Calliope returned home at two o’clock in the morning on Sun’s Day, after successfully using the bathroom at one and some negotiation with the hospital staff by the General on her behalf. The proposed criteria had been met, there were no medical complications, and a taxi could be procured at any hour.

“A good night’s sleep,” an addendum which had not been previously discussed, was rejected out of hand. “She will have a much better night’s sleep in her own bed. Now are you going to call the taxi or shall I?”

The General had called the taxi. She didn’t trust anyone else to do it properly. Calliope rode home wrapped in a greatcoat which was just about the right length for her, and roomy enough to hold Lucy underneath.

Barnaby was waiting up for them in one of the big chairs in the front room. He was wrapped in two blankets and holding a cup of warm tea, and still miserably uncomfortable. It got damp and foggy and cold at night, worse in the fall, and he was used to his attic, which was nicely insulated with the substance of his insanity.

He was also having to cope with the wallpaper, and a growing desire to rearrange the front window. (“Damn it, I know it’s pancakes for breakfast! Will you shut up about it?”) He had already done all the books on the shelves. (“There. Now we’re not out of maple syrup anymore. I like maple syrup. Stupid Tactical Deployment Through the Ages.”)

He got up to open the door for them when he saw the headlights through the poorly assembled front window. (“I am certain I could get cinnamon rolls out of that damn window if I smashed it just right…”) He bowed to the ladies and informed them, “It’s because I know everything,” answering the question they were not considerate enough to ask.

He had waited up the previous night, until about four, when he decided with a sigh that he’d become disoriented again. Also on the thirteenth of the previous month, when he was very put out to see a still-pregnant Calliope get up and make herself a cup of tea at one.

He was likewise annoyed to be introduced to a brown-haired (presumably female) infant called “Lucy.”

“Who the hell is that?” he demanded. “What happened to David?”

Calliope frowned at him. “I wanted to name her Stephen.”

The General positioned herself between the insane man and… and the perhaps not-conventionally-sane woman who was nevertheless holding a baby and required protecting. “As I recall, ‘David’ died jumping out of an airship,” she said.

Barnaby groaned and smacked her lightly on the top of the head with a manila folder (it was labelled “For David” and full of various baby-related coupons). “Not that David, you stupid woman!” This earned him an acid frown and a pair of cold narrow eyes which he ignored. “The short one with the red hair! What year is it? Oh, gods, have I died yet?”

“Lower your voice and remove yourself from my path,” the General said tightly. “I am putting Lucy and Calliope to bed. And might I add that you were in no way required to wait up, open an unlocked door and spout insanity? Any upset you may be feeling is your own fault.”

He presented her with the folder. “This is for… whoever the hell that is. Calliope… That is Calliope, isn’t it?” he peered narrowly at the woman in the greatcoat.

“Yup,” said Calliope, smiling.

“She bears a remarkable resemblance to Circus Peanut,” Barnaby said.

Calliope snickered. “He has a hat.”

“Anyway, she will require supplementing with formula. She and Alice would’ve figured it out eventually, but I am in no mood to put up with the screaming. I presume Alice will wake me for the pancakes. Extra syrup. That will be all.” His bathrobe spun theatrically around him as he turned and made for the stairs. The slumped and limping posture somewhat spoiled the effect.

“Is that my Tactical Deployment Through the Ages?” said the General, icy enough to freeze him.

There was a large book, or what used to be a large book, resting in one of the upholstered chairs. The one Barnaby had not been shivering in. It had been shredded, some strips, some confetti and some whole pages. A few of these had been folded into little hats.

“Nooo,” said Barnaby, tapping his fingertips together. He heard the rustling of pages behind him, which no doubt confirmed he was a terrible liar. “I am an insane old man! I can’t be held responsible!” he cried, proceeding up the stairs at all speed.

This was enough to alert the household that something was going on. Hyacinth, Mordecai and Maggie came out. The door to Room 201 opened slightly, maybe six inches, enough to see out, and then closed. Calliope looked up at it. “Milo…?” she said softly.

