Chapter 1 – A Return Ticket
A/N Far deeper Narnia followers than myself have grappled with 'The Problem of Susan' and some of the thoughts from some of those people will have helped shape this writing. My own backstory is that I read and reread 'Lion' lovingly as a child, moved on to 'Prince Caspian' and then stopped. It was only after reading Susanna Clarke's novel 'Piranesi' and all the reviews that cited 'The Magician's Nephew' that I sort out Lewis again in adulthood. It was just as easy to buy the full cannon as a single volume, and one thing has led to another. Neil Gainman's self-titled, and very M rated short story take on the 'Problem' was a part of my research into this Narnian niche, and that has undoubtedly led to leakage and influence from 'Good Omens' into my narrative. But the ideas presented here are my personal ones, although with nearly 13k of writings on this site alone, I am sure not unique. Grateful thanks go to everyone who has clicked through to a new story, please feel free to leave feedback if that is your thing.
Once there were four young people whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. And if you have read a book called The Last Battle you will know that three of them died in an horrific train crash on British Railways, unless of course some else happens…
London -2007
"Thank you for coming," he said.
"Ha! You and your friends have been invading my dreams for the last two weeks. I was clearly never going to get any peace until I did show up. We humans shouldn't remember dreams that vividly you know, it wrecks the usefulness of REM sleep patterns. At my age it's amazing I can still remember what happens to me while I am awake."
An old woman sat on a draughty bench. Her long, straggly, salt and pepper hair, still stubbornly refusing to turn white, hung limp about her craggy neck and a velvet jacket of faded indigo. Her shoes were battered, lipstick vivid and tights thick. Two supermarket carrier bags, one containing books, the other grocery shopping lay beside her. From a distance it would be very easy to assume the stray was homeless, but the cut of her clothes and her silver jewellery gave lie to that. Even so, to the most of the preoccupied passers-by, she had the appearance of a typical mad old bag lady, mumbling away to herself and anyone who would listen.
"Well," responded the Angel, who was in fact sitting right next to her, "we could not be completely sure that you would come. Given your history."
"Young man, in my career as a journalist and writer I have dined with at least five Archbishops, admittedly not all the same time, been invited to functions alongside Cardinals and Rabbis and published one of the most acclaimed academic texts ever on the role of Women in Christianity. Why would I decline an appointment with someone from 'Head Office?'"
"Young man? Madam I am over…"
Bravely, but with gentleness she placed her crinkled hand on his shoulder blade, near to where his left wing joined the main part of his body. He fell silent.
"And right now you are making sure that everyone who looks at us will believe you are a spotty Born Again Evangelist, earnestly trying to save an old sinner from eternal damnation. Except this is Euston railway station on a cold Wednesday morning and NOBODY CARES." She waved her free arm about. "In fact unless I actually light this cigarette I'm holding, no bugger will take any notice of us at all. You've wasted your cosmic camouflage."
The Angel, who's name in English most closely translated to 'Inyang', sighed. He was quite senior within the celestial hierarchy and cloaking transmogrification was a pretty standard task. Still he was silently impressed that she really could see it happening. "It seemed an appropriate look," he said wistfully, "I thought the double bluff rather inventive."
"Like demanding to meet me in a railway station? Given as you say, my history."
"No, that was deliberate, to focus your mind. For you too are going to die soon."
"Tell me something I didn't already know. Next week's lottery numbers would be a jolly good start."
Inyang gave her 'the look', perfected by the Jinn long, long ago, whenever they were confronted by a smart kid who's 3 wishes went something like "World peace, an end to climate change, and unlimited wishes please." Even Susan Pevensie OBE shrunk back a little from that stare. Nearby a small light brown dog growled knowingly, before trotting on, following its Mistress towards the Eversholt Street exit.
Susan rarely apologised if she could find another way out of a corner. "Well carry on then, if I have no time to waste. What is it that you want me for?"
"There is a task, a quest if you will, for which you are uniquely qualified."
"And would you expect me to perform this service for 'The Company' before, or after my death?"
"That will kind of depend on if you are successful or not," Inyang responded enigmatically. "There were some people you see, who died on Earth and were pulled directly into Aslan's Country. It causes… ah-hum, complications."
Euston became greyer than usual, the eddies of travellers mere shadows, their hum dimmed. The computerised PA announcements sounded like they were coming from a long way off and hiding under a pile of duvets. Brash kiosk lighting no longer distracted and just for once Susan forgot about her cravings for caffeine and Silk Cut. All that mattered was the Angel, one tired old lady and a utilitarian seat.
"Yes. I can see that could be difficult. Though if we are talking about the same people, that happened years ago now, even longer in their time.
"Agreed, right now it is a small flaw, insignificant, but should it widen into a smear, then a tear and thence a crack; a chasm in the weakened reality could quickly and dangerously form."
"Don't you know for sure then?"
"We understand every possibility, just not which will come to pass,"
Susan whistled through her nicotine stained teeth. "This quest of yours, would putting my dead family on your side of the mirror stop all that from happening?"
"That is one possible solution, all we are asking is for you to persuade Aslan to talk with us."
"Once I am dead too you mean."
It is very hard for an Angel to smile and not look sanctimoniously smug about it, but Inyang had been afforded eons to practise in. "Death for humans is an inevitability," he said, "it's what you do with it that counts."
"His Holiness, Pope John-Paul the Second, told me just about the same thing," Susan countered. "Mind you so did the Dali Llama and Maharishi, though I don't suppose that carries so much weight with you."
It seemed to Susan that the Angel had become even more real and distinct, a golden sheen lay on his skin that previously had just been a shade of fine porcelain. From the corner of her eye she noticed the dayglow presence of two, very young looking Policemen, the taller quietly talking into his radio.
"Those are not our stories," Inyang replied.
"Well, I will think on about what you have asked me. Can't promise you any more for now. Not that I imagined that when the time comes, I really do have a choice."
"Daughters of Eve," proclaimed Inyang, "always have choices."
Susan creaked to her feet and picked up her bags. "I'm so glad 'The Company' agrees with me on that point at least." But she wasn't sure if her fading companion heard her.
"Platform Five for the, eleven, twenty three, Virgin Pendolino service to, Manchester Piccadilly," cried the automated announcement triumphantly.