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+{"text":" \nACCLAIM FOR WENDY LESSER'S\n\n_The Genius of Language_\n\n**One of the 25 Best Books of 2004**  \n ** _The Seattle Times\/Post-Intelligencer_**\n\n\"When we talk about a mother tongue we are talking about more than language, we are talking about our sense of our selves at the deepest layers of our being... [A] fine collection... The essays are informative, well written and several are moving.\"\n\n\u2014 _The Times Literary Supplement_\n\n\"Both intimate and global, this entirely unique guided tour through some of the regions beyond English will be seized upon and treasured by anyone who wants to know more about how the languages we speak make and unmake us.\"\n\n\u2013Esther Allen, chair of the PEN American Centers Translation Committee\n\n\"Excellent... The writers peel back the layers of their relationship to the language of their birth as well as to... their adopted English.\"\n\n\u2014 _Santa Cruz Sentinel_\n\n\"As a translator, and a long-time student of languages, I find the topic of mother tongues and learned languages fascinating, and the treatment it receives in these compelling essays is revelatory.\"\n\n\u2014Edith Grossman, translator of _Living to Tell the Tale_ by Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez\n\n\"A rich and surprising book brimming with love of culture and respect for language.\"\n\n\u2014 _Tucson Citizen_\n\n\"This delightful collection... vividly recounts the process that anyone who loves words goes through: the process of falling under the spell of languages seemingly infinite potential.\"\n\n\u2014 _Publishers Weekly_\n\n_\"A_ wonderful book that is both intellectually stimulating and a great pleasure to read.\"\n\n\u2014Lara Vapnyar, author of _There are Jews in My House_\n\n\"[A] collection that should heighten anyone's awareness of the potential and the limitations of the English language.\"\n\n\u2014 _San Jose Mercury News_\n\n_\"A_ brilliant collection of writers thinking brilliantly about one of the most intimate aspects of their lives: language.\"\n\n\u2014Andr\u00e9 Aciman, author of _Out of Egypt_\n\n#\n\nWENDY LESSER\n\n_The Genius of Language_\n\nWendy Lesser is the founding editor of _The Threepenny Review_ and the author of six books of nonfiction. Her reviews and essays appear in periodicals and newspapers around the country. She lives in Berkeley California.\nALSO BY WENDY LESSER\n\n_The Life Below the Ground_\n\n_His Other Half_\n\n_Pictures at an Execution_\n\n_A Director Calls_\n\n_The Amateur_\n\n_Nothing Remains the Same_\n\n_Hiding in Plain Sight:  \nEssays in Criticism and Autobiography_ (EDITOR)\n\nIN MEMORY OF LEONARD MICHAELS  \n1933-2003\n\n# _Contents_\n\n_Introduction_ Wendy Lesser\n\n[BANGLA  \n _The Way Back_ Bharati Mukherjee](Less_9780307485397_epub_c01_r1.htm)\n\n[CHINESE  \n _Yes and No_ Amy Tan](Less_9780307485397_epub_c02_r1.htm)\n\n[CZECH  \n _Trouble with Language_ Josef Skvoreck y](Less_9780307485397_epub_c03_r1.htm)\n\n[DUTCH  \n _Circus Biped_ Bert Keizer](Less_9780307485397_epub_c04_r1.htm)\n\n[FRENCH  \n _French Without Tears_ Luc Sante](Less_9780307485397_epub_c05_r1.htm)\n\n[GERMAN  \n _Prelude_ Thomas Laqueur](Less_9780307485397_epub_c06_r1.htm)\n\n[GIKUYU  \n _Recovering the Original_ Ngugi wa Thiong'o](Less_9780307485397_epub_c07_r1.htm)\n\n[GREEK  \n _Split Self_ Nicholas Papandreou](Less_9780307485397_epub_c08_r1.htm)\n\n[ITALIAN  \n _Limpid, Blue, Poppy_ M. J. Fitzgerald](Less_9780307485397_epub_c09_r1.htm)\n\n[KOREAN  \n _Personal and Singular_ Ha-yun Jung](Less_9780307485397_epub_c10_r1.htm)\n\n[POLISH  \n _On Being an Orphaned Writer_ Louis Begley](Less_9780307485397_epub_c11_r1.htm)\n\n[RUSSIAN  \n _The Mother Tongue Between Two Slices of Rye_ Gary Shteyngart](Less_9780307485397_epub_c12_r1.htm)\n\n[SCOTS  \n _Boswell and Mrs. Miller_ James Campbell](Less_9780307485397_epub_c13_r1.htm)\n\n[SPANISH  \n _Footnotes to a Double Life_ Ariel Dorfman](Less_9780307485397_epub_c14_r1.htm)\n\n[YIDDISH  \n _My Yiddish_ Leonard Michaels](Less_9780307485397_epub_c15_r1.htm)\n\nAbout the Contributors\n\n# _Introduction_\n\n# Wendy Lesser\n\nThe original idea for _The Genius of Language_ was given to me by an editor, Alice van Straalen. Why not find a dozen or more writers who now write in English but who originally spoke another language, she suggested, and get them to write essays on the differences between their two languages? Normally I am against accepting ideas from editors, but this one struck me as such a good one I couldn't resist. It is an appealing notion\u2014that there is some hidden ur-language seeping into or shaping or otherwise influencing the language in which the writer now writes. Perhaps even monolingual writers have this feeling; that may explain why one friend of mine, a poet whose sole language has always been English, heard the idea for the book and exclaimed, \"Oh, I want to be in it!\"\n\nWhen I invited the fifteen writers included here to participate in the project, I urged them to be as autobiographical as they wished. The story of original languages, I suspected, would make itself felt not just on the linguistic or literary level, but also in the way people felt about their lives. And because those lives involved a move\u2014often a forced move\u2014from one country or family culture to another, these stories might well tell us something about the larger historical or political issues of our time.\n\nBut that was secondary. What mattered most to me, at the beginning, was to uncover the sources of writing in writers I admired, to burrow in behind the acquired layers and get at the inherent nature, the native quality, the \"genius\" of the work. Of course, what I expected and what I eventually got were not identical. Writers are like cats: you can't herd them. Life (and editing) would be far more boring if you could.\n\nThe minute you consider the category\u2014writers who came to English after first speaking another language\u2014the name Joseph Conrad invariably springs to mind. He is the great ancestor, the supervisory ghost, in a book like this. (Some people would add Vladimir Nabokov's name as well, but to my mind Conrad is the far greater writer: I am convinced that _Lord Jim_ and _Chance_ and _The Secret Agent_ will be read long after _Lolita_ and _Pale Fire_ have bit the dust.) Since the essays in the present collection were commissioned especially for the book, I was, for obvious reasons, unable to secure a contribution from Conrad. So I am sneaking him in the back door by quoting him up front.\n\nAt the beginning of the 1919 edition of his autobiographical _A Personal Record,_ Conrad takes great pains to dispel the impression that he _chose_ to write in English. His first language, of course, was Polish, and his father, a well-known Polish patriot who died when Conrad was twelve, was apparently an acknowledged master of the language. Growing up in Poland, Conrad knew French, as he says, \"fairly well and was familiar with it from infancy.\" Yet when he came to write fiction, it was the English language that seized his imagination:\n\nThe truth of the matter is that my faculty to write in English is as natural as any other aptitude with which I might have been born. I have a strange and overpowering feeling that it had always been an inherent part of myself. English for me was neither a matter of choice nor adoption. The merest idea of choice had never entered my head. And as to adoption\u2014well, yes, there was adoption; but it was I who was adopted by the genius of the language, which directly I came out of the stammering stage made me its own so completely that its very idioms I truly believe had a direct action on my temperament and fashioned my still plastic character.\n\nConrad acknowledges that his relationship to the language is necessarily different from that of a native speaker. But the degree of intimacy he feels is, if anything, greater:\n\nA matter of discovery and not of inheritance, that very inferiority of the title makes the faculty still more precious, lays the possessor under a lifelong obligation to remain worthy of his great fortune... All I can claim after all those years of devoted practice, with the accumulated anguish of its doubts, imperfections and falterings in my heart, is the right to be believed when I say that if I had not written in English I would not have written at all.\n\nSeveral of the writers collected here would and even do say the same thing about themselves. It is the crossing of a boundary, the alienation from the original tongue, which made writers of them. So a book in which various bilingual authors are asked to consider the differences between their original language and English will inevitably be as much about the adopted language as it is about anything else. In using the phrase \"the genius of the language,\" Conrad was referring to English, and it is that experience\u2014the process of being embraced or enveloped by English, whether through books or movies or other people\u2014 that you will witness over and over in these pages.\n\nStill, the intention of the book was also to stimulate some reflections on the particularities of the language of origin: that is, to get these writers to express in English the singular characteristics of their mother tongue. It is never an easy task to explain the mechanism of such literary and linguistic border-crossing (Conrad himself calls it \"a task which I have just pronounced to be impossible\"), but the authors I've collected here all give it a good try. Even as you read about each writers discovery of English, you will also be learning something about the peculiar nature, the indwelling spirit, of French, or Greek, or Korean, or Russian. Sometimes the revelation will not be explicit: you will need to listen closely to pick up the tonal subtleties that inflect the adopted tongue. Sense of humor, sentence rhythm, use of adjectives, attention to time and place, penchant for anecdotal-ism or analysis, construction of the first-person narrative voice\u2014 these are all qualities that the writer may carry over from his or her original language.\n\nI should say a few words about what this anthology is not. It is not a scholarly work in the field of linguistics or anthropology or comparative rhetoric. Nobody in this volume is a trained linguist; hardly anyone here even holds an academic post. The contributors are all writers, and they have been chosen almost entirely on the basis of their quality as writers in English, since that is the only way I could know their work. It was my assumption that we would learn something from fiction-writers and playwrights and critics and literary journalists that we would _not_ learn from scholars of language.\n\nNor is this a representative collection, whatever that might be in a world occupied by approximately six thousand different languages. I have made some effort to get a bit of geographical distribution, but the effort is relatively weak. Huge gaps are evident: Arabic, Japanese, Portuguese (to name but a few of the major missing languages). There is only one writer from the entire African continent. There are too many former Europeans. And there are too many Jews. Part of this can be blamed on geopolitics: the vicissitudes of twentieth-century history drove large numbers of Jews into the English language, and many of them became writers. But part is no doubt the result of my limited perspective, in that my own family background is European-Jewish. You might also keep in mind that I _did_ have to persuade each of the contributors to do the onerous work of writing an essay. In this context, I am reminded of the passage from Shakespeare's _Henry IV, Part One_ in which Glendower claims, \"I can call spirits from the vasty deep,\" to which Hotspur sensibly responds: \"Why, so can I, or so can any man; \/ But will they come when you do call for them?\" What you find here are the spirits that came.\n\nThe contributions do not all follow the rules\u2014or rather, I allowed myself to break the rules in acquiring the essayists, and the individual authors went on to break more rules in writing their essays. A rigid adherence to the from-foreign-language-to-English rubric would have eliminated Ariel Dorf-man (who forgot his early Spanish and had to relearn it after English) and Amy Tan (who acquired English and Chinese simultaneously) and Nicholas Papandreou (who was born in Berkeley and spoke English before Greek) and James Campbell (who never did speak Scots, though he understood the infusions of it in his mothers and grandmothers speech). An insistence on the now-they-write-only-in-English rule would have left out Josef Skvorecky (who has written books in English but continues to depend more heavily on Czech) and Ngugi wa Thiong'o (who wrote in English for many years but reverted to Gikuyu for political and personal reasons) and Bert Keizer (who writes and speaks primarily in Dutch). In place of a strictly one-way journey I have substituted a looser bilingualism which allows all my authors to comment on the relationship between English and their other languages. My notion of a \"language\" has been loose, too, in that I have included some that might be viewed as variants or subsets of others (Yiddish a version of German, Scots a version of English). All this latitude has produced a certain variety of approach, as has the age span of the writers, who range from their twenties to their seventies; each generation has a different story about coming to English, just as each country or culture does.\n\nStill, there are common threads in these essays. Perhaps the most common is a tendency to equate the language of childhood with childhood itself. The tangibility of childhood experience\u2014 the tendency to join the word with the thing, so that, in Randall Jarrells terms, \"a word has the reality of a thing: a thing that can be held wrong side up, played with like a toy, thrown at someone like a toy\"\u2014is repeatedly invoked here. We have all been exiled from childhood, but because most of these writers have actually been exiled from their childhood _-place,_ they seem to feel that something of that lost experience still exists somewhere, accessible (if at all) only through language. You can see this most strongly, perhaps, in M. J. Fitzgerald's chapter on Italian and Gary Shteyngart's on Russian, but it is also prominently there in Bharati Mukherjee's piece on Bangla, Thomas Laqueur's essay about German, Nicholas Papandreous discussion of Greek, and Ha-yun Jung's reflections on Korean. When Louis Begley conflates the Polish interiors of his childhood with a Polish story he once read, or when Luc Sante describes French as \"my secret identity, inaccessible to my friends,\" we are being offered a glimpse of the writer's imaginary homeland, compounded of fiction, memory, and loss.\n\nThere is an irony to my editing a book about exile\u2014for that is what a book about the genius of language is bound to be, just as it is also bound to be about geography, and culture, and politics, and history. Not only am I embarrassingly monolingual, possessed of the merest remnant of my little high-school Spanish and even tinier high-school Russian, but I am also the very opposite of an exile. I now live about forty miles from where I grew up, and out of my fifty years I have spent no more than six or seven away from California, the state where I was born. What all these exiled authors long for\u2014a return to a lost place of origin, generally one from which they or their families were violently expelled\u2014I have automatically. And yet the possession of this birthright is not so automatic that I am unconscious of it. Driving over the bridge to San Francisco, especially at dawn or twilight, I frequently look out at that familiar landscape and think of the lines from Brechts _Caucasian Chalk Circle_ about why one loves one's country: \"Because the bread tastes better there, the sky is higher, the air smells better, voices sound stronger, the ground is easier to walk on. Isn't that so?\" Sometimes one understands the truth of things best through absences and lacks (as Conrad grasped English more tightly because it was discovered, not inherited). It is in this way that I understand what Brecht, exiled in California when he wrote those lines, was feeling; and it is in this way that I understand what exiled writers mean when they write about their lost languages.\n\nAnother absence, too, haunts this book. Shortly before I turned in the final manuscript, in May of 2003, my dear friend Leonard Michaels died quite suddenly of complications from lymphoma. I cannot adequately convey how essential a writer he was: to me as a reader, to the magazine he helped me with for more than twenty years, and to the landscape of American literature, which he partially shaped. Perhaps his beautiful essay on Yiddish\u2014his last major piece of prose\u2014will begin to suggest something of what we have lost. He was a master of the precisely descriptive sentence, and his humorously apt phrases often came back to me in the course of daily life; I remember thinking, just before I learned he was ill, that I would not like to exist in a world that did not contain Lenny Michaels. Now I will have to, as will we all. It seems fitting, though hardly consoling, that a collection about the genius of language should be dedicated to his memory.\n\n# BANGLA\n\n#\n\n# _The Way Back_  \nBharati Mukherjee\n\nThere is a reason why the language we inherit at birth is called our mother tongue. It is our mother, forgiving, embracing, naming the world and all its emotions. Though I have lived for the last forty years in cities where English or French is the language of the majority, it's Bangla that exercises motherly restraint over my provisional, immigrant identity. Mother-Bangla is fixed; I haven't learned a new word nor had new thought or feeling in Bangla for nearly half a century. _I don't need to._ According to group-norms, as a native-born speaker, I have automatic membership in the world's most articulate, most imaginative and most intelligent club. With its brazen appeals to love and vanity, enforced with coercive guilt, the language sabotages irony towards the community's billowing self-esteem. Like a child whose mother might tipple or stray, I look for excuses, cannot condemn. To my inner Bengali I remain constant, as it does for me.\n\nHow exclusive can a club of nearly a quarter-billion members be? Bangla is the language of Bangladesh, the eighth most populous nation in the world, and of the Indian state of West Bengal, the second-largest linguistic group in India. Millions more, documented or not, have settled abroad. Impressive numbers aside, every Bengali, to her at least, is a majority of one. We harbor the faith, implanted by myth and history, of our exalted place in the hierarchy of breeding and culture.\n\nTo international relief agency workers, Bangla is the mother tongue of esurient poverty, but to the heirs of _shonar bangla,_ golden Bengal of harvest-ready paddyfields and fish-filled rivers, it is the mother tongue of poetry, passion and abundance. It is also the language of nostalgia and of tentative hope: nostalgia for the Hindu-Muslim harmony that existed in undivided Bengal before its vindictive partition by the fleeing British; and hope for the shared mother tongue, devotion to the possible tomorrow that will transcend the religious furies exploited by today s politicians. I think a shared language is stronger than divisive religions. (Based on my travels in Bangladesh, I think Hindu and Muslim Bengalis could cross the abyss between them. It's the national politics of India and corrupt fiefdoms in Bangladesh that get in the way.)\n\nUp to age eight, I lived exclusively in Bangla. My father was the sole support of forty to fifty relatives, who lived with us crowded together in the ground-floor apartment of a two-storied house in a homogenously Hindu, Bangla-speaking, middle-class neighborhood of Kolkata (until recently mispronounced and misspelled as Calcutta by colonialists). All the adults in our large household had been born in villages or towns in the Dhaka (then \"Dacca\") district of East Bengal (now Bangladesh); all their children, my sisters and cousins, in the thriving capital, Kolkata, in West Bengal. Among themselves, the adults spoke the dialect of Dhaka, the children the Bangla of Kolkata. I had no idea as a child that linguists considered the Dhaka dialect \"deviant,\" and Kolkata the standard. In our home the Dhaka dialect, ban-gal, was the language of authenticity. You are what dialect your forefathers spoke even if you yourself have lost fluency in it because of successive migrations. We were East Bengalis or _Bangal_ first, then Bengali. We distanced ourselves from West Bengalis or _Ghoti_ who surrounded us and considered us interlopers. We conducted ourselves as _Bangal,_ exiled permanently from our ancestral homeland.\n\nTo be born a displaced _Bangal_ was to inherit loss of, and longing for, one's true home. Identity had to do with mother tongue, but home was the piece of land that our forefathers had owned, the soil that they had slept and walked on. To be cast out of your _janma bhumi_ or ancestral birth-soil is to be forever doomed. Unlike dialects, which can be transported by migrants, the loss of _janma bhumi_ is permanent. The diasporic Bengali may own real estate in the country of her adoption, but that real estate can only be her residence, as provisional as her immigrant identity, her home. I think now that this intimate braiding of inherited language, place and identity is why Bengalis never took to the British system of primogeniture. Generation by generation, the extent of ancestral land owned by an individual male was whittled down to specks and strips. It didn't matter that the shrunken land was unprofitable for cultivation and support of large families. Second, third, fourth... eighth, ninth. Sons didn't emigrate; they just stayed and got poorer. Evaluation was symbolic, not economic.\n\nEven as a child I picked up on our linguistic nuancing of house _(basha, bari),_ room _(ghar),_ land _(jomi),_ soil _(bhumi)_ and homeland _(desh)._ My cousins and I were alert to the moral of the countless children's stories about villagers willing to starve rather than sell off inherited strips of _bhumi._ The most menacing refrain from a popular poem we learned by rote was a rich, greedy landowners threatening a desperately poor farmer, \"Do you get it, Upen \/ I'm going to buy up your land.\" Even now in comfortable San Francisco, with every mortgage and property tax payment, I can be thrown into panic by that simple refrain. (Refinance? Never! Lock it in and forget about it, like immigrants or Depression-era survivors who distrust banks.) The inherited culture insists that accidents of impulse and geography have made homelessness my permanent condition; the adopted culture tries to persuade me that home is where I choose to invest love and loyalty.\n\nBetter colleges, better job opportunities, natural disasters like floods and famines, and periodic flarings of Hindu-Muslim antagonism had induced my parents' immediate families to migrate to Kolkata in the 1920s and 1930s, though they still owned land in their hometowns. My father had been sent to Kolkata to stay with a childless aunt and uncle-in-law so that he could get a sound English-language undergraduate education at St. Xavier's College, run by Jesuits from Belgium. By then a scholarship student, he stayed for graduate degrees in applied chemistry. After that, as the most educated though not the eldest of nine sons, he dutifully looked for a job in Kolkata, the most prosperous of Bengal's cities. Dependents and family friends also in need of free food and lodging started arriving from the east as soon as they'd heard that he was job-hunting. For a while, the house-guests commuted from Kolkata to their homes in provincial towns of eastern Bengal, where they still jointly owned an ancestral strip.\n\nThe Hindu-Muslim riots of 1946, the fiercest in communal memory, drove the last of the Mukherjee clan out of their hometown, where Muslims constituted an overwhelming majority. The refugees brought with them tales of arson, rape and looting. From their tears and nightmare-hour screams, I learned the special resonance that _bhoi,_ the Bangla word for fear, carries. There is no English equivalence for the scale of terror that _bhoi_ implies. In words such as _bhoi,_ the individual experience of fear is shot through with the memory of unspeakable communal suffering. The partitioning of Bengal in 1947 transformed my vast, extended family from commuters shuttling between residence of convenience and homeland to political refugees stranded in a city where they could never belong. Kolkata was their begrudged place of asylum.\n\nThat exilic melancholy was passed on to me in infancy. We refugees were different from, and superior to, _Ghoti_ Bengalis. Which end of the soft-boiled egg do you crack, and should we go to war over it? We rejected matchmaking between _Ghoti_ families and ours. We made fun of the _Ghoti_ inability to pronounce the \"l\" sound in _lebu_ (lemon) and _loochi_ (deep-fried bread). Whenever the East Bengal soccer team played Mohun Bagan, the West Bengal team, we conducted ourselves not as well-brought-up young women but as rowdy soccer fans. The _Ghoti,_ in turn, stereotyped us as provincial bumpkins. We directed our Us-versus-Them pugnacity to people who spoke dialects other than the Dhaka one within the _Bangal_ community. Long before I had heard of Freud, I had enacted \"the narcissism of small differences.\"\n\nIn our house, bangal was the language of passion and of discipline. Unhappy wives threatened death by fasting in bangal; virtuous virgins gossiped about neighborhood sluts in it; headstrong young uncles swore at each other in it. Whenever my father had to assume the unwelcome role of patriarch and punish unseemly behavior by a relative, he first, in bangal, consulted his widowed mother, an autocratic upholder of conservative traditions. I remember bangal, however, mainly for the ancient doggerels that my paternal grandmothers coterie of tobacco-chewing, osteoporosis-bent widows recited for their deft delivery of sexist cruelty. Day in and day out, these widows tormented my mother for having borne three daughters and no sons. I may be walking on Haight Street, but I still hear them repeat their malicious couplets: _Puter mutey kori \/ Meyer galai dori_ (There's money to be made off a son's piss \/ There's rope to hang a daughter with).\n\nMy mother tongue transmitted unambiguously the society's values and taboos. Literacy turned women rebellious, unsubmissive, and unmarriageable. My mother, who had been married off the moment she had finished high school, was abused regularly by her in-laws, first for daring to express the hope that she might enroll in a women's college, and later for wanting to send her three daughters to the best elementary school for girls, which happened not to be in our neighborhood. There were harangues and beatings. I didn't realize at the time that I was not just a child-spectator of a scene of authorized sado-masochism, but that I was witness to the last chapters of a long, cultural mega-upheaval. Only very recently, while researching the battle between the Hinducentric traditionalists and the Europhilic reformists (the Brahmo-Samaj) for a novel, I came across a doggerel that has relocated those childhood scenes of pain inflicted and pain accepted in the context of nationalist struggles. _Likhey porey ranhr_ **_I_** _'buley jano udome shanhr._\n\nThe doggerel is in a colloquial Bangla long out of usage.\n\n_An educated woman is a woman without a husband \/ Like an untethered ox, she roams around._ On the surface, its moral is familiar and unambiguous: educated women threaten tradition. But the literal translation does not convey the anonymous versifiers hidden linguistic ambiguities and cultural codes. _Ranhr_ describes a husbandless woman, who might be a widow (an unfortunate fate in a society that advocates _sati),_ or an unmarried woman (a worse fate in a society that expects a woman to worship God through worshipping her husband), or a prostitute. The adjective _udome_ that characterizes the ox of the doggerels analogy can be correctly translated as both \"untied\" and \"naked.\" _Buley_ is the third-person conjugation of the verb _bula_ (to roam, loiter, barge in). These ambiguities evoke malicious connections between a woman allowed to learn the three Rs and a loitering whore, who preys on the very society that has cast her out. But, for the Bangla-speaker, this pejorative connotation is undermined or even negated by the great medieval Bengali poet Govinda Das s application of the verb _bula_ to the wanderings of poets. In our linguistic community, the poet or _kavi_ is not only an artist and entertainer, as she or he might be in the West; the poet is the visionary revealer of ultimate cosmic mysteries. I inherited a mother tongue charged with contradictions and nuances. The capacity of diction to imply opposite meanings has fed me even as I write fiction in English.\n\n(Bangla is not unique in that regard. An Israeli poet friend of my husbands, Ronny Someck, once described modern Hebrew as an amalgam of two sources: the ancient Bible and the modern army. According to him, many words and most poems in that language can be read in at least two ironic, sometimes comic and often-pornographic ways.)\n\nSo it was that through _chhara_ (lullabies), proverbs, and domestic squabbles, I intuited the dues and privileges of membership in the Bangla-speakers' club. My formal training in ladylike behavior was undertaken by my paternal grandmother (the same full-throated widow who harangued my mother for wanting to educate us sisters). She herself had been taught to read as a child by her older sister, a childless woman whose husband\u2014 picked out by my paternal great-grandfather for his potential to earn a good living as a doctor in Kolkata\u2014turned out to have progressive ideas. Every night, though we children would have preferred to listen to ghost stories told with dramatic sound effect by a retired servant who had stayed on with us, this grandmother recited episodes from the Bangla-version of the _Ramayana_ and the _Mahabharata._\n\nOf the two epics, the _Ramayana_ was my favorite. What young girl could not thrill to the sheer romance? The handsome and virtuous prince, Ram, legal heir to the throne of his polygamous father, is banished to the forest. His aged father is in thrall to a young wife with ambitions to get her own issue appointed as crown prince. (Didn't we know such stories from the neighborhood, or, indeed, from our own family?) The subsequent adventures of the banished Ram include wife kidnapping and Homeric-scale war for wife-rescuing, martial victory and the final installation of Ram the rightful king. How pale in comparison are Helen and Paris, Greece and Troy. It's _such_ a good story, with its incorporation of shape-changing demons and deities into everyday reality. I thrilled to the narrative clutter, the strong plot and the balancing of violence and tenderness. And under all the convolutions and endless adumbration, it is true to the psychological tensions within the extended family. I was already in training to be a novelist.\n\nAs a writer, I'm sometimes taken to task for linking too many narratives, turning family stories into murder mysteries, indulging myself in violence, ramming ancient history into contemporary reality, dipping into voices and situations (the discredited charge of \"appropriation\") far beyond my personal experience. Well, blame the _Rarnayana._\n\nMy habit of scavenging the worlds legacy for ideas and for vocabulary, then reshaping them until they comfortably _belong_ to me, is something I must have picked up unconsciously, in infancy. For all our proud insistence on exclusivity, Bengalis (particularly those from Kolkata) have absorbed words from peoples we have come into contact with through trade, wars, migration and marriage, without feeling it a violation of our core identity. Persian was the pre-British court language (and still in circulation during the British Raj); therefore, from Persian we have _golap,_ the word for rose, and _ostad,_ the term for a master musician. Even the famous Anglo-Indian, Victorian word _durbar,_ the elaborate imperial tent and ceremonial display of power, and the refreshing drink, _sharbat,_ come from Persian. From a long exposure to Portuguese traders came words like _toali_ for towel, _janla_ for window, _almira_ for almirah or large wooden cabinet. From the British, who made \"Calcutta\" the traditional seat of power, we got the courts, the schools, parks, the museums and luxurious residences. We also got the first brush with the authority of the English language\u2014and two hundred years' indoctrination in our backwardness. Indianized English words, such as _tebil_ for table, _pulish_ for police, _kabard_ for cupboard, and (my favorite) _tikoji_ for tea-cozy, trail a certain colonial shame. Other aspects of the British linguistic presence, which I will return to later, are far more interesting, or damaging, according to one's interpretation.\n\nIn our home, we operated in two distinct forms of Bangla. We spoke chalit or colloquial Bangla, which was peppered with Indi-anized foreign words that over centuries had lost their foreign-ness, but when we wrote letters or school essays, we switched to sudha or pure Bangla, which was weighted with Sanskritized words and literary formality. The choice of colloquial or literary depended on the when, why and with whom we needed to communicate. As a child I accepted the uncrossable immensity of the gulf between the oral and the written. It wasn't until I returned from three years of elementary school in England, where I'd had to learn English from scratch in a hurry and to turn in weekly essays on walks taken, birds sighted, holidays in Margate (which I had written in the simple English I spoke and for which I had received top grades), that I rebelled against the Bangla tradition of treating the colloquial as an inferior form unfit for the page.\n\nI was eight when I was initiated into bilingualism. At the school in Sloane Square, I spoke the English I heard around me. At home I spoke the Bangla I had in our Kolkata house. My _Bangal_ identity was not at all threatened by my growing fluency in the former colonizer's language. The shock came from suddenly seeing myself as a minority, a brown girl in a white school. I was still a member of the world's most elite linguistic club, but nobody in school knew that.\n\nWithin the first weeks of my immersion in English I realized that the Bangla alphabet was far larger. English letters were arranged higgledy-piggledy, without logical sequence, conforming to no order but the arbitrary \"alphabetical.\" Bangla orders its vowels separately from its consonants. And when it comes to consonants, we owned sounds that no English schoolgirl, or teacher, could copy. The \"Bh\" in my name, Bharati, was unpronounceable. The nasalizations could not be copied. Consonants were arranged in rows according to where inside the mouth the tongue positioned itself. We had three distinct \"n\" sounds, three distinct \"r\" sounds, and though this precision made dictation exercises very stressful, I began to take pride in the lingual dexterity that this precision demanded.\n\nIn contrast, English had too thrifty an alphabet. It tolerated imprecise noises uttered by the lazy-tongued. English had no use for the nuanced nailing of extended-family relationships. Their \"aunts\" and \"uncles\" seemed disrespectful and generic compared to our \"fathers-side older brother\" or \"mothers second sister.\" Next to the drawn-out vowels that made spoken Bangla a euphonic language, English sounded harshly energetic. I missed the onomatopoeic phrases in Bangla that mimicked the blowing of wind, the drizzle of rain and gurgle of waterfalls. I missed, too, the echo words (sometimes as ingenious and coded as cockney rhyming slang), the repetitions\u2014such as _garam garam,_ hot hot (and its infinite expansion: good good, rich rich, fat fat)\u2014that emphasize caution, respect or possible ridicule. In English, such repetition comes across as simple-mindedness, proto\u2013Peter Sellers. Other forms of repetition, like _bosta phosta,_ bags and baggage, vary the initial consonant for a dismissive implication. My father was a master of the colloquial Bangla put-down, even while introducing us to distinguished visitors. By the simple act of artful doubling, he could slip across the counter-intelligence that Mr. So-and-So had earned his money dishonestly, had wastrel sons and a spendthrift wife.\n\nI envied the English their recording of time passing. They used \"yesterday\" \"today\" and \"tomorrow\" to mark the past, the present and the future while in Bangla we made use of \"kal\" (time) for all three tenses. My British school chums and I had fundamentally opposed views of Time (also \"kal,\" movement). And as I began to become more fluent in my second language, I became conscious of their syntactical differences. Where my English friends said, \"I'm going now\" or \"I'm reading,\" in Bangla I would have to say, \"I now am going\" or \"I a book am reading.\" My brain felt hardwired for constructing sentences in the order my mother tongue dictated.\n\nI began to invest in mother-tongue nostalgia for the storytelling hour with my grandmother and the rowdiness of the relatives who, in Kolkata, I had hidden under beds to avoid. That synthetic nostalgia somehow quickened into a deep longing for the dramatic tales that my mother used to tell about daring young freedom-fighting martyrs from ancestral towns like ours. She told these stories as I ate dinner, sitting on a braided-bamboo mat on the floor along with my many live-in cousins and two sisters. Because of the size of our extended family, we ate in batches: children first, then adult male relatives, then women relatives, then servants. As we ate, my mother, a kavi-seer in her way, launched into stories of teenage boys and girls risking torture in prison, banishment to the penal Andaman Islands and death by hanging in order to take over a police station or an armory. My mother extracted long, pearly bones by macerating chunks of curried carp and then hand-fed me rice and fish balls. She had to make herself heard above squabblers' cries of \"I want the fish head!\" and \"No, it's my turn. You had the head last night. It's not fair, just because my father doesn't...,\" and the shrill calls of birds settling for the night in the foliage of deodar trees lining the sidewalk.\n\nIn the Kolkata remembered oceans away, twilight was a hinge-moment between professing trust in the values of imported Enlightenment and submitting to invisible, cosmic forces. My mother was a skillful deliverer of tales, an improviser (like jazz musicians, I think now) who could keep me tense, entranced, through each re-telling and make the tale's familiar ending come off as unpredictable. Her voice melted my physical surroundings.\n\nAs a novelist, I now melt down the cultural borders of my legacies. The fluid concept of time inherited through Bangla's use of _kal_ and the \"magic realism\" inherited from the Hindu epics inform my writing about immigrants in North American cities. Now I write in my third language, American, another \"deviant dialect\" of the E. M. Forsterian British I learned as authoritative, and in which, in fact, I wrote my first novel and earliest stories.\n\nMy mother tongue was a linguistic primer, a thin whitewash over all that is pre-conscious and pre-rational. It was in English that I began to analogize. Successive coats of French and English have faceted Bangla, but it still shines through. It is the odd fate of so many of us in the global community, not just those of us from India but from other homelands at ease in family-time and epic storytelling, that a second language, a school language, was necessary to liberate their minds from their bodies, their self from their community.\n\nTwo selves exist within the language-adoptee, as with any adoptee\u2014what might have been, what was lost, and the good fortune, the delivery from want and frustration. For a writer, the melting of a mother tongue is the madeleine, the way back, and the way in, an early loss with the deepest memory, the mother of all plots.\n\n# CHINESE\n\n#\n\n# _Yes and No_  \nAmy Tan\n\nOnce, at a family dinner in San Francisco, my mother whispered to me: \"Sau-sau [Brothers Wife] pretends too hard to be polite! Why bother? In the end, she always takes everything.\"\n\nMy mother thinks like a _waixiao,_ an expatriate, temporarily away from China since 1949, no longer patient with ritual courtesies. As if to prove her point, she reached across the table to offer my elderly aunt from Beijing the last scallop from the Happy Family seafood dish.\n\nSau-sau scowled. _\"B'yao, zhen b'yao!\"_ (I don't want it, really I don't!) she cried, patting her plump stomach.\n\n\"Take it! Take it!\" scolded my mother in Chinese.\n\n\"Full, I'm already full,\" Sau-sau protested weakly, eyeing the beloved scallop.\n\n\"Ai!\" exclaimed my mother, completely exasperated. \"Nobody else wants it. If you don't take it, it will only rot!\"\n\nAt this point, Sau-sau sighed, acting as if she were doing my mother a big favor by taking the wretched scrap off her hands.\n\nMy mother turned to her brother, a high-ranking communist official who was visiting her in California for the first time: \"In America a Chinese person could starve to death. If you say you don't want it, they won't ask you again forever.\"\n\nMy uncle nodded and said he understood fully: Americans take things quickly because they have no time to be polite.\n\nI thought about this misunderstanding again\u2014of social contexts failing in translation\u2014when a friend sent me an article from the _New York Times Magazine._ The article, on changes in New York's Chinatown, made passing reference to the inherent ambivalence of the Chinese language.\n\nChinese people are so \"discreet and modest,\" the article stated, there aren't even words for \"yes\" and \"no.\"\n\nThat's not true, I thought, although I can see why an outsider might think that. I continued reading.\n\nIf one is Chinese, the article went on to say, \"One compromises, one doesn't hazard a loss of face by an overemphatic response.\"\n\nMy throat seized. Why do people keep saying these things? As if we truly were those little dolls sold in Chinatown tourist shops, heads bobbing up and down in complacent agreement to anything said!\n\nI worry about the effect of one-dimensional statements on the unwary and guileless. When they read about this so-called vocabulary deficit, do they also conclude that Chinese people evolved into a mild-mannered lot because the language only allowed them to hobble forth with minced words?\n\nSomething enormous is always lost in translation. Something insidious seeps into the gaps, especially when amateur linguists continue to compare, one-for-one, language differences and then put forth notions wide open to misinterpretation: that Chinese people have no direct linguistic means to make decisions, assert or deny, affirm or negate, just say no to drug dealers, or behave properly on the witness stand when told, \"Please answer yes or no.\"\n\nYet one can argue, with the help of renowned linguists, that the Chinese are indeed up a creek without \"yes\" and \"no.\" Take any number of variations on the old language-and-reality theory stated years ago by Edward Sapir: \"Human beings... are very much at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium for their society... The fact of the matter is that the 'real world' is to a large extent built up on the language habits of the group.\"\n\nThis notion was further bolstered by the famous Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, which roughly states that one's perception of the world and how one functions in it depends a great deal on the language used. As Sapir, Whorf, and new carriers of the banner would have us believe, language shapes our thinking, channels us along certain patterns embedded in words, syntactic structures, and intonation patterns. Language has become the peg and the shelf that enables us to sort out and categorize the world. In English, we see \"cats\" and \"dogs;\" what if the language had also specified _glatz,_ meaning \"animals that leave fur on the sofa,\" and _glotz,_ meaning \"animals that leave fur and drool on the sofa\"? How would language, the enabler, have changed our perceptions with slight vocabulary variations?\n\nAnd if this were the case\u2014of language being the master of destined thought\u2014think of the opportunities lost from failure to evolve two little words, _yes_ and _no,_ the simplest of opposites! Ghenghis Khan could have been sent back to Mongolia. Opium wars might have been averted. The Cultural Revolution could have been sidestepped.\n\nThere are still many, from serious linguists to pop psychology cultists, who view language and reality as inextricably tied, one being the consequence of the other. We have traversed the range from the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis to est and neurolinguis-tic programming, which tell us \"you are what you say.\"\n\nI too have been intrigued by the theories. I can summarize, albeit badly ages-old empirical evidence: of Eskimos and their infinite ways to say \"snow,\" their ability to _see_ differences in snowflake configurations, thanks to the richness of their vocabulary, while non-Eskimo speakers like myself founder in \"snow,\" \"more snow,\" and \"lots more where that came from.\"\n\nI too have experienced dramatic cognitive awakenings via the word. Once I added \"mauve\" to my vocabulary I began to see it everywhere. When I learned how to pronounce _prix fixe,_ I ate French food at prices better than the easier-to-say _\u00e0 la carte_ choices.\n\nBut just how seriously are we supposed to take this?\n\nSapir said something else about language and reality. It is the part that often gets left behind in the dot-dot-dots of quotes: \"... No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same world with different labels attached.\"\n\nWhen I first read this, I thought, Here at last is validity for the dilemmas I felt growing up in a bicultural, bilingual family! As any child of immigrant parents knows, there's a special kind of double bind attached to knowing two languages. My parents, for example, spoke to me in both Chinese and English; I spoke back to them in English.\n\n\"Amy-ah!\" they'd call to me.\n\n\"What?\" I'd mumble back.\n\n\"Do not question us when we call,\" they scolded me in Chinese. \"It is not respectful.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Ai! Didn't we just tell you not to question?\"\n\nTo this day, I wonder which parts of my behavior were shaped by Chinese, which by English. I am tempted to think, for example, that if I am of two minds on some matter it is due to the richness of my linguistic experiences, not to any personal tendencies toward wishy-washiness. But which mind says what?\n\nWas it perhaps patience\u2014developed through years of deciphering my mothers fractured English\u2014that had me listening politely while a woman announced over the phone that I had won one of five valuable prizes? Was it respect\u2014pounded in by the Chinese imperative to accept convoluted explanations\u2014that had me agreeing that I might find it worthwhile to drive seventy-five miles to view a time-share resort? Could I have been at a loss for words when asked, \"Wouldn't you like to win a Hawaiian cruise or perhaps a fabulous Star of India designed exclusively by Carter and Van Arpels?\"\n\nAnd when this same woman called back a week later, this time complaining that I had missed my appointment, obviously it was my type A language that kicked into gear and interrupted her. Certainly, my blunt denial\u2014\"Frankly I'm not interested\"\u2014was as American as apple pie. And when she said, \"But it's in Morgan Hill,\" and I shouted, \"Read my lips. I don't care if it's Timbuktu,\" you can be sure I said it with the precise intonation expressing both cynicism and disgust.\n\nIt's dangerous business, this sorting out of language and behavior. Which one is English? Which is Chinese? The categories manifest themselves: passive and aggressive, tentative and assertive, indirect and direct. And I realize they are just variations of the same theme: that Chinese people are discreet and modest.\n\nReject them all!\n\nIf my reaction is overly strident, it is because I cannot come across as too emphatic. I grew up listening to the same lines over and over again, like so many rote expressions repeated in an English phrase-book. And I too almost came to believe them.\n\nYet if I consider my upbringing more carefully, I find there was nothing discreet about the Chinese language I grew up with. My parents made everything abundantly clear. Nothing wishy-washy in their demands, no compromises accepted: \"Of course you will become a famous neurosurgeon,\" they told me. \"And yes, a concert pianist on the side.\"\n\nIn fact, now that I remember, it seems that the more emphatic outbursts always spilled over into Chinese: \"Not that way! You must wash rice so not a single grain spills out.\"\n\nI do not believe that my parents\u2014both immigrants from Mainland China\u2014are an exception to the modest-and-discreet rule. I have only to look at the number of Chinese engineering students skewing minority ratios at Berkeley, MIT, and Yale. Certainly they were not raised by passive mothers and fathers who said, \"It's up to you, my daughter. Writer, welfare recipient, masseuse, or molecular engineer\u2014you decide.\"\n\nAnd my American mind says, See, those engineering students weren't able to say no to their parents' demands. But then my Chinese mind remembers: Ah, but those parents all wanted their sons and daughters to be _-pre-med._\n\nHaving listened to both Chinese and English, I also tend to be suspicious of any comparisons between the two languages. Typically, one language\u2014that of the person doing the comparing\u2014 is often used as the standard, the benchmark for a logical form of expression. And so the language being compared is always in danger of being judged deficient or superfluous, simplistic or unnecessarily complex, melodious or cacophonous. English speakers point out that Chinese is extremely difficult because it relies on variations in tone barely discernible to the human ear. By the same token, Chinese speakers tell me English is extremely difficult because it is inconsistent, a language of too many broken rules, of Mickey Mice and Donald Ducks.\n\nEven more dangerous to my mind is the temptation to compare both language and behavior _in translation._ To listen to my mother speak English, one might think she has no concept of past or future tense, that she doesn't see the difference between singular and plural, that she is gender blind because she calls my husband \"she.\" If one were not careful, one might also generalize that, based on the way my mother talks, all Chinese people take a circumlocutory route to get to the point. It is, in fact, my mothers idiosyncratic behavior to ramble a bit.\n\nI worry that the dominant society may see Chinese people from a limited\u2014and limiting\u2014perspective. I worry that seemingly benign stereotypes may be part of the reason there are few Chinese in top management positions, in mainstream political roles. I worry about the power of language: that if one says anything enough times\u2014in _any_ language\u2014it might become true.\n\nCould this be why Chinese friends of my parents' generation are willing to accept the generalization?\n\n\"Why are you complaining?\" one of them said to me. \"If people think we are modest and polite, let them think that. Wouldn't Americans be pleased to admit they are thought of as polite?\"\n\nAnd I do believe anyone would take the description as a compliment\u2014at first. But after a while, it annoys, as if the only things that people heard one say were phatic remarks: \"I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard many wonderful things about you. For me? You shouldn't have!\"\n\nThese remarks are not representative of new ideas, honest emotions, or considered thought. They are what is said from the polite distance of social contexts: of greetings, farewells, wedding thank-you notes, convenient excuses, and the like.\n\nIt makes me wonder, though. How many anthropologists, how many sociologists, how many travel journalists have documented so-called \"natural interactions\" in foreign lands, all observed with spiral notebook in hand? How many other cases are there of the long-lost primitive tribe, people who turned out to be sophisticated enough to put on the stone-age show that ethnologists had come to see?\n\nAnd how many tourists fresh off the bus have wandered into Chinatown expecting the self-effacing shopkeeper to admit under duress that the goods are not worth the price asked? I have witnessed it.\n\n\"I don't know,\" the tourist said to the shopkeeper, a Cantonese woman in her fifties. \"It doesn't look genuine to me. I'll give you three dollars.\"\n\n\"You don't like my price, go somewhere else,\" said the shopkeeper.\n\n\"You are not a nice person,\" cried the shocked tourist, \"not a nice person at all!\"\n\n\"Who say I have to be nice,\" snapped the shopkeeper.\n\n\"So how does one say 'yes' and 'no' in Chinese?\" my friends ask a bit warily.\n\nAnd here I do agree in part with the _New York Times Magazine_ article. There is no one word for \"yes\" or \"no\" \u2014but not out of necessity to be discreet. If anything, I would say the Chinese equivalent of answering \"yes\" or \"no\" is _discrete,_ that is, specific to what is asked.\n\nAsk a Chinese person if he or she has eaten, and he or she might _say chrle_ (eaten already) or perhaps _meiyou_ (have not).\n\nAsk, \"So you had insurance at the time of the accident?\" and the response would be _dwei_ (correct) or _meiyou_ (did not have).\n\nAsk, \"Have you stopped beating your wife?\" and the answer refers directly to the proposition being asserted or denied: stopped already, still have not, never beat, have no wife.\n\nWhat could be clearer?\n\nAs for those who are still wondering how to translate the language of discretion, I offer this personal example.\n\nMy aunt and uncle were about to return to Beijing after a three-month visit to the United States. On their last night I announced I wanted to take them out to dinner.\n\n\"Are you hungry?\" I asked in Chinese.\n\n\"Not hungry,\" said my uncle promptly, the same response he once gave me ten minutes before he suffered a low-blood-sugar attack.\n\n\"Not too hungry,\" said my aunt. \"Perhaps you're hungry?\"\n\n\"A little,\" I admitted.\n\n\"We can eat, we can eat then,\" they both consented.\n\n\"What kind of food?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, doesn't matter. Anything will do. Nothing fancy, just some simple food is fine.\"\n\n\"Do you like Japanese food? We haven't had that yet,\" I suggested.\n\nThey looked at each other.\n\n\"We can eat it,\" said my uncle bravely, this survivor of the Long March.\n\n\"We have eaten it before,\" added my aunt. \"Raw fish.\"\n\n\"Oh, you don't like it?\" I said. \"Don't be polite. We can go somewhere else.\"\n\n\"We are not being polite. We can eat it,\" my aunt insisted.\n\nSo I drove them to Japantown and we walked past several restaurants featuring colorful plastic displays of sushi.\n\n\"Not this one, not this one either,\" I continued to say, as if searching for a Japanese restaurant similar to the last. \"Here it is,\" I finally said, turning into a restaurant famous for its Chinese fish dishes from Shandong Province.\n\n\"Oh, Chinese food!\" cried my aunt, obviously relieved.\n\nMy uncle patted my arm. \"You think like a Chinese.\"\n\n\"It's your last night here in America,\" I said. \"So don't be polite. Act like an American.\"\n\nAnd that night we ate a banquet.\n\n# CZECH\n\n#\n\n# _Trouble with Language_  \nJosef \u0160kvoreck\u00fd\n\nI'm told that the first decade of life decides life for as many decades as it takes a man to return to his Maker. Judging by the evidence of my life, I believe it's true.\n\nI was born in a small town built on an ancient route through a pass between two mountain ranges by which caravans of merchants entered the vast valley of Bohemia, reaching eventually its heart. In the times of the Celts and the Germans it was just a fortress, Marobudum, but after the influx of Slavic tribes it grew into a town, then city, then metropolis called Prague. On medieval maps the mountain pass was called _Porta regni,_ the Gate to the Kingdom, i.e., the kingdom of the mightiest tribe in the region, the Czechs.\n\nWhen I was a child, America was far, very far away: only an echo of some unreachable reality. And yet, my earliest cultural memory came from that misty midregion of Weir. Sitting on my mother's lap in the local cinema, a mere pre-schooler, I saw Fatty Arbuckle's two-reeler _Saved by Fido_ and I remembered it, in the twisted memory of a child, till the day some sixty years later, in Canada, when I read a book on Hollywood silent comedies.\n\nMy second cultural inspiration came also from North America; this time, however, it was literary. The author of the book was an American from Michigan, James Oliver Curwood, and the novel was _Men of Brave Hearts_ (I hope that was the title\u2014 I'm translating from my Czech memory). It was the first part of a trilogy set in the Canadian North, with Mounties as heroes, chasing (and saving) beautiful Indian girls\u2014the Rose Marie stuff. My father gave it to me for Christmas\u2014in those days principal Christmas presents were not toy cars but books. I was to wait but didn't till next Christmas for further adventures of Mounties and their paramours. I bought the second part myself, out of savings from my weekly allowance, but to my dismay at the end of the book I found the publisher's note that, regrettably, Mr. Curwood died suddenly without finishing his trilogy.\n\nHere fate intervened. I sat down and finished the saga for the late Mr. Curwood: _The Mysterious Cave,_ my opus number one. Father was so impressed by the eighteen-page novel that he typed it up for me and drew a frontispiece. He copied it, on translucent paper, from an illustration in a Karl May novel. In those days novels came out illustrated.\n\nOf course I thought that Mr. Curwood was a Canadian. Who else would write so convincingly about the Canadian wilderness? (Convincingly, that is, for me, who knew a big zero about the wilderness in the north of America.)\n\nNevertheless, my aroused literary passion didn't end with this mistake. About two years later, the pseudo-Canadian Curwood was replaced in my affection by an American who, unfortunately, _was_ Canadian. I don't know why I was convinced that Ernest Thompson Seton was a Yankee, and that _Two Little Savages_ was set in Chicago and on a farm nearby. Probably I overheard my mother's visitors discussing the then fashionable translation of an American novel called _The Jungle,_ with its gloomy descriptions of life and animal deaths in the Windy City. Ladies in those distant pre-Oprah days sometimes actually discussed books.\n\nAgain, it wasn't until some sixty years later, in Toronto, which on a winter day can be pretty gloomy, that I found (in a city guide) that the Don Valley, some ten minutes' walk from our house, was the scene of Seton's young hero's depressed roamings in the deep forests around the gloomy city; that Ian lived in my adoptive home of Toronto, not in Illinois; and that Seton was not an American.\n\nLater, in another chapter of my early life, I almost died of pneumonia\u2014as with nearly everything in my childhood, it was in some sort of \"pre\" days; in this case, pre-antibiotics\u2014and consequently, when I miraculously survived, doctor's orders excluded me from participation in boys' sports, of which, before my illness, I had been an avid enthusiast. I even dreamed of introducing rugby football to my school. Arbuckle, Curwood and Seton had already made me an Anglophile. Rugby had been played in Prague since the mid-nineteenth century but it never gained popularity. After World War Two, when I once went to see a championship game in Prague, there were more people in the field than in the stands. I was sitting there, the lonely man in the company of five or six suffering wives of the diehards who were giving each other bloody noses on the grass.\n\nThe rugby dream ended anyway, even without my pneumonia: I was unable to buy a rugby ball. They were not on the market.\n\nExcluded from the companionship of ball-kicking boys, I read. My father's home library provided me with quite a lot of translations because my father followed tradition. The Czech nation, or rather its language, was reborn on translations, mostly of English and American classics. The Czechs had lost the ancient sovereignty of their kingdom (in the same year that the Pilgrim Fathers landed in America), and with it\u2014almost\u2014its language, too. Reading those precious and very bad translations, I shook with horror with A. G. Pym on the hull of the capsized _Grampus_ ; I did things I never dared to do otherwise with Penrod; I sailed down the mystery of the Mississippi, through incomprehensible bloody feuds between the Grangerfords and the Shepherd-sons; I flew in a balloon over the Sahara desert with Tom Sawyer, and, yes, I also felt the unoppressive humidity of the tropical forest where Tarzan lived with his family of apes. My _education sentimentale._\n\nThanks to this abundance of translated novels I had no need of English, which was not taught at the gymnasium. There we had to master Latin, German and French, this last the \"language of diplomats.\" Before WWII this may have been true; English certainly wasn't the _lingua franca_ of the world, as it is nowadays.\n\nThen biology interfered. My glands began to do their disturbing work and I fell in love with an American boy. Actually he was British, which I again didn't know, for he lived in Hollywood, California. His name was Freddie Bartholomew and, at a Sunday afternoon matinee in the same cinema where I had seen Arbuckle from my mother's lap, I saw Freddie in _Little Lord Fauntleroy._ Many if not all young boys, I'm told, go through an early homosexual phase. Mine was strictly an affair of the soul, and anyway, I was saved from the then very sad fate of a gay person by an unquestionable female, also from Hollywood, named Judy Garland. I jilted Freddie for her after I'd heard her singing in the race-track drama _Thoroughbreds Don't Cry._\n\nThe platonic affair had a side effect; I decided to learn English so as to be able to write Judy a love-letter. Which at long last brings me to my theme.\n\nI acquired a little pocketbook entitled _Teach Yourself English_ and became deeply immersed in Judy's tongue. I was an only child in a relatively affluent family and my parents believed in easing the burden of school mass instruction by hiring private tutors for me. One day my French tutor, Mrs. Hlavackova, called on my mother with sad news: she, asserted the French lady, had never had such a stupid pupil as I was. (Only she said \"untalented.\") It would be a sorry waste of money to continue paying for my French lessons.\n\nMother was not pleased; however, she found my little English textbook, and instead of punishing me, she provided me with another private teacher, Miss Pokorna, to instruct me in English. She was a wise lady, my poor mother\u2014dead at fifty from high blood pressure, which I was diagnosed with at fifty and, at seventy-eight, I'm still here. She died in another one of those \"pre\" times.\n\nI can't resist a digression. The most beloved of my private language tutors was Mr. Neu, the cantor of the local synagogue, who taught me to speak an almost perfect German. His first name dated also from the \"pre\" days, for his parents innocently named him Adolf. He perished in Theresienstadt. Before he died, in the twilight days when Jews in my native town were still allowed the luxury of a \"Jewish Caf\u00e9,\" our German lessons changed into nostalgic meditations of the past. _\"Was wir Juden schon alles mitgemacht haben!\"_ sighed Mr. Neu, and then he would tell me about the days of World War One, which were also bad; there was very little food, but he would give private German lessons and refused to be paid in money, though he accepted _Zucker, Mehl, sogar Fleisch._ The German he taught was radically different from the one I used to hear later, in the Messerschmitt factory, or watching the weekly Ufa newsreels in the local cinema. The Big Boss of Czech schools in those days was one Inspektor Werner, whose method of inspection was to burst unexpectedly in on a teacher unprepared for the horror, listen for half an hour to his stuttering instruction, then attack him with language best characterized by the tubercular Mr. Pro-pilek, a teacher of Russian and Baltic languages (which, naturally, were not taught in the Protektorate). He once underwent the trial of the scowling brows of Inspektor Werner, then the explosion of his gutter diatribe. But when Inspektor Werner briefly stopped to catch his breath, Mr. Propilek made the memorable pronouncement of: _Ich lehre Goethes Deutsch, Herr Inspektor. Ich lehre nicht Schweindeutsch._ This, miraculously, made the bloodthirsty Nazi shut up. Inspektor Werner survived Mr. Neu by a mere couple of years. After the war's end they hanged him.\n\nMr. Propilek was later banned from teaching Russian by the Commies.\n\nNext to Mr. Neu in my affection was my gymnasium German instructor, Dr. Eva Althammer, a pretty young blonde, an _echt Deutsch_ with a quintessentially Aryan name. She, however, never joined the Nazis, loved Rilke, and married a man by the name of Svorcik. Thus she committed minor _Rassenschande,_ and because she refused to join the party and her husband wouldn't change his nationality to German, with an appropriate change of the orthography of his name, Inspektor Werner threatened her with Ravensbr\u00fcck. Werners threats were never to be taken lightly; some people paid with their life for such mistakes. So Mrs. Althammer-Svorcik turned to a friend of my fathers, a Czech doctor, who advised her to get pregnant. The Nazis, he correctly maintained, in their twisted race theory, wouldn't send an innocent unborn German baby to a concentration camp. Before Werners threats, she and her husband intended to wait for peace to have babies, but now she followed the doctors advice and survived. Many years later, when she became my first German translator, I gave her the only poem I wrote in German, when I was her admiring pupil in the Quinta\u2014a gross imitation of her beloved Rainer Maria Rilke:\n\n_Bald kommen Winterst\u00fcrme mit dem weissen Schneen_\n\n_Und langsam wird zum Koder alte liebe Pfad._\n\n_In meinem Herze kalte Winde wehen..._\n\nBack to my English beginnings. About a year after she'd hired Miss Pokorna, my mother enquired about my progress. Miss Pokorna with great enthusiasm assured her that I was her best student ever.\n\nMy English was a labor of love.\n\nBy the way, I managed to send the love-letter to Judy on December 2nd, 1941. By that time we no longer lived in Czechoslovakia but were second-rate citizens of the Protektorate B\u00f6hmen und M\u00e4hren in the German Reich. Mail to America, however, was still functioning; the States were not to join the war until a few days later. Chances are that Judy got my letter. In any case, she never answered, but soon I didn't mind. Local beauties were replacing Judy in my heart.\n\nAnd with Miss Pokorna I read my first English and American writers in the original tongue. My tutor was a graduate of a British boarding school attended when her father was stationed in London as a business representative of some sort, and so her English was real. Why her family had returned to Czechoslovakia a few days before it was annexed by the Reich I don't know. In those days very few people had an idea of the bottomless evil that was Hitler.\n\nShe had a good private library of English and American authors, and after I quickly mastered basic grammar, she made me read Shaw, O'Neill, Oscar Wilde, Kipling, Mark Twain and O. Henry.\n\nI was sixteen, seventeen, the author already of several unfinished early novels about the glorious career of a Czech saxophonist in Hollywood nightclubs, and the author also of a more mature and finished (though unpublished) novel called _An Inferiority Complex._ It featured the heroines of my later novels Irena and Marie, and also the Kostelec jazz band.\n\nLike every young person, I avidly read poems: the poets of the Czech \"poetism\" movement, Karel Capek's unique translations of modern French poetry. Miss Pokorna lent me a volume of T. S. Eliot. The war was going badly for the Reich; that meant it was going well for us involuntary citizens, and I was drafted into the _Totaleinsatz_ in a Messerschmitt subsidiary which manufactured fighter planes and Stukas. There, against the background noises of drills and pneumatic hammers, I recited to myself:\n\n_Because I do not hope to turn again_\n\n_Because I do not_\n\n_hope Because I do not hope to turn_\n\nI do not pretend that I understood the meaning of Eliot's verses. But they had a quality of magic incantation\u2014probably my first touch of the magic of language.\n\nThe war ended, and in a bookstore in Prague I bought a copy of Hemingways _A Farewell to Arms,_ published in Sweden but in English. I read it and I understood what Josef Hora, a Czech poet, had meant when, long before M\u00e1rquez, he wrote about magic realism in prose. Unlike the Spanish-American leftist, what Hora meant was not introducing supernatural elements in prose, or falsifying historical data to suit one's ideological purpose, but the novelist's duty to take infinitesimal care of each and every word, the way a lyrical poet does.\n\nReading Hemingway's story of Catherine and Fred, I saw that this was precisely the way Hemingway wrote: the way novels should be written. Henceforth I tried to follow the advice of the poet and the example of the novelist. Many, many years later a Czech literary critic, Premysl Blazicek, very kindly said about my novel _The Bride of Texas_ that each sentence in that book was perfect.\n\nWhether he was right or not, I don't dare to judge. What is certain, however, is that no American critic would say that, because they don't know my writings. I mean: they don't know how these books are written since they don't read the obscure language of the westernmost Slavs.\n\nMy inner language, since the murky days of sickly adolescence, was English. I even said my evening prayers in that foreign tongue, and I voraciously read books from Miss Pokorna's private library. Years later, as a student of philosophy, I belonged to the privileged few in Stalin's Reich who could get almost all important modern works in the original language from the seminar library of the English department. At the same time, the more I immersed myself in these books, the more I ignored Czech literature. In that respect I probably could be a Guinness laureate. When, at long last, my novel about the Czech Communist Army appeared in America (it was banned in Czechoslovakia, not published there until after the fall of the Evil Empire) and American reviewers made the obvious comparisons to _The Good Soldier Schweik,_ I still hadn't read the notorious classic.\n\nAmericans are linguistically very tolerant, very nice. I was often congratulated on my very good or even excellent English. On each such occasion I grinned politely because I knew only too well that it was just American politeness. English was still my very limited inner language, grammatically more or less correct, but idiomatic? \"Do you now write in English?\" was the usual follow-up question. Only articles, I would answer. For writing articles you don't have to be at home in a language. I never dared to say \"essays,\" always \"articles,\" because I painfully felt that for that noble genre my English inner self was lamentably inadequate.\n\nI often remembered the kind Miss Pokorna, long after she got married to a theatrical producer in Prague, long after I started a new and different life in Canada. In her assessment of my linguistic talent, either she was wrong or the English proficiency standards in my native town were comfortably low. True, I learned English rather quickly\u2014to a degree. A degree that enabled me to read books (with and soon without a pocket dictionary) and to discuss them intelligently. Yes, to discuss literature, and that came in handy when I found myself teaching literary courses at the University of Toronto. My abilities in non-literary conversations, such as talking to people in eateries and bars, were, and remained, restricted. In short, I reached some kind of limit, a barrier, a boundary, and I was never able to surmount the obstacle.\n\nI read Conrad because he must have faced a similar problem when, as an adult, he had to learn a foreign language in which he later so incomparably excelled. Graham Greene always maintained that Conrad was the best English stylist of the twentieth century. I read and re-read _Heart of Darkness,_ covered with sweat while stumbling through the richness of his vocabulary, awed by the music of the dark sentences. Then, from Ford Madox Ford's memoir, I learned that Conrad's _spoken_ English was far from perfect, perhaps not even very good. But what help was it to me? Conrad _did_ write like a demiurge. I didn't. Certainly not in my acquired language. In my native language?\n\nA strange thing and Henry Miller got it right. Surrounded by the sounds of the foreign language\u2014speaking, on a daily basis, my very good English, as friends kindly assured me\u2014my eyes, my ears, my inner receptive organs became attuned to Czech to a much higher degree of precision than back in Bohemia. I awakened to aspects of my mother tongue of which formerly I was unaware, having used them subconsciously, mechanically. The sex appeal of feminine endings, the lure of verbal aspects, the capricious scherzos of prefixes, such things.\n\nNevertheless, I continued to read in English. The magic of Faulkner, the biting manner of Waugh, Chandler's vistas of nature and street, the beauty of the lingo, Hemingway's early hypnotic brevity. Such things. And I wrote.\n\nDid I imitate? Perhaps. If so, only in the sense of _Imitatio Christi,_ with language as my religion, as my home. That's why I was never nostalgic. The old country, with its fifty years of nonsensical but cruel dictatorships, was not my home anymore. The language was. Czech. The language of my mother, of my writing.\n\nAnd yet, prodded by those well-meaning friends, I once tried to cross the barrier and wrote a novel in English. It was a joy to feel the moulding of sentences, of dialogues, of descriptions in an acquired language, with here and there some peach of an idiom, overheard in a pub or maybe suggested by Marlowe\u2014the detective, not the murdered playwright. The joy, as it were, of being an additional human being, because writing in an additional tongue. That joy.\n\nHowever, it didn't last long. At my publishers, editor girls went to work and when the book was out, they didn't earn much praise. Something is lost, the reviewers decided. When he writes in English, something is missing. The Genius of Language, perhaps?\n\nWere they right? Don't ask me. What those kind editor girls earned was my admiration, mixed, however, with the bitter feeling of defeat. The girls didn't correct many grammatical errors; they just made my English English. In their hands my vocabulary blossomed to an almost Conradian opulence. Yet these were blossoms created by those girls' hands, not mine.\n\nThe reviewers never read my novels as I had written them in my \"small\"\u2014for most American critics, even \"obscure\"\u2014language. They read only translations. And I thought of my early days, of the Sinclairs and Dickenses and Dreisers, not to speak of Cur-woods and Setons and Edgar Rice Burroughses, all of them enjoyed in dubious\u2014no: bad\u2014no: horrible translations, translations really insulting to sensitive speakers of the obscure language of the westernmost Slavs. And I wondered. What made me enjoy Mr. Babbitt, who constantly used the second person plural in addressing his children, his wife, his closest friends? What made me ignore the shocking impoliteness of characters who addressed their physicians with the disrespectful \"Doctor,\" not \"Mr. Doctor\"? What made me so imperceptive of the twisted sentences that slavishly followed the word order of the originals? Did they sound alluringly exotic? Sweetly foreign? What made me not wonder about a military band in Thackeray whose bulky musician played very loudly on the dulcimer? All that?\n\nSurely, there was nothing resembling genius in the language of those translations. Yet the novels spoke to me, with great intensity. So strongly that they decided my future. True, there was Eliot, whom I first read in English, then years later in a supposedly good Czech translation, who, after the true magic of \"Because I do not hope...,\" was almost torture. Was it Josef Hora's labor devoted to each word which the translator, paid by that word, obviously neglected? Something else?\n\nFor a decade of my life, when my own efforts were banned, I turned translator myself. The experience taught me to appreciate my excellent translators in Canada. I bitterly learned what it was to cleanse your text of the abundance of auxiliary verbs so foreign to Czech, of the prevalence of the passive voice, of possessive pronouns used with parts of the human body, all these and other translators' errors which so uglified the American magic of Faulkner, the British acrimony of Waugh, the translu-cency of Hemingways diction. Would any American monolingual or even\u2014in the major languages\u2014bilingual or trilingual reviewer dare to say what the late Czech critic said about my sentences?\n\nNo, and it wouldn't be their fault. Although they were unaware of my originals, their reviews were rarely scathing, often favorable. What about language, then? What is it that makes even books that present only a ragged shadow of their model enjoyable, even enthralling? What makes a teenager in a landlocked little country ruled and butchered by foreign invaders and mighty Big Daddies enter the skin of an illiterate boy from Missouri, of a nigger slave\u2014enter a world as far away as the stars?\n\nYes, language can be of supreme beauty. But there is more to works of fiction than just language. Style in Chandlers sense, the experience of Dickens but also that of Henry James, of life's martyrdom or of life's sweet mellowness, and many other things.\n\nLet's leave it to the horses, they have bigger heads.\n\nOr perhaps to the elephants.\n\n# DUTCH\n\n#\n\n# _Circus Biped_  \nBert Keizer\n\n_Die Grenze meiner Sprache sind die Grenze meiner Welt,_ said Wittgenstein. The limits of my language are the limits of my world. You would almost leap to: my language is my world. An aphasiac's nightmare is the waking-up after a stroke to discover that everybody speaks Chinese. This is the worst possible way of being catapulted into a foreign language, because you find yourself out of a world in a flash.\n\nMy journey into English was luckily a much more gradual affair, which started with the trying-on of funny little hats while in the back of my mind there already hovered a mirage of me striding in full regalia down the path toward\u2014oh, I don't know, a beach in California, an Oxford quadrangle, a glen in Scotland, or a pub in Dublin\u2014obvious places, anyway, which in fact I never got to.\n\nThe first word was \"YES,\" encountered in a boys' book about cowboys and Indians. White Feather was the stony Indian and Eagle Eye the impetuous cowboy. We pronounced it \"coyboy\" for some reason, though there was nothing coy in sight, I can assure you. Neither did we connect \"cow\" to anything bovine, because it is impossible to imagine a daredevil in full gallop swinging a lasso in swirls of dust, amidst excited cries, next to the proverbial sluggishness of a Dutch cow in a dreamy meadow. The poor dears would be very upset at such an unnecessary display of sound and fury, so deeply foreign to their drowsy domain.\n\nBut White Feathers YES was emblematic as my first English utterance, charged with sturdy manliness, an inborn determination to remain unruffled (though I am not sure about how far the waves of English commingle here, for it may well be the case that I confuse several avenues down which this language came washing over me). White Feather and Eagle Eye\u2014in Dutch: Witte Veder en Arendsoog\u2014were probably assembled by their author, J. P. Nowee (who from his own experience couldn't tell a cowboy from a parking space), out of the motley crowd that fought its way onto the Normandy beaches in 1944, bringing cigarettes, gum, and a way with the girls, from which assets he picked the boy-ingredients and mixed them up with what he had gathered from the movies about prairies.\n\nYES!\n\nI didn't know how to pronounce it, because I had never seen the letter Y, and inwardly mumbled something like \"aye.\"\n\nIn 1952, English to me meant soldiers marching merrily down the road, not your biting Nazi maniacs, but free spirits in good order, always willing to break the ranks for a laugh or a drink, and carrying hardly any bullets in their rifles. \"The Yellow Rose of Texas,\" with the militaristic undertow of the snare drum, was the song for me. Or the melancholy sound of \"Tom Dooley.\" \"Hang on your hat, Tom Dooley\" is what I heard, because that is closest to the Dutch idiom of placing your hat on a hook. The next phrase sounded to me like \"Good boy you're boy goodbye,\" and on these words the picture arose of a good boy who took off his hat and was sung to by an admiring circle of old wise men. Then Tennessee Ernie Ford's \"I owe my soul to the company store,\" from which I gathered that if you lived long enough in an American wood, you would turn into something like this poor brute who could talk to the world no more, only hammer blows on it.\n\nAll this hale-and-heartiness was a far cry from the surly male who next made his entry, and this summing-up inadvertently takes on the obvious hue of my own emerging maleness, which must have traveled down that road from fairy-tale cowboy through adolescent sulk to youthful doubt, ending up in an instant of unquivering certainty (which we'll talk about some other time), and from there on down the relentless slope, struggling fiercely\u2014if only to instill the idea in the audience that I am fighting my way down, not just sliding.\n\nI forgot to mention an all-pervasive and therefore hardly noticeable aspect of all this: the fact that a Dutch boy in the second half of the twentieth century should build up a considerable part of his bulwark against the world using English bricks. Allied bricks.\n\nI even imagined, in that stage when I was feeling myself into the English language, that I could dream up the English equivalent of Dutch words by mentally staring at their essence and transmuting that in the furnace of my inner appreciation into the English expression I was looking for. Somewhere in my mental attic there still subsist the remains of these verbal phantoms, which at the time felt to me like proper English words. This effort at linguistic alchemy, throwing in my Dutch iron in order to extract a nugget of English gold, was not entirely silly, because many Dutch words are entangled with English words\u2014and I am not talking deep linguistics or sophisticated etymology here. What I mean are simple look-alikes or sound-alikes, which were as enticing as they were confusing to a boy not even vaguely in command of words. Consider \"girl\" and the Dutch equivalent, \"meisje.\" Now, these two words would never run into each other in my mind, but \"maid\" and \"meid\" are almost twins in appearance and sound, though wholly different in meaning: \"meid\" denoting (outside the household) a gal rather than a girl, and gals being more fun, so much fun, even, that a certain boundary may be crossed beyond which a \"meid\" becomes a hussy.\n\nAll this fumbling with English words and sounds is pre-literate and was mainly brought home to me through songs, for I rarely heard English spoken. I cannot remember one word from the Roy Rogers movies we saw, and I only recently discovered that his horse was named Trigger, when I saw a documentary about the famous cowboy in which he proudly sat next to his beloved horse, now in stuffed condition\u2014a bizarre sight that made me uncomfortable for Triggers sake.\n\nI was raised in a Dutch Roman Catholic family, my mother a farmers daughter, my father the son of a village painter, the two of them setting up house in a small provincial town in the 1930s. We grew up under the awning of the last vestiges of medieval Christendom. But that's hindsight. Well into the mid-fifties, we were comfortably stuck in a homely nineteenth-century version of the Middle Ages. Dutch Roman Catholicism had retreated into an alley, far away from the busy traffic rushing past on the intellectual highways of Europe. Wittgenstein had died already, Beckett was approaching Nobel stature, but in our parish the Trinity remained an inscrutable Mystery.\n\nWe had no idea we lay under siege. What would have made us think that, anyway? Perry Como didn't sound like much of a threat. Every little statue in our parish church stayed exactly where it was when he sang. I never caught on to pre-Army Elvis, and only realized he was around in his chubby phase. But then, in 1963, the Beatles came along, and under the spell of that sound we forgot all about statues and strolled out of the church with a laugh, being dealt a smart kick in the ass by the Rolling Stones on the threshold, just to make sure. We left our parents sitting there, and for all I know that is where they still linger.\n\nDutchmen of my generation like to think that they fought themselves free of the clutches of the Church in heroic fashion. As if they entered into a fierce exchange with their elders\u2014nay, with God Himself, preferably\u2014from which, surprisingly, they emerged triumphant. Now, this is more or less how things would have gone if they had woken up in the thirties, where ostracism would have been the reward of anyone dropping out of the sacred community; but in 1963 it was all grassy meadows, \"an endless breaking of the bank,\" that was beckoning us.\n\nThe Beatles pulled the rug from under that particular brand of unsmiling masculinity, the D-Day heroes who kept their cigarettes going under enemy fire and never stopped chewing their gum, even while burning thousands of innocent people with their carpet-bombings in Germany. \"It was a terrible job but it had to be done.\" _You can stuff your terrible jobs_ is what the Beatles said.\n\nI may have made a hash of Tom Dooley and the Company Store, and only sensed a sunny Sundays contentment in Magic Moments, but the Beatles' lyrics I actually understood. \"I want to hold your hand\" is not exactly unfathomable, though in \"Love Me Do\" I initially mistook \"Do\" for a girl's name. It was the Beatles' English that ushered me into the language proper. Before they sang it to me, English was atmosphere, not language as a charged verbal message. From then on, the possibility lurked for me that one day I might say \"I\" in English.\n\nWhen I moved to England in 1968, the last strains of Vera Lynn were still in the air\u2014something you wouldn't think when listening to the Stones' \"Jumpin' Jack Flash,\" which came out that summer (\"I was drowned with a spike right through my head\"). But that was the inexplicable charm of the place in those days. The Second World War was really over, a mere mirage now over the white cliffs of Dover; the last GIs were finally out of the way; and an entirely new way of being young was invented on the spot (I know, but that's how it felt), seemingly out of nothing, and outrageously whipped into a more daring frenzy by the kids of those same GIs, who were about to be slaughtered in Vietnam, which lacked all Normandy glamor.\n\nThe first thing that struck me when I moved to England was the fact that youngsters there didn't understand much of Bob Dylan's lyrics either. I reluctantly abandoned my theory that \"Like a Rolling Stone\" was a tribute to Mick Jagger's way of life, but didn't get much in exchange. I suppose Dylan's texts are still a bit of a problem: shallow nonsense or sheer genius stuff.\n\nThough my brother told me not to (it would spoil everything, especially my \"freedom\"), I fell, after or while asking many questions, into the arms of the first girl who talked to me for longer than five minutes. She came from London, she lived in Cornwall, she was doing her A-levels. I was a waiter in the local hotel and spouted English by the mile, sounding awfully American\u2014a remnant of the Continents debt to our liberators, an accent which was not exactly an endearing asset in those days, because of Vietnam. My surname, which was always pronounced in the \"Kaiser Bill\" manner, was kindly pardoned as betraying my \"Austrian\" descent, because nobody wanted to besmear me with any German connections, and to the blissfully ignorant people I moved amongst, \"Austrian\" meant \"German, but all right really.\" To certain English people, it did seem unlikely that there was such a thing as a Dutch language at all. Once, while having tea in the house of a vicar, father of a friend, I was asked by the wife in the sweetest tones imaginable, \"I wonder, do you Dutch have a language?\"\u2014by which she sought my confirmation of her opinion that probably we merely spoke a ragbag of dialects, assembled over the years from passing marauders such as Romans, Celts, Frisians, Vikings, Franks, and Saxons, out of whose verbal droppings we, the local monkeys, somehow fabricated what we took to be a language. This made me so angry that I practically hissed at her: \"No, ma'am, we do not have a language, we just bark at each other from the trees!\" My friend hastened me into the garden to cool down while his father attended to Mummy, who was quite taken aback by my \"vicious and entirely uncalled for snarl.\"\n\nMy girlfriend led me firmly out of sundry other confusions (don't ever try to work out the difference between the _ough_ in _plough, rough,_ and _thorough,_ but do pronounce them differently), reminding me of the old joke that in English words are not written as they are spoken\u2014unlike the case in everyone's native language. I never quite mastered the \"th\" and sounded unbearably silly while singing along with Mary Hopkins song, \"Dose were de days, my friend.\" Though I didn't shrink into a mere figure of fun, I certainly became ridiculous in unsought ways by having to plod along in this borrowed garb. Anyone who is not fluent in a strange language sheds about 30 to 40 IQ points; that's quite a dive, which few intellects will be able to sustain without some damage to their underlying ego. Being surrounded by benevolent English speakers, I was quickly helped back on my feet, only to fall into the next trap: idolatry.