Lucy spoke up and objected to being screamed at in the only way she knew how, which involved more screaming.

Everyone was delighted to reorient themselves around the new mother and the crying child, allowing Barnaby to make good his escape. There was a lot of hugging and asking to be filled in on what happened and what they were doing there.

“I live here,” Calliope said weakly, which invoked multiple assurances and some tissues and suggestions from all sides that she ought to get some rest in her own bed… and have tea, or maybe some ice water, or whatever else she wanted, up to and including a full breakfast right now.

She only shook her head. Her mind was upstairs, in the darkness behind the door that had opened a crack and then closed in her face.

Mordecai gently took Lucy, Hyacinth and the General took Calliope, and the household, including Erik and Maggie, escorted them home.

The children had taken responsibility for redecorating Calliope’s room for the baby. There had been some slacking off in this regard since everything went to hell on Frig’s Day, but Thor’s Day’s efforts were still intact. Calliope had also been making a cursory effort to prepare for Lucy’s arrival, but not all of her additions were sensible.

There was a bassinet, Sanaam had taken her shopping specifically for a bassinet, and a rocking chair. Both of these were white-painted wicker, a bit dingy, but Hyacinth had pronounced them free of lead. Calliope had dressed up the dingy places with some designs, such as flowers, and cactus… and some cow skulls, to go with the cactus… and then a dead horse, because, obviously, if the cows didn’t make it, the horse didn’t either. She had been convinced not to add a dead cowboy. “Yeah, I guess he might not like cowboys…”

Erik’s first design choice had been to mitigate the dead horse. It was now wearing a pink satin bow snipped carefully from one of Ann and Milo’s nighties, and smiling. (Days later, when Calliope noticed it on the side of the rocking chair, she approved of it. “Wow. That’s totally surreal.”)

There had been some more conventional alterations as well, such as banners and signs reading “congratulations” and “welcome home” done with coloured paper and crayons. One of these read: Welcome Home Calliope and Stephen. “Stephen” was crossed out and “Coconut” written beneath, which was also crossed out and replaced with “LUCY” in bold crayon with a smiling face next to it. Barnaby had firmly cancelled “LUCY” on behalf of the ignorant children and written in “David” with a pencil. He had also rearranged one of the signs so that it said “stainratlugnoco!”

Erik’s attempt at a paper mobile had been abandoned on the floor due to circumstances beyond his control, but there had been other baby-specific additions. He and Maggie had drawn and cut out some baby clothes, to go with the hard-stuck clothing tableaux on Calliope’s walls (the dancing trench coat and housedress had been given a feetie pyjama accompaniment) and some of the decorated scorch marks had also produced offspring.

One real pair of baby booties had been found among the old boxes and added to the general chaos, soft-stuck at a convenient height in case Calliope needed to use them on the actual baby.

Confronted with a room full of “stainratlugnoco” and love at two o’clock in the morning, the only rational response for an exhausted young woman who had so recently had her happiness shattered was to burst into tears.

Everyone was also very, very understanding about this — save Erik, who was very, very sorry about having decorated the room and too upset to verbalize it. After several halting attempts, he also burst into tears.

This necessitated the disbanding of the Fellowship of Getting Calliope into Bed. Mordecai gave Hyacinth the baby and peeled off to deal with Erik. Hyacinth gave the General the baby and went into the kitchen to brew herbal tea and grab a box of tissues.

This left the General sitting on the bed next to a very upset Calliope and holding a still marginally upset Lucy. She was not the warmest or most empathetic of creatures, but never let it be said that she shied away from a challenge.

She nestled Lucy against her shoulder and put an arm around Calliope, who was still wearing her greatcoat. “Calliope, this is counterproductive,” she said.

Calliope fell against her and wrapped both arms around her. “It’s so nice! Everyone here is so nice!”

“I think it would have been tactful to tone down the decorations, but apparently this household suffers from a dearth of intelligence in my absence.”

