight."

"Out of sight, Your Majesty?" asked Ipsum. "Whatever for? Don't you want your people to know that you've returned?"

"Not quite yet," said Pete. "Come on."

There was a small tavern on the north side of Cair Paravel, not too far from the docks district, marked by a painted wooden sign that depicted a jolly faun riding on the back of a goat and holding a goblet filled with purple grapes. This tavern, known far and wide simply as "Fabian and Agrippina's," brewed the best ale in the city. Or, at least, that had been the case when Pete was here last. Fabian and Agrippina were an elderly couple, a faun and a fauna, who Pete had come to know well enough to trust. He hoped that they still owned the place.

He led Jill and the two gnomes in through the front door and sat down at a table in a dark corner of the main room. The inside of the tavern was busy enough—Narnians and foreign sailors mingled here freely, laughing and drinking and feasting. A pair of young girl-fauns, daughters of the tavern-keepers, pranced from table to table on the tips of their dainty hooves, serving the ale in tall flagons and setting bowls of fruit and plates of bread on the tables. Eventually, one of them came by Pete's table and asked what they would have. Pete said, "Actually, I'm here to see your parents. Are they here?"

The fauna looked curiously at the bearded man, the being whose race she couldn't quite place, but who resembled an elf more than anything else. "They're here," she said. "Mother is in the kitchen, and Father is in the cellar."

Without bothering to ask for permission, Pete simply stood up from the table, took Jill by the hand, and told the gnomes to wait here.

"Hey!" said the fauna. "You can't go back there!"

But Pete just pushed his way into the kitchen.

Old Agrippina was a satyress of more than two-hundred years. Her hair was gray and kept done up in a tight bun. Her face was wrinkled, pleasant, and usually smiling. A heavy apron hung from around her neck. When Pete and Jill came into the kitchen, Agrippina was busily kneading a lump of dough.

"Hello, Agrippina," said Pete.

The old fauna blinked once, and then twice, and then she recognized Pete and put her hands over her mouth to keep from shouting to the rafters. "Oh my," she breathed. "You're—you're—Your Majesty!" At once, she bowed low. Then, facing the cellar door, she called, "Fabian! Fabian, my husband, come quickly!"

"Now, now, dear," came a raspy voice from down below. "What's all the excitement? Why—?" When old Fabian emerged from the cellar, bent over and every bit of hair or fur on his body a silver gray, he saw Pete and very nearly died of a heart-attack. "High King Peter!" he said in astonishment.

"Shh!" said Pete. "Keep it down! I don't want anybody to know that I'm back yet."

"But, why-ever not?" asked Agrippina. "Everybody thinks that you… that you died!"

"Look, I just have to figure out how I'm going to break the news," said Pete. "In the meanwhile, I need a safe place to lie low. And my little girl here looks like she could use a plate of food."

"Oh my goodness, but of course!" said Agrippina. "Where is my head? Of course you need food and drink." The grandmotherly fauna held her hand out to Jillian and said, "Come here, little dear, and I'll find you something good to eat."

Fabian, meanwhile, looked at Pete and said, "Your little girl?"

"Long story," said Pete.

But the old faun only put up his hands and said, "I won't judge. The Lion only knows, but Queen Penelope must have been in similar straits."

"How do you mean?" asked Pete.

"Why, a little over two years ago, she gave birth to a daughter," said Fabian. "A baby centaur. The princess Persephone."

Pete sank down onto a small wooden stool and stared blankly into space. "Penny… had a kid? So soon? But who was the father?"

"I can't say for sure," said Fabian, "but it's a fact that after you disappeared, General Oreius stayed in Cair Paravel. Folks on the street… well, they talk, and it does seem pretty obvious, if you ask me. But, funny thing, she still hasn't married him. That's why you've got all these rotten royals and nobles, coming into town, day in and day out, all trying their best to romance our queen. They want her to pick a new high king, you see."

"But she simply won't do it," said Agrippina, who now set a mug of warm, spiced cider in front of Jill, next to a plate of fruits and cheeses. The little girl attacked these things hungrily, and she drained the cider quickly. Then she looked up at Agrippina with a toothy grin. The fauna smiled at this and continued, "In fact, more than one prince has left Cair Paravel with bruises and black eyes. Say what you will about our Good Queen Penny, but she hasn't let another man sit in your throne, O my king."