\n\nIt takes a few years to get well acquainted with the clich\u00e9s in a language, and the list can never be exhaustive, but there is a stage where you are innocent of the difference between a worn-out phrase and a gem of personal expression. So at one stage I found sayings such as _looking like death warmed over, green around the gills, get stuffed, kicked the bucket, deaf as a post,_ and _blind as a bat_ a delight, until I found them out as the dead doornails they really are.\n\nOne thing I picked up very quickly was the possibility of positioning people socially by listening to their language. Gutsy, arrogant, boaster; working-class-and-doomed, working-class-and-angry working-class-and-on-the-way-up; hardly, reasonably, highly, and over-educated; arty type, peasant\u2014the millions of possibilities according to which we stack people socially, using our judgment or wallowing in prejudice\u2014all that is soon learned in any European language. Mainly, I suspect, because our own tribe consists of similar strata. I mention this because, during my stay as a doctor in Africa, I had to go without all these pointers and could only tell a peasant from a genius by using clothes, body care, and face, which often pointed in the wrong direction.\n\nI cannot remember any half-reading in English, the way I now do in Chateaubriand's _M\u00e9moires d'outre-tombe,_ looking up words, pondering phrases, and sometimes not getting anywhere. But I still have my copy of _Ulysses,_ read in 1970, my second year in England, and there I have rather annoyingly marked the words I didn't understand. This is what I was stuck with after the first fourteen pages: _threadbare, fretted, breeks, skivvy's, whinge, lunged, rashers, gaud, mosey, flagged, barbicans, prepuces, kine, crone, upbraid_ \u2014and, if you want to know, I am still, or again, stuck with \"mosey\" and \"barbicans.\" Then I reached \"Agenbite of inwit,\" which I understood so well that I grew suspicious: surely it cannot mean THAT!\n\nBut it did.\n\nThere are a number of \"barbicans\" which I keep looking up and noting down, only to forget them again. Whenever I try to unmask them, I first note down what I think their true face is, before tracing them in the dictionary, and by this method I have arrived at a number of \"solutions\" which, in intention, surely must stem from those earlier alchemistic efforts in which I would divine the English equivalent to certain Dutch words.\n\nHere's a short list of intuitive lexicography:\n\n_propinquish_ \u2014propose in halting manner.\n\n_barbican_ \u2014wooden appendix protruding from ceiling.\n\n_obstreperous_ \u2014striped in obnoxious fashion.\n\n_inchoate_ \u2014darkly unsuited.\n\n_anodyne_ \u2014biting liquid used for facial cleansing after shaving incident. _maverick_ \u2014unusual in old Balkan way.\n\n_uxorious_ \u2014forcefully nagging.\n\n_enjoined_ \u2014merged unknowingly.\n\n_sedulous_ \u2014sable covered.\n\n_spinnaker_ \u2014dizzy sailor.\n\n_emunctory_ \u2014oozing orifice.\n\n_arcane_ (as in \"arcane knowledge\")\u2014ancient lore, whispered beneath arches or under arc-lights.\n\nLooking at this list, I am struck by a difference between Dutch and English which is never very apparent to English-speakers: the extent to which their language is _not_ German\u2014I mean Teutonic\u2014I mean stemming from those dense forests between the North Sea coast in the west and, say, the outer reaches of Poland in the east, in the time before the Romans brought the tribes there to heel. In the above list, I think only \"spinnaker\" can be traced to the forests; the rest crossed the Channel with William the Conqueror, hailing ultimately from Rome and Greece. There is a funny difference between the way an Englishman uses words like _anthropology, psychology, democracy, orifice, noxious,_ etc.\u2014as if they are his own\u2014and the way a Dutchman deals with his Graecisms and Latinisms, such as _democratie, extreem, theocratie, pieteit, psychologie, notaris, reparatie, bibliothecaris, secretaris, amfibie, mobiel, ornithologie,_ etc. In Dutch these are clearly funny birds, wholly unlike \"schuur\" (barn); but in English they have, for historical reasons, sunk deeper into common parlance, so that these Mediterranean borrowings are now being paraded as the only possible and at the same time wholly English word. For instance, \"History\" (\"Historie\" in Dutch). We have, in addition to the fob from down south, the real thing (\"Geschiedenis\") at our disposal, but a false sense of cosmopolitanism adheres to the English \"History\" and is supposedly lacking in the Dutch \"Geschiedenis.\" I think that this kind of misconception may be an additional factor accounting for the silly veneration with which the English language is often approached in my country.\n\nMy first proper read in English was Russell's _History of Western Philosophy._ For much of 1969 I was doing the washing-up in the kitchen of an old castle in Devon\u2014Dartington Hall\u2014 which once belonged to Henry the Eighth, and in which, amongst other things, a College of Art was established. It was an unlikely stop on the way to university, but there I found myself doing the dishes while my girlfriend was attending the dance & drama course. In my vain efforts to scale the rocky heights of philosophy, I had brought Karl Jaspers' book on Kant with me in Dutch translation. And it got me nowhere. I couldn't follow it and felt repulsed. I started to nurse rather grim feelings towards that impenetrable fortress of philosophy, within the walls of which I hoped people were studying man's ultimate questions, possibly even resolving them, but so far without letting me in.\n\nI couldn't find an entrance anywhere and was about to go into a sulk when one day, in the family library at Dartington, I stumbled onto Russell's _History of Western Philosophy._ From the sombre citadel I had dreamt up, this sprightly man came trotting out to me, and with one wave of his hand dispelled all my sulks and misgivings. His boyish charm, his malicious humor, and above all his keen sharpness swept me along on an unforgettable journey through twenty-five centuries of Western thinking. He was such a delight to read because he personally went out into the field with, or against, the philosophers he described. I had never read anyone who was so impressively knowledgeable, authoritative, and funny at the same time. Some quotes: \"Erasmus was incurably and unashamedly literary.\" On Machiavelli: \"It is the custom to be shocked by him.\" On Spinoza: \"Intellectually, some others have surpassed him, but ethically he is supreme. As a natural consequence, he was considered during his lifetime, and for a century after his death, a man of appalling wickedness.\" On Hume and Rousseau: \"Rousseau was mad but influential, Hume was sane but had no followers.\"\n\nMuch later I learned that Russell's _History_ sadly lapses when he gets to the nineteenth century, but that is not relevant here. For me, as I was at that time, lingering in half-sulk in front of that Venerable Temple of Western Wisdom, my greatest luck was to be greeted by Bertrand Russell at the entrance. He is a witty and brilliant host, and even if not all those at the party get the attention they deserve, his company was an overwhelming compensation. I still cherish my copy with the pencil portrait by Robin Guthrie on the jacket.\n\nUp till then I had never encountered in Dutch a man who was so clever, learned, and amusing. I hate to say this, because I don't want to run my country down in any way, but I have to mention it here as stealthily as I can: there's an awful lot of intensely dull writing going on in Dutch academia, and it has been going on there for decades on end, and will go on for decades to come, this time in English, I'm afraid\u2014almost a guarantee of drabness, in view of the local command of the venerated tongue.\n\nIn Holland you would, for instance, find it hard to encounter the likes of Gilbert Murray, J. B. Bury, Francis Cornford, Maurice Bowra, H. D. F. Kitto, Moses Finley, Benjamin Jowett, W. K. C. Guthrie\u2014to mention only the names that readily come to my mind, with their brilliant commentaries and wonderful translations from classical history and philosophy. Reading Plato in Dutch in the sixties, I would have had to hack my way through a dense undergrowth of grammatically correct but hopelessly lifeless prose, emanating inevitably from the boring provincialism of the translators, and leaving the reader with the wrappings of a mummy. But reading Plato in English, I was immediately swept along. The insight, the clothes, the flirting, the markets, the courtyards, the personalities, the jokes\u2014in English, the whole thing sprang to life inescapably. Plato's _Republic,_ which I read in the summer of 1969, has forever remained one of my happiest encounters on paper.\n\nI will not bore you with the ins and outs of the Dutch educational system. Be it said, however, that it lacks the possibility which was so gloriously rampant in the English public school system, of maintaining a broad and deep connection with the ancients. In Holland, and even more so, of course, in the intellectually humble milieu I stem from (I may be confusing the two), Plato was sadly entombed in the dusty glass cupboard of the Past.\n\nBy 1970 my familiarity with English had far outgrown anything I had ever achieved in German or French. In some areas, I even think that my English was better than my Dutch\u2014mainly in matters intellectual. There was a stage where the intrusion went so far that whenever I dreamt about my family back in Holland, they spoke English to me and each other. I never thought the parrot could travel so deeply into a man's soul. My spoken English was virtually accentless then, though people with a keen ear did suspect I might have something to do with South Africa. (An accent I did not know at the time. When I did get to know it, I thought someone was having me on, because to a Dutchman a South African sounds like a Dutchman who is deliberately refusing to pick up the right accent\u2014somewhat in the way the French and English often diligently abuse each others parlance by wilfully contorting the other nations speech.)\n\nSo I waded\u2014or swam, rather\u2014deeply into English, and read Kant, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and, most important to me, Wittgensteins _Tractatus_ and _Philosophical Investigations_ in English translation, though I could easily have handled these works (language-wise) in the original German. As a consequence, I made the common mistake of thinking about Wittgenstein as a British philosopher with a vague Viennese past, which accounted for his annual trip there around Christmas. This is, of course, a silly view of Wittgenstein, whom I later came to know as primarily a Viennese thinker, one who only halfheartedly took up his sojourn in Britain, as so many other Viennese were forced to do in the thirties, if they were Jewish.\n\nReading those German philosophers in English was a bit daft, as it misled me into a wrongheaded assessment of some aspects of their thinking. Luckily, quite the reverse happened when I read Proust in Scott Moncrieff s translation. I may have missed out on bits of the Germans in English, but I would have missed out on lots of Proust in Dutch, had there been a translation around at the time. There is quite an enormous societal overlap between late-nineteenth-century French and English ways of being artistic, a snob, a litterateur, a dandy, a Jockey Club member, a society hostess, a scion of a noble house, a maid-servant, or a hopelessly middle-class riser. All these are ways of being which certainly had their vague equivalents in our parts, but not with the added dash of being relevant in the international political and cultural arena of the time. I mean, you could take a coach from Wildes Bedford Square to a soir\u00e9e at the Duchesse de Guer-mantes'. No such clear connection existed between Amsterdam, on the one hand, and Paris and London, on the other. It is unimaginable for any Dutch author to be met in Amiens the way Ruskin was encountered there by Proust. This is not a reflection on Dutch authors of the period, but rather an expression of the international situation at the time. How many Lithuanian, Latvian, Finnish or Basque novelists are internationally coming to the fore at present?\n\nIn 1972, after having graduated in philosophy, I returned to Amsterdam to take up medicine. I had been away in England for almost five years, and soon after my arrival, to my utter dismay, I sat through the spectacle of a medical professor solemnly writing out in English, on the blackboard in the lecture theater, the reasons for which general practitioners refer patients to consultants in hospitals:\n\n_because we do not know._\n\n_because we cannot do._\n\n_because we need support._\n\n\u2014giving the final touch of imbecility by the gnarled way in which he pronounced these three simple phrases.\n\nIn Holland, and in many other parts of the world, the type of idolatry I was talking about earlier is one of the most repulsive effects of the fact that English is now lording it globally. In my own profession, there is a lamentable inclination to use English phrases when talking about matters that can be described perfectly well in our own language. What to think of a designation such as \"the blue toe syndrome,\" used to refer to a patient with a circulatory problem? Doctors have dropped Latin but now seize on English phrases in which to wrap up the rather humdrum contents of many of their concepts. \"Irritable bowel syndrome\" is a standard diagnosis which can easily be phrased in Dutch, but then it loses that clinical polish which keeps the patient at bay. The doctor needs these fancy phrases to protect his domain.\n\nComputer idiom is inevitably adapted\u2014 _download, boot start, surf, chat, online, mail, hard disk, update, delete, crash, e-mailing,_ etc.\u2014but the English is subsequently maltreated when the verbs are being conjugated. For \"downloaded\" you get \"ge-download\" (don't bother to pronounce it) or \"downgeload.\" For \"surfed,\" past tense, you obtain \"surfte.\" \"Deleted\" becomes \"ge-deleted,\" I guess. And \"crashed\" turns into \"crashte.\" How would you like \"downloadized\" or \"surfetted\" or \"croshed\" or \"be-mailed\" or \"chatten\" as conjugations?\n\nThese are ugly results. Uglier still are the many academic Ph.D. theses written in Holland in English. I don't think it really matters when you are dealing with atoms, bridges, teeth, arteries, or gamma rays, but when you are writing about people and ought to throw in a little of your own personality in order to infuse some life into the thing, the handicap of having to do this in English is severely debilitating. People rarely realize this and therefore tend to use English as if it were a dead language, like Esperanto, with an equally lifeless outcome.\n\nBut ugliest of all are the scenes in which Dutchmen think they can speak English fluently, often lured on by repeated assurances of native speakers (who will say, \"But your English is marvelous!\" \u2014a thing they wouldn't dream of saying to one of their countrymen). Thus I once witnessed, in agony, a colleague of mine being slaughtered on a BBC program. He had walked into the studio, in all innocence, for a frank but fair exchange on the (to him) crystal-clear subject of euthanasia. Ludovic Kennedy was there to help him out, Michael Ignatieff was in the chair, and the opposition consisted of Dame Ciceley Saunders\u2014the Holy Virgin of the Hospice Movement\u2014and two supercilious British neurologists who, talking down from incredible heights of arrogance, explained to my colleague that he was killing off his patients in his ignorance of proper medical treatment. Now, the poor man's English was not so bad that he couldn't say, \"The coronary arteries are on the surface of the heart\" or \"My uncle Dick was a butcher,\" but to fight off these two, he needed really to speak the language, to live an emotion in words\u2014words which now utterly failed him. Overwhelmed by righteous indignation but blocked by his lack of English, he was reduced to a spluttering heap. It was a horrible lesson about the emptiness of knowing a few words and phrases and about the fullness of a spoken language. There is a vast difference between showing someone the way to the railway station in English and showing him the way to Plato. This is often overlooked by city-map speakers.\n\nLiving in Holland, I encounter many people who speak a little English, mostly of too dull a variety to sharpen my own English on. So I only run into proper English on paper or on television or in the cinema. As a consequence, my passive English is still all right, but my active English barely keeps in shape, and I fear it is not getting any more vigorous.\n\nWriting in English at first felt to me like trying to plough a stretch of marble: an ungainly procedure, ruining some pretty nice material, and the result was nil. I feel reasonably comfortable now writing in English\u2014though please note that is something I would never say about writing in Dutch. Why not? Well, it's the difference between a natural biped (man) and a circus biped (dog). You wouldn't ever say to a human that you admire the way he manages so well on two legs, while a dog is applauded for just this feat. The dream of a foreign writer using English is that the natives will forget about his dogginess and say to each other: I just love the way he moves.\n\nBut, comfortable or not, I still have to shrug off a slight resentment at having to put on these funny clothes in order to be let in. I suppose that I could counter this by pitying you for missing out on certain Dutch authors whose virtues I couldn't begin to try to expound to you\u2014no more than I could give someone an idea of Jimi Hendrix's guitar-playing by whistling a few notes. Though I wouldn't argue absolutely against this possibility, the fact is that I cannot do it right here.\n\nThere remain, however, many areas where I do not know my way around in English, and I am not only thinking of barbicans and obstreperous arcaneness, but terms of carpentry, for instance, or automobile parts, or shipping terms, or bird names. I will always confuse grebes, sparrows, thrushes, curlews, and snipes. I am, in English, strictly a pigeon\u2013blackbird\u2013duck man (but only ornithologically, he added hastily).\n\nI am, to put it briefly, not a native speaker, and I don't mind.\n\n# FRENCH\n\n#\n\n# _French Without Tears_  \nLuc Sante\n\nMy parents and I emigrated to the United States from the French-speaking part of Belgium when I was a child. The move was made for pressing economic reasons and was lamented by my parents from the start; only intermittently did they have the leisure and lightheartedness to plunge into the adventure of their new surroundings. My mother spoke no English at first; my father relied on a weak memory of the language from his secondary studies, and he tended to mix it up with the more vigorous strain of German in him, acquired from growing up in a town scant miles from the linguistic frontier. In America my parents had few French-speaking acquaintances. The isolation was hardest on my mother, who was uneducated (both my parents left school in their middle teens), came from a particularly restricted and provincial background, and stayed at home, while my father, more cosmopolitan by nature, at least had the opportunity to mix with Americans and immigrants from other countries during his working hours. My mother therefore seized upon any and all instances of French in American life. A French-derived surname spotted on a signboard could cheer her up for an hour; a drive with my parents would be punctuated by my mother happily reading aloud from the roadside: _Chez Pierre!_ _Maison de Beaut\u00e9!_ When I watched cartoons on Saturday mornings, the whole family would gather for Pepe le Pew, the Gallic skunk forever making romantic advances to horrified black and white cats: _L'arnour, toujours_ **_I_** _'amour..._\n\nDuring my first year of school in America, my mother drilled me in French for an hour every day when I got home. That was shrewd of her; at first I was so discombobulated by the shift in languages between home and school that for an hour or so on either side I was effectively unlanguaged, nearly aphasic. The drills were as effective at getting me back to French as schoolyard peer pressure was in forcing English upon me in the morning. After a while I could slide between languages with relative ease, and when my mother and I returned to Belgium for sojourns lengthy enough that I was sent to school there, I engaged the curriculum as if I had never been away at all. Those trips, made when I was not quite eight and not quite nine, respectively, marked a significant shift in our lives. Previously, my parents had maintained the hope that our stay in America was to be temporary, but when my maternal grandparents sickened and died, which made those trips necessary, an important link was severed. My fathers parents were already long dead, and there was not much immediate family left. We were on our own, and might as well stay where opportunities grew densest. This decision did not improve the morale of the household. Thereafter my parents would try to maintain a semblance of Belgium in our home, but the enthusiasm was gone, and the simulacrum shifted, steadily if invisibly, away from its model. In the same way, the family language was progressively mongrelized. While keeping the pronunciation and syntax of French it became _franglais._\n\nFor me the French language very nearly became detached from its base, like so many of our household customs, which had lost their connection to any wider world and hovered in a vacuum, fetishes that might as well have been invented by my parents to keep me alienated from my peers. But I had a fortuitous link to the world of francophone children: my fathers sister and her husband, small-town newsagents, subscribed me to my favorite Belgian comic magazine. I read _Spirou_ every week for ten years, and through it subcutaneously absorbed not just the living language but also a sense of daily life in a Belgium that was then changing much more rapidly than my parents realized. The comic weeklies (the others were _Tintin_ and _Pilote,_ the latter published in France) had no American equivalent; they combined about a dozen serial comic strips, on double-page spreads, with a handful of single-page gags, along with games, contests, educational tidbits, and some prose fiction I never so much as glanced at. I didn't care much about stories; I cared passionately about graphic style, and this affected my reading\u2014I disdained the ostensibly serious yarns, with their conventionally realist draftsmanship, in favor of the wildest and funniest drawings. The funny strips also happened to be the most unbridled in their use of language, reveling in the singular ability of French to generate wordplay, puns in particular.\n\nFrench-speaking children are schooled in puns from the start. Of course, this could be said of speakers of English and maybe every other language as well\u2014that's what riddles are for. For example, I date my true immersion in English from the moment I understood the humor of Q: When is a boy not a boy? A: When he turns into a store. But puns lie much thicker on the ground in French, in large part because the language is so much more rigorous and willfully delimited than the sprawling mass of English, an elegantly efficient two-stroke engine to the latter's uncontainable Rube Goldberg mechanism. French does not necessarily have fewer sounds than English, but the protocols governing their order and frequency make their appearances predictable\u2014hence the profusion of sound-alike phrases and sentences, which fueled Surrealism and ensure the ongoing appeal of Freudian and post-Freudian ideas in the French-speaking world: _Les dents, la bouche. Laid dans la bouche. Les dents la bouchent. L'aidant la bouche._ Etc. These phrases, which sound exactly alike, respectively mean \"the teeth, the mouth;\" \"ugly in the mouth;\" \"the teeth choke her;\" \"helping her chokes her.\" You don't need to have been psychoanalyzed by Jacques Lacan to see from these examples how language can assist thought in swiftly tunneling from the mundane to the taboo. Children are instinctively aware of this, even and perhaps especially if they are being raised Catholic and are thus trained in the finer points of repression.\n\nThe most internationally famous characters in _Spirou_ were Les Schtroumpfs, known in the English-speaking world as the Smurfs, small blue elfin creatures who lived in a toadstool village. In their English-language animated appearances they could be cloyingly cute, but in French they were spared this fate by their language, marked by an incessant use of the (invented) word _schtroumpf,_ employed as noun, verb, adverb, adjective, and interjection. Every reader, no matter how young, understood this usage without a gloss, because it parodied the French conversational trope of substituting catchalls such as _true, chose,_ and _machin_ for words that cannot immediately be called to mind, in any grammatical position. What _schtroumpf_ highlighted was the ability of such dummy words to suggest words prohibited from writing or speech, regardless of the fact that the actual words _schtroumpf was_ substituting for were always clear from context. _True_ or _chose_ became neutral from exposure, but _schtroumpf_ subliminally spoke to the unconscious; its surface strangeness could make it mean things that the child's mind does not yet know but can imagine with tantalizing vagueness.\n\nNot all the wordplay was so freighted, of course. In the Ast\u00e9rix series (tales of a Mutt-and-Jeff pair of winged-helmeted first-century Gauls, serialized in _Pilote),_ the characters' names were always elaborate puns that turned on their suffixes, -ix for the Gauls and -us for the enemy Romans (to pick two that don't require lengthy glosses, one of the former was Madamboevarix, one of the latter Volfgangamad\u00e9us). Deciphering such names\u2014 and puns of that sort were rife in all the funny strips\u2014provided an agreeable gymnastic exercise, especially if it took a week or two of rolling the name around before it clicked open like a combination lock. Meanwhile, the adventures of Tintin, the boy reporter, a Belgian (and eventually international) institution since the 1920s, featured as a recurring character Captain Haddock, an alcoholic and irascible but good-hearted old sea dog. He was noted for his pratfalls, and even more for the streams of insults he would launch at villains, thieving wildlife, cars that splashed puddle water at him on the street, or small boys who had hit him in the head with a ball: _Accapareurs! Coloquintes! Ophi-cl\u00e9ides! Patapoufs! Cloportes! Anthropophages! Catachr\u00e8ses! Moujiks! Rhizomes! Ectoplasmes! Anthropopith\u00e8ques! Analpha-b\u00e8tes! Cornichons! Va-nu-pieds! Saltimbanques! Monies \u00e0 gaufres! Protozoaires!_ (Monopolists, bitter apples, serpents [the musical instrument], fatsos, woodlice, cannibals, catachreses, muzhiks, rhizomes, ectoplasms, Anthropopitheci Erecti, illiterates, gherkins, ragamuffins, mountebanks, waffle irons, protozoa.) It was an explosion in the dictionary, _Finnegans Wake_ on a matchbook cover, a fantastically liberating surge of pure unshackled language. The comics provided an important lesson: Language could be a medium of fun, and not just safe, approved fun, either, but wild, anarchic, disruptive fun. There was nothing lazy or slapdash about the comics' employment of words, though; that much was clear even to an eight-year-old. Therefore, the appendix to the lesson was that fun could best be achieved through a thorough grounding in ballistics and a heightened sense of precision.\n\nThe value of precision was something I had been learning all my life, perhaps subliminally from my father. He had quit school at fourteen to go to work; his father had done likewise; his grandfather had been illiterate. Nevertheless, both my father and his father were great readers. There was always at least one crowded bookcase in our home, much of its contents having been brought with us across the ocean\u2014he was not only a great reader, but a great rereader. The books were diverse, to my eye, ranging from somber hardbound volumes in slipcases to lurid paperbacks I imagined as containing all the secret lore of the tribe of adults. Looking at them today (I made a point of saving the library's core after my parents sold their house and, almost immediately thereafter, died), I realize that the great majority of the books were bestsellers, items prominently displayed in Belgian bookstores between the late 1940s and the late 1950s. The lurid paperbacks, in fact, were nearly all published by the pioneering firm Marabout, a French-language phenomenon equivalent to a downmarket Penguin, that happened to be headquartered in our otherwise not very literary home town.\n\nMy fathers books, then, could have been found in many other middle-class Belgian households of the period, and today they profusely line the shelves of secondhand bookshops. Not only are there no rarities among them, but scarcely any would have been seen among the effects of Parisian tastemakers. Few of them would be considered literary; not many date from before the period in which they were acquired. They were, nevertheless, the result of discriminating selection, and what they all had in common was style. There was not just one style among them, since they included popular novels, popular history, travel narratives, war memoirs, and humorous vignettes, but all of them answered my fathers requirements. He was a stickler for _le mot juste,_ that very French, very positivistic idea that there is one, and only one, exact word capable of expressing a particular idea in a particular circumstance. Style for him was a matter of both precision and elegance, which were entwined in any case. His classics included La Fontaines fables, Moli\u00e8re's comedies, Victor Hugo's poems, and the late-nineteenth-century plays of Edmond Rostand, especially _Cyrano de Bergerac._ All these he cited continually, sometimes because they fit the occasion, sometimes because he merely wanted to savor their music.\n\nAt some early point in my life he inculcated in me the very model of elegance, the end of _Cyrano._ The dying hero tells his friends that _quelque chose que sans un pit, sans une tache \/ J'emp\u00f6rte malgr\u00e9 vous_ (something spotless and unwrinkled, that despite you I'm taking with me). He lifts high his sword, proclaims _et c'est_ (and it is); the sword drops from his hand and he falls into the arms of his companions. Roxane kisses his forehead, asks _C'est?_ Cyrano opens his eyes, recognizes her and says, smiling, _Mon panache._ Curtain. _Panache_ literally means the plume of a hat, as worn by a seventeenth-century gentleman, but it also means what it does in English, only more so. Thus we have the pun in the last breath of life, the expression of wit as an exemplary act of heroism, the manifestation of a principle in the very utterance of its name. I was reminded of this years later when I learned that apprentice _toreros_ call themselves \"students of elegance,\" but if the Spaniards are equally capable of deeming elegance to reach its summit when it brushes against death, only the French could conceive of the matter as intrinsically verbal.\n\nElegance and precision are necessary allies; together they indicate the presence of truth. Nowhere is this axiom more clearly illustrated than in the fables of Jean de la Fontaine (1621\u20131695). Nearly every francophone can recite, at least, _tout flatteur vit aux d\u00e9pens de celui qui Vecoute_ (every flatterer lives at the expense of whoever listens to him), from the fable of the Crow and the Fox. I knew the tune before I knew the words, as it were\u2014the phrase was burned into my mind before I could define the word _de-pens_ (expense), and although I had a fair idea of what the phrase meant, it was as much a mantra as a moral. By the time I was of age to understand all the implications of the phrase, I knew its music to be a further guarantee of its wisdom. So it was with a sense of deep familiarity that, when I was in my twenties and by then a working writer, I first read Flaubert's famous letter to George Sand:\n\nWhen I come upon a bad assonance or a repetition in my sentences, I'm sure I'm floundering in the false. By searching I find the proper expression, which was always the only one, and which is also harmonious. The word is never lacking when one possesses the idea. Is there not, in this precise fitting of parts, something eternal, like a principle? If not, why should there be a relation between the right word and the musical word? Or why should the greatest compression of thought always result in a line of poetry?\n\nMy father never read Flaubert, and yet he had transmitted to me something of his essence\u2014in part because some of Flaubert's ideas had existed in French literature long before he articulated them, and in part because some had been broadly disseminated since his time. By the time I read the letter, its message was already for me an article of faith.\n\nNevertheless I avoided my fathers books, and to this day _I've_ read very few. The obvious Freudian interpretation is probably not irrelevant, although more pedestrian reasons seem just as valid now as they did then. I was bored by the very idea of most of them: the mountaineering sagas of Frison-Roche, the broad peasant comedies of Arthur Masson, the orotund Catholic and patrician moral tales of Jean de la Varende. The only books I plucked from his shelves were the crime novels, by Simenon and others, which he hated and never read, but which his sister and her husband, who were wonderful people as well as newsagents but who regarded all books as indiscriminate product, sometimes threw into the parcels they sent our way. These and the comic magazines constituted the bulk of what was available for me to read in French in my youth. In English, though, I was trying as well as I could to cultivate precociously advanced tastes\u2014 I wanted to find literature as hip as the music I enjoyed. Another sort of gap between the languages was forming.\n\nThen, when I was just the right age, we traveled to Montreal to take in Expo 67. It was the first time any of us had been in a French-speaking country in more than four years, and I was at least as excited by the prospect of visiting bookstores as by the fair itself. In my recollection, possibly telescoped by time, a center-city _librairie_ was our very first stop. I don't know whether I had anything particular in mind before going in, but I came away with two books. One of them was Andr\u00e9 Bretons _Anthologie de l'humour noir,_ an excellent choice if one made by happenstance\u2014\"black humor,\" a literary genre spawned by Lenny Bruce as much as anybody, was all the rage in the U.S. then, and that's what I thought I was getting. The other was a fat paperback anthology of French poetry, published by Marabout. I wasn't very much interested in poetry, except maybe stray bits of Beat stuff I'd seen here and there, but in flipping through the volume I noticed that many of the poems looked different from what I'd generally been exposed to: some had very long lines, some were studded with proper nouns, some were even in prose, if such a thing was possible. That night I lay on my bed in the motel room in Longueil and opened the book to\n\n_A la fin tu est las de ce monde ancien_\n\n\"In the end you are tired of this old world.\" Thus began \"Zone,\" by Guillaume Apollinaire.\n\n_Berg\u00e8re \u00f4 tour Eiffel le troupeau des ponts b\u00eale ce matin._ \"Shepherdess o Eiffel Tower the flock of bridges is bleating this morning.\" The poem was speaking directly to me, to me alone, as proven on the second page: _Voil\u00e0 la jeune rue et tu n'es encore qu'un petit enfant \/ Ta m\u00e8re ne t'habille que de bleu et de blanc._ \"Here is the young street and you are but a little child \/ Your mother only dresses you in blue and white,\" which was exactly true of my early childhood; that _tu_ clinched it. _Tu regardes les yeux pleins de larmes ces pauvres \u00e9migrants I Us croient en Dieu Us prient les fernrnes allaitent des enfants I Us ernplissent de leur odeure le hall de la gare Saint-Lazare._ \"You look with your eyes filled with tears at the poor immigrants \/ They believe in God they pray the women suckle infants \/ They fill with their odor the hall of the Saint-Lazare station\"\u2014I had been there and seen that! Furthermore, the poem seemed to be about a yearning for modernity in the face of confusion as to the truth of religion, a clairvoyant depiction of my own central inner drama of the time. But there was more: the poem was fluid, rhyming but in an elastic meter like an improvised song, with phrases strung together without punctuation but always clear in their meaning, with an unlabored syntax close to conversational, with capitalized names like cherries in a box of chocolates, with sudden movements in time and space executed with a casual legerdemain, with a flash and whirl and continual surprise that was just what I wanted from the modern world but with a palpable kindness that reassured me as the poem flung me about.\n\nAt that moment I became a French modernist, and I suppose I've never stopped being one, despite appearances. French was capable of astounding feats unavailable to most languages, it seemed to me. In his poem _\"L'union libre,\"_ one of the most erotic works in all literature, Andr\u00e9 Breton wrote: _Ma femme \u00e0 la bouche de cocarde et de bouquet d'etoiles de derni\u00e8re grandeur \/ Aux dents d'empreintes de souris blanche sur la terre blanche I\u00c0 la langue d'arnbre et de verre frott\u00e9s I Ma fernrne \u00e0 la langue d'hostie poignard\u00e9e._ What does it give in English? \"My woman with her cockade mouth, the mouth of a bouquet of stars of the greatest magnitude \/ With teeth of the footprints of a white mouse on the white earth \/ With her tongue of polished amber and glass \/ My woman with her tongue of a stabbed host.\" It's not terrible, maybe, but it has none of the music or the magic, in part because of the tendency of English to condensation and bluntness, away from the silken chains of prepositional phrases that give French its incantatory power. Of course, languages are never equivalent, can never be measured on the same scale, but when French lyricism is translated into English, the English version always sounds lead-footed, boorish, resolutely unsexy. Take the phrase _hostie poignard\u00e9e_ \u2014the profanation of the transubstantiated body of Christ in the form of a white disk of bread. The French phrase enacts the violence ono-matopoeically following the serene _hostie_ with the triple puncture of _poignard\u00e9e,_ and you even see the dagger, the _poignard._ In English, \"stabbed host,\" pretty much the only way of expressing the thought in less than a sentence, suggests a murder-robbery in a highway diner as reported over a police radio, while musically it is a coarse cluster of dentals, and it is over in a second and leaves no echo.\n\nThe French language opened poetry to me, and I wrote as well as read it throughout my teens, albeit in English since I did not trust my command of the nuances of French. Eventually I came to love English-language poetry as well, but never quite in the same way. Had I been stopped on the street and ordered to recite a line of poetry, I would automatically have said:\/' _ai tendu des cordes de clocher \u00e0 clocher; des guirlandes de fen\u00eatre \u00e0 fen\u00eatre; des chatnes d'or d'etoile \u00e0 \u00e9toile, et je danse_ (\"I stretched ropes from spire to spire, garlands from window to window, gold chains from star to star, and I dance\"\u2014Rimbaud).\n\nMidway through college, I stopped writing poetry altogether. I doubted my talent, but I also had found what I thought was the authentic music of the American language, in the prose of Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, and James M. Cain. \"They threw me off the hay truck about noon,\" the opening sentence of _The Postman Always Rings Twice,_ seemed to exemplify in nine words all the highest virtues of American prose. It was plain, unadorned demotic speech, resolutely laconic and flat, containing a whole landscape of gas stations and bus depots and bars, of dollar bills and cigarette butts and spit, stuff I had encountered in daily life that seemed to stare down literature and dare it to cross the line in the dirt. It defied all the verities and aesthetics of the university in which I was a half-reluctant conscript, of course, but no less significant was the fact that it embodied the inverse of everything I thought I knew about French.\n\nThe importance of both causes was emphasized by the fact that my epiphany occurred in Paris, where I was attending a summer program sponsored by my college that was devoted to the very latest manifestations of French critical thought. What was I doing there? The previous year I had signed up for a course given in the French department on Surrealism, a subject of enduring interest to me. Not ten minutes into the first class I was at sea. The instructor, a recent Parisian transplant, drew cryptic diagrams on the blackboard while issuing a rapid-fire stream of references, quotes, unfamiliar Greek-derived words, and puns. The latter, at least, I could appreciate, although they were unfunny and often ponderous (an English-language one, \"French Freud,\" was to reappear continually as a catch-phrase), and were redolent of forced play; it was like watching academics dance at a disco in order to make a point. As a chronic shirker of math requirements, I was dismayed by the diagrams and the scientific or pseudo-scientific tone of the propositions; I had never heard of Lacan or Derrida; and what did any of it have to do with Surrealism? It seemed to me the equivalent of getting to know someone by administering chloroform and then dissecting her or him on a slab. Somehow I completed the year, and achieved a grade that did not disgrace me. I can only imagine that I signed up for the summer program because it would get me to Paris with an educational alibi. Somehow I even managed to obtain financial aid for the adventure.\n\nThe courses were a mixed lot. The art historian was genuinely riveting, although I remember more vividly the specialist in modern fiction, who seemed to devote the entirety of his analysis of _Madame Bovary_ to rolling names and phrases around in his mouth until they became puns by force of will, for instance mangling \"Charles Bovary\" until it yielded up _charivari._ Finally I was sick of puns, sick of the alleged _jouissance_ of language, very nearly sick of French itself, and I hiked up to Galignani, the venerable English bookshop on the Rue de Rivoli, and picked up American books primarily composed of words of one syllable. But when I look at my notebooks from that time I am forced to acknowledge that every choice I made was saturated by the French spirit, the version prevailing at the time in particular. My approach to American crime fiction was that of an outsider, was informed by the _S\u00e9rie Noire_ collection, by the ideas on American movies held by the critics at _Cahiers du Cin\u00e9ma,_ by Sartre's enthusiasm for the work of Faulkner, which he said resembled the view out the back window of a moving car. Despite myself I was in love with the chic that imbued all manifestations of the French intellect. I was seduced by the French tendency to wrench words and phrases and even entire narratives from all context the better to prize them as artifacts, the way oily rags become art when framed with a broad white mat. I was enthralled and frustrated in equal measure by the French literature of the time that seemed intended for admiration rather than actual reading, dependent for its effect on a title, or an allusion to something classical and recondite, or a typographical decision, such as a thin scatter of fragments around the page like so many notes on a refrigerator door, or a block of unpara-graphed and perhaps unpunctuated prose running on for the entirety of a slim volume.\n\nNot long after my return I lost contact with the French-speaking world once again. This was to prove a pattern, with French waxing and waning in my life at long intervals, like the moon of a large planet. I did not set foot in my native land for another fifteen years, and then for a decade I went there annually, ostensibly to do research for a book. I made friends; I acquired a neighborhood and a set of site-specific habits; I got so that I could regain my fluency in the language within 24 hours of deplaning. It was then that I discovered several other kinds of French. The language that appeared in the media, in advertisements, and in the mouths of the more urban and well-connected people I met was quite different both from the tongue I had learned as a child and that which appeared in the books I read. It was bright and cold and hard-edged, implied technology and market research and modern accounting practices. I knew that it had its American parallel, which I generally avoided and often mocked, but I took this kind of French personally, like a slap. When some of its words leaked into my conversation because I had no friendly synonyms at hand in which to express a particular thought, it felt like an unhealthy imposture, as if I had caught myself putting on a gold tie\u2014I suppose I felt like a class traitor, antiquated notion though that may be. Even unarguable statements made using those words felt like lies, since the language so clearly had been produced in a laboratory.\n\nBut I also immersed myself in argot, _la langue verte_ (the green tongue). I had encountered it before, notably in my mid-twenties, when I hung out on both continents with a group of radical offspring of French academic families who affected _ver-lan_ (backslang, then just on the cusp of becoming chic) and conducted entire conversations in prison slang without glossing anything for my benefit, making me feel excluded and desperately unhip. But by a decade or two later the lingo had penetrated more deeply into the everyday speech of ordinary folk, and I absorbed a good deal of it from reading, in particular from crime novels of the 1950s and '60s. American slang, whatever its origin, tends to fill particular lexical slots, usually pertaining to highly charged categories of meaning\u2014sex and drugs and crime in particular. French slang is even more rooted in crime, but it is defiant rather than furtive. It is an entire language, a parallel verbal world that mocks the formal protocols of the master language. Unlike the American variety, it contains words for every sort of thing, for \"door\" and \"table\" and \"cup.\" Some of it is ancient, dating back to the time of Fran\u00e7ois Villon and beyond; some of it actually derives from Romany and it continues to loot other languages, in pointed contrast to official French, which proscribes loan-words. It is a highly metaphorical language, as slang tends to be, with an insolent, blaring music and a staccato beat: _Quand le bruit se refand que la poule tape aux fafs dans un coin, vous voyez les tapis se vider de tons les tri-cards._ Literally, this would more or less mean: \"When the noise spreads that the hen is tapping for papers in a corner, you see the carpets emptying themselves of all the tricksters.\" What it signifies is: \"When word gets around that the cops are checking IDs in the neighborhood, all the parolees instantly vanish from the bars.\" I derive deep satisfaction and sensual pleasure from argot, as little as I use it in the course of things. It is almost as if French and American had mated in the night and produced another tongue with all of the advantages of both, and none of the pomposities.\n\nFrench was once the international language of diplomacy but is no more. It barely hangs on to its association with the courtly arts. It has been forced into retreat, in one domain after another, before the Anglo-Saxon juggernaut. This diminished status has occasioned both a resentful provincialism and the unfortunate tongue of technocrats and _biznessmen._ Its literature is rarely and haphazardly translated into English these days. The romance of French among poetically inclined American youths has waned considerably, in part because of the very success of French theory and its particular brand of double dutch, the nuances of which sometimes require a profound knowledge of classic literature, although this is not always apparent to English speakers. Where I live, in rural America, it is an obscure joke. It is my mother tongue, although I will probably seldom encounter again the specific variety of it I heard while growing up, since it was the instrument of a class that has changed drastically and to which I have lost most of my connections. I don't even employ it every week, let alone every day, and yet one way or another it informs every decision I make in the screen language I employ in order to pass unmolested in the land where I have lived for most of my life without ever shedding my internal foreignness. French is my secret identity inaccessible to my friends. Sometimes I feel as though I have it all to myself.\n\n# GERMAN\n\n#\n\n# _Prelude_  \nThomas Laqueur\n\nI seem to have had a peculiar loyalty to the German language from about as early as a child can articulate views. I was told by my parents that when they urged me as a three-year-old to learn Turkish, so that I might communicate more effectively with my playmates in Istanbul, where they had come in their flight from Hitler, I would have nothing of it. Let them learn German, I supposedly said; Turkish \"ist eine h\u00e4ssliche Sprache.\" My feelings about speaking German, and more generally about being European, have become stronger as what few real connections I had ever had to the language, to Germany, or to Europe have all but disappeared.\n\nGerman was my mother tongue. I mean this partly in the usual sense\u2014my first language was German. But it is also true that I spoke it almost entirely with my mother, my grandmother and their women friends. Only certain words and phrases are spoken by men or to men in my linguistic fantasy life. German is almost entirely a self-contained family language for me, but it is also the language of a world\u2014real, remembered, and misremembered\u2014 that my parents lost, a world that now exists almost entirely in my imagination, but which I maintain as a way of mourning them and theirs.\n\nI spoke only German until we left Turkey in November 1949. A stop in London with relatives was still all German, as were a brief few weeks in New York. My mothers brother\u2014my Onkel Otto\u2014and his wife lived in Manhattan near Fort Tryon Park, in the middle of a German-Jewish ghetto. Later, when we had settled in West Virginia, my mother visited them periodically and came back complaining about how insular their world was. I think I understand what she meant: one could not forget that one was living in exile there, amidst one's countrymen on the cliffs above the Hudson. In contrast, my family's relationship to its native language could not have been more cut off from its roots than ours was in the coal villages and towns where I grew up. I do not think my parents thought of themselves as living in a diaspora because they had no one with whom to share their loss.\n\nAfter New York, we lived for a few months in my father's sister's boarding house near the University of Texas. She specialized in housing foreign students. My Tante Eli and her husband had gone to Yugoslavia when Hitler came to power. When Hitler attacked Belgrade, they made their way south from Dubrovnik and Mosta to Albania, in the hope of being captured by the possibly benign Italians instead of by the certainly murderous Germans. They succeeded, and spent the war until 1942 in a Ca-labrian internment camp; then they were liberated by the British Eighth Army and headed north with it as translators. By the time they had to earn a living in Texas, they had Italian and Yugoslav and colloquial English in addition to very good school French\u2014and Latin, in case an ancient Roman turned up. This was my first sustained exposure to English.\n\nI remember being grumpy about learning a new language while in Austin. I do not remember saying what my parents claimed were my first words in my new language: \"me no eat fruit.\" I find this unlikely given that I have no memory of ever not liking any fruit, but still, this is family lore.\n\nAfter three months of crowded living, my mother, paternal grandmother, younger brother and I joined my father in a hollow near Montgomery, West Virginia, where he had secured a job as a pathologist in a private coal-field hospital. A friend from Istanbul, also a pathologist, had found a job near there the year before, through a Jewish relief agency. I have no memory of speaking English during our months in that hollow, just up from a railroad track. I think my mothers English was not very good, so we didn't see much of the neighbors. Tante Biba and Onkel Peter, the friends from Istanbul, lived twenty or thirty miles away, and with them I of course spoke German. Then on to Bluefield, the \"air-conditioned city,\" where coal poured in from the southern West Virginia bituminous coal-fields to one of the Norfolk and Western Railroads biggest train yards. It was here that I started to learn English seriously. I remember no hostility this time, although I do remember being teased about my German accent for many years to come. Unlike my brother, who is three years younger than I am, I never acquired the mountain accent, and I still sound foreign in those parts.\n\nIt was in Bluefield that I discovered German was a language that people other than my parents and a few friends actually spoke. It was not, as I had unselfconsciously assumed, a family code. This revelation came as follows: I was having a screaming fight in German with my brother, in front of the Pen Mar Grocery, a half-block from our house on North Street; he was three and I six. The issue was how much of a two-barrel popsicle I was going to share with him. A lady came up to us and said, in German, that she would give us a nickel so that each of us could have a treat of our own. I do not remember buying a second popsicle, but I do remember being very excited at finding someone else of our linguistic species. I rushed home with the big news.\n\nFrau Bressler, as she was called, had asked where we lived; I had told her. She visited. Frau Bressler had married Herr Bressler, who was many years her senior, after a long courtship. He had some sort of a disease that had caused his hands to shrivel into reddish, claw-like appendages, and he worked repairing small electrical appliances and meters. The Bresslers were poor; she was a southern German Catholic. (This I deduced on a visit last summer, from books about a papal visit to Bavaria I saw on the coffee table of her house.) Frau Bressler became one of my mothers close friends despite their very different circumstances. She also became our regular\u2014indeed only\u2014babysitter when my parents were away for more than an evening.\n\nThere was a third German in Bluefield, Frau Snelling, who had married\u2014after the war, I assume\u2014an alcoholic West Virginia forester. I associate her, however, not with making German a more public language for me, but rather with my first noteworthy failure in my efforts to be a good little German boy. The traumatic moment came when her mother, Frau W\u00f6ppekind, visited from Germany. I did, on meeting her, remember to address her with the formal _Sie,_ as I had been told to do. I did not, however, remember to bow. \"Mach eine Verbeugung,\" said my mother, not pleased with my lapse. I do not recall what Frau W\u00f6ppekind said, but I do remember that she seemed manifestly taken aback by \"der Bube's\" ill manners.\n\nSo now there were three strangers who spoke German in my world. I knew they were strangers because I addressed them as Frau or Herr instead of Onkel or Tante, which is what I called almost all other German-speaking adults. The fact that, following local custom, I called American adults who were close friends by their first names made our linguistic isolation palpable. Eddie and Janie and CO. and Hazel were simply from another universe, where other laws pertained. I was in my late twenties before I could comfortably address grown-up Europeans by their first names, and even then it was not easy. The crisis came when I got a job at Berkeley and was placed on a committee with two older colleagues: Paul Alexander, a saintly, extravagantly learned Byzantinist who was on the fringe of my family circle (the best friend of a cousin by marriage), and Nicholas Riasanovsky, a famous Russian historian. We were to give out money for graduate research projects. I could not call Alexander \"Onkel Paul,\" as I might otherwise have done; \"Onkel Nick\" was of course out of the question. And I could not address colleagues as \"Professor.\" So \"Paul\" and \"Nick\" it was, but not without a mental gulp. I still find this blurring of boundaries difficult.\n\nThere were two exceptions to this first-name rule: my mothers closest friends from Istanbul. Both were known by their nicknames. One, still alive, is \"Dicke\" or \"die Dicke\" (\"the fat one\"), who was supposedly once fat; the other was \"Schweinchen\" (\"piglet\"), whose nickname is a corruption of her maiden name, Schwerine. Schweinchen was sometimes Tante Paula; Dicke was always Dicke.\n\nGerman, in other words, constituted a world that I knew intimately but also not at all. I had, growing up, only the vaguest sense that people outside our family circle actually lived and functioned in our private language. Although I spoke it fluently, I got things having to do with the public\/private distinction seriously wrong. The _du\/Sie_ question was never easy. In our family of course, I used the familiar; likewise with family friends. I could use _Sie,_ but it did not come naturally. I had to be coached and reminded, a formula for screwing up, a sign not so much of bad character but cultural cluelessness. Dickes husband, Wie-gand, was said to be _vornehm_ (\"refined,\" \"high class\"). I do not know on what this view was based, but when he visited it was said to be important that I, age seven, not _dutzt_ him. I think I succeeded. But there were embarrassing lapses. When I was eleven or twelve, we visited Boston and made a pilgrimage to the butcher shop of Herr Thyssen, who was my parents' longdistance purveyor of German food. It came every few weeks to Beckley and Bluefield, packed on dry ice, via Greyhound bus: _Kaiserjadgwurst, Leberwurst, Blutwurst,_ and other wursts I can only say and not spell; _stinkerk\u00e4se_ (my name for Limburger cheese); every kind of dark bread. At Herr Thyssens shop, introductions were made and I lapsed into _du;_ he was clearly taken aback; my mother was appalled. There was nothing to do but try to disappear.\n\nThe same problem came up in regard to tone of voice and distance from one's interlocutor. I seemed to have always been off. \"Mami\" Putschar, the German-speaking wife of a Hungarian pathologist in Charleston whom we visited occasionally, always said to me that I sounded like a _Feldwebel._ Frankly I did not know what this was (it is a sergeant), because it is not the sort of word that comes up in family life; I did not play soldiers with anyone who knew the language. But it was clear that this was not a good way to sound. In college, where\u2014in the persons of \u00e9migr\u00e9 professors\u2014I met my first \"stranger Germans,\" I knew that I was somehow standing too close to them when I spoke. It took time to get the right range.\n\nMy family's and my German was entirely cut off from Germany and from everything that had happened to the language since the 1930s. (The one exception was a pilgrimage to New York when I was in high school, to see the Brucke theater do Schiller's _Don Carlos._ This was the first and I think only German play my parents saw after the mid-1930s.) There were lots of German speakers in my life, but none had had any connections with the real sources of the language for decades. They were an odd assortment of \u00e9migr\u00e9s, some native speakers, others part of the German cultural penumbra. In Beckley where we had moved in 1956, there was only a Ukrainian orthodox couple who spoke German. He had studied medicine in Germany after escaping from the east; she was a self-consciously romantic sort who spoke a hyperbolic, soulful, Russian-accented version of my mother tongue. During the summers there were also my uncles and aunts, who came to visit our cottage by a lake in southwestern Virginia; there were my mother's buddies from Istanbul, and some even from her late twenties and early thirties in Germany; there was, early on, my grandmother's sister-in-law, who spoke a Polish-accented German; there were several Hungarians, including a voice teacher from Juilliard who had the deepest voice of anyone I knew; there was an Austrian nurse who had somehow linked up with a West Virginia dermatologist named Locks-ley who spouted Shakespeare at the slightest provocation. And there were Max and his wife, who owned a bakery in the small town of Pulaski, Virginia, near our lake; both had tattoos on their arms from Auschwitz. Why they wanted to speak German with my mother is unclear. I did not wonder about it at the time. They also spoke Yiddish with my Onkel Otto when he visited. In any case, this was an eccentric linguistic universe.\n\nI dwell on all of these childhood memories because German is for me the language of memory and loss, a linguistic _Prelude._ My German is, first of all, a connection with a pre-Oedipal me. I have never made love in German; I know no slang words for matters sexual, and few slang words of any sort. I would not know what it would mean to feel sexual in German. The gigantic impact of linguistic adolescence\u2014when one comes to own one's language as a separate person, when it becomes something belonging to one's generation\u2014is lost on me. My German is frozen, amber-like, not only in pre-war history but in childhood; with some few exceptions, it is emotionally fixed. The word for carraway seed, _k\u00fcmmel,_ is an adjective for a kind of bread on which one eats corned beef or chopped liver, i.e. rye bread; for me it describes a man who terrified me as a small child, _der k\u00fcmmel Mann,_ a beggar with a pox-marked face who stood outside our Istanbul apartment. Too little has happened to me in German to make the regular public uses of words mean what they should.\n\nPowerful German words generally feel like they come from my mother; phrases, dicta, from my dad. _Sanft_ \u2014\"soft\" or \"gentle\"\u2014 I associate with her, although the phrase in which it comes back to me in the first instance is not hers. In my mind's ear it is from Schiller's \"Ode to Joy\"\u2014... _Wo dein sanfter Fl\u00fcgel weilt_ (\"where your gentle wing may come to rest\"). I think of the word in connection with my birthdays. On the evening of September 6th, from as early as I can remember until I was ten or so, my father and I would lie on a couch, I enfolded in his arms, and listen to a recording of Beethoven's Ninth. For the first years in West Virginia, it was the old 78s of the Furtw\u00e4ngler recording that would clack-clack-clack down until the whole stack had to be turned. Sometime around second grade, we switched to the Toscanini \"long play\" version that, miraculously, played for twenty-five minutes without a clack and went by, in its wild tempos, considerably faster than Furtw\u00e4ngler's more Germanic version. The ritual, however, did not change with conductors: lights were dimmed; during _die Neunte_ there would be no talking or interruptions by other family members; we were alone. I wonder how, before record-players, Germans of my parents' class and generation learned their reverence for _die Neunte_ (\"the Ninth\")\u2014 which, without further modification, can only mean Beethoven's. In German, or at least my parents' German, one puts just a little bit more emphasis on the article _die_ and lingers just an instant on the noun _Neunte_ than one would in a phrase like \"the ninth symphony of Schubert\" or \"the ninth symphony of Mahler.\" I know that this work still has considerable cultural clout in Germany, or at least did until recently; the great national work of the nineteenth century, it was what Bernstein conducted at the fallen Berlin Wall. But I have no sense whether men and women of my generation would say the words like my parents did and feel what I learned to feel. Like so much German, I know these two words of the language almost entirely in isolation from all but friends and family.\n\n_Geboren_ \u2014the adjective \"born\"\u2014is a mother word. She, and only she, and no one since she died, would address me on my birthday with the redundant silliness of _mein einziger Erstgeborener_ (\"my only firstborn\"). The suffix _-lein_ that produces the diminutive in German is also my mother's: my father might occasionally have addressed me as Thomaslein\u2014I do not remember\u2014 but my mother always did. Tommy, which is what they called me in West Virginia, has always sounded silly to me; Tom is just a name; Thomaslein is very sweet. _Traurig_ (\"sorrowful\") is a mother word, although I think my mother was in fact far happier than my father. She could not keep a tune for more than two measures but loved to sing a song called \"Die Lorelei,\" the lyrics of which were by her favorite poet, Heinrich Heine. I have her copy of his complete poems that she kept on her night table and read most days of her life.\n\n_Ich wei\u00df nicht, was soll es bedeuten,_\n\n_Da\u00df ich so traurig bin,_\n\n_Ein M\u00e4rchen aus uralten Zeiten,_\n\n_Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn._\n\n\"I do not know what it means, that I am so sorrowful; I cannot get out of my head a tale of the most ancient of times.\" This is roughly how I feel about things German in general: a \"M\u00e4rchen\" fairy-tale built of projections and fantasies and memories that I cannot erase and that leave me melancholy.\n\nIn my family, we spoke German at the dinner table until I left for college because my grandmother claimed that she neither spoke nor understood English. This was clearly false\u2014she read English papers and watched English TV\u2014but feigning ignorance allowed her to maintain the fiction of otherworldly incompetence that she seems to have cultivated all her life and that kept her entirely out of public view. She did not venture outside family circles during her twenty-three years in America. My grandmother was born in 1873, in the waning of the Biederman era, the youngest daughter of six children. She went to school long enough to learn French; she played piano well; she and my grandfather lived for music, which they played four hands. They had heard Brahms conduct, early in their lives together, as well as many of the other great German conductors of the nineteenth century. (I know all this from their concert diary, which I inherited when my father died.) My grandmother could do all sorts of needlework. But she could not\u2014or at least did not, in anyone's memory\u2014so much as boil an egg. She stayed in Germany until December 1939 on the grounds that she did not want to leave her Bechstein grand piano. In America, she dressed and acted like a lady of a distant century, seemingly unaware that the world around her had changed. (She did read about the deaths of her contemporaries in the Aufbau, and remained alert until the ninety-fifth of her one hundred years.) The first of my fantasy Germanies is hers. The words I associate with her are _Es geht rapide bergab_ \u2014\"things are going rapidly downhill\"\u2014something she said about herself from when she was in her late seventies to when she went gaga in her late nineties.\n\nWith my mother I spoke German exclusively until she died; I have not spoken it regularly since 1992. With my father I spoke only English, the grown-up language, the language in which I talked of science and medicine and politics. He did, in fact, speak English much better than my mother, but it was only much later, when I heard him on a Dictaphone machine summarizing an autopsy, that I realized how heavily accented his English was, almost parodically so.\n\nThere were, as I said, exceptions to this linguistic segregation. The few bits of really grown-up German I know, and the minimal sense I have of the rhythms of the language, are from sayings or maxims, _Sprichw\u00f6rter,_ that come from my father. (I wish I could rattle off those wonderful torrents of dependent clauses and finish up with the verb, as grown-up German speakers do.) Likewise curses come through him. _Mit der Dummheit k\u00e4mfen G\u00f6tter selbst vergebens_ (\"With stupidity the gods themselves fight in vain\") was a big one, as was Kant's categorical imperative, which was recited with a special tone of reverence. I loved its sounds and the fact that there was only one such rule, even if it took a while to understand what it meant: _handle nur nach derjenigen Maxime, durch die du zugleich wollen kannst, da\u00df sie ein allgemeines Gesetz werde_ (\"act only on that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law,\" which I understood in the still grander form, \"act as if the maxim of your action were to become through your will a universal law of nature\").\n\n_Donnerwetter_ (\"thunder weather\") was the prelude to an explosion of my fathers anger and was often followed by _noch ein mal_ (\"once again\"). This malediction was frequently associated with the threat that if we continued to misbehave my mother would call my father, who would then say _ein machtwort_ \u2014 literally, a \"word of power,\" but really more like the definitive warning of the super-ego. Since one of the other big sayings in my family was _Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi_ (Latin sayings had the authority of German ones), which meant \"What is allowed to Jupiter is not allowed to the ox,\" the \"thunder weather \/ words of power\" combo carried a certain mythological terror. The Latin saying itself was used mostly to explain why my reading of the categorical imperative was mistaken in holding that the maxim for some action of my fathers included him. So, if it was okay for him to be late when we all knew that lateness was indefensible as a universal principle, the old _Jovi_ exception was adduced. I thought that this was fudging on the universality principle but got nowhere with this line of argument.\n\nThe only curses I know are my fathers, and they are ridiculously quaint. He would reproach my mother with _Was glaubst du das ich bin, ein Dukatenscheisser_ (\"What do you think I am? Someone who shits ducats?\") every month as he was paying the bills. He was terribly anxious about money having no one to back him up if he failed, but he must have known full well that his wife was frugal and extremely efficient at household management. _Lech mich am arse_ (kiss my ass) was another, always attributed to Schiller's G\u00f6tz von Berlichen. I have never used any of these phrases in public because I have no idea whether they mean anything in the outside world.\n\nTwo words belong to both parents and have universal resonance for me: _Unsinn_ and _vern\u00fcnftig._ Again, I do not know whether other German-speakers my age feel this way about them; for all I know, they resonate as they do for me only in my private language. _Unsinn_ (\"nonsense,\" \"absurdity\") had many applications and was often used as an expletive. But it is one of the few words from childhood that carried over into adolescence. _Mache keinen Unsinn_ (\"Don't do anything stupid\") was the standard caution before my going out on a date. It did not apply to my driving, which was impeccable, but to \"parking\" on one of the hundreds of miles of strip mine roads around where we lived and necking the evening away. (There was nothing else to do in Beckley but this nonsense had other things to recommend it.) _Unsinn_ and _sei vern\u00fcnftig_ (\"act reasonably\") are the only German words that have any personal association with sex for me. They have other meanings, of course. Being _vern\u00fcnftig_ meant being governed by reason in all matters and applied to life generally, but in the absence of any other post-pubescent words, they still have a peculiar ring of sexual danger.\n\nAlthough, as I said, I spoke English with my father, my sense of German as a language of loss comes through him. I felt strongly as I was growing up that he simply did not get what it meant to live in another culture. My mother, whose English was wildly ungrammatical and full of Germanic neologisms, got on well with the locals. She made a joke of misunderstanding, as when on her citizenship examination she answered that _ja, ja,_ she \"had been and was still a member of the Communist Party.\" She had been told by friends that if she did not understand a question\u2014she often missed what people said if they spoke quickly or with especially pronounced mountain accents\u2014 she should simply answer \"yes.\" Beckley and Bluefield abounded with Toni Laqueur malaproprisms. But she fit in. My father was clueless. He somehow translated my high school graduation as _Abitur,_ an occasion for much ceremony and for a punch bowl of Champagne and liquor-soaked fruit. This did not go over well with my high school friends. He tried at my parents' New Year's Eve parties to have everyone wear tuxedos and listen to Beethoven's Ninth. This also did not find wide acceptance.\n\nAnd he seemed to have no sense of what his own past meant after Hitler. We had a recording of German university student drinking songs that we played often. He knew all of them; I even knew them. He had a picture of himself and his university fraternity brothers wearing their uniforms and displaying sabers. He had a small dueling scar above his hair line. None of this struck him as odd or ironic. Perhaps this is just an instance of the strategy my parents shared, attempting to mitigate the pain of having lost their homeland by neither assimilating nor living in a diaspora community, among others who had been displaced. They lived as much as they could in a bubble, eating food and speaking a language and listening to music that no one around them appreciated or understood. My German has inherited something of their cultural autarchy.\n\nI do not want to suggest that I speak a childish German, or that I cannot get by doing adult things in the language. But whenever I do something grown-up in German, I am self-conscious about doing it; I am aware of the temporal chasm between now and then (\"then\" being the lives of my parents and my own childhood). My father never went back to Germany; my mother went back once, in 1955, to visit an old friend who had returned. She lucked upon Central Castings nightmare of a taxi driver, who went on about all the good things the Nazis had done and how Americans misunderstood _die Hitlerzeit._ Never again. So both of them remained passionately German, but without any real contact with Germany. They drank only German wines. They staged an elaborate German Christmas complete with candles on the tree (until neighbors told them that American trees, cut a month in advance, would go up in flames). They listened almost exclusively to German music\u2014 _Parsifal_ was on for Easter. They thought that the French were wrong to occupy the Rhineland in 1920, and wrongheaded about much else besides. So I lived a childhood produced by the children of nineteenth-century Jews, who imagined the land of Goethe and Schiller with little of its reality or recent history.\n\nI went to Germany for the first time in 1992, when I was forty-seven. I was there as a tourist and spoke of little but rooms, food, and schedules. The first time I actually said anything in German that was neither about travel nor about the sorts of things one talks about in families\u2014that is, the first time I felt that German was for me a public language\u2014was in the summer of 1995 at a conference in Frankfurt. I asked a question in German of a journalist; he understood and answered; I asked a follow-up. I translated in whispers the lectures of colleagues for my wife, and found that I was good at it. On subsequent trips I have given my own lectures in German, sometimes at the request of my hosts but sometimes just because I wanted very much to reclaim the language for my parents.\n\nI love being in Germany among my friends; it is a return to a place and a language and a cultural tradition that my parents never ceased to mourn. The people I know there are to a person cultivated, intelligent, liberal and welcoming. But I have no illusions about the phantasmic\u2014arguably delusional\u2014attachment I have to place and language. In 1995, my wife and I visited my mothers hometown, Holzminden an der Weser, a small city of about 30,000 not far from Hanover. It is in what was the heartland of Nazi electoral strength. My grandparents' house looked exactly as it did in pictures, almost entirely unchanged. The river Weser ran swiftly less than a hundred meters from the little meadow where my grandfather, a grain merchant, kept a few cows and chickens.\n\nI knocked on the door of the house, and an old woman appeared at the window. I asked her if she had lived here for a long time. Yes, she had always lived there. Well, I said, my grandparents had once lived there. No, not possible, she said before she relented: who were they? Their name was Weinberg. _\"Ach ja, die Juden. Feine leute.\"_ (\"Ah yes, the Jews. Fine people.\") Her father, a carpenter, had bought the place from my grandfather in the Hitlerzeit. This must have been in the early 1940s, just before he was deported to Theresienstadt and on to Auschwitz. She shared with me what she knew about where one swam in the Wesser (swimming was my mothers great love, and I had heard a lot about the rivers quick currents and what one had to do to navigate it). She told me the location of the Catholic girls' _gymnasium_ that my mother had attended. I then asked her whether my wife might take a picture of me in the window in which she was sitting. (I have a picture of the house with my maternal great-grandparents in the top window, my grandparents in the middle window, and my mother and her siblings in the window where my interlocutor was sitting.) Suddenly she ceased to understand my German. The conversation was over; I could reclaim only so much.\n\n# GIKUYU\n\n#\n\n# _Recovering the Original_  \nNgugi wa Thiong'o\n\nHe lay on his tummy on a high table in the assembly hall with all the students and staff present. Two teachers held his head and legs and pinned him to the table and called him monkey as the third whip lashed his buttocks. No matter how horribly he screamed and wriggled with pain, they would not let him go. Scream Monkey. Eventually the shorts split and blood spluttered out, some of it on the shirts of those who held him down, and only then did they let him go. He stood up barely able to walk, barely able to cry, and he left, never to be seen in the precincts of that government school or any other again; I have never known what happened to him. His fault? He had been caught in the act of speaking Gikuyu in the environs of the school, not once, not twice, but several times. How did the teachers come to discover his sins?\n\nSpeaking African languages in the school compound was a crime. If a student caught another speaking an African language, he would pass a token called a monitor to the culprit, who would carry it around his neck till he caught another speaking the forbidden tongues; he would pass the dreaded thing to the new culprit, and so on\u2014children spying on one another, all day, or even tricking each other into speaking the leprous language. The one with the monitor at the end of the day was the sinner and would be punished. The above recipient of whiplashes had been a sinner for so many weeks that it looked as if he was deliberately defying the ban on Gikuyu. The teachers were determined to use him as an example to teach others a lesson.\n\nThis was the Kenya of the fifties in the last century. The country was then a British settler colony with a sizeable white settlement in the arable heartland, which they then called White Highlands. But from its colonization in 1895, Kenya was always contested, the forces of colonial occupation being met by those of national resistance, with the clash between the two sides climaxing in the armed conflict of the fifties, when Kenyans grouped around Mau Mau (or, more appropriately, Kenya Land and the Freedom Army) took to the forests and mountains to wage a guerrilla struggle against the colonial state. The outbreak of the war was preceded by a heightened nationalist cultural awareness, with songs, poetry, and newspapers in African languages abounding. The outbreak of the war was followed by a ban on performances and publications in African languages. A similar ban applied to African-run schools\u2014they were abolished.\n\nI first went to Kamandura primary, a missionary set-up, in 1947. But we must have been caught up by the new nationalist awareness, because there were rumors that missionary schools were deliberately denying us children real education _(G\u00fcth-imira ciana \u00fcgi)._ Such schools were alleged not to be teaching Africans enough English, and some of us were pulled out of the missionary school and relocated to Manguu, a nationalist school where the emphasis was on the history and culture of Africans. In religion, some of the nationalist schools, which called themselves independent, aligned themselves with the orthodox church, thus linking themselves to the unbroken Christian tradition of Egypt and Ethiopia, way back in the first and fourth centuries of the Christian era.\n\nI was too young to know about this linkage; all I knew was that I was going to a school where we would be taught \"deep\" English alongside other subjects and languages, in our case, Gikuyu. I can't remember if the English in the nationalist school was \"deeper\" than that taught in the previous school\u2014I doubt if there was any difference in approach to the teaching of English\u2014but I do recall that a composition in Gikuyu was good enough to have me paraded in front of the class, in praise. That is how to write good Gikuyu, the teacher said after reading it aloud to the class. So in the nationalist school of my early primary schooling, mastering Gikuyu and knowing English were not in conflict. One got recognition for mastering one or both.\n\nThis peaceful co-existence of Gikuyu and English in the classroom changed suddenly a few years later, when the African independent schools were shut down, with some of them resurrected as colonial state-run institutions. Manguu was one of these and the emphasis on humiliating the Gikuyu language-users, as the pre-condition for acquiring English, was the most immediate outcome of the changes. It was under the new dispensation that terror was unleashed on Gikuyu. The screaming student was being thrashed to take him out of the darkness of his language to the light of English knowledge.\n\nI enjoyed English under all dispensations, but the image of the screaming student haunted me and even puzzled me for a long time. The student was hounded out of the school for speaking Gikuyu, the language I had once been praised for writing well. Maybe there was something wrong with the teachers who had so praised me; the evidence of this was that they had all lost their jobs under the new colonial position on the importance of English. The new teachers, all African, all black, all Gikuyu, devised all sorts of methods for associating African languages with negative images, including making linguistic sinners carry placards that asserted that they were asses. It was a war of attrition that gradually eroded pride and confidence in my language. There was nothing this language could teach me, at least nothing that could make me become educated and modern. Gore to the students who spoke Gikuyu; glory to those who showed a mastery of English. I grew up distancing myself from the gore in my own language to attain the glory in English mastery.\n\nThere were rewards. A good performance in English meant success up the ladder of education. And it was this that took me from Manguu, under its colonial tutelage, to Alliance High School, the most prestigious institution for Africans at the time, and eventually to Makerere University College in Kampala, Uganda, where I studied English Literature.\n\nIt was there, at Makerere, in the sixties\u2014the heyday of decolonization, with country after country in Africa becoming independent\u2014that I wrote what eventually became _The River Between, Weep Not Child,_ and several short stories and plays, all of them in English. When later I went to Leeds University in England, I wrote the novel _A Grain of Wheat._ I truly felt joy in trying to make English words sing and capture the color and contours of my life. During the composition of _A Grain of Wheat,_ much of it done in my room at Bodington, a student residence hall near the Yorkshire Moors (the setting of Bront\u00eb's _Wuthering Heights),_ I often played Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in the background, and I aspired to similarly weave several movements into a seamless whole. I wanted to climb on English words to the highest peak of the mountain of human experience. But why choose English as the vehicle of my ambitions? It was not a question of choice. By this time in my education, and with everything that surrounded me at schools in Africa and abroad, writing in English seemed the most natural thing to do. I had been socialized into regarding writing in English as normal and desirable, even when the subject matter was the drama of decolonization and independence, a major theme in my work.\n\nIn all my writings I drew on the life and culture of Gikuyu and the African peoples. Their history, particularly that of anti-colonial resistance, was at the center of my writing. But this history and culture were negotiated through Gikuyu and other African languages. Mau Mau fighters against the British colonial state, in their hideouts in the forests and mountains, did not strategize and plan in English; they talked Gikuyu, Kiswahili, and other Kenyan languages. Yet I wrote as if they were doing so in English. I heard their voices in Gikuyu but wrote them down in English sounds. What I was doing, of course, was a mental translation. This means that for every novel that I wrote in English, there was an original text. What happens to this original text, since in fact it exists only in the mind and is not written down? It is lost, and we can only access it through English. In my educated hands, Gikuyu language, culture, and history came out wearing an English-language mask.\n\nI believe there is genius in every language. It does not matter how many people speak it: the genius of a language is not dependent on the quantity of its speakers. I was taking away from the genius of Gikuyu to add to the genius of English. I was taking away from the product of one genius to enrich the form of another.\n\nBut language is not simply an arrangement of sounds. Language is the people who speak it. There was more to my act of writing in English than simply enriching it at the expense of Gikuyu. I was taking away from the people who created Gikuyu and its genius, making sure that they could only access the rendering of their history through another tongue. In my early writings, I did not think about this; I was thrilled to see myself in print and reviewed in the English-language press, in Africa and abroad. But the situation was beginning to annoy me. For whom was I writing?\n\n_A Grain of Wheat_ came out in 1967. I was visiting Beirut, Lebanon, when I got a copy of the _London Observer,_ which carried a tribute to the novel. The warm sentiment was the same in the rest of the press reviews. But despite the very good reception, I felt uneasy about the implications of the linguistic form. Back in Leeds, in an interview with a student newspaper, I said that after _A Grain of Wheat_ I did not think I would write novels anymore. Why? Because I knew about whom I was writing but I did not know for whom I was doing it. The people about whom I wrote so eloquently would never be in a position to read the drama of their lives in their own language. On looking back, what I now find striking was that I thought of _not writing anymore_ instead of switching languages to write in the one accessible to the subjects of the narratives. I still accepted English as the only possible means of my literary deliverance. What a choice is implied in my response! Write in English or not at all. And indeed my next novel, _Petals of Blood,_ which came out in 1977, was written in English although littered with Gikuyu and Swahili words\u2014almost as if, in the text, I was announcing the contradiction in my position and practice.\n\nTwo events in my life changed my relationship to English and Gikuyu. In 1976, while a Professor of Literature at Nairobi University, I was invited to work at Kamirithu Community Education and Cultural Center, a village near Limuru town, thirty or so kilometers from Nairobi. It was an education and cultural project charged with providing literacy skills and cultural material. Dramatic performance became a natural means of achieving both. The Kamirithu community spoke Gikuyu, and there was no way that we could work in the village without working in the language of the community. For the first time in my life, I was being forced by the practical needs to face the Gikuyu language. _Ngaahika Ndeenda_ (in English, _I Will Marry When I Want),_ co-authored with Ngugi wa Mirii, was the immediate outcome, and it was received warmly by the community. But it was received with hostility by the post-colonial state. The performance took place on November 11, 1977; on December 31, I was arrested by the Kenyan government and detained at Kamiti Maximum Security Prison. I have written about this in many of my books, principally _Detained: A Writer's Prison Diary._\n\nWhat I have not mentioned in those narratives is the parallel between those events at Kamirithu in 1977 and those of my primary-school experience almost thirty years earlier. This was the first time I had been seriously engaged in writing in Gikuyu since that early effort at Manguu in its nationalist phase. The teachers and the students of the nationalist school had praised me for writing in Gikuyu. In the same way, the reception of the play by the community years later was fabulous. The applause in the primary school was followed by the takeover of the school by the colonial state, with terror unleashed on the speakers of the language in the school compound. The screaming student was forced out of the school. In my case, the community's applause was followed by my imprisonment; I was forced out of all classrooms and later into exile.