“No! I love them! I want to keep them like that fuh-forever!”

“Well, I suppose I might come up with some magic… Do you even want ‘stainratlugnoco,’ Calliope?”

“Yeah!” She laughed and then sniffled and swiped the coat sleeve across her face. “That one’s great!”

By the time Hyacinth came back with tea and tissues, Calliope had been negotiated out of the coat. Erik and Mordecai were banished from the vicinity before she was negotiated into what passed for her pyjamas — boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. This removed the most comforting person in the house from the equation, but there were certain social mores about ladies with bare legs and visible nipples that the General was not going to ignore, nevermind that Mordecai had been hugging a topless Calliope a couple days ago and no fatal humiliation had resulted. Anyway, Erik was still pretty upset about the decorations and he needed looking after.

The General offered, very gently — you know, for her — to take Lucy into her room, just for a few hours so Calliope could sleep. Calliope in no way desired to be separated from Lucy, even for sleep. The counter-offer, then, was to have someone stay in the room with her as readily available assistance and comfort. This was accepted.

Hyacinth and the General were both mystified when, out of the available options, she requested the cold-hearted military lady in the greatcoat.

The General settled into the rocking chair – it was a bit of a squeeze – and Hyacinth retired to the kitchen to make coffee. Maggie was dismissed back to bed. Erik, after a cup of tea and an antihistamine, was also negotiated back into bed.

By this point, it was about four, and neither Hyacinth nor Mordecai felt capable of sleeping. They both went back to their rooms and put clothes on. Mordecai made an attempt at combing his hair, Hyacinth didn’t bother. They sat back down at the kitchen table and resumed staring at each other over cups of coffee.

She was in a grey dress with frazzled blonde hair and a blotchy complexion that she made no attempt to mitigate with makeup. There was still a smear of drool on the side of her mouth from sleeping. He was in a worn dark suit with bloodshot corneas that just about matched his skin tone, and the white hair at the back of his head sticking up despite his best effort. His shirt was buttoned wrong and the tie did not conceal it.

“Holy gods, you are an unattractive person,” said Hyacinth. “I never would’ve pulled you out of that snowbank if I knew I was going to have to look at you for the rest of my life.”

“The view is not much improved from this end of the table, let me assure you,” he replied.

She laughed and he did too. “Oh, gods, this is a mess,” she said.

“You like messes,” he said.

“Messes like me!” she replied. “What are we going to do while we’re sitting up waiting for the roof to fall in?”

“It seems like it would be cruel to wake up Ann and Milo and try to get a baseline on them.”

“No,” said Hyacinth, more soberly. “I trust Ann to flag one of us down if she needs the help.”

“It’ll probably be you, Hyacinth,” said Mordecai.

She sighed. “You really should…” She shook her head. “…not tell her about the brownies now. At all.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. No.” He sighed as well and stood. “Well, I guess I’m going to make breakfast. Slowly. I’ll make pancakes. It’s easy to heat up pancakes again. And you…” He considered, then he drew a double handful of change out of the big glass jar. “You go shopping.”

He overrode her open mouth, “It’ll have to be flowers. Florists and bakeries open the earliest, and we’re not getting her cinnamon rolls on top of pancakes.”

(If, say, there had been a large hole in the front window to fix, Mordecai would have had to do the shopping himself, and cinnamon rolls and a bouquet of flowers would have been quite reasonable.)

“No roses,” he said. “Not anything like roses. Daisies or mums or something cheerful. An assortment!”

Hyacinth retrieved her purse from the drawer. “I think Calliope would be perfectly happy with a cactus,” she said. “Or a bouquet of used tissues.”

“Yes, but the rest of us will have to look at it, too, so please pick out something nice.”

“I suppose it’ll give me a break from looking at your face,” Hyacinth muttered. She swept the coins into her bag.