Pete nodded. Then he put his hand underneath his chin and sat there, pensive, thinking. "Can you two… take care of Jill for a while? Just until I get back from the castle?"

"Of course," said Agrippina. "Don't think anything of it. I've missed having the pitter-patter of little hooves around, since all of ours have grown."

"It would be our pleasure, Your Majesty," said Fabian. "And, might I ask a favor?"

"Name it," said Pete.

"Well, if there happen to be any suitors in your castle, trying to take your wife and your crown, I'd be greatly pleased if Your Majesty could give them a good, solid, Narnian drubbing! They've been causing decent townsfolk no end of trouble, you see, and it will be a day of celebration here in Cair Paravel when the last of them finally leaves!"

Pete laughed at that. "You got it, Fabian. But first… do you have a cloak that I can borrow?"

A bearded man approached Cair Paravel. The hood of a black cloak hung low over his face, making him look rather like a monk or a friar. This, of course, was Peter Pevensie. He'd left Jill and the two gnomes in the capable care of Agrippina and Fabian, because this was something that he had to do for himself.

He walked through the city, keeping his head down, and just as he'd hoped, nobody gave him a second look. But when he came to the gates of the castle, he found them guarded by two centaur knights. As Count in Cair Paravel, and then later as High King, Pete had lived in this place for about two years, and so he knew it backwards and forwards. He knew that as a fortress, it was damned near impenetrable, and sneaking inside simply wasn't an option right now. Therefore, he decided on the direct approach. Doffing his hood and righting his posture, he strode boldly up to the centaur knights.

"Halt," said one of the guards. "Who are you, that you seek admittance to the castle?"

Pete recognized this guard. He was one of Penelope's old company. "Take a good look, Naussus, and tell me who you think I am."

It took a few searching moments, but eventually, both guards understood that they were now in the presence of their long-lost king. "Your Majesty!" said Naussus. "You're alive!" He and his fellow guard at once bowed down on their forelegs.

"Get up," said Pete. "Don't make a scene. Just keep this to yourselves for now. Can you do that for me?"

Both centaurs nodded. They were too stunned to reply.

"All right," said Pete, walking past them into the castle, "now, not one word to anybody, understand?"

"We understand, Your Majesty," said Nassus.

"Good." After that, Pete made tracks for the inner bailey and the entrance to the palace. He sneaked inside and darted into one of the more little-used corridors, hoping to remain unseen. He wandered the hallways, past rooms and around corners, making for a side-passage that would get him close to the grand hall and throne-room without giving up his concealment. Moving through these halls, Pete was struck by how little they'd changed. He'd lived here for two years, and he'd been away for three, but this place was the same. The memories of it seemed fresher and more real than anything he'd experienced in the Green Witch's tunnels. To see the sunlight streaming in through the windows and from between the columns, to breathe the fresh air again and know that just outside the city were wide-open meadows and hills and forests… these things made Pete feel more alive than he'd been in a long, long time.

Now it was time to take back his life.

In the throne-room of Cair Paravel, Queen Penelope—who had ruled alone as High Queen ever since the mysterious loss of her husband—paced back and forth in front of the great throne. Beside her stood the old faun Quintus, lord-mayor of Cair Paravel, still looking the part of a bureaucratic minister. Before the queen and the mayor were several jinn: one regally appointed Tarkaan, and a number of guards and servants. The Tarkaan's voice was high-pitched and loud enough to echo in the hall and carry down the passageways. He was saying, "…So you see, Your Majesty, it is a most advantageous match. We can marry in name and combine our vast holdings, but if you never want see my face again—which I would completely understand—you needn't feel obligated."

Queen Penelope's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of the jinni. Then she smiled sweetly and said, "Because, rather than touch the centaur you would have to call your wife, you can keep to your harem of jinnyah concubines, and I—"

"And, yes, you can keep to your own kind as well," said the Tarkaan. "You see? A very beneficial arrangement."