\n\nIt could be argued that it was my contact with Kamirithu that reconnected me with the genius of Gikuyu. To a certain extent, this is true. The peasantry had retained their faith in the language. They kept it alive by using it. I learnt a great deal from them. But it was in Cell 16, at a Maximum Security prison, that I really came into contact with the genius of Gikuyu. I had been imprisoned by an African government for writing in an African language. Why? The question made me revisit the language, colonialism and my relationship to both. I had to find a way of connecting with the language for which I had been incarcerated. It was not a matter of nostalgia. I was not being sentimental. I needed to make that contact in order to survive. It was an act of resistance. So I wrote the very first novel ever written in Gikuyu, on toilet paper, in a room provided \"free\" by the post-colonial state. The novel, _Caitaani Mutharabaim,_ was published in 1980 to oral critical review. It was subsequently translated into English under the title _Devil on the Cross_ and came out in 1982 to literary acclaim in the English-language press\u2014but this time only _after_ it had been reviewed by the community. By the time I came out of prison in 1978, the decision had already been made. I would no longer write fiction in English (except through the translation of an existing Gikuyu text); from then onwards, Gikuyu would be the primary language of my creative acts. I have not looked back since.\n\n_Devil on the Cross_ was followed by _Matigari,_ and I have just finished a manuscript that I started in May 1997. When _M\u00fcrogi wa Kagogo_ comes out, it will be the longest novel ever written in Gikuyu. (The English translation will be published under the title _Wizard of the Crow._ )\n\nMore important has been the rise of other novelists, poets, and playwrights in Gikuyu. A new literature has been born. If this tradition has a discernible beginning and a location, it is in Cell 16, in Kenya's Kamiti Maximum Security Prison in 1977\u201378. Or maybe it was earlier, on the day I witnessed the plight of the screaming student. In trying to run away from his plight, perhaps I was running towards his fate. Only the genius of the language kept me alive to tell the tale.\n\n# GREEK\n\n#\n\n# _Split Self_  \nNicholas Papandreou\n\nGrowing up bilingual meant growing up with two cultures, two opposing identities. The Greek language was, in the first case, the language of politics, meaning the speeches of my father and grandfather. \"Greece to the Greeks,\" my father cried out in the mid-1960s; or, in my grandfathers more _apophthegmatic_ (in todays parlance, sound-bite) Greek: \"The King reigns but the people rule.\"\n\nGreek, then, was their language, and they had a famously firm hold on it. Theirs was the language of the humble men who gathered inside our kitchen during campaigns, of modern Athenians with razor-thin ties and dark suits, of women in black with absurdly thick fingers, much thicker and stronger than my mothers or my half-Polish grandmothers. These women believed it was their god-given birthright to stretch what little of my flesh they could grab hold of.\n\nYet it was the language of my mothers Anglo-Saxon Chicago side that ultimately won my heart. When we moved to Greece from Berkeley in the early sixties, so my father could enter politics, English automatically became my refuge, a way to prevent the complete loss of my embryonic identity.\n\nIn _Richard the Second,_ Thomas Mowbray reacts to his banishment from England: \"Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,\" he says, which is \"so deep a maim.\" Of course, my tongue was not fully imprisoned, since along with an ample supply of books, I had English as our in-house language.\n\nI stuck solidly to my English, meaning that I read British books (and learned to say _Bloody 'ell_ and _Blimey!_ \u2014which I was sure derived from a British rendition of _Blame me!)_ but also introduced comic-book expressions when beating up my younger brother, Andy. My less-than-Homeric blows to his small chest were accompanied by rapturous cries of \"zap!\" \"pow!\" and, for the execution, \"kablooey!\" I was always delighted to discover new words, especially slang. When an American teenager asked me where the toilet was so he could \"take a leak,\" I was bowled over. I imagined our bodies to be like badly built ships from which water leaked out. When an American family moved in next door\u2014I learned later the father helped put mine in jail\u2014I learned that \"man\" could be thrown into a sentence just about anywhere, and that \"cool\" meant, well, cool, man.\n\nYet Greek was all around, with classes in geometry, algebra, and geography, in a version of the language known as \"katha-revousa\" (meaning clean or pure). The language brought with it all the attendant cultural sidebars: priests grilled alive by Turks, women who jumped off cliffs rather than be taken by the enemy, and the Bridge of Arta, which reminded me of the story of Sisyphus\u2014the bridge would be fixed in the day but would collapse at night, and so a virgin was built into the bridge and this successfully reversed the trend. There was also the story of the World War Two collaborator who chopped off and then sold partisans' heads to the Germans like cabbage. When the war was over the man was caught, sliced lightly all over his skin with razor blades, then buried in a sand dune in Thessaly.\n\nI couldn't wait to tell my friends \"back home\" about the lamb we had for a pet, about the sheer steepness of the Isthmus of Corinth, about the shark I saw hanging by a hook on the island of Hydra, about the taste of souvlaki with pita and the caterpillars that hung in white sacks from the branches of pine trees. There were soon no friends on the other side, yet I was still possessed by the need to tell them everything that was different from America. It took me years to realize that I carried the other side with me at all times.\n\nBut I was most impressed by the enormous crowds that came to listen to my father and my grandfather, through whom I learned and imitated a rhetorical speech-making Greek. \"Greece of Christian Greeks catholically protestant,\" my grandfather hurled at the dictators when he was under house arrest. Even then, at the age of eleven, I marveled at how he squeezed three religions into one active phrase. Other sayings of his joined the pantheon of national tradition: _Many a people has deposed a king, never has a king deposed the people,_ or _All regimes boast political parties, only democracies have opposition parties._ The rhetorical expertise of both men put pressure on me to speak a Greek that was better than the average\u2014a pressure so daunting that, I now realize, I soon abandoned the effort and threw myself squarely into the camp of the possible.\n\nI remember selecting from my parents' library the thickest book I could find, presumably because the thickest book would provide me the greatest protection, which is how I ended up reading, at the age of nine, the sorry life of an architect written by someone with an unpronounceable first name (Ayn Rand's _Fountainhead)._ But I quickly strayed into the adventures of Biggles and Blyton's Secret Five, the Hardy Boys and every single Drew Sisters book I could secure from my sister, Gayle-Sophia. I refused to call her Sophia and persisted in her nicely American Gayle (after the actress Gail Storm, whom my parents had apparently taken a liking to in the fifties, when she was born). The rest of us had solidly Greek names: Nick, Andy, George.\n\nIt was my godfather, also a George, who got me thinking more about language. \"Why is a spoon called a spoon?\" he asked.\n\n\"That's silly,\" I recall answering. \"Because it's a spoon! And that's a fork, so it's called a fork!\"\n\nI hadn't yet realized that he was a fan of Magritte's. I liked my godfather because he looked precisely the way a godfather should look: three-piece suits, a smart tie, a hat, a cane, a well-trimmed mustache, with a distinct air of aristocracy.\n\n\"Do you know what your name means?\" he asked me when we sat in the dining room in our home in Paleo Psycheko.\n\n\"My name means... well, it means Nick!\"\n\n\"But in its full version,\" he offered, \"what does it really mean?\"\n\n\"You mean Nicholas?\"\n\n\"Two words in there. Can you see them?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nike and Laos, victor of the people.\"\n\n\"Cow!\" (I didn't know the whole expression yet.) So Greek words really did have secrets.\n\nI was off. I easily pried apart brother George's first name: _geo_ for earth and _orge_ for the verb plough\u2014though I had to look _orge_ up. George was no more nor less than a farmer. Little Andy with his blond hair and the black tuft sprouting out from the crown, who actually spoke only Greek, had a name that meant simply Man, like Oriana Fallaci's book _Un Uomo,_ about her Greek lover. Sophia, however, didn't have a synthetic name and hers meant simply Wisdom. Names like hers were less fun because there was no puzzle, no secret.\n\nThe bakers wife, Euphony, was fair game. When my sister once came home with a loaf of bread, I shouted: \"You phony! I bet you didn't buy it from Mrs. Good-Sound!\" Alexander, a friend, meant Man-Repellent. Thinking I was ahead of the game, I challenged my mother (who was having a harder time with Greek than I was) by demanding she tell me a word I didn't know, in any language. She threw out an easy one at first\u2014 \"sludge,\" I think it was\u2014which I proceeded to answer. Then came a far more difficult one, which I still remember to this day, amazed she knew such a long word. It was the word \"eleemosynary.\" I admitted defeat. \"Look it up,\" she advised. I discovered, to my delight, it had a Greek root\u2014 _eleimosini,_ meaning the quality of being charitable or charitableness.\n\nI began to look for English words which were in fact Greek\u2014 except that you would never think they were. I made a list of such words: For example, the word \"cemetery\" _(kimitirio)_ simply meant a sleeping place. The word \"police,\" familiar the world over, derived from the word _polis._ The word \"zone\" was the Greek word for what we wore around our waist\u2014a belt. My all-time favorite is a word you'd never think was Greek: \"disaster,\" meaning a bad alignment of the stars.\n\nI started to drive the family nuts by finding words that either sounded awful or made a lot of noise when you said them loudly, since I had now become the most word-infected family member:\n\n\"Dad, stop making all that _cacophony!\"_\n\n\"Mom, that souvlaki's really gonna hurt my _esophagus!\"_\n\n\"I can't concentrate with all the _susurrus_ from your newspaper!\"\n\n\"Dad, sometimes you are _a.pompous_ pop!\"\n\nFor a brash statement like that I could get popped myself, since my father, especially on his return from America, was growing less and less beholden to American child psychologists and had reverted more and more to the traditional forms of control\u2014 Ottoman law, as we called it, applied sporadically but effectively with the help of a _zoni_ (belt) to our behinds.\n\nOnce I had worked out first names _(Cleanthes_ \u2014Bouquet, _Calliope_ \u2014Beautiful-faced), there appeared a whole new treasure where I least expected it: Greek surnames. My sister and I would translate surnames to see how dumb they sounded in English: Mister Kalovelonis was Mister Goodneedle, while Mister Kalambokis was his Royal Highness Mister Corn. Our all-time favorites were the derogatory surnames like Mrs. Low-Butt and Mrs. Fat-butt, the famous Buttley sisters, like my mothers high-school heroines, the Andrews Sisters.\n\nThe last name of one of my fathers deputies made no sense but was certainly fun to say, if you could spit it out without stuttering: _Papapanayotou._ Three pa's in a row\u2014try them apples on for size. Our surname, with its double papa (our greatgrandfather was a priest, hence the Papa) was nothing compared to Mister Papapanayotou. My gleeful rendition of his name each day caused his name to be repeated by nearly all the household. \"Oh dear Mister Papapanayotou,\" my mother might exclaim for no reason.\n\nWhen he showed up one night, my father made a big thing of introducing him to me, then did me the awesome favor of actually adding yet another \"pah\" to the train. For days I savored the delightful extra\u2014Papa-pa!-panayotou. I don't think the owner of the surname thought twice about this delicious distortion, but I treasured it for weeks and kept seeing my father's slight grin as he machine-gunned the whole thing into the hallway, specifically for my pleasure. In a way I was being acknowledged as the family's linguist.\n\nDuring the dictatorship of 1967\u20131974, with my father in jail, we called on the American side of the family to visit us. One such member was a medal-studded Lieutenant Colonel who had just returned from service in Vietnam. Walking around Athens with all six-foot-five of him, in full military decoration, ignoring curfew, we were able finally to stand outside Averoff prison on Alexandras Street, where my father was being held. This was not just a thrill, a small act of revenge; it also reinforced the sense that English offered much more protection than did Greek.\n\nWe moved to Sweden in 1968, after my father, with the help of President Johnson\u2014who was quoted as saying, in full Texan drawl, \"Let that damn sunuvabitch out\"\u2014was amnestied by the dictators. A twelve-year-old loosed on Stockholm, I dipped briefly but excitedly into the Englishness of Swedish. Besides the blatant and unheard of pix of full-breasted vix which hung on just about every newsstand in the city, I was transfixed by the word for entrance and exit\u2014the blatancy of the _infart_ and _utfart_ strewn all over the place. Adolescence is nothing if not delight in the scatological (Greek for \"study of excrement,\" as opposed to eschatological, \"the theology of death or endings\"). My favorite: the word for constipation in Swedish was _ferstoppning,_ meaning exactly what it says, thank you.\n\nOn the run, we finally ended up in Canada in the last year of the decade, under the good graces of the then Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau, who offered political asylum to my father if he wouldn't overdo his criticism of America (a restraint my father was unable to obey). Strangely enough\u2014or perhaps not so strangely\u2014my real home, the one I thought of as my real home was for many years the country of Canada. And Canadians\u2014 well, they spoke pretty much like we did but, to my great delight, not exactly. When I played basketball, the referee might shout \"Eeyoot of Bounds!\" Objects were \"yea high,\" highways had \"soft shoulders,\" and a decent-sized snowplow weighed \"two ton\" without the pluralizing ess. You could talk like you were a hardware employee showing a customer the goods and get away with it: \"Well, there you've got _your_ Phillips Screw and _your_ five-inch dead bolt... \"The wonderful possessive _your_ gave you instant ownership over all such male objects. There was also a machine called a \"snowblower\" which, besides snow, would churn out pebbles, animals and, in at least one James Bond film, a couple of bad humans. Ski-Doos raced across the snow at night in the vast white space: an upgraded version of Dr. Zhivago.\n\nGoing to school in rural Ontario\u2014where, for some reason that I never discovered, my father decided we should live\u2014I learned that the business end of a scythe was called a _snath,_ that Viceroy butterflies look like Monarchs but don't have the same flight pattern, and that Lord Strathcona drove the last spike of the Canadian Pacific Railway on November 7, 1885. Swamps were called _muskegs,_ a frozen pond thundered when you walked on it, trapped air bubbles looked like crystal balls, a hockey puck traveled up to a hundred miles an hour, a solid slapshot was as satisfying as any slam dunk, and, contrary to popular wisdom, when it got really cold it didn't snow. Driving along Route 13 in King City one cold afternoon, we passed the small _kimitirio_ with its snow-laden crosses sticking up like frozen spinning jacks. I turned to my mother. \"Mom, when I die, this is where I want to be buried.\" Not in Berkeley, not in Greece, not in Sweden, but here, in King City, Ontario. I had never seen her cry before because of something I said.\n\nIt was in Canada I first heard a third but instantly recognizable language, one which I sort of knew without ever having learned it. It was the English spoken by first-generation Greeks, what the community of bi-culturals like me now informally calls Gringlish. Gringlish usually takes English verbs or even nouns and pops them directly into the sentence. Will you park the car becomes, in Gringlish, \"Tha kanis _park_ to _caro?\"_ How many blocks away do you live becomes \"Posa blockya makria?\"\n\nI dislike the word _Gringlish_ because it sounds like a combination of two evil heroes, Grendel and the Grinch. I prefer a word of my own invention, which is perhaps derogatory but more to the point: Dinerese. In the Greek diners spread across Route One, in Chicago or in Florida, in perhaps the most famous Greek eatery of all, Astoria's Neptune Diner (nested neatly beneath the Triborough Bridge), you can still hear this language. \"The Greek people,\" a phrase much liked and much used by my father, in Dinerese becomes \"the Greek peep.\" Greeks love the peep. Peeps of the world unite. Long live the peep. Fast-speaking Greeks dismiss the distance between words. Like a hut kupukuf-fee? No, you sumunabeets?\n\nMy favorite interchange occurred while I was in college, when a Greek Greek who had learned English only from his law books and who worked part-time at a Greek pizza place in New Haven encountered an unhyphenated America. The conversation went something like this, as best as I can recall:\n\n\"Ordered a double cheese 'zah, half-pep, half anch.\"\n\n\"I am sorry. What was that?\"\n\n\"Half-pep half-anch, man. The full spread.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry. I don't speak colloquial.\"\n\n\"You don't speak what?\"\n\n\"Slang. That's it. I don't speak slang.\"\n\n\"Who's speaking slang? I'm speaking English.\"\n\n\"Do you mock me, sir? Do you deride me?\"\n\n\"C'mon, man! I just want my 'zah!\"\n\n\"You think you're in your home, that you can talk like this?\"\n\n\"Man, this ain't no home, this is Naples effing Pizza last time I looked. Which planet you from?\"\n\n\"Planet is the ancient Greek word for wanderer, sir. I know precisely my origins, sir, from Arta, in Western Greece, sir, where they once built the bridge.\"\n\n\"Sheesh! Get back on that ship and return to wherever!\"\n\nStrangely enough, the Greek I had learned as a kid in the \"home\" country was a passport into restaurants, brought instant connections in college with others whose surnames began with _Papa_ or ended with _opoulos,_ and afforded me instant, no-questions-asked entry into a distinctly raunchy world of nightclubs owned or run by Greeks: Mykonos, Zorba's or, in Baltimore, Towson Bouzouki.\n\nThe burden of the Greek language weighed heavily on me because, more and more, I was being called on to represent my father, who in the late seventies now led the chief opposition party, bent on bringing socialism to Greece. I attended \"caucuses\" on Cyprus, helped organize the Greeks At Yale (lovely acronym for that), and gave numerous fund-raising speeches in hardcore Greek-American communities located in Astoria, Baltimore or Chicago. I was a stand-in for my father, who was climbing the steps to the palace of power. One place to which I was obliged to return time and again was the Crystal Palace in Astoria, Queens. Here I could find the whole enchilada of Greek-American linguistic abortions. The Crystal Palace was the prime location for thousands of Greek-American events over two to three decades: political rallies, wedding receptions, dances, baptisms\u2014a Coppolian ethnic-American setting of sheer kitsch. Much later I realized that there once existed a real Crystal Palace, built over a hundred and fifty years ago in England, \"the crystal edifice that can never be destroyed,\" as Dostoyevsky puts it in _The Underground Man._ Though I am no longer enmeshed in that particular strain of ethnic America called Astoria, and though Astoria has now lost much of its Greekness, I drew some meaning from this indirect link to the Russian writer, even if the meaning is no greater than a micro nano bit.\n\nBy the age of twenty-nine, I had acquired yet another language. A Ph.D. in economics taught me everything there was to know about _transcendental logarithmic cost functions, variance covar-iance matrices_ and _three stage least squares estimators._ Never having returned to Greece except for summers until my studies were completed, I returned for my military service in the late eighties, exactly a week after defending my doctorate on a comfortable Ivy League campus.\n\nThat's how I found myself on the island of Lemnos, in Northern Greece, inducted into the Greek Air Force. I could have relied on my American citizenship to avoid military service altogether, but such an act would have been highly unpatriotic; besides, I actually liked the idea of wearing a uniform and carrying a gun and not reading another economics article. There was also this: I imagined bumping into an officer who had arrested my father the night of the coup, the same one who had pointed a machine gun at my face. The thought excited me. I am sorry to report that such a meeting never occurred and that the extreme right-wing officers saluted me as I did them.\n\nThe island was honed of volcanic rock, the home of Poseidon. The barracks were full of raw eighteen-year-olds most of whom spoke with distinct regional accents. I immediately felt like an intruder, a jokester, a false twin who would soon be discovered for pretending to be the Prime Ministers son. I lived, thought and wrote in English, yet my father was by now not only Prime Minister but also Minister of Defense. This made him head honcho of all soldiers. As the son of the nationalist leader, I was supposed to be the automatic expert on all matters Greek, to know the Heroes of the Revolution, to know which minister served what post and what year, and, worst of all, to make no spelling mistakes on all documents for which I was responsible.\n\nYet for all the pressure, there was one tremendous benefit for a word-infected person like me: army slang. Greek army slang.\n\n\"With someone else's ass it's easy to pretend you're gay,\" I heard one soldier say after returning from a particularly cold night shift. Another soldier who'd stubbed his toe at night on the bunkbeds shouted: \"Screw the donkey that ate Christ's palm fronds on the road to Nazareth!\" If you dropped your rifle you would most likely think of God and shout, \"Screw the Virgin Mary's ear!\" (This was a reference to Immaculate Conception; certain Fathers of the Church once held that such a conception had occurred via the good Mary's auricular orifice.)\n\nNot that the soldiers had no sense of their ancient heritage:\n\n\"Halt! Who goes!\"\n\n\"Friend!\"\n\n\"What did Ulysses say when he got to Ithaca?\"\n\n\"Screw me!\" Or:\n\n\"How did Ulysses spy on the Trojans?\"\n\n\"Through the wooden horse's wooden butthole.\"\n\nWe also used more standard passwords: Hercules-Lion, Achilles-Patroclus, Sophocles-Oedipus\u2014things the Turks, the enemy about fifty kilometers away, were supposed to have no idea about and could never answer properly, even if they had wanted to.\n\nMy greatest fear at the time was to be called up in front of the thousand or so soldiers to say the Lord's Prayer. Because of all the back and forth between countries, I had missed the teaching of it in either language and for the life of me couldn't remember it. Each night, as we were all standing in line, the commander would call out a name at random and ask the specified \"grunt\" to come recite the prayer. While waiting for the name to be called, I would try to remember the prayer, filling in the empty Greek parts with what I remembered in English, then translating it back into Greek. But this was a puzzle best not done under pressure, next to a thousand breathing bodies. Fortunately, the stars were not once in disorder. My name was never called.\n\nAll this was a rich linguistic pillow in which to sleep at night. When I finally decided to write, I saw that the friction of the two languages had great value and could convert the trivial into the metaphorically rich. A clever person is an \"eagles talon,\" a tall man is a \"Cypress-lad,\" a piano is a \"tooth-mattress,\" the earth is an \"ant-sphere,\" a boy's erect penis is a \"fakirs flute.\" \"Never scowl at the lowest steps,\" a saying goes, \"since you need them to get to the palace.\"\n\nI discovered rhyming couplets from the island of Crete which I tried to translate:\n\n_Others shrivel up from the times, the wars and years_\n\n_but me, I shrivel up with the pains and the fears._\n\n_The wind beats my clothes and the sun eats my knives_\n\n_and a small little love eats up my insides._\n\nThere was gold then in them thar hills. \"I can hear the salty smell,\" a village woman once told me when the wind brought with it bits of the sea. I was shocked by the confounding of the senses, and later learned that she had just expressed what philosophers call \"synesthesia,\" where one sense \"leaks into\" the other. (Ah, there's that unexpected four-letter word coming back at me.) A more literary example of a synesthete is Nabokov, who in his autobiography _Speak, Memory,_ tells of seeing colors when he hears the alphabet pronounced\u2014a trait he refers to as \"colored hearing,\" or _audition color\u00e9_ in French, which, I guess, sounds more sophisticated.\n\nMy Greek grandmother, Sophia Mineiko Papandreou, half-Greek and half-Polish, offered me a name of someone she once knew, a little girl named Eulalia. She told me it came from the prefix _ef,_ meaning good, and _lalia,_ meaning speech. It was a name I found much later in my readings of Americans from the South, when I decided to become a writer myself. I did actually meet a Eulalia, on the island of Syros, with its Catholic and Orthodox churches jutting up into the sky competing for space. I was presenting my first book, _A Crowded Heart,_ written in English but available in Greek translation. The crowd was decent-sized. After all, my surname guaranteed me instant recognition, and one effect was a small but constant crowd at my book readings.\n\nAn aging actor, Constantine, had been chosen to read a section from my book. He read it as if it were ancient Greek tragedy, shouting at the top of his voice, and once the applause subsided\u2014an applause which was obliged to rival his efforts\u2014 he sat down next to me. While others continued to speak about my book (the mayor, a deputy from my fathers party, a high-school teacher with two books of poetry under his belt, and god knows how many others), he struck up a conversation with me as if we weren't on the podium. I kept hunching lower in the hope this would induce him to lower his voice. Suddenly he squeezed my thigh excitedly. \"See that girl there, over there, with the dark hair and those eyes? You see her? She once had a speech impediment but I corrected it with four years of lessons in orthophony Take one guess what her name is.\" That's how I met the only Eulalia I have ever known. I even got the chance to sign her name in my book, which I did with a calligraphic flourish. She was indeed a tall, dark-haired beauty and she did indeed speak with perfect diction, the way a Eulalia should, but nope, I never saw her again.\n\n_Lalia_ in Greek means voice or language or tongue. In the Swedish the word for Speak is _tala. Tala svensk?_ In Danish _lalle_ is a drunken persons babble. When I started to learn some Spanish I thought I heard an echo _of lalia_ in _habla,_ with that _la_ at the end of it. From a Brazilian acquaintance I heard _fala_ for talk. _Thinkparier._ Or even parlance.\n\nOne summer, back in Greece between college years, I visited the pine-filled island of Skiathos. A fisherman took me to his favorite beach, Lalaria. \"Why is it called Lalaria?\" I asked.\n\nHe had an answer (when doesn't a Greek?). \"You see those rocks there?\" He pointed to the large round stones like ostrich eggs that formed the beach. \"When the sea hits those stones they talk. La la. Close your eyes and listen.\"\n\nI think all members of my family are wounded by language in one way or another. Brother George, in the words of his detractors, \"is our first Minister of Foreign Affairs who actually speaks a _second_ language\u2014Greek.\" My mother doesn't do television interviews because she is worried she will place a feminine pronoun to a masculine noun, and this after leading the Greek women's movement for decades. My sister has escaped to Canada and her little son now speaks fluent Canadian. For a long time, my younger brother Andreas prepared his economics classes at the university down to the last word, so that he wouldn't make any grammatical mistakes. My father, always burdened with the suspicion that he was too American, commanded both languages fluently. Ironically enough, he was perhaps the only member who never suffered from the mistake bird of language.\n\nI now treasure the split. English acts as a passport into unexplored territory, into the terrain of my fictional Greece, into the Greece of my memory, the Greece of my childhood.\n\n# ITALIAN\n\n#\n\n# _Limpid, Blue, Poppy_  \nM. J. Fitzgerald\n\nIn early 1959, while we were living in a small seaside town along the Ligurian coast, Italian television made a documentary of us. The documentary was called _Una famiglia Americana in Italia_ \u2014 An American family in Italy.\n\nThe decision by the fledgling RAI to make such a documentary may have had a lot to do with the reversal: an American family in Italy rather than the thousands of Italian families forced to emigrate to America. But I imagine that one of the reasons they chose our family from what was not an insignificant population of Americans in Italy was that we were not in fact living an expatriate life in Milan, Florence, or Rome, among larger or smaller clusters of other Americans, but were living integrated in the small-town life of Levanto, the only Americans there year round.\n\nA second irresistible reason in that children-loving country must surely have been the presence of a clutch of six duckling children, three boys and three girls, all more or less the same age (there is a mere seven years between the oldest of us and the youngest), all pale and freckly all fair-haired and, like all children, all absolutely deserving of the bruising pinch on the cheek and the exclamation \"bella!\" Of the four of us who were in school, three went to the local elementary school: the two boys in the boys' section, I across the green-and-white-tiled corridor in the girls' section. My older sister was at boarding school at Trinit\u00e0 de' Monti in Rome, an exclusive enough place run by French nuns, where the student population consisted of fewer than a hundred daughters of the higher middle classes, mostly from the poorer south\u2014Calabria, Puglia, Basilicata, Campania, Sicilia\u2014but with a sprinkling from the more northern regions and from Lazio itself. By the time I joined her briefly in 1963, there were a couple of Americans with whom I walked in irrepressible sobs to the American Consulate to sign the condolence book following the 22nd of November. But there were none when she went in the fall of 1958.\n\nA third consideration may have been my father's status as _Il Professore_ who seemed not to have a job\u2014he made a poem of my brother's famous boast among his peers that the reason why _il babbo_ was at home all day was that at night he was a burglar\u2014 even though the study where he spent his days translating the allocated lines of Homer's _Odyssey_ was an inviolate place we were rarely privileged to visit. The running of the household was squarely on my mother's shoulders, with the help of two live-in maids, Maria and Alice. Each went home once a month to villages high in the Ligurian mountains, with ten dollars for their families.\n\nFor months, it seemed, a television crew came and went, stayed days or perhaps it was weeks, then left and then returned. I remember having to walk again and again down the brick and stone stairway that led up to the olive and vine grove behind the house. I remember being incapable of sitting still in class with hands behind my back, before they were to film me playing _F\u00fcr Elise_ on the piano with my father. I remember dashing in and out of my father's study: it took what seemed like hours to set up the piano just for the filming.\n\nI stopped taking piano lessons shortly after, many months before we gathered in the priests house to see the documentary. As my father predicted when he sighed at my stubbornness\u2014I don't want to, I hate it, I don't care\u2014I regret it today with as much intensity as I then detested the dull _solfeggi,_ the thump of the right hand on the left to achieve a metronome beat, and the endless repetition of the scales. I am pretty sure now that I pouted and stomped and insisted in Italian, and that my father expressed his regret and disappointment in English. But I have no memory of it. The only memory I have of this use of two languages is that when my parents did not want us to understand something, they would spell it out in English. We understood their speech in English completely, but spelling, reading, and writing defeated us all until we were in our teens and had begun the migration to the English-speaking world.\n\nIn the early fall of 1959, before school started in October, we moved to Florence, and for three years we rented the _piano nobile_ of the Brewster villa: the priest's house was attached to the small chapel that was itself a wing of the villa. Sometime in late 1959 or 1960\u2014I have a dim memory of rain and chill, so it may have been the winter\u2014we crowded into the parlor with a number of other folk who did not have television sets, and sat on the sagging sofa or the hard straw chairs or the jute-covered brick floor to watch the documentary. My parents took small sips of the artichoke cordial Cynar, the _digestive_ that was the preferred after-dinner drink to offer guests in modest households, and we were offered _caramelle_ under the disapproving eye of our mother, helpless to fight the rules of hospitality which required candy to be distributed to children on great occasions.\n\nOnly the setting has stayed with me from that very first viewing\u2014that, and the inch-long hard fruit candy with the soft center, wrapped in crinkly cellophane. It was suddenly in every _Bar_ and _Alimentari,_ but I had never tasted it before, and it immediately replaced my favorite _mentine_ \u2014the tiny sugar drops in various flavors that are miraculously still for sale in Levanto. The word _candy_ does nothing to my taste buds, whereas the word _caramella_ brings instantly back the sweet crunch of the teeth through the shell, softened by sucking for as long as possible, to the soft center.\n\nI did not see the documentary again for over twenty-five years, not until my father was diagnosed with cancer and undertook the six-month-long battle to contain the spread from the lungs to the liver. I spent long days with him in the summer of 1984, while he fought the losing campaign with chemotherapy and radiation. My brother succeeded in spiriting a copy of the sixteen-millimeter documentary from the archives of RAI, had it formatted to tape, and had copies made. He came by with the copy for my father on a beautiful summer afternoon: the sun shone on the canvas shades without dazzling its way in, merely giving a fullness of white light to the quiet sick room. My brother and I flanked our father as he lay on the hospital bed that could be raised and lowered. He sat up a little, his legs over the folded end of the mattress, his back and head against the raised top of the mattress, and we watched the official, thirty-minute-long edition of our life twenty-five years before.\n\nThe most startling thing at that second viewing was how very halting my parents' Italian was. But whereas my mother valiantly improvised her way through the hesitation and the mistakes into comprehensibility my father was utterly dependent on the note pad he kept glancing at as he spoke to the interviewer, and his pronunciation was atrocious. As I sat by him in the muted summer light, I realized with shock that as an adult, after I had learnt English, after our family migrated back to the United States and then broke up, I had not heard him speak Italian, and save for the occasional, absolutely untranslatable word, I had not spoken to him in Italian. With my mother it was a constant slide between the two languages, used easily and interchangeably. Her Italian was strongly accented, but she would speak it whenever she could. My father seemed to me at that moment to have abandoned Italian as completely as he had our family life.\n\nI glanced at him beside me on the sickbed he would not rise from, his beautiful nose ever more aquiline in the gaunt features, the green of his eyes darker in the deepening sockets, the long expressive thumb at rest from its characteristic gesture\u2014 forming a circle with the middle finger while he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make a point. After all, it was twenty years since the migration started in the fall of 1964, when he took up his position at Harvard; twenty years since the four eldest of his children had been dispersed to boarding schools in four different countries. Childhood in Italy, the momentous source of experience and impression that had determined so much of my life, the eleven years between October 1953 and October 1964, were no more than a brief interlude in the life of my parents, an interlude that my mother clung to, and that my father had shaken off. Perhaps he never did speak Italian with us? Perhaps he spoke in English, and it was sufficient for him to understand the Italian we spoke to communicate with us?\n\nThe tape came to an end and my father grinned at us, sighed deeply, but made no comment. Embarrassed at his lack of fluency in the language I spoke as fluently as English, I did not think then to ask him whether he had ever spoken to us in Italian at all. Although he watched the documentary a number of times with the rotation of siblings who were in and out as constantly as I was during those last months, he and I never watched it again together, neither during the rest of that last summer when I was there for days at a time, nor in the blaze of the red and yellow fall, when I would fly back from England regularly to be with him. I have seen it only once since then. I will perhaps look at it again before I finish the composition of this piece. I feel a strong reluctance to do so, partly from a measure of shame at our privileged life\u2014a shame engendered by a political correctness I simultaneously view with great suspicion. And partly I am reluctant for reasons I cannot quite articulate, as nebulous as my fear of the ache of nostalgia and as clear as the possibility of the stab of regret at the loss and then the death of my father. And now there is the rawer bereavement at the recent death of my mother: in my memory of the documentary, she still wears the long Native American braids she had in the photos of us taken on the beach in Sestri Levante and Levanto.\n\nWhen an assortment of us coincided by my fathers bedside, we talked about the documentary and remembered those years, which were by then really the only link between all of us. But the talking, I see now, came from us, not from him. As I write, I realize that he had supplied a context for our whole lives that was not only not his, but that was as distant from his background as it could possibly be. The blue of the Mediterranean, the dazzling light of heat refracting, the arid steep slopes of the olive groves, the ground that brought to the surface more stone with each rainfall\u2014gathered daily _-per fare una casa,_ to make a home, by the sweetly retarded son of the _contadino_ who looked after those trees and picked the olives and the grapes\u2014 the acrid smell of the _mosto_ in the barn where we too trod and gleefully squashed the grapes with bare and dancing feet, the delicate scent of mimosa, the medlar we climbed into, the hydrangea whose leaves made crowns, and the ubiquitous pines and magnolias\u2014what had they in common with the landlocked Midwest of the United States, of which I knew nothing in 1984 except that corn grew as high as an elephants eye? What did our childhood days filled with sibling squabbles and friendships have in common with the small household in which my father grew up against the backcloth of a loss too huge to fathom, the death of his mother and brother?\n\nIt is such a different context from mine that it has only been possible for me even to begin to comprehend it since my own motherhood has shown me how the loss of me would affect my son, and since life's turn has dragged me kicking and screaming to the same landlocked Midwest, mere hours away from my fathers birthplace, Springfield, Illinois, where he lived those all-important years to adolescence in the singular quiet companionship of an ailing father, with winters of ice-skating in a dazzle of deep snow rather than summers of snorkeling through a dazzle of sea. A sea whose intensity of blue can only be contained in the Italian word _azzurro._ The word _blue,_ an anodyne descriptive term, does not convey that childhood sea, but _azzurro_ brings it all back with a violence in memory that invariably hits me like a punch in the stomach.\n\nI think now, as I write and look back at us watching _Una famiglia Americana in Italia_ on that sunny afternoon of his last summer, that perhaps my father never left the Midwest\u2014unlike my mother, who truly did leave Texas and actively chose the life she led. I think that perhaps my father merely found himself migrating from Springfield to Choate, to Harvard, to New York, to New England, to Italy; just as I feel I have never truly left Italy and have simply found myself migrating from country to country, borne by necessity rather than driven by choice.\n\nBut what about the choice I made _not_ to read or speak Italian? It was a very deliberate decision, taken in the wake of the earnest aspiration to \"be a writer.\" I had to choose between the two languages, but why did I not choose Italian? At sixteen, when the decision was taken, Italian and English were in equipoise\u2014if anything, Italian was the language in which I was more fluent. After two years at boarding school in England, my spoken English still suffered from Italian intonations, and my written English from errors consequent on an Italianate and Latinate sentence construction.\n\nI had always been a ravenous reader, although never a precocious one: at seven I lived on a regular diet of _Piccole Donne, Piccole Donne Crescono, I ragazzi di Jo_ (Little Women) and _Heidi._ At eight I read _Cuore_ perhaps a hundred times. At ten I read in Italian the pre-teen bright blue hardbacks about English boarding schools that I could buy for five hundred lire (stolen, I'm afraid, from my mothers handbag) at the newspaper kiosk at the bottom of the tree-lined avenue that led to the square where we lived in Florence. And after we moved to Perugia in the fall of 1961, I read every single one of the hundred or so books the previous owner of our house left behind: 1930s paperback editions of Emilio Salgari as well as romances by forgotten authors, in one of which a turbaned and bearded man converted to Mahomet to be able to reach the woman he loved in a harem... I did not at twelve read _I Promessi Sposi,_ or _Mastro Don Gesu-aldo,_ or the whole _Iliad,_ or even the whole of the _Zabaglione,_ extracts of all of which we were reading in our first year of secondary school. I did not read Pavese, Sciascia, Bassani, Buzzati, or even Calvino, whose _Fiabe Italiane_ would provide the final impetus fifteen years later for \"Creases,\" the first story I wrote that defined my ambition as a writer. The determining book at thirteen, during my eighteen months at boarding school in Rome, was a three-volume novel translated into Italian from German, of a decidedly satisfying symmetry: A gifted Austrian violinist of seventeen marries a man exactly twice her age. They have twin girls who are seventeen in the second volume, where they meet and marry twins. In the third volume their children in turn are seventeen, and the saga ends with the girl of the first volume, now an old woman of roughly my present age, playing the violin after her husbands death at sixty-eight, overheard by her thirty-four-year-old children and seventeen-year-old grandchildren.\n\nDuring that year, 1963, I wrote my first novel. In Italian, of course. A gifted teenage pianist dying of leukemia meets a girl whose boarding school abuts his hospice, and a doomed romance blossoms between them... or maybe _she_ is dying of leukemia and is consoled by his wonderful playing of Chopin from the conservatory which abuts the hospice. It was a short novel, the hard-won length of a notebook, written in collaboration with two schoolmates during the endless evening homework hours, and laboriously typed out on my fathers Olivetti 22 during school holidays. I wrote poems then, too, in Italian: all critiqued by my classmates with comments ranging from _mi -place_ to _bella_ to _carina._\n\nBut I remember also the misery of those days. The school did not have a library, and the random selection of books on random shelves scattered here and there around the school was so quickly devoured that I had nothing new to read. And whereas in my childhood I had been content to read the same book over and over again, by then I wanted a new book every day. Even when I got home for the holidays, the situation was no better. There were shelves and shelves of unreadable English books, but the supply of Italian ones had run out, and there was no kiosk at the end of the avenue where I could replenish my supply with stolen money: in Perugia, the only stores within walking distance in the poor village above the house were a meager _Ali-mentari_ always swarming with flies, and a general goods store that only stocked the photo-romances I was explicitly forbidden to get. I remember trying in vain to slow my reading down so that I would not come to the end of a beloved book ( _he cinque Sorelle d'America,_ for example, Five American Sisters) and have to scour to find something I had not read.\n\n_Al centro,_ where we would saunter sometimes up and down the length of the cobbled main street in the early evening, from the Duomo to Piazza Italia and back to the Duomo\u2014the _passeg-giata_ I was just beginning to dimly know as an occasion for flirting and courtship\u2014there were two bookstores. But even there, no book appealed to me; they were either the same blue-backed hardbacks I had bought with stolen money in Florence, or uninspiring grown-up novels. New _Gialli Mondadori,_ the detective and murder mysteries that had superseded stories of stowaway children in English country houses as reading that could be bought from newspaper kiosks, only appeared once a month or so. I would have devoured one of those in the car on the twenty-minute ride home, if the road had not been so winding it would have made me car-sick. I certainly devoured them before falling asleep, incapable of putting them down until the mystery had been solved. And then time stretched out in an eternity of not reading. The crossword puzzles in _La Settirnana Enigmistica_ and the random accumulation of odd facts that made up much of the rest of the weekly publication, with its impossible rebus and the silly cartoons, did not substitute for the deep immersion in lives not my own that took place when I was reading a novel. Nor did reading _Grazia_ or _La Domenica del Corriere_ whenever I could lay my hands on them, nor did the comic books, although _Topolino, Nembo Kid,_ and _Tex Wilier_ were always around\u2014 demanded by my siblings as earnestly as I demanded the _Gialli_ from the newspaper kiosk\u2014and I did read them. I had even been driven to reading the Jack London novels that my friend Luciana thrust on me, and which I did not enjoy at all: adventure was not my dream as much as romance.\n\nJust at this moment of cusp, in my second teenage year, as the world of childhood receded so rapidly I did not even have occasion to regret it, I was sent to the longed-for boarding school in England. We did not have the grey uniforms with coveted striped ties, but we did have to wear berets and blazers. Eventually I even indulged in midnight feasts of crumpets and marmite washed down with the cider I did not like but pretended to, and the beer I could not even pretend to like. Eventually I did get into trouble for smoking in my room. But the great revelation of English boarding school was not social\u2014I was too fundamentally introverted for that. It was literary. We read _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and especially _Romeo and Juliet,_ which satisfied every particle of my dreamy romantic, and sentimental heart. We read _Jane Eyre._ There had been nothing like _Jane Eyre_ in my reading so far. None of the romantic heroes of the 1930s novels in the attic of our house, or the stories in the hybrid magazines of photo-romances that I hid under the mattress whenever I had managed to sneak one home, had ever been blinded or handicapped in any way: the passion that I had felt at twelve for Leopardi, because he was a great _hunchback_ poet, was finally being justified. And then I read _Wuthering Heights._ Bad brooding Heathcliff, how I loved you: as much as Catherine did, both of us with all of our misguided romantic hearts and souls.\n\nBoarding school was the perfect setting for me. As long as I did as I was told when I was told to do it, I was left alone. I basked in that friendly indifference. The library had shelf after shelf of books that appealed to me\u2014Georgette Heyer, Agatha Christie, Charlotte Bront\u00eb, Kathleen Winsor, Emily Bront\u00eb. To access them, all I had to do was learn to read English as quickly as I was learning, after the first mute months, to speak it. Patricia High-smith, Dorothy Sayers; by the end of my second year, _Pride and Prejudice_ and the wonderful revelation of Jane Austens astringent romanticism; George Eliot's ocean-sized scope in _Middle-march;_ Shakespeare's _Antony and Cleopatra; Twelfth Night,_ with Viola and her doppelg\u00e4nger brother both in love, and an end as satisfying as the ending of the three-volume saga of my twelfth year, but in a language that exactly mirrored the excessive drama in my heart.\n\nReturning to Italian writing after gorging on this diet of English\u2014Leopardi's _L'Infinito_ was restrained in comparison to Dylan Thomas's _Fern Hill_ \u2014was like returning to milk toast after scones with clotted cream. I loved the accumulation of adjectives that a language so rich in words could indulge in, instead of the nuances in the repetition of the same adjective that gives Italian its power. I loved the exaggeration of English, the curlicues of language, its baroque quality. Many of the churches, much of the painting, and peoples gesturing in Italy are baroque. But the language itself is severe: its beauty lies in elegant simplicity and the hypnotic power of its sound. And when it is distorted by the wrong rhetoric in an attempt to \"enrich it,\" it becomes impenetrable without gaining in power. English has to work to be elegant and simple, because its sounds are rarely if ever as spellbinding as Italian, and so much of its nature is tortuous. But how fabulous the honed expression of that tortuousness can be for a girl who sees so clearly reflected in this language her fervent and histrionic self: not one word to describe her feelings, but half a dozen variations. At sixteen, there was no contest. English was the language of my sensibility, the language with which I would write poems as full of words as Dylan Thomas's, novels as rich with emotion as _Villette,_ dramas as powerful as Christopher Fry's _The Boy with a Cart._\n\nI ran away from Italian, carrying the parcel of intensity and aspiration, nourishing myself with the rich language of my parents, although I never consciously acknowledged then that it was my parents' language. I traveled with it for ten years, and ended up jettisoning the original aspiration: I no longer wanted to emulate Charlotte Bront\u00eb, Dylan Thomas or Christopher Fry. I did not even want to emulate Virginia Woolf or James Joyce or Nabokov, nor even William Golding or Hopkins or T. S. Eliot. I ended up hitching rides of ambition here and there, but without a destination, homeless. Until I read Dino Buzzati's _Sessanta Racconti_ and then Italo Calvino\u2014 _Il Barone Rampante, Il cavaliere dimezzato, Se una notte d'inverno,_ and most especially _Fiabe Italiane._ Then my ambition became to write English with an Italian accent. In fact I wanted to write English with more than just an accent: my ambition became to throw out all that had first drawn me to English, all the baroque quality, and write English as if it were Italian. Now, while living in London, I could write my first volume of stories, _Rope-Dancer,_ where most of the stories were inspired by Buzzati and Calvino. Now, while commuting to Southampton, I could write my first spare novel, _Concertina._ The two books were published concurrently a few months after my fathers death in January 1985\u2014less than a year after I sat beside him to watch _Una famiglia Americana in Italia,_ when I found myself so shocked by the poverty of his spoken Italian. Had I come full circle?\n\nNo. The end of my fathers life was the beginning of my life as a writer, and I was not in a circle or even a spiral, unless it be a twister. The role of Italian in all this turns out to be more complicated, even if I did physically move back to Perugia in 1986. I set myself up as a freelance writer, believed I could survive on an income patched together from writing and translations, supplemented by giving English lessons. But I had not come home as I thought when I made the move, and I had not found my style as I thought when I was composing my first works. English was playing its unfathomable role. Looking out at the brown-green Umbrian hills towards the ancient blue ridge of mountains, I dropped the Italian accent, abandoned the ambition to write English as if it were Italian. My next novel, _The Placing of Kings,_ was inspired by _Pride and Prejudice_ \u2014by the most English of English writers.\n\nBy the time I finished it, I knew that living in England was not living at home. But I also knew that if Italy was home, it was not providing me with a living, just as it had not provided generations of Italians with a living (albeit my kind of labor was not backbreaking physical labor), and I found myself taking on what would be perhaps the greatest challenge of all, by emigrating to America, to my fathers Midwest. I had only been on the East Coast before, and no visit had lasted longer than the summer I spent with my father in 1984.\n\nNow I watch myself trying to adapt to a world where the sense of history and of time are dizzyingly relative, a world where a European background and education are held in awe and despised at the same time, a world where Italian\u2014my childhood language, the language with which I still add and subtract, the language of the only nursery rhymes I remember, the language of the only tongue twisters I can twist my tongue around\u2014is _exotic._\n\nBut is it in fact any more exotic than we must have seemed to Italians in 1957, when the documentary crew recorded our daily life in a small town that had rarely seen an American family living its daily life\u2014a small town that had never seen a bunch of American kids speaking Italian as if it were their native tongue? Is this finally the circle I've been in all my life, this being perceived as \"exotic,\" which pertains to anyone in any place who is not native of that place\u2014whether it be an Italian or a Somali here in the States, an American or an Asian in Italy, an Asian or an Italian in Somalia? But unlike the Asian-American, the Somali-American, the Mexican-American, the Italo-American, I cannot enjoy the solidarity of belonging to a group, because I cannot say I am Italian here and I cannot say I am Italian in Italy. In fact, I cannot even say I am English here, or English in England. Nor can I say or think of myself as American, because I am not. I have to live straddling the three cultures I have absorbed. Yet in only one do I really feel at home.\n\nThis, I discover, is what I meant when I wrote that I feel as if I have never left Italy, in a way that parallels my father never having left Springfield, Illinois. The experience of childhood, which always determines _some_ adult experience, for some determines _all_ adult experience. However far my father went physically from that quiet, solitary, and thoughtful childhood steeped in American nineteenth-century culture, he was never willing or able to be free from it, and it informed all his adulthood, through every twist and change of twentieth-century intellectual life. I think that, however far I find myself from Italy, the country and the language will always determine all that I do.\n\nHome remains the language I can no longer write as fluently as I write English, the Italian that now feels as clogged at the end of the pen as flour and water between the fingers\u2014 _impastata_ is the only word, but useless because it communicates nothing to English readers who have not watched _contadine_ prepare for a wedding feast by making fresh pasta and _gnocchi,_ and cannot see the laboring and chapped hands placing some of the mixture in front of me, and cannot feel the exact stickiness the word conveys.\n\nHome is the words: the word _limpido,_ for example, that does not limp as \"limpid\" does when denied the strong accent of the final _o,_ but somehow contains in full the transparency of air on autumn days after the first violent sea storms of the year had exhausted themselves against the poor jagged cliffs, just in time for the picking of the last grapes. The sky would turn _azzurro_ once more, in time for the final nets to be put down under the olive trees; at the next storm, all the olives would be shaken from the trees clinging to the steep terraced hill and roll down the slopes. Perhaps a landslide\u2014how much more frightening the words _frana_ and _valanga_ are\u2014would cut a deep slice off the outer edge of the already narrow road winding down into Levanto from the house, and up and around to Bonassola.\n\nHome is the word _incendio,_ containing so much more than \"a fire\" ever could: the sight of the forest on the other side of the bay, on the mountain between Levanto and Monterosso, ablaze, fire rising high in the ink-black sky, a stippling of stars with orange sparks. The sounds, not of sirens, but of church bells ringing, and human voices calling and echoing, and behind those sounds the crackle of wood in flames; the smell of smoke drifting for days, for weeks across the bay to our house. Every time we looked across, the mountain lay bald and exposed. Only long after we had left did the low scrub appear, and only now, forty-five years later, are the small portions that have not been built up green with young oak-sapling and walnut trees once more.\n\nHome is the word _papavero,_ poppy, that conjures up with such clarity the song that was sung in those years, in fields where the flower gloried among the ticklish hay, **_h_** _o sai ehe i papaveri son alti alti alti e tu sei piccolina, lo sai ehe i papaveri son alti alti, sei nata paperina ehe cosa ci vuoifar,_ and trails in its wake the other song, _Aveva una casetta piccolina in Canad\u00e0, con vasche_ _pesciolini e tanti fiori dt Ulla, e tutte le ragazze ehe passavano di la dicevano ehe bella la casetta in Canad\u00e0._ These songs were never heard on the radio, but always in those fields, always to the accompaniment of the accordion and sometimes the harmonica, instruments only the men played. Is it one long summer picnic forever imprinted on my memory, or was it a series of outings with Maria and Alice and their village boyfriends? I cannot remember the details, but the songs and the words unlock the smell of the hay, the taunts and the teases of endless hot afternoons, and the playing, singing, and dancing which started as soon as the heat abated and continued by the light of paraffin-filled rags wrapped around thick sticks and made into torches. No words in English have this power, to take me back home to childhood.\n\n# KOREAN\n\n#\n\n# _Personal and Singular_  \nHa-yun Jung\n\nIn Korean, the first-person singular is an elusive voice. The simple English sentence \"I want an apple\" sounds awkward when translated, word for word, into Korean. A Korean person is much more likely to say something that could be translated as \"It would be nice to have an apple.\" Omitting \"I\" is never a grammatical defect; on the contrary, the sentence sounds more polished without it. Rarely will you hear a Korean speak\u2014or write\u2014consecutive sentences that start with I-this, I-that. \"I\" seems content to crawl behind the curtain at the first given moment.\n\nAnd when it comes to possessive forms, \"our\" is often used in the place of \"my.\" \"My country,\" \"my people,\" \"my neighborhood\" are all very unusual expressions in Korean, even when one is speaking as an individual. This is all the more evident when referring to family members; even when the speaker is an only child, one will say \"our\" mother or father, never \"my.\"\n\nI (there's that \"I\"!) am a single parent, but when I speak Korean I say \"our son.\" And in English I am prone to saying things like \"So then we had to go fill out a prescription for our kid\" to a casual acquaintance I might see while in line at Starbucks. Then I quickly realize, from the slightly confused look on the persons face, that to the American ear what I said sounds like a slip. \"Poor thing. After four years, she still hasn't gotten over her divorce,\" my listener probably concludes.\n\nI used to have a sibling, but I no longer do; yet I refer to my mother as \"our mom\" in Korean, just as my deceased father is still \"our dad.\" And my brother, dead or alive, will always be _uri dongsaeng,_ \"our little brother.\"\n\nPerhaps this is why I write in English, and not in the language that I was born into.\n\nOur family arrived in Bangkok, Thailand, in 1975. A bitter winter chill had seen us off in Seoul, the city I had lived in all nine-and-a-half years of my life, but as soon as we stepped out of the airport terminal the humid heat of this new land filled my nostrils. My brother, two years younger than I, frowned at the glare of the sun. His eyes were too sensitive. But I lifted my face and greeted the light, felt the warmth spread all over. It really was summer here in the middle of November, just as my parents had explained, with fascination.\n\nAnd it would be summer, sweltering summer, all year long, all through the three years of our stay. These years would remain in my memory as a single season made up of nothing but sun and rain, which made everything around me grow; the grass, the insects, the opulent orchids, the sky-high coconut trees, the fiery red salamanders that lurked under bushes like fat lumps of lust. And this was where I would grow, in surprising spurts, into an unfamiliar female body.\n\nWe moved into a gated housing complex designed for expatriate families, with landscaped lawns and tennis courts and a maid quarter\u2014a narrow block of bare cement walls and floors and a wash room with only a tap\u2014attached to every unit. Despite the new and exotic setting, at first this protected world did not appear so different from our old neighborhood in Seoul. We had lived in a Japanese colonial-style house nestled in a winding web of hilly roads, only doors away from our grandparents and uncles and aunts, surrounded by servants and drivers, locked inside a set of reliable routines and rituals. Our lives, it seemed, would go on the same way, whether we were back home or on the other side of the South China Sea.\n\nMy brother and I had grown up listening to accounts of our parents' wedding. It had taken place at the height of both our grandfathers' careers, attended by the Prime Minister and other dignitaries, allegedly causing a traffic jam downtown. My mother's father was the founder and principal of the prestigious Seoul High School, which he envisioned as the Korean version of Eton. My father had been one of his students, one of the many boys\u2014\"All of them,\" as my mother still claims\u2014who had competed for the attention of the five beautiful daughters at the principal's on-campus residence. By the time they got married, my father and mother were graduates of top universities, and my paternal grandfather, a revered lawyer, had entered a political career as the face of integrity in the Park Chung Hee military regime's ruling party. Ever since I can remember, my brother and I were constantly being referred to as so-and-so's grandchildren, and we believed this was a blessing that would see us through in life, that our place in the world had already been shaped for us.\n\nIn Bangkok, my father, in his mid-thirties, was the commercial attach\u00e9 for the South Korean embassy, headed for a future in public office. My mother was his pretty, petite wife, an English Literature major who cooked and sewed and read Dr. Spock, who, upon arriving in this new country, eagerly ventured into attending antique auctions and bridge games and shopping at Jim Thompson.\n\nEnglish was the language spoken at Ruamrudee International School, an institution founded by Redemptorist fathers, whose name meant \"union of hearts\" in Thai. The Bangkok expatriate community was huge, and the Americans had their own school, as did the British, the French, and the Japanese. As a result, the student population at Ruamrudee was truly international, with a Third World focus: a majority of rich Thai and Chinese kids, plus Indian, Filipino, Scandinavian, and even a scattered few from the Eastern bloc. Coming from the fanatical anti-Communist society of the Park Chung Hee era, I remember being at a complete loss as to how I was going to look at or talk to Nikola, a classmate with wide brown eyes and soft curls who was the son of a Romanian diplomat.\n\nThe school, a concrete cube of a building with a bare cement courtyard, was actually a mere annex to the Holy Redeemer Church that dominated the grounds. The huge white cathedral had a grand, slanted roof, tiled in blue and red and lots of gold, identical to those of the royal palaces and Buddhist temples all around Bangkok. Yet it was a church, with crosses and stained glass and figures of Jesus Christ. Its facade was lined with a long row of doors that led straight into the pews. These doors were always open, with cool winds blowing through them, in and out, no matter how scorching the weather. It was an alien mystery to me, just like the children at school who looked so different from the people back in Korea. These kids made me feel unremarkable and bland, with their pierced ears, hairy arms, gold chains, oily smells and all sorts of head wraps, from turbans to fist-sized knots that sat on the heads of long-lashed, round-eyed Sikh boys.\n\nThere were no American students at Ruamrudee, but our curriculum was American, as were our principal, Mr. Maxwell (who had a buttery roar of a voice and a balloon-like belly that hung over his belt), and the fathers and sisters who led the Lord's Prayer during assembly, following the raising of the Thai flag. We learned about the fifty states and their capitals, about Lewis and Clark and Paul Revere, though most of us had never been to the United States. In music class, our Filipino teacher taught us to sing \"John Henry,\" \"My Favorite Things\" and \"America the Beautiful.\"\n\nMy lessons in English began with picture books showing a word for every letter of the alphabet. At age nine, I could absorb without complication what words meant and how sentences were structured, but learning how to pronounce these unfamiliar vowels and consonants took much conscious effort. Korean is phonetically a far less flamboyant language than English; it almost sounds monotonous in comparison, each syllable of a word uttered in equal length and stress. The _f, r, v, z_ and _th_ sounds are all non-existent in Korean and I would have to tighten my tummy, strain my throat, and purse my lips, trying to figure out exactly how to roll and twist and keep afloat my tongue. It felt like an extremely secretive, personal effort, all taking place deep inside of my mouth. \"U is for um-brel-la\u2014\" I would try to read out loud, reminding myself of the difference between the _r_ and the _l_ sounds; then I would try to figure out the stress and completely go blank\u2014 _How did that go again? How do you make your mouth spit out all those sounds at the rush of the second syllable? I sound like I am about to throw up!_ At assembly every morning I stood in the sun-soaked courtyard, my feet already sweaty inside thick white socks, and listened for the smooth, effortless twang in Mr. Maxwells every word\u2014 \"A-a-n an-nou-ncement from the high school da-a-nce committee... \"\u2014then tried to join everyone in prayer, bringing my hands together, closing my eyes, mouthing the words to practice my pronunciation, though I had no idea what they meant or who and where \"our father\" was.\n\nThe rest of this country, beyond our home, school and department stores, my brother and I saw only from inside of our air-conditioned, chauffeur-driven Volvo with the diplomatic plates. On our way to and back from school, we passed several marketplaces filled with fume and clutter, streets overflowing with three-wheeled _tuk-tuks,_ trucks decorated with paintings of women in bikinis, packed buses rattling along with passengers dangling in the doorway, tilting the vehicle. Local kids, skinny and shrill-voiced, blocked the cars at every red light, peddling orchid garlands, offering to clean the windshield, begging for coins. When we rolled down the car window for only a short moment, the steamy odor of the outside world rushed in\u2014a pungent mix of _phakchi_ and jasmine rice, sweat and smoke, sweet mango and slow-burning incense. The whole and skinned poultry that hung upside down from hooks outside the storefronts looked gruesome, but their meaty aroma made my mouth water. My mother never let us buy food from the street. She claimed it was unreliable, especially for my brother, who got rashes from shellfish and fell sick from MSG at restaurants. There seemed to be danger and death on these streets, but at the same time the bustle was bursting with life, like luscious blossoms sprouting after the monsoon.\n\nNot long after arriving in Bangkok, I began having repeating nightmares. In the middle of the night, I would wake up crying, waving my arms and legs, struggling to pull away the swarm of worms and caterpillars and snakes crawling all over my body. My bed was overflowing with them, and the more I tried to get away, the deeper I would sink. Even when I opened my eyes, the sweat on my skin felt slimy, like those slithery, faceless creatures. These nights, dark and dank like a deep hole, had to be battled by myself. No one else noticed. And in the morning, as my brother and I headed out into the city, I saw dead frogs on the driveway, squashed flat on the asphalt by late returning cars, already dry and shapeless in the scalding sun, thin as paper cutouts.\n\nTowards the end of his life, my father would cringe and curse when he talked about Thailand. \"The heat, that is what made me ill,\" he said.\n\nThe liver does not reveal its ailments through pain; instead, it takes away pleasures\u2014of the senses, of physical energy, of simple optimism. Hepatitis robbed my father of the ability to enjoy taste and he spent decades talking about food with desperate nostalgia. He could never appreciate Thai cuisine; he had believed at first\u2014before he was diagnosed\u2014that his health was deteriorating because of the overwhelming unfamiliarity of this new food. Just the thought of fish sauce, lemongrass, coconut milk and long grain rice would later make him nauseous, bringing back early physical memories of a disease that would eventually kill him, gradually hardening his liver into an ugly yellow block, the color of a stinky, overripe durian.\n\nOver our first summer break in Bangkok, my father began coming home for lunch and a nap, then reluctantly returning to the embassy when the mid-day sizzle had subsided, if only slightly. When this didn't help, he figured the lethargy was due to a lack of exercise and shot hoops under the sun before his nap and played more golf on weekends. \"It was practically suicide,\" he would say years later, \"clueless that I was helping sick cells multiply themselves, inviting them to take over my body.\"\n\nWhen a new Korean ambassador arrived the following year, my father had been through several leaves and a month-long stay in the hospital. He did not want to attend the ambassadors first family luncheon\u2014he rarely got out of bed on Sundays\u2014but he had no choice.\n\nThe residence was a modern house with wide, white rooms and long panels of glass that looked out into a garden, a pool, and an atrium displaying strangely twisted rocks as if they were art. I was now one of the older kids in the group. Two other girls and I were exploring the rooms, crossing the vast emptiness of each, wondering what all these rooms were for. We came across a long, high-ceilinged marble hallway, where we found a group of boys pointing and laughing at something, at someone. It was my father, seated in an armchair placed against a tall wall, his elbows on the arm rests, his hands clasped in front of him, his head dipped as if in a low bow, his expression so solemn and somber that you would think he was praying. But he was asleep. He could not make it through the day without a nap and I knew it, but I wanted to slap him awake. Behind him hung a huge painting of nothing, made up entirely of different shades of blue. He looked utterly isolated, unable to keep up with the others, unaware of the ridicule, barely holding himself together in that small corner. My brother followed other boys into the hallway and joined in the laughter; I could not tell if he knew what was going on. I turned away, as if this man had nothing to do with me.\n\nMy brother and I did not fly back to Korea for our grandfathers funeral. We still had a month to go until vacation\u2014I was in fifth grade and my brother in third\u2014so we dutifully attended school, doing our homework, watching \"Six Million Dollar Man\" and \"Charlie's Angels\" while our maid Wong served us grilled cheese sandwiches or bowls of Ichiban ramen.\n\n\"There would be too much going on,\" our mother told us, when we demanded their reason for leaving us behind. My brother and I could not see, at least not then, what our grandfather's death meant and might do to the family. My fathers father was 84 years old when he died, a paterfamilias who had under his wing a family of almost thirty, including his two wives, two brothers, thirteen children, and the widows, widowers, and offspring left behind by the four sons and two daughters that he had lost during the Korean War. Five years before his death, he had taken an unexpected turn towards political dissent, when he openly declared, as chairman of the ruling party, that he would vote against President Park Chung Hee's constitution reforms, a move that would ensure Park's third\u2014then fourth and fifth\u2014term in office. The law was passed, of course, and our grandfather won quiet respect but also faced persecution. When he died, he did not have much to leave behind but the overbearing burden of his legend.\n\nMuch later, after our family returned to Korea that year, my brother and I were shown a silent home movie of the funeral. We sat in the study that our grandfather had occupied for decades, once stacked with dusty old books and decorated with stoic calligraphy. Now its walls were covered with cheap wallpaper too thin to mask the old stains and the bookshelves were scattered with mahjong pieces and Johnnie Walker bottles. The room had been taken over by my fathers older brother, who would in a few years go bankrupt and lose everything, including the old house. In the movie, I saw everyone in our extended family\u2014the women in traditional white cotton _hanbok,_ the men in black suits and conical mourners' hats\u2014weeping, as if they were in fear, as if the funeral would not be the end but the beginning of something terrifying. My fathers face looked crumbled, as if his eyes and nose and lips had been rearranged. I stared at him on the screen, astounded at the unfamiliarity and though there was no sound, I slowly realized that he was wailing, like an animal in pain. It was the first time I had seen him cry.\n\nIt was while we were by ourselves in Bangkok, our parents still away in Seoul, that Mrs. Shanti died. She was from India and taught high school, wore beautiful saris of bold colors and a thick pile of thin, shiny bracelets that chimed when she walked by. I remember seeing her at the cafeteria only several days before we heard the news, the dark make-up on her eyes glamorous as always, her strides sure but light, as if she were gliding an inch above the ground. It was a stroke that took her.\n\nThe entire school was sent to pay respects to Mrs. Shanti at the cathedral. All the classes lined up along the aisle, proceeding toward the altar. I had no idea what to expect once I got there. The morning sun glazed the doorways along both sides of the nave with white, foamy light. I had never been in here. It was not as dark as I had imagined, but the air was dense and damp, as if I could feel the silent chill dripping in long, heavy drops, landing on my forehead, on my bare arms, down the back of my neck. When the wind blew in from the outside, it carried with it faint remnants of the greasy heat that was starting to boil up.\n\nThere I stood, in front of the altar, next to a casket placed at an angle to its left. Mrs. Shanti lay in white satin, dressed in a stiff new sari, her face as purple as her blouse, white, puffy cotton balls pushed deep into her nostrils. I imagined the dead Mrs. Shanti dressing herself for one last time, putting on her jewelry and her lipstick, pulling up her hair in a smooth chignon, then lying back inside her coffin, closing her eyes, giving in with a stale sigh. She looked alive, yet the decay was so palpable it made me nauseous. I wondered if my grandfather looked like this, buried under the ground, the traditional grave mound\u2014 still only a fresh, bald pile of earth\u2014pressing down on him. I drew a cross on my chest, not knowing what else to do, and walked back into the daylight that blinded my eyes.\n\nThat year, I got my period and grew so much that by the time I got to sixth grade I was the tallest in my class. I let my hair grow, and the tomboyish bob cut that my mom had always insisted on quickly dissolved into thick, untamable abundance.\n\nI was now allowed to go to parties, though only during the day, often taking a cab on my own. The girls in my class talked endlessly about our first school dance, coming up around Christmas, but by then I would have left the country. The last party I went to was a birthday bash for Marissa, a Filipino friend, at her mansion-like home with an overgrown garden. She had many older siblings and their friends had been invited as well. To my dismay Chi-wen, an eighth-grader from Taiwan, with his wobbly Mandarin accent and uncool no-brand tennis shoes, kept making eye contact. I felt lithe and light\u2014which was rare, after all that growing\u2014in my faded jeans and gauzy white peasant blouse.\n\nAs the late afternoon heat simmered down, we moved outside, bored with not having much to do but sip Fanta and listen to Boney M and play Monopoly. The garden was shady under the looming trees and I lingered at the edge of the patio, hesitating to step onto the thick grass.\n\n\"A snake!\" someone called out, pointing to the shade of a banana tree, draped with huge paddle-shaped leaves, bearing bubbly clusters of new fruit.\n\nI could not see the snake, but it seemed as if the entire garden was moving, overflowing with batches of fleshy leaves, fresh green coils stretching from vines, carnivorous-looking flowers with petals like perked-up lips. I could not move. Just as in my dreams, I felt as if I were drowning in a pool of snakes, wrapping around my limbs and pulling me down.\n\nOther kids gathered in front of the tree and joined in as the high school boys began to throw rocks, some striking at the target with a stick. Everyone was evidently having fun, the girls' squeals breaking into laughter, the boys cheering, as if this had been planned as part of the festivity all along. Then, finally someone called out, \"I got it!\" It was Chi-wen, holding up the black serpent, shiny and sinuous. He looked over at me with a happy, harmless grin. I kicked at my feet, stumbling to turn around, and pushed myself out the gate, panting all the way down the alley to the busy street. I stopped the first cab I saw. As I slammed the creaky backseat door, Chi-wen tapped the roof of the car, out of breath.\n\n\"You okay?\" he asked.\n\n\"That was so gross,\" I said, exaggerating my _o_ 's.\n\n\"Sorry, sorry.\" He held up his arms, to show he no longer had the dead snake.\n\n\"Soi Srinakorn, fifteen _baht?\"_ I said to the cab driver, negotiating the fare with the few Thai words I could handle, lengthening the vowels and rolling the _r_ 's, declaring, _I am an English-speaking foreigner._ \"Bye,\" I said to Chi-wen and as the taxi pulled away, I felt a hot rush of anticipation, leaving him standing there, flushed and forlorn.\n\nWhen we returned to Korea in November of 1978, we were greeted by the first cold we experienced in three years\u2014biting, harsh and oppressive. It was the same month that we left, but this time the winter air felt so strange I was scared to breathe. My toes would go numb in my sneakers when I was outside and I could not smell anything, as if there were no room in this frozen air for smells to move around.\n\nAlmost everyone we knew had now moved to high-rise apartments that had started to go up all around southern Seoul, the new, modern half of the 500-year-old capital. Our parents moved us into a three-bedroom unit in Banpo, an entire neighborhood built around two hundred identical gray buildings. The four of us lived on the first floor of Bldg. #56 for thirteen years, trapped inside that rectangular cell, divided into smaller squares sealed from the outside world like air-tight containers. In my memory, that apartment is always brown, with the drapes drawn; always tidy, everything in its place, because things were seldom moved, like the silver wine goblets with elephant engravings that my mother had brought back from Thailand. They sat on the kitchen cabinet shelf for years and years, turning black like cavities.\n\nMy first day at Sehwa Girls' Junior High was in March. We had been back in Seoul for three months, but it was still cold and I was uncomfortable under the layers of bulky thermal underwear and ill-fitting uniform, a spartan black jacket and skirt. My eyes were puffy from crying all night, after getting my hair cut to the required one-centimeter-below-the-ears length. I sat in the classroom with seventy other girls, all wearing the exact same clothes and shoes, with the exact same hair, parted and pinned to one side, the backs of our necks shaved blue with electric hair clippers. A stern portrait of President Park Chung Hee hung above the blackboard next to Taegeuk-ki, the national flag.\n\nEvery morning at the school gate, the senior student inspectors checked our hair and uniforms as we bowed. And every morning I would feel like someone was going to see through me, despite my perfect get-up, and pull me out of the orderly procession to interrogate: _Why don't you look like all the others? Why don't you fit in?_\n\nThe Korean that I reencountered in Seoul was a language of hierarchy, of honorifics and humble submission. Because I was no longer the content, innocent nine-year-old, the intimate way that I used to talk was not of much use. I had to constantly remind myself of my relation with the person I was speaking to, for it dictated every single pronoun and verb form I was to utter. And I began to learn, instinctively, what was speakable and unspeakable. When a teacher scolded you, the only way to respond was, \"It was my fault.\" Trying to explain was considered talking back. In Korean, I did not know how to speak of everything I missed about Bangkok\u2014the heat, the colors, the dance I never got to attend, the way Chi-wen had looked at me in that lush garden.\n\nAt the same time, my English lessons at school retreated to the alphabet, see-saw-seen, I-we\/you-you\/he-she-they _What is your name?_\n\nOur family had come back to the place where we used to live but it seemed that we had accidentally stepped into another life. Everything changed. To follow in his late fathers footsteps, my father quit the ministry and ran for a seat in the National Assembly, but failed. He never would regain the old glory; instead he lost his money, his health and his bond with the rest of his family. My mother began to go through long periods of depression, which would slowly progress into bouts of frenzied hope, only to crash back down. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and there were many afternoons when I came home from school to find out that she had again been hospitalized. It would take weeks, sometimes months, until she came home again, with shaking fingers and slurred speech and unkempt hair.\n\nWe were no longer \"us.\" My brother and I went about doing what we had to in order to grow up, but separately, alone behind the doors of our rooms.\n\nI started to keep a diary in English. I no longer used English with other people; it had become a language that was completely personal and singularly mine. Recently I dug out the old, yellowed notebook from a box that I have carried with me across states and countries and continents. What amazed me was that my writing was entirely devoid of descriptions or details, with hardly a mention of friends or family filled with sentences that began with \"I,\" relentlessly pouring out how _I_ felt, over and over, as if the words were coming from solely within myself, a place disconnected with the outside world, a place where no one or nothing else could find a way in.\n\nOn Sept. 25th, 1981, the day I woke to find my mother unconscious, with a bottle of rat poison by her bedside, I came home from the hospital, closed the door, sat at my desk and wrote, in English: \"I don't know where to begin. I can't believe it.\"\n\nMy mother would live on, through more suicide attempts and manic sprees, through the deaths of others.\n\nThree weeks before the second-year memorial service for our father, my brother, who had been missing for over a month, was found in his car, frozen dead stiff at 28, in a parking lot by the Han River, a short ten-minute drive on the riverside expressway from the Banpo apartment, where our mother had been waiting and waiting. That night in Boston, I got on a plane that would take me back to Seoul, flying over the white glaciers of Alaska, where there was no summer. I was four months pregnant.\n\nAnd I live on, not feeling whole in Korean or in English. For me, one language is complementary to the other, one always lacking a capacity that the other has. And I have a fear, constantly, of not quite being understood in just one language: _Do you know what I am trying to say? Do you know who I am?_\n\n# POLISH\n\n#\n\n# _On Being an Orphaned Writer_  \nLouis Begley\n\nIn the late summer of 2002, I completed the draft of a new novel, _Shipwreck._ Publishing house gears grind slowly when they process fiction that is not expected to bring down a shower of gold, so that I received my editors comments only a short while before the Christmas vacation. I made the final revisions during that two-week period and countless hours I later stole from my work as a lawyer. Only one of my editors suggestions concerned structure. It was easy to handle. The rest were the sort of take it or leave it pencil notations\u2014some of them extraordinarily helpful\u2014that a gifted reader cannot resist making on the margins of a manuscript. Nevertheless, dealing with these pencil squiggles took an extraordinary amount of time, and left me even more despondent and apprehensive than is usual in that desolate time of the year. My spirits did lift when I finally read the retyped novel. Once again, I began to think that what I had written was comely. But I knew that it would take very little to shatter my calm, perhaps nothing more than the need to reread in order to repair foolish inconsistencies in the plot or the time line that the copy editor, who has worked on all my novels, will track down with her unfailing instincts of a bounty hunter. I know the reasons for my slowness and uncertainty, and I don't confuse them with the doubts that assail every novelist when he delivers a finished manuscript to his publisher\u2014an act in its way as grave as giving up a child for adoption. Until that moment you had in your possession a sheaf of pages with which you communed daily devoting to them non-stop thought and care. Suddenly it's adieu forever: the book will pass into the hands of strangers, and who is to say how they will treat it? Will it meet indifference or hostility or favor, will it be understood? All you can do is wish it luck. Sometimes you think you would rather stand naked among the noontime crowd in Times Square than witness your book's ordeal.\n\nThe soil in which my special anxieties are rooted is the precarious relationship between me and the English language. The circumstances are as follows: Polish is my mother tongue. Since by reason of events over which I had no control I write instead in English, I am an orphaned writer. English is not even my first or second language; I did not begin to learn it until I was eleven or twelve, in preparation for leaving Poland. That is where I was born almost seventy years ago, and where I lived until early October of 1946, around the time of my thirteenth birthday. The next stop was France. But my parents and I remained in Paris only for a few months; we left for New York at the end of February 1947. Despite many absences, some of which were relatively long\u2014when I was away at college and law school, during my military service in the U.S. Army in Germany, and in the years when I worked at my law firm's office in Paris\u2014New York has been my home ever since.