Hyacinth was still getting breakfast together for her boarders who required service when she was interrupted by a knock on the front door. She grumbled and rolled her eyes, “It’s open!”

Really, she might as well have a sign that said that. There might be some attrition in the cat-burglar population of the area, but they weren’t liable to get away with stealing anything, not from this house.

There followed neither more knocking nor a patient presenting itself at the kitchen doorway for examination. She looked up with a puzzled expression.

“It’s closed!” a young male voice called back.

What?

She abandoned Barnaby’s bread half-buttered and stepped into the front room.

The front door was closed, but not locked. She opened it. Standing on the front porch was a small, dark-haired individual wearing a patched black tailcoat and a top hat with an orange flower tucked in the band, looked like a chrysanthemum. He had a dusting of freckles and a smile.

Did I order a party clown? thought Hyacinth. She frowned. Did Barnaby order a party clown? It couldn’t be a telegram. He didn’t have a bouquet or balloons.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“I’ve got syrup,” the young man said. He lifted one hand and, indeed, there was a glass bottle with amber fluid and a maple leaf on the label. In his other hand was a zippered grey case with a dainty, satiny appearance that suggested a makeup bag.

Seriously, though, party clown? thought Hyacinth, painfully. Is he going to paint faces? Is it somebody’s birthday?

Then why does he have syrup?

“Why do you have syrup?” she said. She might as well.

He clicked his tongue and rolled back his head, as if it should be obvious. He was wearing a string tie with a carefully sculpted little penguin as the clasp. “It’s Tiw’s Day.”

This couldn’t be a dream. When you dreamed stuff like this, it never occurred to you to put up any kind of protest. Reality had to jump through a lot more hoops to get accepted.

“Do you… have some kind of a head injury?” she said. It seemed like one of them must.

“What, you mean right now?” the young man said.

“I think you’d better come into the kitchen,” Hyacinth said.

“Oh, thanks. I was waiting,” the young man said. He stepped over the threshold and Hyacinth grabbed him by the arm to make sure he didn’t wander off or fall over.

Noting the kitchen, and with some apparent sense of the time of the day, the dark-haired young man removed his top hat and inquired if they had enough eggs.

“Well, I suppose it is possible we do,” Hyacinth replied politically. “Please sit down.”

“Man, I should’ve brought eggs,” he said, doing so. He put hat, makeup bag and syrup bottle on the table. “They fit real good in the little eye-shadow case.”

With no further ado, Hyacinth put a hand on his forehead and investigated what the hell was wrong with this person.

Nothing, it appeared. Not feverish. No head injury. No illness. His blood sugar was a little low, but she only noticed that because she was so determined to find something. She removed her hand. “Is the syrup for you?” she asked him. Maybe it was like an asthmatic carrying his medicine around with him.

“Thought I’d share,” he said with a smile.

Hyacinth poured him a glass of orange juice from the box on the counter. Again, she might as well.

Calliope wandered into the kitchen, barefoot and toting Lucy against one shoulder. She had on black pants and a button-down men’s shirt that she had not yet bothered to button, with the T-shirt from her pyjama ensemble keeping her from being a total scandal. Her dark hair was tangled and crushed from sleep, and she still had pillow marks on her face. “Hey, Euterpe,” she said.

“Hey, Calliope,” he replied. “I got syrup.”

“Is it Tiw’s Day?” Calliope asked.

“Oh, my gods,” said Hyacinth. She glanced back and forth between them with wide eyes. Dark hair. Freckles. Elfin proportions. Weird brain. It was like double vision.

Please. No. Please tell me they didn’t make two of these.

No, she recalled. Calliope said there were nine of them. She began, almost involuntarily, to grin.

“Hey, Cin?” Calliope said. “Do you think Em would mind making us some pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” said Hyacinth. The shock must have rendered her echolalic.

Calliope smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. It’s Tiw’s Day.”

◈◈◈

Milo and Ann, if they had been home, might’ve had a fighting chance of understanding why this was happening.