Penelope frowned at the Tarkaan and placed her hands on the hilts of her two sabres—she always went about armed anymore, even in Cair Paravel—and she said, "Get out, Rabadash. As you value your life, leave and do not return!"

Rabadash Tarkaan sputtered and fumed, and finally shouted, "You dare to threaten me? I am the son of the Tisroc! A slight against me is a slight against the Empire!"

Penelope trotted closer to the jinn and said in an intimidating voice, "Remind me sometime to tell you a story that I learned once from my husband. It's about a small band of poor rebels who brought down a vast empire of many worlds."

Needless to say, Rabadash wasn't familiar with that story, but he got the message. With a snooty sniff, he looked down his nose at Queen Penelope and then snapped his fingers. At once, all of his servants and guards turned in lockstep and faced away from the throne. Then Rabadash swept his cape behind him and turned away, and as he left, his entourage followed at a timed march.

Once Penelope was alone, Quintus came forward and said, "That was impolitic, my queen. The imperial prince of all Calormen… to insult him might very well provoke his father's wrath."

"It's too late to take it back now," said Penelope. "And good riddance to bad rubbish. The very idea, that I would marry a man like that… oh, Quintus, I can't put up with this much longer!"

The faun stroked his chin and tugged at his whiskers. Then he said, "Normally, Your Majesty, I would advise you to select a prince who makes the best arrangement for Narnia, but since none can seem to please you—"

"Frankly, most don't even try," said Penelope.

"Indeed," said Quintus. "And, given those circumstances, I would offer Your Majesty different advice. Do just as High King Peter did: marry a Narnian." The faun looked imploringly at Penelope and said, "Declare Duke Oreius your husband. Crown him King of Narnia. He has already been your lover, so according to centaur tradition, at least—"

"No!" said Penelope. "Just because he has shared my bed on occasion, that does not give him the right to rule at my side! Oreius is not my husband." In a smaller voice, more weary and forlorn, she said, "I have no husband."

"Then… what will Your Majesty do?" asked Quintus. "You cannot keep up this charade forever."

"I don't know!" said Penelope. "But I'm certain of this: the very next male who marches into this hall and asks for my hand in marriage will meet these swords!" As she spoke, Penelope drew her two blades and whirled about… only to find another man standing before her in the throne-room. It was a man in a black cloak, his face hidden by a hood.

Pete had concealed himself in the corridor, and he'd heard everything. But now, this talk of Penelope and Oreius had confirmed all of his suspicions. And he simply couldn't take it. He had waited for three years to see Penelope again. But now, it was as if his hope—the one thing that had kept him alive—had been dashed for good.

Penelope stared at the stranger. "Who are you?" she demanded.

Then Pete pulled off his hood, revealing his face, and he looked Penelope in the eye. "Hello, Penny."

Behind the centauress, Quintus's eyes rolled back into his head, and the faun fainted dead away. But Queen Penelope stood firm. Shocked beyond all reason, she could only gape and stammer, "P-P-Peter…? But… how? You died!"

"No," said Pete simply. "I didn't."

"You died!" shouted Penelope again. "I saw you die!" Sobbing now, she dropped her swords and let them clatter to the floor. She ran forward, collapsed into Pete's arms, and embraced him tightly. She ran her hands over his body, feeling to make sure that he was real and solid. "Who are you?" she asked between the tears and hiccups. "Are you his ghost, sent to compound my torment?"

"I'm me," he said. "Just me."

"Peter…" Penelope stood back and blinked the moisture from her eyes, so that she could get a good look at him. He'd changed in the last three years… but not much. "It really is you…" And then she kissed him. She peppered desperate kisses all over his face before turning her attention to Peter's lips…

But that, Pete just couldn't stand. This was the moment that he'd hoped for throughout his long imprisonment; but now, it seemed wrong. Rotten. Phony. So he pushed her away and said, "Don't. Don't touch me."

Penelope, emotional and confused, didn't understand. "Peter…?"

Pete just walked past the centauress, stepped over Quintus's twitching form, and sat down on his massive throne. "Let's chat," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "I'll go first… Hi, honey, I'm home! How was your day?"