\n\nI did not return to Poland until 1994, when I went to Warsaw on legal business. Several visits to Warsaw followed, all quite short, and only one of them, in 1995, I made as a writer. The reason was the publication, in Polish translation, of my first novel, _Wartime Lies,_ which had appeared in the original English in 1991. In it I recount the life in Poland, during World War II, of a Polish Jewish boy, whom I call Maciek, and his aunt; in a number of respects, although my novel is in no sense an autobiography, Macieks adventures resemble my own. This is especially true of the boy's chaotic and inadequate education. Before I arrived in New York, my schooling had consisted of nothing more than sporadic lessons in Warsaw during the War from a memorable tutor who risked her life to give them, whatever my mother managed to teach me, and one year, directly after the War ended, at a _gimnazjum_ in Cracow. Naturally, all of this was in Polish, which my parents and I, just like Maciek and his aunt, spoke to each other. The only foreign language I learned during the War was German. Now my German is mostly dormant; it stirs when I urgently need it. Sometime in the interval between the Soviet occupation in September 1939 of Eastern Poland, where my parents and I then lived, and Germany's breach of the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact in 1941, whereupon the Wehrmacht drove away the Soviet troops and commenced its thrust into Russian territory, I also studied Russian. I have forgotten it completely. Learning French came later. Paradoxically, that is a language in which I am completely at ease. I always speak it with my wife, it being her native tongue and the language of our courtship.\n\nAnd Polish? My connection with it has remained unbroken. I still use it in conversations with my mother and her Polish housekeeper, and the occasional Poles I encounter in New York. When I was in Warsaw, it never occurred to me to speak English or French to the many Poles who are fluent in those languages. It was natural to use Polish. It is a rare night when I do not have nightmares about World War II in Poland; they are invariably in Polish. When I do sums in my head, or count wine glasses set out on the sideboard for a cocktail party we are about to give, I begin in Polish, and switch to English only after I have become conscious of the absurdity of what I am doing. The songs I sing off key in the car to fight against drowsiness are as often as not Polish folksongs and military airs I learned as a child; I still remember hundreds of lines of Polish poems my mother required me to memorize. Only the other week, I received a remarkable letter in Polish from an eleven-year-old schoolgirl living in Warsaw, provoked by her having read _Wartime Lies_ with her grandfather and having been to see Roman Polanski's film _The Pianist._ She put some hard questions about the cruelty portrayed in both works and expressed the hope that I would answer in Polish, if I still remembered it. I composed the reply immediately and asked a Polish friend to correct gross mistakes. He told me there weren't any. Omissions of letters and words abounded, just as they do in my English texts, in part because I think faster than I write in longhand or type. Of course, I have never stopped reading Polish novels and Polish poetry. Thus, among the most moving literary discoveries I have made in the last two decades have been the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert and the Polish novelist and playwright Witold Gombrowicz, who stand at the pinnacle of twentieth-century literature. Close after Gombrowicz, and of the same generation as Herbert, comes the short story writer and essayist Gustaw Herling-Grudzinski. I came upon his work reviewing a collection of his short stories. He too has his place in my pantheon.\n\nSometimes cultural change turns out to be far slower than one would expect. After a reading I gave in Warsaw in 1995, from _Wartime Lies,_ someone in the audience asked me to say any poem I had learned as a child. Without a moments thought, laughing with pleasure, I launched into lines about a railroad car full of grotesquely fat men eating fat (and delicious) sausages, Polish _kielbasy._ This charming poem, by Julian Tuwim, the greatest of Polish poets active between the two World Wars, was one that every Polish child of my generation with more or less educated parents knew by heart and loved. As I recited it, though, my exhilaration gave way to sadness and fear that this fragment of pre-War Poland so vivid in my memory would seem alien, and perhaps ludicrous, to a roomful of post\u2013Cold War Poles. My astonishment and joy were extreme when I heard the audience speaking the lines in unison with me. My past was alive in their present.\n\nA curious reader might ask about my English. Of course, it is very good. All my education was in the United States, after I left Poland. By the time I was a high school senior, in 1949, I wrote English well enough to win a city-wide short story contest administered by New York University. The prize was a leather-bound volume of the Oxford Book of English Poetry, which in due course I gave to my older son, a lover of literature who drowned it in the bathtub in which he was soaking. I was an English major in college, and composed short stories for the sort of creative writing courses one took until, in the spring of my junior year, I decided I had better stop because I had nothing to say. It would be more precise and less coy to admit that there was nothing that I was ready to write and stand by as my truth. Afterward, I became engaged in the kind of law practice that requires one to produce, as the major part of one's work, letters of advice, memoranda of law, contracts and briefs, advancement in the profession depending largely on the view one's elders took of the quality of the writing. It was therefore not wholly accurate to think of me as a novice when, in 1989, at the age of fifty-six, I completed my first novel. I had in reality been honing my skills relentlessly, although not in the conventional manner. Even more important for the development of English as my best language, and the only language in which I want to write works of imagination, was serving in the U.S. Army as an enlisted man and having three American children, two of them born before I was thirty and the third only two months after my thirtieth birthday. G.I. talk and the language of the nursery and playground games: had I not experienced them fully, my written English, however literary and elegant I might make it, would be like a dressed-up corpse.\n\nEven though I am told that my writing does not show signs of _rigor mortis,_ it is a fact that I write slowly and laboriously, pausing after every word I set down. I change it countless times and repeat the process with each sentence and paragraph before I can move forward. The vision of Trollope composing the Bar-chester novels in a railroad car, traveling desk balanced on his knees, with hardly an erasure or addition needed before the manuscript went off to the publisher, fills me with admiration, envy, and dull despair. I too can perform on the high wire when I write a legal text or an essay; writing fiction I need to keep my feet on the ground. Perfectionism and perennial dissatisfaction with everything I do are not alone to blame: it seems to me that when I write in English I lack normal spontaneity, let alone the unbeatable self-assurance a writer needs to soar or to be outrageous. I know that I do manage from time to time to be outrageous in my fiction, but the stress falls on the verb \"manage.\"\n\nNothing about those effects is instant. The truth is that even today, after an immersion of more than fifty-five years in the English language, I am never completely confident that I have gotten right whatever it is that I write down, certainly not on the first try. Knowing objectively that often\u2014perhaps most often\u2014 in fact I do, is not a consolation. In that respect only, I am not unlike my great countryman, Joseph Conrad. But Conrad had more of an excuse: he began to learn English only at the age of twenty-one; he was thirty-eight when his first novel, _Almayer's Folly,_ was published, and he had spent most of the intervening years on the high seas. Vladimir Nabokov's command of the English language is a different case altogether. English was in effect Nabokov's first language: he learned to read it before he could read Russian. Becoming thoroughly proficient in a \"civilized\" tongue, usually the French, and leaving the vernacular for later, to be absorbed as a part of growing up, was usual in the nineteenth century among Slavic upper-class families. There was a series of English and French governesses who took care of the Nabokov children, and it wasn't until Vladimir was seven that his father, alarmed by his sons' backwardness in their native language, engaged the schoolmaster from the village adjoining the family estate to teach them to read and write in Russian.\n\nTo go back to the torment I experienced revising the manuscript of my most recent novel, its immediate cause was the number of times my editor was in essence questioning my diction, the correctness of the way I expressed myself in English. It didn't matter that he wasn't always right. What hurt was the contrast between his instinctive grasp of how one would normally say whatever it was that I wanted to express and my doubts: my need to grope to find the way, to test each sentence by reading it aloud. He had kept his birthright\u2014the ability to use his mother tongue in his calling\u2014and I had lost mine. Whether I would have had the spontaneity and freedom that I feel I lack as a novelist writing in English, a language I didn't master until I was fourteen, if I had become a novelist writing in my native Polish, is an intriguing question to which obviously there is no reliable answer. I think, though, that my love for the Polish language, and the way in which it has remained present in my conscious and subconscious memory, are favorable indications.\n\nAn even more difficult question is whether I would have become a writer of fiction at all if my parents had not, driven by the need to escape from the ghosts of so many of our unburied dead and the oppressive weight of Stalinism, left Poland with me in 1946, as soon as they had acquired the means to do so\u2014if they had not chosen the adventure of penniless emigration over the comfort, however precarious, of remaining in Cracow. I do not believe that a novelists talent is one of those that bear fruit regardless of circumstances, being probably different in this regard from the gift for music or the sciences, and, for that matter, certain kinds of physical prowess. I am convinced that my having become able, rather late in life, to write fiction was the result of the peace I finally made with the past and its effect on my identity. But important aspects of that past\u2014the extermination of Polish Jews by Germans during World War II, and the attitude of the vast majority of non-Jewish Poles toward the abject humiliation and then slaughter of some three million of their Jewish fellow citizens\u2014were taboo as subjects for open discussion in post-War Poland under the Communist regime. They remained such even after the advent of Solidarity and well into the 1990s. Indeed, the taboo may not have been fully lifted until the revelations in 2001 by the historian Jan T. Gross in his book _Neighbors: The Destruction of the Jewish Community in Jedwabne, Poland,_ concerning the pogrom in 1941 in the very small town of Jedwabne, in the course of which half of its population, some 1,600 Jews, were savagely murdered by the other (Catholic) half. The publication of Gross's book was followed by a fierce debate in Poland that brought many issues into the open and disposed of many myths. In the conditions that prevailed in Poland after the War ended, a not inconsiderable number of Jews who survived in Poland and did not leave, and of Jews who returned to Poland or were born there after the War, including some who gained prominence in public life, were careful not to let their being of Jewish birth or faith be evident, in any event not to be evident enough to expose them to more or less attenuated forms of harassment or to put their careers at risk. The analogy to how, under German occupation, my mother and I, and many of those same Polish Jews and their parents, avoided the ghetto and extermination by passing for Catholic Poles, is painful. I cannot believe that in those conditions such literary talent as I have would have led me to write novels; it might have developed in other directions or not have progressed beyond sustaining my love for books and language. In fact, I am not aware of any Polish Jews of my generation or younger writing novels or poetry in Polish; perhaps there are some who are not well known, or whose being Jewish simply has not come to my attention. The contrast is striking when one looks at the generations of Polish Jews that came to maturity in Poland between the two World Wars, out of which came many major figures in Polish literature, among them Julian Tuwim and Herling-Grudzinski, whom I have already mentioned, and Josef Wittlin.\n\nThe literary silence of Polish Jews living in Poland since World War II may be of no significance: there is no orderly progress based on nationality in the production of writers, and whether writers are Jews or not is not of significance except when they use in their work specifically Jewish material to which the accident of upbringing gave them special access. In my own case, I wrote my first novel on the quintessentially Jewish subject of survival during the War, because it was an experience that had seared me. I must have felt that to write about other subjects and to remain silent about the War in Poland was impossible; perhaps it was even dishonorable. That task completed, I have had no further interest in Jewish or Polish material. To the contrary, I have dealt in novel after novel with great human themes that are not limited by national, religious or, for that matter, social boundaries: the effect on us of losing those we love the most; our profound and total loneliness, from which only the power of Eros liberates us; the randomness of the catastrophes that befall us; and the hash we make of relationships that count for us the most. My settings have been those that I thought suited best the story I was going to tell, and that I know sufficiently Thus my characters have found themselves on the east coast of the United States, in France and Italy, on a Greek island, in Brazil, and in Tokyo and Beijing.\n\nNevertheless, I have never been free of the pull of Poland. Or is it in reality the pull of the Polish language and Polish literature? This is a question I have put to myself more than once, reflecting on how I constructed the setting of the story I told in _Wartime Lies._ My first novel was a work of fiction based in part on recollections of what happened to me and, in at least equal part, on stories I heard during the War and soon afterward about the misadventures of others. Writing it, I soon realized that I had forgotten the topography of every place I had known in Poland, except the town where I was born, and that even that memory had been stripped down by time to a few startling essentials. Therefore, when I constructed the itineraries of the little boy and his aunt, to find my way I had to pore over the street maps of Lw\u00f3w and Warsaw. I remembered best the interiors, for the simple reason that avoiding denunciation and capture made it preferable to go out into the city as little as might be thought appropriate for a young woman and a little boy leading an ostensibly normal life. There were as well, alas, certain outdoor scenes in my novel the visual memory of which is etched in my skin like the message that the great harrow wrote with acid on the back of the prisoner in Kafka's \"In the Penal Colony.\"\n\nOne of the very happy memories I had been able to retain\u2014 I did not use it in _Wartime Lies_ because for a number of reasons it did not fit\u2014was of a visit to my grandparents' small property in a remote Polish countryside. I discovered, however, thinking intensively about the image in my mind of the low, weatherbeaten wood house, a connection between it and my reading, a year or two after World War II ended, _Pan Tadeusz,_ Adam Mickiewicz's great verse epic, published in 1834, about the life of provincial Lithuanian gentry, as the poet remembered it from the time of Napoleon's Russian campaign. Before World War I, Lithuania was a part of Poland, so far as Poles and the Lithuanian upper class were concerned; it had been so ever since the Lithuanian Grand Prince Jagiello was baptized in 1386, married Jadwiga, the daughter of the King of Hungary, and thus, by a dynastic sleight of hand, ascended with her to the Polish throne. The point of this historical digression is to explain why a Polish school-boy, reading _Pan Tadeusz,_ naturally did not make much of a distinction between Lithuania and Poland. In any event, this particular schoolboy being me, with my special past, made a leap that was even greater. Something in Mickiewicz's elegy, which haunted me like a forgotten melody, was nothing more or less, I realized, than my recollection of the summer and early autumn at my grandparents' property. The feat of self-aggrandizement or empathy or imagination was prodigious: what possible resemblance could there be between the modest manor house of a well-to-do Polish Jew who bought and sold agricultural produce, and the life in that fictional house, the grand domain of Mic-kiewicz's aristocratic and superbly old-fashioned Judge Soplica? But how much is imagination and how much is specific recollection in _Pan Tadeusz?_ The poet was born in 1798. The events he described took place in 1811 and 1812, when he was a boy. In 1824 Mickiewicz was exiled by the Russians for revolutionary activities and never returned. How much could he have really remembered during the composition of a work completed more than twenty years after the fact? What were the shards from which he fashioned his gloriously detailed and textured description of the countryside and of a society that perished with its hunts, balls and quarrels? The answer is that for a poet or a novelist the distinction between what was remembered and what was imagined and made up is shadowy and unimportant. What matters is the irresistible, magnetic force exerted by a place, by a language, and, I will add, by a literature.\n\nMickiewicz wrote, of course, in Polish, which was his mother tongue. The gentry did not speak Lithuanian. It may be that the operation that I performed so many years ago on _Pan Tadeusz,_ when I was eleven or twelve, and reconstituted when at the age of fifty-six I wrote _Wartime Lies,_ exemplifies my abiding connection with the country of my birth. It is made of words, and what they evoke. Thus, in Gombrowicz's masterpiece, _Ferdydurke,_ I was able to find, in the description of the school into which the adult narrator is suddenly thrust as though in a nightmare, the buried memory of the brutality of the students and certain teachers in the _gimnazjum_ I attended in Cracow, and in the scene in which the narrator and his cousin discuss with relish the gentleman's sport of slapping servants, hall porters, barbers\u2014anyone who can't hit back\u2014my memory of being slapped on the face as a child and seeing that done to others. I did not read _Ferdydurke_ until the late 1980s. In consequence, it may be even more surprising that some time ago I found a description of such blows to the face in a schoolroom\u2014obviously in Poland, although I did not say so\u2014in a short story I wrote as English homework, in 1948, in the high school I attended after my parents and I came to live in New York.\n\nThere should be a banner on the wall each writer faces as he sits behind his desk with the injunction AVOID CONCLUSIONS! embroidered in the appropriate language. And yet, I cannot escape asking myself about my innermost feelings. Would I have preferred remaining in Poland after the War to an emigration which, from the point of view of a very young Polish patriot\u2014or to use a more modest formulation, a child who was brought up to love his country\u2014could be called exile? I take into account here the fact that my initial reluctance to return to Poland as a visitor, in large part responsible for my first visit not having taken place until 1994, was related to the illegality of my parents' and my departure, and to fears (which may well have been baseless) of official chicanery, or worse, should we come back. Would I have preferred, if such a thing had been possible, to become a writer using the Polish language? As to the first question, the answer is easy. Had I remained in Poland I would not be myself today. I am not sure that I would like the person I might have become. Fortune is an ever-watchful goddess; she does not rest, and revels in striking those who seem happy. Nevertheless, I will dare to admit that I consider myself lucky to have become American, and to have the life I have had. To answer the second question involves heartbreak. I have old scores to settle with Poland. They are being liquidated by time, which has swept away most Poles who were old enough at the time of World War II to bear responsibility for what was done then or not done. As for Poles living in Poland today, I reserve judgment. The Polish language has been a source of undiluted joy for me, and it pains me to make an admission that may make me seem unfaithful to my first love. But the plain truth is that I consider myself also supremely lucky to be an American novelist, using a language of incomparable beauty and access to readers, a language that for all the difficulties I have described is totally my own. In this respect as well, my case is very different from Nabokov's, as he described it in an afterword to _Lolita:_\n\nMy private tragedy, which cannot, and indeed should not, be anybody's concern, is that I had to abandon my natural idiom, my untrammeled, rich and infinitely docile Russian tongue for a second-rate brand of English, devoid of any of those apparatuses\u2014the baffling mirror, the black velvet backdrop, the implied associations and traditions\u2014which the native illusionist, frac-tails flying, can magically use to transcend the heritage in his own way.\n\nTragedy, surely, but one that was embedded in triumph. I know Nabokov's Russian novels only in English translation; since the translations were heavily reworked by him, it is difficult for me to distinguish the English in which they appear from the English Nabokov used in the works he wrote during his second incarnation, beginning with _The Real Life of Sebastian Knight,_ which appeared in 1941. Both groups of work are masterpieces of illusionism and self-consciousness that borders on mannerism in the use of language. Were the characteristics of his Russian style different? I am incapable of providing an answer. Therefore, I follow Nabokov's advice, and take the tragedy seriously only because Nabokov's intimate wound was surely very real, as is the wound inflicted by every exile, whatever its circumstances and aftermath. The wound is one that never heals, even if one can say with Nabokov, as I do, quite heartlessly: \"The break in my own destiny affords me in retrospect a syncopal kick that I would not have missed for worlds.\"\n\n# RUSSIAN\n\n#\n\n# _The Mother Tongue Between Two Slices of Rye_  \nGary Shteyngart\n\nWhen I return to Russia, my birthplace, I cannot sleep for days. The Russian language swaddles me. The trilling _r_ 's tickle the underside of my feet. Every old woman cooing to her grandson is my dead grandmother. Every glum and purposeful man picking up his wife from work in a dusty Volga sedan is my father. Every young man cursing the West with his friends over a late morning beer in the Summer Garden is me. I have fallen off the edges of the known universe, with its Palm Pilots, obnoxious vintage shops, and sleek French-Caribbean Brooklyn bistros, and have returned into a kind of elemental Shteyngart-land, a nightmare where every consonant resonates like a punch against the liver, every rare vowel makes my flanks quiver as if I'm in love.\n\nLying in bed in my hotel room I am hurt to the quick by the words from an idiotic pop song: \"Please don't bother me,\" a cheerful young girl is singing on a Russian music channel, \"I'm going back to my mama's house.\"\n\nIf I'm in some cheap Soviet hell-hole of a hotel, I can hear the housekeepers screaming at each other. \"Lera, bitch, give me back my twenty.\"\n\n\"You, Vera, are the bitch,\" says her colleague. These words _Ti, Vera, suka_ replay themselves as an endless mantra as I sink my face into a skimpy, dandruff-smelling pillow from Brezhnev times. For the time being, Lera and Vera are my relatives, my loved ones, my everything. I want to walk out of my room and say, in my native tongue, \"Lera, Vera, here is twenty rubles for each of you. Ladies, dear ones, let's have some tea and cognac in the bar downstairs.\"\n\nIf I'm in a Western hotel, one of Moscow's Marriotts, say, I try to tune into the airplane-like hum of the central AC and banish Russian from my mind. I am surrounded by burnished mahogany, heated towel racks, and all sorts of business class accoutrements (\"Dear Guest,\" little cards address me in English, \"your overall satisfaction is our ultimate goal\"), but when I open the window I face a stark Soviet-era building, where the Veras and Leras carry on at full pitch, grandmas coo to children, young men while away the morning hours in the courtyard with beer and invective.\n\nIn order to fall asleep, I try speaking to myself in English. \"Hi there! Was' up? What are you doing Thursday? I have to see my analyst from 4:00 to 4:45. I can be downtown by 5:30. When do you get off work?\" I repeat the last words to my phantom New York friend over and over, trying to regain my American balance, the sense that rationalism, psychiatry and a few sour apple martinis can take care of the past, because, as the Marriott people say, overall satisfaction is our ultimate goal. \"When do you get off work? When do you get off work? When do you get off work? Hi there!\" But it's no use.\n\n_Please don't bother me, I'm going back to my mama's house._\n\n_Lera, you bitch, give me my twenty rubles._\n\nAnd in a final insult, an old Soviet anthem from my youth, hummed through the back channels of memory, the little chutes and trap doors that connect the right brain and the left ventricle through which pieces of primordial identity keep falling out.\n\n_The seagull is flapping its wings_\n\n_Calling us to our duty_\n\n_Pioneers and friends and all our comrades_\n\n_Let us set out for the journey ahead_\n\nSliced down the middle, splayed like a red snapper in a Chinatown restaurant, stuffed with _kh_ and _sh_ sounds instead of garlic and ginger, I lie in a Moscow or St. Petersburg hotel bed, tearful and jet-lagged, whispering to the ceiling in a brisk, staccato tone, maniacally naming all the things for which the Russian language is useful\u2014ordering mushroom and barley soup, directing the cab driver to some forgotten grave, planning the putsch that will for once install an enlightened government. _Khh... Shh... Rrrrr._\n\nHome at last.\n\n_Veliky moguchi russki yazik._ The Great and Mighty Russian Tongue is how my first language bills itself. Throughout its seventy-year tenure, bureaucratic Soviet-speak had inadvertently stripped it of much of its greatness and might (try casually saying the acronym OSOAVIAKHIM, which denotes the Association for Assistance of Defense, Aircraft and Chemical Development). But in 1977 the beleaguered Russian tongue can still put on quite a show for a five-year-old boy in a Leningrad metro station. The trick is to use giant copper block letters nailed to a granite wall, signifying both pomp and posterity, an upper-case paean to an increasingly lower-case Soviet state. The words, gracing the walls of the Technological Institute station, read as follows:\n\n1959\u2014SOVIET SPACE ROCKET\n\nREACHES THE SURFACE OF THE MOON\n\nTake that, Neil Armstrong.\n\n1934\u2014SOVIET SCIENTISTS CREATE\n\nTHE FIRST CHAIN REACTION THEORY\n\nSo that's where it all began.\n\n1974\u2014THE BUILDING OF THE BAIKAL-AMUR\n\nMAIN RAILROAD TRUNK HAS BEEN INITIATED\n\nNow what the hell does that mean? Ah, but Baikal-Amur sounds so beautiful\u2014Baikal the famous (and now famously polluted) Siberian lake, a centerpiece of Russian myth; Amur (amour?) could almost be another word Russian has gleefully appropriated from the French (it is, in fact, the name of a region in the Russian Far East).\n\nI'm five years old, felt boots tight around my feet and ankles, what might be half of a bear or several Soviet beavers draped around my shoulders, my mouth open so wide that, as my father keeps warning me, \"a crow will fly in there.\" I am in awe. The metro, with its wall-length murals of the broad-chested revolutionary working class that never was, with its hectares of granite and marble vestibules, is a mouth-opener to be sure. And the words! Those words whose power seems not only persuasive, but, to this five-year-old kid already obsessed with science fiction, extra-terrestrial. The wise aliens have landed and WE ARE THEM. And this is the language we use. The great and mighty Russian tongue.\n\nMeanwhile, a metro train full of sweaty comrades pulls into the station, ready to take us north to the Hermitage or the Dos-toyevsky museum. But what use is there for the glum truth of Rembrandt's returning prodigal son or a display of the great novelist's piss pots, when the future of the human race, denuded of its mystery, is right here for all to see. SOVIET SCIENTISTS CREATE THE FIRST CHAIN REACTION THEORY. Forget the shabby polyester-clad human element around you, the unique Soviet metro smell of a million barely washed proletarians being sucked through an enormous marble tube. There it is, kid, in copper capital letters. What more do you want?\n\nSome two years later, in Queens, New York, I am being inducted into a different kind of truth. I am standing amidst a gaggle of boys in white shirts and skullcaps, and girls in long dresses wailing a prayer in an ancient language. Adults are on hand to make sure we are all singing in unison; that is to say, refusing to wail is not an option. _\"Sh'ima Yisrael,\"_ I wail, obediently, _\"Adonai Elo-heinu, Adonai echad.\"_\n\nHear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.\n\nI'm not sure what the Hebrew words mean (there is an English translation in the prayer book, only I don't know any English either), but I know the tone. There is something plaintive in the way we boys and girls are beseeching the Almighty. What we're doing, I think, is supplicating. And the members of my family are no strangers to supplication. We are Soviet Jewish refugees in America (\"refu-Jews,\" the joke would go). We are poor. We are at the mercy of others: Food Stamps from the American government, financial aid from refugee organizations, second-hand Batman and Green Lantern t-shirts and scuffed furniture gathered by kind American Jews. I am sitting in the cafeteria of the Hebrew school, surrounded first by the walls of this frightening institution\u2014a gray piece of modern architecture liberally inlaid with panes of tinted glass\u2014with its large, sweaty rabbi, its young, underpaid teachers, and its noisy, undisciplined American Jewish kids, and, in a larger sense, surrounded by America: a complex, media-driven, gadget-happy society, whose images and language are the lingua franca of the world and whose flowery odors and easy smiles are completely beyond me. I'm sitting there, alone at a lunch table, a small boy in over-sized glasses and a tight checkered Russian shirt, perhaps the product of some Checkered Shirt Factory #12 in Sverdlovsk, and what I'm doing is, I'm talking to myself.\n\nI'm talking to myself in Russian.\n\nAm I saying \"1959\u2014soviet space rocket reaches the surface of the moon\"? Its very possible. Am I recounting the contents of the Vorontsovski Palace in Yalta, where, just a year ago, I proved myself smarter than the rest of the tour group (and won my mothers undying love) by pointing out that the palace resembled the contours of a neighboring mountain? It could be. Am I nervously whispering an old Russian childhood ditty (one that would later find its way into one of my stories written as an adult): \"Let it always be sunny, let there always be Mommy, let there always be blue skies, let there always be me\"? Very possible. Because what I need now, in this unhappy, alien place, is Mommy, the woman who sews my mittens to my great overcoat, for otherwise I will lose them, as I have already lost the bottle of glue, lined notebook and crayons that accompany me to first grade.\n\nOne thing is certain\u2014along with Mommy, and Papa, and one sweet kid, the son of liberal American parents who have induced him to play with me\u2014the Russian language is my friend. It's comfortable around me. It knows things the noisy brats around me, who laugh and point as I intone my Slavic sibilants, will never understand. The way the Vorontsovski Palace resembles the mountain next to it. The way you get frisked at the Leningrad Airport, the customs guard taking off your hat and feeling it up for contraband diamonds. The way SOVIET SCIENTISTS CREATE[D] THE FIRST CHAIN REACTION THEORY in 1934. All this the great and mighty Russian language knows. All this it whispers to me at night, as I lie haunted by childhood insomnia.\n\nTeachers try to intervene. They tell me to get rid of some of my Russian furs. Trim my bushy hair a little. Stop talking to myself in Russian. Be more, you know, _normal._ I am invited to play with the liberals' son, a gentle, well-fed fellow who seems lost in the wilderness of Eastern Queens. We go to a pizza parlor, and, as I inhale a slice, a large string of gooey Parmesan cheese gets stuck in my throat. Using most of my fingers, I try to pull the cheese out. I choke. I gesture about. I panic. I moo at our chap-erone, a graceful American mama. _Pomogite!_ I mouth. Help! I am caught in a world of cheap endless cheese. I can see a new placard for the Leningrad metro. 1979\u2014first soviet child chokes on capitalist pizza. When it's all over, I sit there shuddering, my hands covered with spittle and spent Parmesan. This is no way to live.\n\nAnd then one day I fall in love with cereal. We are too poor to afford toys at this point, but we do have to eat. Cereal is food. It tastes grainy easy and light, with a hint of false fruitiness. It tastes the way America feels. I'm obsessed with the fact that many cereal boxes come with prizes inside, which seems to me an unprecedented miracle. Something for nothing. My favorite comes in a box of a cereal called Honey Combs, a box featuring a healthy white kid\u2014as a sufferer of asthma, I begin to accept him as an important role-model\u2014on a bike flying through the sky (many years later I learn he's probably \"popping a wheelie\"). What you get inside each box of Honey Combs are small license plates to be tied to the rear of your bicycle. The license plates are much smaller than the real thing but they have a nice metallic heft to them. I keep getting MICHIGAN, a very simple plate, white letters on a black base. I trace the word with my finger. I speak it aloud, getting most of the sounds wrong. MEESHUGAN.\n\nWhen I have a thick stack of plates, I hold them in my hand and spread them out like playing cards. I casually throw them on my dingy mattress, then scoop them up and press them to my chest for no reason. I hide them under my pillow, then ferret them out like a demented post-Soviet dog. Each plate is terribly unique. Some states present themselves as \"America's Dairy-land,\" others wish to \"Live Free or Die.\" What I need now, in a very serious way, is to get an actual bike.\n\nIn America the distance between wanting something and having it delivered to your living room is not terribly great. I want a bike, so some rich American (they're all rich) gives me a bike. A rusted red monstrosity with the spokes coming dangerously undone, but what do you want? I tie the license plate to the bicycle, and I spend most of my day wondering which plate to use, citrus-sunny FLORIDA or snowy VERMONT. This is what America is about: choice.\n\nI don't have much choice in pals, but there's a one-eyed girl in our building complex whom I have sort of befriended. She's tiny and scrappy, and poor just like us. We're suspicious of each other at first, but I'm an immigrant and she has one eye, so we're even. The girl rides around on a half-broken bike just like mine, and she keeps falling and scraping herself (rumor is that's how she lost her eye) and bawling whenever her palms get bloodied, her head raised up to the sky. One day she sees me riding my banged-up bicycle with the Honey Combs license plate clanging behind me and she screams \"MICHIGAN! MICHIGAN!\" And I ride ahead, smiling and tooting my bike horn, proud of the English letters that are attached somewhere below my ass. Michigan! Michigan! with its bluish-black license plate the color of my friend's remaining eye. Michigan, with its delicious American name. How lucky one must be to live there.\n\nVladimir Girshkin, the struggling young immigrant hero of my first novel, _The Russian Debutante's Handbook,_ shares a few characteristics with me, notably his penchant for counting money in Russian, which, according to the book, is \"the language of longing, of homeland and Mother, his money-counting language.\" And also, I might add, the language of _fear._ When the ATM coughs out a bushel of cash or I am trying to perform a magic trick with my checkbook, trying to glean something from nothing, I leave English behind. American dollars, the lack of which constitutes an immigrants most elemental fright, are denominated entirely in the Russian language. And so with shaking hands, the fictional Vladimir Girshkin and the all-too-real Gary Shteyngart count a short stack of greenbacks, a record of our worth and accomplishment in our adopted land: _'Yosem-desyat dollarov... Sto dollarov... Sto-dvadtsaf dollarov... \"_\n\nMany of my dreams are also dreamt in Russian, especially those infused with terror. There's one, for instance, where I emerge into a sepia-toned Manhattan, its skyscrapers covered by the chitinous shells of massive insects with water-bug antennae waving menacingly from their roofs. \"What has happened?\" I ask an unmistakably American passer-by, a pretty young woman in a middle-class pullover.\n\n_\"Nichevo,\"_ she answers in Russian (\"it's nothing\"), with a bored Slavic shrug of the shoulders, just as I notice a pair of insect-like mandibles protruding from the base of her jaw. And I wake up whispering _bozhe moi, bozhe moi._ My God, my God.\n\nAnd when terror informs my waking world, when an airplane's engines for some reason quit their humming mid-flight, when a big man with murder in his nostrils turns the corner and walks right into me, I think _Za shto?_ What for? Why me? Why now? Why am I to die like this? Is it fair? It's a question addressed not to the Heavens, which I'm guessing are fairly empty of God, but to the Russian language itself, the repository of my sense of unfairness, a language in which awful things happen inexplicably and irrevocably.\n\nAfter we come to the States, many of my more adaptable fellow immigrants quickly part ways with their birth languages and begin singing Michael Jackson's \"Billie Jean\" with remarkable accuracy and hip-swinging panache. The reason I still speak, think, dream, quake in fear, and count money in Russian has to do with a series of decisions my parents make when we're still greenhorns. They insist that only Russian be spoken in the home. It's a trade-off. While I will retain my Russian, my parents will struggle with the new language, nothing being more instructive than having a child prattle on in English at the dinner table.\n\nOur house is Russian down to the last buckwheat kernel of kasha. When English does make its appearance, it is scribbled on a series of used IBM punch cards from my father's computer classes. I handle the punch cards with the same awe as I do the Honey Combs license plates, intrigued as much by their crisp, beige, American feel as by the words and phrases my father has written upon them, English on one side, Russian on the other. I remember, for some reason, the following words\u2014\"industry _(promishlenost),_ \"teapot\" _(chainik),_ \"heart attack\" _(infarkt),_ \"symbolism\" _(symvolizm),_ \"mortgage\" _(zaklad),_ and \"ranch\" _(rancho)._\n\nThe second decision is mostly economic. We cannot afford a television, so instead of the Dukes of Hazzard, I turn to the collected works of Anton Chekhov, eight battered volumes of which still sit on my bookshelves. And when we find a little black-and-white Zenith in the trash can outside our building, I am only allowed to watch it for half an hour a week, not enough time to understand why Buck Rogers is trapped in the 25th century or why the Incredible Hulk is sometimes green and sometimes not. Without television there is absolutely nothing to talk about with any of the children at school. It turns out these loud little porkers have very little interest in \"Gooseberries\" or \"Lady with Lapdog,\" and it is impossible in the early 1980s to hear a sentence spoken by a child without an allusion to something shown on TV.\n\nSo I find myself doubly handicapped, living in a world where I speak neither the actual language, English, nor the second and almost just as important language\u2014television. For most of my American childhood I have the wretched sensation that fin-de-si\u00e8cle Yalta with its idle, beautiful women and conflicted, lecherous men lies somewhere between the Toys \"R\" Us superstore and the multiplex.\n\nAround this time, I start writing in English with gusto. I write for the same reasons other curious children write: loneliness, boredom, the transgressive excitement of building your own world out of letters, a world not sanctioned by family and school. The latter becomes my target. While I patiently wail my _\"Sh'ma Yisrael,\"_ praying that God will indeed take mercy on me, that he will make the young Hebrew School Judeans stop teasing me for my cardboard sweater and my anxious, sweaty brow, for being a bankrupt Russian in a silver-tinseled American world, I also decide to act.\n\nI write my own Torah. It's called the Gnorah, an allusion to my nickname Gary Gnu, the name of an obscure television antelope which I have never seen. The Gnorah is a very libertine version of the Old Testament, with lots of musical numbers, singing prophets, and horny eleven-year-old takes on biblical themes. Exodus becomes Sexodus, for instance. Henry Miller would have been proud.\n\nThe Gnorah is written on an actual scroll, which I somehow manage to type up sideways so that it looks like an actual Torah. I hit the IBM Selectric keyboard with a giddy, nerdish excitement. Thousands of sacrilegious English words pour out in a matter of days, words that aren't inflected with my still-heavy Russian accent. Impatiently I blow on passages deleted with white-out, knowing somehow that my life is about to change. And it does. The Gnorah receives wide critical acclaim from the students of the Solomon Schechter Hebrew Day School of Queens\u2014a relief from the rote memorization of the Talmud, from the aggressive shouting of blessings and counter-blessings before and after lunch, from the ornery rabbi who claims the Jews brought on the Holocaust by their over-consumption of delicious pork products. The Gnorah gets passed around and quoted. It doesn't quite make me acceptable or beloved. Only owning a twenty-seven-inch Sony Trinitron and a wardrobe from Stern's department store can do that. But it helps me cross the line from unclubbable fruitcake to tolerated eccentric. Tell me, is there anything writing can't do?\n\nThe Gnorah marks the end of Russian as my primary tongue and the beginning of my true assimilation into American English. I want to be loved so badly, it verges on mild insanity. I devote most of my school hours, time that should be spent analyzing Talmudic interpretations of how a cow becomes a steak, writing stories for my classmates, stories that poke fun at our measly lives, stories filled with references to television shows I barely know, stories shorn of any allusion to the Russia I've left behind or to the pages of Chekhov patiently yellowing on my bookshelves. A progressive young teacher sets aside time at the end of the English class for me to read these stories, and, as I read, my classmates yelp and giggle appreciatively, a great victory for the written word in this part of Queens.\n\nBut soon my pre-adolescent writing career is cut short. My family is not so poor anymore and can afford to shell out one thousand dollars for a salmon-colored twenty-seven-inch Sony Trinitron. The delivery of this Sony Trinitron is possibly the happiest moment of my life. Finally in a real sense, I become a naturalized citizen of this country. I turn it on, and I never turn it off. For the next ten years, I will write almost nothing.\n\nI have begun this essay with a sleepless trip to contemporary Russia, a trip bathed in the anxious sounds of the mother tongue, and I have come to the end with a child's farewell to the language that once choreographed his entire world. But memory, which in the Russian sense is often just a flimsy cover for nostalgia, begs for a different ending.\n\nSo I will conclude elsewhere, at a place called the Ann Mason Bungalow Colony in the Catskill Mountains. Even the poorest Russian cannot live without a summer _dacha,_ and so every June we, along with other Russian families, rent one of a dozen of little barrack-style bungalows (white plaster exterior with a hint of cheap wood around the windows) not far from the old Jewish Borscht Belt hotels. My mother and I sneak into the nearby Tamarack Lodge, where Eddie Fisher and Buddy Hackett once shared a stage, to witness giant, tanned American Jews lying belly-up next to an Olympic-size outdoor pool or sleep-walking to the auditorium in bedroom slippers to watch Neil Diamond in _The Jazz Singer._ This is probably the grandest sight I have come across in the ten or eleven years of my existence. I immediately vow to work hard so that one day I can afford this kind of lifestyle and pass it on to my children (the Tamarack Lodge has since closed; I have no children).\n\nBack at the Ann Mason Bungalow Colony, we survive without daily screenings of _The Jazz Singer_ and the pool can fit maybe a half-dozen small Russian children at a time. Ann Mason, the proprietor, is an old Yiddish-spouting behemoth with three muu-muus to her wardrobe. Her summer population during weekdays consists almost entirely of Soviet children and the grandmothers entrusted with them\u2014the parents are back in New York working to keep us all in buckwheat. The children (there are about ten of us from Leningrad, Kiev, Kishinev and Vilnius) adore Ann Masons husband, a ridiculous, pot-bellied, red-bearded runt named Marvin, an avid reader of the Sunday funny papers whose fly is always open and whose favorite phrase is \"Everybody in the pool!\" When Ann Mason cuts enough coupons, she and Marvin take some of us to the Ponderosa Steakhouse for T-bones and mashed potatoes. The all-you-can-eat salad bar is the nexus of capitalism and gluttony we've all been waiting for.\n\nAnn Masons Bungalow Colony sits on the slope of a hill, beneath which lies a small but very prodigious brook, from which my father and I extract enormous catfish and an even larger fish whose English name I have never learned (in Russian it's called a _sig;_ the Oxford-Russian dictionary tells me, rather obliquely, that it is a \"freshwater fish of the salmon family\"). On the other side of the brook there is a circular hay field which belongs to a rabidly anti-Semitic Polish man who will hunt us down with his German shepherd if we go near, or so our grandmothers tell us.\n\nOur summers are spent being chased by these grandmothers, each intent on feeding us fruits and farmer's cheese, which, along with kasha in the morning, form the cornerstones of our mad diets. Shouts of _\"frukti!\"_ (fruits) and _\"tvorog!\"_ (farmer's cheese) echo above the anti-Semite's mysterious hay field. By sundown a new word is added to the grandmothers' vocabulary, _\"sviter!\"_ \u2014a desperate appeal for us to put on sweaters against the mountain cold.\n\nThese children are as close as I have come to compatriots. I look forward to being with them all year. There is no doubt that several of the girls are maturing into incomparable beauties, their tiny faces acquiring a round Eurasian cast, slim-hipped tomboyish bodies growing soft here and there. But what I love most are the sounds of our hoarse, excited voices. The Russian nouns lacing the barrage of English verbs, or vice versa _(\"babushka, oni poshli_ shopping _vmeste v ellenvilli\"_ \u2014\"grandma, they went shopping together in Ellenville\").\n\nFresh from my success with the Gnorah, I decide to write the lyrics for a music album, popular American songs with a Russian inflection. Madonnas \"Like a Virgin\" becomes \"Like a Sturgeon.\" There are paeans to babushkas, to farmers cheese, to budding sexuality rendered with a trilled _r_ that sounds sexier than we think. We record these songs on a tape recorder I buy at a drugstore. For the album cover photograph I pose as Bruce Springsteen on his _Born in the USA_ album, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a red baseball cap sticking out of my back pocket. Several of the girls pose around my \"Bruce.\" They are dressed in their finest skirts and blouses, along with hopeful application of mascara and lipstick. \"Born in the USSR\" is what we call the album. _(\"I was bo-ho-rn down in-uh Le-nin-grad... wore a big fur_ shapka _on my head, yeah... \")_\n\nWe await the weekends when our parents will come, exhausted from their American jobs, the men eager to take off their shirts and point their hairy chests at the sky, the women to talk in low tones about their husbands. We cram into a tiny stationwagon and head for one of the nearest towns where, along with a growing Hasidic population, there is a theater that shows last summers movies for two dollars (giant bag of popcorn with fake butter\u2014fifty cents). On the return trip to the Ann Mason Bungalow Colony, sitting on each others laps, we discuss the finer points of _E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial_ I wonder aloud why the film never ventured into outer space, never revealed to us the wrinkled fellows planet, his birthplace and true home.\n\nWe continue our Russo-American discussion into the night, the stars lighting up the bull's-eye of the anti-Semitic hay field, our grandmothers mumbling the next day's rations of kasha and sweaters in their sleep. Tomorrow, a long stretch of non-competitive badminton. The day after that, Marvin will bring out the funny papers and we will laugh at Beetle Bailey and Garfield, not always knowing why we're laughing. It's something like happiness, the not knowing why.\n\n# SCOTS\n\n#\n\n# _Boswell and Mrs. Miller_  \nJames Campbell\n\nWhen James Boswell took the low road from Scotland to London in 1762, to seek his fortune and eventually to write the _Life of Johnson,_ he required no passport to cross the border; but as he went, he imagined his whole being receiving the stamp of improvement. Boswell's overwhelming purpose in life was to better himself; in order to do so, he was ready to slough off the rough Scots \"Jamie,\" and admit the politer, anglicized James. In London, however, Boswell encountered an unexpected and unwanted reminder of home on the southern air. \"Mrs. Millers Glasgow tongue excruciated me,\" he wrote in his journal for March 17, 1763. \"I resolved never again to dine where a Scotchwoman from the West was allowed to feed with us.\"\n\nThe Scotchwoman from the West must have made an awful din. Boswell suggests a genteel table upset by a barking ruffian. We notice that, while he \"dines,\" Mrs. Miller \"feeds.\" It comes as a surprise to learn that Mrs. Miller was the wife of Thomas Miller, Lord Advocate of Scotland, the country's highest ranking legal figure. She would have been considered, and would have thought herself, a member of the gentry. Boswell's annoyance and embarrassment tell us that it was common for respectable society figures in mid-eighteenth-century Scotland to speak a form of what is called Older Scots, a generic designation for the dialect tongue that wags across time, from the middle ages to the present day. Boswell himself could only have avoided sounding like Mrs. Miller by making a positive effort not to.\n\nHow, exactly, does Mrs. Miller speak? She says \"aff\" for off and \"oot\" for out; \"ben the hoose\" to mean indoors, and \"greetan\" for weeping. Mrs. Miller gets wired intae her dener, while Boswell and the others are carefully keeping their elbows off the table. She uses idioms and peculiar grammatical constructions which he has been taking pains to expunge for years: \"Ah doot Jamie canny tell a rich wumman bi a puir,\" she thinks, sensing Boswell's snobbish contempt. \"He haes a face on him aye that wad soor milk.\" Catching his angry eye, she cries out, \"Dinna fash yersel',\" before turning back to her \"parridge,\" the common name she gives to the tastiest of dishes. To Boswell and the assembled company, Mrs. Miller seems incapable of grasping the difference between \"those\" and \"they\" (or thae), and equally incapable of pronouncing the flat \"a,\" so that references to those apples in the dish over there inevitably tumble out of her mouth as \"thae aipples,\" no matter how she tries to prevent it happening. She speaks of the dish as \"thon ashet yonder.\" She havers on about her \"faither\" and \"mirra\" and the \"wee wean,\" her child, and \"hoo i wiz glaiket but bonny forby.\" When she does use the flat \"a,\" it's in the wrong place: water, for example, drips off Mrs. Millers tongue as \"waa'er.\" Imagine these deviations spread across the entire field of English speech, and you have some idea of the sound that \"excruciated\" Boswell.\n\nMrs. Miller cannot be allowed back to the table; if she should be, Boswell will refuse to join in. A few weeks earlier, he had reflected that it would be wiser in future\u2014more socially advantageous, in other words\u2014to avoid contact altogether with the compatriots who arrived in London and came knocking on his door. Particularly those who embarrassed him by speaking in \"the abominable Glasgow tongue.\"\n\nI know Mrs. Miller well. I can hear her clearly. With a few shifts in flats and sharps, a slight increase or reduction in the incidence of glottal stops (try removing any hint of a \"t\" from \"waa'er\" and replacing it with an emphasis on the second syllable), her descendants in Glasgow speak today as she did two and a half centuries ago. Mrs. Millers speech reflected the natural West of Scotland way of talking; it was Boswell, powdering his palate from a compact of airs and affectations, who was trying to groom himself to \"talk suddron\" (southern). It was fashionable among some, though not all, Scottish ladies and gentlemen of the day to do so. Boswell came from a well-to-do family of landowning lawyers from the rural Southwest, and attended Glasgow University. He had taken lessons in elocution in Edinburgh from Thomas Sheridan, father of the playwright Richard Brins-ley and he would have been familiar with the little books of \"Scotticisms,\" published in the 1750s and 60s, containing alphabetical lists of words and phrases that Scots in public life were advised to avoid, especially when indulging in commercial or social intercourse with their English or foreign counterparts. Mrs. Millers offence, on being \"allowed to feed\" at a polite table in London, was to disregard the presumed linguistic etiquette.\n\nBoswell's objections make him sound like a boor and even a traitor. But he was less of a snob than he might seem. His attachment to the great natural democrat Dr. Johnson was genuine and philosophically grounded, and his feeling for Scotland was deep. Eventually, he married a Scotchwoman from the West, and lived with her in Edinburgh, in the East. However, his severe attitude to the Glasgow tongue is just as familiar to someone who was born and brought up in the city\u2014as I was\u2014as the tongue itself. The two ways of speaking may be separated into \"Glasgow\" and \"Glesca,\" after the different pronunciations of the city's name. The tongue has divided families, neighbors and neighborhoods; it has drawn a notional segregation marker through the city. A refined Glasgow speaker might go out of his way to avoid contact with a Glesca speaker. Each would recognize the social standing of the other as soon as they opened their mouths. Mr. Glasgow might treat Mr. Glesca and his \"patter\" as a topic of couthie humour, a kind of Caledonian minstrelsy, which is calculated to amuse; similarly, the Glesca man can only bring himself to pronounce the official name of his city, \"Glasgow,\" in a pointed, comical way. To attempt it in ordinary conversation would be to invite ridicule from his friends. The Glasgow man probably believes (without having given it much thought) that the other who says \"Glesca\" does so out of an inability to pronounce \"Glasgow.\" It is possible that neither is aware that the \"lower\" pronunciation reflects the medieval spelling of the city's name; in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Glasgow was \"Glescu,\" and must have been pronounced that way by the Boswells and Mrs. Millers alike.\n\nThe linguistic division, which developed fully round about 1600 with the Union of the Crowns of England and Scotland, has also split individuals. There is no better illustration of the double-sidedness of the Scottish tongue than the national poet himself. For both his daily life and his poetry, Robert Burns had two dialects: Older Scots and Standard English. Sometimes he employed them both in a single sentence, or poetic couplet, as in the well-known lines,\n\n_The best-laid schemes o' mice an men_\n\n_Gang aft agley._\n\n\"To a Mouse,\" like many Burns poems, is written in a combination of Scots and English, but the dominant flavor is Scots, even when dialect vocabulary is used scarcely\u2014\"Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie.\" The same was true of Burns's everyday speech. To the neighboring farmers in Ayrshire (Boswell's county, as it happens, some fifty miles to the south-west of Glasgow), Burns spoke like this:\n\nI'm sitten down here, after seven and forty miles ridin, e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as forfoughten cock, to gie you some notion o' my landlowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted wi' auld Reekie....\n\nI hae daunder'd owre a' the kintra frae Dumbar to Selcraig, and hae forgather'd wi' monie a guid fallow and monie a weelfar'd hizzie\u2014I met wi' twa dink quines in particular, ane o' them a sonsie, fine fodgel lass, baith braw and bonnie.\n\nYet he was capable of adopting a cultivated manner when circumstances required it. For the men and women with whom he socialized in the drawing-rooms of Edinburgh (\"auld Reekie\"), on whom he sometimes was forced to depend financially, he adopted a different voice altogether:\n\nI cannot bear the idea of leaving Edinburgh without seeing you\u2014I know not how to account for it\u2014I am strangely taken with some people; nor am I often mistaken. You are a stranger to me; but I am an odd being: some yet unnamed feelings; things not principles, but better than whims, carry me farther than boasted reason ever did a Philosopher.\n\nThe letter in Scots, dealing with one of Burns's favorite subjects (the \"twa dink quines\" might elsewhere be described as two comely wenches), is to the poet's friend William Nicol, a schoolmaster; the other, written in the same year, 1787, is to Agnes McLehose, a more genteel-sounding Scotchwoman from the West than Mrs. Miller, with whom Burns conducted a brief courtship.\n\nScots has numerous regional variations, of which Burns's Ayrshire and Mrs. Miller's Glesca are only two. All are related, and all forms of Scots are likewise linked to standard English. The use of Scots for day-to-day purposes was still common in the time of Burns and Boswell. Two hundred and fifty years before that, it was universal. For the past century and a half, however, Scots has been declared dead, or regarded as petering out (or else it is in the throes of a revival). Robert Louis Stevenson, born into a middle-class Edinburgh family in 1850, picked up a fair sprinkling of Scots from servants and gardeners, which he put to spirited use in poems and letters, and occasionally in short stories such as \"Thrawn Janet;\" but he was aware as he did so that he was indulging a linguistic form of nostalgia. Stevenson recalled his grandfather, born a year or two after Burns's effusions, as \"one of the last, I suppose, to speak broad Scots and be a gentleman.\" The country folk of present-day Ayrshire, tuning into _EastEnders_ and _Friends,_ and conversing via the transatlantic line with their emigrant cousins in North America, no longer talk to one another as Burns did to Willie Nicol, nor do they use much of the vocabulary that gives poems such as \"To a Mouse\" and \"Tam o' Shanter\" their distinct fibre. There is, in a sense, less space for the dialect; the distances that separate groups of people have shrunk, and we are apt to address our neighbors in a language we trust they will understand.\n\nYet Scots is still alive. It is current in ways that may be barely noticed. Boys and girls in the streets of Glasgow today for example, would find the idiom of this sixteenth-century ballad quite familiar; should you be passing by you might hear them speak in a way that is close to it:\n\n_As I was a-walkin all alane_\n\n_I spied twa corbies makkin a mane._\n\n_The tane untae the ither did say-o:_\n\n_Whaur sall we gang tae dine the day-o._\n\n_In ahent yon auld fell dyke,_\n\n_I wot there lies a new slain knight._\n\n_And naebody kens that he lies there-o_\n\n_But his hawk an his hound an his lady fair-o._\n\n\"Doubles\" or \"doubling\" are often evoked in discussions of Scottish literature, with reference made to Stevenson's _Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and James Hogg's _Confessions of a Justified Sinner,_ and even to poems like \"Tam o' Shanter,\" which inhabit a split-level reality\u2014this world, and the world of ghaisties, witches and warlocks into which Tam stumbles. Indeed, \"doubling\" is an actual feature of the language in which a large portion of Scottish literature is composed. There is a formulation, originally made by the poet Edwin Muir but so often cited as to have become a commonplace, that modern Scottish writers who make use of the dialect feel in one language (Scots) while they think in another (English).\n\nThe conflict between the two elements continues to occur in Scotland today. It was played out in my family living room on the southside of Glasgow in the late 1950s and early 60s. We were a typical working-class family with typical aspirations to be more middle-class. I was carefully brought up to speak properly (or, as the people who don't speak properly say \"speak polite\"). But in my mid-teens, as part of a private revolution, I began a linguistic migration back to the Older Scots. I didn't know then that that was the name of the dialect which I heard all around me (\"As I was a-walkin all alane\"); there must have been something in the rougher way of talking that suited my adolescent storm. My parents took the position, let's say, of Boswell, whereas I found myself cast as Mrs. Miller. The process coincided with my falling in with a new crowd of friends, who came from a poorer, indeed notorious, area of Glasgow, the Gorbals. There was nothing in my friends' behavior to deserve the stamp of notoriety, but geography is itself the marker of repute in most big cities, and Glasgow is no exception. Each evening, to the alarm of those who cared for my welfare and my future, I walked past the neatly trimmed hedges of our street and strolled into the world of tenement closes, pens, yards, and dunnies. And, like Boswell but in reverse, I exchanged my tongue on the way. Leaving my jacket at home and pittan oan ma jaiket; leaving Glasgow and daun'erin owre tae Glesca.\n\nIt is hardly unusual for teenagers to have one language for the playground and another for the classroom or, as in this case, one for the street and another for the living room. Here the scene was dramatized into a choice between dark and light, like the choice Tam o' Shanter faced as he rode home on his grey mare Meg after an evening sat \"bousin at the nappy.\" My mother, like most of the mothers round about, had barely heard of Boswell; but she knew all about \"the abominable Glasgow tongue.\" By gentling their vowels, and those of their children, my parents were doing what generations of lowly folk had done before: they were trying to \"get on,\" or, in Boswellian terms, to make themselves welcome to feed at the table. The streets of Glasgow were crowded with people who had not got on. They were poor, they were out of work, they drank too much and had troublesome dealings with the law, and frequently with everyone else who came near them. It seemed they could not even negotiate the vowels and consonants of the language, the Queens English, with proper competence. _Who'll give you a job when you speak like that?_ It was held up before us as a character failure.\n\nThere were respectable people who said \"grun\" when they meant ground, who couldn't shape the \"ou\" in house, or the \"ea\" in dead and bread, but said \"hoose\" and \"deid\" and \"breid;\" who said \"hame\" for home; who had difficulty in completing simple words, such as of, all, Dad (o', a', Da'), and could not master the pronunciation of blind, but had to settle for \"blinn\" instead. But mostly they lived in the country, like my mother's adored Uncle Willie, a shepherd on a Highland farm, where a Scots tongue was regarded as a \"hertsome\" thing. In the country, the broad Scots accent sounded healthier, just as the milk and the eggs that came straight from the farm on to our breakfast table tasted better.\n\nIf these acceptable Scots speakers were not country folk, they were elderly, rooted in old ways and the nineteenth century, like Grandma and Grandpa. For it is an oddity of the linguistic politics I am discussing that when my sisters and I went to visit our grandparents, born within the lifetime of Robert Louis Stevenson, we were greeted by the auld tongue. \"C'wa ben the hoose,\" our grandmother would say on our arrival. A light fall of rain she'd call a \"smirr,\" or a \"smirrie rain;\" wet children were \"fair drookit.\" If she should \"jalouse,\" or suspect, a cold, she gave us loathesome brandy. Like many of her class and generation, her speech, though principally English, dawdled naturally and frequently amid the Older Scots. She said \"gang\" for going, \"havers\" for nonsense, called boys and girls \"chiels and quines,\" called a drain a \"stank.\" If it was \"dreich\" outside, it was \"a scunner\" to her. Many of the words from Burns's vocabulary would have come naturally, and still do to large numbers of Scottish people: \"bide\" for live, for example; \"thole,\" to endure. Grandma would never have heard of Hugh MacDiarmid, the greatest twentieth-century practitioner of Scots, but she would have understood his verse:\n\n_Mars is braw in crammasy,_\n\n_Venus in a green silk goun,_\n\n_The auld mune shak's her gowden feathers,_\n\n_Their starry talk's a wheen o' blethers,_\n\n_Nane for thee a thochtie sparin,_\n\n_Earth, thou bonnie broukit bairn!_\n\nMeanwhile, my elder sisters were being sent to an elocution teacher to comb out as many tholes, bides, dreichs, and drookits from their speech as possible. They pranced around the house saying, \"How\u2014now\u2014brown\u2014cow,\" in theatrical fashion. Boswell, recalling his own youthful instruction from Thomas Sheridan, would have smiled on them.\n\nMy mother and Boswell had a formidable range of good intentions in their armory. These included education, respectability, worldly acceptance. On our side, Mrs. Miller and I (though I did not yet realize it) had literature. Only much later did I understand that the language spoken by my friends in the Gor-bals, by Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Willie with his shepherd's crook, and by the chiels and quines in Ayrshire and throughout Scotland, was not corrupt at all. Each regional variation, including the Glesca dialect, was derived from the Older Scots, the language used by the great fifteenth-century \"makaris,\" William Dunbar and Robert Henryson. The boys and girls in the neighboring streets, who said \"thae aipples,\" did not do so out of an inability to pronounce \"these apples,\" or because they found it an embarrassment to \"speak polite,\" as when prodded by teachers to say \"Glasgow\" instead of \"Glesca;\" they were simply, unwittingly, carrying on the Older Scots idiom which centuries of elocutional refinement had failed to smooth out. \"Doon,\" \"gaun,\" \"grun,\" \"dinnae\" and a thousand other features of present-day Glasgow speech are retentions from a way of talking that was once common to all the people of Lowland Scotland (as \"gotten\" and \"the fall,\" no longer used in English English, are retained in the American). \"Thae aipples yonder, lyan oan the brae ahent the dyke, are sweit and bonie\" is a sentence which my Gorbals comrades and the poet William Dunbar (1460\u20131513) would understand, as one. \"These apples on the hill, over there behind the wall, are sweet and delicious\" is not.\n\nDo I \"feel\" in Scots, despite thinking in English? On occasion, yes, especially to accommodate certain rushes of skepticism or joy that I take to be native. Or to express anger, or engage with children and animals. Scots words are apt to make a particular appeal to me, and Scots poetry, in the higher range, pleasures me like no other. Dunbar was quick to insist that he was a lesser poet than Chaucer, but Dunbar's poetry speaks to me in ways that Chaucer's never does and never could. It finds the familiar in me. The language of Dunbar's poetry, and that of certain colleagues writing five hundred years later, comes across as something half-remembered, like a first language since superseded. When I arrive at Glasgow Central Station these days, a wave of recognition breaks over me as I step off the train. The speech in the air around me carries experiences which, though I may not have realized it till then, were obscured by the invisible wall that separates Scotland from England.\n\nWhen I went south to live in London, at the age of thirty, I admit it, I did a Boswell. I straightened out my tongue. It had never been \"abominable\"\u2014at least not since those adolescent days\u2014but it had what others were pleased to refer to as a \"lilt.\" When I heard myself speak on a tape recorder or on the radio, I would be surprised at how strong my accent was. But gradually it faded. It happened without my noticing. I didn't shoo it away, or plot my advancement among the London literati by honeying the knobbled surfaces and thistled joints of my syllables. I excuse this fact, when people remark on it (invariably to my annoyance), by telling myself that my voice is mimetic by nature, that my tendency is to sound like those by whom I wish to be understood, that my Scots voice hasn't gone away, it's just concealed beneath these southern clothes. Or thae suddron claes.\n\nThe paradox\u2014our own family paradox\u2014is that while my accent traveled southwards, that of my parents went back in the opposite direction. In recent years, my father, in particular, would announce \"ah cannae thole it,\" usually in reference to a politician or something else that he found \"a right scunner.\" He never talked like that in the days when I was being persecuted for the company I kept. He would have said of the politician \"I can't stand him,\" that he found him annoying. In his last years, living at the lower fringe of the Highlands among people who speak a mild modern form of Scots, he found his vowel sounds drawn back to the streets where he had grown up\u2014not that far, it so happens, from the stamping ground of my notorious Gor-bals cronies. I noticed a certain self-consciousness as he modulated into this voice, often for my benefit, but also a pleasure, a relaxation, at being reacquainted with his older tongue.\n\nMy mother would have no qualms about sticking with the \"Glasgow\" way. But one day, during my fathers last illness, when he responded to doctors orders by failing to take his medicines when he should have, threatening to go out when he shouldn't, and generally behaving obstinately, she sat down in her usual chair with an air of great weariness and turned to me.\n\n_\"Thrawn,_ I think is the word,\" she said. Her precision took me aback. Thrawn means, literally, twisted or crooked, but it has a more common figurative sense, which is not hard to see: difficult, stubborn. Thrawn was indeed the word. I believe I had never heard her use it before. She must have been saving it up.\n\nAs for Boswell, several years after his abomination of Mrs. Miller, he was back in London, having in the meantime returned to Scotland to marry and set himself up as a lawyer. An entry in the Journal, March 30, 1772, finds him in a Covent Garden coffee house with Johnson, contemplating the idea of moving his practice south for good (he never did). \"Mr. Johnson is not against it; and says my having any Scotch accent would be but for a little while.\" Here he gives himself away. Almost a decade after having seen off Mrs. Miller, despite his lessons in \"pronunciation\" from Thomas Sheridan, Jamie is still talking native.\n\n# SPANISH\n\n#\n\n# _Footnotes to a Double Life_  \nAriel Dorfman\n\nI should not be here to tell this story.1\n\nIt's that simple: there is a day in my past, a day many years ago in Santiago de Chile, when I should have died and did not.2\n\nThat was the place, the house of death.3 That's where I caught pneumonia one Saturday night in February of 1945, when my parents had gone out by themselves for the first time since we had arrived in the States\u2014and I carefully use that verb, to catch, aware of its wild ambiguity, still unsure, even now, if that sickness invaded me or if I was the one who invited it in. But more of that later. To save his life, that boy was interned in a hospital, isolated in a ward where nobody spoke a word of Spanish. For three weeks, he saw his parents only on visiting days and then only from behind a glass partition.4\n\nMy parents have told me the story so often that sometimes I have the illusion that I am the one remembering, but that hope quickly fades, as when you arrive at a movie theater late and never discover what really happened, are forever at the mercy of those who have witnessed the beginning: _te internaron en ese hospital,_ my mother says slowly, picking out the words as if for the first time, _no nos acordarnos del nombre, 5_ there is a large glass wall, it is a cold bare white hospital ward, my parents have told me that every time they came to see me, tears streamed down my face, that I tried to touch them, I watch myself watching my parents so near and so far away behind the glass, mouthing words in Spanish I can't hear. Then my mother and my father are gone and I turn and I am alone and my lungs hurt and I realize then, as I realize now, that I am very fragile, that life can snap like a twig. I realize this in Spanish and I look up and the only adults I see are nurses and doctors. They speak to me in a language I don't know. A language that I will later learn is called English. In what language do I respond? In what language can I respond?\n\nThree weeks later, when my parents came to collect their son,6 now sound in body but in all probability slightly insane in mind, I disconcerted them by refusing to answer their Spanish questions, by speaking only English. \"I don't understand,\" my mother says that I said\u2014and from that moment onward I stubbornly, steadfastly, adamantly refused to speak a word in the tongue I had been born into.\n\nI did not speak another word of Spanish for ten years.7\n\nOut there,8 at the edge of my tongue, within reach of the Spanish words I hardly knew how to formulate, a real challenge was lying in wait for me: the people who spoke that language, the guardians of a plenitude of things and experiences that were to sensually surround my body and demand a name. That Spanish out there contained my future. It contained the words of Garc\u00eda Lorca I would say to Ang\u00e9lica one day _Verde que te quiero Oerde,_ the lover-like green of desire, and the words of Quevedo I would say to my country, _Mir\u00e9 los rnuros de la patria rnia,_ watching the walls of my fatherland crumble, and the words of Neruda I would say to the revolution, _Sube a nacer conmigo, hermano,_ rise and be born with me, my brother, and the words of Borges I would whisper to time, _los tigres de la memoria,_ the tigers of memory with which I would try to fool death once again. I would realize one day that the word for hope in Spanish, the word _esperanza,_ hides within its syllables the sound and meaning of _esperar,_ to wait, that there was in the language itself a foretelling of frustration, a warning to be cautious, to hope but not to hope too much because the experience of those who forged those syllables tells them that we end up, more often than not, being violated by history.9\n\nNot only wonders, in Spanish: also learning with it how to avoid responsibility. A day comes back to me\u2014I must have been sixteen\u2014the first time I realized that Spanish was beginning to speak me, had infiltrated my habits. It was in carpentry class and I had given a final clumsy bang with a hammer to a monstrous misshapen contraption I had built and it broke, fell apart right there, so I turned to the carpentry teacher and _\"Se rompi\u00f3,\"_ I said, shrugging my shoulders.\n\nHis mouth had twisted in anger. _\"Se, se, se,\"_ he hissed. \"Everything in this country is _se,_ it broke, it just happened, why in the hell don't you say I broke it, I screwed up. Say it, say, _Yo lo romp\u00ed, yo, yo, yo,_ take responsibility, boy.\" And all of a sudden I was a Spanish speaker, I was being berated for having used that form of the language to hide behind, I had automatically used that ubiquitous, impersonal _se,_ I had escaped into the language, _escap\u00e9 lenguaje adentro,_ merged with it.10\n\nI became conscious then of the other elusive ways in which the language allowed its devoutest followers to pass the buck on to others, the proliferation of passive forms and the overemployment of the _hay que, hab\u00eda que, habr\u00eda que_ (approximately, \"it should be necessary to...\") which, in years to come, would drive me crazy, people all around me endlessly discussing in smoke-filled rooms what should be done and very few of them effectively doing anything. But by then I had gone deeper into the language and learned that this multiplication of possibilities and parallel paths could also be a virtue, could also enrich the language. I had come to explore the verb system in Spanish, perhaps the richest in the Indo-European family of languages. I had come to adore the fluid use of time that Spanish plays with, I had internalized the subjunctive, to mentally live a plurality of forms of time that had not yet occurred, a time that was suspended and waiting to occur, a time that existed in the mind even if it had no chance of materializing in history, the construction of alternative imaginary universes always haunting the hard reality of our hearts trapped in the prison house of today and now and right here.11\n\nI was not aware of what was happening to my mind: it was a subtle, cunning, camouflaged process, the vocabulary and the grammatical code seeping into my consciousness slowly, turning me into a person who, without acknowledging it, began to function in either language. Although from the very beginning I did not allow my new language to enter into a dialogue with the older one. I stubbornly avoided comparing their relative merits, what one could offer me that the other could not. It was as if they inhabited two strictly different, segregated zones in my mind, or perhaps as if there were two Edwards,12 one for each language, each incommunicado like a split personality, each trying to ignore the other, afraid of contamination. I did not attempt\u2014 or even contemplate the possibility of\u2014cross-fertilization: to weigh the caliber and performance of one against the other would have meant creating a territory from which to think the phenomenon, a common space they both shared within me. It would have meant admitting that I was irrevocably bilingual, opening the door to questions of identity that I was much too vulnerable and immature to face: Who is it that speaks Spanish? Is it the same youngster who speaks English? Is there a core that is unchanged no matter what dictionary you reach for? And which is better equipped to tell a particular story? And how is it that your body language changes when you switch from one to the other? Is it a different body? Questions that only many years later, only now that I have agreed to their coexistence, can I begin to register.13\n\n1 That is how my memoir _Heading South, Looking North: A Bilingual Journey_ began.\n\nBegin, began, beginning: in a manner of speaking. Because it took me almost nine months to come up with that first line and the five or six lines that followed. It was, in fact, exactly nine, but I hesitate to say so, as this evokes an abusively glib parallel between gestation\/childbirth and creation\/writing. But nothing glib about the nine months of hard work, scribble, clack, _tecleo continuo,_ day after day, _d\u00eda y noche._ Writing and rewriting the first ten pages of the book over and over again until I wondered if my wife had been right to tell me that I would go insane before I had completed the first chapter.\n\nForget the many other reasons why self-scrutiny can be so agonizing and zero in on what was really bugging me: I couldn't for the life or death of me decide in which of my two languages to write the story of my life. They had been _disput\u00e1n-dome_ for most of my existence, each of them dominating my life monolingually, for long stretches of years freezing the other out of power and articulation. Until I got tired of being a child pulled this and pushed that way by two distraught parents insulting each other in a language the other pretended not to know but that the disputed offspring understood all too well. Tired of being a husband with two squabbling wives or a mistress with two lovers or maybe I was the bed where the two vocabularies coupled or... choose your metaphor, _tu met\u00e1fora._ What matters is that by the time I had decided to write the memoir, these two sides of my brain, these two tongues lodged in the cavity called my _cabeza_ \u2014also known as a head\u2014 had declared a truce, had decided to stop waging war because I needed them both to survive exile, to make a living (you get paid once in Spanish and once in English and between both payments, _sabes,_ you manage to get one whole meal for one family of four). I needed them because of the dictatorship in Chile: how to deny the possibility of transmitting twice over to an increasingly deaf and indifferent world the story of my ravaged land\u2014which would, presumably, lead to my being able to convince twice as many people. And that armistice led me to believe that I could now tackle the story of my life, I could at least give it an ending that did not conclude in strife and dividing walls.\n\nBut no sooner did I start to write the first sentences of that autobiography in one of the languages, say English, than the Spanish misbehaved abominably, blocked those words as if they were alien, an in flagrante case of linguistic adultery. And the same menace of divorce\u2014\"you do this, boy, and I am outta here\"\u2014if I tried to spin the tale in Spanish, my English telling me it would not tolerate such treachery. I am using a metaphor, of course. _Claro que s\u00ed._ Languages do not exist as characters in a play. They may talk about sex but they don't\u2014you know\u2014 _do it;_ talk about battles, but don't fire real bullets. By conferring an independent life on them, I am merely trying to express their extraordinary power over me, how I felt that their double boycott of my writing functioned in the most concrete of ways. _Muy simple._\n\nSo how did this boycott work?\n\nWhenever I wrote anything about my life, in either language, it simply sounded... false, _falso,_ fraudulent, _fraudulento._ And the Spanish, by the way, has that _lento_ adhered to its tail, that sense of a fraud that is slow, that persists, that prolongs itself inside your mind. And the English is, therefore, at least for me, peremptory and cutting, something not to be forgiven, that \"t\" at the end terminating all altercations. Nothing _lento_ about my English language self. In a word (and there's the rub, it can't be expressed in a word at all, _ni en una palabra):_ jealousy\/ _celos,_ they paralyzed me by making me feel that anything I stated on paper in one language about the other would not pass the test.\n\nSo what was it that they actually objected to, my two _amantes?_\n\nEach had agreed to allow the other right of passage, rites of passage, as long, I came to realize, _as long as the story being told was not theirs._ Spanish said: _yo voy a contar lo que pas\u00f3, porque me pas\u00f3 a m\u00ed._ And English repeated (or anticipated first) the same words: I am the one who will tell what happened, because it happened to me. I could argue with each that it had happened to me, and therefore to both of them, to the two zones of poor me\u2014but they argued back that it could be expressed first only by one rather than the other, because languages can incorporate any number of loans from another tongue, but at their moment of enunciation demand exclusivity. And so nine months went by. So desperate those months, so crippled by the certainty that I could not venture one word in either language without feeling that I was betraying one or the other. Because this was not a quick fling, it wasn't an article I wrote for the _New York Times_ that had to be in English or one that I wrote for _El Pa\u00eds_ in Madrid that had to be in Spanish, a novel like _Konfi-denz_ that I penned in Spanish and then translated into English and then went back and corrected the Spanish version with what I had learnt while transposing it to my other tongue. Oh no, this was the far more serious matter of moving in, settling down, with one or with the other, choosing one over the other, giving it primacy, bragging dibs, establishing a hierarchy and _una primogenitura._ Favoring one over the other to tell the story of their troubled relationship. Imagine two countries at war who have fought each other to a standstill and find, at the moment of the armistice, that the final treaty will only be in one of the tongues. The next day they would be at war again, right? This time over whose language would be the one used to define the terms, the frontiers, the reparations, the repatriation of enemy soldiers. Otherwise, who knows what contumacious and abstruse clauses and particulars the rival entity has smuggled into the final draft. I'll tell you how raving and frenzied I got: one dawn, after an almost sleepless night, I grabbed a pad of paper and scratched out some words in... French. C'est vrai! A language I can stutter, barely bring myself to write. You want neutral?, some worm in my brain asked. _Quieres neutralidad?_ Well, you got it... Yes, that's what I got: an impartial arbiter to speak for me, but she (is French a she?, voluptuously so, I think) had no capacity for writing anything eloquent or intimate: so again, I had no memoir\n\nThat madness at dawn may, however, have been what saved me. I had hit the bottom of the pit. I think it was the next morning (it certainly makes this a more interesting story if there is an immediate consequence) that I decided that enough was enough, _basta,_ it was time to let my languages know who was in charge. If you do not let me decide, I said to them, I will end up in a mental institution and my words will be neither in English or Spanish but a combination of the two of you closer to sheer jarring gibberish.\n\nFor reasons that I prefer to keep under strict lock and key here inside, I then proceeded to choose English as the vehicle for my life, give English first rights\u2014but temporarily, I promised, just to get this damn thing into the world; and then, I turned and murmured to my Spanish, _te voy a dejar que re-escribas por entero el libra,_ I'll let you write your own version of my life.\n\nIt was a trap and maybe my Spanish knew it\u2014or maybe at that time she, he, it, didn't care. Maybe she knew that once the story had been established in a certain way, once I had told it in English, it would be basically invariable.\n\nWhich turned out to be the case: my rewriting of the memoir in Spanish after I completed it in English followed the structure, story, explorations of history and of the mind which its rival language had set out. Spanish had to overflow its words inside the house that English built.\n\nAnd yet, how changed was that house as it filled with Spanish.\n\nIt was not the same book.\n\n2 Look at the first lines in the Spanish text, read them: _\"Si estoy contando esta histo- ria, si la puedo contar, es porque alguien, muchos aftos atr\u00e1s en Santiago de Chile, muri\u00f3 en mi lugar.\"_ Meaning: \"If I am writing this story, if I can tell it, it is because someone, many years ago in Santiago de Chile, died instead of me.\"\n\nIt took me a good few weeks to figure that one out, that I could not merely transfer and smooth the English words into Spanish, that Spanish was going to demand that I keep at least part of my promise and allow a slightly different version of my existence to circulate in the world.\n\nSee how the Spanish elongates and complicates the brief and unaffected early formulation (I should not be here to tell this story) of the English? Beginning with an If\/ _Si,_ making existence more conditional, adding a second if\/ _si_ to vaguely suggest how halting this process has been. But more crucially: the Spanish required that from the very start I include the fact that someone had died in my place, instead of me. I could not remember my survival in Spanish without remembering immediately the Spanish-speaking person who was dead while I was alive. I had never spoken in English to the man, Claudio Jimeno, who died in my stead. He makes an appearance very soon in the English version of the memoir, of course, but not in the first lines. My Spanish, therefore, was not willing to leave aside or behind the community it carried inside its vowels and grammar, needed to thrust that reciprocal dimension of my life straight into the reader's mind. Without delay Because this was my _historia:_ not just my story, but my simultaneous history, the history I had both made and suffered. Not that I had blocked myself from spelling all this out in my English. My memoir is, among other things, an exploration of how we shape history as it shapes us, how a language speaks us as much as we speak it. But in the sensuous Spanish pounding out of the specific words, the emphasis was altered, the landscape found itself widened, it was established from the get-go that this story would not be mine alone. Someone else died. And the first words that someone heard in his life, the last words he heard in his life, the first and last words I said to him, to my friend Claudio, were in Spanish. The revolution he died for, that I did not give my life for, was lived by both of us, in the Spanish of Chile.