A few hours later, Calliope was gifted breakfast in bed, and a large assortment of orange, yellow and white flowers, which Hyacinth and Mordecai had arranged to the best of their ability in the last remaining paint can from the puzzle-piece treatment that spring. Calliope adored it, especially the paint can. “Is there a doily we can put under it? Like it’s on a table at a fancy restaurant?”

There was one, oddly enough. Barnaby had exchanged a paper doily for his serving of pancakes. (“Damn it, where’s the maple syrup? Do you think I tore up that Tactical Deployment Through the Ages for my health?”)

A short time after breakfast, Ann tapped on the door of Room 103 and peeked in. “Calliope? I’ll go if you want me to…”

“Ann…”

“Oh, no. No, dear. Please don’t get up…” Ann strode rapidly into the room to prevent Calliope from getting up any more than she had already gotten up. They met in the middle and Calliope hugged her, pressing a cheek to her chest. It was soft there like a pillow.

“Ann, I’m sorry,” Calliope said. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have tried to hit Milo.”

“…You did hit Milo,” Ann said softly.

Calliope stopped hugging and took a step back. She was wearing the green sweater with the holes over a white shirt, and a pair of black trousers. All of these were already somewhat looser than usual. She dropped her head and hugged herself, rubbing her arms. It was colder here than in the hospital. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Ann stepped forward and put hands on her shoulders. Warm hands. “No, darling. It’s all right. We completely understand. I… We…. We shouldn’t have said all those things.”

“No,” Calliope said. She did not look up. “It wasn’t that you said them.”

That was only how she knew it. That those ugly thoughts about her were in Milo’s head. The more she thought about it and the more she took it apart, the worse it seemed. Milo wanted to be normal. Milo wanted to be responsible. Milo thought those things meant no more dresses or singing or joy or love. He thought she needed the first two things, and he either thought she didn’t want or didn’t need or wouldn’t care about all the others

It wasn’t that she knew about it now, although it did hurt knowing about it, but that those thoughts had been there the whole time, under everything.

She looked up at Ann and had to rub away the tears. She was crying again. It seemed like she had a broken washer in there somewhere. “Ann… Would you say if I was wrong about it? You wouldn’t lie and say I was just being stupid and he didn’t mean it… Unless, unless it really was like that?” She sobbed and pressed both hands over her mouth. “But it wasn’t, was it?”

“Milo was wrong, Calliope,” Ann said firmly. “You were right to tell him so.” She held both of Calliope’s hands and pulled them down. “And you’re not stupid.”

“Do you feel that way too? Did you think I would like it if you went away forever, or did you just say you would because he asked you to?”

“I… I didn’t think,” Ann said. She let go of Calliope and turned aside, ashamed. “But I… I suppose it was closer to the second one. As soon as I thought about it, I knew you wouldn’t like it. I know you’re a good person, Calliope.”

“But Milo doesn’t.” She wept.

Ann shook her head. She drew Calliope near and held her. “Milo doesn’t know anything. But that isn’t your fault.” She shut her eyes. “Maybe it’s mine.”

“It’s not,” Calliope said. “You can’t make him see things how they are. I don’t know why he doesn’t.” She drew back to look at Ann again and more tears spilled out. “I was nice to him, wasn’t I? I hurt him sometimes on accident, but I was trying to be nice…”

“Oh, Calliope.” Ann embraced her. “You were very nice. You are very nice. It’s not that. It’s not that at all. I wish… I wish I could tell you what it was.”

“I wish I knew!”

Ann opened her mouth, unseen, but she couldn’t say it. She physically couldn’t say it.

It wasn’t just about pity now. Milo didn’t want that, but he also knew he had hurt her, he was seeing it, and he couldn’t bear to do it more. No. She’ll cry if I tell. She’ll think I said it to hurt her. She’ll think it’s a lie. She’ll know it was my fault for being bad. It won’t make her stop hating me. She’ll hit me again. She… She’ll hit my hands… He was muddled and in pain and he didn’t want to tell. Ann couldn’t drag him past it, that just made him dig in all the harder.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Will you still be friends with me, Ann?” Calliope asked softly, clinging.