Milo had been acquainted with Pancake Tiw’s Day at the workhouse, though it was more of an excuse than a holiday. The sisters served pancakes in the dining hall and attached soup kitchen and invited the whole city. Free pancakes came with a side of religion, guilt, and a slotted wooden box for charity. Donations of clothing and canned goods were also accepted.

It would’ve taken a bit of a mental leap to associate this practice with a family visit, but at least pancakes and Tiw’s Day had an association for them.

The rest of the household, being practical utilitarians (attending whichever god was necessary with no loyalty), hadn’t a clue.

Well, Barnaby might’ve been able to figure it out, but no one had thought to ask his opinion yet.

Mordecai was properly stunned to encounter Calliope’s male clone, pancakes or no pancakes. Erik, once he popped his metal eye out to be sure of what he was seeing, was delighted.

Euterpe shook hands. “Tartar Emetic, huh? That’s a mouthful of a name for a little kid. You mind if I call you Will?”

Erik’s mouth dropped open. He did not quite close it, but it slowly became a wide smile. He shook his head. I do not understand this, but let’s see how it plays out!

Euterpe addressed Mordecai., “And you must be Mr. Kill Me. That’s interesting. Is it ethnic?”

“…what?” said Mordecai, finally. He was still having his hand shaken.

Over Euterpe’s shoulder, Calliope rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and shook her head. She tapped a finger on her temple. Universal code for: Don’t even bother. This guy’s nuts.

This is Calliope’s weird brother Euterpe, thought Mordecai. I am shaking hands with a person Calliope thinks is weird.

It was like meeting a goddamned unicorn.

“This is Erik and Mordecai,” Calliope said patiently. She pointed.

“Ohhh,” Euterpe said, nodding. He leaned in a little closer to Erik. “Boyfriend?” he asked. “Girlfriend?” he amended.

Tartar Emetic might be one of those modern gender-neutral names, but he wasn’t sure about the Will.

Parsing, by some miracle, Erik’s confused expression, Euterpe pointed to the back of his hand to clarify.

“Ah!” Erik said. He held up his new gold tattoo, pointed and showed everyone. I got it! I got it! I solved the puzzle!

“It’s not a name,” said Hyacinth. “It’s a warning.”

“Ohhh.” Euterpe nodded. “Like a prophecy. Is it a birthmark?”

Grinning, Erik nodded as fast as he could, before anyone could disabuse Euterpe of this notion. He pointed at Euterpe and gave him a thumbs up. Yes. Yes. You have hit the nail right on the head with your assumption, you clever man.

“Erik,” said Mordecai, but he trailed away. He had no idea what lesson he ought to impart. “It’s not nice to tease people who are completely divorced from reality?” But does it really make any difference if you do…?

Helplessly, he pulled open a drawer to start making pancakes. He understood pancakes.

As soon as Erik felt capable of stringing words together, he expressed the opinion that Maggie needed to come down and meet Euterpe Circus Peanut Otis right now.

The General opened her door on a grinning Hyacinth and suspected something stupid had either just happened or was about to. When she entered the kitchen, she was introduced to it. As “Glorie,” of course.

“Thanks for rescuing my littlest big sis,” Euterpe said, offering a hand. “You’re a real sweetheart.”

“No,” the General replied. But she did shake the hand.

Erik handed Maggie a note, which he had done on the kitchen pad, because he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to speak at all.

JUST LET THEM TALK TO EACH OTHER, it advised, in firmly stencilled capitals which were all facing the right way.

It was like watching two expatriates from wackyland discussing the news from home. At times, it seemed they were speaking a different language.

“Aw, you brought Kuro-chan,” Calliope said, sipping orange juice. “He’s a tie now!”

Euterpe nodded. He was trying to cut through a triple stack of pancakes with the edge of his fork, but the tin-can silverware was not up to the task. He seemed undeterred by the ninety-degree bend in the handle. “The glue let go,” he said. “I gotta have my good luck charm. He keeps me from getting arrested. Except that one time. And that other time, but he’s doing his best.”

“How’d you get here?” she asked him. “Walk?”

“Nah. Took the train.”

Calliope appeared more concerned about this than the idea that he might’ve traversed a few hundred miles of mountain roads on foot. “Euterpe, trains are like chloroform. You were on the train all night?”