\n\nBut this other version is also determined by what sounds better. \"When I should have died and did not,\" well, that resonates in me dramatically, perhaps even elegantly, the way in which the succession of eis re-enforce one another, the way in which that _not_ at the end closes any door to doubt. The Spanish translation _cuando deb\u00ed haber muerto y no lo hice_ is weak, awkwardly constructed, repeating the ugly _bs (deb\u00ed haber)._ Worse still, the use of the verb _hacer (hice)_ misconstrues the original meaning in English, by positing the survival as more active than it really was. To give an approximate equivalent of the first sentence in the English language memoir I would have had to write something like _cuando la muerte vino por m\u00ed y no me encontr\u00f3_ (\"when death came for me and did not find me\"), but that is a thought and a structure of feeling I wanted to reserve for later in the text.\n\n3 We're already in the second chapter (I've been born into Spanish and Argentina and at a very young age am already being subjected to displacement in time and space), and I'm referring to my arrival in New York at the age of two and a half\u2014 speaking not a word of the language in which I write this footnote.\n\n4 Note the change to the third person. Distance. My demon and my savior and my instrument: _distancia._ I am apparently already trying to compensate for the fact that this is my English language persona speaking about what happened to _\u00e9l, that one, that kid, ese ni\u00f1o._\n\nI was not there\u2014this Ariel who writes this in English now, who wrote that in English when I began the second chapter of the memoir. Is it the Spanish that, growling gently inside, demanded some signal in its direction, that nod to its past dominion? Maybe. But it turns out that Spanish itself did not know, does not remember, what happened next, has kept not one _pedacito_ of _rememoranza,_ is as orphaned as English\u2014as the child himself felt himself to be... So the next line had to be: My parents have told me the story so often.\n\n5 And must have told it in Spanish, because that is how I recall their own memory, narrating me, my mother, into the future with the tongue that she herself had used to hijack a different identity from the Yiddish she had first heard floating over her infantile head as she headed from Europe to Argentina on that steamer from Hamburg four years before the First World War was to ravage her continent of birth.\n\nBut this is also a device\u2014not merely stylistic\u2014that I use throughout this memoir... and in some of my journalism as well as my later novels. Introduce Spanish directly into the text (or English if the text is in Spanish), often without explaining or translating, no help to the reader, you're on your own, as I was, shipwrecked in a sea of words we don't understand. A tiny taste of what it means to be adrift in someone else's language. Or maybe, in this case, it is a way of assuaging the Spanish in which, after all, this event first happened and was first told, by giving it a token presence\u2014 letting it sit down at a remote corner of the table and not be submitted to translation's perfidious traffic.\n\nA technique, by the way, that I first noticed in a number of Spanish American novels\u2014for instance by the Peruvian Jos\u00e9 Mar\u00eda Arguedas or the Paraguayan Augusto Roa Bastos. These authors, who came from bilingual societies (Quechua\/ Spanish and Guaran\u00ed\/Spanish, respectively), interjected many native words into the Spanish text and eliminated footnotes or glossaries, forcing their readers to infer the meaning from the context, refusing to let us off the hook. You don't understand? _No comprendes, carajo?_ Too bad! Learn Guaran\u00ed!\n\n6 Here my devious double-crossing mind makes a transition, tries to have it both ways, find a middle ground between the Spanish in which this occurred and the English in which it is expressed: _my parents_ and _their son,_ an attempt to be object and subject.\n\n7 Perhaps I can now elucidate the deepest reason why I chose to write that memoir in English. _Heading South, Looking North: A Bilingual Journey_ is organized in two alternating series of chapters. One sequence starts by stating that I was almost killed in Santiago during the military coup of 1973 and goes on, in the ensuing chapters, to follow me as I survive death on several occasions until the day when I finally am able to go into exile, a situation that will force me to live away from Chile and therefore be bilingual. The other sequence starts with my birth in Argentina (my birth into Spanish) and, after a first chapter which ends with my switching from Spanish into English (the one I am commenting on here), proceeds to show how history finally sent me back to Latin America, to my native tongue, how the day when I could have died and did not was awaiting me in Chile. The central events that determine the two sequences are both traumatic, moments when death circled me, whether in the New York hospital as a child, or on the streets of Santiago as a young adult. And both these shattering events were lived by me in Spanish.\n\nSo, why English?\n\nI think it may have been because it was the best way of dealing with the ordeal, using the measured framework of the English words to contain the pain, to look at those circumstances in a sort of roundabout, indirect fashion. English as a sort of oblique mirror that allowed me to see the events in a different (or at least tolerable) light, work through this confession, show myself, perhaps reveal myself, use the distance, treat myself as an almost fictional object. So much so that very often, when, later on, I was reworking the text in Spanish, I would find myself sick and trembling, faint with anxiety, asking my book how I had dared to write this, what naked madness must I have gone through and tamed in order to finally bring out into the open such secret thoughts. And those events, after all, those two close encounters with death, were at the origin of my conversion to the English in which I was writing this; they were, in some bizarre manner, the mothers, _las madres_ of this very language. Or maybe the _padres,_ maybe the Spanish words had inseminated an English child in my brain. Whatever the gender, this much seems to be true: to unveil one's origins, to journey to where it all started, we may need to use a different tongue, create an alter ego and trust him with the furtive truth we have told no one. You can't journey to your origin without a translator of some sort by your side. And a consolation: the ultimate reconciliation of my languages in this memoir, perhaps in this commentary as I write it. The very fact that I can write it may be proof that they are finally beginning to trust one another\n\n8 By now, I have been forced to leave the States and journey to Chile, forced to speak and write the detested Spanish language.\n\n9 If I do not remember the first transition of my life (from non-language to Spanish) or the second one (from Spanish into English)\u2014and have had to basically invent the way in which I experienced them\u2014this return to Spanish is one that needs to be expressed as a real process. But that does not mean that I know exactly how that happened, that I was conscious, while it was happening, of what was going on. It was a long, drawn-out seduction, a back and forth operation, a crossing and recrossing of the borders of my own mind. And so I do not focus on one event as much as offer an approximation, anticipate a future when Spanish will be present in all its glory. As if it had been calling to me, _Ilam\u00e1ndome todos esos a\u00f1os de exilio,_ during all those years of banishment.\n\n10 And here comes English to the rescue! The presence of that other language inside me, back then, and also now, does not allow me to hide as much as I would have wanted, as many of my compatriots can and still do. Not that English-language speakers are any less adept than those who practice Spanish at squirming out of accountability. Kissinger uses his (foreign-learned) English as skillfully as Pinochet uses his (barely learned) Spanish to avoid, both of them, facing the crimes they are alleged to have committed against humanity. Being bilingual does not exempt you from any of the horrors of the human. No one language condemns you to laziness or efficiency, mendacity or truth. If you dispose of two languages, therefore, you can lie twice as much\u2014but also have a good extra whack at the truth, if you are so inclined.\n\n11 The language I wrote my memoir in may be English, but the aesthetic seems to be resolutely Spanish American, the creation of that parallel conjuring up of what might have been, what still might be, language as the one irrevocable site of free dom, my life as not only what happened, but what almost happened. Life as a series of footnotes to a text written by someone else, more powerful, apparently in command. Latinos: embracing our margins as if we had chosen them instead of history imposing that marginality upon us.\n\n12 In my insanity to become American and leave my Spanish past behind, I had rebaptized myself Edward. The few friends I have left over from adolescence still call me Ed.\n\n13 Most of this paragraph was not in the original manuscript. John Glusman, my friend and editor at Farrar, Straus, believed that I needed, at some point in my memoir, to examine these problems. How did I do it? What does it mean to be, feel, live bilingually? At what point does Spanish take over, when does English concede? How in the hell did it, does it, actually _happen?_\n\nAnd what I wrote then, in response to his legitimate questions, was as far as I could go, at least back then. Back then? Even now I do not dare to venture any deeper into that territory.\n\nAs if the reader had not already realized that this collaboration between my two languages, my two loves, is a precarious and fragile one, that can be all too easily upset. Dangerous, certain questions. Like a sweetheart asking if she makes love better than the other one, the wife, the legitimate spouse.\n\nI am wary of opening up anything that could disturb the balance I have somehow struck between my two recently reconciled but still potentially antagonistic vocabularies. There is someone inside me that makes the decision about when to speak Spanish and when to speak English. Frequently, most of the time, this is decided for me. I answer, generally, in the language in which I am addressed: I sit at the computer and set the language for Spanish if I am writing for _Revista Proceso_ in Mexico or reach for the English book of synonyms if I am planning to publish the piece in the _Washington Post;_ I use Spanish with my graduate students and English with my undergrads\u2014and so on and so forth, _y as\u00ed es la cosa._ But there are many solitary moments in my day, inevitably, for any author, when I am left alone with _mis dos idiomas,_ and I have to decide which of them will receive my full attention. And I do not intend, for the moment, to ask myself how I reach that conclusion, why one at a certain moment sprints out of my fingers onto the keyboard or simmers to the surface when I am looking at a tree during a walk through the woods. I don't want to know, I don't want to legislate, I don't want it to be anything other than spontaneous, automatic, surfacing from some depth that I prefer not to gaze into.\n\nQuestions which, if I had asked them when I was first starting this journey toward duality, would have made me clamp down, suffocate Spanish again, deny its right to a voice. And my Spanish knew this, and cooperated, was glad to be once again inside my head, did not call attention to its gains, was not stupidly going to let itself crow victory when suddenly, in the middle of a sentence in English, a word in Spanish would make its upstart appearance as if nothing was more natural in the world, given that there was no English equivalent for that untranslatable turn of phrase. My Spanish did not demand that I examine why I needed that precise word when I had an infinitude of English at my tongues end, why it was irreplaceable. Having smuggled itself in, my Spanish was wise enough not to corner me. Instead, quite simply, it grew. And grew. And grew.14\n\n14 This much I do know. It is still growing. As is the English. Even when I do not use one of the two languages, when one of them is relegated to the attic of my life, that language, be it English or Spanish, continues to grow\u2014and reign. At this very moment, as I compose this, my Spanish is whispering instructions, suggestions, blowing rhythms my way, shaping the rival's choices. Creating between the two of them, something that is not quite one hundred percent English or Spanish, but something quite other, _creciendo ambos._ I swear it is true, I hope it is true.\n\n_Juro que es cierto._\n\n_M\u00e1s bien: espero que sea cierto._\n\n# YIDDISH\n\n#\n\n# _My Yiddish_  \nLeonard Michaels\n\nIn Paris one morning in the seventies, walking along rue Mahler, I saw a group of old men in an argument, shouting and gesticulating. I wanted to know what it was about, but my graduate school French was good enough only to read great writers, not good enough for an impassioned argument or even conversation with the local grocer. But then, as I walked by the old men, I felt a shock and a surge of exhilaration. I did understand them. My god, I possessed the thing\u2014spoken French! Just as suddenly, I crashed. The old men, I realized, were shouting in Yiddish.\n\nLike a half-remembered dream, the incident lingered. It seemed intensely personal, yet impersonal. Meaning had come alive in me. I hadn't translated what the old men said. I hadn't done anything. A light turned on. Where nothing had been, there was something.\n\nPhilosophers used to talk about The Understanding as if it were a distinct mental function. Today they talk about episte-mology or cognitive science. As for The Understanding, it's acknowledged in IQ tests, the value of which is subject to debate. It's also acknowledged in daily life in countless informal ways. You're on the same wave length with others or you are not. The Paris incident, where I rediscovered The Understanding, made me wonder if Descartes's remark, \"I think, therefore I am,\" might be true in his case, but not mine. I prefer to say, \"I am, therefore I think.\" And also, therefore, I speak.\n\nUntil I was five, I spoke only Yiddish. It did much to permanently qualify my thinking. Eventually I learned to speak English, then to imitate thinking as it transpires among English speakers. To some extent, my intuitions and my expression of thoughts remain basically Yiddish. I can say only approximately how this is true. For example this joke:\n\nThe rabbi says, \"What's green, hangs on the wall, and whistles?\"\n\nThe student says, \"I don't know.\"\n\nThe rabbi says, \"A herring.\"\n\nThe student says, \"Maybe a herring could be green and hang on the wall, but it absolutely doesn't whistle.\"\n\nThe rabbi says, \"So it doesn't whistle.\"\n\nThe joke is inherent in Yiddish, not any other language. It's funny, and, like a story by Kafka, it isn't funny. I confess that I don't know every other language. Maybe there are such jokes in Russian or Chinese, but no other language has a history like Yiddish, which, for ten centuries, has survived the dispersion and murder of its speakers.\n\nAs the excellent scholar and critic Benjamin Harshav points out, in _The Meaning of Yiddish,_ the language contains many words that don't mean anything\u2014 _nu, epes, tockeh, shoyn._ These are fleeting interjections, rather like sighs. They suggest, without meaning anything, \"so,\" \"really,\" \"well,\" \"already.\" Other Yiddish words and phrases, noticed by Harshav, are meaningful but defeat translation. Transparent and easy to understand, however, is the way Yiddish serves speech\u2014between you and me\u2014 rather than the requirements of consecutive logical discourse; that is, between the being who goes by your name and who speaks to others objectively and impersonally. For example, five times five is twenty-five, and it doesn't whistle.\n\nYiddish is probably at work in my written English. This moment, writing in English, I wonder about the Yiddish undercurrent. If I listen, I can almost hear it: \"This moment\"\u2014a stress followed by two neutral syllables\u2014introduces a thought which hangs like a herring in the weary droop of \"writing in English,\" and then comes the announcement, \"I wonder about the Yiddish undercurrent.\" The sentence ends in a shrug. Maybe I hear the Yiddish undercurrent, maybe I don't. The sentence could have been written by anyone who knows English, but it probably would not have been written by a well-bred Gentile. It has too much drama, and might even be disturbing, like music in a restaurant or an elevator. The sentence obliges you to abide in its staggered flow, as if what I meant were inextricable from my feelings and required a lyrical note. There is a kind of enforced intimacy with the reader. A Jewish kind, I suppose. In Sean O'Casey's lovelier prose you hear an Irish kind.\n\nWittgenstein says in his _Philosophical Investigations,_ \"Aren't there games we play in which we make up the rules as we go along, including this one.\" _Nu._ Any Yiddish speaker knows that. A good example of playing with the rules might be Montaigne's essays, the form that people say he invented. _Shoyn,_ a big inventor. Jews have always spoken essays. The scandal of Montaigne's essays is that they have only an incidental relation to a consecutive logical argument but they are cogent nonetheless. Their shape is their sense. It is determined by motions of his mind and feelings, not by a pretension to rigorously logical procedure. Montaigne literally claims his essays are himself. Between you and him nothing intervenes. A Gentile friend used to say in regard to writing she didn't like, \"There's nobody home.\" You don't have to have Jewish ancestors, like those of Montaigne and Wittgenstein, to understand what she means.\n\nI didn't speak English until I was five because my mother didn't speak English. My father had gone back to Poland to find a wife. He returned with an attractive seventeen-year-old who wore her hair in a long black braid. Men would hit on her, so my father wouldn't let her go take English classes. She learned English by doing my elementary school homework with me. As for me, before and after the age of five, I was susceptible to lung diseases and spent a lot of time in a feverish bed, in a small apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where nobody spoke anything but Yiddish. Years passed before I could ride a bike or catch a ball. In a playground fight, a girl could have wiped me out. I was badly coordinated and had no strength or speed, only a Yiddish mouth.\n\nFor a long time, Yiddish was my whole world. In this world family didn't gather before dinner for cocktails and conversation. There were no cocktails, but conversation was daylong and it included criticism, teasing, opinionating, gossiping, joking. It could also be very gloomy. To gather before dinner for conversation would have seemed unnatural. I experienced the pleasure of such conversation for the first time at the University of Michigan, around 1956. It was my habit to join a friend at his apartment after classes. He made old fashioneds and put music on the phonograph, usually chamber music. By the time we left for dinner, I felt uplifted by conversation and splendid music. Mainly, I was drunk, also a new experience. Among my Jews, conversation had no ritual character, no aesthetic qualities. I never learned to cultivate the sort of detachment that allows for the always potentially offensive personal note. Where I came from, everything was personal.\n\nFrom family conversation I gathered that, outside of my Yiddish child-world, there were savages who didn't have much to say but could fix the plumbing. They were fond of animals, liked to go swimming, loved to drink and fight. All their problems were solved when they _hut geharget yiddin._ Killed Jews. Only the last has been impossible for me to dismiss. Like many other people I have fixed my own plumbing, owned a dog and a cat, gotten drunk, etc., but everything in my life, beginning with English, has been an uncertain movement away from my _hut geharget_ Yiddish childhood. When a BBC poet said he wanted to shoot Jews on the West Bank, I thought, _\"Epes._ What else is new?\" His righteousness, his freedom to say it, suggests that he believes he is merely speaking English, and antisemitism is a kind of syntax, or what Wittgenstein calls \"a form of life.\" But in fact there is something new, or anyhow more evident lately. The _geharget yiddin_ disposition now operates at a remove. You see it in people who become hysterical when they feel that their ancient right to hate Jews is brought into question. To give an example would open a boxcar of worms.\n\nIt's possible to talk about French without schlepping the historical, cultural, or national character of a people into consideration. You cannot talk that way about Yiddish unless you adopt a narrow scholarly focus, or restrict yourself to minutiae of usage. The language has flourished in a number of countries. Theoretically, it has no territorial boundary. The meaning of Yiddish, in one respect, is No Boundaries. In another respect, for \"a people without a land,\" the invisible boundaries couldn't be more clear. There is mutual contempt between what are called \"universalist Jews\" and Jewish Jews. It's an old situation. During the centuries of the Spanish Inquisition, Jews turned on Jews. In Shakespeare's _The Merchant of Venice_ \u2014assuming the merchant Antonio is a gay converso, or new Christian, and Shylock is an Old Testament moralistic Jewish Jew\u2014the pound of flesh, a grotesquely exaggerated circumcision, is to remind Antonio (who says, \"I know not why I am so sad\") of his origins.\n\nThe first time I went to a baseball game, the great slugger Hank Greenberg, during warm-up, casually tossed a ball into the stands, a gift to the crowd of pre-adolescent kids among whom I sat. My hand, thrusting up in a blossom of hands, closed on that baseball. I carried it home, the only palpable treasure I'd ever owned. I never had toys. On Christmas nights I sometimes dreamed of waking and finding toys in the living room. _Tokeh?_ Yes, really. If there is a support group for Christmas depressives, I will be your leader. The baseball made me feel like a real American. It happened to me long before I had a romance with the mythical blond who grants citizenship to Jews. By then I was already fifteen. I had tasted _traif_ and long ago stopped speaking Yiddish except when I worked as a waiter in Catskills hotels. What Yiddish remained was enough to understand jokes, complaints, insults, and questions. As guests entered the dining room, a waiter might say, \"Here come the _vildeh chayes,\"_ or wild animals. One evening in the Catskills I went to hear a political talk, given in Yiddish. I understood little except that Yiddish could be a language of analysis, spoken by intellectuals. I felt alienated and rather ashamed of myself for not being like them.\n\nFamily members could speak Polish as well as Yiddish, and some Hebrew and Russian. My father worked for a short while in Paris and could manage French. My mother had gone to high school in Poland and was fluent in Polish, but refused to speak the language even when I asked her to. Her memory of pogroms made it unspeakable. In Yiddish and English I heard about her father, my grandfather, a tailor who made uniforms for Polish army officers. Once, after he'd worked all night to finish a uniform, the officer wouldn't pay. My grandfather, waving a pair of scissors, threatened to cut the uniform to pieces. The officer paid. The Germans later murdered my grandfather, his wife, and one daughter. Polish officers imprisoned in Katyn forest and elsewhere were massacred by Stalin. This paragraph, beginning with the first sentence and concluding with a moral, is in the form of a _geshichte,_ or Yiddish story, except that it's in English and merely true.\n\nAt the center of my Yiddish, lest I have yet failed to make myself clear, remains _hut geharget yiddin,_ from which, like the disgorged contents of a black hole in the universe, come the jokes, the thinking, the meanings, and the meaninglessness. In 1979, American writers were sent to Europe by the State Department. I went to Poland and gave talks in Warsaw, Poznan, and Cracow. I was surprised by how much seemed familiar, and exceedingly surprised by the intelligence and decency of the Poles, a few of whom became friends and visited me later in America. One of the Poles whom I didn't see again was a woman in Cracow with beautiful blue eyes and other features very like my mother's. I was certain that she was a Jew though she wore a cross. I didn't ask her questions. I didn't want to know her story. I could barely look at her. I detest the word \"shiksa,\" which I've heard used more often by friendly antisemites than Jews, but in my personal depths it applies to her.\n\nAs suggested earlier, in Yiddish there is respect for meaning-lessness. If the woman in Cracow was passing as a Catholic, was she therefore a specter of meaninglessness who haunted me, the child of Polish Jews, passing as an American writer? A familiar saying comes to mind, \"If you forget you are a Jew, a Gentile will remind you,\" but, in the way of forgetting, things have gone much further. Lately, it might take a Jew to remind a Jew that he or she is a Jew. Then there is a risk of ruining the friendship. For an extreme example, I have had depressing arguments with Jewish Stalinists who, despite evidence from numerous and unimpeachable sources that Stalin murdered Jews because they were Jews, remain Stalinists. It's as if they would rather die than let personal identity spoil their illusions. Thus, the Jewish face of insanity says to me, \"Stalin was a good guy. He just got a bad rap.\" A demonic parallel to this mentality is in the way Nazis used material resources, critical to their military effort, to murder Jews even as the Russian army was at the gates. They would rather die etc. In the second century, Tertullian, a father of the Christian church, insisted that absurdity is critical to belief. His political sophistication seems to me breathtaking, and also frightening in its implications. As the believers multiply everywhere, it becomes harder to believe\u2014rationally\u2014in almost anything.\n\nParadox as a cognitive mode is everywhere in Yiddish. It's probably in the genes and may explain the Jewish love of jokes. The flight from sense to brilliance effects an instant connection with listeners. Hobbes calls laughter \"sudden glory,\" which is a superb phrase, but I've seen the Jewish comics, Lenny Bruce and Myron Cohen, reduce a nightclub audience to convulsive and inglorious agonies of laughter. When I worked in the Cats-kills hotels I noticed that it was often the _tumler,_ or the hotel comic and hell raiser, to whom women abandoned themselves. Jerry Lewis, formerly a _tumler,_ said in a televised interview that at the height of his fame he \"had four broads a day.\" As opposed to Jerry Lewis, Hannah Arendt preferred disconnection. She used the snobbish word \"banal\" to describe the murderer of millions of Jews, and later said in a letter that despite the abuse she had received for using that word, she remained \"light hearted.\"\n\nFamily was uncles and aunts who escaped from Poland and immigrated to the United States. They stayed with us until they found their own apartments. I'd wake in the morning and see small Jews sleeping on the living room floor. My Aunt Molly, long after she had a place of her own, often stayed overnight and slept on the floor. She was very lonely. Her husband was dead, her children had families of their own. A couch with a sheet, blanket, and pillow was available, but she refused such comforts. She wanted to be less than no trouble. She wore two or three dresses at once, almost her entire wardrobe. She slept on the floor in her winter coat and dresses. To see Molly first thing in the morning, curled against a wall, didn't make us feel good. She was the same height as my mother, around five feet, and had a beautiful intelligent melancholy face. I never saw her laugh, though she might chuckle softly, and she smiled when she teased me. She used to _krotz_ (scratch) my back as I went to sleep, and she liked to speak to me in rhymes. First they were entirely Yiddish. Then English entered the rhymes.\n\n_Label, gay fressen._\n\n_A fish shtayt on de tish._\n\n_Lenny, go eat._\n\n_A fish is on the table._\n\n_Shtayt_ doesn't exactly mean \"is.\" \"Stands on the table\" or \"stays on the table\" or \"exists on the table\" would be somewhat imprecise, though I think \"A fish exists on the table\" is wonderful. I once brought a girlfriend home, and Aunt Molly said, very politely, \"You are looking very fit.\" Her \"fit\" sounded like \"fet,\" which suggested \"fat.\" My girlfriend squealed in protest. It took several minutes to calm her down. The pronunciation of \"fet\" for \"fit\" is typical of Yiddishified-English, which is almost a third language. I speak it like a native when telling jokes. The audience for such jokes has diminished over the years because most Jews now are politically liberal and have college degrees and consider such jokes undignified or racist. A joke that touches on this development tells of Jewish parents who worry about a son who studies English literature at Harvard. They go to see Kit-tredge, the great Shakespeare scholar, and ask if he thinks their son's Yiddish accent is a disadvantage. Kittredge booms, \"Vot ekcent?\"\n\nAs a child I knew only one Jew who was concerned to make a _bella figura._ He was a highly respected doctor, very handsome, always dressed in a fine suit and, despite his appearance, fluent in Yiddish. His office was in the neighborhood. He came every morning to my father's barber shop for a shave. A comparable miracle was the chicken-flicker down the block, a boisterous man who yelled at customers in vulgar funny Yiddish. This man's son was a star at MIT. In regard to such miracles, an expression I often heard was \"He is up from pushcarts.\" It means he went from the Yiddish immigrant poverty to money or, say, a classy professorship. The day of such expressions is past. In the sixties there were Jewish kids who, as opposed to the spirit of Irving Howe's _The World of Our Fathers,_ yelled, \"Kill the parents.\" The suicidal implication is consistent with the paradoxical Yiddish they no longer spoke.\n\nIf I dressed nicely to go out, my mother would ask why I was _fapitzed,_ which suggests \"tarted up.\" Yiddish is critical of pretensions to being better than a Jew, and also critical of everything else. A man wants to have sex or wants to pee\u2014what a scream. A woman appears naked before her husband and says, \"I haven't got a thing to wear.\" He says, \"Take a shave. You look like a bum.\" Henry Adams speaks of \"derisive Jew laughter.\" It is easy to find derision produced by Jews, but Adams's word, aside from its stupid viciousness, betrays the self-hate and fear that inspires antisemitism among the educated, not excluding Jews. Ezra Pound called his own antisemitic ravings \"stupid.\" The relation of stupidity and evil has long been noted.\n\nJewish laughter has a liberal purview and its numerous forms, some very silly, seem to me built into Yiddish. Sometime around puberty, I decided to use shampoo rather than handsoap to wash my hair. I bought a bottle of Breck. My father noticed and said in Yiddish, \"Nothing but the best.\" I still carry his lesson in my heart, though I have never resumed using handsoap instead of shampoo. What has this to do with Yiddish? In my case, plenty, since it raises the question, albeit faintly, \"Who do you think you are?\"\n\nWhat I have retained of Yiddish, I'm sorry to say, isn't much above the level of my Aunt Molly's poems. But what good to me is Yiddish? Recently in Rome, during the High Holidays, a cordon was established around the synagogue in the ghetto, guarded by the police and local Jews. As I tried to pass I was stopped by a Jew. I was amazed. Couldn't he tell? I said, \"Ich bin a yid. Los mir gayen arein.\" He said, \"Let me see your passport.\" _La mia madrelingua_ wasn't his. This happened to me before with Moroccan Jews in France. I've wondered about Spinoza. His Latin teacher was German, and the first Yiddish newspaper was published in Amsterdam around the time of his death. Did he know Yiddish?\n\nI'm sure of very little about what I know except that the Yiddish I can't speak is more natural to my being than English, and partly for that reason I've studied English poets. There is a line in T. S. Eliot where he says words slip, slide, crack or something. \"Come off it, Tom,\" I think. \"With words you never had no problem.\" Who would suspect from his hateful remark about a Jew in furs that Eliot's family, like my mother's ancestors in Vienna, was up from the fur business? Eliot liked Groucho Marx, a Jew, but did he wonder when writing _Four Quartets,_ with its striking allusions to Saint John of the Cross, that the small dark brilliant mystical monk might have been a Jew?\n\n\"Let there be light\" are the first spoken words in the Old Testament. This light is understanding, not merely seeing. The Yiddish saying, \"To kill a person is to kill a world,\" means the person is no longer the embodiment, or a mode of the glorious nothing that is the light, or illuminated world. This idea, I believe, is elaborated in Spinoza's _Ethics._ Existence\u2014or being\u2014entails ethics. Maybe the idea is also in Wittgenstein, who opens the _Tractatus_ this way: \"The world is everything that is the case.\" So what is the case? If it's the case that facts are bound up with values, it seems Yiddish or Spinozist. Possibly for this reason Jewish writers in English don't write about murder as well as Christians. Even Primo Levi, whose great subject is murder, doesn't offer the lacerating specificity one might expect.\n\nIn regard to my own writing, its subterranean Yiddish keeps me from being good at killing characters. The closest I've come is a story called \"Trotsky's Garden,\" where I adopt a sort of Yiddish intonation to talk about his life. I'd read a psychological study that claimed Trotsky was responsible for murders only to please Lenin, his father figure. If so, his behavior was even worse than I'd thought. I wrote my story out of disappointment. I had wanted to admire Trotsky for his brilliant mind, courage, and extraordinary literary gifts. His description of mowing wheat in his diaries, for example, almost compares with Tolstoy's description of the same thing in _Anna Karenina._ Yiddish can be brutal, as, for example, _Gay koken aff yam,_ which means \"Go shit in the ocean,\" but in regard to murder what Jew compares with Shakespeare, Webster, Mark Twain, Flannery O'Connor, Cormac McCarthy, or Elmore Leonard? The Old Testament story of Abraham and Isaac, which is of profound importance to three faiths, stops short of murder, but it is relevant to the children in contemporary religious terrorism.\n\nA story by Bernard Malamud begins with the death of a father whose name is Ganz. In Yiddish, \"ganz\" means \"all\" or \"the whole thing\" or \"everything.\" Metaphorically, with the death of Ganz, the whole world dies. Everything is killed. Malamud couldn't have named the father Ganz if he had written the story in Yiddish. It would be too funny and undermine all seriousness. The death of a father, or a world-killed-in-a-person, is the reason for Hamlet's excessive grief, a condition feared among Jews for a reason given in the play: \"All the uses of this world seem to me weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable.\" Because Hamlet Senior is dead, Hamlet Junior is as good as dead. Early in the play he jokes about walking into his grave, and the fifth act opens, for no reason, with Hamlet in a graveyard, and then he actually jumps into a grave. On the subject of grief, in \"Mourning and Melancholia,\" Freud follows Shakespeare. Like Hamlet, who demands that his mother look at the picture of his father, Freud makes a great deal of the residual, or cathectic, force of an image. Again, regarding my Yiddish, when I once wrote about my fathers death, I restricted my grief to a few images and a simple lamentation: \"He gave. I took.\" My short sentences are self-critical, and have no relation to the work of writers known for short sentences. They are only Yiddish terseness seizing an English equivalent.\n\nShakespeare's short sentences\u2014like \"Let it come down,\" \"Ripeness is all,\" \"Can Fulvia die?\"\u2014seem to me amazing. I couldn't write one of those. This confession brings a joke instantly to mind. The synagogue's janitor is beating his breast and saying, \"Oh, Lord, I am nothing.\" He is overheard by the rabbi who says, \"Look who is nothing.\" Both men are ridiculed. A Jewish writer has to be careful. Between schmaltz and irony there is just an itty bitty step.\n\nMy mother sometimes switches in midsentence, when talking to me, from English to Yiddish. If meaning can leave English and reappear in Yiddish, does it have an absolutely necessary relation to either language? Linguists say, \"No. Anything you can say in German you can say in Swahili which is increasingly Arabic.\" But no poet could accept the idea of linguistic equivalence, and a religious fanatic might want to kill you for proposing it. Ultimately, I believe, meaning has less to do with language than with music, a sensuous flow that becomes language only by default, so to speak, and by degrees. In great fiction and poetry, meaning is obviously close to music. Writing about a story by Gogol, Nabokov says it goes la, la, do, la la la etc. The story's meaning is radically musical. I've often had to rewrite a paragraph because the sound was wrong. When at last it seemed right, I discovered\u2014incredibly\u2014the sense was right. Sense follows sound. Otherwise we couldn't speak so easily or quickly. If someone speaks slowly and sense unnaturally precedes sound, the person can seem too deliberative; emotionally false, boring. I can tell stories all day, but to write one that sounds right entails labors of indefinable innerness until I hear the thing I must hear before it is heard by anyone else. A standard of rightness probably exists for me in my residual subliminal Yiddish. Its effect is to inhibit as well as to liberate. An expression popular not long ago, \"I hear you,\" was intended to assure you of being understood personally, as if there were a difference in comprehension between hearing and really hearing. In regard to being _really_ heard, there are things in Yiddish that can't be heard in English. _Hazar fisl kosher._ \"A pig has clean feet.\" It is an expression of contempt for hypocrisy. The force is in Yiddish concision. A pig is not clean. With clean feet it is even less clean. Another example: I was talking to a friend about a famous, recently deceased writer. The friend said, \"He's _ausgespielt.\"_ Beyond dead. He's played out. So forget it. Too much has been said about him.\n\nCultural intuitions, or forms or qualities of meaning, dancing about in language, derive from the unique historical experience of peoples. The intuitions are not in dictionaries but carried by tones, gestures, nuances effected by word order, etc. When I understood the old men in Paris I didn't do or intend anything. It wasn't a moment of romantic introspection. I didn't know what language I heard. I didn't understand that I understood. What comes to mind is the assertion that begins the Book of John: \"In the beginning was the word.\" A sound, a physical thing, the word is also mental. So this monism can be understood as the nature of everything. Like music that is the meaning of stories, physical and mental are aspects of each other. Yiddish, with its elements of German, Hebrew, Aramaic, Latin, Spanish, Polish, Russian, Rumanian, is metaphorically everything. A people driven hither and yon, and obliged to assimilate so much, returned immensely more to the world. How they can become necessary to murder is the hideous paradox of evil.\n\nWhen I was five years old, I started school in a huge gloomy Victorian building where nobody spoke Yiddish. It was across the street from Knickerbocker Village, the project in which I lived. To cross that street meant going from love to hell. I said nothing in the classroom and sat apart and alone, and tried to avoid the teachers evil eye. Eventually, she decided that I was a moron, and wrote a letter to my parents saying I would be transferred to the \"ungraded class\" where I would be happier and could play ping-pong all day. My mother couldn't read the letter so she showed it to our neighbor, a woman from Texas named Lynn Nations. A real American, she boasted of Indian blood, though she was blond and had the cheekbones, figure, and fragility of a fashion model. She would ask us to look at the in-sides of her teeth, and see how they were cupped. To Lynn this proved descent from original Americans. She was very fond of me, though we had no conversation, and I spent hours in her apartment looking at her art books and eating forbidden foods. I could speak to her husband, Arthur Kleinman, yet another furrier, and a lefty union activist, who knew Yiddish.\n\nLynn believed I was brighter than a moron and went to the school principal, which my mother would never have dared to do, and demanded an intelligence test for me. Impressed by her Katharine Hepburn looks, the principal arranged for a school psychologist to test me. Afterwards, I was advanced to a grade beyond my age with several other kids, among them a boy named Bonfiglio and a girl named Estervez. I remember their names because we were seated according to our IQ scores. Behind Bonfiglio and Estervez was me, a kid who couldn't even ask permission to go to the bathroom. In the higher grade I had to read and write and speak English. It happened virtually overnight so I must have known more than I knew. When I asked my mother about this she said, \"Sure you knew English. You learned from trucks.\" She meant: while lying in my sickbed I would look out the window at trucks passing in the street; studying the words written on their sides, I taught myself English. Unfortunately, high fevers burned away most of my brain, so I now find it impossible to learn a language from trucks. A child learns any language at incredible speed. Again, in a metaphorical sense, Yiddish is the language of children wandering for a thousand years in a nightmare, assimilating languages to no avail.\n\nI remember the black shining print of my first textbook, and my fearful uncertainty as the meanings came with all their exotic Englishness and devoured what had previously inhered in my Yiddish. Something remained indigestible. What it is can be suggested, in a Yiddish style, by contrast with English. A line from a poem by Wallace Stevens, which I have discussed elsewhere, seems to me quintessentially goyish, or antithetical to Yiddish:\n\n_It is the word_ pejorative _that hurts._\n\nStevens affects detachment from his subject, which is the poet's romantic heart, by playing on a French construction: \"word _pejo-_ _rative,\"_ like _mot juste,_ makes the adjective follow the noun. Detachment is further evidenced in the rhyme of \"word\" and \"hurts.\" The delicate resonance gives the faint touch of hurtful impact without obliging the reader to suffer the experience. The line is ironically detached even from detachment. In Yiddish there is plenty of irony but not so nicely mannered or sensitive to a readers experience of words. Stevens s line would seem too self-regarding; and the luxurious subtlety of his sensibility would seem unintelligible, if not ridiculous. He flaunts sublimities here, but it must be said that elsewhere he is as visceral and concrete as any Yiddish speaker.\n\nI've lost too much of my Yiddish to know exactly how much remains. Something remains. A little of its genius might be at work in my sentences, but this has nothing to do with me personally. The pleasures of complexity and the hilarity of idiocy, as well as an idea of what's good or isn't good, are in Yiddish. If it speaks in my sentences, it isn't I, let alone me, who speaks.\n\nWhen asked what he would have liked to be if he hadn't been born an Englishman, Lord Palmerston said, \"An Englishman.\" The answer reminds me of a joke. A Jew sees himself in a mirror after being draped in a suit by a high-class London tailor. The tailor asks what's wrong. The Jew says, crying, \"Vee lost de empire.\" The joke assimilates the insane fury that influenced the nature of Yiddish and makes it apparent that identity for a Jew is not, as for Palmerston, a witty preference.\n\n# _About the Contributors_\n\nLOUIS BEGLEY lives in New York City. His seventh novel, _Shipwreck,_ was published in September 2003 by Alfred A. Knopf.\n\nJAMES CAMPBELL worked as a printer in Glasgow, before going on to university in Edinburgh. Between 1978 and 1982, he was the editor of the literary quarterly _New Edinburgh Review._ His books include _Invisible Country: A Journey through Scotland_ (1984), _Talking at the Gates: A Life of James Baldwin_ (1991), and _This Is the Beat Generation_ (2001). He lives in London, where he works for the _Times Literary Supplement._\n\nARIEL DORFMAN, the Chilean expatriate writer and human rights activist, holds the Walter Hines Page Chair at Duke University. His books, written both in Spanish and English, have been translated into over thirty languages, his plays staged in more than one hundred countries. He has received numerous international awards, including the Danish ALOA prize for best foreign book _(Heading South, Looking North)_ and the Laurence Olivier Award (for the play _Death and the Maiden)._ His novels include _Widows, Konfidenz, The Nanny and the Iceberg,_ and _Blake's Therapy._ His latest works include poetry _(In Case of Fire in a Foreign Land),_ a new play _(Purgatory),_ and a travel book _(Desert Memories)._\n\nM. J. FITZGERALD is Director of the Creative Writing Program at the University of Minnesota and lives in Minneapolis with her partner, Brian, and son, Robert. Her most recent story, \"The Invention of Greek Statues,\" was published in _Literary Imagination,_ the review of the Association of Literary Scholars and Critics.\n\nHA-YUN JUNG'S writing has appeared in various publications including _Prairie Schooner, The Threepenny Review,_ the _New York Times,_ and _Best New American Voices 2001._ She has received fiction fellowships from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study and also a translation grant from the Korean Literature Translation Institute. After living in the United States for seven years, she recently returned to Korea, where she is at work on a novel.\n\nBERT KEIZER works as a geriatrician and writer in Amsterdam. In 1994 he published his first book, _Het Refrein is Hein,_ which he translated, or rather rewrote in English, under the title _Dancing with Mister D._ He has also written a novel about his work as a doctor in Africa and an appraisal of Wittgenstein. In the Netherlands he writes a weekly column in a national daily; in the United States, he appears regularly in _The Threepenny Review._ He is presently engaged in translating a selection of Emily Dickinsons letters into Dutch, an effort which by its very nature will go entirely unnoticed in the English-speaking world.\n\nTHOMAS LAQUEUR was born in Istanbul, Turkey, on September 6, 1945, and grew up in Beckley, West Virginia. He graduated from Swarthmore College in 1967 and received a Ph.D. in history from Princeton in 1973. Since then he has taught at Berkeley. He writes regularly on history and culture for the _London Review of Books,_ the _Times Literary Supplement,_ and other publications. His books include _Making Sex: Body from the Greeks to Freud_ (which has been translated into over a dozen languages) and _Solitary Sex: A Cultural History of Masturbation._ He is now at work on a new project called _The Dead Among the Living._\n\nLEONARD MICHAELS was born in New York in 1933. He taught for many years in the English Department at the University of California, Berkeley and after his retirement he divided his time between California and Italy. His books of fiction and nonfiction include _Going Places, I Would Have Saved Them If I Could, The Men's Club, Shuffle, Sylvia, To Feel These Things,_ and _A Girl with a Monkey._ A final collection of stories about the character Nachman is to be published by Penguin Putnam. He died on May 10, 2003.\n\nBHARATI MUKHERJEE is the author of six novels _(Desirable Daughters, Leave It to Me, The Holder of the World, Jasmine, Wife, The Tiger's Daughter)_ and two collections of short stories _(The Middleman and Other Stories, Darkness);_ she is also the co-author, with Clark Blaise, of two nonfiction books _(The Sorrow and the Terror, Days and Nights in Calcutta)._ A member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, she has received a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Senior Canada Council Fellowship, and an NEA grant. She teaches at the University of California, Berkeley.\n\nNICHOLAS PAPANDREOU'S most recent novel, _Kleptomnemon,_ imagines a world where people s memories are stolen, then traded on the marketplace. His forthcoming book, _Politics in the First Person,_ analyzes the role of narrative and story-telling in the lives of famous Greek politicians. He works part-time at the Ministry of the Aegean with a team of dreamers who want to save the islands from the wrath of over-construction. Most of his published short stories, essays, magazine articles and book excerpts are available on his website: www.nikos-papandreou.gr.\n\nLUC SANTE was born in Verviers, Belgium. He is the author of _Low Life, Evidence,_ and _The Factory of Facts_ and co-editor, with Melissa Holbrook Pierson, of _O.K. You Mugs: Writers on Movie Actors._ He is the recipient of a Whiting Writer's Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, an Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and a Grammy, for album notes, and is a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is Visiting Professor of Writing and the History of Photography at Bard College, and he lives with his wife and son in Ulster County, New York.\n\nGARY SHTEYNGART was born in Leningrad, USSR, in 1972, and came to the United States seven years later. His novel, _The Russian Debutante's Handbook,_ won the Stephen Crane Award for First Fiction, was named a New York Times Notable Book, and was chosen as a best book of the year by the _Washington Post Book World_ and _Entertainment Weekly._ His work has appeared in _The New Yorker, Granta, GQ,_ the _New York Times,_ and many other publications. He lives in New York City.\n\nJOSEF SKVORECKY, who was born in 1924, is the author most recently of _When Eve Was Naked._ Among his earlier books are _The Cowards, The Bass Saxophone, The Engineer of Human Souls, The Bride of Texas,_ and many others. He lives with his wife, Zdena, in Toronto, Ontario.\n\nAMY TAN is the author of _The Joy Luck Club,_ a beloved and internationally best-selling novel that explores the relationships of Chinese women and their Chinese-American daughters. She is also author of _The Kitchen God's Wife, The Hundred Secret Senses,_ and two children's books. Her latest novel, _The Bone-setter's Daughter,_ was published in 2001, and in the fall of 2003 she published a collection of nonfiction work entitled _The Opposite of Fate._\n\nNGUGI WA THIONG'O was born in Limuru, Kenya, in 1938, and was educated at Makerere University College in Kampala, Uganda. With eight novels, a book of short stories, a memoir, and five plays to his credit, Ngugi is one of the leading African writers and scholars at work today. His novels have been translated into more than thirty languages and have earned him a number of prizes, including the East African Novel Prize, the Paul Robeson Award for Artistic Excellence, Political Conscience and Integrity, and the Zora Neale Hurston-Paul Robeson Award for artistic and scholarly achievement. He was recently named University of California Irvine's Distinguished Professor in the School of Humanities and director of the International Center for Writing and Translation, and in 2003 he was elected an honorary member in the American Academy of Arts and Letters.\nCopyright \u00a9 2004 by Wendy Lesser  \n\"The Way Back\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Bharati Mukherjee  \n\"Yes and No\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Amy Tan  \n\"Trouble with Language\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Josef Skvoreck y  \n\"Circus Biped\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Bert Keizer  \n\"French Without Tears\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Luc Sante  \n\"Prelude\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Thomas Laqueur  \n\"Recovering the Original\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Ngugi wa Thiong'o  \n\"Split Self\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Nicholas Papandreou  \n\"Limpid, Blue, Poppy\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by M. J. Fitzgerald  \n\"Personal and Singular\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Ha-yun Jung  \n\"On Being an Orphaned Writer\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Louis Begley  \n\"The Mother Tongue Between Two Slices of Rye\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Gary Shteyngart  \n\"Boswell and Mrs. Miller\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by James Campbell  \n\"Footnotes to a Double Life\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by Ariel Dorfman  \n\"My Yiddish\" copyright \u00a9 2004 by The Estate of Leonard Michaels\n\nAnchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.\n\np. cm.  \n1. English language\u2014Style. 2. English language\u2014Study and teaching\u2014Foreign  \nspeakers. 3. Authors, American\u201420th century\u2014Biography. 4. Immigrants\u2014United  \nStates\u2014Language. 5. Bilingualism\u2014United States. 6. Second language acquisition.  \n7. Authors, Exiled\u2014Language. 8. Language and languages. 9. Authorship.  \nI. Lesser, Wendy.  \nPE1421.G456 2004 820\u2014dc22 2003060894\n\neISBN: 978-0-307-48539-7\n\n_Author photograph \u00a9 Mike Minehan_\n\nwww.anchorbooks.com\n\nv3.0\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n## Emeril 20\u201340\u201360\n\nFresh Food Fast\n\n## Emeril Lagasse\n\nWith Photography by Steven Freeman\n\n## This book is for all my wonderful fans,\n\nyou terrific home cooks out there who keep me inspired and keep me going. Thanks for sticking by me. I hope the recipes within these pages help make your lives a little less hectic and a whole lot tastier. (Remember, it's all about food of love.)\n\n## Contents\n\nAcknowledgments\n\nIntroduction: Fresh Food Fast: It's As Easy As 1\u20132\u20133\n\n20 Minutes or Less\n\nSoups\n\nStarters\n\nSalads and Dressings\n\nSandwiches\n\nPasta\n\nRice and Beans\n\nVegetables\n\nSeafood\n\nPoultry\n\nMeat\n\nDesserts\n\n40 Minutes or Less\n\nSoups\n\nStarters\n\nSalads\n\nSandwiches\n\nPasta\n\nRice and Beans\n\nVegetables\n\nSeafood\n\nPoultry\n\nMeat\n\nDesserts\n\n60 Minutes or Less\n\nSoups\n\nStarters\n\nPasta\n\nRice and Beans\n\nSeafood\n\nPoultry\n\nMeat\n\nDesserts\n\n60 Minutes +\n\nSearchable Terms\n\nAbout the Author\n\nOther Books by Emeril Lagasse\n\nCredits\n\nCopyright\n\nAbout the Publisher\n\n## Acknowledgments\n\nEmeril 20\u201340\u201360 would never have made it to the table on time without the help of everyone below\u2014\n\nMy amazing family, who is always, always there for me\u2014Alden, EJ, Meril, Jessie, Jillian, Mom, Dad, Mark, Wendi, Katti Lynn, Dolores, Jason, and baby Jude. I love you all.\n\nMy incredible Culinary team who always make it happen against all odds\u2014Charlotte Martory, Alain Joseph, Stacey Meyer, Angela Sagabaen, and Kamili Hemp-hill. Two down, eight to go!\n\nMy supportive Homebase team\u2014Eric Linquest, Tony Cruz, Dave McCelvey, Marti Dalton, Chef Chris Wilson, Chef Bernard Carmouche, Chef Dana D'Anzi, Tony Lott, Scott Farber, and George Ditta.\n\nPhotographer Steven Freeman and his on-the-ready photography associates, Kevin Guiler and Josh Maready.\n\nMy associates at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia\u2014Martha, Charles, Robin, Lucinda, and the hospitable test kitchen staff.\n\nMy super M's\u2014Mara Warner Jones, Michelle Terrebonne, and Maggie McCabe. Mimi Rice Henken and TJ Pitre, for their assistance with the photo shoot and photo editing.\n\nThe very talented design team who made the photos come alive\u2014Jed and Elias Holtz and Charissa Melnik.\n\nMy pal, Sal Passalacqua. Shelley Van Gage, for helping me look my best.\n\nOur partners at HarperStudio, for their vision\u2014Bob Miller, Debbie Stier, Sarah Burningham, Julia Cheiffetz, Katie Salisbury, Sally McCartin, Jacqui Daniels, Mary Schuck, Leah Carlson-Stanisic, Kim Lewis, Lorie Young, Nikki Cutler, Doug Jones, Kathie Ness, and Ann Cahn.\n\nOur partners at All-Clad, T-Fal, and Wusthof.\n\nMy friends at Leonard Simchick Prime Meats and Fresh Poultry and at Pisacane Fish Market\u2014you guys are the best.\n\nAll the terrific employees at my restaurants and Homebase who make it happen every day.\n\nMy dear friends Frank and Richard Santorsola.\n\nSherif, for getting me where I need to go each and every day.\n\nJim Griffin, my terrific agent and friend.\n\nMy friend and trusted counsel, attorney Mark Stein.\n\nThank you all from the bottom of my heart.\n\n## Introduction\n\nFRESH FOOD FAST: IT'S AS EASY AS 1\u20132\u20133\n\nIs this world getting faster? More and more folks are asking me the same question these days: \"Emeril, how can I find the time to prepare exciting meals at home without sacrificing quality? How do you do it?\" They tell me that with the passing of each year, there's less time available. Even with all the new technology that's supposed to simplify our lives, we're pulled in a thousand directions. And when children are involved in the equation\u2014forget it! There's always a soccer game to be played, homework to be done, questions that need to be answered, and visits to the gym (we have to keep our \"machines\" running smoothly!). I'm sure you get the picture\u2014because, trust me, these folks aren't telling me anything that I don't live myself 365 days a year. But I honestly do believe that with a few basic principles under the belt and a fresh mind-set, anyone is capable of putting delicious, well-balanced meals on the table in the time they have available. And that, my friend, is the philosophy behind this book:\n\nMake the meals you want in the time you have.\n\nTo help you kick things up and simplify your life all at the same time, I've collected close to 160 recipes here, from startlingly simple ones that can be ready in next to no time, to some more lavish recipes that might take a bit of time to simmer but that are still a cinch to put together. The recipes are divided into three basic categories: The 20-minute chapter is comprised of dishes that can be on the table in 20 minutes or less; the 40-minute chapter is for dishes that fall between 20 and 40 minutes (with many of them hovering around the 30-minute mark); and the 60-minute chapter is peppered with a few special recipes that can take anywhere from 40+ to 60+ minutes to get to the table. While these longer \"splurge\" recipes may seem \"time-luxurious,\" they can still be perfect for a not-so-hectic weekday, a lazy Sunday afternoon, or an end-of-the-week meal. You know what time you have. Be honest with yourself and you're on your way to making this collection of recipes work for you.\n\nIn cooking quick, fresh meals at home, there are many steps we can take to make the process easier than we had imagined:\n\nRead the recipe(s) from beginning to end once you've decided what you want to cook. This can be done anytime\u2014on a lunch break during the day or even during your daily commute (riding, not driving!). The point is that at some time before you actually start cooking, you need to have an idea of what you'll be doing. Take a few minutes and run things through in your mind, visualizing the ingredients called for and the steps you will take to prepare each dish. This way, when you actually begin to cook, there are no surprises and you're ready to go. Practicing this kind of methodical thinking will become second nature and will transform you into a speed demon in the kitchen!\n\nReady to begin? Read through the recipe (again) and gather all of your ingredients and equipment. You'll spare yourself from going back and forth, making prep time a breeze. Also, make a note to yourself if you notice a task in the recipe that can be tackled while doing something else. For example, zero in on inactive time. Inactive time in the kitchen basically refers to time that does not require your full attention, such as waiting for something to marinate, bringing a liquid to a boil, or finishing something in the oven. Be smart and use that time wisely to do other things, such as finishing prep (like chopping herbs or grating cheese for a garnish), beginning another recipe, or catching up on tasks around the house (what's that, dirty dishes in the sink?). This way once dinner is on the table, you're free to sit and enjoy with friends and family.\n\nKeep a well-stocked pantry at all times, so you're ready when the hunger hits. While fresh is my preference when available and when it's in season, there are certain packaged items that I always have on hand, such as pasta, rice, canned beans, and tomatoes, just to name a few. You know what you like. I also think of my freezer as a friend in creating fresh food fast, since many things do just fine in the freezer for short periods of time. These things come in handy when going to the store isn't an option. Frozen vegetables and fruits are often examples of produce that were picked and quickly processed at the peak of ripeness, making these a better option than off-season, pricey supermarket finds that traveled way too far. A small package of nuts kept in the freezer, defrosted and quickly toasted, can be just the added note a salad needs. A well-wrapped loaf of day-old French bread freezes well, too, and can quickly be transformed into tasty croutons to really make that soup or salad sing. And hey, don't forget about your biggest ally\u2014your fridge. Keep yours well stocked with prewashed greens and other produce that will help get you through your week, along with the dairy basics and your personal favorite condiments. Hey, what are those door shelves for, anyway? With a little prior proper planning (the three Ps, as I like to call it), you're on your way to an impromptu meal in no time.\n\nFresh herbs rule! Though we use many dried herbs and seasonings in the recipes in this book, since that is what many cooks typically have on hand, if you have a little green space out back or a roomy kitchen window, I would suggest keeping a few pots of herbs going year-round. Fresh herbs are quick to snip when needed and add an unmistakable touch to any dish. My kids love watering the herbs at the end of the day\u2014it's one of the fun things that we do together, making them feel more connected to the cooking process, too.\n\nMultitasking is important in the home kitchen, too, just like we cooks do in the restaurant kitchens. For example, if you need to mince some garlic for tonight's dinner, make a little extra (or lagniappe, as we say here in New Orleans) for tomorrow's feast. You can also do the same for chopping onions and scallions. Just reserve them in airtight containers and store them in the refrigerator for up to 4 days. You can apply the same idea when cooking pasta or rice: make a little extra, save yourself some time, and have it ready for another night's dinner. You might decide to turn these items into a delicious salad or add them to a bro-thy soup. It's just good kitchen economics. I also make stocks in big batches when I have the time, often utilizing the carcasses of roasted poultry from previous meals, and then freeze the stock in small portions for later. And of course, with a little creative thinking, leftover roast poultry, meats, and roasted or grilled veggies can come together to create fabulous sandwiches, salads, pastas, and risottos.\n\nBut, you know, whether speaking of ingredients available or of time on hand, in the end, it's all about doing the best with what you have and enjoying yourself along the way. Everyone's lives are different, so I've given you many options here. Whether you have 20 minutes, 40 minutes, or 60 minutes to put a meal together, and whether you're prepared because you've stocked your pantry well, kept some tasty leftovers to use in a salad, or shopped efficiently and only have to walk to your fridge, remember that the most important things about cooking at home are as follows: have fun, cook well, and eat great food!\n\n## 20 Minutes OR LESS\n\nSOUPS\n\nSimple Italian Wedding Soup\n\nSweet Pea Soup\n\nSTARTERS\n\nShrimp and Chorizo Tapas\n\nHerbed Olives\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Hummus\n\nBalsamic-Marinated Cremini Mushrooms\n\nBruschetta\n\nMozzarella and Tomato Bites with Kalamata Olive Drizzle\n\nSALADS AND DRESSINGS\n\nEmeril's Salad\n\nReal Caesar Salad\n\nSpinach Salad with Bacon and Fried Eggs\n\nOrange, Walnut, and Goat Cheese Salad\n\nCucumber Ribbon Salad\n\nAntipasto Pasta Salad\n\nCantaloupe, Prosciutto, and Arugula Salad\n\nOrange, Fennel, and Black Olive Salad\n\nIceberg Wedges with Cherry Tomato Vinaigrette\n\nSalad Tropicale\n\nButtermilk Dressing\n\nBalsamic Vinaigrette\n\nRed Wine Vinaigrette\n\nHerb Vinaigrette\n\nSANDWICHES\n\nSausage and Pepper Po-Boy\n\nBacon, Lettuce, Avocado, and Tomato Sandwich with Basil Mayo\n\nSteak and Cheese Sandwiches\n\nPressed Roast Turkey, Pesto, and Provolone Sandwiches\n\nProsciutto and Mozzarella Panini\n\nOpen-Face Turkey and Cheese Sandwich\n\nKicked-Up Tuna Melts\n\nFish Tacos with Black Bean Salsa\n\nPASTA\n\nFettuccine with Peas and Ham\n\nOrange, Currant, and Pine Nut Couscous\n\nLinguine alla Carbonara\n\nEmeril's Shrimp and Pasta with Garlic, Lemon, Crushed Red Pepper, and Green Onions\n\nRICE AND BEANS\n\nKicked-Up Shrimp Fried Rice\n\nTurkey and Wild Rice Salad\n\nAromatic Jasmine Rice\n\nSpicy Sausage, Bean, and Cheese Nachos\n\nVEGETABLES\n\nPan-Roasted Asparagus with Shiitake Mushrooms and Cherry Tomatoes\n\nGarlicky Bok Choy\n\nBroiled Zucchini\n\nSaut\u00e9ed Yellow Squash with Carrots and Tarragon\n\nRoasted Carrots with Fresh Thyme\n\nEmeril's Saut\u00e9ed Cucumber with Basil and Mint\n\nGlazed Radishes\n\nSEAFOOD\n\nBroiled Catfish with Fresh Thyme, Garlic, and Lemon\n\nBroiled Salmon with a Warm Tomato-Lemon Vinaigrette\n\nGaaahlicky Sizzling Shrimp\n\nSouthern-Style Pan-Fried Catfish\n\nBlue Corn\u2013Crusted Rainbow Trout with Cilantro-Lime Sour Cream\n\nTrout \u00e0 la Meuni\u00e8re\n\nClassic Moules Marini\u00e8re\n\nPOULTRY\n\nStir-Fried Chicken with Cashews\n\nSaut\u00e9ed Chicken Breasts with Dijon Herb Sauce\n\nChicken Salad with Fresh Herbs and Celery\n\nMEAT\n\nLamb T-Bones with Rosemary-Balsamic Butter Sauce\n\nSteak au Poivre\n\nNew York Strip with Beurre Ma\u00eetre d'H\u00f4tel\n\nLamb Chops with Mustard Herb Crust\n\nMinute Steaks Teriyaki-Style\n\nBoneless Pork Chops Parmigiana\n\nSpicy Pork Stir-Fry with Green Beans\n\nMushroom-Smothered Steaks\n\nDESSERTS\n\nEmeril's Late-Night Parfaits\n\nBrown Sugar\u2013Baked Bananas\n\nCandied Hot Fudge Sundaes\n\nPeanut Butter\u2013Chocolate Chip Cookies\n\nMelon with Amaretti Cookie Crumbles\n\nFresh Berries with Balsamic Drizzle and Almond Cream\n\nFlamb\u00e9ed Strawberry Sauce for Angel Food Cake or Ice Cream\n\nSoups\n\nSIMPLE ITALIAN WEDDING SOUP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 1 minute Total: 11 minutes\n\nThis simple classic soup is a no-brainer for this quick and easy cookbook. Feel free to use either chicken or beef stock or a combination of the two\u2014whatever you prefer will work here. Kind of an Italian version of egg drop soup, if you will.\n\n6 cups chicken stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n2 cups beef stock or canned, low-sodium beef broth\n\n4 large eggs, beaten\n\n\u00bc cup plus 2 tablespoons finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n\u00bc cup plus 2 tablespoons finely chopped mixed fresh herbs (such as parsley, marjoram, and basil)\n\nPinch of ground nutmeg\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Pour the stock into a 3-quart saucepan and bring to a simmer.\n\n2. While you are waiting for the stock to simmer, prep the rest of the ingredients. Combine the eggs, Parmesan, herbs, and nutmeg in a medium mixing bowl and whisk to combine.\n\n3. When the stock is simmering, use a large fork to drizzle in the egg mixture while continuously stirring the stock. Continue to simmer until the egg is just set, about 45 seconds. Remove from the heat and season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSWEET PEA SOUP\n\nPrep time: 7 minutes Cook time: 9 minutes Total: 16 minutes\n\nThis soup is sublime\u2014in method, in timing, in appearance, and in taste. Sweet peas are simmered in a flavorful broth and pureed with fresh spinach. Dollop with the lemony sour cream. Enjoy sir, enjoy madam.\n\n\u00bd cup sour cream\n\n1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n\u00bd teaspoon lemon zest\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n1\u00bc cups thinly sliced onion (about 1 medium onion)\n\n1 medium clove garlic, thinly sliced\n\n3 sprigs fresh mint\n\n3 sprigs fresh parsley\n\n4 cups vegetable stock or canned, low-sodium vegetable broth\n\n1 pound frozen green peas\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1\u00bd cups packed prewashed spinach (about 2 ounces)\n\n1. Combine the sour cream, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use.\n\n2. Melt the butter in a 4-quart or larger pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft and translucent, 4 minutes.\n\n3. Gather the herbs into a bunch and secure with kitchen twine. Add the vegetable stock and the herb bundle to the onion, cover, and bring to a boil. Uncover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 3 minutes. Increase the heat to high, return the soup to a boil, and add the peas. Bring the soup back to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer for 2 minutes longer. Remove the soup from the heat. Remove the herb bundle. Stir in the salt, white pepper, and spinach.\n\n4. Puree the soup using an immersion blender or in two batches using a blender (see Note). Serve immediately with a dollop of the lemony sour cream.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender tightly covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\nAbout 1\u00bd quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nStarters\n\nSHRIMP AND CHORIZO TAPAS\n\nPrep time: 7 minutes Cook time: 13 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nImpress your guests with this unique combination of spicy chorizo and sweet shrimp...so simple and tasty! The trick is to use the best chorizo sausage you can find, the freshest shrimp available, and a good-quality olive oil.\n\n1 tablespoon plus \u00bc cup Spanish olive oil\n\n1 pound firm (smoked) chorizo, cut on the diagonal into \u00bd-inch-thick slices\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced onions\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd cup dry (fino) sherry\n\n1\u00bd pounds medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n1 tablespoon Spanish paprika\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n2 tablespoons minced fresh parsley Crusty bread, for serving\n\n1. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat, and add the 1 tablespoon olive oil. When it is hot, add the sliced chorizo and saut\u00e9, turning as necessary, until it begins to brown around the edges on both sides, 4 to 6 minutes. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until caramelized around the edges and softened, 4 to 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Add \u00bc cup of the sherry and cook for 1 minute.\n\n2. Add the shrimp, paprika, salt, and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the shrimp are pink and just cooked through, about 4 minutes. Add the remaining \u00bc cup sherry, the remaining \u00bc cup olive oil, and the lemon juice and parsley; stir to combine. When heated through, remove from the heat.\n\n3. Serve immediately on small plates, with any accumulated cooking juices spooned over the top. Pass the bread at the table.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nHERBED OLIVES\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Total: 8 minutes\n\nIf you buy olives that are already marinated, make them special by adding the fennel, thyme, rosemary, and orange peel. Or marinate plain olives as outlined below. A perfect starter or snack any time of the day!\n\n1 pound assorted olives, such as\n\nKalamata, Cerignola, Greek, Gaeta, and\/or Ni\u00e7oise, drained\n\n1\u00bd cups olive oil\n\n1 onion, julienned (see Note)\n\n4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced\n\n4 bay leaves, torn into pieces\n\n1 teaspoon fennel seeds\n\n2 sprigs fresh thyme\n\n1 sprig fresh rosemary\n\n3-inch-long strip of orange peel, julienned\n\n12 coriander seeds\n\n\u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper, or to taste\n\n1. Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl, and stir well. Serve immediately, or marinate overnight before serving.\n\n2. Transfer any leftovers to glass jars with lids, and refrigerate for up to 2 weeks. (Allow to return to room temperature before serving.)\n\nNotes: Don't discard the remaining olive oil after the olives are gone\u2014it is delicious served as a dipping oil for crusty French bread or drizzled over pasta or grilled vegetables.\n\n\"Julienned\" means cut into thin strips about the size of matchsticks.\n\nAbout 1 quart\n\nROASTED RED PEPPER HUMMUS\n\nPrep time: 18 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nI absolutely love hummus, and what a spin on the classic\u2014adding roasted red peppers, crushed red pepper, and cumin. We suggest serving this with bread or chips, but it also works well as a dip with crudit\u00e9s or even as a spread for sandwiches!\n\nTwo 15-ounce cans chickpeas, drained\n\n\u00be cup (about 6 ounces) jarred roasted red peppers, drained and coarsely chopped\n\n3 large cloves garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00bd cup tahini\n\n\u00bd cup water\n\n4 to 6 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus more for drizzling\n\n4 to 6 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling\n\n1\/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1\/8 teaspoon ground cumin\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n\u00bc teaspoon sweet paprika\n\nPita bread or pita chips, for serving\n\n1. Place the chickpeas and chopped roasted red pepper in the bowl of a food processor.\n\n2. On a cutting board, use the side of a knife to mash the garlic cloves with \u00bc teaspoon of the salt, forming a smooth paste. Add this to the processor along with the crushed red pepper, tahini, water, 4 tablespoons of the lemon juice, 4 tablespoons of the olive oil, the remaining 1\u00bc teaspoons salt, cayenne, and cumin. Process until smooth, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed. Taste, and adjust the seasoning by adding more salt, lemon juice, and \/ or olive oil as needed.\n\n3. Transfer the hummus to a wide, shallow bowl for serving. Drizzle with lemon juice and olive oil, and sprinkle with the parsley and paprika. Serve with pita bread wedges or chips.\n\nNote: If you prefer a traditional plain hummus, simply omit the roasted red peppers and decrease the garlic to 2 cloves.\n\n3 cups\n\nBALSAMIC-MARINATED CREMINI MUSHROOMS\n\nPrep time: 18 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nDid you know that cremini mushrooms are the little baby siblings of the portobello mushroom? The addition of Italian herbs and grated pecorino makes this really yummy.\n\n\u00bc cup balsamic vinegar\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons dried Italian herbs, crushed with your fingers\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00be cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n2 pounds cremini mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and quartered\n\n\u00bc cup finely grated Pecorino Romano cheese\n\n1. In a small bowl, whisk together the balsamic vinegar, garlic, Italian herbs, salt, and pepper. Gradually add the olive oil, whisking constantly.\n\n2. In a large bowl, combine the mushrooms and marinade, and toss to coat evenly. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve, up to 24 hours.\n\n3. Return to room temperature before serving, and garnish with the cheese. Serve with toothpicks or on small plates with forks.\n\nAbout 1 quart\n\nBRUSCHETTA\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 4 minutes Total: 16 minutes\n\nA simple Italian delight: slices of crusty bread topped with diced fresh tomatoes that have been tossed with olive oil, herbs, garlic, and salt. Wait until the tomatoes are in their peak season for the best flavor. Try this as a starter to any quick meal. Be sure to use a timer when toasting the bread slices\u2014these toast really fast!\n\n1 pound medium-ripe tomatoes, cored and cut into \u00bd-inch dice\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced fresh basil\n\n\u00be teaspoon fine sea salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\nThirty \u00bd-inch-thick slices Italian or French bread (as crusty as you can find)\n\n1. Position a rack as close as possible to the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n2. In a small serving bowl, combine the tomatoes, basil, sea salt, pepper, and 3 tablespoons of the olive oil. Set aside.\n\n3. In another small bowl, combine the garlic and the remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil.\n\n4. Lay the slices of bread on a baking sheet. Broil on both sides until golden and crispy, about 1\u00bd minutes per side. Remove from the oven and brush the tops of the slices with the garlic oil. Return the baking sheet to the broiler for 30 seconds. Transfer the toast slices to a large platter and serve immediately, with the tomato mixture alongside for guests to spoon over the toasts.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nMOZZARELLA AND TOMATO BITES WITH KALAMATA OLIVE DRIZZLE\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis dish makes a gorgeous presentation: the contrasting colors of the bright red cherry tomatoes, green basil, and white mozzarella skewered together will make your guests feel that you put in a lot of effort to impress them (but it's pretty easy to put together, and I won't tell if you don't). Drizzle the olive mixture on top and, oh, baby, your guests will be screaming for the next course!\n\n20 to 25 small grape or cherry tomatoes, halved\n\n40 to 50 small fresh basil leaves\n\n8 ounces ciliegine (see Note), drained and patted dry, halved\n\n\u00bc cup chopped pitted Kalamata olives\n\n\u00bd cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00bc teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n2 tablespoons minced fresh oregano or marjoram\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\nKosher salt, for garnish\n\n1. Using small decorative cocktail skewers or bamboo toothpicks, skewer 1 tomato half, 1 basil leaf, and 1 ciliegine half onto each skewer, kebab-fashion, with the basil leaf sandwiched between the mozzarella and tomato halves and the cut sides of the tomato and mozzarella facing each other. Repeat until you have used all of the ciliegine halves. You should have about 42 filled skewers. Arrange on a small serving platter and set aside.\n\n2. In the bowl of a blender or food processor, combine the olives, olive oil, garlic, crushed red pepper, oregano, and salt, and process until smooth. Drizzle the olive mixture over the tomato-mozzarella skewers. Sprinkle the entire platter with kosher salt, and serve immediately.\n\nNote: Ciliegine are cherry-size balls of fresh mozzarella, available at upscale Italian markets and some gourmet grocery stores. If these are unavailable in your area, simply substitute 1-inch cubes of fresh mozzarella.\n\nAbout 42 hors d'oeuvres\n\nSalads and Dressings\n\nEMERIL'S SALAD\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Total: 8 minutes\n\nThis is a simplified version of the signature salad served at Emeril's Restaurant in New Orleans. It's been on the menu since day one. Try it and you'll see why folks keep asking for it after all these years.\n\n8 cups (about 4 ounces) loosely packed assorted baby salad greens\n\n\u00bd cup (about 3 ounces) grated pepper Jack cheese\n\n\u00bc teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary\n\n\u00bc teaspoon chopped fresh thyme\n\n\u00bc cup (about 2 ounces) whole oil-packed sundried tomatoes, drained and julienned 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar\n\n2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\nSimple Croutons (40 Minutes or Less) or store-bought croutons, for serving (optional)\n\n4 tablespoons alfalfa sprouts or broccoli sprouts\n\n1. To assemble the salad, place the greens, cheese, and chopped herbs in a large mixing bowl. Add the julienned sundried tomatoes. Drizzle the balsamic vinegar and extra-virgin olive oil over the salad, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Toss to coat well.\n\n2. Divide the salad equally among four salad plates. Place 4 or 5 croutons on each plate, and top each salad with 1 tablespoon of the sprouts. Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nREAL CAESAR SALAD\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Total: 15 minutes\n\nI bet you never dreamed that this classic salad could be on your table in less than 20 minutes!\n\n1 egg\n\n3 large canned anchovy fillets\n\n2 cloves garlic\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons whole-grain mustard\n\n\u00be cup olive oil\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00be cup (about 2 ounces) grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1\/8 teaspoon Tabasco sauce\n\n\u00bc teaspoon Worcestershire sauce 1 teaspoon salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n3 romaine hearts (one 12-ounce bag), cut into 1-inch pieces, rinsed and spun dry\n\n2 cups Simple Croutons (40 Minutes or Less) or store-bought croutons\n\n1. Place the egg, anchovies, garlic, lemon juice, and mustard in the bowl of a food processor and process until smooth, about 1 minute. While the machine is running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil and the extra-virgin olive oil until completely incorporated, smooth, and thick.\n\n2. Stop processing and add \u00bc cup of the cheese, the Tabasco, the Worcestershire, \u00be teaspoon of the salt, and \u00be teaspoon of the pepper. Pulse to combine.\n\n3. Transfer the Caesar dressing to a small container. (Covered, it will keep in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.)\n\n4. In a large mixing bowl, combine the lettuce, the remaining \u00bd cup cheese, remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt, remaining \u00bc teaspoon black pepper, and the croutons. Toss to combine. Add \u00bd cup plus 2 tablespoons of the dressing, and toss again. Serve immediately.\n\nNote: We advise using caution when consuming raw egg products; children or other individuals with compromised immune systems should take care due to the slight risk of salmonella or other food-borne illness. To reduce this risk, we recommend using only fresh, properly refrigerated, clean grade A or AA eggs with intact shells.\n\n4 servings (1\u00be cups dressing)\n\nSPINACH SALAD WITH BACON AND FRIED EGGS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 9 minutes Total: 19 minutes\n\nBacon, eggs, and spinach. Oh, baby. What a classic combination, what a simple way to get dinner on the table in no time.\n\n10 ounces thick-sliced bacon, cut into \u00bd-inch-wide pieces\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n4 large eggs\n\n\u00bc cup minced shallots\n\n4 tablespoons red wine vinegar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste\n\nOne 10-ounce bag prewashed spinach, any thick stems removed\n\n1. Set a 10-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat and add the bacon. Cook, stirring often, until most of the fat has been rendered and the bacon is crisp, 7 to 8 minutes.\n\n2. During the last few minutes the bacon is cooking, heat the oil over medium heat in another large nonstick saut\u00e9 pan. Add the eggs and cook until the white is firm and the yolk is cooked to your liking, about 1 minute for a runny yolk and longer for a firmer yolk. Set the pan aside and keep warm.\n\n3. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the bacon pieces to a paper towel\u2013lined plate. Add the shallots to the pan and saut\u00e9 until fragrant and soft, about 1 minute. Add the red wine vinegar, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and then remove from the heat.\n\n4. Place the spinach in a large bowl, and working quickly, add about half of the hot vinaigrette from the pan. Toss carefully.\n\n5. Divide the spinach equally among four serving plates. Arrange an egg on top of each mound of spinach, season with salt and black pepper, and sprinkle with the crisp bacon. Drizzle with additional vinaigrette if desired, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nORANGE, WALNUT, AND GOAT CHEESE SALAD\n\nPrep time: 19 minutes Total: 19 minutes\n\nThere is something immensely satisfying about the combination of simple greens, toasted nuts, fresh oranges, and goat cheese. If you like, add thin slices of grilled or broiled chicken breast to this salad for a complete meal.\n\n\u00bd cup roughly chopped walnuts 2 medium oranges\n\n8 ounces mesclun salad greens or spring greens mix\n\n2 shallots, cut into thin rings (about 1\/3 cup)\n\n5 tablespoons olive oil 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n1\/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste\n\n1\/8 teaspoon sugar\n\n3 ounces soft, mild goat cheese, crumbled\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 350\u00b0F.\n\n2. Spread the walnuts on a small baking sheet and toast until fragrant and lightly colored, 5 to 6 minutes. Set aside until cooled slightly.\n\n3. Cut away the peels from the oranges, leaving no white pith. Holding them over a small bowl, segment the oranges, catching any juices (see 20 Minutes or Less).\n\n4. In a large bowl, combine the greens, orange segments, and shallot rings.\n\n5. In a small bowl, combine the oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, sugar, and 2 tablespoons of the reserved orange juice. Whisk to combine. Taste, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Drizzle the dressing over the salad, tossing to coat it evenly. Add the goat cheese and chopped walnuts, and toss gently to combine. Season lightly with salt and pepper if desired, and serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\n1 Using a sharp knife, cut away the peel from the orange on all sides, leaving the orange completely free of any white pith. Working over a small bowl, segment the orange by cutting in between the membranes on both sides of each segment.\n\n2 Use the edge of the knife to help release the segments into the bowl.\n\n3 Repeat until the orange is completely segmented. Squeeze the membranes over the bowl to release any remaining juices.\n\nCUCUMBER RIBBON SALAD\n\nPrep time: 19 minutes Total: 19 minutes\n\nThis simple cucumber salad is equally good with or without smoked salmon.\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n3 tablespoons minced shallot\n\n2\u00bd tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill\n\n\u00bd teaspoon grated lemon zest\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1 teaspoon superfine sugar\n\n3 English (seedless) cucumbers, peeled\n\n4 ounces smoked salmon (optional)\n\n1. Whisk together the olive oil, shallot, lemon juice, mint, dill, and lemon zest in a small bowl; season with the salt, white pepper, and sugar.\n\n2. Cut the cucumbers in half crosswise. Using a vegetable peeler, peel long strips to form ribbons, and place the ribbons in a salad bowl. Add the dressing and toss to combine.\n\n3. Arrange the cucumber ribbons on four salad plates. If using, tuck slices of salmon in among the ribbons, or drape them loosely over all. Serve immediately.\n\n4 first-course servings\n\nANTIPASTO PASTA SALAD\n\nPrep time: 11 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 19 minutes\n\nEveryone who knows me knows that I'm a big fan of charcuterie of all sorts\u2014salami, pepperoni, sausages, you name it. Here the most basic salami elevates a simple pasta salad to something more substantial. Save time by buying pre-packaged thinly sliced salami.\n\n2 tablespoons plus \u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n1 pound fusilli pasta 1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bc cup balsamic vinegar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00bd cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00bd cup plus 2 tablespoons finely grated Pecorino Romano cheese\n\n\u00bd cup sliced pitted Kalamata olives\n\n\u00bd cup finely sliced pepperoncini\n\n\u00bd cup julienned salami slices\n\n2 tablespoons chopped mixed fresh herbs (such as parsley and basil)\n\n1. Combine the 2 tablespoons salt and 4 quarts of water in a large pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook, stirring occasionally to keep the pasta from sticking together, until just tender, 6 to 8 minutes.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, assemble the remaining ingredients and make the vinaigrette: Using the back of a wooden spoon, make a paste of the garlic and remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt in a large bowl. Whisk in the balsamic vinegar, black pepper, and crushed red pepper. Gradually whisk in the olive oil.\n\n3. Drain the pasta and rinse it under cold running water. Drain again. Transfer the pasta to a large mixing bowl and add the vinaigrette, along with the cheese, olives, pepperoncini, salami, and herbs. Toss to mix. Serve immediately, or cover and refrigerate until ready to serve (see Note) (let the salad return to room temperature before serving).\n\nNote: If the salad sits for any length of time before you serve it, you may need to drizzle a bit of extra vinegar and olive oil over it and toss to mix.