“Yes, I will. I always will,” Ann said. Calliope nodded against her. Ann just held her for a while.

“Calliope, do you…”

Does she not want to see me anymore, Ann? Does she still hate me? Does she want me to move away?

Milo, I am positive she doesn’t want you to move away because then I would have to move away. I will try to help you understand this later, I promise you. Please, just let me talk to her now!

Milo was cold. Not numb. Cold enough to shiver. Not about that, Ann.

No, Milo. I know. But let me ask her what I need to ask.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve upset you a great deal, but I don’t want to upset you more. Would it… Would it be easier for you if you didn’t have to see Milo for a little while?”

Calliope sobbed. She shook her head. “I… I don’t know… I don’t know…” She wanted Milo right now, but she wanted him to be the person she thought he was.

“That’s all right,” Ann said. She picked up Calliope, gently, just by the shoulders, and set her down on the edge of the bed. It was only a few steps. “I’m sorry, dear. We don’t have to talk about that now. We don’t have to think about that now. It’s all right. It’s all right.”

“I love you, Ann,” Calliope said.

“I love you, too, dear.” And not another word about Milo.

Lucy decided she wanted some attention, too, just as Calliope was winding down. Calliope had a look at the folded cloth diaper and then pulled up both her shirts and matter-of-factly offered Lucy a breast. “I guess that’s it,” Calliope said doubtfully, when this was accepted. “Barnaby said I have to get bottles and formula… there’s coupons for it, but a lot of them are expired.” She gestured to a folder on the art table with the flowers.

“Oh, I’ll get them right now, darling!” Ann said, rising.

“No, don’t go, Ann,” Calliope said with a smile. “Come and see Lucy. You haven’t met Lucy yet.”

“I surely have, dear,” Ann said, though she obligingly scooted nearer. “At the hospital.”

“No, but I didn’t introduce you,” Calliope said. “I’m introducing everyone. I want Lucy to know all my friends. I already told her about how Glorie is so smart and nice, and Cin can fix anyone and she’s in charge of everything, and Maggie’s the funnest person in the house except when Sam is home… I didn’t see Em or Erik yet because Glorie said you can see my tits through my shirt, so I got dressed. You can tell them when you see them, okay?”

“Um… Yes, I suppose.” She might tell Erik.

Calliope snickered. “My pants are kinda big.” She shifted Lucy in her arms, feeling the weight of her. Seven-and-a-half pounds and nineteen inches, the hospital said. She frowned at her daughter. “Not as big as I expected, though, Lucy.” Lucy had felt considerably larger, even before the labour, especially around the bladder area.

Lucy did not appear too concerned about her relative size.

“Look, Lucy, this is Ann.” Calliope tipped her somewhat more upright, but Lucy was more interested in her meal than in Ann. Nevertheless, Calliope continued, “Ann is so pretty and so good at everything. She knows how to sing, and everybody loves her.” She smiled at Ann. “Especially your mom.”

Ann blushed beneath her makeup and covered her mouth with a hand. She spoke through the fingers, “That’s very kind of you, Calliope.”

Calliope shook her head. “True things aren’t kind, Ann.”

“I suppose they’re brave then,” Ann said contemplatively.

“Weh,” Lucy complained, squirming.

“Well, okay, let’s try the other one,” Calliope said. “Maybe it’s chocolate.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll see about the shopping, Calliope, dear,” Ann said. She collected the folder with the coupons.

Mordecai was in the front room, trying to be very interested in the wallpaper. (Twenty-four red stripes between Calliope’s door and the wall, and only twenty-two blue…) He seemed to have missed his chance to interfere with Ann having things out with Calliope, and maybe that had gone okay, but he really couldn’t let the other matter slide any longer.

“Ann,” he said, and he had to follow after her as she began walking away. She tried to lose him by cutting through the kitchen instead of just going directly out the front door. There was a tangled mess of chairs and a table in the kitchen, but, unfortunately for Ann’s purposes, no people. Mordecai had politely asked Erik and Hyacinth to make themselves scarce.