Chapter Sixty-Three

"SPEECHLESS?" said Pete. "Okay. Let me tell you a little story. It's about this guy: Odysseus. He was a king, back on Earth, a really long time ago. He ruled an island called Ithaca, and he had a wife named Penelope—fun coincidence, right?—and a son named Telemachos. But then he sailed off to war, and he was gone for twenty years. Ten years fighting the war, and ten years wandering from island to island, trying to sail home. He was kept prisoner by a witch called Circe and a goddess called Calypso—beautiful, powerful women—but he only wanted to get home to his Penelope. And do you know what Queen Penelope of Ithaca did while Odysseus was gone? She waited for him. She had faith that he wasn't dead, and she waited.

"Suitors came from all over Greece, seeking her hand in marriage, because they wanted to be king. But she kept them all at bay for twenty years. And when Odysseus finally came home, and he found these men in his house, eating his food, drinking his wine, hitting on his wife, and treating his son like dirt… he killed them all. Every last one of them. And nobody thought he was wrong to do it." Pete looked down on Penelope from his throne. She certainly wasn't the Queen of Ithaca. But then again, he wasn't any Odysseus either. No heroics, no climactic battle with would-be rivals, and no loyal son to come home to. Just Penelope the centauress, his onetime wife, now High Queen of Narnia.

Penelope shook her head and said, "That isn't fair, Peter! You were dead! We all thought that you were dead! And I mourned you! For two years—longer than we were together—I didn't let another man touch me!"

Pete leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin in cupped hands. "Oh? And what about Oreius?"

Now Penelope started to weep openly, and her words were so filled with shame and regret that they could barely be made out. "I admit… we have been together… because he was here, and you were not… and I thought—I thought—that you would have wanted that for me… to move on, try and be happy… so I let Oreius comfort me, sometimes, when I was thinking of you…"

Pete just snorted at that. "Comforting you. That's what we're going to call it, huh? Okay, fine." Then he sat up straight again and looked Penelope in the eye. "I hear that you're a mom now."

Penelope smiled through the tears and said, "Yes. I had a daughter. Persephone." The centauress laughed a bit and said, "I call her 'Seffie.' I think I picked up the habit of nicknaming from you."

Pete frowned. Then he said, "I'll bet she's a pretty little filly."

"She is," said Penelope, who wiped her eyes and sniffled. "Would you… like to see her? She's in the nursery right now, with Oreius."

"Oh, really?" said Pete. "You know what? Sure. Why not. Let's go meet both of 'em. Just seeing the look on Oreius's face will make this all worthwhile."

Penelope couldn't understand what had made Pete so cold, but then again, she didn't know where he'd been these past three years. He seemed so full of hatred and suspicion now. Was this the same man she'd fallen in love with? Pete certainly acted as if he no longer loved her. Perhaps, she hoped, that might change once he met little Persephone.

Penelope led Peter through the halls of Cair Paravel, up to the second floor, where one of the larger bedrooms had become a child's nursery. The walls were painted with soft colors, and many toys were strewn about the room. The Princess of Narnia wanted for nothing. When Pete followed Penelope into the room, he saw two more centaurs therein: Oreius, that stern and dour warrior; and a little centaur-girl, no more than two years of age, with golden hair that matched Penelope's. Little Persephone was asleep on a mattress (which rested directly on the floor, without an actual bed-frame holding up, a sensible arrangement for a centaur child), with the bedclothes drawn over her and keeping her tucked in. Oreius stood vigilant watch over the girl, smiling as he observed her slumber.

Then the centaur saw Penelope come into the room, and he saw a strange man following behind her. It took a few seconds for the face to register, but when Oreius did finally recognize Pete, his contented smile twisted into an expression of stark terror. "My king," he said, breathless from the pit that formed in his stomach. "You live!"

"That's right," said Pete. "I live. And from what I understand, you've been 'living' here. With Penelope."

"Yes," said Oreius.

"Do you love her?" asked Pete, his voice heavy with resignation.

"I always have," said the centaur, swallowing his fear. "You know that."

But Penelope, surprised by the finality in Pete's tone, asked, "Peter, why do you say this?"