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCANTALOUPE, PROSCIUTTO, AND ARUGULA SALAD\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis salad should be attempted only when melons are in season\u2014it's a great addition to an al fresco dinner in the heat of summer. So simple, so refreshing, so satisfying. Don't skip the prosciutto\u2014it's what makes this dish. Try using the best-quality prosciutto that you can find, preferably a variety from Italy or Spain. It can be pricey, but a little goes a long way here.\n\n\u00bc cup champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar\n\n1 tablespoon minced shallot\n\n\u00bd teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon Dijon mustard\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bd cup vegetable oil or vegetable\u2013olive oil blend\n\n1 tablespoon minced mixed fresh herbs (such as basil, chives, and parsley)\n\n8 ounces fresh arugula, rinsed and spun dry\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced red onion\n\n1 cantaloupe, halved, seeded, peeled, and cut into thin wedges\n\n6 to 8 thin slices prosciutto, torn into bite-size pieces\n\n1. In a mixing bowl, combine the vinegar, shallot, garlic, mustard, salt, and pepper and whisk to combine. While continuously whisking, add the oil in a slow, steady stream until completely incorporated. Whisk in the herbs, and set aside while you prepare the salad.\n\n2. In a large bowl, combine the arugula and red onion. Drizzle in \u00bc cup of the vinaigrette and toss to combine. Add more vinaigrette to taste, if desired, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Toss gently to combine.\n\n3. Arrange the cantaloupe wedges on a large serving plate, top with the arugula salad and the prosciutto. Serve immediately.\n\nNote: Any unused vinaigrette can be stored in a nonreactive, airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nORANGE, FENNEL, AND BLACK OLIVE SALAD\n\nPrep time: 13 minutes Cook time: 17 minutes Total: 20 minutes (prep and cook times overlap)\n\nThis classic Mediterranean flavor combination is hard to beat.\n\n2 cups freshly squeezed orange juice\n\n2 medium fennel bulbs (7 ounces each)\n\n1 large red onion (10 ounces)\n\n1\u00bd cups pitted Kalamata olives, drained\n\n6 large California navel oranges (12 ounces each)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon grated orange zest\n\n2 tablespoons red wine vinegar\n\n1 tablespoon minced shallot\n\n1 teaspoon honey\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling (optional)\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Place the orange juice in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Continue to cook at a simmer until reduced in volume to about \u00bc cup, about 17 minutes (be careful near the end of cooking, as this can easily burn if left unattended). Allow the reduced orange juice to cool to room temperature.\n\n2. While the orange juice is reducing, trim off and discard the ends of the fennel bulbs, reserving a few fronds for garnish. Cut the fennel bulbs into thin crosswise slices, and place them in a salad bowl. Cut the onion into thin julienne (see 20 Minutes or Less). Pit the olives and cut them in half. Add the onion and olives to the salad bowl.\n\n3. Using a sharp knife, cut away the peels from the oranges, leaving no white pith. Holding them over a small bowl, segment the oranges, cutting in between the membranes to release each segment and letting them fall into the bowl (see 20 Minutes or Less). Refrigerate until you are ready to serve the salad.\n\n4. Transfer the cooled reduced orange juice to a mixing bowl, and add the orange zest, red wine vinegar, shallot, and honey. Whisk thoroughly to combine. Add the oil in a thin, steady stream, whisking all the time, until completely incorporated and emulsified. Season with salt and pepper to taste.\n\n5. Arrange the orange segments over the fennel, red onion, and olives, and drizzle with the vinaigrette. Toss gently to combine. Serve the salad garnished with some of the reserved fennel fronds, and drizzled with additional olive oil if desired.\n\n4 servings\n\nICEBERG WEDGES WITH CHERRY TOMATO VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nIceberg sometimes gets a bad rap, especially as of late, with the advent of fancy specialty lettuces and microgreens, but sometimes there is nothing like a cool, crisp wedge of iceberg with a tasty dressing. Here I've made it special by serving it with a simple cherry tomato vinaigrette and two of my favorite cheeses.\n\n1\/3 cup sliced shallots\n\n3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar\n\n3 tablespoons red wine vinegar\n\n\u00be cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved 1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1\u00bc teaspoons salt 1\u00bc teaspoons freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 large head (about 1 pound) iceberg lettuce, cored and cut into 8 wedges\n\n1 cup (about 4 ounces) grated fresh mozzarella cheese\n\n1 cup (about 4 ounces) grated or crumbled blue cheese\n\n1. In a medium bowl, combine the shallots, balsamic vinegar, and red wine vinegar. While stirring with a spoon, drizzle in the extra-virgin olive oil. Add the tomatoes, basil, parsley, 1 teaspoon of the salt, and 1 teaspoon of the pepper. Mix well to combine, and set aside.\n\n2. Arrange 2 wedges of iceberg against each other on each of four serving plates. Season the iceberg with the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon black pepper. Sprinkle \u00bc cup mozzarella and \u00bc cup blue cheese over each plate. Then generously spoon the tomato vinaigrette over all, dividing it evenly among the salads.\n\n4 servings\n\nSALAD TROPICALE\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nHere we have a composed salad. Instead of tossing everything together, the ingredients are arranged over the lettuce in neat, separate piles for an interesting display. This salad takes its name from the combination of hearts of palm, tomatoes, and avocados. These three tropical ingredients, combined with just about any dressing you like, make for a refreshing salad that just screams, \"Take me to the islands!\"\n\n1 large head Bibb lettuce\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nOne 14-ounce jar hearts of palm, drained and cut diagonally into quarters\n\n2 medium-size vine-ripened tomatoes, each cut into 8 wedges\n\n2 firm-ripe Hass avocados, halved, seeded, and sliced\n\n1 cucumber, halved lengthwise and cut into \u00bc-inch-thick half-moons\n\n\u00be cup Herb Vinaigrette or Buttermilk Dressing (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1. Halve and core the Bibb lettuce. Gently separate the leaves; rinse and spin dry. Divide the lettuce among four plates, arranging the leaves so as to create a bowl on each plate. Sprinkle the lettuce bowls with the salt and pepper.\n\n2. Divide the heart of palm pieces, tomatoes, avocados, and cucumbers evenly among the four plates, forming neat individual piles of each within the lettuce bowls. Spoon 3 generous tablespoons of vinaigrette or dressing over each salad. Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nBUTTERMILK DRESSING\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Total: 10 minutes\n\nThis creamy dressing just needs to be stirred together and that's it. Kick it up by adding minced herbs to your liking, or add up to \u00be cup crumbled blue cheese to the basic recipe for a rich and creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for a crisp wedge of iceberg lettuce!\n\n5 tablespoons buttermilk\n\n\u00bc cup mayonnaise\n\n\u00bc cup sour cream\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n2 tablespoons minced green onion tops\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bc teaspoon finely grated lemon zest\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning\n\nWhisk all the ingredients together in a nonreactive mixing bowl. Use immediately, or store in a covered nonreactive container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.\n\n1 cup\n\nCreole Seasoning\n\n2\u00bd tablespoons paprika\n\n2 tablespoons salt\n\n2 tablespoons garlic powder\n\n1 tablespoon black pepper\n\n1 tablespoon onion powder\n\n1 tablespoon cayenne pepper\n\n1 tablespoon dried oregano\n\n1 tablespoon dried thyme\n\nCombine all the ingredients thoroughly.\n\n2\/3 cup\n\nBALSAMIC VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Total: 8 minutes\n\nA simple vinaigrette that is equally at home on mixed greens, grilled veggies or chicken, or pasta salads.\n\n5 tablespoons balsamic vinegar\n\n1 teaspoon Dijon mustard\n\n1 teaspoon sugar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 clove garlic, smashed\n\n5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n5 tablespoons olive oil\n\nIn a nonreactive mixing bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, sugar, salt, pepper, and garlic. While whisking, add the oils in a thin, steady stream until they are completely incorporated and the dressing is emulsified. Use immediately, or refrigerate in a covered nonreactive container for up to 1 week.\n\nThis is best if allowed to sit for at least 10 minutes to allow the garlic to infuse. (Discard the garlic before serving.)\n\nAbout 1 cup\n\nRED WINE VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Total: 10 minutes\n\nThis is a classic French-style vinaigrette. Serve it over mixed greens, poached leeks or asparagus, grilled chicken, or even poached fish.\n\n\u00bc cup red wine vinegar\n\n2 tablespoons minced shallot\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons Dijon mustard\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00be cup canola or vegetable oil\n\nIn a medium bowl, whisk together the vinegar, shallot, mustard, salt, and pepper. While constantly whisking, add the oil in a thin, steady stream until it is completely incorporated and the vinaigrette is emulsified. Serve immediately, or refrigerate in a covered nonreactive container for up to 2 days.\n\n1 generous cup\n\nHERB VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 18 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nUse whichever herbs you like, or whichever you have on hand, to make this simple vinaigrette.\n\n\u00bc cup white wine vinegar\n\n1 tablespoon minced shallot\n\n1 tablespoon Dijon mustard\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bd cup vegetable oil (such as canola)\n\n2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n4 tablespoons chopped mixed fresh soft herbs (such as parsley, chives, basil, and tarragon)\n\nIn a medium bowl, whisk together the vinegar, shallot, mustard, salt, and pepper. While constantly whisking, add the oils in a thin, steady stream until they are completely incorporated and the dressing is emulsified. Stir in the herbs, and adjust the seasoning to taste if necessary. Serve immediately or refrigerate in a covered nonreactive container for up to 2 days.\n\n1 generous cup\n\nSandwiches\n\nSAUSAGE AND PEPPER PO-BOY\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 10 to 12 minutes Total: 18 to 20 minutes\n\nThis is my rendition of the traditional Italian sandwich, which is also popular at New York City's street festivals\u2014it is a favorite at the San Gennaro festival in Little Italy. I have added a New Orleans spin here by kicking the mayo up with a little Louisiana hot sauce.\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced\n\n1 green bell pepper, thinly sliced\n\n2 cups sliced yellow onions\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 teaspoon dried Italian herbs\n\n1 pound mild Italian sausage, removed from casings and crumbled\n\n\u00bd cup mayonnaise\n\n1 tablespoon Louisiana hot sauce or other red hot sauce\n\n1 loaf soft French bread, cut into four 6-inch sections, each section sliced in half horizontally\n\n4 ounces sliced provolone cheese\n\n1. In a large saut\u00e9 pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the bell peppers, onions, Essence, and Italian herbs. Cook until the vegetables have softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Transfer the peppers and onions to a paper towel\u2013lined plate.\n\n2. Add the crumbled sausage to the hot pan and cook until the meat is cooked through and lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Set aside.\n\n3. Preheat the broiler.\n\n4. In a small bowl, combine the mayonnaise and the hot sauce.\n\n5. To assemble the po-boys, spread the cut sides of each piece of bread with the spicy mayonnaise. Divide the sausage evenly among the 4 bottom pieces of bread, then top evenly with the peppers and onions. Arrange the cheese slices over the filled bottom halves and over the cut side of each top portion (cut the cheese to fit as necessary).\n\n6. Place the sandwich halves on a baking sheet, cheese sides up, and heat under the broiler just until the cheese melts, 1 to 2 minutes. Press the sandwich halves together, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nBACON, LETTUCE, AVOCADO, AND TOMATO SANDWICH WITH BASIL MAYO\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThe addition of creamy avocado slices takes this simple classic up a notch and makes it even more delicious and satisfying. And the basil mayo, well, now, what's not to love?\n\n16 slices thick-cut bacon\n\n8 slices (about \u00bd inch thick) brioche, challah, or other soft white bread\n\n\u00bd cup mayonnaise\n\n2 packed tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil\n\n8 to 12 thin slices ripe tomato 8 red-leaf lettuce leaves, rinsed and patted dry\n\n1 ripe avocado, halved, seeded, and sliced\n\n1. Place the bacon in a large skillet or saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat, and cook until crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. Drain on paper towels while you prepare the remaining ingredients.\n\n2. Toast the bread slices in a toaster to the desired color.\n\n3. Combine the mayonnaise and basil in a small bowl, and stir to mix well.\n\n4. Spread the mayo evenly over one side of each bread slice. Cut or break the bacon slices in half, and arrange on one half of each sandwich. Place 2 or 3 slices of tomato, 2 lettuce leaves, and about one-quarter of the avocado slices on top of the bacon on each sandwich. Top with the other half of the bread, cut the sandwiches in half, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nSTEAK AND CHEESE SANDWICHES\n\nPrep time: 7 minutes Cook time: 13 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nSteak and tangy blue cheese\u2014ooohhh, how could you go wrong? So fast and yet so good\u2014we could make Philly jealous.\n\n1 baguette or other crusty country bread, about 24 inches long\n\n6 tablespoons butter: 4 tablespoons melted, 2 tablespoons at room temperature\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n4 cups thinly sliced onions\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 pound top sirloin steak\n\n\u00bc cup Worcestershire sauce\n\n\u00bd cup (about 4 ounces) grated or crumbled blue cheese\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Cut the baguette into four 6-inch lengths. Split each piece in half horizontally, and brush the insides with the melted butter. Lay the bread, cut side up, on a baking sheet and toast in the oven until crispy, about 10 minutes. Set aside.\n\n3. While the bread is toasting, heat the olive oil in a 14-inch skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onions, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper. Cook, stirring as needed, until the onions are nicely browned, about 10 minutes.\n\n4. While the onions are cooking, slice the steak with a very sharp knife into 1\/8-inch-thick slices (see Note). Season the steak with the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon pepper.\n\n5. Increase the heat under the skillet to high, move the onions to one side of the pan, and add the softened butter. When it has melted, add the steak and cook for 2 minutes without stirring. Add the Worcestershire and \u00bc cup of the blue cheese. Using tongs or a metal spatula, mix the onions, meat, and cheese together and cook for 1 minute longer. Remove from the heat.\n\n6. Divide the steak mixture, and any accumulated pan juices, evenly among the 4 bottom portions of the toasted bread. Sprinkle with the remaining \u00bc cup cheese, and cover with the toasted bread tops. Serve immediately.\n\nNote: You may find the steak easier to slice thinly if you place it in the freezer for 10 to 15 minutes before slicing.\n\n4 servings\n\nPRESSED ROAST TURKEY, PESTO, AND PROVOLONE SANDWICHES\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 12 to 15 minutes Total: 17 to 20 minutes\n\nTalk about a delicious quick lunch: slices of turkey and provolone cheese sandwiched with an herbaceous pesto\u2014yum! Try serving these with the Cream of Tomato Soup on 40 Minutes or Less for a true power meal.\n\n8 slices ciabatta or other crusty Italian or hearty white sandwich bread\n\n4 tablespoons prepared basil pesto\n\n4 slices (about 4 ounces) provolone cheese\n\n8 slices (about 8 ounces) roast turkey\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Lay the bread slices on a clean work surface, and spread 1\u00bd teaspoons of the pesto over one side of each slice of bread. Divide the cheese evenly among the slices (depending on the size of your cheese slices, you may need to cut them in half so that you can have cheese on both sides). Divide the roast turkey slices evenly among 4 of the bread slices. Place the remaining cheese-topped slices on top of the turkey-topped slices to form 4 sandwiches. Brush the outside of each sandwich with some of the olive oil.\n\n2. Preheat a grill pan over medium heat. When it is hot, add the sandwiches, in batches if necessary, and weight them with a sandwich press or another skillet (or other heavy object). Cook until the sandwiches are golden brown and crisp and the cheese has melted, 4 to 6 minutes per side. Remove the sandwiches, cut in half on the diagonal, and serve immediately.\n\nNote: Though we prefer the crisp, ridged exterior you get when these sandwiches are cooked in a grill pan, they can also be cooked in a saut\u00e9 pan or panini press; the cook time will vary slightly.\n\n4 servings\n\nPROSCIUTTO AND MOZZARELLA PANINI\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 16 minutes\n\nThis is a classic Italian panini. The texture of true Italian ciabatta really makes this sandwich special because it grills up so nice and crisp on the outside.\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar\n\n2 teaspoons minced fresh oregano, or 1 teaspoon dried\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nEight \u00bd-inch-thick slices ciabatta or other rustic Italian white bread\n\n4 ounces thinly sliced mozzarella cheese\n\n4 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto\n\n6 ounces jarred roasted red peppers, drained, and torn into 1-inch-wide pieces\n\n1. Whisk the olive oil, vinegar, oregano, garlic, salt, and pepper together in a small bowl to blend.\n\n2. Arrange the slices of bread on a flat work surface, and using a brush, spread the vinaigrette evenly over one side of each slice. Divide the mozzarella equally among the bread slices. Top 4 of the bread slices with the prosciutto and red peppers, and then place the remaining 4 slices of bread on the top, vinaigrette side down, to form 4 sandwiches.\n\n3. Heat a large skillet or grill pan over medium heat. Add the sandwiches and cook, pressing them occasionally with a large spatula or the bottom of a small heavy saucepan, until the bread is golden brown and the cheese has melted, about 4 minutes per side. Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nOPEN-FACE TURKEY AND CHEESE SANDWICH\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 7 minutes Total: 19 minutes\n\nThis unique combination of flavors is a true showstopper. Trust me on this one\u2014and enjoy!\n\n6 ounces soft, mild goat cheese\n\n1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bc teaspoon grated lemon zest 1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n8 ounces button mushrooms, wiped clean and sliced\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n5 ounces prewashed spinach, any thick stems removed\n\n4\u00bd-inch-thick slices hearty white bread (such as sourdough), toasted\n\n\u00bc cup chopped walnuts, toasted\n\n8 thin slices tomato\n\n8 to 10 ounces sliced roasted turkey breast\n\n4 ounces sliced Emmenthaler or provolone cheese\n\n1. Combine the goat cheese, parsley, \u00bd teaspoon of the garlic, and the lemon zest in a small bowl and mix well. Set aside.\n\n2. Heat the olive oil in a large nonstick saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add the mushrooms and \u00bc teaspoon of the salt, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are soft and caramelized, about 4 minutes. Move the mushrooms aside and add the spinach and the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt to the pan. Stir with the mushrooms and cook until the spinach has almost completely wilted, about 1 minute. Stir in the remaining 1 teaspoon garlic and cook for another 30 seconds. Remove the mushrooms and spinach from the pan and drain off any excess liquid. Set aside until ready to use.\n\n3. Position a rack close to the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n4. Spread the goat cheese mixture evenly over the slices of toasted bread. Sprinkle the walnuts on top. Add 2 slices of tomato on each sandwich, and divide the turkey evenly among the sandwiches, arranging it over the tomatoes. Divide the mushroom-spinach mixture among the sandwiches, then top with the cheese.\n\n5. Place the sandwiches on a baking sheet and broil until the cheese is melted and bubbly, about 1 minute. Serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nKICKED-UP TUNA MELTS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 4 to 5 minutes Total: 19 to 20 minutes\n\nAt our house, tuna melts were always on the menu when I was growing up. Add the cheese and just the right amount of heat (whether you griddle it or do a quick broil), and you've got comfort served on a plate. This is a classic!\n\nFour 5-ounce cans solid white tuna packed in water, drained\n\n\u00bc cup plus 1 tablespoon mayonnaise, plus more for spreading\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped red onion\n\n1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon nonpareil capers, drained\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled between your fingers\n\n4 slices rustic white bread or other dense white bread\n\n8 thin slices tomato\n\n4 ounces sliced provolone cheese\n\n1. Position a rack about 6 inches from the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n2. Combine the tuna, mayonnaise, red onion, capers, lemon juice, pepper, salt, and oregano in a medium bowl and stir until thoroughly combined.\n\n3. Arrange the bread slices on a baking sheet and spread additional mayonnaise over each slice. Divide the tuna salad evenly among the bread slices, then top with the tomato slices. Arrange the sliced provolone evenly over the sandwiches. Place the baking sheet under the broiler and cook until the cheese is golden and bubbly, 3 to 4 minutes. Serve hot.\n\n4 open-face sandwiches, 2 to 4 servings\n\nFISH TACOS WITH BLACK BEAN SALSA\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nUse any kind of fresh fish you like for these tacos. (Keep in mind when buying fish that a truly fresh fish should smell like the sea.) Here chunks of the lightly crusted fish combine with the flavors of lime juice, garlic, and black beans, making for a very delicious taco. Kid-friendly, for sure, but also sure to win over any adult.\n\nOne 15-ounce can black beans, rinsed and drained\n\n\u00be cup olive oil\n\n1 jalape\u00f1o, minced (and seeded, if you prefer, for a milder salsa)\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n2 pounds skinless firm white fish fillets (such as snapper), trimmed and cut into 3-inch pieces\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd cup cornmeal\n\nEight 6-inch flour tortillas\n\n3 cups thinly sliced or shredded romaine lettuce\n\n4 lime wedges\n\n\u00bd cup sour cream\n\n1. In a medium bowl, combine the black beans, \u00bc cup of the olive oil, and the jalape\u00f1o, lime juice, garlic, and \u00bd teaspoon of the salt. Set aside.\n\n2. Season the fish fillets evenly with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and the black pepper. Dredge quickly in the cornmeal, shaking to remove any excess, and set aside.\n\n3. Heat a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. Toast each of the tortillas for 30 seconds on one side in the hot saut\u00e9 pan. Transfer to a plate and cover loosely with a clean kitchen towel to keep warm.\n\n4. In the same saut\u00e9 pan, heat the remaining \u00bd cup olive oil over medium-high heat. Add half of the fish fillets, and saut\u00e9 until just cooked through, about 2 minutes per side. Transfer them to paper towels to drain. Repeat with the remaining fillets.\n\n5. To assemble the tacos, place 2 tortillas on each plate, and divide the shredded lettuce among them. Spoon the black bean mixture onto the lettuce, and divide the fish fillets among the tortillas. Squeeze the lime wedges over the fish, dollop with the sour cream, and fold the tortillas to close. Serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nPasta\n\nFETTUCCINE WITH PEAS AND HAM\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nVegetable group? Check. Meat group? Check. Grain group? Check. Dairy group? Check. This dish has it all, making it a great one-dish meal. Serve it with a nice green salad and some hot crusty bread. One of my all-time favorites.\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1 pound fettuccine\n\n2 teaspoons olive oil\n\n1 cup diced onion\n\n\u00bc cup thinly sliced shallot\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n8 ounces ham steak, diced (about 2 cups)\n\n1 cup frozen green peas\n\n2 cups heavy cream\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n\u00bd cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving (optional)\n\nFreshly ground black pepper, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the fettuccine until al dente, about 12 minutes.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, make the sauce: In a 12-inch (or larger) saut\u00e9 pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion, shallot, Essence, and the \u00bd teaspoon salt, and cook until the onions are translucent, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic, ham, and peas and cook for 2 minutes longer. Increase the heat to high, add the cream, and bring it to a boil. Then reduce the heat to medium and simmer until the cream thickens, about 5 minutes.\n\n3. Drain the pasta in a colander, reserving 1 cup of the cooking water.\n\n4. Add the drained pasta, \u00bd cup of the reserved cooking water, and the parsley and cheese to the sauce and cook, tossing constantly, until heated through and well combined, about 1 minute. If the mixture seems dry, add the remaining cooking water, a little at a time, as needed.\n\n5. Remove the pan from the heat and transfer the pasta mixture to a large serving bowl or to individual bowls. Sprinkle with additional cheese and black pepper if desired.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\n1 Beginning the sauce.\n\n2 Adding the pasta.\n\n3 Putting it all together.\n\nORANGE, CURRANT, AND PINE NUT COUSCOUS\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 3 minutes Inactive time: 5 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis simple couscous side dish is a nice complement to many entr\u00e9es\u2014and it's pretty, too. The bright flavors of the orange segments and currants create bites of contrasting tastes, and the toasted pine nuts add a bit of texture.\n\n2 cups water\n\n2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00bd cup diced red onion or shallots (small dice)\n\n\u00bd cup diced carrots (small dice)\n\n\u00bd cup dried currants 1 teaspoon grated orange zest\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\nOne 10-ounce package couscous\n\n1 orange, peeled and segmented (see 20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bc cup pine nuts or chopped walnuts, lightly toasted\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint or parsley\n\n1. Combine the water, olive oil, red onion, carrots, currants, orange zest, salt, and white pepper in a small saucepan, and bring to a boil. Cook at a slow simmer for 2 minutes to make a flavorful broth.\n\n2. Meanwhile, place the couscous in a medium heatproof bowl.\n\n3. Pour the hot broth over the couscous and cover with plastic wrap. Allow to steam for 5 minutes.\n\n4. Remove the plastic wrap. Add the orange segments, pine nuts, and mint, and fluff the couscous with a fork. Serve hot.\n\nAbout 4 cups, 4 servings\n\nLINGUINE ALLA CARBONARA\n\nPrep time: 6 minutes Cook time: 12 to 14 minutes Total: 18 to 20 minutes\n\nThis dish takes its inspiration from many wonderful meals at my friend Mario Batali's restaurant, OTTO, in New York City. Try my quick and easy take on it\u2014my kids go crazy for this dish.\n\nSalt\n\n1 pound linguine\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil 1 tablespoon unsalted butter\n\n6 ounces bacon, cut into \u00bd-inch-wide pieces\n\n1 yellow onion (6 ounces), minced 2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n3 large egg yolks\n\n\u00be cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, at room temperature\n\nFreshly ground black pepper, to taste\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil, and cook the linguine until al dente, about 9 minutes.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, assemble the remaining ingredients and make the sauce: Heat the oil and butter in a large saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook until it is beginning to crisp, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft, about 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside.\n\n3. Drain the pasta in a colander, reserving a small amount of the cooking water, and return the pasta to the pot. Place the pot over high heat, add the bacon-onion mixture, and stir until the pasta is coated with the mixture and heated through, 1 minute.\n\n4. Whisk the egg yolks in a small bowl and add them to the pasta, along with the grated cheese. Remove the pot from the heat and toss the pasta until it is well coated. (If needed, add a bit of the reserved cooking water to help toss the pasta.) Season with salt and pepper to taste, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nEMERIL'S SHRIMP AND PASTA WITH GARLIC, LEMON, CRUSHED RED PEPPER, AND GREEN ONIONS\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThe flavors of this dish are all in the title\u2014it's spicy, savory, and bright, and it makes me happy, happy, happy any time of the day. So easy and fast, too!\n\n1 pound linguine\n\n1\u00bc pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd cup dry white wine\n\n\u00bc cup freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1\/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00bc cup chopped green onion tops\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the linguine until al dente, about 9 minutes.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, toss the shrimp with the Essence in a medium bowl. Place 4 tablespoons of the butter in a 14-inch skillet set over high heat. Add the shrimp, spreading them evenly in one layer. Cook for 2 minutes, and then turn them to the other side. Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds. Add the wine, lemon juice, and 2 tablespoons of the remaining butter, and cook for 1\u00bd minutes. Season the shrimp with the \u00bd teaspoon salt and the black pepper.\n\n3. Drain the pasta in a colander, reserving \u00bd cup of the cooking water. Add the pasta, reserved cooking water, crushed red pepper, and green onion tops to the sauce in the skillet. Toss until everything is heated through and the pasta is well coated, about 1 minute.\n\n4. Remove the skillet from the heat, add the remaining 2 tablespoons butter and the parsley, and toss to combine. Serve hot.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nRice and Beans\n\nKICKED-UP SHRIMP FRIED RICE\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 6 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nI love this so much that I usually make extra to eat the day after. Like all stir-fry dishes, it's important that you have all your ingredients prepared and ready to go once you start cooking. Since you must cook this over high heat, take care to constantly toss or stir your ingredients so that nothing gets overcooked. If you don't own a big wok or a skillet that is large enough to do this in one batch, do it in two; just be sure to wipe the pan clean with paper towels in between batches.\n\n4 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil\n\n3 eggs, lightly beaten\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n8 ounces medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n\u00bd teaspoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n3 green onions, white and green parts separately minced\n\n2 teaspoons minced ginger\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n3 cups cooked white rice\n\n1 tablespoon dark Asian sesame oil\n\n2 cups (about 12 ounces) frozen stir-fry vegetables, defrosted\n\n2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon soy sauce\n\n1. Heat 1 tablespoon of the peanut oil in a large skillet or wok over high heat. When it is hot, add the eggs and a pinch of salt and pepper, and quickly stir until the eggs are fully cooked, moving the skillet off and on the heat as necessary, about 40 seconds. Transfer the eggs to a paper towel\u2013lined plate and set aside. Chop the eggs into small pieces when cool enough to handle.\n\n2. Add 1 tablespoon of the remaining peanut oil to the skillet.\n\n3. In a small bowl, season the shrimp with the Essence and a pinch of salt and pepper. When the oil is hot, add the shrimp to the skillet, in batches if necessary, and cook until pink and lightly caramelized, about 2 minutes per side. Remove from the skillet and set aside.\n\n4. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons peanut oil to the skillet. Add the green onion bottoms (white portion), the ginger, and the garlic, and cook until fragrant, about 15 seconds. Add the rice and cook, tossing, until it is hot and golden, about 2 minutes. Add the sesame oil and the stir-fry vegetables, and cook until heated through, 1 minute. Add the soy sauce, the reserved cooked eggs, and the shrimp, and cook until everything is warmed through, about 1 minute.\n\n5. Season with salt and pepper to taste, garnish with green onion tops, and serve.\n\n4 servings\n\nTURKEY AND WILD RICE SALAD\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Total: 15 minutes\n\nObviously this is a great choice for the fall season, when leftover holiday turkey is often found lurking in the fridge, but I'm such a fan of roast turkey that I make it year-round.\n\n4 cups cooked wild rice mix (see Note)\n\n2 cups diced roast turkey breast\n\n1 cup assorted dried fruits (such as cranberry, cherry, and apricot), coarsely chopped\n\n\u00bd cup coarsely chopped almonds, toasted\n\nJuice and grated zest of 1 orange\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons red wine vinegar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nCombine all of the ingredients in a large bowl, and toss well to combine. Let stand for 5 minutes, and then serve.\n\nNote: For testing purposes we used a blend of basmati and wild rice, but any cooked rice blend or mix of cooked rices will work here. If the prepared rice has been refrigerated, however, you will need to microwave or steam it briefly to soften it slightly before combining it with the other ingredients.\n\n8 cups, about 8 servings\n\nAROMATIC JASMINE RICE\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nBring a taste of Asia into your home with this deliciously nuanced jasmine rice. This dish would be great served alongside Stir-Fried Chicken with Cashews (20 Minutes or Less), Stir-Fried Beef and Broccoli (40 Minutes or Less), or Spicy Pork Stir-Fry with Green Beans (20 Minutes or Less).\n\n2 cups jasmine rice\n\nOne 1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and halved\n\nGrated zest of 1 lime\n\n1\u00bd cups unsweetened coconut milk\n\n1\u00bd cups chicken broth or canned, low-sodium chicken broth or water\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro\n\n1 tablespoon crushed peanuts, for garnish\n\n1. Combine all the ingredients except the cilantro and peanuts in a 2-quart saucepan, and stir well to combine. Make sure the aromatics are fully submerged in the rice.\n\n2. Place the pan over high heat and bring the liquid to a boil, stirring occasionally to prevent the rice from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Once it reaches a boil, immediately reduce the heat to low and cover the pan. Cook for 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and allow the rice to steam, covered and undisturbed, for 5 minutes.\n\n3. Discard the ginger. Add the cilantro and gently fluff the rice with a fork. Transfer the rice to a deep serving bowl and garnish with the peanuts. Serve hot or warm.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSPICY SAUSAGE, BEAN, AND CHEESE NACHOS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis filling snack is perfect for football season, but don't feel that you have to wait until game time\u2014it's great anytime and can even form the basis of a simple supper when paired with a nice green salad.\n\n1 pound fresh hot sausage (such as chorizo), removed from the casings and crumbled\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped green onion bottoms (reserve tops separately)\n\n1 tablespoon chopped garlic\n\nTwo 15-ounce cans pinto or black beans, drained\n\n\u00be cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth or water\n\n\u00bd teaspoon chili powder\n\n\u00bc teaspoon ground cumin\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\n12 ounces large (restaurant-style) tortilla chips\n\n3 cups grated pepper Jack or sharp cheddar cheese, or a combination\n\n\u00bc cup pickled jalape\u00f1o slices, or to taste\n\nYour favorite salsa, for serving\n\nSour cream, for serving\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 450\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place a large skillet over medium-high heat, add the sausage, and cook until it is nicely browned and the fat is rendered, about 5 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the sausage to a paper towel\u2013lined plate to drain.\n\n3. Add the green onion bottoms and the garlic to the fat remaining in the skillet, and cook until fragrant and soft, about 20 seconds. Add the beans, mix well, and cook until heated through, about 1 minute. Add the chicken stock, chili powder, cumin, and salt. Mash the beans with the back of a heavy wooden spoon or a potato masher until chunky-smooth.\n\n4. Reduce the heat to medium and continue cooking until completely warmed through, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat.\n\n5. Spread half of the tortilla chips in one even layer on a large oval ovenproof platter or in a large baking dish. Top with half of the beans, half of the sausage, half of the cheese, and half of the jalape\u00f1os. Repeat with another layer of chips, beans, sausage, cheese, and jalape\u00f1os. Bake until the cheese is melted and the mixture is hot, 2 to 3 minutes.\n\n6. Remove from the oven, and serve garnished with chopped green onion tops, salsa, and sour cream.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nVegetables\n\nPAN-ROASTED ASPARAGUS WITH SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS AND CHERRY TOMATOES\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 11 to 12 minutes Total: 19 to 20 minutes\n\nAsparagus comes in all sizes and can be cooked any number of ways\u2014and to me they are all great\u2014but I especially love asparagus that has been quickly saut\u00e9ed and then blasted in a very hot oven. In this recipe I have added shiitake mushrooms to give the dish an earthy flavor that strikes a nice balance with the sweetness of the cherry tomatoes.\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 large shallot, sliced crosswise into rings\n\n1 pound asparagus, woody portion of stems removed\n\n4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and quartered\n\n2 ounces cherry or grape tomatoes, quartered\n\n1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves\n\n1 tablespoon freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large ovenproof saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the shallot and cook for 30 seconds. Add the asparagus and cook for 3 minutes. Push the asparagus to one side of the pan, and add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and the shiitake mushrooms. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes, allowing the mushrooms to brown. Add the tomatoes and the thyme, and cook for another 2 minutes, tossing the ingredients together.\n\n3. Transfer the pan to the oven and cook for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the asparagus is crisp-tender.\n\n4. Transfer the asparagus mixture to a serving platter, garnish with the cheese, and serve immediately.\n\n4 side-dish servings or 2 appetizer servings\n\nGARLICKY BOK CHOY\n\nPrep time: 2 minutes Cook time: 5 to 6 minutes Total: 7 to 8 minutes\n\nIf you cannot find baby bok choy in your area, feel free to substitute the same amount of regular bok choy. Regular bok choy will need to be cut into 1\u00bd-inch lengths on the diagonal and stirred occasionally while cooking.\n\n2 tablespoons canola oil\n\n1 teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n1 pound baby bok choy, split in half lengthwise\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n2 tablespoons roughly chopped garlic\n\n\u00bc cup chicken or vegetable stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth, or water\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\nPlace a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat, and add the oil. When it is hot, add the crushed red pepper and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the bok choy, cut sides down, and cook for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the salt, garlic, and chicken stock and cook for 3 minutes, until the stock is mostly reduced. Add the butter to the pan, and when it has melted, turn the bok choy so that it is evenly coated. Remove from the heat and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nBROILED ZUCCHINI\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nIn this preparation, zucchini is caramelized and roasted with garlic under the broiler\u2014delicious!\n\n2 pounds zucchini\n\n4 cloves garlic\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons kosher salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n4 sprigs fresh thyme\n\n1. Position a rack 5 or 6 inches from the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n2. Rinse the zucchini and pat it dry. Cut the zucchini in half crosswise; then cut each half lengthwise into 6 to 8 wedges. Smash the garlic cloves, and cut each clove in half.\n\n3. Place the zucchini, garlic, and all the remaining ingredients in a large bowl, and toss well to coat.\n\n4. Place the zucchini mixture in a 12-inch ovenproof skillet, and broil, tossing the pieces occasionally, until it is well caramelized, about 15 minutes.\n\n5. Remove from the broiler, discard the thyme sprigs, and serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSAUT\u00c9ED YELLOW SQUASH WITH CARROTS AND TARRAGON\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis is a beautiful, versatile side dish that can go with just about any entr\u00e9e. While testing recipes, we enjoyed it with Crispy Pan-Roasted Chicken with Garlic-Thyme Butter (40 Minutes or Less)\u2014in fact, the combination was a knockout.\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n8 ounces carrots, cut into small dice\n\n1\u00bd pounds large yellow squash, halved lengthwise and then sliced into \u00bc-inch-thick half-moons\n\n2 tablespoons thinly sliced shallot\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons kosher salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh tarragon\n\n1. Set a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat, and once it is hot, add the butter and olive oil. When the butter has melted, add the carrots and cook, stirring often, for 2 minutes.\n\n2. Add the yellow squash, shallot, salt, and white pepper to the pan and continue to cook, stirring often, until the squash has wilted and released most of its moisture, about 6 minutes. Sprinkle with the tarragon and toss to blend. Serve hot.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nROASTED CARROTS WITH FRESH THYME\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 10 to 12 minutes Total: 15 to 17 minutes\n\nCarrots are an inexpensive, all-purpose root vegetable that are often overlooked. This delicious dish is a cinch to prepare and is easily jazzed up with any number of additions. Feel free to experiment by using different herbs, adding a handful of raisins, or drizzling with a splash of balsamic vinegar.\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1\u00bd pounds carrots, cut diagonally into 1\u00bd-inch lengths\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 sprigs fresh thyme\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n1 tablespoon honey\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 450\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place a medium ovenproof saut\u00e9 pan over high heat and add the olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the carrots, salt, and pepper and cook for 2 minutes on each side. Add the thyme sprigs and butter, and drizzle with the honey.\n\n3. Transfer the pan to the oven and roast for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the carrots are golden and crisp-tender. Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nEMERIL'S SAUT\u00c9ED CUCUMBER WITH BASIL AND MINT\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 17 minutes\n\nThis is a great way to enjoy cucumbers\u2014and one preparation that most folks don't think about when thinking cucumber. Delicate and buttery, these are especially wonderful alongside saut\u00e9ed fish.\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n4 cups sliced peeled, seeded cucumber\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n1. Place a large saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat, and add 1 tablespoon of the butter and 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. When the mixture is hot and bubbly, add 2 cups of the cucumbers. Cook until the cucumbers are lightly browned on one side, 2 to 3 minutes. Toss the cucumbers and brown on the other side, another 2 minutes. Add half of the basil, half of the mint, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper. Transfer the cucumbers to a serving dish, and repeat the process with the remaining ingredients.\n\n2. Drizzle the lime juice over the cucumbers, toss, and serve warm.\n\n4 servings\n\nGLAZED RADISHES\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThe end result of this unique preparation reminds me of turnips...we forget that radishes and turnips are close cousins. The pearly pink color really adds a wow factor to the dining table, too. A perfect side next to roast chicken or a simple saut\u00e9ed fish fillet.\n\n1\u00bd pounds radishes, ends trimmed\n\n2\u00bd cups water\n\n\u00bc cup sugar\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon finely ground white pepper\n\n4 teaspoons chopped fresh mint or tarragon\n\n1. Cut the radishes into lengthwise quarters. Meanwhile, have a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan heating over medium heat.\n\n2. Add the radishes to the hot pan and raise the heat to high. Carefully add the water, sugar, butter, salt, and white pepper (the liquids may splatter). Bring to a boil and cook, stirring occasionally, until the radishes are easily pierced with a fork and most of the liquid has evaporated, about 15 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the radishes from the heat and sprinkle with the mint; toss to blend, and serve hot or warm.\n\n4 servings\n\nSeafood\n\nBROILED CATFISH WITH FRESH THYME, GARLIC, AND LEMON\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThere are two types of catfish I prefer: one is from the Mississippi Delta, where my wife's family is from, and the other is from Des Allemands, Louisiana, the self-proclaimed \"catfish capital of the world.\" This is a very quick dish, and is always best when made with fresh catfish. However, if quality frozen catfish is available where you live, that'll work too.\n\nFour 6-to 8-ounce skinless catfish fillets\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves\n\nJuice of 1 lemon\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley (optional)\n\nLemon wedges, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Position a rack about 4 inches from the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n2. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil. Season the catfish fillets on both sides with the Essence, salt, and white pepper, and place the fillets on the prepared baking sheet.\n\n3. In a small bowl, combine the garlic, olive oil, and thyme. Using a small spoon, spread the garlic mixture evenly over the catfish. Then drizzle the fillets with the lemon juice.\n\n4. Transfer the baking sheet to the broiler. Cook the catfish for 6 minutes. Then rotate the baking sheet front to back, and continue cooking until the fish flakes easily when pressed with your fingers at the thickest part, about 4 minutes longer.\n\n5. Remove from the oven and serve immediately, sprinkled with the parsley and garnished with lemon wedges if desired.\n\n4 servings\n\nBROILED SALMON WITH A WARM TOMATO-LEMON VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 6 minutes Cook time: 9 minutes Total: 15 minutes\n\nMost people really enjoy salmon because of its \"steak-like\" texture and wonderful flavor. Wait until you try it with a tomato-lemon vinaigrette! Oh, baby, this is not only tasty but healthy and beautiful, too.\n\n\u00bc cup plus 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon fresh marjoram leaves\n\n\u00bd teaspoon finely grated lemon zest 2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc cup freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\nFour 6-ounce salmon fillets\n\n1. Position a rack 6 to 8 inches from the broiler element and preheat the broiler. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.\n\n2. Heat the \u00bc cup olive oil in a 10-inch saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. When it is hot, add the marjoram and lemon zest and cook until fragrant, about 15 seconds. Add the tomatoes, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper. Cook until the tomatoes begin to wilt, about 2 minutes. Stir in the lemon juice and mix well. Remove from the heat and set aside.\n\n3. Arrange the salmon fillets on the prepared baking sheet. Brush the fillets with the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and season with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and \u00bd teaspoon pepper. Broil until the salmon is browned and cooked through, 5 to 6 minutes.\n\n4. Remove from the oven, and serve with the tomato-lemon vinaigrette spooned over the top.\n\n4 servings\n\nGAAAHLICKY SIZZLING SHRIMP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 4 to 5 minutes Total: 14 to 15 minutes\n\nGarlic meets shrimp. This is really simple and equally delicious eaten over pasta, over steamed white rice or creamy grits, or over nothing at all, with crusty French bread for sopping up all the garlicky goodness.\n\n2 pounds medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n2 tablespoons roughly chopped garlic\n\n6 tablespoons shrimp or chicken stock or canned, low-sodium shrimp or chicken broth\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. In a medium bowl, toss the shrimp with the Essence and the salt. Set aside.\n\n2. Heat a large cast-iron pan over medium-high heat, and add the olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the butter and garlic. Once the butter is nearly melted (about 20 seconds), add the shrimp and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are cooked through, about 3 minutes.\n\n3. Add the stock, lemon juice, and parsley, and cook for 30 seconds. Remove from the heat. Serve immediately.\n\n2 to 4 servings\n\nSOUTHERN-STYLE PAN-FRIED CATFISH\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nA quintessential Southern dish. If you're not from the South, here's your chance to transport your guests to a place they may never have been to. If you are a Southerner, you will arrive in a place that's nostalgic and new all at once. Delicious.\n\n\u00bd cup buttermilk\n\n2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 teaspoons Louisiana hot sauce or other red hot sauce\n\nFour 6-to 8-ounce skinless catfish fillets\n\n1 cup all-purpose flour\n\n2\/3 cup cornmeal\n\n1 tablespoon salt\n\n2\/3 cup vegetable oil, for frying\n\nKicked-Up Tartar Sauce (recipe follows), for serving, optional\n\nLemon wedges, for serving\n\n1. Whisk together the buttermilk, mustard, Essence, garlic, and hot sauce in a small bowl. Place the fillets in a tray or baking dish that is just big enough to hold them. Pour the buttermilk mixture over the fish, making sure they are evenly coated. Set aside to marinate while you assemble the remaining ingredients.\n\n2. In a second tray or shallow baking dish, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, and salt.\n\n3. One at a time, remove the fillets from the buttermilk mixture, allowing any excess to drip off. Transfer the fish to the flour-cornmeal mixture and dredge to evenly coat. Place the breaded fish on a plate, and set aside.\n\n4. Heat the vegetable oil in a large saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat. When the oil is hot, carefully add 2 fillets to the pan, presentation side down, and cook until they are golden brown and crisp, about 4 minutes. Turn and cook until golden on the second side, 3 to 4 minutes. Using a fish spatula, transfer the fillets to a paper towel\u2013lined plate. Repeat with the remaining 2 fillets.\n\n5. Serve hot, with the Kicked-Up Tartar Sauce and lemon wedges, if desired, alongside.\n\n4 servings\n\nKicked-Up Tartar Sauce\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Total: 10 minutes\n\nWe wouldn't just give you any ole tartar sauce recipe. Creole mustard, hot sauce, cayenne, and tarragon.... Quick to whip up and definitely worth the effort. Heinz who?\n\n1 cup mayonnaise\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped cornichons, dill pickles, or dill pickle relish, drained\n\n2 tablespoons minced shallots\n\n2 tablespoons minced green onion tops\n\n1 tablespoon finely chopped drained nonpareil capers\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n2 teaspoons Creole mustard or other spicy whole-grain mustard\n\n\u00bd teaspoon Louisiana hot sauce\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon dried tarragon, crushed between your fingers\n\nCombine all the ingredients in a small bowl and stir well to blend. Refrigerate until ready to serve. This will keep for 1 week.\n\nAbout 1\u00bd cups\n\nBLUE CORN\u2013CRUSTED RAINBOW TROUT WITH CILANTRO-LIME SOUR CREAM\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 6 minutes Total: 14 minutes\n\nYou'd better make extra batches of this dish\u2014my Culinary Team couldn't keep their hands off it when we tested it in our kitchen! Before I knew it, the fish was long gone and not even a crumb was left on the plate.\n\n\u00bd cup sour cream\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1\u00bc teaspoons salt\n\nGenerous \u00bd teaspoon plus 1\/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 cup blue cornmeal\n\n1 teaspoon ground coriander\n\n1 teaspoon ground cumin\n\nFour 6-ounce skinless rainbow trout fillets\n\n4 tablespoons vegetable oil\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\nLime wedges, for serving\n\n1. Combine the sour cream, cilantro, lime juice, cayenne pepper, \u00bc teaspoon of the salt, and the 1\/8 teaspoon black pepper in a small bowl and stir to mix well. Set aside.\n\n2. Combine the blue cornmeal with the coriander and cumin in a shallow dish, and whisk to blend.\n\n3. Season the fish fillets on both sides with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and generous \u00bd teaspoon black pepper. Then dredge them in the blue cornmeal mixture, shaking to remove any excess.\n\n4. Heat 2 tablespoons of the vegetable oil in a large nonstick saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add 1 tablespoon of the butter. When the butter has melted, add 2 fillets, underside down, and cook until the skin side is golden brown and crisp, 2 to 3 minutes. Flip the fillets over and cook briefly on the presentation side until the fish is just cooked through, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the pan and keep warm. Wipe the pan clean, add the remaining 2 tablespoons oil and 1 tablespoon butter, and repeat with the remaining fillets.\n\n5. Serve each fillet with a dollop of the cilantro-lime sour cream, and garnish with lime wedges.\n\n4 servings\n\nTROUT \u00c0 LA MEUNI\u00c8RE\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis is a classic New Orleans dish in which thin trout fillets are dredged in flour, then quickly saut\u00e9ed and finished with a simple lemony butter sauce. Any fresh trout from the gulf, the brook, or da bayou will do.\n\nFour 6-ounce skinless trout fillets\n\n1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n1 teaspoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd cup Wondra flour (see Note)\n\n4 tablespoons olive oil\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, cubed, at room temperature\n\n1 tablespoon minced shallot\n\n2 tablespoons dry white wine\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced almonds\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley\n\nFreshly ground white pepper\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 200\u00b0F.\n\n2. Season the trout fillets with the salt and the Essence. Lightly dredge the seasoned trout in the Wondra, shaking to remove any excess.\n\n3. Set a 10-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Once the oil is hot, place 2 fish fillets in the pan and cook until golden, about 2 minutes per side. Place the cooked fillets on an ovenproof serving platter and keep warm in the oven while you cook the remaining fillets in the same manner with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil.\n\n4. Once all the fillets are cooked, return the empty saut\u00e9 pan to the stovetop and reduce the heat to medium. Add the butter to the pan, and when it has melted, add the shallot. Cook for 30 seconds. Then add the white wine, lemon juice, almonds, and parsley. Continue to cook for 30 to 40 seconds, swirling the pan occasionally. Season the sauce with salt and white pepper to taste, and remove from the heat.\n\n5. Remove the platter from the oven, pour the sauce over the fish, and serve immediately.\n\nNote: Wondra is an instant flour most typically used for sauce because it dissolves quickly. We have found that its fine texture is perfect for a thin crisp coating on seared fish.\n\n4 servings\n\nCLASSIC MOULES MARINI\u00c8RE\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nA classic white wine\u2013based dish, with a touch of cream and lots of shallots and garlic. In the Proven\u00e7al region of France, they add tomatoes to this dish; feel free to do so if you like. You can enjoy this with either crusty bread or toasted slices of French bread, as in the Bruschetta recipe on 20 Minutes or Less. In French bistros, these mussels are traditionally served with pommes frites.\n\n3 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n6 tablespoons chopped shallots\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 sprigs fresh parsley, plus 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley for garnish\n\n2 sprigs fresh thyme 1 cup dry white wine\n\n\u00bc cup heavy cream\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 pounds (about 4 dozen) live mussels, well scrubbed, rinsed, and debearded\n\nCrusty French bread, for serving\n\n1. In a large deep saut\u00e9 pan or a large wide saucepan, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the shallots, garlic, and herb sprigs and cook, stirring, until the shallots are soft and fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the wine, heavy cream, salt, and pepper, and bring to a boil.\n\n2. Add the mussels, cover the pan, and cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the mussels have opened, 5 to 6 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the pan from the heat and discard any mussels that have not opened. Transfer the mussels and their liquid to a large, deep serving bowl and garnish with the chopped parsley. Serve immediately, with French bread for dipping.\n\n4 servings\n\nPoultry\n\nSTIR-FRIED CHICKEN WITH CASHEWS\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 6 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nHoisin sauce is a Chinese condiment that is easy to find in most supermarkets; its distinct flavor really makes this dish come alive. If you'd like, feel free to substitute an equal amount of shrimp or turkey for the chicken. This dish would be right at home served with the Aromatic Jasmine Rice on 20 Minutes or Less.\n\n\u00bd cup plus 2 teaspoons chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n\u00bc cup hoisin sauce\n\n2 tablespoons soy sauce\n\n3 tablespoons vegetable oil\n\n1\u00bc pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut crosswise into \u00bd-inch-thick even slices\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped green onion bottoms, plus 2 tablespoons thinly sliced green onion tops\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper, or to taste\n\n1 large red bell pepper, stemmed, seeded, and julienned (see 20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 teaspoon cornstarch\n\n\u00bd cup roasted cashews\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\nCooked white rice, for serving\n\n1. In a small bowl, combine the \u00bd cup chicken broth, the hoisin sauce, and the soy sauce. Set this sauce aside.\n\n2. Heat the oil in a wok or a large saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. When the oil is hot, add the chicken and cook until it just turns opaque, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the green onion bottoms, garlic, and crushed red pepper and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the red bell pepper and cook until just tender, about 1 minute.\n\n3. Add the sauce to the pan and mix well. In a small bowl, combine the cornstarch with the remaining 2 teaspoons chicken broth and stir well. Add the cornstarch mixture to the stir-fry and bring to a boil. Continue to simmer until the sauce begins to thicken, about 45 seconds.\n\n4. Remove from the heat and stir in the green onion tops and cashews. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve over cooked white rice.\n\nAbout 4 servings\n\nSAUT\u00c9ED CHICKEN BREASTS WITH DIJON HERB SAUCE\n\nPrep time: 6 minutes Cook time: 14 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nSimply described, this dish is a classic! Serve it with a green salad and hot, crusty, buttered bread. Don't make me say it: \"plate-lickin' good\"!\n\nFour 6-to 8-ounce boneless, skinless chicken breasts\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons chopped shallot\n\n1 cup dry white wine\n\n1 tablespoon Dijon mustard\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh tarragon\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Season the chicken on both sides with the salt and white pepper. Heat the olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Place the chicken in the pan, and cook until golden, about 4 minutes per side.\n\n2. Increase the heat to high, add the shallot and white wine, and cook for 4 minutes. Remove the chicken and set it aside on a serving plate.\n\n3. Whisk the mustard and heavy cream into the pan, and bring the sauce to a boil. Then reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 2 minutes, until thickened and bubbly.\n\n4. Add the tarragon and parsley, and remove from the heat. Spoon the sauce over the chicken, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nCHICKEN SALAD WITH FRESH HERBS AND CELERY\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nThis delicious chicken salad is a breeze to put together, especially if you make the most of your time by prepping the dressing and chopped ingredients while the chicken is roasting in the oven. Feel free to make this up to two days in advance. Serve it in sandwiches or with greens for a light salad entr\u00e9e.\n\n2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 cup mayonnaise\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon Dijon mustard\n\n\u00bd cup finely diced celery, plus \u00bc cup chopped celery leaves\n\n1\/3 cup finely chopped red onion\n\n3 tablespoons chopped mixed fresh herbs (such as parsley and tarragon)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon celery seeds\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Rinse the chicken briefly under cool running water, then pat dry with paper towels. Season on both sides with the salt and pepper.\n\n3. Heat the olive oil in a 12-inch ovenproof saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. Add the chicken to the pan and cook for 2 minutes. Turn the chicken over and immediately place the pan in the oven. Roast for 10 minutes, or until the chicken reaches an internal temperature of 165\u00b0F when tested with an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.\n\n4. In a large mixing bowl, combine the mayonnaise, garlic, mustard, celery, celery leaves, red onion, herbs, celery seeds, and cayenne pepper. Mix well.\n\n5. When the chicken is cool enough to handle, cut it into \u00bd-inch dice, add it to the mayonnaise mixture, and mix well. Serve immediately, or transfer to the refrigerator to chill.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nMeat\n\nLAMB T-BONES WITH ROSEMARY-BALSAMIC BUTTER SAUCE\n\nPrep time: 6 minutes Cook time: 14 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nYou don't have to go to a restaurant to have great lamb chops. People assume that lamb is difficult to cook, or too fancy to cook at home, but wait until you see how easy these little T-bones are.\n\nEight 2-inch-thick lamb T-bone chops (about 2 pounds)\n\n\u00bc cup plus 2 teaspoons olive oil\n\n\u00bd cup balsamic vinegar\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n2 shallots\n\n\u00bd cup dry red wine\n\n6 tablespoons (\u00be stick) butter, cut into medium dice\n\n\u00bd teaspoon coarse sea salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Place the lamb chops in a gallon-size resealable plastic bag. In a small bowl, combine the \u00bc cup olive oil, \u00bc cup of the balsamic vinegar, the garlic, \u00bd tablespoon of the rosemary, and the salt; stir together with a fork. Pour the marinade into the bag with the lamb chops, seal, and set aside at room temperature while you prepare the remaining ingredients.\n\n2. Mince the shallots (about 2 tablespoons), and place them in an 8-inch skillet. Add the red wine and remaining \u00bc cup balsamic vinegar, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Cook until the mixture has reduced to a syrupy consistency and the entire surface of the sauce is bubbly, 7 to 8 minutes. Reduce the heat to low and whisk in the butter in three separate additions, fully incorporating each addition before adding more; do not allow the sauce to boil. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon rosemary, remove from the heat, and set aside. (Keep the sauce warm, covered, until ready to serve but do not allow it to boil.)\n\n3. Remove the lamb chops from the marinade, lightly pat them dry with a paper towel, and set them on a plate. Season both sides of the chops with the sea salt and black pepper. Heat the remaining 2 teaspoons olive oil in a 10-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, add the chops and cook for 3 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium, turn the chops over, and cook for 3 minutes for medium-rare. Set the chops aside to rest briefly before serving.\n\n4. Serve the chops drizzled with the rosemary-balsamic butter sauce.\n\n4 servings\n\nSTEAK AU POIVRE\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nIn a classic steak au poivre, peppercorns are coarsely crushed by hand using the bottom of a skillet...but in this quick and easy version, the pepper is simply coarsely ground in a peppermill. The pepper coating on the outside of the steaks roasts in a hot, dry cast-iron skillet, drawing out the natural oils from the peppercorns and imparting a deep flavor. The cream and brandy finish the dish with just the right richness.\n\n\u00bc cup coarsely ground black pepper\n\nTwo 2-inch-thick rib-eye steaks (about 1 pound each)\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons kosher salt\n\n\u00bc cup brandy or cognac\n\n2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n2 teaspoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Sprinkle the pepper over both sides of the steaks, and gently press it into the meat with the heel of your hand.\n\n2. Sprinkle the salt over the bottom of a large cast-iron skillet. Heat the skillet over high heat. When the salt begins to brown, add the steaks. Lower the heat to medium-high and cook, without disturbing, for 5 minutes. Turn the steaks over and cook for 5 minutes more.\n\n3. Carefully add the brandy or cognac to the pan, taking care as it may ignite (allow the flames to burn off). Transfer the steaks to a platter to set aside to rest.\n\n4. Add the Worcestershire, lemon juice, and cream to the skillet and cook for 1 minute. Then whisk in the butter. Remove the pan from the heat, and stir in the parsley. Spoon the sauce over the steaks, and serve immediately.\n\nNotes: If you prefer a higher degree of doneness, preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F. After browning the steaks on both sides, transfer then to a baking sheet and place it in the oven to cook further while you finish the sauce in the skillet.\n\nFor thinner steaks: Change the cook time to 3 minutes per side for 1-inch rib-eyes.\n\nFor a lighter version of this sauce: substitute \u00bc cup beef broth for \u00bc cup of the cream.\n\n2 to 4 servings\n\nNEW YORK STRIP WITH BEURRE MA\u00ceTRE D'H\u00d4TEL\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Inactive time: 5 minutes Cook time: 12 to 14 minutes Total: 22 to 24 minutes\n\nWhoa! You're pulling out all the stops here! Gorgeously seared New York strips with a slab of flavorful butter, on the table in fifteen minutes! Pour the wine and pass the salad.\n\n8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature\n\n\u00bc cup minced fresh parsley\n\n3 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n4\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n2\u00bc teaspoons freshly ground black pepper\n\nFour 12-to 14-ounce boneless New York strip steaks, fat trimmed\n\n4 teaspoons olive oil\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 450\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place the butter in a medium bowl. Add the parsley, lemon juice, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper, and stir until combined. Refrigerate while you cook the steaks.\n\n3. Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat.\n\n4. Rub both sides of the steaks with the olive oil, and season evenly with the remaining 4 teaspoons salt and 2 teaspoons pepper. Place the steaks in the hot skillet and cook for 4 minutes on each side. Then transfer the skillet to the oven and roast to the desired degree of doneness, 4 to 6 minutes for medium-rare. An instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the meat should register 130\u00b0F for medium-rare, 140\u00b0F for medium.\n\n5. Remove the skillet from the oven; let the steaks stand for 5 minutes before serving.\n\n6. When ready to serve, top the steaks with spoonfuls of the flavored butter, to taste, or slice the steaks crosswise into 1\/3-inch-thick slices and serve with the butter. (Any unused butter can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.)\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nLAMB CHOPS WITH MUSTARD HERB CRUST\n\nPrep time: 9 minutes Cook time: 11 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nSear. Slather. Coat. Roast. Eat. Impress your friends with this one.\n\n\u00bd cup Dijon mustard\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n1 cup unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n\u00bc cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh rosemary\n\n2 teaspoons dried Italian herbs\n\n2 tablespoons vegetable oil\n\nSixteen 2-to 3-ounce baby lamb chops\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Preheat the broiler, and line a large baking sheet with aluminum foil.\n\n2. Combine the mustard and garlic in a small mixing bowl, and set aside. Combine the breadcrumbs, cheese, rosemary, and dried herbs in a shallow dish; whisk to mix well, and set aside.\n\n3. Heat the vegetable oil in a large saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Using a paper towel, pat the lamb chops dry. Season them with the salt and pepper. Add the lamb chops to the pan and sear on both sides until nicely browned and caramelized, about 2 minutes per side.\n\n4. Transfer the chops to a plate and using a basting brush, lightly coat them with the mustard mixture. Then dredge them in the breadcrumb mixture. As the chops are coated, transfer them to the prepared baking sheet. Place the baking sheet under the broiler, and cook until the chops develop a nice golden crust and reach an internal temperature of 145\u00b0F when tested with an instant-read thermometer, about 5 minutes.\n\n5. Remove the baking sheet from the oven and let the lamb chops rest for 5 minutes before serving.\n\n4 main-course servings\n\nMINUTE STEAKS TERIYAKI-STYLE\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nYou will not believe this stir-fry! Portion your meat, slice your onions, peppers, and carrots, cook it all over high heat, and finish with the sauce. Done.\n\n2 pounds top sirloin steak, \u00bc inch thick, cut into 6 or 8 portions\n\n\u00be cup soy sauce\n\n6 tablespoons rice wine vinegar\n\n\u00bc cup chopped green onions, white and green parts\n\n2 tablespoons sugar\n\n2 teaspoons chopped garlic\n\n1 teaspoon cornstarch\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n3 tablespoons vegetable oil\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced onions\n\n1 medium bell pepper, thinly sliced (about 1 cup)\n\n1 medium carrot, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced (about 1 cup)\n\nSteamed white rice, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Place the sirloin in a resealable plastic bag, add \u00bd cup of the soy sauce, seal, and set aside for 10 minutes.\n\n2. While the steaks are marinating, make your sauce: In a small bowl, combine the remaining \u00bc cup soy sauce, vinegar, green onions, sugar, garlic, cornstarch, and crushed red pepper. Set aside.\n\n3. Remove the steaks from the marinade, lightly pat them dry, and set them aside on a plate.\n\n4. Heat 2 tablespoons of the vegetable oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add half of the steaks and cook until nicely browned, 1\u00bd minutes per side. Transfer them to a serving platter, and repeat with the remaining steaks.\n\n5. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon vegetable oil to the pan, and when it is hot, add the onions, bell pepper, and carrot. Cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp-tender, 3 minutes. Stir the sauce, add it to the pan, and cook for 1 minute longer. Spoon the vegetables and sauce over the steaks. Serve immediately, over steamed white rice if desired.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nBONELESS PORK CHOPS PARMIGIANA\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nEveryone knows how delicious Chicken Parmesan can be, but I decided to do a spin-off with pork. Your friends and family will be astonished at how quickly this dish comes together.\n\n2 pounds boneless thin-cut pork chops (about 8 small chops)\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc cup all-purpose flour\n\n1 egg\n\n2 tablespoons milk\n\n1 cup fine dry unseasoned bread crumbs\n\n\u00bd cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n4 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd cup olive oil\n\n1 cup jarred marinara sauce, plus more (heated) for serving with pasta if desired\n\n2 cups grated mozzarella cheese\n\nCooked pasta, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Preheat the broiler, and line a large baking sheet with aluminum foil.\n\n2. Season the pork chops on both sides with the salt and pepper. Set three shallow pans side by side. Place the flour in one, the egg and milk in another, and the breadcrumbs and cheese in the third pan. Season the flour with 1\u00bd teaspoons of the Essence, the egg-milk mixture with 1\u00bd teaspoons of the Essence, and the breadcrumbs with 1 teaspoon of the Essence. Stir the flour to incorporate the Essence; beat the eggs, milk, and Essence to blend; and toss the breadcrumbs with the cheese and Essence to combine.\n\n3. Dredge the pork chops in the flour and shake to remove any excess. Working with one at a time, dip the pork chops in the egg wash to coat, then transfer them to the breadcrumb mixture and coat evenly, shaking to remove any excess.\n\n4. Set a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. When the oil is hot, place half of the breaded pork chops in the pan and cook until golden brown, 1\u00bd to 2 minutes per side. Transfer the browned pork chops to the prepared baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining pork chops.\n\n5. Spread 2 tablespoons of the marinara sauce over each of the pork chops, and top each with \u00bc cup of the grated mozzarella. Place the baking sheet under the broiler and cook for 2 to 2\u00bd minutes, until the cheese is bubbly and lightly browned in spots and the chops are just cooked through. Remove from the oven and, if desired, serve over cooked pasta with additional marinara sauce.\n\n8 cutlets, 4 to 6 servings\n\nSPICY PORK STIR-FRY WITH GREEN BEANS\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nNowadays you can easily find fresh, beautiful, washed packaged green beans. Grab 'em and go. Here is a quick and delicious way to serve them.\n\n3 tablespoons soy sauce\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1 pound ground pork\n\n\u00bc cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n3\u00bd tablespoons hoisin sauce\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon cornstarch\n\n\u00bc cup peanut oil\n\n12 ounces green beans, rinsed, ends trimmed, cut into 4-inch lengths\n\n3 tablespoons thinly sliced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons dark Asian sesame oil\n\nCooked white rice, for serving (optional)\n\n1. In a mixing bowl, combine 2 tablespoons of the soy sauce, the white pepper, and the ground pork. Mix well to combine, and then set aside.\n\n2. Make the sauce by combining the chicken stock, hoisin sauce, crushed red pepper, rice vinegar, cornstarch, and the remaining 1 tablespoon soy sauce in a bowl. Set aside.\n\n3. Heat a wok or saut\u00e9 pan over high heat until hot. Add the peanut oil, and when the oil is smoking, add the green beans and cook, stirring frequently, until they are slightly wrinkled, 3 to 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the beans to a paper towel\u2013lined plate, and set aside.\n\n4. Add the garlic to the wok and cook briefly until fragrant, about 10 seconds. Add the ground pork and stir-fry until it is no longer pink, about 1\u00bd minutes. Stir the sauce mixture, add it to the wok, and stir to combine. Bring the liquid to a boil and cook until it begins to thicken, about 45 seconds.\n\n5. Return the green beans to the wok and drizzle with the sesame oil. Cook briefly until warmed through. Then serve immediately, over hot rice if desired.\n\n4 servings\n\nMUSHROOM-SMOTHERED STEAKS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nCube steaks, also referred to as minute steaks, are not cubes at all. They are called cube steaks because of the cubelike pattern that has been pounded into them with a meat tenderizer. These steaks can be cooked very quickly, will remain tender and juicy, and are very affordable...need I say more?\n\n4 cube steaks (about 1\u00bd pounds total)\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 pound mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and sliced (about 4 cups)\n\n\u00bd cup chopped green onions, white and green parts, plus more for garnish\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bd cup dry red wine\n\n3 tablespoons butter, cut into 4 pieces\n\n1. Season the steaks on both sides with \u00bd teaspoon of the salt and \u00bd teaspoon of the black pepper.\n\n2. Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the steaks and cook until nicely browned on one side, 2 minutes. Remove from the pan and set aside.\n\n3. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil to the pan. Then add the mushrooms, green onions, and garlic and saut\u00e9 until browned, about 2 minutes. Move the mushrooms to the edge of the pan and return the steaks, browned sides up, along with any accumulated juices, to the pan. Add the wine and cook for 3 minutes. Add the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon black pepper. Dot each steak with a pat of butter and cook for 1 minute longer.\n\n4. Transfer the steaks to a serving platter or individual plates, and spoon the mushrooms and their juices over them. Sprinkle with chopped green onions and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nDesserts\n\nEMERIL'S LATE-NIGHT PARFAITS\n\nPrep time: 7 minutes (including 5 minutes inactive) Total: 7 minutes\n\nThe great thing about these parfaits is that they can be assembled and ready in no time. Don't worry if you don't have the exact ingredients called for; any type of cookie and ice cream you have on hand can work wonderfully together.\n\n1 pint vanilla ice cream\n\n\u00bd cup crumbled biscotti cookies or other cookie crumbs of choice\n\n\u00bc cup Frangelico or other nut-flavored liqueur\n\n2 tablespoons roughly chopped hazelnuts or walnuts, lightly toasted\n\n1. Remove the ice cream from the freezer and let it soften slightly, about 5 minutes at room temperature.\n\n2. Into the bottom of four parfait or ice cream dishes, scoop about 2 tablespoons of the vanilla ice cream. Top with about \u00bd tablespoon of the cookie crumbs, and drizzle with 1\u00bd teaspoons of the liqueur. Continue layering the ingredients, ending with liqueur on top.\n\n3. Serve immediately, garnished with the chopped nuts.\n\n4 servings\n\nBROWN SUGAR\u2013BAKED BANANAS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 18 minutes\n\nIn New Orleans we have a classic dessert known as Bananas Foster. This simplified oven-baked version is every bit as good, but oh, what a walk in the park to prepare.\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n3 bananas, peeled, sliced in half lengthwise and crosswise\n\n1\/3 cup packed light brown sugar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon ground cinnamon\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg\n\nJuice of 1 orange\n\n\u00bc teaspoon grated orange zest\n\nLight rum or banana liqueur, for drizzling (optional)\n\nVanilla ice cream, for serving\n\n1. Position a rack about 8 inches from the broiler element and preheat the broiler to high.\n\n2. Butter the bottom of a flameproof 11-by 7-inch baking dish with 1 tablespoon of the butter, and arrange the banana slices in it in one even layer, cut sides down. Set aside.\n\n3. In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, combine the remaining 1 tablespoon butter with the brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and orange juice. Cook, stirring, until the sugar begins to melt, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the orange zest. Pour the sauce evenly over the bananas.\n\n4. Place the baking dish under the broiler and cook, turning the bananas over midway through, until the sauce is slightly thickened and bubbly and the bananas are tender, about 6 minutes total.\n\n5. Remove the baking dish from the broiler, and if desired, drizzle with rum. Set aside to cool briefly before serving.\n\n6. Serve the bananas over vanilla ice cream, with some of the sauce drizzled over the top.\n\n4 servings\n\nCANDIED HOT FUDGE SUNDAES\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 5 minutes Total: 20 minutes\n\nDecadent and delightful...\n\n\u00be cup heavy cream\n\n\u00bc cup light corn syrup\n\n\u00bd cup semisweet chocolate chips\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n\u00bd teaspoon vanilla extract\n\n3 ounces (about \u00be cup) of your favorite chocolate\u2013peanut butter candy bar (such as Reese's Peanut Butter Cups or Snickers bars), coarsely chopped\n\n2 large ripe bananas, peeled and sliced Vanilla ice cream, for serving\n\n1\u00bd cups lightly sweetened whipped cream, for serving (optional)\n\nCrushed roasted salted peanuts, for garnish\n\n6 maraschino cherries, for garnish\n\n1. Carefully heat the heavy cream and corn syrup in a small saucepan. When the mixture is hot, remove the pan from the heat, add the chocolate chips, and let sit undisturbed for about 3 minutes.\n\n2. Whisk the cream mixture until smooth, and return the saucepan to low heat. Warm, stirring the sauce frequently, until it is heated through, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the butter in pieces, stirring until incorporated and smooth. Remove from the heat and let sit for 1 minute to cool. Then stir in the vanilla extract and chocolate candy bar pieces.\n\n3. Divide the sliced bananas equally among six sundae glasses or ice cream dishes. Spoon the chocolate sauce over the bananas, then top with scoops of ice cream. Place a dollop of whipped cream over the top, if desired, and then sprinkle with roasted peanuts. Top each sundae with a cherry and serve immediately.\n\n6 servings\n\nPEANUT BUTTER\u2013CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 15 minutes\n\nThese are by far the easiest and best-tasting peanut butter cookies you will ever make. A perfect recipe for kids\u2014no fuss, no muss.\n\n1 cup creamy peanut butter\n\n\u00bd cup granulated sugar\n\n\u00bd cup packed light brown sugar\n\n\u00bd cup semisweet chocolate chips\n\n1 large egg, beaten\n\n1 teaspoon vanilla extract\n\n1. Position two oven racks in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350\u00b0F.\n\n2. Combine all the ingredients in a bowl, and stir with a wooden spoon until smooth.\n\n3. Divide the dough into 24 portions, about 1 heaping tablespoon each. Roll each portion between your hands to form a smooth ball. Place the balls of dough on ungreased cookie sheets, spacing them 1 inch apart. You should get about 12 cookies per sheet. Using a fork, press on the dough in two directions to form a crosshatch pattern.\n\n4. Bake the cookies, rotating the sheets between oven racks and turning them back to front midway, until the cookies are puffed and lightly golden, about 10 minutes. Remove the baking sheets from the oven and let the cookies cool on the sheets. Then remove them with a metal spatula.\n\nAbout 24 cookies\n\nMELON WITH AMARETTI COOKIE CRUMBLES\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Inactive time: 5 to 10 minutes Total: 15 to 20 minutes\n\nThis recipe relies on the ripeness of your fruit and is best prepared when melons are in season. Tip: If the melons you purchase are not ripe when you buy them, place them in a brown paper bag, add a banana, seal the bag, and set aside for a day or two.\n\n1 ripe honeydew melon, halved, seeded, fruit scooped into 1-inch balls with a melon baller\n\n1 ripe cantaloupe, halved, seeded, fruit scooped into 1-inch balls with a melon baller\n\n\u00bd pint fresh strawberries, hulled and quartered\n\n\u00bc cup sugar, or more to taste (this will depend on the sweetness of the fruit)\n\n3 tablespoons amaretto liqueur\n\n\u00bd cup crumbled amaretti cookies, shortbread, or vanilla wafer cookies\n\n1. Combine the honeydew, cantaloupe, strawberries, sugar, and amaretto in a large mixing bowl, and toss gently but thoroughly to combine. Cover with plastic wrap and let sit for 5 to 10 minutes before serving.\n\n2. Divide the fruit among six to eight small dessert bowls, and sprinkle the crumbled cookies evenly over the top of each dessert. Serve immediately.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nFRESH BERRIES WITH BALSAMIC DRIZZLE AND ALMOND CREAM\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 5 minutes Total: 15 minutes\n\nBalsamic vinegar and fresh fruit is classic Italian fare. Here, we reduce the balsamic vinegar to bring out its sweetness, then pair it with fresh berries and a simple cream cheese blend for one knockout combination.\n\n\u00bd cup balsamic vinegar\n\n1\u00bd cups sour cream\n\n\u00bd cup plus 2 tablespoons cream cheese, at room temperature\n\n\u00bc cup confectioners' sugar\n\n\u00bd teaspoon almond extract\n\n1 pound fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced or quartered\n\n1 cup fresh raspberries\n\n1 cup fresh blackberries or blueberries\n\n3 tablespoons chopped almonds, lightly toasted\n\n1. Pour the balsamic vinegar into a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook until reduced to \u00bc cup (about half the original volume) and syrupy, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl and set aside to cool while you assemble the desserts.\n\n2. In a mixing bowl, combine the sour cream, cream cheese, confectioners' sugar, and almond extract. Whisk until the sugar has dissolved and the mixture is very smooth.\n\n3. When ready to serve the dessert, divide the berries evenly among six dessert bowls. Place a generous dollop of the sour cream mixture over the berries, and then drizzle with some of the balsamic drizzle. Garnish with the almonds, and serve immediately.\n\n6 servings\n\nFLAMB\u00c9ED STRAWBERRY SAUCE FOR ANGEL FOOD CAKE OR ICE CREAM\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 3 minutes Total: 13 minutes\n\nAiry angel food cake is a perfect vehicle for this orange-scented strawberry sauce. There is a simple elegance to this dessert, and it is practically guilt-free. Serve the sauce over ice cream if you're feeling more indulgent.\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n1 pound fresh strawberries, hulled and quartered\n\n\u00bc cup sugar\n\n2 tablespoons brandy\n\n2 tablespoons orange-flavored liqueur (such as Triple Sec, Cointreau, or Grand Marnier)\n\n4 cups store-bought angel food cake, cut into 1-inch cubes, or 2 pints vanilla ice cream\n\n1 cup lightly sweetened whipped cream, for serving (optional)\n\nFresh mint leaves, for garnish\n\n1. Set a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add the butter. Once the butter has melted, add the strawberries and sugar and saut\u00e9, stirring often, for 1\u00bd to 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and add the brandy and liqueur. Carefully tilt the pan toward the open flame to ignite the liquor. Once lit, swirl the pan until the flames die down, 30 to 45 seconds. Alternatively, if using an electric stove, simply reduce the sauce over high heat for 45 seconds instead of flaming it. (If serving over ice cream, you may wish to allow the sauce to cool slightly before serving.)