“Ann, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I promised Calliope I would talk to Milo about this. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to help.”

Ann turned around and faced him when she reached the back door. She had the folder full of coupons, but she did not have her shopping basket… or Milo’s wallet. Mordecai and a roomful of chairs were between her and her bedroom. Damn it!

“Mordecai, I think we’ve established that your intentions have very little to do with your effect,” Ann said. They were on opposite sides of the table. He had his hands wrapped around the back of a chair, and she was rocking from foot to foot, ready to take advantage of an opening. It looked rather like he was pursuing her with immoral intent.

He sighed and shook his head. “There’s nothing I can say, is there? You’re protecting him from everything right now.”

“I should have started protecting him from you years ago. I do not intend to stop, no matter how this matter with Calliope resolves itself.”

“It’s not… It isn’t going to resolve itself, Ann,” Mordecai said. “You know that, don’t you…?”

“I do! I…”

“…Milo is going to have to… have to communicate with Calliope about this for himself.” A little fire crept into his voice, and his expression, “And I want to be very sure he isn’t going to hurt her any more, not more than he has to.” He sighed again and examined his hands on the back of the chair, changing his grip. “I just wanted to help. You don’t have to tell me what it is or why it happened, I just want to know what he’s going to do about it.”

“Milo will not be requiring your advice or your approval,” Ann said. “He is not going to hurt her again. I know why it happened and I will not allow it to happen again. We have already spoken about it. For the moment, he is going to leave her alone. That is all he wants, to be left alone.”

“That is liable to hurt her too,” Mordecai said.

No, Ann, please! I don’t want to hurt…

Shh, Milo. We don’t care what he thinks. Remember how he hurts Erik. He doesn’t know anything about keeping people from being hurt.

“Everything hurts right now, Mordecai,” Ann said. “We are coping with it. If there will not be anything else, Calliope needs me to go shopping.”

“No,” he said softly. “No, I suppose there won’t be anything else at all.” He turned away, and stepped aside.

Ann walked right past him with her head up.

◈◈◈

Calliope answered a soft tapping at her door. Erik was standing there looking concerned. He tended to do that. The poor kid was going to have forehead wrinkles like a scholar before he turned ten. She smiled at him.

“Hey, Erik. What’s up?”

“Ann said I could visit,” he said. He looked down and away. Calliope was reminded of Milo and felt a pang.

“I’m… sorry… about the… walls,” Erik said.

“Nah, I think they’re great. You and Maggie made a neat little installation for me. I was just super tired and I couldn’t talk about anything without crying. I’m still like that a little, but it’s not you. You wanna meet Lucy?”

He brightened. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I had to pick the sky off the floor,” Calliope noted in passing. “Everyone was stepping on it. You’ll hafta put magic on it for the footprints. Or laminate it.”

Erik took a couple seconds to untangle this. He had some invisible help. “Oh, I was going to make Lucy a mobile.” He sighed. “But I got distracted.”

“Oh, yeah, that happens to me a lot,” Calliope said, nodding. “I’ll help you finish it later if you want, but it’s good the other way too. Except for the feet.”

“Thanks,” Erik said.

“So, here’s the princess…”

Lucy was in the bassinet, wrapped in a white blanket with her head poking out. She looked pouty and serious and a bit like a baked potato.

Erik was fascinated with her. Everything about her was different. The proportions, the features, the texture of her skin and hair. The smell. And everything was the same too. Eyes. Ears. Eyebrows and lashes. It was all there. It was just tiny. Alternately delicate and pudgy, like a badly formed clay figure.

He was particularly interested in her teeny little hands, and how the fingers could even work at that size (Are there bones in there?), and he was disappointed they were tucked under the blanket.

Wow. Calliope made that, huh?

He wondered if she was going to come out as weird as all the other stuff Calliope made, a great deal of which was on display in the room. It probably would’ve helped matters along if they’d been all right with naming her “Coconut.”