“Only since three. I asked ’em if they’d let me ride up top like they do in Priyat, but they weren’t feelin’ it.”

“How did you get here without getting thrown off?”

“Lots of coffee. Oh, and I rode partway in the toilet with my head under the faucet, but they weren’t really feelin’ that, either, so I stood up at the back of the car the rest of the way.”

“How are you gonna get home?” Calliope said.

He smiled at her. “Figured if anyone would be willing to put up with me for a night, it’d be you.”

“I guess Glorie can watch Lucy,” Calliope said, frowning. She turned to the General, “Euterpe gets nightmares sometimes. I think he ought to sleep in my room, but I don’t want Lucy there. It wouldn’t be good for her. Is it okay if she sleeps with you?”

“Of course. Your daughter’s wellbeing is paramount.” The General quite understood if Calliope didn’t want to cope with two uneasy sleepers all night, and Lucy would do better without being disturbed.

“Thanks, Glorie,” Calliope said. “You have someplace to sleep at home, Euterpe?”

“This guy’s letting me have his couch for a while. André. That’s the guy, not the couch. I don’t think the couch has a name. I’ve been calling it Antoinette.”

“You used to it yet?”

“Nah, not really. He’s not totally thrilled with me, but Antoinette doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter if you sleep here then,” Calliope said. “You don’t have, like, a job or anything, right?”

Euterpe sat forward. “Yeah! I’ve been holding a sign outside this coffee shop! It’s advertising this other coffee shop, but as long as I keep walking back and forth, they can’t arrest me for loitering and it doesn’t count as a permanent fixture. It’s a loophole!”

“Uh, Euterpe, did you happen to tell them you weren’t gonna show up today?”

“Come on, Calliope. It’s Tiw’s Day.”

“It’s not like New Year’s, Euterpe. It’s not a bank holiday. Also, you’re not working at a bank.”

“Huh,” Euterpe said. “Maybe I don’t have a job anymore. What about you?”

“Nah, just the kid.”

“She’s gonna make an awesome super villain,” Euterpe said, patting the six-legged highchair which had affixed itself to the wall at Calliope’s request. He assumed it was another art project. It pushed back against his touch and vibrated happily. He laughed at it. Lucy did too. “Takes after her mom, I guess,” he said with a grin. “Hey, she try to punch you yet?”

“Nope. She’s kinda young for it.”

“That’s how they getcha,” Euterpe said.

“How’s the family?”

“Mom and Dad are okay. Thalia thinks she found evidence of ancient aliens…”

“Doesn’t she always?” Calliope said.

“Clio got married…”

“To a human being?”

“No, this time it’s a tree…”

“Oh, again?”

“…And Melpomene got bit by a lion.”

Calliope accepted this with nothing more than a nod.

Maggie wasn’t going to let that stand, “Is Melpomene a zookeeper?” she asked.

“Not that I know of, but he doesn’t write very often,” Euterpe said.

“Lion… tamer?” Erik managed.

Calliope blinked at him. “What? No. Chartered accountant. I mean, to the best of my knowledge.”

Euterpe nodded.

“I just assumed it was a pet lion,” Hyacinth said.

Calliope stared at her. “Lions are not pets, Cin.”

“They are wild animals,” Euterpe affirmed, nodding.

Mordecai finally said it, “Okay, you two, why did Melpomene get bitten by a lion? Please.”

Euterpe shrugged. “He must’ve annoyed it.”

Calliope was already nodding. “Oh, yeah. Melpomene was always super annoying.”

“Well, now I just feel stupid,” said Mordecai.

Calliope smiled at him. “It’s okay, Em. We grew up with him. You didn’t know.”

Erik slid out of his chair and curled up on the kitchen floor, laughing.

Mordecai nudged him with a toe, “Erik, please, not on the floor…”

“And did Clio marry the tree because she felt a deep emotional and spiritual connection with it?” Hyacinth asked eagerly, clasping both hands on the edge of the table.

“What?” said Euterpe. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“Tax purposes,” Calliope said along with him.

Hyacinth shrieked and slid down to the floor with Erik.