\n\n2. Divide the cake or ice cream evenly among four small dessert bowls. Spoon the warm strawberries over the top, and garnish with the whipped cream, if desired, and mint leaves.\n\n4 servings\n\n## 40 Minutes OR LESS\n\nSOUPS\n\nBroccoli and Cheese Soup\n\nQuick Red Bean Soup\n\nChicken and Rice Soup\n\nCarrot Ginger Soup\n\nSpicy Smoked Sausage, Tomato, and Mushroom Soup\n\nHot and Sour Soup\n\nPotato and Leek Soup\n\nGarden Vegetable Soup\n\nPotato and Turkey Hot Dog Soup with Herbs\n\nCream of Tomato Soup\n\nSTARTERS\n\nShrimp and Zucchini Fritters with Roasted Red Pepper Mayo\n\nCreamy Shrimp and Green Onion Dip\n\nSALADS\n\nSeared Shrimp Salad\n\nEmeril's Noodle Salad\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad\n\nSimple Croutons\n\nChickpea Salad with Tabbouleh\n\nSANDWICHES\n\nChicken Queso Burgers\n\nChili-Rubbed Shrimp Wraps\n\nSpicy Pork Wraps with Creamy Coleslaw\n\nChicken Patty Pockets with Minted Yogurt Sauce\n\nOven-Crispy French Fries with Paprika-Parmesan Salt\n\nPASTA\n\nOrzo \"Risotto\" with Tomato, Mozzarella, and Basil\n\nShiitakes and Bacon with Penne\n\nPenne with Sausage and Escarole\n\nSpaghetti with Caramelized Onions and Anchovies\n\nThree-Cheese Baked Macaroni\n\nShrimp and Linguine Fra Diavolo\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca\n\nBeef Stroganoff with Egg Noodles\n\nPasta Primavera\n\nRICE AND BEANS\n\nGreen Onion Rice Pilaf\n\nBasic Risotto\n\nBlack Bean Cakes\n\nTurkey and Pinto Bean Tostadas\n\nCreamy White Beans with Sausage\n\nVEGETABLES\n\nBacon Braised Green Beans\n\nCreamed Mustard Greens\n\nSaut\u00e9ed Mushrooms with Fresh Thyme\n\nSesame Eggplant\n\nSpicy Braised Greens\n\nButtermilk Mashed Potatoes\n\nSEAFOOD\n\nIndian-Inspired Shrimp with Coconut, Chiles, and Tomatoes\n\nFish en Papillote\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish\n\nRoasted Scrod with Herbed Breadcrumbs\n\nShrimp and Feta, Greek-Style\n\nSalmon with Orange Butter Sauce\n\nBaked Flounder with Carrots, Spinach, and an Asian Vinaigrette\n\nPOULTRY\n\nBoursin Cheese, Spinach, and Pecan-Stuffed Chicken Breasts\n\nHoney-Lemon-Thyme Cornish Game Hens\n\nOven-Roasted Chicken Wings\n\nCrispy Pan-Roasted Chicken with Garlic-Thyme Butter\n\nChicken Cordon Bleu\n\nTurkey Saltimbocca\n\nPanko-Crusted Chicken Tenders\n\nMEAT\n\nSloppy Joes\n\nCountry-Fried Steak with White Gravy\n\nSausages and Sauerkraut\n\nStir-Fried Beef and Broccoli\n\nQuick and Easy Lamb Kebabs\n\nThin-Cut Pork Chops with Rosemary-Balsamic Glazed Shallots\n\nDESSERTS\n\nKicked-Up Snickerdoodles\n\nSkillet Corn Cake with Stewed Cherries\n\nSoups\n\nBROCCOLI AND CHEESE SOUP\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nThis classic combination of flavors lends itself well to this simple, creamy soup. By cooking the broccoli just right, the soup retains a vibrant bright green color. Serve this as a starter to any meal or with a sandwich or salad for a complete meal. So good for you, too.\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced yellow onions\n\n1 tablespoon sliced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n5 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n4 cups broccoli florets\n\n1\u00bd cups (6 ounces) shredded medium sharp cheddar cheese\n\nSimple Croutons (40 Minutes or Less), for garnish (optional)\n\n1. Heat the olive oil in a 6-quart stockpot over medium heat. When it is hot, add the onions, garlic, salt, and cayenne pepper. Saut\u00e9 until the onions are soft and translucent, 4 to 5 minutes.\n\n2. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil. Once the stock is boiling, add the broccoli and cook until fork-tender, about 5 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the soup from the heat and let it cool slightly. Then puree the soup, in batches, in a blender, adding the cheese in three additions while blending (see Note). Adjust the seasoning if necessary, garnish with croutons if desired, and serve hot.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender tightly covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\n1\u00bd quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nQUICK RED BEAN SOUP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 26 minutes Total: 36 minutes\n\nThis soup is inspired by one of my favorite New Orleans classics: red beans and rice. You can easily serve a bowl of this soup garnished with some cooked white rice for a heartier meal. Oh, yeah, baby, let the New Orleans in me come out!\n\n1 tablespoon vegetable oil\n\n6 ounces (1 cup) smoked ham or smoked sausage, finely chopped\n\n1\u00bd cups chopped yellow onions\n\n\u00bd cup finely chopped celery\n\n\u00bd cup finely chopped green bell pepper\n\n2 bay leaves\n\n\u00bd teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\nFour 15.5-ounce cans red beans, drained\n\n6 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n2 tablespoons chopped green onions, green and white parts, for garnish\n\n1. Heat the vegetable oil in a Dutch oven or large pot over high heat. Add the ham, onions, celery, bell pepper, bay leaves, and cayenne, and cook until the vegetables are lightly caramelized and very tender, about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for about 30 seconds. Add the red beans and chicken stock, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes.\n\n2. Using a potato masher, mash some of the beans slightly to thicken the broth. Continue cooking for another 10 minutes, or until the soup has thickened and the flavors have come together.\n\n3. Remove from the heat and discard the bay leaves. Stir in the green onions, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Serve hot.\n\n2 generous quarts, about 8 servings\n\nCHICKEN AND RICE SOUP\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nI think most of us are reminded of our childhoods when we think of chicken and rice soup. It really can hit the spot sometimes\u2014so simple and yet so delicious. Keep in mind that if the soup is made in advance, the rice will continue to soak up the broth as it sits. Feel free to add more broth as you like.\n\n2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into \u00be-inch dice\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n2 cups diced onions (small dice)\n\n1\u00bd cups diced carrots (small dice)\n\n1\u00bd cups diced celery (small dice)\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon dried basil\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n2 quarts chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth, plus more if needed\n\n\u00bd cup uncooked long-grain white rice (see Note)\n\nOne 5-ounce bag prewashed spinach\n\n1. Place the chicken in a medium bowl, season with the Essence, and set aside.\n\n2. Heat the olive oil in a 6-quart (or larger) soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the onions, carrots, and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are translucent, about 5 minutes.\n\n3. Add the garlic, basil, salt, and crushed red pepper, and continue to cook for 1 minute. Add the chicken and cook for 3 minutes. Add the broth and the rice, cover the pot, and bring to a boil over high heat. Remove the cover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook until the rice is just tender, about 12 minutes.\n\n4. Stir in the spinach, and serve immediately.\n\nNote: If you have cooked white rice on hand, omit the uncooked rice and simply stir in about 1\u00bd cups cooked rice just before you add the spinach.\n\n3\u00bd quarts, 6 to 8 servings\n\nCARROT GINGER SOUP\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 22 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThe ginger in this soup gives it a nice little kick. Though we suggest serving it hot, it can also be nice ice-cold on a hot summer day.\n\n4 tablespoons (\u00bd stick) butter\n\n2 pounds carrots, cut into large dice (about 4 cups)\n\n2 cups diced onions (medium dice)\n\n\u00bc cup (about 2 ounces) peeled and sliced fresh ginger\n\n6 sprigs fresh thyme, tied in a bundle with kitchen twine\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n6 cups water\n\nSour cream, for garnish (optional)\n\n1. Melt the butter in a 6-quart (or larger) soup pot over high heat. Add the carrots, onions, ginger, thyme bundle, salt, and white pepper, and cook for 2 minutes. Then add the water, cover the pot, and bring to a boil. Remove the cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer for 15 minutes.\n\n2. Remove the pot from the heat, and remove the thyme bundle. Blend the soup until it is completely smooth, using an immersion blender or in three batches in a blender (see Note).\n\n3. Transfer the pureed soup to a 4-quart pot or other serving dish. Stir to combine, and adjust the seasoning to taste. Serve hot, garnished with a dollop of sour cream if desired.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender tightly covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\n2\u00bd quarts, about 6 servings\n\nSPICY SMOKED SAUSAGE, TOMATO, AND MUSHROOM SOUP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nMake sure to use a good-quality sausage here. My favorite would be chorizo, but it is also wonderful with andouille or other spicy smoked pork sausage. This soup is thick and hearty\u2014a \"manly-man\" soup, if you will.\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n1 pound firm (smoked) chorizo or other spicy smoked sausage, diced or crumbled into \u00bd-inch pieces\n\n8 ounces button mushrooms, wiped clean and quartered, or diced if very large\n\n1\u00bd cups diced onions\n\n\u00bd cup diced red bell pepper\n\n\u00bd cup diced green bell pepper\n\n2 tablespoons thinly sliced garlic\n\nTwo 28-ounce cans whole tomatoes, roughly chopped, with juices\n\n4 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n\u00bc cup coarsely chopped fresh soft herbs (such as marjoram and\/or basil)\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n1. Heat the oil in a large nonreactive saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add the sausage and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is browned around the edges, about 4 minutes.\n\n2. Add the mushrooms, onions, bell peppers, and garlic to the pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are soft and lightly browned, 7 to 8 minutes.\n\n3. Add the tomatoes and their juices, chicken stock, herbs, salt, and crushed red pepper and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook until the flavors have married, about 15 minutes. Serve hot.\n\nAbout 3 quarts, 8 to 10 servings\n\nHOT AND SOUR SOUP\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 9 minutes Total: 24 minutes\n\nOh, yeah, babe. Cure your cold with this one! This is a perfect balance between spicy and sour. It's an Asian classic\u2014and it doesn't get much simpler than this. If you're a vegetarian, feel free to substitute veggie stock and cubes of tofu for the chicken broth and chicken strips. For less heat, reduce the red pepper.\n\n8 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n6 ounces thinly sliced mushrooms (such as shiitake or button)\n\n\u00bc cup soy sauce\n\n\u00bc cup minced fresh ginger\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n\u00be teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n3 tablespoons cornstarch\n\n\u00bc cup plus 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n8 ounces skinless, boneless chicken breast, cut into thin strips\n\n1 teaspoon dark Asian sesame oil\n\n2 tablespoons thinly sliced green onion tops\n\n1. Combine the stock, mushrooms, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and crushed red pepper in a 4-quart pot. Cover and bring to a boil. Remove the cover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook until the mushrooms are tender, 7 to 8 minutes.\n\n2. Whisk the cornstarch and the lime juice together in a small bowl. Add the cornstarch mixture and the chicken to the soup. Bring to a boil, and cook until the soup thickens, about 1 minute.\n\n3. Stir in the sesame oil and sliced green onions, and serve hot.\n\nAbout 2\u00bd quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nPOTATO AND LEEK SOUP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nThe trick to this soup lies in not overcooking the potatoes. Cook them until they are just tender, then quickly puree them to make sure that they don't become overly starchy. Though I just love this soup served hot on a cool, crisp day, you could also serve it chilled\u2014an especially nice option for make-ahead meals.\n\n1 large or 2 small leeks (about 1 pound)\n\n2 bay leaves\n\n20 black peppercorns\n\n4 sprigs fresh thyme\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n2 slices bacon, diced\n\n\u00bd cup dry white wine\n\n5 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 to 1\u00bc pounds russet potatoes, peeled and diced into 1-inch cubes\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n\u00bd to \u00be cup cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche or heavy cream\n\n2 tablespoons snipped fresh chives\n\n1. Trim the green portions of the leek, and using 2 of the largest and longest leaves, make a bouquet garni by folding the 2 leaves around the bay leaves, peppercorns, and thyme. Tie into a package-shaped bundle with kitchen twine, and set aside. (Alternatively, tie the 2 leek leaves, bay leaves, peppercorns, and thyme together in a piece of cheesecloth.)\n\n2. Using a sharp knife, halve the white part of the leek lengthwise. Rinse the leek well under cold running water to rid it of any sand. Slice thinly crosswise and set aside.\n\n3. Melt the butter in a large soup pot over medium heat, and add the bacon. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the bacon is soft and has rendered most of its fat, about 5 minutes. Add the chopped leeks and cook until wilted, about 5 minutes. Add the wine and bring to a boil. Add the reserved bouquet garni and the chicken stock, potatoes, salt, and white pepper. Bring to a boil. Then reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for about 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender and the soup is very flavorful.\n\n4. Remove the bouquet garni and puree the soup using an immersion blender or in batches in a blender (see Note). Stir in the cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Serve immediately, with some of the snipped chives sprinkled over the top of each bowl of soup.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender tightly covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\nAbout 1\u00bd quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nGARDEN VEGETABLE SOUP\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 23 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nDon't be afraid to make this straightforward, veggie-packed soup your own by using the vegetables you especially like or you have on hand. For instance, replace the zucchini and yellow squash with frozen green peas and frozen corn. If you're a tomato lover, two cups of chopped canned tomatoes can be substituted for two cups of the broth. Also, you could gild the lily by adding three cups of cooked macaroni or other small pasta, or a bit of cooked rice, right before serving. The sky's the limit here.\n\n6 sprigs parsley\n\n2 bay leaves\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil or butter\n\n2 cups diced onions\n\n1\u00bd cups diced carrots\n\n1\u00bd cups diced celery (small dice, with or without leaves)\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n8 ounces button mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and quartered (about 2 cups)\n\n4 quarts beef, chicken, or vegetable stock or canned, low-sodium beef, chicken, or vegetable broth\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 cups broccoli or cauliflower florets, cut into bite-size pieces\n\n1 cup diced zucchini (large dice)\n\n1 cup diced yellow squash (large dice)\n\nOne 10-ounce bag prewashed spinach\n\n\u00bd cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (optional)\n\n1. Tie the parsley sprigs and bay leaves together with a piece of kitchen twine. Set aside.\n\n2. Heat the olive oil in a 6-quart (or larger) soup pot over high heat. Add the onions, carrots, celery, and the parsley bundle, and cook for 2 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the garlic and mushrooms, and cook for 3 minutes. Add the broth, salt, and pepper. Cover the pot and bring to a boil. Remove the cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer for 12 minutes.\n\n3. Add the broccoli, zucchini, yellow squash, and spinach to the soup. Simmer for 5 minutes.\n\n4. Remove the parsley bundle and serve the soup hot, garnished with the grated cheese if desired.\n\n4 quarts, 6 to 8 servings\n\nPOTATO AND TURKEY HOT DOG SOUP WITH HERBS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nMy mom, Hilda, used to make this soup for me, my brother Mark, and my sister Dolores when we were growing up, and we ate it up like no one's business. Here I've subbed turkey hot dogs for the regular variety, but really any good-quality hot dog will do. Your kids are gonna love this one!\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n8 ounces turkey hot dogs, cut into\n\n\u00bd-inch-thick rounds\n\n1 cup thinly sliced onion\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons chopped fresh sage\n\n1\u00bc to 1\u00bd pounds russet potatoes, peeled and diced into 1-inch cubes\n\n1 quart chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 bay leaf\n\n1 cup finely diced tomatoes\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Heat a 2-quart saucepan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. When it is hot, add the hot dogs and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are caramelized on both sides, about 3 minutes. Remove the hot dogs from the pan and set them aside.\n\n2. Add the onion and garlic to the pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is wilted and the garlic is fragrant, about 4 minutes. Add the thyme and sage and saut\u00e9 for 1 minute. Add the potatoes, chicken stock, salt, pepper, and bay leaf, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the bay leaf, and using an immersion blender (or in batches in a blender), quickly puree the soup until smooth (see Note).\n\n4. Return the hot dogs to the soup and add the tomatoes, heavy cream, and chopped parsley. Rewarm gently and serve hot.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender tightly covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\nAbout 1\u00bd quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nCREAM OF TOMATO SOUP\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 24 minutes Total: 34 minutes\n\nIf you've never made homemade cream of tomato soup, you don't know what you're missing! This soup is the perfect accompaniment to any grilled sandwich, but I especially love it next to the Prosciutto and Mozzarella Panini on 20 Minutes or Less. Use the balsamic vinegar to finish at the end if you like. And if you're fresh out of cream, the soup is still delicious without it. Just tell everyone, \"It's simply tomato soup.\"\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 cup chopped onion\n\n\u00bd cup chopped carrot\n\n\u00bd cup chopped celery\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\nTwo 28-ounce cans whole tomatoes, with juices\n\n2 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n3 tablespoons chopped mixed fresh herbs (such as marjoram and basil)\n\n1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar (optional)\n\n1. Set a 3-quart pot over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil, and when it is hot, add the onion, carrot, and celery. Saut\u00e9 the vegetables, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent, 3 minutes. Add the garlic and saut\u00e9 until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the tomatoes with their juices and the chicken stock, and bring the liquid to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer, season with the salt and pepper, and cook for 5 minutes.\n\n2. Break up the tomatoes a bit with the back of a wooden spoon or spatula, and continue to cook until the soup is slightly thickened, about 15 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the soup from the heat and puree it using an immersion blender (or in batches in a blender) until smooth (see Note). Stir in the heavy cream and the herbs, and rewarm until hot. Finish with the balsamic vinegar, if desired, and serve.\n\nNote: Please use caution when blending hot liquids; blend only small amounts at a time, with the blender carefully covered and a kitchen towel held over the top.\n\nAbout 2 quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nStarters\n\nSHRIMP AND ZUCCHINI FRITTERS WITH ROASTED RED PEPPER MAYO\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes (including Roasted Red Pepper Mayo) Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nWhat a great hors d'oeuvre or party food...let's serve it to the family! It's fun, easy, and delicious.\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Mayo (recipe follows)\n\n2 cups all-purpose flour\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons baking powder\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less), plus more if desired\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1\u00bc cups milk\n\n2 eggs\n\nVegetable oil, for frying\n\n1\u00bd zucchinis (about \u00bd pound)\n\n1 pound medium to large shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley, plus more for garnish\n\n1. Make the Roasted Red Pepper Mayo and set aside.\n\n2. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, 1\u00bd teaspoons of the salt, \u00be teaspoon of the Essence, and the cayenne. In a small bowl, whisk together the milk and eggs. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry ingredients, and whisk until smooth. Set aside.\n\n3. Heat 4 to 6 inches of oil to 350\u00b0 F in a 6-quart pot or deep-fryer.\n\n4. While the oil is heating, cut the zucchinis into small dice (about 2 cups), and place in a small bowl. Cut the shrimp into \u00bc-inch pieces and add to the bowl, along with the remaining \u00be teaspoon Essence, remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt, and the lemon juice and parsley. Mix to combine. Add this mixture to the batter and stir to incorporate.\n\n5. Using a 2-tablespoon scoop, carefully drop 10 portions of the batter into the hot oil. Cook, turning the fritters as necessary, until nicely browned on all sides, 4 to 5 minutes total. Drain on paper towels and repeat with the remaining batter.\n\n6. Sprinkle chopped parsley over the fritters, season with additional Essence if desired, and serve immediately, with the Roasted Red Pepper Mayo alongside.\n\nAbout 30 fritters\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Mayo\n\n\u00bd cup diced roasted red pepper (from about \u00be cup packed jarred roasted red pepper)\n\n\u00be cup mayonnaise\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\n1\/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\nCombine all the ingredients in the bowl of a food processor, and process for 30 seconds. Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula, and process for 30 seconds longer. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.\n\n1\u00bd cups\n\nCREAMY SHRIMP AND GREEN ONION DIP\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThis is an exceptional dip. You probably won't even make it to the table with this one. If you plan to share, have a Plan B.\n\n1 pound medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n8 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature\n\n3 tablespoons mayonnaise\n\n\u00bd cup chopped green onions, white and green parts\n\n1\/3 cup minced celery\n\n2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon Worcestershire sauce\n\nCrackers or French bread toasts, for serving\n\n1. Combine the shrimp, Essence, and olive oil in a mixing bowl.\n\n2. Heat a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. When the skillet is hot, add the seasoned shrimp and cook until lightly golden and just cooked through, 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer the shrimp to a plate or shallow bowl and place in the freezer until chilled, 5 to 10 minutes.\n\n3. While the shrimp are chilling, combine all the remaining ingredients (except the crackers) in a mixing bowl. Stir until smooth and creamy.\n\n4. When the shrimp have chilled, remove them from the freezer and coarsely chop them. Add them to the cream cheese mixture and stir well to combine. Taste, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Serve as is or chilled, with your favorite crackers.\n\nAlmost 3 cups, 6 to 8 servings\n\nSalads\n\nSEARED SHRIMP SALAD\n\nPrep time: 17 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nThis light and refreshing salad makes for a perfect warm-weather meal when avocados are in season.\n\n\u00bc cup freshly squeezed orange juice\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n1 teaspoon honey\n\n\u00be teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon soy sauce\n\n\u00bd teaspoon plus a pinch of salt\n\n\u00bc cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\nOne 5-ounce bag prewashed mixed greens (about 8 cups)\n\n2 oranges, peeled and segmented (see 20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced red onion\n\n1 ripe avocado, halved, seeded, and thinly sliced\n\n1. Combine the orange juice, lime juice, honey, \u00bd teaspoon of the crushed red pepper, the soy sauce, and \u00bc teaspoon of the salt in a small nonreactive bowl. Whisk to blend. In a slow, steady stream, whisk in the \u00bc cup olive oil. Set the vinaigrette aside.\n\n2. Heat 1 tablespoon of the remaining olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. In a bowl, toss the shrimp with the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil, and season with \u00bc teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper. Add the shrimp to the pan, in two batches if necessary, and cook until they have curled and are just cooked through, 2 minutes on each side. Transfer the shrimp to a paper towel\u2013lined plate and reserve.\n\n3. In a large mixing bowl, combine the greens, oranges, red onion, and pinch of salt. Whisk the vinaigrette, and add 3 tablespoons to the salad. Toss lightly to combine, and then divide the salad among four serving plates. Take 3 to 4 slices of the avocado and fan them out on top of each salad. Divide the shrimp evenly among the salads. Drizzle a little more vinaigrette over the shrimp and avocado, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nEMERIL'S NOODLE SALAD\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nThough we call for egg noodles here, feel free to use other noodles, such as soba, rice noodles, linguine, fettuccine, you name it!\n\nSalt for the pasta water\n\n1 pound egg noodles\n\n\u00bd cup salted peanuts\n\n6 tablespoons soy sauce\n\n\u00bc cup rice wine vinegar\n\n2 tablespoons dark Asian sesame oil\n\n2 tablespoons honey\n\n1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n1 large seeded cucumber, cut into \u00bc-inch-thick slices (about 4 cups)\n\n1\u00bd cups grated carrots\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced green onions, cut on the diagonal\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the noodles and cook according to the package directions until just tender. Drain the noodles in a colander, rinse them under cold running water until cool, and set aside.\n\n2. Set an 8-inch (or smaller) skillet over low heat. Add the peanuts and toast, tossing as needed and being careful not to let them burn, until the oils begin to release and the nuts are fragrant, 2 minutes. Set aside. When they are cool enough to handle, chop the nuts.\n\n3. In a medium bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, honey, ginger, garlic, and crushed red pepper. Add the cucumber, carrots, and green onions. Add the noodles and peanuts, and mix thoroughly. Serve immediately, or refrigerate until ready to serve. (Can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.)\n\n4 servings\n\nGARDEN VEGETABLE SALAD\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Inactive time: 20 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nThis is a marinated salad: the vegetables are simply mixed together and tossed with the dressing. The flavors mingle in just twenty minutes! Delicious.\n\n4 cups sliced cabbage (\u00bd-inch-wide slices)\n\n3 cups broccoli florets, cut into bite-size pieces (about 2 small heads)\n\n2 cups halved and sliced yellow or zucchini squash (\u00bc-inch-thick slices)\n\n1\u00bd cups sliced carrots (\u00bc-inch-thick slices)\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced red onion\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced radishes\n\n\u00bc cup diced red bell pepper\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc cup cider vinegar\n\n1 teaspoon Dijon mustard\n\n1 teaspoon sugar\n\n\u00bd cup plus 2 tablespoons vegetable oil (such as canola)\n\n\u00bc cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1. In a medium bowl, combine the cabbage, broccoli, squash, carrots, red onion, radishes, and red bell pepper. Season with \u00be teaspoon of the salt and \u00bd teaspoon of the black pepper, and mix well. Set aside.\n\n2. In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, sugar, remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt, and remaining \u00bc teaspoon pepper. While constantly whisking, add the oil in a thin, steady stream until completely incorporated. Stir in the cheese.\n\n3. Pour the dressing over the vegetables and mix thoroughly. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes, or as long as overnight, before serving.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSIMPLE CROUTONS\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nI like to make a big batch of croutons when I find myself with a day-old baguette and a little time, and then store them in airtight containers so that I have them on hand for whenever I need them. They will keep this way for a couple of weeks\u2014as long as you make sure to cook them until they're totally crisp and golden. My kids love snacking on them, and they really add such a nice crunch and texture to so many dishes.\n\n1 French baguette (about 12 ounces), preferably day-old, cut into \u00bd-inch dice\n\n\u00bd cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00be teaspoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1\/8 teaspoon salt\n\n1\/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 300\u00b0F.\n\n2. Combine all of the ingredients in a large mixing bowl, and toss quickly to coat the croutons well. Transfer the croutons to a baking sheet and spread them out in a single layer. Bake, rotating the baking sheet front to back midway through, until crisp all the way through and golden, 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool completely. Store in an airtight container at room temperature.\n\nAbout 6 cups\n\nCHICKPEA SALAD WITH TABBOULEH\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nThe addition of bulgur wheat to this simple chickpea salad makes for an unexpectedly delicious combination. Who would've thought? Oh, yeah, babe\u2014good and good for you, too!\n\n\u00bd cup bulgur wheat\n\n1 cup hot water\n\n\u00bd cup chopped green onions, white and green parts\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh mint\n\n\u00bc cup diced oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes\n\n\u00bc cup plus 2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon fine sea salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00be cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n\u00bd cup (about 4 ounces) crumbled feta cheese\n\nTwo 14-ounce cans chickpeas, rinsed and drained\n\n1. Place the bulgur in a mixing bowl, add the hot water, and set aside to soak for 25 minutes.\n\n2. While the bulgur is soaking, prep the remaining ingredients. Combine the green onions, parsley, mint, sun-dried tomatoes, lemon juice, garlic, sea salt, and crushed red pepper in a medium bowl. Gradually whisk in the olive oil.\n\n3. Drain the bulgur, squeezing it to remove any excess liquid, and add it to the herb-tomato mixture. Fold in the feta cheese and chickpeas. Taste, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Serve at room temperature or chilled.\n\n4 servings\n\nSandwiches\n\nCHICKEN QUESO BURGERS\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 28 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nI know you love burgers and cheese, and this chicken version is super-cheesy. Because of the generous amount of cheese, be sure to use a nonstick skillet. The griddled onions make the burger extra-special. After this, you're sure to be making them for all your sandwiches.\n\n2 eggs, lightly beaten\n\n8 ounces cheddar cheese, grated (about 2 cups)\n\nOne 4-ounce can (about 1\/3 cup) minced green chiles, drained\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh oregano\n\n3 teaspoons chili powder\n\n1 teaspoon ground cumin\n\n2\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n2 pounds ground chicken thigh meat\n\n\u00be cup fine unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n1\u00bd cups minced onions\n\n1 cup olive oil\n\n8 hamburger buns\n\nLettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, for garnishing burgers (optional)\n\n1. In a large bowl, combine the eggs, cheese, chiles, oregano, 1\u00bd teaspoons of the chili powder, the cumin, and 2 teaspoons of the salt. Add the ground chicken and the breadcrumbs, and mix until well blended. Divide the mixture into 8 portions, and shape each portion into a 1-inch-thick patty. Lay the patties on a tray, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate until ready to cook.\n\n2. Combine the onions, \u00be cup of the olive oil, remaining 1\u00bd teaspoons chili powder, and remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt in a small bowl. Divide the onion mixture evenly among the cut sides of the hamburger buns, and spread it out with a brush to coat.\n\n3. Heat a 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. In batches, toast the buns, coated sides down, in the skillet until the onions cook slightly and stick to the buns and the bread is lightly toasted, 2 to 3 minutes. Set the buns aside and wipe the skillet clean.\n\n4. In the same nonstick skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of the remaining olive oil over medium heat. Add 4 patties and cook until an instant-read thermometer registers 165\u00b0F when inserted into the center of a patty, about 4 minutes per side. Set the patties aside; keep warm. Repeat with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and 4 patties. Place the patties between the toasted buns and serve immediately, with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, if desired.\n\n8 servings\n\nCHILI-RUBBED SHRIMP WRAPS\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 28 minutes\n\nThese shrimp marinate for just ten minutes. For a twist, skewer and grill them instead of saut\u00e9ing. They can be served as part of an hors d'oeuvre tray, in a salad, with pasta tossed in olive oil, salt, and pepper, or as we've outlined here, in a tortilla.\n\n8 tablespoons olive oil\n\n\u00bc cup plus 1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro\n\n4 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon Mexican chili powder\n\n1\u00bd pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n\u00bd cup sour cream\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\nFour 14-inch flour tortillas\n\n8 ounces red-leaf lettuce, rinsed, spun dry, and cut into 1-inch pieces\n\n1 medium tomato, diced\n\n1 Hass avocado, halved, seeded, and thinly sliced\n\n\u00bd cup grated Monterey Jack or pepper Jack cheese\n\n1. In a medium bowl, combine 6 tablespoons of the olive oil, the \u00bc cup lime juice, 2 tablespoons of the cilantro, the garlic, and \u00bd teaspoon of the chili powder. Add the shrimp and set aside to marinate at room temperature for 10 minutes, turning them every few minutes.\n\n2. In a small bowl, combine the sour cream, the remaining 1 tablespoon lime juice, the remaining 1 tablespoon cilantro, \u00bc teaspoon of the remaining chili powder, and \u00bc teaspoon of the salt. Stir well and set aside.\n\n3. Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Remove the shrimp from the marinade and season with the remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon chili powder. In two batches, cook the shrimp for 2 minutes per side. Remove from the pan and allow to cool slightly before assembling the sandwiches.\n\n4. Lay the tortillas on a clean work surface. Arrange one-fourth of the shrimp across the lower third of each tortilla, leaving about 2 inches of space on either side. Divide the lettuce, tomato, avocado slices, and grated cheese evenly among the tortillas, scattering them over the shrimp. Then drizzle some of the dressing over each. Fold both sides of each tortilla in toward the center, then roll the lower edge of the tortilla up, burrito-style, forming a wrap. Position the wraps on a serving plate, seam side down, and slice each in half on the diagonal. Serve immediately, or refrigerate and serve within 1 hour.\n\n4 servings\n\nSPICY PORK WRAPS WITH CREAMY COLESLAW\n\nPrep time: 10 to 14 minutes Cook time: 16 minutes Total: 26 to 30 minutes\n\nNo marinade needed. The tenderloins are coated in an intensely spiced rub, seared, sliced, and cloaked in a cool, creamy slaw. These babies pack a punch! Who's makin' this sandwich?\n\n2 tablespoons light brown sugar\n\n1 tablespoon chili powder\n\n2 teaspoons dry mustard\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon dried oregano\n\n\u00be teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n2 pork tenderloins (about 1 pound each), tail ends tucked under and tied\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\nSix 10-inch flour tortillas\n\nOne 14-ounce bag coleslaw mix, or 14 ounces shredded mixed cabbage and carrots\n\n1\/3 cup buttermilk\n\n\u00bc cup mayonnaise\n\n\u00bc cup minced green onions, white and green parts\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Combine the brown sugar, chili powder, dry mustard, 1\u00bd teaspoons of the salt, the oregano, and \u00bd teaspoon of the cayenne in a small bowl. Generously rub the mixture all over the pork tenderloins.\n\n3. Heat the olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the tenderloins and sear, turning frequently, until evenly crusted on all sides (they will be dark in color because of the sugar), 2 to 4 minutes. Transfer the pork to a baking sheet and roast in the oven for 12 minutes, or until the internal temperature registers 145\u00b0F on an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center.\n\n4. Remove the tenderloins from the oven, transfer them to a cutting board, and tent with foil. Let rest for at least 10 minutes before slicing. While the pork is resting, wrap the tortillas in aluminum foil and place them in the oven until warmed through, 6 to 8 minutes.\n\n5. Make the coleslaw by combining the coleslaw mix with the buttermilk, mayonnaise, green onions, remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt, and remaining \u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper. Toss well to combine, and set aside until ready to serve.\n\n6. To assemble the pork wraps, slice the pork tenderloin in thin slices at an angle. Place \u00bc cup of the coleslaw on the lower half of each tortilla, leaving about 2 inches on either side, and then divide the pork slices evenly among the tortillas. Fold in both sides of the tortillas, and then roll the tortillas up, burrito-style. Slice in half and serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCHICKEN PATTY POCKETS WITH MINTED YOGURT SAUCE\n\nPrep time: 19 minutes Cook time: 7 minutes Total: 26 minutes\n\nYou don't need a giant roasting spit for mouthwatering meat. You're on the Emeril Express here. Fill pita pockets with lettuce, tomatoes, and alfalfa sprouts for good measure, add your spicy baked chicken patties, and dollop with the Minted Yogurt Sauce.\n\n1 pound ground chicken thigh meat\n\n2 large egg whites, lightly beaten\n\n\u00bd cup fine unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped onion\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon ground coriander\n\n\u00bc teaspoon ground nutmeg\n\n\u00bc teaspoon ground cumin\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\nPita bread, for serving\n\nLettuce, sliced tomatoes, and alfalfa sprouts, for garnishing sandwiches (optional)\n\nMinted Yogurt Sauce, for serving (optional; recipe follows)\n\n1. Position a rack as close as possible to the broiler element and preheat the broiler.\n\n2. In a large bowl, combine the chicken, egg whites, breadcrumbs, onion, parsley, garlic, salt, and spices. Mix until well blended, using a large spoon. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil, and drizzle with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Divide the seasoned meat into 8 portions, 2\u00bd to 3 ounces each, and place them on the prepared baking sheet. Shape each into an oval patty and flatten it slightly. Brush or drizzle the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil over the patties.\n\n3. Broil until lightly browned, about 7 minutes, or until an instant-read thermometer registers 165\u00b0F when inserted into the center of a patty. Serve on pita bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, sprouts, and Minted Yogurt Sauce, if desired.\n\n4 servings\n\nMinted Yogurt Sauce\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Total: 10 minutes\n\n1 cup plain yogurt\n\n\u00bd cucumber, peeled, seeded, and cut into small dice (about 1 cup)\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint\n\n1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon ground cumin\n\n\u00bc teaspoon sweet paprika\n\n1\/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\nPinch of sugar\n\n1. Place the yogurt in a fine-mesh strainer set over a bowl, and let it drain for 3 minutes while you assemble the other ingredients. Discard any liquid that drains from the yogurt.\n\n2. Combine the cucumber, mint, lime juice, salt, cumin, paprika, cayenne, and sugar in a small bowl. Stir to blend.\n\n3. Add the drained yogurt and stir to combine. Serve immediately, or refrigerate, covered, for up to 1 hour to allow the flavors to come together before serving.\n\nAbout 2 cups\n\nOVEN-CRISPY FRENCH FRIES WITH PAPRIKA-PARMESAN SALT\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nThese fries are not just for burgers. While they're in the oven, make the Crispy Pan-Roasted Chicken with Garlic-Thyme Butter (40 Minutes or Less), the Steak au Poivre (20 Minutes or Less), the Classic Moules Marini\u00e8re (20 Minutes or Less), or the Broiled Salmon with a Warm Tomato-Lemon Vinaigrette (20 Minutes or Less)! Do I need to keep going? Ahhhh, you get it!\n\n2 large baking potatoes (about 1\u00bd pounds), scrubbed well\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1 tablespoon sweet paprika\n\n\u00bd teaspoon garlic powder\n\n\u00bc teaspoon onion powder\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 425\u00b0F.\n\n2. Pat the potatoes dry and cut them lengthwise into \u00bd-inch-thick slices. Turn each side flat and slice again lengthwise into even \u00bd-inch-thick fries. Place the potatoes in a mixing bowl and add the olive oil, Essence, and \u00bc teaspoon of the salt. Toss well to combine. Then transfer the fries to a large baking sheet and arrange them in one even layer so that they are not touching. Roast, scraping the potatoes from the baking sheet with a metal spatula and turning them over halfway through, until golden brown and crispy, 30 minutes.\n\n3. While the potatoes are cooking, combine the cheese, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, and the remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt in a small bowl and stir to blend.\n\n4. When the potatoes are crisp and brown, remove them from the oven and transfer to a serving platter. Sprinkle the potatoes with the Paprika-Parmesan Salt, and serve hot.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nPasta\n\nORZO \"RISOTTO\" WITH TOMATO, MOZZARELLA, AND BASIL\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nHere you'll find orzo cooked in the style of risotto. This works equally well as a quick and easy side dish or as a vegetarian entr\u00e9e when served with a nice salad or grilled veggies.\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1\/3 cup minced red onion\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 cups orzo pasta\n\n4 cups chicken stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken broth, heated\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 cups diced fresh tomatoes\n\n\u00bd cup diced fresh mozzarella cheese\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons thinly sliced basil\n\n1. Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. When it is hot, add the red onion and garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the orzo and stir well to coat.\n\n2. Gradually add the hot chicken stock in \u00bd-cup increments, stirring until all of the stock has been absorbed before adding more, until the stock is completely incorporated and the pasta is just tender, 14 to 16 minutes. Season with the salt and pepper.\n\n3. Add the tomatoes to the orzo and cook until they are just heated through, 1 to 2 minutes. Add the mozzarella and cook for another 2 to 3 minutes, or just until it is incorporated.\n\n4. To serve, spoon the risotto into bowls and garnish with the basil.\n\n4 servings\n\nSHIITAKES AND BACON WITH PENNE\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 17 minutes Total: 32 minutes\n\nTalk about tasty\u2014this dish is a real winner. The combination of shiitake mushrooms and bacon really works here, trust me. If you're a pancetta-lover like me, feel free to substitute about 4 ounces of diced pancetta for the bacon. Mama mia!\n\n1 pound penne pasta\n\n4 slices thick-cut bacon, cut into \u00bd-inch pieces\n\n7 ounces shiitake mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and thinly sliced\n\n1\u00bd cups diced onions (small dice)\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\nTwo 14.5-ounce cans diced tomatoes, with juices\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh basil\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\nGrated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for garnish (optional)\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the penne and cook until just tender, about 11 minutes. Drain the pasta in a colander.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, heat a 12-inch (or larger) saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp, 5 to 6 minutes. Add the mushrooms and onions and cook until the mushrooms are browned and the onions are soft, 5 to 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.\n\n3. Add the drained pasta to the pan, along with the tomatoes, basil, salt, pepper, and olive oil. Cook, tossing often, until the pasta is thoroughly combined and heated through, about 5 minutes.\n\n4. Serve immediately, garnished with grated cheese if desired.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nPENNE WITH SAUSAGE AND ESCAROLE\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 32 minutes\n\nThose of you who don't love escarole had better try it again...the sweetness of the Italian sausage here really complements its flavor beautifully. A simple pasta dish for any day of the week.\n\n1 pound penne pasta\n\n1 teaspoon olive oil\n\n2 medium onions, cut into small dice (about 2 cups)\n\n1 red bell pepper, cut into medium dice (about 1 cup)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1\u00bd pounds sweet Italian sausage, casings removed (or bulk sausage)\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1 bunch escarole or mustard greens, rinsed, stemmed, and torn into bite-size pieces (about 8 cups)\n\n\u00bd cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n\u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the penne and cook until just tender, about 11 minutes. Drain the pasta in a colander, reserving 1 cup of the cooking water, and set aside.\n\n2. While the water is heating and the pasta is cooking, heat the olive oil in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat. Add the onions, bell pepper, \u00bd teaspoon salt, and black pepper, and cook until the vegetables are soft, about 4 minutes. Add the sausage and cook, breaking the pieces up with the back of a wooden spoon, until browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic and escarole, and cook for 5 minutes longer.\n\n3. Add the cooked pasta and the reserved cooking water, and stir gently to combine. Simmer just until everything is heated through, about 2 minutes.\n\n4. Transfer the mixture to a large serving bowl. Add the cheese and crushed red pepper, and toss to combine. Drizzle with the extra-virgin olive oil, and serve immediately.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nSPAGHETTI WITH CARAMELIZED ONIONS AND ANCHOVIES\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nThe amount of anchovies in this recipe may seem alarming, but, yes, two whole tins is correct here, and makes for a deliciously sweet and salty pasta sauce. Oh, this dish brings me back to the south of Italy in a heartbeat.\n\n1 pound spaghetti\n\n1\/3 cup olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n8 cups thinly sliced onions\n\n2 tablespoons thinly sliced garlic\n\nTwo 2-ounce cans flat anchovy fillets (packed in olive oil, not salt), well drained\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons kosher salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n\u00bd cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the spaghetti and cook until just tender, about 9 minutes. Drain the pasta in a colander, reserving 1 cup of the cooking water, and set aside.\n\n2. While the water is heating and the pasta is cooking, set a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil and butter. Once the butter melts, add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally with a heat-resistant rubber spatula, until they have softened and caramelized, about 20 minutes. (Should the onions get too dry and begin sticking in spots before they are all caramelized, add a bit of water, stir, and continue cooking.)\n\n3. Add the garlic and anchovies to the pan and cook, stirring, until fragrant, 2 to 3 minutes.\n\n4. Add the drained pasta and the reserved pasta water to the pan and season with the 1\u00bd teaspoons salt and the pepper. Cook, tossing to combine, until the pasta is heated through and the water has nearly evaporated, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the heat, add the parsley, and drizzle with the extra-virgin olive oil. Toss to combine, and serve immediately.\n\nNote: It is not necessary to chop the anchovies; they will break into small pieces while cooking.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nTHREE-CHEESE BAKED MACARONI\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Inactive time: 10 minutes Total: 38 minutes\n\nThis super-easy custard-style macaroni has the perfect blend of cheeses and bacony goodness for any mac-n-cheese lover.\n\n8 ounces elbow macaroni\n\n3 ounces bacon (about 3 strips), sliced crosswise into \u00bd-inch pieces\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons minced garlic\n\n3 eggs\n\n1\u00bd cups evaporated milk\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1\/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg\n\n6 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, grated (about 1\u00bd cups)\n\n2 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, grated (about \u00bd cup)\n\n1 ounce Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, finely grated (about \u00bd cup)\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 425\u00b0F.\n\n2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the macaroni and cook until just tender, about 6 minutes. Drain, and set aside.\n\n3. While the pasta is cooking, heat a small saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat and add the bacon. Cook until the fat is rendered and the bacon is crisp, about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, 30 seconds to 1 minute. Drain the fat from the bacon-garlic mixture, and transfer the mixture to a medium bowl.\n\n4. Add the drained macaroni to the bacon mixture, and stir to combine.\n\n5. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs and evaporated milk together. Add the \u00bd teaspoon salt, cayenne, nutmeg, and grated cheeses, and mix well. Add the macaroni-bacon mixture, and stir well to blend.\n\n6. Transfer the macaroni to an 8-or 9-inch square baking dish or gratin dish of similar size. Using a spoon, gently spread the mixture to form an even layer. Place in the oven and bake for 12 minutes. Remove the macaroni and cheese from the oven and let it rest for at least 10 minutes before serving.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSHRIMP AND LINGUINE FRA DIAVOLO\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 27 minutes\n\nThis is hot as the devil! The classic Fra Diavolo preparation uses lobster, but here I've simplified it a bit for the home cook with sweet shrimp, preferably from the Gulf of Mexico. Talk about making me smile!\n\n1 pound linguine\n\n6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 cup chopped onion\n\n3 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n2 to 3 teaspoons crushed red pepper, to taste\n\n1\u00bd cups tomato sauce\n\n2 tablespoons tomato paste\n\n1\u00bd pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n1 teaspoon salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n\u00bd cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (optional)\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the linguine and cook until barely tender, about 8 minutes. Drain, reserving 1 cup of the cooking water, and set aside.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, set a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. Once the oil is hot, add the onion and cook until lightly caramelized and wilted, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the garlic and saut\u00e9 until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the crushed red pepper and saut\u00e9 briefly; then add the tomato sauce and tomato paste. Cook until the sauce has reduced by about half, about 3 minutes. Add the shrimp to the sauce and cook for 2 minutes.\n\n3. Add the pasta and the reserved cooking water to the pan, and cook until the pasta is heated through and coated with the sauce, 3 minutes. Season the pasta with the salt, and garnish with the parsley. Toss to combine, and serve with the grated cheese if desired.\n\n6 servings\n\nPENNE ALLA PUTTANESCA\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nPuttanesca sauce is nothing more than the combination of tomatoes, onion, garlic, basil, anchovies, and capers\u2014ingredients typically kept on hand in most Italian households and one of my favorite sauces of all time. Make a big batch of this and freeze it in small containers so you can pull some out for a quick and easy meal anytime.\n\nSalt\n\n\u00bc cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving\n\n1 large onion, chopped\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n8 cloves garlic, minced\n\nOne 28-ounce can Italian plum tomatoes, roughly chopped or broken into pieces, with juices\n\n1 cup halved pitted Kalamata olives, drained\n\n\u00bc cup nonpareil capers, drained, liquid reserved separately\n\n5 canned anchovy fillets, or to taste, finely chopped\n\n\u00bd teaspoon dried basil, crushed between your fingers\n\nFreshly ground black pepper\n\n1 pound penne rigate pasta\n\nFinely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.\n\n2. While the water is heating, heat the oil in a large nonreactive saucepan or skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion and crushed red pepper, and saut\u00e9 until the onion is tender and beginning to caramelize, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute, stirring. Add the tomatoes, olives, capers, anchovies, and basil, and bring the sauce to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer, uncovered and stirring occasionally, until the sauce has thickened, 15 to 20 minutes.\n\n3. Meanwhile, cook the pasta in the boiling water until just tender, about 11 minutes. Drain the pasta, reserving the pot it was cooked in. Set the pasta aside.\n\n4. Remove the sauce from the heat, and season it with salt and pepper to taste. Add 1 to 2 teaspoons of the reserved caper juice, to taste.\n\n5. Return the penne to the pasta pot over medium-high heat. Add half of the pasta sauce and cook, stirring, until heated through, about 2 minutes. Serve hot, with more sauce ladled on top of each serving if desired, drizzled with additional extra-virgin olive oil. Garnish with grated cheese, if desired.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nBEEF STROGANOFF WITH EGG NOODLES\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nNow this is what real beef and mushrooms taste like! Splurge on 1\u00bd pounds of good rib-eye steak and feed six. The beef is quickly saut\u00e9ed. The sauce is full of browned mushroom goodness. Put them together and add your noodles. Whoa!\n\n8 ounces extra-wide egg noodles\n\n1\u00bd pounds rib-eye steak, sliced into \u00bd-inch-thick strips\n\n2 teaspoons salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 tablespoons olive oil\n\n3 tablespoons butter\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced onions\n\n12 ounces button mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and sliced (about 4 cups)\n\n1 tablespoon chopped garlic\n\n1 tablespoon all-purpose flour\n\n2 cups beef stock or canned, low-sodium beef broth\n\n\u00bd cup sour cream\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the noodles and cook until just tender, about 8 minutes.\n\n2. While the noodles are cooking, season the beef with 1 teaspoon of the salt and \u00bd teaspoon of the pepper.\n\n3. Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. In two batches, brown the beef strips for 1 to 2 minutes per side. Transfer the beef to a plate and set aside.\n\n4. Add the butter to the saut\u00e9 pan, and when it has melted, add the onions. Reduce the heat to medium and cook until the onions are soft, about 4 minutes. Add the mushrooms and continue to cook, stirring as needed, until nicely browned, about 7 minutes.\n\n5. When the noodles are cooked, drain them, transfer them to a bowl, and toss with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Cover to keep warm until ready to add to the sauce.\n\n6. Add the garlic and the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and \u00bd teaspoon pepper to the mushroom mixture and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Sprinkle with the flour, and stir. Increase the heat to high and whisk in the broth. When the liquid comes to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes.\n\n7. Return the beef, and any juices that have accumulated on the plate, to the saut\u00e9 pan. Whisk in the sour cream and parsley, and remove the pan from the heat. Fold in the warm noodles, and serve immediately.\n\n6 servings\n\nPASTA PRIMAVERA\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThis colorful sauce is a simpler, lighter version of the primavera sauce most often encountered. Feel free to substitute other veggies, as desired. As you will see, this makes a very large batch of pasta, enough for six to eight healthy appetites.\n\n1 pound rotini or penne pasta\n\n5 tablespoons butter\n\n2 cups chopped red onions\n\n1 cup chopped red bell pepper\n\n2 teaspoons salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons minced garlic\n\n1 pound zucchini or yellow squash (or a mixture of both), halved lengthwise and cut crosswise into \u00bd-inch half-moon pieces (about 4 cups)\n\n2 cups frozen mixed peas and carrots\n\n1 cup diced canned tomatoes, with juices\n\n\u00bd cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving\n\n\u00bd cup thinly sliced basil (optional)\n\n1\/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the rotini and cook until just tender, about 11 minutes. Drain, reserving \u00be cup of the cooking water, and set aside.\n\n2. While the pasta is cooking, melt the butter in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the onions and bell pepper and cook until soft, 4 minutes. Add the 2 teaspoons salt, black pepper, and garlic, and cook for 1 minute longer. Add the squash and continue to cook, stirring as needed, for 2 minutes. Add the peas and carrots and cook for 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and continue to cook, stirring, for 2 minutes.\n\n3. Add the pasta and the reserved cooking water to the sauce and cook until the pasta is heated through and the ingredients are well combined, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and fold in the Parmigiano-Reggiano and basil, if desired. Then drizzle with the extra-virgin olive oil. Garnish with more cheese, if desired, and serve hot.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nRice and Beans\n\nGREEN ONION RICE PILAF\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThis simple rice dish goes well with so many things, it's not even funny. The method is foolproof. All you need is a timer to keep you from worrying about the rice while it's cooking, leaving you free to tend to other things...\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n\u00bd cup chopped onion\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n2 cups long-grain white rice\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n3 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth or water\n\n\u00bc cup thinly sliced green onion tops\n\n1. Place a 2-quart ovenproof saucepan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. Once the oil is hot, add the onion and cook, stirring often, until translucent and beginning to soften, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and saut\u00e9 for 30 seconds. Add the rice and saut\u00e9, stirring, until fragrant, 3 to 4 minutes. Season the rice with the salt and white pepper.\n\n2. Add the chicken stock to the pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until the water comes to a boil. Then cover the pan, reduce the heat to low, and cook for 20 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the pan from the heat and let the rice stand, covered, for 5 minutes. Remove the lid, add the green onion, and toss with a fork to combine.\n\n6 cups, 6 to 8 servings\n\nBASIC RISOTTO\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThink while stirring, \"Buttery, cheesy, and creamy...,\" \"Buttery, cheesy, and creamy...,\" \"Buttery, cheesy, and creamy...\" Aah, finito.\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n\u00bc cup finely chopped shallots\n\n2 cups Arborio rice\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n\u00bd cup dry white wine\n\n6 cups chicken stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken broth, heated\n\n1 tablespoon butter\n\n\u00bd cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves\n\n1. Heat the olive oil in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the shallots and cook, stirring with a heat-resistant rubber spatula, until fragrant and soft, about 1 minute. Add the rice and cook until the grains are opaque, about 2 minutes. Then add the salt, white pepper, and white wine. Continue cooking, stirring the rice as needed, until nearly all the liquid has been absorbed.\n\n2. Reduce the heat to medium, stir in \u00be cup of the hot broth, simmer, and stir until nearly all the liquid has been absorbed. Continue in this manner, adding the broth in \u00be-cup increments and only adding more once the previous addition has been absorbed, until all the broth has been used and the risotto is tender and creamy, about 20 minutes.\n\n3. Fold in the butter, cheese, and thyme. Remove from the heat, adjust the seasoning if necessary, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nBLACK BEAN CAKES\n\nPrep time: 16 minutes Cook time: 8 minutes Total: 24 minutes\n\nTalk about \"knock your socks off\"! These bean cakes end up crispy and crusty on the outside, but oh so tender and creamy on the inside. A true study in contrasts, this dish is elevated to notches unknown when served garnished with your favorite guacamole, salsa, and sour cream.\n\n7 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 small onion (5 to 6 ounces), cut into small dice\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bd cup all-purpose flour\n\n2 tablespoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\nTwo 15.5-ounce cans black beans, drained and quickly rinsed\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro, plus more for garnish\n\n1 egg, lightly beaten\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt, plus more to taste\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon ground cumin\n\n\u00bd teaspoon ground coriander\n\n2 teaspoons hot sauce\n\n1. Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a medium saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat. When it is hot, add the onion and cook until soft and lightly caramelized, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool.\n\n2. Place the flour in a shallow bowl or plate, and stir in the Essence. Set aside.\n\n3. In a medium mixing bowl, mash the black beans well with the back of a fork\u2014the mixture should be relatively smooth, with no whole beans remaining. Stir in the cooled onion mixture, cilantro, egg, salt, pepper, cumin, coriander, and hot sauce and mix well. Divide the mixture into 8 evenly sized patties (about 1\/3 cup each).\n\n4. Heat the remaining 6 tablespoons olive oil in a medium nonstick skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, dust the patties in the seasoned flour mixture and carefully transfer them to the hot skillet (the cakes will be delicate). Cook the cakes until golden brown on both sides and heated through, about 2 minutes per side.\n\n5. If necessary, season with more salt. Garnish with chopped cilantro, and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nTURKEY AND PINTO BEAN TOSTADAS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nFor this open-face taco we crisp the tortillas in the oven. Hold on to your sombreros\u2014you're in for a real treat.\n\n4 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 medium onion, chopped\n\n1 pound ground turkey (preferably 85\/15 blend)\n\n2 tablespoons Mexican chili powder\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons chopped garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons ground cumin\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\nTwo 15-ounce cans pinto beans, drained and briefly rinsed\n\n1\u00bd cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n15 fresh cilantro sprigs, stems and leaves chopped separately\n\n8 to 10 corn tortillas\n\nCondiments as desired for serving (such as grated cheese, chopped tomato, chopped red onion, shaved lettuce, salsa, pickled jalape\u00f1os, sour cream)\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Set a skillet over medium-high heat, add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and the onion, and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add the turkey, chili powder, garlic, cumin, and salt, and cook, stirring and breaking up the meat as it browns, for 5 minutes. Add the beans, chicken stock, and chopped cilantro stems, and bring to a boil. Cook, mashing the beans frequently against the bottom and sides of the skillet, until the mixture is thickened to a refried bean consistency and the flavors have come together, about 15 minutes.\n\n3. While the turkey-bean mixture is simmering, brush the tortillas on both sides with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Place them on baking sheets and bake in the oven until crisp, 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven, and transfer to paper towels to drain and crisp briefly before serving.\n\n4. Stir the cilantro leaves into the turkey-bean mixture. Spread the mixture over the crisped tortillas, and garnish with condiments as desired.\n\n8 to 10 tostadas, 4 to 6 servings\n\nCREAMY WHITE BEANS WITH SAUSAGE\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThis creamy bean dish can work well as either an appetizer or a main course, and is delicious when eaten with pieces of crusty French bread. Don't forget to drizzle it with the best extra-virgin olive oil you have on hand, Italian-style, as this small gesture really makes a big difference.\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n12 ounces hot smoked sausage, sliced into \u00bd-inch-thick rounds\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juices\n\nFive 15-ounce cans cannellini beans, rinsed and drained\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme\n\n3 cups fresh spinach or arugula, rinsed and spun dry\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\nExtra-virgin olive oil, for serving\n\nCrusty French or peasant bread, warmed, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Heat the oil in a large heavy Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the garlic and saut\u00e9 until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the sausage and tomatoes. Increase the heat to medium-high and simmer for 2 minutes. Add the beans and bring to a boil. Then reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the beans are tender and flavorful, about 20 minutes.\n\n2. Remove the pot from the heat and stir in the rosemary, thyme, and spinach. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and serve hot in wide shallow bowls, drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil. Pass the French bread, if desired.\n\n2 quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nVegetables\n\nBACON BRAISED GREEN BEANS\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 17 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nThis modern take on the Southern classic will leave you wanting more! Since this version is quick-cooked, the beans stay crisp-tender\u2014but oh, they're coated with saut\u00e9ed onions and little pieces of bacon. Don't make me talk about it!\n\n1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n6 slices bacon, diced\n\n1 cup thinly sliced onion\n\n2 tablespoons sliced garlic\n\n2 pounds green beans, rinsed, ends trimmed\n\n1 cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth or water\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Set a Dutch oven over medium heat, and add the olive oil. Once the oil is hot, add the bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is well browned, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the green beans and toss to combine with the bacon and onion.\n\n2. Increase the heat to medium-high and add the chicken stock. As soon as the stock begins to boil, place the lid on the pan and cook the beans for about 6 minutes. Remove the lid, season the beans with the salt and pepper, and toss well. Replace the lid and cook until the beans are tender, 1 or 2 minutes longer.\n\n3. Remove from the heat and transfer the beans to a serving dish or small platter to serve.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCREAMED MUSTARD GREENS\n\nPrep time: 16 minutes Cook time: 23 minutes Total: 39 minutes\n\nEveryone loves creamed spinach, but check out this version of the dish made with mustard greens and you'll be an instant convert. We have also made this with turnip greens and kale with good success\u2014truthfully, any type of green will do, and each type adds its own unique flavor. To stay within the forty-minute time frame, make sure you start the sauce while the greens are cooking.\n\nSalt\n\n6 pounds mustard greens, rinsed well, tough stems and ribs removed\n\n3 tablespoons canola oil\n\n1 cup finely chopped onion\n\n2 large cloves garlic, minced\n\n1 cup half-and-half\n\n8 ounces Neufch\u00e2tel cheese, cut into pieces\n\nPinch of freshly grated nutmeg\n\nKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Bring a large stockpot of salted water to a boil. Prepare a large bowl of ice water. Add half of the mustard greens to the boiling water, a little at a time, pushing them down into the water. Let the water return to a boil and then cook until tender, about 10 minutes. Using tongs, transfer the greens to the bowl of ice water. Repeat with the remaining greens. Drain the greens very well and squeeze them dry in a kitchen towel. Finely chop, and set aside. (If your stockpot is large enough, you may be able to do this in one batch and save yourself some time.)\n\n2. While the greens are cooking, heat the canola oil in a 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic, and cook until softened, about 6 minutes. Stir in the half-and-half and the Neufch\u00e2tel, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened and creamy, about 3 minutes.\n\n3. Add the greens to the cream mixture and cook, stirring, until warmed through, about 3 minutes. Season with the nutmeg, add salt and pepper to taste, and serve.\n\n6 cups, 4 to 6 servings\n\nSAUT\u00c9ED MUSHROOMS WITH FRESH THYME\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nThis mushroom dish is the perfect accompaniment to the New York Strip with Beurre Ma\u00eetre d'H\u00f4tel on 20 Minutes or Less!\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n2 pounds button mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, quartered\n\n1 cup chopped yellow onion\n\n1 tablespoon thinly sliced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons fresh thyme leaves 1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00be cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce\n\n1. Heat a 12-inch cast-iron skillet (or other heavy skillet) over medium-high heat, and add the olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the butter, and once it has melted, add the mushrooms, onion, garlic, thyme, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until most of the liquid has been released from the mushrooms and has evaporated, about 15 minutes.\n\n2. Add the chicken stock and cook until nearly evaporated, about 4 minutes. Add the Worcestershire sauce and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Remove from the heat and serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSESAME EGGPLANT\n\nPrep time: 11 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 23 minutes\n\nI'm a huge eggplant fan, and love it just about any way you can imagine. Here is a quick and easy preparation that I make for the family on weeknights. Note: If you have a large enough pan, you can cook this dish in one batch and in half the time.\n\n\u00bd cup peanut oil\n\n2 pounds eggplant, cut into \u00be-inch dice\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n4 green onions, bottoms minced and tops sliced, reserved separately\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n1 tablespoon sesame seeds\n\n1 tablespoon dark Asian sesame oil\n\n1. Heat \u00bc cup of the oil in a large nonstick saut\u00e9 pan. When it is hot, add half of the eggplant and \u00be teaspoon of the salt. Cook until the eggplant is nicely browned and softened, stirring as necessary to promote even browning, about 5 minutes. Add half of the green onion bottoms, 1 tablespoon of the garlic, \u00bc teaspoon of the black pepper, \u00bc teaspoon of the crushed red pepper, \u00bd tablespoon of the sesame seeds, and \u00bd tablespoon of the sesame oil. Toss to combine. Transfer to a plate and set aside.\n\n2. Repeat with the remaining ingredients.\n\n3. Combine both batches in the same pan, add the green onion tops, and heat briefly until warmed through, 1 minute. Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nSPICY BRAISED GREENS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nWould you like some amazing-tasting greens? This is the recipe! Make this once, and the next time you'll do it twice! To make this even faster, use the prewashed greens from your favorite produce section.\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n4 ounces smoked bacon slices, cut into 1-inch pieces (use turkey bacon if you prefer)\n\n1 cup sliced yellow onion\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 pounds collard greens, mustard greens, beet greens, Swiss chard, or a combination, ribs removed, chopped into bite-size pieces, and rinsed\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper, or more to taste\n\n1 cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt, or more to taste\n\n1. Heat a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. When it is hot, add the bacon and cook, stirring often, until it is well browned, about 4 minutes. Add the onion and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds. Add the greens and cook, stirring frequently, until softened, 3 minutes.\n\n2. Add the crushed red pepper and the chicken stock, and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover the pan and reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook until the greens are tender, about 10 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the lid, increase the heat, and bring the liquid to a high simmer. Cook for 5 minutes or until the liquid has reduced by half. Stir in the butter, and season with the salt. Serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nBUTTERMILK MASHED POTATOES\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nThis basic recipe is perfect as is, but feel free to embellish it with other ingredients such as goat cheese, grated cheddar cheese, roasted garlic, or sliced green onions. You just can't make the Simple Turkey Meatloaf on 60 Minutes or Less without making a batch of these to serve alongside!\n\n2 pounds Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and diced into 1-inch cubes\n\nSalt\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter, cubed\n\n1\u00bd cups buttermilk\n\nFreshly ground white pepper\n\n1. Place the potatoes in a pot of salted water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the potatoes are fork-tender, 12 to 15 minutes.\n\n2. Remove the pot from the heat and drain the potatoes. Return the potatoes to the pot and set it over medium heat. Stir the potatoes constantly for 2 to 3 minutes to remove any excess liquid.\n\n3. Add the butter to the potatoes and using a handheld masher, mash the butter into the potatoes. Gradually add the buttermilk, mashing until the desired texture is achieved. Season the potatoes with salt and white pepper to taste, and serve.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nSeafood\n\nINDIAN-INSPIRED SHRIMP WITH COCONUT, CHILES, AND TOMATOES\n\nPrep time: 23 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 38 minutes\n\nThis dish is chock-full of complex flavors that'll make your guests think that you worked for hours in the kitchen. Who needs to know otherwise? Serve it with basmati rice for an authentic taste of India.\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n2 teaspoons mustard seeds\n\n2 teaspoons cumin seeds\n\n1 cup finely chopped red onion\n\n4 green serrano or jalape\u00f1o chiles, seeded and finely chopped\n\n2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juices\n\nOne 13.5-ounce can unsweetened coconut milk\n\n1\u00bd pounds medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives (optional)\n\nSteamed basmati rice, for serving\n\n1. Melt the butter in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the mustard seeds and cumin seeds and toast until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the onion, chiles, ginger, and garlic and saut\u00e9, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the diced tomatoes and their juices, and cook until the liquid is reduced by half, 3 to 4 minutes. Raise the heat to high and add the coconut milk. Simmer until the milk is reduced by half, 3 to 4 minutes.\n\n2. Season the shrimp with 1\u00bd teaspoons of the salt. Add the shrimp to the pan and cook, stirring as needed, until they are curled, pink, and just cooked through, about 3 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the pan from the heat. Season with the remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt, and garnish with the cilantro and chives, if desired. Serve immediately over steamed basmati rice.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nFISH EN PAPILLOTE\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 37 minutes\n\nA meal in a pouch! It doesn't get much simpler than this!\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced red cabbage\n\n1 large onion (about 12 ounces), thinly sliced\n\n4 parsnips (about 12 ounces), cut into 1\/8-inch-thick rounds\n\n\u00bc cup chopped mixed soft herbs (such as parsley and tarragon)\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 teaspoon honey\n\n6 tablespoons olive oil\n\nFour 6-ounce skinless fish fillets (such as red snapper or striped bass)\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 375\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place the cabbage, onion, parsnips, herbs, \u00bc teaspoon of the salt, and 1\/8 teaspoon of the white pepper in a mixing bowl and toss to combine; set aside.\n\n3. In a small mixing bowl, whisk together the lemon juice and honey. While whisking, add the olive oil in a slow, steady stream. Season with \u00bc teaspoon of the salt and 1\/8 teaspoon of the white pepper. Set aside.\n\n4. Using a paper towel, pat the fish fillets to dry them. Season each fillet on both sides with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and \u00bd teaspoon white pepper.\n\n5. Assemble the packets: Fold four 14-inch squares of aluminum foil in half, forming four rectangles. Open the rectangles, and divide the cabbage mixture evenly among them, placing it just to one side of the fold. Stir the lemon-oil mixture well, and drizzle 1 tablespoon over each portion of cabbage. Place a fish fillet on top of each, and drizzle another tablespoon over each fillet. Fold the other side of the foil over the ingredients, and then fold the edges inward two or three times to form an airtight packet that is sealed on all sides.\n\n6. Place the packets on a baking sheet, and bake until the packets are puffed and the fish is cooked through and flakes easily when touched with a fork, about 12 minutes (the cook time may vary slightly, depending on the thickness of the fillets).\n\n7. Remove the baking sheet from the oven, and open the packets carefully (there will be a lot of steam escaping from the packet). Serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nSWORDFISH WITH PUTTANESCA RELISH\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nUnlike puttanesca pasta sauce, this is more of a relish that is basically uncooked, save for a quick warming when you're finishing the swordfish steaks in the saut\u00e9 pan. The recipe uses only half of the relish that is made here; any unused puttanesca relish can be enjoyed over cooked chicken breasts, grilled fish, with pasta, or even as a topping for crostini or bruschetta. The leftover relish will keep in an airtight nonreactive container in the fridge for up to 3 days.\n\nOne and a half 14-ounce cans petite diced tomatoes, with juices\n\n\u00be cup halved pitted Kalamata olives\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon red wine vinegar\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n2 teaspoons anchovy paste or finely chopped canned anchovy fillets\n\n2 tablespoons nonpareil capers, drained\n\n4 tablespoons chopped fresh basil\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nFour 6-ounce swordfish steaks, about 1\u00bd inches thick, patted dry\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1. Combine the tomatoes and their juices with the olives, extra-virgin olive oil, vinegar, garlic, anchovy paste, capers, 2 tablespoons of the basil, and \u00bd teaspoon of the black pepper in a medium bowl and set aside.\n\n2. Season the swordfish steaks with the salt and the remaining \u00bd teaspoon black pepper. Heat the olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the swordfish and cook for 4 minutes. Turn the steaks over and cook for an additional 4 minutes.\n\n3. Add 2 cups of the puttanesca relish to the fish and cook for 2 minutes. Transfer the fish to a serving platter or individual plates, and spoon the warm puttanesca relish over it. Garnish with the remaining 2 tablespoons basil, and more relish if desired.\n\n4 servings, 4 cups puttanesca relish\n\nROASTED SCROD WITH HERBED BREADCRUMBS\n\nPrep time: 18 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nScrod, cod, baby cod, haddock\u2014any of these fish would work beautifully in this simple preparation, which reminds me of my New England upbringing. If you're feeling indulgent, try drizzling the fillets with extra olive oil or melted butter just before serving.\n\nNonstick cooking spray\n\n3 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n3 tablespoons minced shallot\n\n\u00bd cup fine unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon grated lemon zest\n\n2 teaspoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n2 teaspoons chopped fresh chives\n\n2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\nFour 6-to 8-ounce skinless young cod, scrod, or haddock fillets\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F. Lightly grease a baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray.\n\n2. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the shallot and saut\u00e9 until tender, 1 to 2 minutes. Transfer the shallot and butter to a medium bowl, and set aside to cool briefly.\n\n3. Once the shallot-butter mixture has cooled slightly, add the breadcrumbs, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper, and the lemon zest, parsley, chives, and thyme. Stir to blend. Drizzle the olive oil into the breadcrumb mixture, tossing until the mixture is moistened.\n\n4. Pat the fillets dry with a paper towel, and season with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon pepper. Place the fish on the prepared baking sheet. Top each fillet evenly with the breadcrumb mixture. Place the baking sheet in the oven and bake until the crust is golden brown and the fillets are just cooked through, 10 to 12 minutes, depending on their thickness.\n\n4 servings\n\nSHRIMP AND FETA, GREEK-STYLE\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 25 to 30 minutes Total: 30 to 35 minutes\n\nThe test kitchen made a big splash in our office the day this dish was prepared. Folks were coming out of the woodwork like crazy! Now, I must warn you: this is a bold dish that makes no apologies. If you are sensitive to spicy foods, I would suggest using less crushed red pepper than is called for here. And do not forget the crusty bread, as it's an absolutely essential part of this dish. It's just what's needed for sopping up the delicious pan juices.\n\n\u00bd cup plus 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\nTwo 14.5-ounce cans petite diced tomatoes, with juices\n\n\u00bd cup clam juice\n\n2\u00bd teaspoons chopped fresh oregano\n\n1 teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n\u00bc cup nonpareil capers, drained\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n\u00bd cup Pernod\n\n8 ounces Greek feta, crumbled\n\n1 loaf peasant bread, for serving\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 450\u00b0F.\n\n2. Heat the \u00bd cup olive oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the tomatoes and their juices, clam juice, oregano, crushed red pepper, and capers, and cook until the sauce has thickened slightly, 4 to 6 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.\n\n3. While the tomato sauce is cooking, heat the remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large saut\u00e9 pan. When the oil is hot, add the shrimp and cook until they are just pink on both sides, about 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, and add the Pernod. Return the pan to the heat and shake it carefully to ignite the alcohol. When the flames have died down, season the shrimp lightly with salt and pepper. Do not overcook; the shrimp should not be cooked through at this point.\n\n4. Spoon the tomato sauce into a large casserole or individual gratin dishes. Nestle the shrimp down in the sauce, and crumble the feta evenly over the top. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, or until the shrimp are just cooked through and the sauce is bubbly.\n\n5. Remove from the oven and serve immediately, with pieces of crusty bread for dipping.\n\nNote: If using an electric burner, simmer the Pernod in the pan over medium-high heat for 30 seconds.\n\n6 servings\n\nSALMON WITH ORANGE BUTTER SAUCE\n\nPrep time: 8 minutes Cook time: 22 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nThe sauce for this simply saut\u00e9ed salmon is reminiscent of some of the serious sauces found in French cuisine but don't be fooled\u2014the dish can be on the table in no time flat.\n\n\u00be cup freshly squeezed orange juice\n\nOne \u00bd-inch strip of orange zest\n\n\u00bc cup julienned shallots\n\n\u00bd bay leaf\n\n1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns\n\n1 clove garlic, smashed\n\n1 sprig fresh thyme\n\n1\/3 cup dry white wine\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n8 ounces (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\nFour 6-ounce salmon fillets, skin on\n\n2 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil\n\n1. Combine the orange juice, strip of orange zest, shallots, bay leaf, peppercorns, garlic, thyme, and wine in a saucepan, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the liquid has reduced by three-fourths, about 8 minutes. Add the heavy cream and cook until the liquid has reduced by half, about 4 minutes longer. Whisk in the cold butter little by little, whisking until the sauce is smooth and thick and all the butter is incorporated, 3 to 4 minutes; do not allow the sauce to boil. Strain the sauce through a fine-mesh sieve into another saucepan, pressing on the solids to extract all the liquid; discard the solids. Season the sauce with salt and pepper to taste, and keep warm until ready to serve. (Do not allow the sauce to boil or it will separate.)\n\n2. Season the salmon on both sides with \u00bd teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon black pepper. Heat the canola oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the salmon, skin side down, and cook until lightly browned and crisp, 3 to 4 minutes. Flip the salmon over and cook until the fish is just cooked through, about 2 minutes.\n\n3. Serve the salmon, skin side up, immediately, with the orange butter sauce spooned around the fillets.\n\n4 servings\n\nBAKED FLOUNDER WITH CARROTS, SPINACH, AND AN ASIAN VINAIGRETTE\n\nPrep time: 18 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nMy wife, Alden, loves fish and this is one of the ways we enjoy fresh fillets at home with the family. So easy, it's just about foolproof\u2014as long as you take care not to overcook the fish. It's also important to use the freshest fish you can find. If flounder is unavailable or too pricey, feel free to substitute any mild, white-fleshed fish fillets, but note that if you use thick fillets, the cook time will vary accordingly.