Your real name is Coconut, Erik thought, frowning. I’m gonna call you that.

Although, he was kind of too embarrassed to start doing that right now.

Calliope was beaming, proud of her latest project. “You wanna hold her?”

Erik staggered back a step and clutched his shoulders. He was already shaking his head. “What… if… I… break… her?”

Calliope frowned and considered it. “I think they’re not supposed to break easy, but I guess I’m not sure. Mom always said she fell asleep nursing and dropped a couple of us, but she would always say different ones.” She snickered. “Usually whoever was acting dumb. Here, if you sit on the bed, you won’t drop her.”

Erik was willing to accept this compromise. He positioned himself cross-legged in the exact centre of the mattress and Calliope gently put Lucy into his lap. Lucy squirmed and then opened her eyes and looked annoyed at him, but she looked pretty annoyed about everything, even when she was sleeping.

After a few moments with no crying or breaking, Erik felt confident enough to peel down the blanket and have a look at her hands. They were tightly fisted. He poked one, but she didn’t uncurl it.

Gee. Maybe they don’t have bones.

“I think she must’ve dropped Euterpe,” Calliope said contemplatively. “I mean, there’s something off about him. Maybe it’s just ’cos he’s the last one. The last one in a series always looks way different, ’cos I’m getting bored of it…”

“Your family sounds amazing,” Erik said.

She smiled at him. “You’re kind of amazing too. I hope you meet some of them sometime. It’s hard to get all of us in the same room, we kinda scattered to the four winds, but we try to keep up with each other.”

She frowned. “Damn. I gotta write Mom and Dad again and let ‘em know I didn’t die. Oh, and it’s a girl. I hope I’ve got the address right. I’m not sure anyone knows where to write me. I can never get mail to Thalia, she’s living in this mud hut in Suidas.”

Wow, thought Erik. There are nine of these people. He thought that was great. He thought there should be lots more of them, and maybe some movies about them. Or cartoons. “Is she poor?” Erik asked her.

“Nah. An archaeologist. Oh, and she’s not allowed back in the country, but that’s a long story. She’s got neat little hands, huh?” She meant Lucy, but Erik needed a little more time to work that out, like the sky on the floor.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“I keep checking to make sure she’s got all her fingers and toes,” Calliope admitted with a snicker. “Erato doesn’t have all his toes, but he didn’t start out that way. Look, Lucy, this is Erik.” She brushed Lucy’s cheek and got her to open her eyes and have a look at Erik, while Erik was still in gape-mouthed confusion over what possibly could have happened to Erato’s toes.

This blurry creature is a weird colour, Lucy thought, but not in so many words.

“Erik is super cool,” Calliope said. “He worries too much, but that’s just because he hates when anything’s upset. He’s going to be a violinist-slash-interior decorator when he grows up.” She grinned. “And he wanted to name you ‘Coconut.’”

Erik flushed and turned his head aside. He let slip a self-conscious little snicker. “Is it okay if I call her that sometimes?”

“Sure. That can be her secret name. Like she’s a fairy. Or a cat. Maybe she’ll want it for a middle name when she grows up. You look super weird when you’re blushing. You don’t turn pink. You mind if I draw that?”

“Uh…” said Erik. He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“Cool. I’ll hafta do it in colour…” There was a box of pencils. She hesitated with her hand over it — I took Milo to buy coloured pencils — but only for a moment. She pulled off the lid with determination and regarded Erik over the top of a pad of paper.

“Aw, darn it,” she said. “It’s fading. I guess I have to embarrass you… Do you mind if I put some underwear on your head or something? No, I guess if you don’t mind, it’s not embarrassing… You think your uncle would mind if I gave you a shot of liquor? Maybe I should slap you…”

Erik scooted back on the bed (Carefully. He was still holding the baby.), making himself as little accessible as possible until Calliope worked out how she was going to get him to keep blushing.

Maybe nine of these people is enough, he thought.

He was a little worried about Coconut.