"Why do you think?" said Pete angrily, though he kept his voice low enough that it wouldn't disturb the sleeping princess. "The two of you have a kid together! I love you as much as I always have, Penny—God damn it, of course I do!—but I'm not going to step in and split up a little girl's parents!"

Penelope was so taken aback that she couldn't speak. But Oreius kept his head and said, "This girl is not my daughter, Sire. I have cared for her these past two years, and I have loved her as a father loves a daughter, but she is not mine!"

"Then, whose is she?" asked Pete.

"Yours, of course," said Penelope, her voice small and sad. At once, she realized why Pete had been so mean. The foolish human must have thought that she and Oreius had slept together only a short while after Pete's disappearance. "You thought that Oreius was her father? You thought that I could be so faithless, so soon after I lost you?"

"But… Aslan…" stammered Pete. "He said that we wouldn't have children…"

"He said that we wouldn't have human children," corrected Penelope. "Persephone isn't human, but she is your daughter. She even has your eyes."

Now understanding came crashing down on Pete as well. "Oh. Oh… I've been a complete douchebag," he said.

"I don't know what that is," said Penelope, "but, yes, I think you have."

Pete looked from saddened Oreius to distraught Penelope to the sleeping Persephone. Then he said, "So where do we go from here?"

"Obviously," said Oreius, "as long as a Son of Adam lives in Cair Paravel, the people of Narnia will have no other king. This is your house, Sire, and I can no longer remain within it." Though his voice became thick with pain, he added, "Tell Persephone… after I have left… that I love her very much…" Then the centaur moved for the nursery door.

"Wait," said Penelope, holding him back. She kissed Oreius tenderly on the cheek and said, "Thank you, Oreius. For all that you've done. If things had been different…"

"Things are not different," said Oreius, "and I know where your heart still lies. It was never with me." And then left, again—and this time, he walked out of Pete and Penelope's lives for good, and out of our story altogether.

But Pete wasn't so easily convinced, and he posed the same question to Penelope that he had asked of Oreius. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," said Penelope. "I have grown to know Oreius well, and I love him now. But I will never be in love with him. I'll never love anybody as I have loved you, Peter." She came forward and took both of Pete's hands into hers. "When we were together, our marriage was so full of love, and hope, and promise… and I had thought that it would never end. I don't want it to end."

And something inside Pete snapped. This was the moment that he had wanted for so long. This was what he had hoped for. Penelope still loved him. She still wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her, the rest of the world be damned. They crashed into each other and shared a passionate kiss, a real kiss this time, one that could easily have given the kiss shared between Westley and Buttercup in The Princess Bride a real run for its money. Then Pete stood back, and he saw Penelope's eyes shining—with unshed tears and gratitude and love—and he looked down at the bed and saw his little daughter, Persephone, starting to come to. Soon, she would wake up, and Pete would have some introductions to go through. He had to meet his youngest little girl, and she had to meet her father, and both Seffie and Penny would have to meet little Jill…

Oh, crap, thought Pete. His other daughter! How would Penelope react to that?

…

Suffice it to say, Penelope was beyond surprised when she discovered that Pete had sired a daughter by the Green Witch. But when she learned that it had happened in Tashbaan, long before Pete and Penelope had been together, back when Pete had still been fooled into thinking the witch was human, she couldn't bring herself to blame him. And, it was true, little Jillian was a sweet girl, and she managed to charm Penelope just as quickly as Seffie did the same to Pete.

When Pete finally told the whole story of his abduction and imprisonment to Penelope, she was brought to tears again. She cried for all that Pete had suffered through, and for all that she had gone through in his absence, and for all the precious time that they had lost. But they each vowed to make up for it. They were a family now—a real family—Pete, Penny, Seffie, and Jill.

Jillian Pevensie missed her real mother at first, but as the years went by, she gradually came to think of Penelope as her mother, and she loved Persephone as any big sister should love a little sister. She also heard the stories of the Green Witch's villainy, and she came to understand that Pete had not stolen her away—he had rescued her. As she grew, Jill became quite a beautiful young woman, but she never displayed any proclivity for magic. It seemed that she was a Daughter of Eve, and not a witch, after all.