Mordecai gave up, put his head on the table and curled both arms around it. The General sat back in her chair with her arms folded over her chest and a disapproving frown. Maggie had both hands clamped firmly over her mouth, which did little to conceal her ecstatic expression. Lucy observed everything from her seat in the Lu-ambulator, too delighted to latch on to the bottle she was occasionally offered.

This was pretty much the state of things when Milo got home from his early shift at one, except Mordecai had been convinced to provide another round of pancakes, so he was at the stove doing those.

Hyacinth was practised at noticing when Milo came in, no matter how quietly he did it, and she scrambled to the kitchen doorway to both warn and introduce him. “Milo!” She calmed her voice when she saw his expression but she could not suppress her grin. “This is Calliope’s brother, Euterpe Circus Peanut Otis.” She pronounced it with a short O, like obvious.

Euterpe stood up and walked over with his hand already extended, “Hey, it’s the double feature! Which one is it now, Calliope?” he asked her.

Calliope pressed a hand over her eyes. “It’s Milo, Euterpe. He’s got pants on.”

Euterpe regarded Milo’s pants. “Totally. Doesn’t he usually?”

Milo put a hand on the door frame and clutched it like a life-preserver. I can’t just go. I’m being introduced. It’s rude. Calliope will be mad if I’m rude to her brother. I think she likes her brother.

…Though, she didn’t look very happy with him at the moment.

“Euterpe, I wrote you directions for Milo,” she said. “I had them laminated. Where are they?”

“Huh? I dunno.”

“You remembered a clay penguin I made you when I was nine but you forgot your directions for Milo?” As if, perhaps, he had forgotten something as elemental as socks and underwear. (It did appear that his socks were mismatched. The gods alone knew about the underwear.)

Euterpe smiled at his sister. “Yep, that seems about right. What, I’m not supposed to hug him, right?”

Calliope groaned. “Oh, gods, Euterpe. Wave at him and come sit down. He’s probably gonna take off. You’ll have to meet him next time.”

Milo did not react to the wave. He was staring at the wall and trying to process the idea that Calliope was going around giving people directions about him. He felt both touched and humiliated, leaving him with a net sensation of queasiness. He also wondered what the directions said.

Is there anything in there about me being a horrible person who hurt her? He cast a sideways glance at Calliope’s brother. Does he hate me and want to protect her from me?

“Aw, don’t go, Milo,” Euterpe said. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small silver object. It was a paper crane, which he had folded from a gum wrapper.

Milo had no experience of cranes, paper or otherwise, but he was riveted by the precision of the tiny folds.

Euterpe put it in his hand. “You can have that one, okay? Then can we be friends?”

How does this function?? Milo thought urgently. He carefully put the crane in his shirt pocket, exchanging it for a card and a pencil. With the support of the kitchen wall, he sketched the mysterious silver object and put a question mark after it. After a moment’s thought, he added a couple exclamation points. He gave this to Euterpe.

“For me? Hey, thanks.” Euterpe wandered back over to the kitchen table, holding the card. “Hey, check it out, Calliope. This guy draws stuff!”

“He’s trying to talk to you, Euterpe,” Calliope said wearily. She pulled out her reading glasses. “Here, let me see it. He wants to know how you made that. Milo likes origami, it’s how he fixed Em’s lungs.”

“This guy’s got paper lungs?” Euterpe demanded, snatching Mordecai away from the stove. Some pancake batter spilled. “Wow! Breathe for a second!” He had his ear to Mordecai’s chest.

Mordecai had no idea where to begin. He shoved at Euterpe’s empty dark-haired head with a hand, “Could you please just… not?” He might attempt to correct the young man’s alignment with reality at a later date, but he was in the middle of pancakes and he required freedom of movement now.

Milo, meanwhile, had retrieved the gum wrapper crane and was studying it from a near distance with his glasses pushed up to his forehead. It smelled faintly of cloves. He wondered if that was an intended feature.

“I know how to do them, Milo,” Calliope said. She did not get up from the table and invade his personal space, and she tore a piece off the kitchen pad instead of staring and waiting for his reaction. “I’ll show you. You wanna come have some pancakes?”