Needless to say, the news that High King Peter the Magnificent had returned to claim his throne sparked celebration throughout the land of Narnia, and even in countries beyond. Pete's closest friends were overjoyed, and they all came to Cair Paravel to visit once again. This time, they were all there: Lumpkin and Brenawen came, of course; and so did Falon; and Phineas and Cynthia brought little Tumnus this time; and Diarmuid and Cliodhna came all the way from Narrowhaven, partly to visit Peter and partly to show off their firstborn son, a little baby mer-boy named Chulainn.

Ever after Pete's escape from the Green Witch, he always feared that Jada would appear again and try to steal him away, or to reclaim Jill as her daughter. Penelope worried that Jada would once again try to stir up trouble in the north, and so she always had soldiers patrolling Narnia's northern borders, watching for any sign of mischief. But it never came. Jada, it seemed, had disappeared mysteriously after the escape of Pete, Jill, and the gnomes from her underground palace. Though the fear of her never completely went away, Jada herself was never seen again in that lifetime. Pete couldn't explain it, but he was grateful for it.

(The fact that Jada never attacked Narnia from the north proved to be a very great boon indeed, for Narnia couldn't have afforded the distraction. After Rabadash Tarkaan returned to Calormen, bitter and with wounded pride, he decided to gather what forces he could, to launch an attack on Archenland and Narnia together. That war was long and bitter-fought, but Pete and Penelope were both great heroes in that conflict, and the full tale of it is told in another chronicle.)

As for Ortz and Ipsum, they were so fascinated by Narnia that they offered to stick around for a while, ostensibly to study the surface-country and its people. They even asked to run genetic tests on little Persephone, since, as far as they knew, it broke all known laws of heredity for a human and a centauress to have another centauress for a child. Pete joked with the gnomes that "Gregor Mendel is spinning in his grave, and somewhere, Watson and Crick are laughing at us." But the scientific question didn't bother Pete so much, and of course he never let them run any such tests. Pete was simply overjoyed to have a second little girl, and he was elated by the knowledge that Penelope could have his children after all. In following years, Pete and Penelope had many more children together; and though, as Aslan had promised, none were human and all were centaurs, that didn't bother Pete either.

Thanks to Ortz and Ipsum, however, Pete finally had what he'd always wanted: real scientists with real technical knowledge, right there in Narnia. Now Pete was able to commission the building of machines and technologies that he had only dreamed of before. The gnomes were able to teach the Narnian people—dwarves and fauns and all the rest—how to build steam engines, electrical generators, printing presses, light bulbs, locomotives, and a host of other wondrous things. Of course, the Narnian people credited their magnificent High King Peter with the explosion of technical innovation that took place during his reign. But really, it was all made possible by those two gnomes.

Pete did everything he could to modernize Narnia, and the people said that under King Peter and Queen Penelope, Narnia entered a true Golden Age. He wired the cities with electricity, he laid down railways, and he commissioned presses to print papers and books. Learning and literacy blossomed under High King Peter, and eventually, some twenty-five years down the road, the day came when Peter decided that the Narnian citizens were so well-educated that he would have to abdicate the throne.

For most of that time, the business of actually governing Narnia had devolved to a unicameral Parliament that Pete had created by royal decree. Parliamentarians, chosen by popular vote from each borough and baronet in the country, came to Cair Paravel to sit in council and make laws. As High King, Pete reserved for himself only the power to wage wars and to veto those laws that came out of the Parliament that he didn't like. But now, in the thirtieth year of the reign of High King Peter the Magnificent, he addressed this governing body of dwarves, fauns, nymphs, sprites, centaurs, and talking animals, and he told them that they would have to govern themselves. He told them to choose a new chief executive to take on the role of a king. In short, he told them to elect a president. And then, just before he left the Parliamentary chamber for the last time, he gave them the best advice of all. "In my long reign over this country, I have seen many things change, and mostly for the better. But one thing has never changed. We all fight our demons. The demons from without are easy. They're cake. We can see them, we can identify them—witches, monsters, and such things—and when we're lucky, we can kill them. But the demons within—selfishness, dishonesty, cowardice—those are harder to kill. They have a nasty habit of coming back to life, long after we think they're dead. Watch out for those demons. Keep them at bay, and you'll govern Narnia far more wisely than I ever could. Make this land of ours a land ruled by laws and not by men. And every person here—for indeed, persons all of you are—must take responsibility for what you do. All must be equal in the eyes of the law, regardless of race or rank or wealth. Irresponsibility and inequality are the greatest demons of all. Be especially vigilant in watching against those, and this country will endure, and it will prosper. In fact," said High King Peter, when he was finally ready to bid the council farewell, he held up one hand and split the fingers into the "V" shape of a Vulcan ta'al, and he said, "I wish for all of you to live long… and prosper."