Milo narrowed his eyes and frowned at the contents of the kitchen table. Pancakes? Like at the workhouse?

He shook his head, answering his own question. No, not like at the workhouse. Good pancakes from nice people who don’t want to hurt me. I think…? He edged past Euterpe and retrieved a plate from one of the kitchen cabinets.

“The guy with the paper lungs makes most excellent pancakes,” Euterpe opined in Milo’s direction. He was also filling a plate. “You gotta trade recipes with him, Calliope. My sister makes most excellent brownies,” he confided to Milo. “You can hardly taste how they’re funny…”

Calliope dropped her fork with a clatter, “Euterpe!”

This made Milo drop his plate, but it only fell as far as the counter and did not break.

Calliope grabbed Euterpe by the arm and dragged him to the other end of the kitchen. She spoke in a low, snarling voice and pointed a lot.

“What?” Euterpe said. He threw back his head and laughed. “Seriously?”

Calliope shook him. “It’s not funny, Euterpe!” She continued a few moments more in lower tones.

“Man, keep her away from the lamps,” Euterpe advised Hyacinth, when he was allowed to return to his seat. He smiled at Milo. “Don’t worry. There’s no such thing as brownies.”

Calliope brought the heel of her foot down on his toes, “I don’t need a lamp!”

“Ow! No kidding!”

Milo blinked. Ann, is there something wrong with Calliope’s brother or am I just being stupid about things?

Ann considered this painfully. The remark about brownies had unsettled her too. Well, Milo… I don’t know if it’s, like, an illness… He does seem to have a variant perception of reality.

Milo sighed and tried to relax. Oh, just like Calliope.

Nooo, I think rather a lot worse.

Milo pictured circles and angles around Calliope and her brother. Calliope was fifteen degrees off-centre. Euterpe was ninety degrees off-centre.

Yes, Milo, I think it’s very much like that.

Milo managed to get down a single polite pancake while having a lesson in origami. He found the paper-folding much more diverting than the pancakes, and a good excuse to stare at the table in front of him instead of at people.

Calliope showed him how to cut paper by folding it and licking it— which, Milo extrapolated, was how Euterpe got a perfect square out of a gum wrapper. (Not that this diminished Milo’s appreciation of the gift in any way.) She also showed him how to make a crane. Euterpe elaborated by making a crane with three heads, while Milo made frantic notes about the geometry involved. (He thought even more heads might be theoretically possible!)

Milo demonstrated the collapsible fold he’d figured out for Mordecai’s lungs in exchange.

“Wow! Like an accordion!” Euterpe said, playing with the strip.

Milo gravely shook his head. The accordion fold was inadequate, that was why he had to do all that research in the first place.

Euterpe was still playing with the strip and now singing “Squeeze Box.”

Calliope smiled and patted Milo on the hand, causing him to turn bright pink, “Don’t worry, babe. It’s just how he is.”

“Euterpe, do you like the Who?” Mordecai asked, eager for some point of cultural contact with the being from another planet.

“Do I like who now?” Euterpe said.

“No. No. The Who. The band.”

“Oh, the Band are okay, but I don’t think they play ‘Squeeze Box.’ It’s some other group, but I can never remember who.”

Mordecai leaned forward and spoke very slowly, “Euterpe Circus Peanut Otis,” he pronounced it with a short O, like obtuse, “I am not going to get sucked into a music hall routine with you. Roger Daltrey, Pete Townshend, Keith Moon and John Entwhistle, performing as a musical ensemble known as ‘The Who,’ play the song ‘Squeeze Box.’ The Band is irrelevant.”

“I dunno. It’d be easier to ask for the songs on the radio if I knew what they were called. You can’t remember, either, huh? Didn’t they play that one, ‘Brain Damage?’”

“That was Pink Floyd,” said Mordecai. “I hope you receive similar assistance in navigating the path.”

“Nah, I took the train,” Euterpe said.

Milo had drawn a dress. He showed Calliope, since there was little point in showing Euterpe.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” she said. “I’d like him to meet her. He’ll be nice to her, he just acts loopy sometimes.”

Milo had been in the kitchen for about forty-five minutes and had yet to observe an abatement in the loopiness, but he nodded. He offered a vague bow and left the table. Behind him, he heard Euterpe examining the drawing, “No, I don’t know how to fold a dress. Calliope, do you?”

“Dresses should go on hangers, Euterpe,” Calliope said. “They get wrinkled.”

“Thalia got the garment bag,” Euterpe said. “You figure the police have it now?

“Nah. Probably customs.”

When Ann came in, before she could even get her mouth open, Euterpe got up and presented her with another paper object. “What do you think of a kimono?” he asked. “It’s like a dress.”

“Well, I think it’s very nice, dear,” Ann said, regarding the bathrobe-like model she had been handed.

“You wanna draw how to make one?”

“Ann doesn’t draw stuff,” Calliope said. “She just poses for me sometimes.”

“Huh?” said Euterpe. (He needed a sign that said “Huh?” like Hyacinth needed one that said “It’s open!”) “Who’s Ann?”

“You’re talking to Ann,” Calliope said. “Milo left while you were doing the kimono. They’re totally different. You can tell by the eyes.”

Ann blinked. Apparently you could not tell from the dress, the high heels, the makeup or the perfume? Was all that too subtle? She extended her hand and tried smiling, “I’m very pleased to meet you, dear.”

Euterpe shook the hand. That much social conditioning seemed to have rubbed off on him. “Are you guys both the same shoe size?” he said, in lieu of anything more sensible.

“Milo and I?” Ann said. “Are Milo and I the same shoe size, is that what you want to know?”

Euterpe shrugged. “I mean, I was just curious.”

“Milo and I do not change sizes,” Ann said slowly. “We are not shape-shifters.” She looked down at herself. “This is a corset. And socks.”

“Is there, like, a special store?”

“For the corset? I get them from catalogues…”

“No, where they have frilly high-heel shoes in men’s sizes. I haven’t seen anything like that outside of oil paintings.”

Ann opened her mouth and closed it with a hand. “I am dreadfully sorry, Euterpe. Milo and I are not the same shoe size. I take a ladies’ ten. Wide width, if they have it.”

“You ever put your feet in one of those boxes they have where you can see the bones? That’s really awesome.”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I have! They had one at Courtney’s on Mille Fleur Road! It is very disconcerting to see what pretty shoes do to your toes. I am given to understand that tight-lacing permanently alters the shape of your rib cage as well.”

“I think if you don’t lace ‘em up tight, they don’t stay on,” Euterpe said, considering his shoes.

“No, dear, tight-lacing is for corsets,” Ann said. “Lacing up your shoes is just called ‘lacing up your shoes.’”

“Unless it’s buttons,” Calliope put in. She was smiling, but Ann could only guess at whether or not she was teasing.

“They make corsets with buttons?” Euterpe said.

Maggie spoke into the palm of her hand, muffled, “They sell them at that store where they have the frilly men’s high-heels and records from that band I can’t remember who play ‘Squeeze Box.’”

Erik snorted through a mouthful of pancakes and covered his eyes. “Who… are… they?” he managed softly.

“Yes,” Maggie replied, grinning.

Erik couldn’t resist belting out a line from ‘I’ve Seen All Good People,’ even though Euterpe didn’t know about the singing. Somehow, he didn’t think the guy would mind.

Euterpe pointed at Erik and snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. That’s from that one musical. ‘A night in Sukdong will mess you up,’ or whatever.’”

“Chequers,” Mordecai muttered aside.

“Nah, I’d rather play cards,” Euterpe said. “Then everyone can.” As if waiting for this very moment, he drew a deck out of his coat pocket that had been secured with two rubber bands.

Erik caught a partial glimpse of a naked lady with three red diamonds covering strategic territory before Ann, the General and Mordecai all slammed their hands over the deck like they were playing slapjack.

“Euterpe, we can’t play with those!” Ann cried.

“Oh. Yeah.” Euterpe rolled his eyes and knocked a hand on the side of his head. “That’s a pinochle deck. Hang on, I think I’ve got one for poker…”

“Euterpe, please show me how to fold a kimono!” Ann said, snatching his empty hand out of his pocket. “Milo is so desperately interested in how it’s done!”