After that, Peter and Penelope left Cair Paravel altogether. Their children were all grown and leading lives of their own, and so Pete, at age sixty-two, and Penelope, fifty-nine years old, retired to live in a pretty little cottage on the outskirts of Silenopolis, in the Western Woods. There, they would be able to live their lives in peace and quiet, in the friendly company of their old comrades, Phineas and Cynthia. Humans and centaurs aged at roughly the same rate, and so both Pete and Penelope had many wrinkles and hair of silver now—though Pete looked very rugged and distinguished, and Penelope never lost any of her stately beauty. Phineas, though, only looked a little bit grayer in the hair, and Cynthia, of course, still resembled a sixteen-year-old girl. Nevertheless, they all got along famously together in Pete and Penny's waning years, and they led quiet, happy lives. Lumpkin and Brenawen visited often, and even Falon would show up on occasion. Pete and Penny's children would visit frequently, except for Princess Persephone, who had gone off to the Sea Kingdom and married Prince Chulainn when they were both still relatively young. Peter took an especial shine to young Tumnus, and he thought of the strapping young faun as an official nephew.

That was why, one day, after three years of this pleasant retirement, old Pete and Penelope took young Tumnus with them when they went hunting in the woods together, following the rumor of a magical White Stag that granted wishes…

Here Ends Book Two of the Chronicle

Second Interlude

NOW at the ripe age of sixty-five years, Peter Pevensie, former High King of Narnia, was not as spry as he used to be. His sword-arm still had most of its old strength, and his tongue was as sharp as ever; but his beard was long and white, and he simply wasn't as quick on his feet as he'd been while still a young man. Penelope, of course, thought that age made Peter look distinguished; and for her part, she remained astonishingly lovely at sixty-one years. But even a centaur's strength had to ebb at that age, and the onetime Queen of Narnia was no exception.

These two had remained the best of friends for more than thirty years of marriage. Pete's childish irreverence and Penny's drier sense of humor complemented each other well; but then again, the both of them had a certain down-to-earth sensibility in common. In all their time together, they had never fallen out of love, and they always did things together. That was why, on this day, they set out with young Vertumnus the faun to enjoy the pleasures of the hunt.

Rumor had flown into Silenopolis that the famous White Stag of the West had been seen, and Duke Phineas, being the historian that he was, informed his friends of the legend that the Stag, if caught, granted its captors one wish. Pete and Penny decided that, just for a lark, they would go out together to hunt it down and try and catch it. And Tumnus had begged to go along, which of course Pete relented to.

Now they three tramped together through the Western Woods, and either Penny or Tumnus would occasionally stop to examine some tracks left in the soft soil underfoot. Tumnus carried his father's old musket, the very same weapon that Phineas had borne into battle during the War—not to shoot the White Stag with, of course, but just in case some other target of opportunity presented itself.

Eventually, Tumnus knelt down and pointed out some tracks. "Look, Your Majesties! Deer… heavy, and moving swiftly. Definitely a male. It could be our Stag!"

"They're fresh tracks," said Penelope. "Good work, lad!"

"And how many times do we have to tell you," said Pete, "that we're not 'majesties' anymore? We've abdicated. President Quintus rules Narnia now."

"Oh, Uncle!" said Tumnus in a chiding voice. "Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia! You are both who you are!" The young faun had a funny sense of history, partly because his father had instructed him in the discipline, and partly because he'd had a front-seat-view to the making of history all his life. His father and mother were a duke and a duchess, and Pete and Penny—his godfather and godmother, but practically as close as blood-relatives—were former royalty. To Tumnus, though, they were more than just family, and more than just influential celebrities. They were war-heroes and living legends. They were Tumnus's personal heroes.