“Huh? Okay. How does that work, exactly? Are you gonna write it down for him?”

The General rose stiffly. “Magnificent, I think it is past time for us to resume our lessons.”

“Mom, I am getting a crash course in abnormal psychology,” Maggie replied. “If you wanna go upstairs and read dusty old books that’ll still be there when Calliope’s brother is gone, I sure won’t stop you, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do what, if I may ask?” the General said.

“Meet some of your friend Calliope’s family and have fun with him, I guess,” Euterpe said, looking over. “But if you don’t like me, it’s okay.” He shrugged. “A lot of people don’t. I think my sister just puts up with me a lot of the time.”

Calliope elbowed him gently and smiled, “Yeah, but I do like you, Euterpe.”

“My friend…?” the General said slowly, as if the words had an unpleasant taste. She sat down again. “I do not find games of random chance amusing, Mr. Otis. Do you play chess?”

“Is that the one with the little horsies?”

“…Yes.”

(“‘Owner of a lonely heart,’” Erik sang softly, just to Maggie. She snickered.)

“Oh, sure. It’s been a while. We always used to play that one with all the tiny pieces — where you try to take over the world? Because there was enough room for all us kids. I always got creamed because I was the youngest one. Man, I had to read through Dad’s History of the Panagiotian Wars just to keep up.”

“Conquest?” the General said, blinking. “Are you speaking of the game Conquest? Where up to ten factions attempt to control a map?”

“Oh, my gods, no,” Maggie said, and she thudded her forehead on the table. That game could take hours with just two playing, and her mom always insisted on putting all ten factions on the map anyway.

“Yeah,” Euterpe said. “You played it before?”

The General grinned. “I had Hyacinth remake all of the pieces for me. I shall return presently.” She got up and left.

“I like chess better,” Calliope muttered, head in hand. “It’s got walking castles in it. And the bishops look like little breasts.”

It was fun trying to imagine a religion with boob hats. Sometimes she didn’t even bother about moving the pieces and just made up ontological discourse. Big ones are better! More than a handful is wasted!

“Come on Calliope,” Euterpe said. “You can be red. And I’ll spot you Suidas.”

“Suidas is a crap continent with no strategic advantage and you know it, Euterpe,” Calliope said.

“It has parakeets,” Erik offered her.

“We had parakeets in Ansalem,” Calliope said, sulking. “They’re not special. They’re just obnoxious.” She straightened in her seat and smiled. “Euterpe, I want a parakeet army! I can move ten units a turn instead of five because they can fly!”

“Well, I want my cavalry to ride bears instead of horses!” Euterpe said. “We get to attack twice every turn because bears!”

Maggie lifted her head from the table. “I think I am beginning to like Conquest.”

“Can armies use magic?” Erik asked them.

“I guess so,” Euterpe said. “I mean, they’re already all weird colours…”

“Pardon me, Euterpe,” Hyacinth broke in. “If you’re not going to be using those playing cards, do you mind if I get a game of Solitaire going?” She smiled sweetly.

Mordecai stood. “Let’s make it Crazy Eights and take it into the other room, please,” he said. “I’ll watch Lucy if you’d like, Calliope.”

“And I’ll watch the playing cards,” said Hyacinth, striding away with them.

Mordecai might not have known absolutely everything about Hyacinth after eight years, but he was familiar with how she looked when she was stealing something. “You are never going to see that deck of cards again,” he said. “Do you know that, Euterpe?”

Euterpe and the rest of the table were too engaged with the intricacies of House Rules Conquest to care.

Mordecai shrugged. First he made certain Lucy was properly belted into the damn thing, then he tapped the Lu-ambulator and asked it to come with him. It was a convenient horrifying monstrosity, and obedient. It followed a polite distance behind him as he wandered into the front room to get a look at the playing cards and receive confirmation on certain aspects of Hyacinth’s personality he had long suspected.

Meanwhile, Ann was reserving the right to design everyone’s uniforms. There were going to be a lot of high heels and corsets involved!