"I cannot fault his logic," said Penelope with a wry smile. "We are indeed exactly who we are."

"Of course you can't fault it," said Pete. "It's a tautology."

Then Tumnus sucked in his breath and said, "By Aslan! Look there!" And sure enough, in between the close-set tree-trunks, the shine of glossy fur even whiter than Penelope's could be seen a short distance ahead. Then they caught a glimpse of silvery buck's horns, and they knew that the White Stag was near.

"I see him!" said Penelope, who took off at a gallop. Even at her age, the others couldn't hope to keep up—not even nimble Tumnus, who pranced after her on his own hooves.

Pete sighed and followed behind at a more respectable jog—because, with all due respect to Officers Riggs and Murtaugh, he was just too old for this shit.

When Pete finally caught up to Penny and Tumnus, they were standing in a clearing in the woods, staring wonderingly at a large tree.

Pete bent over and tried to catch his breath. "Where'd the Stag go?" he panted.

"It got away," said Penelope in a distant voice. She was engrossed by the sight of the tree, which Pete could now see was concealing something in its roots. It was in fact a small, cave-like hovel—a tiny hose, burrowed underneath the tree-trunk and in between all of the roots.

Pete came forward to get a closer look, because this place picked at his memories something fierce. Then recognition set in, and he said, "Oh my God."

"What is this place?" asked Tumnus.

"It's… Lumpkin's old house," said Pete.

"Lumpkin Dwarf-King?" asked Tumnus. "Uncle Lumpkin? He used to live here?"

"This is where all my adventures began," said Pete. His voice was nostalgic, and suddenly the human felt very old indeed. "Thirty-five years ago… I found myself in this forest, in wintertime, and Lumpkin found me and brought me here. I wonder…"

And then Pete started off through the woods, the springtime dew rolling off his boots, the soft ground kicking up behind him as he ran.

"Peter!" said Penelope. "Where are you going?" And she followed him closely behind.

Tumnus had no trouble keeping up, and as the three ran through the woods, they all saw a strange light up ahead—a soft glow that didn't come from the sun. Indeed, the canopy of conifers overhead was so thick that little sunlight came through, but this new glow was soft and steady, like one of the electric street-lamps that now kept Cair Paravel bright at all hours of the night.

And then they broke through the branches into yet another clearing, and there before them stood exactly that—a lamppost. It shone with a light that came from neither burning flame nor electric bulb, and the light was bright and unfaltering. "I don't believe it," said Pete.

"This is… the lamppost that you told me about," said Penelope. "It's really here."

"This marks the very western border of Narnia," said Tumnus. "Beyond this post, the forest ends, and the Western Wilds begin—a barren land, where the River Telmar is said to have its source."

"I know," said Pete. "But… still, something about this place… I think you two should wait here."

Penelope snatched up Pete's hand and held it tightly. "Whatever for?" she asked. "Do you… feel something… magical?"

Pete smiled and kissed his wife's line-creased cheek. "I always have, my love," he said. "Just… wait here for me, all right? I won't be a moment."

"As you wish, my beloved," said Penelope. She stood there in the clearing, basking in the light of the lamppost, and Tumnus stood next to her.

Pete gave them both a nod, and then he walked past the post. He only wanted to see what was through the trees beyond. He pushed aside the boughs and branches of pines and spruces and other evergreens, and then a funny thing happened. The needles became more pliable, and less prickly. They softened, and they took on the aspect of fur. And then Pete realized that he wasn't pushing his way through tree-branches anymore. No… he was pushing his way through a row of fur-coats…

Author's Note

And there you have it. I never did get around to writing the third and final book of this chronicle. (After the first two books, I was completely out of mental stamina.) But I did always want to get back to it, to tell the story of Pete and Penny (their youth restored) and Tumnus having strange adventures on Earth—becoming celebrities, freaking the shit out of Pete's family—before returning to Narnia and finding themselves in "Prince Caspian" times. Ah, well. Maybe someday. For now, goodbye, good luck, and thanks for reading!