\n\n6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n2 tablespoons soy sauce\n\n2 teaspoons dark Asian sesame oil\n\n2 teaspoons honey\n\n1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n2\u00bc teaspoons salt\n\n1\u00bc teaspoons freshly ground white pepper\n\n8 ounces prewashed baby spinach, stemmed, and roughly chopped\n\n2 carrots, sliced into ribbons with a vegetable peeler\n\n1\/3 cup mixed fresh parsley, cilantro, and tarragon leaves\n\nFour 6-ounce skinless flounder fillets\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 375\u00b0F.\n\n2. In a medium bowl, combine the extra-virgin olive oil, lemon juice, soy sauce, sesame oil, honey, ginger, and garlic, and whisk well to combine. Season with \u00bc teaspoon of the salt and \u00bc teaspoon of the white pepper.\n\n3. In a separate bowl, combine the spinach, carrots, and herbs, and drizzle with 6 tablespoons of the vinaigrette; toss well to combine. Arrange the salad in a glass or ceramic casserole or baking dish. Season the flounder on both sides with the remaining 2 teaspoons salt and 1 teaspoon pepper. Lay the fish over the salad, and drizzle 1 tablespoon of the vinaigrette over each of the fillets. Place in the oven and bake until the vegetables are wilted and the fish flakes easily when pierced with a fork, about 12 minutes.\n\n4. Remove from the oven and serve the fish with some of the wilted vegetables.\n\n4 servings\n\nPoultry\n\nBOURSIN CHEESE, SPINACH, AND PECAN\u2013STUFFED CHICKEN BREASTS\n\nPrep time: 26 minutes Cook time: 14 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nEverybody loves stuffed chicken breasts, so make 'em happy. If you don't have a piping bag, fill a heavy resealable plastic storage bag with the filling, snip a corner to create a diagonal opening, and squeeze.\n\n3 tablespoons butter\n\n4 ounces prewashed fresh spinach\n\n8 ounces pecans, toasted and chopped (about 1 cup)\n\nOne 5.2-ounce Black Pepper Boursin cheese (or other flavor Boursin)\n\nSix 6-to 8-ounce boneless, skinless chicken breasts\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bd cup all-purpose flour\n\n3 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd cup milk\n\n1 egg\n\n1 cup unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, and set it aside.\n\n2. Melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in a small saut\u00e9 pan over medium heat. Add the spinach and cook until wilted, about 2 minutes. Remove the spinach from the pan, drain all the liquid, and chop the spinach. Transfer it to a small bowl. Add the chopped pecans and the Boursin to the spinach, and stir to combine. Using a rubber spatula, transfer the mixture to a piping bag fitted with a medium tip. Set aside.\n\n3. Lay the chicken breasts flat on a clean work surface. With a paring knife, cut a long slit in the thick side of each breast, slicing about three-fourths of the way down and 2 inches deep to form a deep pocket (be careful not to go through the other side). Stuff each breast with the filling by piping it in tightly. Secure the opening with a toothpick. Season the breasts on both sides with \u00bd teaspoon of the salt and the black pepper.\n\n4. Combine the flour and 1 teaspoon of the Essence in a shallow baking dish or bowl. In a second shallow pan, combine the milk, egg, and 1 teaspoon of the Essence. In a third shallow pan, combine the breadcrumbs, remaining 1 teaspoon Essence, and remaining 1 teaspoon salt. Dredge each chicken breast first in the flour, then in the egg wash, and lastly in the breadcrumbs; set aside.\n\n5. Heat the olive oil and the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chicken and saut\u00e9 until browned, 2 minutes on each side. Place the seared chicken breasts on the prepared baking sheet, place it in the oven, and bake until cooked through and the temperature registers 165\u00b0F on an instant-read thermometer, about 10 minutes.\n\n6. Remove the toothpicks before serving.\n\n6 servings\n\nHONEY-LEMON-THYME CORNISH GAME HENS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nWhat would this book be without a Cornish hen recipe? Gotta have one! Cornish hens are tiny enough for everybody to have their own, easily served. Having guests? Perfect.\n\nFour 1-pound Cornish game hens\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter\n\n1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme\n\nGrated zest of 2 lemons\n\n4 teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1\/3 cup honey\n\n1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon soy sauce\n\n1. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 500\u00b0F. Line a large baking dish with aluminum foil, and set it aside.\n\n2. Rinse the hens well, inside and out, under cool running water. Pat them dry with paper towels.\n\n3. Combine 4 tablespoons of the butter, the thyme, and the lemon zest in a small bowl and use a fork to blend well. Divide the mixture into 4 portions, and spread one portion under the skin covering the breast of each hen. Combine 1 teaspoon of the salt with \u00bd teaspoon of the black pepper, and season the cavities of the hens. Truss the hens, fold the wing tips back and tuck them under, and arrange the hens breast side up in the prepared baking dish.\n\n4. Combine the lemon juice, honey, soy sauce, and the remaining 4 tablespoons butter in a small saucepan, and warm over low heat until heated through. Divide the honey mixture in half, and set aside one portion. Use some of the remaining portion to baste the tops of the hens well. Season the hens with the remaining 3 teaspoons salt and \u00bd teaspoon pepper.\n\n5. Transfer the baking dish to the oven and cook, basting the hens with the honey mixture about every 5 minutes, until they are nicely browned, 20 to 25 minutes. If necessary, tent the hens with foil during the last few minutes of cooking to prevent over-browning.\n\n6. When the hens reach an internal temperature of 165\u00b0F, remove the dish from the oven and let them rest for about 5 minutes. Discard the honey mixture used for basting. Use the reserved honey mixture to drizzle over the hens before serving.\n\nNote: To check the temperature, insert an instant-read thermometer in the thickest part of the breast, avoiding any bones.\n\n4 servings\n\nOVEN-ROASTED CHICKEN WINGS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nIf you don't want to bother with cutting the chicken wings yourself (though it only takes 5 minutes), buy little drumettes from your grocer instead. Add a little lemon juice, some herbs and spices, and roast in a smokin' hot oven. You won't have to clean the fryer or hide from your doctor. Need I say more?\n\n4 pounds chicken wings, wing tips removed and discarded, separated at the joint\n\n\u00bc cup freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 tablespoon garlic powder\n\n1 tablespoon onion powder\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n2 teaspoons dried thyme\n\n\u00bd teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n4 tablespoons (\u00bd stick) butter, melted\n\nYour favorite sauce (such as barbecue sauce, ranch dressing, or blue cheese dressing), for serving (optional)\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 500\u00b0F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil.\n\n2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the wings and the lemon juice and mix thoroughly. Add the pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and salt. While crushing it between your fingers, add the thyme. Mix again, and add the cayenne and melted butter. Mix thoroughly a final time. Then transfer the wings to the prepared baking sheet, and arrange them in one layer.\n\n3. Roast in the oven for 10 minutes. Rotate the pan and roast for 10 minutes longer, until the wings are nicely browned and cooked through. Serve as is or with your favorite dipping sauce.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCRISPY PAN-ROASTED CHICKEN WITH GARLIC-THYME BUTTER\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 23 to 25 minutes Total: 28 to 30 minutes\n\nOne whole chicken, cut in half, cooks in half the time! Go figure. You will not believe how something so simple can be so good. I mean, isn't it just chicken? Prepare to swoon.\n\nOne 3\u00bd-pound chicken, halved, with the breastbone, backbone, and first two digits (tips) of the wings removed\n\n1 tablespoon kosher salt\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons freshly ground white pepper\n\n4 teaspoons olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n2. Season the chicken halves on both sides with the salt and white pepper. Set a 12-inch cast-iron skillet over high heat, and when it is hot, add the olive oil. Swirl the skillet to coat it evenly, and then lay the seasoned chicken halves, skin side down, in the skillet. Sear until golden, about 3 minutes.\n\n3. Transfer the skillet to the oven and roast until the chicken is nearly cooked through and the skin is crispy, about 17 minutes. Turn the chicken over and continue to roast, skin side up, until it is cooked through, 3 to 5 minutes.\n\n4. While the chicken is roasting, combine the butter with the garlic and thyme in a small bowl, and stir well to blend.\n\n5. As soon as the chicken is removed from the oven, spread the garlic butter over the skin and serve immediately.\n\n2 to 4 servings\n\nCHICKEN CORDON BLEU\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes Cook time: 10 minutes Total: 35 minutes\n\nTo make things even easier, these babies can be filled and breaded up to a day ahead of time and cooked later\u2014just six minutes in the pan and four minutes in the oven! You just wait for them to get hot and melty in the center.\n\nFour 6-ounce boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 1\u00bd pounds)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n6 ounces sliced Swiss cheese (4 to 6 slices)\n\n4 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto or Black Forest ham\n\n1 cup all-purpose flour\n\n2 eggs\n\n2 tablespoons milk\n\n1 cup fine unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1. Butterfly each chicken breast; then cut down the middle to separate the halves so that you have a total of 8 pieces of chicken. Place the chicken between two pieces of plastic wrap, and pound each piece, using a mallet or the bottom of a heavy skillet, to a thickness of about \u00bc inch. Lay the 8 chicken pieces on a baking sheet, and sprinkle each side with the salt and pepper. Divide the cheese evenly among 4 of the chicken pieces. Arrange the prosciutto slices evenly over the cheese. Top each \"filled\" piece of chicken with one of the \"unfilled\" pieces, trying to tuck in any of the cheese or prosciutto that extends over the edges. Secure the chicken pieces together using toothpicks along both long edges.\n\n2. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.\n\n3. Place the flour in a shallow bowl. In another shallow pan, combine the eggs and milk with a fork. Place the breadcrumbs in a third shallow pan. Season the flour with 1 tablespoon of the Essence. Season the breadcrumbs with the remaining 2 teaspoons Essence. Dip each chicken scallop \"sandwich\" in the flour, and shake to remove any excess. Then dip it in the egg-milk mixture, and finally dip it in the seasoned breadcrumbs. Set the breaded chicken pieces on a plate.\n\n4. Heat the olive oil in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Arrange all 4 chicken \"sandwiches\" in the pan and cook until nicely browned on one side, about 4 minutes. Turn the \"sandwiches\" over and cook for 2 minutes longer. Then transfer them to the prepared baking sheet and place in the oven. Cook for 4 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and bubbly and the chicken is just cooked through. Remove the toothpicks and serve immediately.\n\n4 servings\n\nTURKEY SALTIMBOCCA\n\nPrep time: 12 minutes Cook time: 13 minutes Total: 25 minutes\n\nTurkey cutlets are available at most groceries today\u2014no pounding needed. That makes it easy! Once browned, the turkey is finished in the oven while you complete the sauce.\n\n5 tablespoons olive oil\n\n16 large fresh sage leaves\n\n1 teaspoon salt plus more for seasoning\n\nEight 4-to 6-ounce turkey breast cutlets\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper plus more for seasoning\n\n8 thin slices (about 4 ounces) prosciutto\n\n\u00bd cup all-purpose flour\n\n1 cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 cup dry white wine\n\n6 tablespoons (\u00be stick) butter, cut into 3 pieces\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place a slotted spoon and a paper towel\u2013lined plate near the stove.\n\n2. Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in an 8-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Fry 8 of the sage leaves, in batches if necessary, for about 10 seconds, and then quickly remove them from the pan with the slotted spoon and transfer them to the lined plate to drain. Sprinkle the leaves with a little salt, and set aside. (The leaves will be nicely green and crisp when they have cooled. This can be done a day in advance; keep the fried sage leaves in a closed container at room temperature.)\n\n3. Lay the turkey cutlets on a clean, flat work surface. Season the cutlets on both sides with 1 teaspoon salt and \u00be teaspoon pepper. Lay one of the remaining (uncooked) sage leaves down the middle of each cutlet, and then roll each cutlet into a tight cylinder. Wrap a slice of prosciutto around each roll.\n\n4. Place the flour in a small shallow bowl, and carefully dredge the turkey rolls in the flour. Set aside.\n\n5. Heat the remaining 4 tablespoons olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the turkey rolls, seam side down, to the pan and brown for 2 minutes. Turn them over and continue to brown on all sides for 2 to 3 minutes longer. Transfer the turkey rolls to the prepared baking sheet (reserve the saut\u00e9 pan), place it in the oven, and bake for 8 minutes or until the internal temperature registers 165\u00b0F on an instant-read thermometer.\n\n6. While the turkey is baking, make the sauce: Add the chicken broth and white wine to the hot saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Cook, scraping up any browned bits from the pan, for about 7 minutes or until the liquid is reduced to 1\/3 cup. Whisk in the butter in three separate additions, and remove the sauce from the heat. Season to taste with salt and pepper.\n\n7. Spoon 1 tablespoon of the sauce over each turkey roll, and top each with a fried sage leaf. Serve immediately.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nPANKO-CRUSTED CHICKEN TENDERS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 15 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nA chicken comes with two tenders\u2014one under each breast. In this recipe, you separate the tenders and then cut the rest of the breasts into the tender shape. If you buy chicken breasts that do not include the tender, don't worry; just cut the breast into strips and call them all \"tenders.\"\n\n2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts\n\n1\u00bc teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 cloves garlic\n\n1 egg\n\n\u00bd cup buttermilk\n\n\u00bc cup Crystal hot sauce or other Louisiana red hot sauce\n\n2\u00bd cups panko breadcrumbs\n\n\u00bd teaspoon sweet paprika\n\n1\u00bc cups canola oil or other vegetable oil\n\n1. Remove the tenders from the chicken breasts and place them in a medium-size bowl. Cut the chicken breasts into strips that are similar in size and shape to the tenders, about 1 inch wide and 4 to 5 inches long. Add the chicken strips to the bowl, season with 1 teaspoon of the salt and the black pepper, and mix well to combine.\n\n2. Smash the cloves of garlic with the flat side of your knife. Sprinkle the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt over the garlic, and chop and mash the garlic to form a paste. Transfer the garlic to a medium bowl and whisk in the egg, buttermilk, and hot sauce. Pour this mixture over the chicken pieces and mix well.\n\n3. In another medium bowl or in a gallon-size resealable plastic food storage bag, combine the panko crumbs and paprika. Place half of the chicken pieces in the crumbs and toss to coat evenly. Remove the pieces from the crumbs, shake them lightly, and then transfer them to a small baking sheet or platter. Repeat with the remaining chicken. (The breaded pieces may be stacked on top of one another.)\n\n4. Heat \u00be cup of the canola oil to 350\u00b0F in a 12-inch (or larger) saut\u00e9 pan over high heat. Once the oil is hot, lightly shake loose any excess crumbs from the chicken. Add half of the chicken pieces to the oil, reduce the heat to medium, and cook until the chicken is golden on both sides and just cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Transfer the cooked chicken to a paper towel\u2013lined plate to drain. Increase the heat under the pan to high, add the remaining \u00bd cup canola oil, and when it is hot, add the remaining chicken pieces. Reduce the heat to medium and cook the chicken in the same manner. Serve hot or at room temperature.\n\nNote: Panko breadcrumbs are most widely used in Japanese cooking. They are made from crustless bread and create a crispier coating.\n\n4 servings\n\nMeat\n\nSLOPPY JOES\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 30 minutes\n\nA school cafeteria classic that takes me back...definitely an oldie but goodie! The Sloppy Joe mixture is even better if left to sit overnight, or for up to three days, in the refrigerator before serving. Or, hey, make a big batch on the weekend and freeze it in airtight containers for busy weeknight meals.\n\n2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons olive oil\n\n2 cups diced onions\n\n\u00bd cup diced celery (small dice)\n\n\u00bd cup diced green bell pepper (small dice)\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n2 teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd pounds lean ground beef (about 91% lean)\n\n3 tablespoons dark brown sugar\n\n3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce\n\n2 cups tomato sauce\n\n1 cup beef or chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n2 teaspoons hot sauce (optional)\n\n4 to 6 hamburger buns\n\n1. Heat the 2 teaspoons olive oil in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the onions, celery, bell pepper, black pepper, and salt, and cook until the vegetables are soft, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute longer. Add the beef, breaking it up with the back of a spoon, and brown for 2 minutes. Then add the brown sugar, Worcestershire, tomato sauce, and beef broth, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 15 minutes, stirring as needed. Add the hot sauce if desired, and remove from the heat.\n\n2. While the mixture is cooking, preheat the broiler.\n\n3. Arrange the buns, open-faced, on a baking sheet and lightly brush the cut sides with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Broil until the buns are golden, about 3 minutes. (Alternatively, grill them in a grill pan or toast them in a skillet, oiled side down, over medium-high heat.)\n\n4. Generously spoon the Sloppy Joe mixture over the toasted bun bottoms. Top with the bun tops, and serve immediately (with forks).\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCOUNTRY-FRIED STEAK WITH WHITE GRAVY\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nWe've added bacon to this classic home-style dish, and boy, talk about kickin' it up a notch. Serve this alongside the Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes on 40 Minutes or Less\u2014they're the perfect vehicle for this rich, creamy gravy and crispy fried steaks. I can taste it now!\n\n8 ounces sliced bacon, cut crosswise into \u00bd-inch pieces\n\n1 cup plus 1\u00bd tablespoons all-purpose flour\n\n3 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 large egg\n\n2 to 3 cups milk, as needed\n\nFour 6-to 8-ounce cube steaks\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nVegetable oil, for frying, as needed\n\n\u00bd cup minced yellow onion\n\n1. Cook the bacon in a 12-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat until just crisp, about 5 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the bacon to paper towels to drain, leaving the fat to cool in the pan.\n\n2. Combine the 1 cup flour with 1 teaspoon of the Essence in a shallow bowl or pan. Whisk the egg, \u00bd cup of the milk, and 1 teaspoon of the Essence in another shallow bowl or pan.\n\n3. Season the steaks all over with 1\u00bc teaspoons of the salt and \u00bd teaspoon of the black pepper. Dredge the meat in the seasoned flour, then dip in the egg wash, letting the excess drip off, and then dredge in the flour a final time. Set the steaks aside on a tray.\n\n4. Pour the cooled bacon fat into a liquid measuring cup, and add enough vegetable oil to measure \u00bd cup total. Return the mixture to the saut\u00e9 pan and heat over medium-high heat until it is hot but not smoking. Carefully add 2 of the steaks and fry until golden, 3 minutes per side. Transfer them to paper towels to drain. Add the remaining 2 steaks to the pan, dipping them in the flour one more time before frying if necessary, and cook in the same manner. Transfer the steaks to paper towels.\n\n5. Add the 1\u00bd tablespoons flour to the pan and cook, whisking constantly, for 1 minute. Add the onion and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 3 minutes. Whisk in 1\u00bd cups of the milk, the remaining 1 teaspoon Essence, the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt, and the remaining \u00bd teaspoon black pepper. Return the bacon to the pan and bring the gravy to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for 5 to 6 minutes, until the sauce has thickened and there is no raw flour taste. Add additional milk as necessary to achieve the desired consistency.\n\n6. Serve the steaks with the hot gravy.\n\n4 servings\n\nSAUSAGES AND SAUERKRAUT\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 21 minutes Total: 31 minutes\n\nThe type of beer you use here will vary the flavor. If you prefer a slightly bitter flavor to complement your sausage, use a dark or amber beer. A lighter American-style beer will lend a sweeter flavor. Make it with what you like. Make it with what you have! And if you're out of beer, hey, use either more stock or apple cider.\n\nOne 28-ounce jar sauerkraut, drained\n\n4 ounces sliced apple-cured bacon, cut crosswise into \u00bd-inch pieces\n\n1\u00bd medium yellow onions, sliced (about 2 cups)\n\n1 tablespoon unsalted butter\n\n1\u00bd pounds kielbasa or other smoked sausage, cut into 3-inch lengths, casing scored lightly on two sides\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n4 fresh thyme sprigs\n\n2 bay leaves\n\n\u00bd teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper\n\n1 cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 cup beer\n\n1. Place the sauerkraut in a colander and rinse it briefly to remove some of the salt from the brine (don't rinse it too much, or you will lose a lot of the flavor). (Alternatively, if the sauerkraut is not excessively salty, use as is.) Press to release most of the excess liquid, and set aside.\n\n2. Cook the bacon in a large nonreactive skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat for 5 minutes until the fat is rendered. Add the onions and cook for 2 minutes longer. Move the bacon and onions to the side of the skillet and increase the heat to medium-high. Add the butter, and when it has melted, add the sausage. Cook, turning occasionally, until it is browned on both sides and the scores are beginning to open up a bit, 1 to 2 minutes per side.\n\n3. Add the garlic, thyme sprigs, bay leaves, and pepper to the skillet and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Add the drained sauerkraut. Toss to combine, scraping up the brown bits that have accumulated in the pan. Add the chicken stock and beer, and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 10 minutes.\n\n4. Remove the bay leaves and serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nSTIR-FRIED BEEF AND BROCCOLI\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 12 minutes Total: 27 minutes\n\nOnce you've assembled the ingredients, this dish goes together like one-two-three. You'll find it easiest to slice the beef in thin strips if it has been partially frozen. And, hey, if you have one very large wok or skillet, this can be done in one batch, cutting the cook time in half. How do you like that!\n\n\u00bc cup soy sauce\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n4 teaspoons grated fresh ginger\n\n4 teaspoons Chinese black vinegar or balsamic vinegar\n\n3 teaspoons hoisin sauce\n\n3 teaspoons honey\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons crushed red pepper\n\n2 tablespoons cornstarch\n\n4 tablespoons peanut oil\n\n1 large head broccoli, cut into florets\n\n2 pounds beef sirloin steak, thinly sliced across the grain\n\nSteamed white rice, for serving\n\n1. Combine the soy sauce, garlic, ginger, vinegar, hoisin sauce, honey, crushed red pepper, and cornstarch in a small bowl. Mix well, and set aside.\n\n2. Heat a wok or a large skillet over high heat. When it is hot, add 2 tablespoons of the peanut oil and half of the broccoli and cook, shaking the work and stirring frequently, until the broccoli begins to soften, 2 to 3 minutes. Add half of the beef and cook, stirring, for 1 to 2 minutes. Add half of the sauce and stir to evenly coat. Cook until the sauce thickens and the broccoli is crisp-tender, about 1 minute.\n\n3. Transfer to a serving platter and keep warm while you repeat the process with the other half of the ingredients. Serve immediately with steamed white rice.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nQUICK AND EASY LAMB KEBABS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 6 to 8 minutes Total: 21 to 23 minutes\n\nIf you have the time, these simple kebabs can benefit from longer marinating. Why not prep the meat and marinade, set it aside to marinate overnight in the refrigerator, and then pull it out of the fridge the next day and make the kebabs? If you're like me and love a good sauce, these kebabs would be great served with Minted Yogurt Sauce (40 Minutes or Less).\n\n\u00bc cup plus 1 tablespoon olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary\n\n2 teaspoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1\u00bd pounds boneless lamb (such as leg), cut into 1-inch cubes\n\n2 green bell peppers, cut into 1-inch squares\n\n2 onions, cut into 1-inch pieces\n\n8 large white mushrooms, wiped clean, stems trimmed\n\n8 large cherry tomatoes\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper\n\n1. Combine the \u00bc cup olive oil, rosemary, and Essence in a small bowl. Place the lamb in the bowl and let it marinate while you assemble the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.\n\n2. Arrange the lamb, alternating with the vegetables, on eight 8-inch metal skewers and place them on a large baking sheet. Brush the vegetables with the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil, and season the skewers on all sides with salt and pepper to taste.\n\n3. Position a rack about 6 inches from the broiler element, and preheat the broiler.\n\n4. Broil the kebabs, turning them once midway, until the meat is well browned, 6 to 8 minutes for medium-rare. Serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nTHIN-CUT PORK CHOPS WITH ROSEMARY-BALSAMIC GLAZED SHALLOTS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 15 to 17 minutes Total: 25 to 27 minutes\n\nThese quickly seared pork chops are out-of-the-box good when paired with the simple pan sauce. Serve with hot white rice or buttered noodles and a simple vegetable for a complete meal.\n\nFour 6-ounce center-cut pork chops\n\n2 teaspoons kosher salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n2 tablespoons Wondra flour (see Note, 20 Minutes or Less)\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 tablespoon unsalted butter\n\n1 cup thinly sliced shallots\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n\u00bd teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary\n\n\u00bd cup balsamic vinegar\n\n1\u00bd cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1. Season the pork chops on both sides with the salt and white pepper. Dust each pork chop lightly with the Wondra, and set aside.\n\n2. Set a 12-inch cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat, and add the olive oil and butter. When it is hot, place the pork chops in the skillet and sear for 2 minutes per side. Remove the chops from the skillet and set them aside. Add the shallots to the skillet and cook, stirring often, until lightly caramelized, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic and rosemary and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.\n\n3. Add the balsamic vinegar and deglaze the skillet. When the vinegar has nearly evaporated (about 1\u00bd minutes), add the chicken stock. Increase the heat to high, and return the pork chops to the skillet. Baste the pork chops with the stock and cook until the liquid has reduced to a sauce consistency, 6 to 8 minutes.\n\n4. Remove from the heat, and serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nDesserts\n\nKICKED-UP SNICKERDOODLES\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes Cook time: 14 minutes Total: 39 minutes\n\nEveryone loves snickerdoodles! We've sneaked in a bit of cayenne pepper for a surprising little kick.\n\n2\u00be cups all-purpose flour\n\n1 teaspoon baking soda\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd cup solid vegetable shortening, at room temperature\n\n8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature\n\n1\u00bd cups plus 5 tablespoons sugar\n\n2 large eggs\n\n1 tablespoon ground cinnamon\n\n\u00bc teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 350\u00b0F.\n\n2. Sift the flour, baking soda, and salt together into a bowl and set aside.\n\n3. In a separate medium mixing bowl, using a handheld or standing electric mixer, combine the shortening and butter and beat until smooth. Add 1\u00bd cups plus 2 tablespoons of the sugar, and continue beating until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the sifted flour mixture and mix until the dough just comes together.\n\n4. Combine the remaining 3 tablespoons sugar with the cinnamon and cayenne in a small bowl.\n\n5. Divide the dough into 1\u00bd-tablespoon portions and roll them between your hands to form 1\u00bd-inch balls. Roll the balls in the spiced sugar. Then divide them evenly among two unlined cookie sheets, spacing them about 1 inch apart. Flatten the balls into \u00bd-inch-thick disks.\n\n6. Bake, rotating the sheets back to front midway, until the edges of the cookies are golden brown, 12 to 14 minutes. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets on wire racks.\n\nAbout 30 cookies\n\nSKILLET CORN CAKE WITH STEWED CHERRIES\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 25 minutes Total: 40 minutes\n\nTo make the best use of your time, prepare the deceptively delicious cherry sauce while the corn cake is baking. The cake is best served either warm or at room temperature, with the stewed cherries spooned over the top. Since frozen cherries are available year-round, you'll never need to wait for cherry season to enjoy this dessert.\n\n1 cup all-purpose flour\n\n1 teaspoon baking powder\n\n\u00be teaspoon salt\n\n6 tablespoons yellow cornmeal\n\n2 large eggs\n\n1 large egg yolk\n\n2\/3 cup milk\n\n\u00bd cup olive oil\n\n2 teaspoons grated lemon zest\n\n1\u00bd cups sugar\n\n2 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\nTwo 10-ounce bags frozen pitted cherries\n\n\u00bc cup freshly squeezed lemon juice\n\n1. Place a 10-inch cast-iron skillet in the oven and preheat the oven to 350\u00b0F.\n\n2. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the cornmeal.\n\n3. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, egg yolk, milk, olive oil, and lemon zest until frothy. Add \u00be cup of the sugar, and whisk to combine. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and mix just until the batter is smooth.\n\n4. Swirl the butter in the hot cast-iron skillet until it has melted, and then pour the batter into the skillet. Return the skillet to the oven and cook until the center is set, about 25 minutes.\n\n5. While the cake is baking, set a 10-inch skillet over high heat, and add the cherries, lemon juice, and remaining \u00be cup sugar. Cook until the cherries have released most of their juice, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside until ready to use.\n\n6. Allow the cake to cool in the skillet for 5 minutes. Then slice it into wedges and serve with the stewed cherries spooned over the top.\n\n8 servings\n\n## 60 Minutes OR LESS\n\nSOUPS\n\nEmeril's New-Style Caldo Verde\n\nShrimp and Corn Chowder\n\nSTARTERS\n\nCaramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Tart\n\nPASTA\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac\n\nRICE AND BEANS\n\nChicken and Mushroom Risotto\n\nPortuguese Rice with Tuna\n\nChili-Beans\n\nSEAFOOD\n\nSeared Salmon with Lentils\n\nRoasted Whole Red Snapper with Orange, Rosemary, and Kalamata Olives\n\nBrazilian Fish Stew\n\nShrimp \u00c9touff\u00e9e\n\nPOULTRY\n\nRoast Turkey Breast with Bacon and Sage\n\nRoast Chicken with Shallot-Garlic Butter\n\nMEAT\n\nPork Loin with Apples and Prunes\n\nGrilled Marinated Pork Tenderloins with an Orange-Apricot Glaze\n\nDESSERTS\n\nPeach-Blueberry Crisp\n\n60 MINUTES +\n\nBraised Chicken Thighs\n\nSpinach and Mushroom Lasagna\n\nSimple Turkey Meatloaf\n\nSoups\n\nEMERIL'S NEW-STYLE CALDO VERDE\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 45 minutes Total: 60 minutes\n\nIf I had to choose one dish to represent my childhood, it would be this. I call this version \"new-style\" because the kale is cut into thin strips and is cooked only until crisp-tender, which differs from the more traditional version. Ines, my Portuguese friend back home, would be proud. Serve this with crusty bread alongside.\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1\u00bd cups finely chopped yellow onions\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 pounds Idaho potatoes, peeled and cut into \u00bd-inch cubes\n\n7 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\nSalt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste\n\n\u00bd teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\n8 ounces kale, large stems and ribs removed\n\n8 ounces firm (smoked) chorizo or other hot smoked sausage, diced or crumbled\n\n\u00bd cup chopped fresh cilantro\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint\n\n1. Heat the olive oil over medium-high heat in a large soup pot, and add the onions and garlic. Cook until the onions are wilted, 4 minutes. Add the potatoes and chicken stock, cover, and bring to a boil. Season with salt and pepper, and add the crushed red pepper. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook, uncovered, until the potatoes are tender, 20 minutes.\n\n2. While the potatoes are cooking, thinly slice the kale. Set aside.\n\n3. When the soup is thick and the potatoes have begun to break down, add the sausage and cook for 5 minutes. Stir in the kale and simmer until the leaves have softened but are still slightly crunchy and the flavors have melded, 15 minutes. Stir in the cilantro, parsley, and mint, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve hot.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSHRIMP AND CORN CHOWDER\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 35 minutes Total: 50 minutes\n\nThis version of a classic Louisiana country soup is simplified by the use of frozen sweet corn, making it easy to cook up year-round. But if fresh local corn is in season when you decide to give this soup a spin, by all means use that instead.\n\n4 tablespoons (\u00bd stick) butter\n\n6 ounces smoked sausage, cut into \u00bc-inch dice (about 1 cup)\n\n2 cups diced onions (small dice)\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon dried thyme\n\n\u00bd teaspoon cayenne pepper\n\n\u00bc cup all-purpose flour\n\n7 cups shrimp or chicken stock or canned, low-sodium shrimp or chicken broth\n\n1 pound Idaho potatoes, peeled and cut into \u00bd-inch dice (about 2 cups)\n\n3 cups frozen sweet corn\n\n1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\n\u00bd cup heavy cream\n\n\u00bd cup chopped green onions, white and green parts (optional)\n\n1. Melt the butter over medium-high heat in a 6-quart (or larger) stockpot. Add the sausage and cook until it is browned and the fat is rendered, about 2 minutes. Add the onions and cook until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic, salt, thyme, and cayenne, and cook for 1 minute.\n\n2. Sprinkle the flour into the pot and cook, stirring often, for 2 minutes.\n\n3. Whisk in the stock, and add the potatoes. Increase the heat to high, cover the pot, and bring to a boil. Uncover, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 15 minutes.\n\n4. Add the corn and cook for 5 minutes. Add the shrimp and heavy cream, and cook until the shrimp is just cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes.\n\n5. Remove the pot from the heat and serve the soup hot, garnished with the chopped green onions if desired.\n\n2\u00bd quarts, 6 servings\n\nStarters\n\nCARAMELIZED ONION AND GOAT CHEESE TART\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 40 minutes Total: 55 minutes\n\nI present to you a tart reminiscent of the French pissaladi\u00e8re. (To make this one more authentic, simply replace the cheese with anchovies and top the baked tart with Ni\u00e7oise olives.) For a twist, you could garnish the tart with toasted pine nuts and fresh figs for an elegant appetizer. Another idea would be to add saut\u00e9ed spinach. As is or fancied up, this delectable tart is irresistible!\n\n1 egg\n\n\u00bc cup plus 1 tablespoon water\n\nAll-purpose flour, for rolling out puff pastry\n\n1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed in the refrigerator\n\n4 tablespoons (\u00bd stick) butter\n\n4 large onions, thinly sliced (about 8 cups)\n\n1\u00be teaspoons salt\n\n1\u00bc teaspoons freshly ground black pepper\n\n4 ounces goat cheese\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons minced garlic\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Line an 11 \u00d7 17-inch rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.\n\n2. In a small bowl, mix the egg and the 1 tablespoon water with a fork.\n\n3. Lightly flour your work surface and roll out the puff pastry to an 18 \u00d7 12-inch rectangle (this is more easily done by rolling from corner to corner, on a diagonal, adding more flour as necessary). Transfer the dough to the lined baking sheet. (Another tip: Fold the pastry in half, then, like closing a book, in half again. Unfold it on the baking sheet.) Fold a 1-inch edge toward the center and press it lightly with your fingers to seal it, to form a border along all sides. Brush the edges with the egg mixture. Prick the pastry inside the border thoroughly with your fork. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes or as long as overnight before baking.\n\n4. Preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n5. While the pastry is chilling, cook the onions: Melt the butter in a 12-inch skillet over high heat. Add the onions, 1\u00bd teaspoons of the salt, and 1 teaspoon of the pepper, and cook, stirring intermittently, until the onions begin to caramelize, about 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium-low and continue to cook, stirring frequently, for 7 minutes. Increase the heat to high, add the \u00bc cup water, and stir, scraping up any caramelized bits, and cook for 3 minutes longer. Remove the skillet from the heat, transfer the onions to a small baking sheet, spread them out, and chill in the freezer for 5 minutes.\n\n6. While the onions are chilling, make the filling by combining the goat cheese, basil, garlic, extra-virgin olive oil, remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt, and remaining \u00bc teaspoon black pepper in a small bowl with a rubber spatula. Set aside until ready to use.\n\n7. Bake the puff pastry in the oven for 5 minutes.\n\n8. Remove the onions from the freezer and stir to help cool them (it's okay if the onions are still somewhat warm). Spread the onions evenly over the pastry. Drop heaping teaspoonfuls of the goat cheese mixture all over the pastry. Return the tart to the oven and bake, rotating it halfway through, until the edges are golden and the cheese has begun to brown, 15 minutes. Serve immediately.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nPasta\n\nBETTER THAN MAMA'S CHILI-MAC\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 40 minutes Inactive time: 5 minutes Total: 55 minutes\n\nNow this is a scrumptious casserole. It is super-simple, and best of all, it's a huge pan of bowl-you-over goodness that will feed the entire family...and then some!\n\n2 teaspoons olive oil\n\n2 medium onions, cut into small dice (about 3 cups)\n\n2 jalape\u00f1os, stemmed and minced (optional)\n\n2 to 3 teaspoons salt, plus more for the pasta water\n\n2 pounds extra-lean ground beef\n\n5 tablespoons Mexican chili powder\n\n1 tablespoon dried Mexican oregano\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\nOne 28-ounce can whole plum tomatoes, broken with your hands, with juices\n\nTwo 15-ounce cans kidney beans, drained\n\n\u00bd cup water\n\n1 pound elbow macaroni 1 pound medium sharp cheddar cheese\n\nSour cream, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Heat the olive oil in a 6-quart soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the onions, jalape\u00f1os (if desired), and 2 teaspoons of the salt. Cook until the onions are soft, 2 minutes. Add the ground beef, chili powder, oregano, and garlic, and cook, breaking up any clumps of meat with a spoon, for 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes and their juices, beans, and water. Stir, and bring the chili to a boil. Then reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until thickened to chili consistency, about 20 minutes. Taste, and add 1 more teaspoon salt if needed.\n\n2. While the chili is simmering, preheat the oven to 400\u00b0F.\n\n3. Place a 9 \u00d7 13\u00bd-inch or other 3-quart baking dish on a baking sheet. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil, add the macaroni, and cook until just tender, 6 minutes. Drain in a colander, rinse under cool running water, and set aside. Grate the cheddar cheese and set it aside.\n\n4. Once the chili has finished cooking, fold in the cooked macaroni and one-third of the cheddar. Transfer the chili-mac mixture to the baking dish and top with the remaining cheese. Bake until the chili is heated through and the cheese has melted, about 10 minutes.\n\n5. Remove from the oven and let cool for 5 minutes before serving. Garnish each portion with a dollop of sour cream, if desired.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nRice and Beans\n\nCHICKEN AND MUSHROOM RISOTTO\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 31 to 36 minutes Total: 46 to 51 minutes\n\nEveryone loves risotto, right? Well, brown some chicken, saut\u00e9 some mushrooms, and turn a simple risotto into a complete meal.\n\n1 pound boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into bite-size pieces\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n6 tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 shallot, thinly sliced\n\n1 pound shiitake mushrooms, wiped clean, stemmed, and sliced\n\n2 cups Arborio rice\n\n\u00bc cup balsamic vinegar\n\n\u00be cup red wine\n\n6 cups chicken stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken broth, heated\n\n2 tablespoons butter\n\n\u00bd cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves\n\n1. Season the chicken with the salt and pepper, and set aside.\n\n2. Heat 4 tablespoons of the olive oil in a 14-inch saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add the shallot and cook, stirring with a heat-resistant rubber spatula or a wooden spoon, until fragrant and soft, about 1 minute. Add the mushrooms and cook until nicely browned, 3 minutes.\n\n3. Move the mushrooms and shallots to the edge of the pan, and add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add the chicken and cook without stirring until browned on one side, 2 minutes. Add the rice and cook, stirring, until the grains are opaque, about 2 minutes.\n\n4. Add the balsamic vinegar and the wine, and continue cooking, stirring frequently, until nearly all of the liquid has been absorbed, 1 minute. Reduce the heat to medium, stir in \u00be cup of the hot broth, simmer, and stir until nearly all the liquid has been absorbed, about 3 minutes. Continue in this manner, adding more broth, \u00be cup at a time, and not adding more until the previous addition is absorbed, until all the broth has been added and the risotto is tender and creamy, 20 to 25 minutes.\n\n5. Fold in the butter, cheese, and thyme. Remove from the heat, adjust the seasoning as necessary, and serve immediately.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nPORTUGUESE RICE WITH TUNA\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 30 minutes Inactive time: 5 minutes Total: 45 minutes\n\nThis moist rice dish is classic Portuguese\u2014it'll knock your socks off. The tuna melts into the flavorful rice along with the onions and peppers and all but disappears. This is a perfect side dish or light entr\u00e9e when served with a green salad and crusty bread.\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons olive oil\n\n1 medium onion, cut into small dice (about 1\u00bd cups)\n\n1 green bell pepper, cut into small dice (about 1 cup)\n\n3 large cloves garlic, minced (about 1 tablespoon)\n\n1 \u00bc teaspoons salt\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n\u00bc teaspoon crushed red pepper\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can petite diced tomatoes, drained\n\nOne 4.5-ounce can good-quality solid tuna packed in olive oil\n\n1\u00bd cups long-grain white rice\n\n1\u00bd cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Heat the oil over medium-high heat in a 4-quart pot. Add the onion and bell pepper and cook until soft, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic, salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the tomatoes and cook for 4 minutes. Stir in the tuna and its oil, breaking it up with a spoon and mixing well, and cook for 1 minute. Add the rice, stir well to coat, and cook for 1 minute. Stir in the stock and bring to a boil. Cover the pot and reduce the heat to a gentle simmer, and cook until the rice is tender and most of the liquid has been absorbed, 20 minutes.\n\n2. Remove the pot from the heat and let the rice sit, covered, for 5 minutes.\n\n3. Add the parsley and using a fork, gently mix it into the rice, fluffing the rice at the same time. Serve immediately.\n\n6 generous cups, 4 to 6 servings\n\nCHILI-BEANS\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 31 to 36 minutes Total: 46 to 51 minutes\n\nWhen they taste it, people will think that this quick-cook chili simmered on the stove all day. Garnish it with the typical suspects if you like\u2014hey, a little cheddar cheese, sour cream, green onions, and jalape\u00f1o peppers never hurt anyone!\n\n4 slices thick-cut apple-smoked bacon, diced\n\n2 medium onions, diced (about 3 cups)\n\n\u00bd red bell pepper, diced (about 1 cup)\n\n1\u00bd pounds lean ground chuck\n\n3 tablespoons Mexican chili powder\n\n2 teaspoons ground cumin\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons salt\n\nOne 14-ounce can petite diced tomatoes, with juices\n\nTwo 14.5-ounce cans pinto beans, drained and rinsed\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed\n\n2 cups water\n\n1. Cook the bacon in a heavy Dutch oven over medium-high heat until the fat is rendered and the bacon is crisp, about 5 minutes.\n\n2. Add the onions and bell pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables have softened, about 3 minutes.\n\n3. Add the ground chuck, chili powder, cumin, garlic, oregano, and salt. Cook, stirring occasionally and breaking the meat into small pieces, until the meat is well browned, about 8 minutes.\n\n4. Add the tomatoes with their juices, beans, and water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer, partially cover the pot, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat and beans are tender and the sauce is thick and flavorful, 15 to 20 minutes. Serve hot.\n\n2 quarts, 4 to 6 servings\n\nSeafood\n\nSEARED SALMON WITH LENTILS\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 50 minutes Total: 60 minutes\n\nThere is something about the combination of salmon and lentils that always makes me come back for more, so I prepare this dish often at home for the family. If you can find French green lentils, get them\u2014they're worth it because they hold their shape well after cooking. Beluga lentils would also work well here. Whatever type of lentil you use, don't overcook them\u2014they should be just tender when you drain them.\n\n9 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling (optional)\n\n1\u00bc cups diced red onion (small dice)\n\n\u00bd cup diced celery (small dice)\n\n2 cups French green lentils\n\n8 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 bay leaf\n\nSalt\n\nFour 6-ounce salmon fillets, skin on\n\nFreshly ground black pepper\n\n1 cup diced red bell pepper (small dice)\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar\n\n1 teaspoon grated lemon zest\n\n1. Heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. When it is hot, add 1 cup of the onion and the celery and cook, stirring, until soft, about 4 minutes. Add the lentils, chicken stock, and bay leaf, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook, uncovered and stirring occasionally, until the lentils are just tender, 35 to 45 minutes. Season to taste with salt, and then drain the lentils in a colander. Set aside while you prepare the salmon.\n\n2. Season the salmon fillets on both sides with salt and pepper to taste. Heat 3 tablespoons of the remaining olive oil in a medium saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Place the salmon in the pan, skin side down, and cook until golden brown and crisp, 3 to 4 minutes. Turn the fillets over and cook to the desired degree of doneness, about 2 minutes for medium-rare. Transfer the salmon to paper towels to drain briefly.\n\n3. Transfer the drained lentils to a mixing bowl and add the remaining \u00bc cup red onion, the bell pepper, parsley, balsamic vinegar, lemon zest, and the remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil. Toss well to combine, and adjust the seasoning if necessary. Divide the lentils among four wide, shallow bowls, and top each with a salmon fillet. Serve immediately, drizzled with olive oil if desired.\n\n4 servings\n\nROASTED WHOLE RED SNAPPER WITH ORANGE, ROSEMARY, AND KALAMATA OLIVES\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Cook time: 35 to 40 minutes Total: 55 to 60 minutes\n\nI know that there are a lot of you out there who shy away from cooking whole fish at home. But, hey, it's a great technique that leaves you with super-moist, tender fish and delicious pan juices. It's a knockout presentation. Take a walk on the wild side and give this one a try.\n\nTwo 3-pound whole red snappers, scaled and gutted\n\n2 tablespoons kosher salt\n\n2 teaspoons freshly ground white pepper\n\n2 large oranges, each sliced into 4 thick rounds\n\n6 sprigs fresh rosemary, plus 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary leaves\n\n\u00bc cup julienned orange zest\n\n\u00bd cup sliced garlic cloves (\u00bc-inch-thick slices)\n\n1 cup sliced pitted Kalamata olives\n\n1\u00bd cups dry white wine\n\n1 cup freshly squeezed orange juice\n\n\u00be cup extra-virgin olive oil\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 425\u00b0F.\n\n2. Cut 2 parallel diagonal slices, about 3 inches apart and \u00bc inch deep, into each side of the fish. This will make the fish easier to serve. Season the snappers on both sides with the salt and white pepper. Place the orange slices in a large roasting pan, arranging them in two columns of 4 slices each. Place 3 rosemary sprigs across each of the rows of oranges. Lay the fish on top of the orange slices, and scatter the rosemary leaves, orange zest, garlic, and olives evenly over the 2 fish. Pour the wine and orange juice around the fish, and drizzle each fish with 2 tablespoons of the olive oil.\n\n3. Place the pan in the oven and roast, uncovered, for 20 minutes.\n\n4. Remove the pan from the oven and drizzle 2 more tablespoons of the olive oil over each fish. Return it to the oven and continue to roast until the fish is well caramelized and the flesh flakes easily when tested with a fork, 15 to 20 minutes.\n\n5. Remove the pan from the oven and drizzle the fish with the remaining 4 tablespoons olive oil. Serve immediately, with the pan drippings drizzled over the fish.\n\nNote: To serve the fish, use a large spoon to lift the fish section by section between the diagonal cuts. When the fish from the first side has been served, remove the bone by lifting the tail. Serve the remaining fillets.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nBRAZILIAN FISH STEW\n\nPrep time: 25 minutes Cook time: 20 minutes Total: 45 minutes\n\nThe flavors and colors of this dish will wow any seafood lover, trust me. Now, I've gotta tell you, it is a bit on the spicy side, so feel free to reduce the cayenne peppers if you're not a spice lover. With white rice served alongside, this is a complete meal.\n\n2\u00bd pounds red grouper, skin on, scaled and cut into 2-inch pieces (or substitute redfish, flounder, striped bass, escolar, or any other white-fleshed fish)\n\n3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice\n\n\u00bc cup olive oil\n\n1\u00bd cups thinly sliced onions\n\n2 to 3 fresh cayenne chiles, stemmed, seeded, and roughly chopped\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n2 tablespoons tomato paste\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juices\n\n\u00bd cup fish or chicken stock, or canned, low-sodium chicken broth, or water\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can unsweetened coconut milk\n\n2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro\n\nSteamed white rice, for serving\n\n1. Place the fish in a large nonreactive mixing bowl, add the lime juice, and set aside to marinate while you proceed with the recipe.\n\n2. Heat a large saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat, and add the olive oil. Once it is hot, add the onions and cayenne peppers and saut\u00e9, stirring often, until the onions are translucent, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the garlic and saut\u00e9 for 30 seconds. Add the tomato paste, diced tomatoes, stock, and 1 teaspoon of the salt, and stir well to incorporate. Bring the mixture to a boil. Season the fish with the remaining teaspoon of salt. Then add the fish (with the lime juice) and the coconut milk. Stir to combine, and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover the pan, reduce the heat to medium-low, and cook until the flesh of the fish starts to flake, about 10 minutes.\n\n3. Remove the cover, sprinkle the cilantro over the fish, and serve accompanied by steamed white rice.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nSHRIMP \u00c9TOUFF\u00c9E\n\nPrep time: 16 minutes Cook time: 44 minutes Total: 60 minutes\n\nMost of the active time here is chopping the vegetables; once the sauce is together, the simmering time leaves you free to do other things. If you have more time available, the sauce can be simmered over low heat for a longer time. This is even better if made a day in advance; simply reheat it gently over low heat.\n\n6 tablespoons (\u00be stick) unsalted butter\n\n4 cups chopped onions\n\n2 cups chopped green bell peppers\n\n2 cups chopped celery\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n\u00bd cup all-purpose flour\n\nOne 14.5-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juices\n\n2 tablespoons Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n3 cups shrimp or chicken stock or canned, low-sodium shrimp or chicken broth\n\n3 pounds medium shrimp, peeled and deveined\n\nSalt and cayenne pepper, to taste\n\nSteamed white rice, for serving\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\n1. Melt the butter in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the onions, bell peppers, celery, and garlic. Cover the pot and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are tender, 8 to 10 minutes.\n\n2. Add the flour and cook, stirring constantly to pick up the browned bits from the bottom of the pot, until the roux is a golden brown color, 3 to 4 minutes.\n\n3. Add the tomatoes with juices and Essence and continue to cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a steady simmer and cook until the sauce is thick and flavorful, about 25 minutes.\n\n4. Add the shrimp and cook until they are just cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes. Season with salt and cayenne pepper to taste, and spoon over cooked white rice in wide, shallow bowls. Garnish with the parsley, and serve.\n\n3 quarts, 6 to 8 servings\n\nPoultry\n\nROAST TURKEY BREAST WITH BACON AND SAGE\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 40 to 42 minutes Total: 55 to 57 minutes\n\nWhen folks tell me that they don't want to fool with roasting an entire turkey, I understand. It can be an undertaking, for sure. But this herbed turkey breast is another thing altogether. It goes together in no time, and the meat ends up incredibly moist and flavorful. I would have no problem whatsoever serving this as the centerpiece of a small Thanksgiving get-together. Just don't skip the bacon!\n\n3 slices thick-cut bacon\n\n1\u00bd tablespoons minced garlic\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh sage\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh oregano\n\n1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme\n\n3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature\n\n2 teaspoons kosher salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\nOne 2-pound boneless turkey breast, rinsed and patted dry\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 500\u00b0F. Line a shallow roasting pan or baking dish with aluminum foil.\n\n2. Cook the bacon in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until crisp, about 6 minutes. Transfer the bacon to paper towels to drain, reserving 1 tablespoon of the rendered bacon fat separately.\n\n3. When the bacon has cooled, chop it fine and transfer it to a small bowl. Add the garlic, sage, rosemary, oregano, thyme, butter, 1 teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bd teaspoon of the pepper. Using a small spoon, mix thoroughly to combine and form a paste.\n\n4. Using your fingers, gently loosen the skin on both sides of the turkey breast so that it is separated from the flesh. Divide the herb paste in half, and gently spread half between the skin and the flesh on each side of the breast. Season the outside of the turkey breast with the remaining 1 teaspoon salt and \u00bd teaspoon pepper. Brush the turkey all over with the reserved bacon fat.\n\n5. Place the turkey breast in the prepared pan and roast, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to 400\u00b0F and cook for another 20 to 25 minutes, or until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the deep portion of the breast registers 165\u00b0F.\n\n6. Remove the pan from the oven and allow the turkey to rest for 10 minutes before carving it into thin slices. Serve with the pan drippings.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nROAST CHICKEN WITH SHALLOT-GARLIC BUTTER\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 45 minutes Total: 55 minutes\n\nEveryone needs a good roast chicken in their lives every now and again, and in my family, Sunday dinners are often all about roast chicken. Let's face it, once the chicken is prepped and in the oven, well, as they say, it's all gravy, baby. Take a look at the photos if you've never carved a chicken\u2014it just takes practice, and once you get the hang of it, you can practically do it with your eyes closed.\n\n4 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature\n\n2 tablespoons minced shallot\n\n1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley\n\n1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00be teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 whole chicken (about 3 pounds), excess fat and giblets removed, rinsed and patted dry\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 450\u00b0F.\n\n2. In a small bowl, combine the butter with the shallot, parsley, garlic, \u00bc teaspoon of the salt, and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper. Rub 1 tablespoon of the flavored butter on the inside of the chicken, and sprinkle the cavity with \u00bc teaspoon of the salt and \u00bc teaspoon of the pepper. Use your fingers to gently loosen the skin covering the breast, and place \u00bd tablespoon of the flavored butter under the skin on each side of the breast (working from the top end) and under the skin of each thigh (working from the bottom end of the breast). Reserve the extra flavored butter for brushing on the chicken when finished.\n\n3. Tuck the wings behind the bird and tie the leg ends together with kitchen twine. Sprinkle the remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt and \u00bc teaspoon pepper all over the chicken. Set the chicken in a shallow baking dish (just large enough to hold the chicken) and place it in the oven with the legs to the back. Roast for 20 minutes. Baste the chicken with any accumulating juices and roast for 15 minutes longer. Baste the chicken again and roast until the thigh registers 165\u00b0F when tested with an instant-read thermometer, 10 to 15 minutes.\n\n4. Transfer the chicken to a cutting board, and let it rest for 10 minutes. Brush the warm chicken with the remaining flavored butter, if desired, then carve and serve with the pan juices spooned over the top.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\n1 After the chicken has rested for at least 10 minutes and has been set on a carving board, remove the kitchen twine.\n\n2 Using a sharp knife, begin to separate the leg and thigh from the breast by slicing between the leg and breast, through the skin, to the joint.\n\n3 To further detach and expose the ball joint, gently pry the leg and thigh away from the breast by pressing it toward your cutting surface. With the tip of your knife, slice through the joint to completely separate the leg quarter. This will involve cutting through to the backbone. Set the leg quarter aside. To separate the leg from the thigh, cut through the joint. If you meet resistance, reposition the knife blade.\n\n4 To remove the breast, slice against the breastbone along the rib. You will have to angle the knife so that the blade runs flat against the ribs (you are not cutting through the ribs; you want to remove the breast from the ribs). Use the tip of your knife to separate the meat from the wishbone.\n\n5 Make another slice along the bottom length of the breast (running parallel to the wing), remove the meat, and set aside. Detach the wing by cutting through the joint. Carve the other side in the same manner.\n\nMeat\n\nPORK LOIN WITH APPLES AND PRUNES\n\nPrep time: 10 minutes Cook time: 50 minutes Total: 60 minutes\n\nThis impressive pork roast is a great dish for the fall, when apples are in season at your local farmer's market and you can purchase fresh apple cider. Cozy up to a nice bottle of wine and you're there.\n\n\u00bd cup dried prunes\n\n1\u00bc cups fresh apple cider\n\nOne 2\u00bd-pound boneless pork loin\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n3 tablespoons olive oil\n\n2 small onions, cut into \u00bd-inch-wide wedges\n\n2 Pink Lady or Honeycrisp apples, peeled, cored, and cut into \u00bd-inch-wide wedges\n\n2 cloves garlic, sliced\n\n\u00bc cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n4 fresh thyme sprigs\n\n2 tablespoons cider vinegar\n\n4 tablespoons (\u00bd stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 325\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place the prunes in a small bowl, add \u00bc cup of the apple cider, and set aside to soak while you proceed with the recipe.\n\n3. Season the pork loin with 1\u00bd teaspoons of the salt and \u00be teaspoon of the black pepper.\n\n4. Heat the oil in a large Dutch oven over high heat. When it is hot, add the pork loin and cook until browned on all sides, 8 minutes. Remove the pork from the pan and transfer it to a baking sheet or platter.\n\n5. Reduce the heat to medium and add the onions, apples, and garlic to the Dutch oven. Cook, stirring occasionally, until caramelized, about 3 minutes. Add the soaked prunes (with any remaining juices) and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes. Add the remaining 1 cup apple cider and the chicken stock, and bring to a boil.\n\n6. Return the pork loin to the pot, add the thyme sprigs, and bring to a simmer. Cover, and transfer the pot to the oven. Cook, undisturbed, until the pork registers 145\u00b0F on an instant-read thermometer, about 30 minutes.\n\n7. Remove the pot from the oven and transfer the pork to a platter. Tent it with aluminum foil to keep warm.\n\n8. Place the Dutch oven over medium-high heat and bring the onion-apple mixture to a boil. Cook until slightly reduced, about 3 minutes. Remove and discard the thyme sprigs. Add the vinegar, remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt, and remaining \u00bc teaspoon black pepper, and stir to combine. While stirring, add the butter, little by little, until it is completely incorporated. Do not allow the sauce to boil or it will separate. Remove from the heat.\n\n9. To serve, spoon some of the sauce onto a serving platter. Slice the pork into thin slices, and arrange them over the sauce. Spoon more sauce over the pork slices, and serve immediately.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nGRILLED MARINATED PORK TENDERLOINS WITH AN ORANGE-APRICOT GLAZE\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Marinating time: 20 minutes Cook time: 22 to 25 minutes Total: 47 to 50 minutes\n\nWe tested this recipe in a grill pan in our indoor kitchen, but if you're in the mood to fire up the outdoor grill at your house, please, by all means. Your cook time will likely be less, so have your thermometer handy and make sure not to cook the pork beyond 145\u00b0F.\n\n\u00bd cup cider vinegar\n\n6 tablespoons olive oil\n\n2 tablespoons minced garlic\n\n2 pork tenderloins (about 1 pound each)\n\n\u00bd cup apricot preserves\n\n\u00bd cup chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n1 teaspoon grated orange zest\n\n2 teaspoons salt\n\n1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper\n\n1. In a 1-gallon resealable plastic food storage bag, combine the vinegar, olive oil, garlic, and pork tenderloins. Seal, and set aside to marinate at room temperature for 20 minutes.\n\n2. While the pork is marinating, prepare the glaze: Combine the preserves, chicken stock, and orange zest in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook until reduced by half, about 5 minutes. Set aside.\n\n3. Set a grill pan over medium-high heat.\n\n4. Remove the pork from the marinade and season it with the salt and white pepper. Place the pork in the hot grill pan and cook for 5 minutes. Turn it over and cook for another 5 minutes. Continue to cook the pork, turning it every few minutes, until it is cooked through, 12 to 15 minutes longer.\n\n5. Remove the pork from the pan and set it aside to rest briefly. Brush with the orange-apricot glaze, slice, and serve hot.\n\n4 servings\n\nDesserts\n\nPEACH-BLUEBERRY CRISP\n\nPrep time (including topping): 20 minutes Cook time: 40 minutes Total: 60 minutes\n\nThis sinfully delicious crisp can be made any time of the year since it uses frozen peaches and blueberries. Prep it and let it bake while you're enjoying dinner, and it'll be hot and bubbly when you're ready to dive in!\n\n2 teaspoons unsalted butter\n\nOne 1-pound bag (4 cups) frozen peaches\n\nOne 1-pound bag (3 cups) frozen blueberries\n\n\u00bd cup sugar\n\n3 tablespoons all-purpose flour\n\n1 teaspoon vanilla extract\n\nCrisp Topping (recipe follows)\n\nWhipped cream, cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche, or vanilla ice cream, for serving (optional)\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 375\u00b0F. Grease a 2\u00bd-quart baking dish with the butter.\n\n2. Combine the peaches, blueberries, sugar, flour, and vanilla extract in a large bowl. Toss well to mix. Transfer the fruit to the prepared baking dish, and cover with the topping. Place the baking dish on a parchment-or foil-lined rimmed baking sheet to catch any juices that may bubble over.\n\n3. Bake until the crisp is browned on top and the juices have thickened around the edges, about 40 minutes. Serve with whipped cream, cr\u00e8me fra\u00eeche, or vanilla ice cream, if desired.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nCrisp Topping\n\n6 tablespoons (\u00be stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces\n\n2\/3 cup all-purpose flour\n\n2\/3 cup old-fashioned rolled oats\n\n\u00bd cup packed light brown sugar\n\n\u00bc cup packed dark brown sugar\n\n1 teaspoon ground cinnamon\n\n\u00bd teaspoon finely grated nutmeg\n\n\u00bc teaspoon salt\n\nCombine all the ingredients in the bowl of a standing electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, and process on low speed until the mixture is crumbly and coarse. (Alternatively, combine the ingredients in a bowl, and using a pastry blender, two knives, or your fingers, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.)\n\nEnough topping for 1 crisp\n\n60 Minutes +\n\nBRAISED CHICKEN THIGHS\n\nPrep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 65 minutes Total: 70 minutes\n\nWhen I'm preparing this dish, it's all I can do to wait until it's finished simmering to get a taste of the awesome gravy. You've simply gotta cook some rice to eat with this, no doubt about it.\n\n6 chicken thighs (about 2 pounds), trimmed of any excess skin or fat\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd cup plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour\n\n2 teaspoons olive oil\n\n3 tablespoons unsalted butter\n\n2 cups thinly sliced yellow onions\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n6 sprigs fresh thyme, tied in a bundle, or 2 sprigs fresh rosemary\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n3 cups chicken stock or canned, low-sodium chicken broth\n\n\u00bc cup chopped fresh parsley\n\nSteamed white rice, for serving\n\n1. Season the chicken all over with the Essence and \u00bd teaspoon of the salt. Place the \u00bd cup flour in a small bowl, and quickly dredge both sides of each thigh in the flour, shaking to remove any excess. Set aside.\n\n2. Heat 1 teaspoon of the olive oil in a 10-to 12-inch flameproof casserole or saut\u00e9 pan over medium-high heat. Add 2 tablespoons of the butter, and when it has melted, place the chicken, skin side down, in the pan. Brown for 2 minutes on each side. Remove the chicken from the pan and set aside.\n\n3. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon butter to the pan, and when it has melted, add the onions, garlic, thyme bundle or rosemary sprigs, remaining \u00bd teaspoon salt, and the black pepper. Cook, stirring as needed, until the onions are translucent, about 4 minutes. Sprinkle the 1 tablespoon flour over the onions and cook for 2 minutes longer. Then whisk in the chicken stock and increase the heat to high. Return the chicken, skin side down, to the pan, and bring the stock to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover the pan with a heavy, tight-fitting lid, and simmer for 15 minutes.\n\n4. Uncover the pan, stir the bottom of the pan to prevent scorching, and turn the chicken skin side up. Cover the pan, and simmer for 20 minutes longer.\n\n5. Stir the bottom of the pan a final time, re-cover, and simmer for 20 more minutes.\n\n6. Remove the pan from the heat and discard the herb bundle or rosemary sprigs. Transfer the chicken to a serving platter. Add the parsley to the sauce, stir to combine, and then spoon the sauce over the chicken. Serve with steamed white rice.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\nSPINACH AND MUSHROOM LASAGNA\n\nPrep time: 20 minutes Cook time: 74 to 78 minutes Inactive time: 20 minutes Total: 114 to 118 minutes\n\nThough this dish is a bit of a splurge timewise, it is definitely worthwhile. Go on, indulge. As far as lasagna goes, this recipe is actually very simple, and boy, is it delicious. Keep in mind that most of the time is inactive, when the lasagna is either baking in the oven or resting after baking. A great Sunday take-it-to-work-Monday kinda meal.\n\n2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for the pan\n\n1\u00bd cups diced onions\n\n1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon minced garlic\n\n1 package (about 8 ounces) sliced cremini mushrooms\n\n1 teaspoon salt\n\n10 cups (about 10 ounces) prewashed fresh spinach, chopped\n\n4 cups your favorite jarred marinara sauce or other tomato sauce for pasta\n\n\u00bc teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1\u00bd teaspoons dried Italian herbs\n\n3 cups low-fat cottage cheese, drained of excess liquid in a strainer\n\nOne 8-ounce package no-cook lasagna noodles\n\n12 ounces part-skim mozzarella cheese, shredded (3 cups)\n\n2 cups finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese\n\n1. Preheat the oven to 375\u00b0F.\n\n2. Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat, and add 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the onions and saut\u00e9 until soft and translucent, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the 1 tablespoon garlic and cook for 30 seconds. Then add another \u00bd tablespoon of the olive oil, the mushrooms, and \u00bc teaspoon of the salt. Continue to cook until the mushrooms are soft and wilted, 5 to 6 minutes. Remove them from the skillet and set aside.\n\n3. Add the remaining \u00bd tablespoon olive oil and 1 teaspoon garlic to the same skillet. Add the spinach and saut\u00e9, stirring, until wilted, 3 to 4 minutes. Drain the spinach and return it to the skillet. Add the marinara sauce, \u00bd teaspoon of the salt, the black pepper, and the Italian herbs. Simmer for 3 to 4 minutes. Remove the skillet from the heat and set aside.\n\n4. In a bowl, combine the remaining \u00bc teaspoon salt and the cottage cheese. Lightly grease a 9\u00bd \u00d7 13-inch baking dish with olive oil.\n\n5. Arrange one even layer of lasagna noodles (3 to 4 noodles) in the baking dish so that most of the bottom is covered, taking care that the noodles are not overlapping. Spread a layer of the cottage cheese mixture over the noodles, then top with a third of the mushrooms. Spoon a third of the tomato sauce over all, then top with a third of the mozzarella and a third of the Parmigiano-Reggiano. Repeat the layers two more times, ending with the Parmigiano-Reggiano. Cover the dish with aluminum foil and bake for 45 minutes.\n\n6. Uncover the dish and continue baking until the cheese bubbles and is lightly browned, about 15 minutes. Let the lasagna cool for at least 20 minutes before cutting. Serve hot.\n\n6 to 8 servings\n\nSIMPLE TURKEY MEATLOAF\n\nPrep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 45 to 50 minutes Total: 60 to 65 minutes\n\nMy second daughter, Jillian, hasn't eaten red meat since I can remember. She got me started using ground turkey in many things that are typically made with ground beef. Here is an example of one dish that I have come to especially enjoy. And talk about good sandwiches the next day! The perfect accompaniment is, of course, Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes (40 Minutes or Less).\n\n1\u00bd pounds ground turkey, preferably 85\/15 blend, or a mix of ground breast and thigh meat\n\n2\/3 cup chopped yellow onion\n\n\u00bd cup chopped red or green bell pepper\n\n\u00bd cup unseasoned dry breadcrumbs\n\n1\/3 cup chopped celery\n\n1 large egg, lightly beaten\n\n\u00bd cup ketchup\n\n1 tablespoon minced garlic\n\n1 tablespoon Emeril's Original Essence or Creole Seasoning (20 Minutes or Less)\n\n\u00bd teaspoon salt\n\n\u00bd teaspoon freshly ground black pepper\n\n1 tablespoon hot sauce\n\n1. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 375\u00b0F.\n\n2. Place the turkey in a large mixing bowl. Add the onion, bell pepper, breadcrumbs, celery, egg, 1 tablespoon of the ketchup, the garlic, Essence, salt, and pepper. Mix gently but thoroughly until the ingredients are well combined. Transfer the turkey mixture to a 1-pound loaf pan, and form it into a domed loaf shape.\n\n3. Place the remaining ketchup in a small bowl, and stir in the hot sauce. Spoon the ketchup mixture evenly over the meatloaf, spreading it with the back of a spoon.\n\n4. Bake until the meatloaf is browned on top, cooked through, and an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center registers 165\u00b0F, 45 to 50 minutes.\n\n5. Remove the pan from the oven and let the meatloaf rest for 5 minutes before serving.\n\n4 to 6 servings\n\n## Searchable Terms\n\nNote: Entries in this index, carried over verbatim from the print edition of this title, are unlikely to correspond to the pagination of any given e-book reader. However, entries in this index, and other terms, may be easily located by using the search feature of your e-book reader.\n\nNote: Page references in italics refer to recipe photographs.\n\nA\n\nAnchovies\n\nand Caramelized Onions, Spaghetti with, 152\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca, 155\n\nReal Caesar Salad, 16\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nApples and Prunes, Pork Loin with, 240\u201342, 241\n\nArugula, Cantaloupe, and\n\nProsciutto Salad, 22, 23\n\nAsparagus, Pan-Roasted, with\n\nShiitake Mushrooms and\n\nCherry Tomatoes, 60\n\nAvocado(s)\n\nBacon, Lettuce, and Tomato Sandwich with Basil Mayo, 35\n\nChili-Rubbed Shrimp Wraps, 140\u201341, 141\n\nSalad Tropicale, 27\n\nSeared Shrimp Salad, 132, 133\n\nB\n\nBacon\n\nBraised Green Beans, 166, 167\n\nCountry-Fried Steak with White Gravy, 202\u20133\n\nand Fried Eggs, Spinach Salad with, 17\n\nLettuce, Avocado, and Tomato Sandwich with Basil Mayo, 35\n\nLinguine alla Carbonara, 50\u201351\n\nand Shiitakes with Penne, 149\n\nBalsamic Vinaigrette, 30\n\nBananas, Brown Sugar\u2013Baked, 100\n\nBasil\n\nBruschetta, 11\n\nMayo, Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado, and Tomato Sandwich with, 35\n\nMozzarella and Tomato Bites with Kalamata Olive Drizzle, 13\n\nTomato, and Mozzarella, Orzo \"Risotto\" with, 148\n\nBean(s)\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac, 222\u201323, 223\n\nBlack, Cakes, 162, 163\n\nBlack, Salsa, Fish Tacos with, 44\n\nChickpea Salad with Tabbouleh, 137\n\nChili-Beans, 226, 227\n\nGreen, Bacon Braised, 166, 167\n\nGreen, Spicy Pork Stir-Fry with, 95\n\nPinto, and Turkey Tostadas, 164\n\nRed, Soup, Quick, 114\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Hummus, 8, 9\n\nSausage, and Cheese Nachos, Spicy, 58, 59\n\nSeared Salmon with Lentils, 228\u201329, 229\n\nWhite, Creamy, with Sausage, 165\n\nBeef\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac, 222\u201323, 223\n\nand Broccoli, Stir-Fried, 205\n\nChili-Beans, 226, 227\n\nCountry-Fried Steak with White Gravy, 202\u20133\n\nMinute Steaks Teriyaki-Style, 91\n\nMushroom-Smothered Steaks, 96, 97\n\nNew York Strip with Beurre Ma\u00eetre d'H\u00f4tel, 88, 89\n\nSloppy Joes, 200, 201\n\nSteak and Cheese Sandwiches, 36\u201337\n\nSteak au Poivre, 86\u201387\n\nStroganoff with Egg Noodles, 156\u201357, 157\n\nBerries\n\nFlamb\u00e9ed Strawberry Sauce for Angel Food Cake or Ice Cream, 107\n\nFresh, with Balsamic Drizzle and Almond Cream, 104, 105\n\nMelon with Amaretti Cookie Crumbles, 103\n\nPeach-Blueberry Crisp, 244\u201345, 245\n\nBlueberry(ies)\n\nFresh Berries with Balsamic Drizzle and Almond Cream, 104, 105\n\n-Peach Crisp, 244\u201345, 245\n\nBok Choy, Garlicky, 62, 62\n\nBrazilian Fish Stew, 232, 233 Breads\n\nBruschetta, 11\n\nSimple Croutons, 136, 136\n\nBroccoli\n\nand Beef, Stir-Fried, 205\n\nand Cheese Soup, 112, 113\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad, 135\n\nGarden Vegetable Soup, 122, 123 Bruschetta, 11\n\nBurgers\n\nBlack Bean Cakes, 162, 163\n\nChicken Queso, 138\u201339\n\nButtermilk\n\nDressing, 28, 29\n\nMashed Potatoes, 173, 173\n\nC\n\nCabbage\n\nFish en Papillote, 176\u201377\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad, 135\n\nGarlicky Bok Choy, 62, 62\n\nSausages and Sauerkraut, 204\n\nSpicy Pork Wraps with Creamy Coleslaw, 142\u201343\n\nCaesar Salad, Real, 16\n\nCake, Skillet Corn, with Stewed Cherries, 212, 213\n\nCantaloupe,\n\nMelon with Amaretti Cookie Crumbles, 103\n\nProsciutto, and Arugula Salad, 22, 23\n\nCapers\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca, 155\n\nShrimp and Feta, Greek-Style, 182\u201383\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nCarrot(s)\n\nEmeril's Noodle Salad, 134\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad, 135\n\nGinger Soup, 116, 117\n\nMinute Steaks Teriyaki-Style, 91\n\nPasta Primavera, 158, 159\n\nRoasted, with Fresh Thyme, 66\n\nSpinach, and an Asian Vinaigrette, Baked Flounder with, 186\n\nand Tarragon, Saut\u00e9ed Yellow Squash with, 64, 65\n\nCashews, Stir-Fried Chicken with, 80\n\nCatfish\n\nBroiled, with Fresh Thyme, Garlic, and Lemon, 70, 71\n\nSouthern-Style Pan-Fried, 74\n\nCheese\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac, 222\u201323, 223\n\nBoneless Pork Chops Parmigiana, 92\u201394, 93\n\nBoursin, Spinach, and Pecan\u2013Stuffed Chicken Breasts, 188\u201389\n\nand Broccoli Soup, 112, 113\n\nChicken Cordon Bleu, 194\u201395, 195\n\nChicken Queso Burgers, 138\u201339\n\nGoat, and Caramelized Onion Tart, 220\u201321\n\nGoat, Orange, and Walnut Salad, 18, 19\n\nKicked-Up Tuna Melts, 42, 43\n\nLinguine alla Carbonara, 50\u201351\n\nMozzarella and Tomato Bites with Kalamata Olive Drizzle, 13\n\nOrzo \"Risotto\" with Tomato, Mozzarella, and Basil, 148\n\nOven-Crispy French Fries with Paprika-Parmesan Salt, 146,, 147\n\nPressed Roast Turkey, Pesto, and Provolone Sandwiches, 38, 39\n\nProsciutto and Mozzarella Panini, 40\n\nReal Caesar Salad, 16\n\nSausage, and Bean Nachos, Spicy, 58, 59\n\nSausage and Pepper Po-Boy, 34\n\nShrimp and Feta, Greek-Style, 182\u201383\n\nSpinach and Mushroom Lasagna, 248\u201349, 249\n\nand Steak Sandwiches, 36\u201337\n\nThree-, Baked Macaroni, 153\n\nand Turkey Sandwich, Open-Face, 41\n\nCherries, Stewed, Skillet Corn Cake with, 212, 213\n\nChicken\n\nBreasts, Boursin Cheese, Spinach, and Pecan\u2013Stuffed, 188\u201389\n\nBreasts, Saut\u00e9ed, with Dijon Herb Sauce, 81\n\ncarving, 239\n\nCordon Bleu, 194\u201395, 195\n\nCrispy Pan-Roasted, with Garlic-Thyme Butter, 193\n\nHot and Sour Soup, 119\n\nand Mushroom Risotto, 224\n\nPatty Pockets with Minted Yogurt Sauce, 144\u201345, 145\n\nQueso Burgers, 138\u201339 and Rice Soup, 115\n\nRoast, with Shallot-Garlic Butter, 238\u201339\n\nSalad with Fresh Herbs and Celery, 82\n\nStir-Fried, with Cashews, 80\n\nTenders, Panko-Crusted, 198\u201399\n\nThighs, Braised, 246\u201347, 247\n\nWings, Oven-Roasted, 192\n\nChiles\n\nBrazilian Fish Stew, 232, 233\n\nChicken Queso Burgers, 138\u201339\n\nCoconut, and Tomatoes, Indian-Inspired Shrimp with, 174, 175\n\nChili-Beans, 226, 227\n\nChili-Mac, Better Than Mama's, 222\u201323, 223\n\nChili-Rubbed Shrimp Wraps, 140\u201341, 141\n\nChocolate\n\nCandied Hot Fudge Sundaes, 101\n\nChip\u2013Peanut Butter Cookies, 102, 102\n\nChowder, Shrimp and Corn, 218\n\nCoconut milk\n\nAromatic Jasmine Rice, 57\n\nBrazilian Fish Stew, 232, 233\n\nChiles, and Tomatoes, Indian-Inspired Shrimp with, 174, 175\n\nCookie(s)\n\nAmaretti, Crumbles, Melon with, 103\n\nEmeril's Late-Night Parfaits, 98, 99\n\nKicked-Up Snickerdoodles, 210\u201311\n\nPeanut Butter\u2013Chocolate Chip, 102, 102\n\nCorn and Shrimp Chowder, 218\n\nCorn Cake, Skillet, with Stewed Cherries, 212, 213\n\nCornish Game Hens, Honey-Lemon-Thyme, 190\u201391, 191\n\nCouscous, Orange, Currant, and Pine Nut, 48, 49\n\nCreole Seasoning, 29\n\nCroutons, Simple, 136, 136\n\nCucumber(s)\n\nEmeril's Noodle Salad, 134\n\nRibbon Salad, 20, 20\n\nSalad Tropicale, 27\n\nSaut\u00e9ed, with Basil and Mint, Emeril's, 67\n\nD\n\nDesserts\n\nBrown Sugar\u2013Baked Bananas, 100\n\nCandied Hot Fudge Sundaes, 101\n\nEmeril's Late-Night Parfaits, 98, 99\n\nFlamb\u00e9ed Strawberry Sauce for Angel Food Cake or Ice Cream, 107\n\nFresh Berries with Balsamic Drizzle and Almond Cream, 104, 105\n\nKicked-Up Snickerdoodles, 210\u201311\n\nMelon with Amaretti Cookie Crumbles, 103\n\nPeach-Blueberry Crisp, 244\u201345, 245\n\nPeanut Butter\u2013Chocolate Chip Cookies, 102, 102\n\nSkillet Corn Cake with Stewed Cherries, 212, 213\n\nDips and spreads\n\nCreamy Shrimp and Green Onion Dip, 131\n\nKicked-Up Tartar Sauce, 75\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Hummus, 8, 9\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Mayo, 130\n\nE\n\nEggplant, Sesame, 170, 171\n\nEggs\n\nFried, and Bacon, Spinach Salad with, 17\n\nLinguine alla Carbonara, 50\u201351\n\nSimple Italian Wedding Soup, 4\n\nEscarole and Sausage, Penne with, 150, 151\n\nF\n\nFennel, Orange, and Black Olive Salad, 24\u201325\n\nFish. See also Anchovies; Shellfish\n\nBaked Flounder with Carrots, Spinach, and an Asian Vinaigrette, 186\n\nBlue Corn\u2013Crusted Rainbow Trout with Cilantro-Lime Sour Cream, 76\n\nBroiled Catfish with Fresh Thyme, Garlic, and Lemon, 70, 71\n\nBroiled Salmon with a Warm Tomato-Lemon Vinaigrette, 72\n\nen Papillote, 176\u201377\n\nKicked-Up Tuna Melts, 42, 43\n\nPortuguese Rice with Tuna, 225\n\nRoasted Scrod with Herbed Breadcrumbs, 180, 181\n\nRoasted Whole Red Snapper with Orange, Rosemary, and Kalamata Olives, 230\u201331\n\nSalmon with Orange Butter Sauce, 184, 185\n\nSeared Salmon with Lentils, 228\u201329, 229\n\nSouthern-Style Pan-Fried Catfish, 74\n\nStew, Brazilian, 232, 233\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nTacos with Black Bean Salsa, 44\n\nTrout \u00e0 la Meuni\u00e8re, 77\n\nFlounder, Baked, with Carrots, Spinach, and an Asian Vinaigrette, 186\n\nFritters, Shrimp and Zucchini, with Roasted Red Pepper Mayo, 128\u201330, 129\n\nFruit. See also specific fruits Turkey and Wild Rice Salad, 56\n\nG\n\nGaaahlicky Sizzling Shrimp, 73, 73\n\nGarlicky Bok Choy, 62, 62\n\nGinger Carrot Soup, 116, 117\n\nGrains. See also Rice\n\nChickpea Salad with Tabbouleh, 137\n\nGreen Beans\n\nBacon Braised, 166, 167\n\nSpicy Pork Stir-Fry with, 95\n\nGreens. See also Spinach\n\nCantaloupe, Prosciutto, and Arugula Salad, 22, 23\n\nEmeril's New-Style Caldo Verde, 216, 217\n\nEmeril's Salad, 14, 15\n\nIceberg Wedges with Cherry Tomato Vinaigrette, 26\n\nMustard, Creamed, 168\n\nOrange, Walnut, and Goat Cheese Salad, 18, 19\n\nPenne with Sausage and Escarole, 150, 151\n\nReal Caesar Salad, 16\n\nSalad Tropicale, 27\n\nSeared Shrimp Salad, 132, 133\n\nSpicy Braised, 172\n\nH\n\nHam. See also Prosciutto\n\nChicken Cordon Bleu, 194\u201395, 195\n\nand Peas, Fettuccine with, 46, 47\n\nQuick Red Bean Soup, 114\n\nHerb(ed). See also specific herbs\n\nOlives, 7\n\nVinaigrette, 32\n\nHot Dog, Turkey, and Potato Soup\n\nwith Herbs, 124, 125\n\nI\n\nIceberg Wedges with Cherry\n\nTomato Vinaigrette, 26\n\nL\n\nLamb\n\nChops with Mustard Herb Crust, 90\n\nKebabs, Quick and Easy, 206, 207\n\nT-Bones with Rosemary-Balsamic Butter Sauce, 84\u201385, 85\n\nLasagna, Spinach and Mushroom, 248\u201349, 249\n\nLeek and Potato Soup, 120\u201321, 121\n\nLentils, Seared Salmon with, 228\u201329, 229\n\nM\n\nMeat. See Beef; Lamb; Pork\n\nMeatloaf, Simple Turkey, 250, 251\n\nMelon\n\nwith Amaretti Cookie Crumbles, 103\n\nCantaloupe, Prosciutto, and Arugula Salad, 22, 23\n\nMinted Yogurt Sauce, 144\u201345, 145\n\nMushroom(s)\n\nBeef Stroganoff with Egg Noodles, 156\u201357, 157\n\nand Chicken Risotto, 224\n\nCremini, Balsamic-Marinated, 10\n\nHot and Sour Soup, 119\n\nOpen-Face Turkey and Cheese Sandwich, 41\n\nQuick and Easy Lamb Kebabs, 206, 207\n\nSaut\u00e9ed, with Fresh Thyme, 169\n\nShiitake, and Cherry Tomatoes, Pan-Roasted Asparagus with, 60\n\nShiitakes and Bacon with Penne, 149\n\n-Smothered Steaks, 96, 97\n\nSpicy Smoked Sausage, and Tomato Soup, 118\n\nand Spinach Lasagna, 248\u201349, 249\n\nMussels\n\nClassic Moules Marini\u00e8re, 78, 79\n\nN\n\nNachos, Spicy Sausage, Bean, and Cheese, 58, 59\n\nNoodles, Egg, Beef Stroganoff with, 156\u201357, 157\n\nNoodle Salad, Emeril's, 134\n\nNuts\n\nBoursin Cheese, Spinach, and Pecan\u2013Stuffed Chicken Breasts, 188\u201389\n\nEmeril's Noodle Salad, 134\n\nStir-Fried Chicken with Cashews, 80\n\nO\n\nOlive(s)\n\nAntipasto Pasta Salad, 21\n\nBlack, Orange, and Fennel Salad, 24\u201325\n\nHerbed, 7\n\nKalamata, Drizzle, Mozzarella and Tomato Bites with, 13\n\nKalamata, Oranges, and Rosemary, Roasted Whole Red Snapper with, 230\u201331\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca, 155\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nOnion(s)\n\nCaramelized, and Anchovies, Spaghetti with, 152\n\nCaramelized, and Goat Cheese Tart, 220\u201321\n\nSausage and Pepper Po-Boy, 34\n\nSteak and Cheese Sandwiches, 36\u201337\n\nOrange(s)\n\nButter Sauce, Salmon with, 184, 185\n\nCurrant, and Pine Nut Couscous, 48, 49\n\nFennel, and Black Olive Salad, 24\u201325\n\nRosemary, and Kalamata Olives, Roasted Whole Red Snapper with, 230\u201331\n\nSeared Shrimp Salad, 132, 133\n\nsegmenting, 19\n\nWalnut, and Goat Cheese Salad, 18, 19\n\nP\n\nPasta\n\nBeef Stroganoff with Egg Noodles, 156\u201357, 157\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac, 222\u201323, 223\n\nEmeril's Noodle Salad, 134\n\nFettuccine with Peas and Ham, 46, 47\n\nLinguine alla Carbonara, 50\u201351\n\nOrange, Currant, and Pine Nut Couscous, 48, 49\n\nOrzo \"Risotto\" with Tomato, Mozzarella, and Basil, 148\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca, 155\n\nPenne with Sausage and Escarole, 150, 151\n\nPrimavera, 158, 159\n\nSalad, Antipasto, 21\n\nShiitakes and Bacon with Penne, 149\n\nand Shrimp, Emeril's, with Garlic, Lemon, Crushed Red Pepper, and Green Onions, 52, 53\n\nShrimp and Linguine Fra Diavolo, 154\n\nSpaghetti with Caramelized Onions and Anchovies, 152\n\nSpinach and Mushroom Lasagna, 248\u201349, 249\n\nThree-Cheese Baked Macaroni, 153\n\nPeach-Blueberry Crisp, 244\u201345, 245\n\nPeanut Butter\u2013Chocolate Chip Cookies, 102, 102\n\nPea(s)\n\nand Ham, Fettuccine with, 46, 47\n\nPasta Primavera, 158, 159\n\nSweet, Soup, 5\n\nPecan, Boursin Cheese, and Spinach\u2013Stuffed Chicken Breasts, 188\u201389\n\nPepper(s). See also Chiles\n\nMinute Steaks Teriyaki-Style, 91\n\nPasta Primavera, 158, 159\n\nProsciutto and Mozzarella Panini, 40\n\nQuick and Easy Lamb Kebabs, 206, 207\n\nRoasted Red, Hummus, 8, 9\n\nRoasted Red, Mayo, 130\n\nand Sausage Po-Boy, 34\n\nPork. See also Bacon; Ham; Sausage(s)\n\nChops, Boneless, Parmigiana, 92\u201394, 93\n\nChops, Thin-Cut, with Rosemary-Balsamic Glazed Shallots, 208\n\nLoin with Apples and Prunes, 240\u201342, 241\n\nStir-Fry, Spicy, with Green Beans, 95\n\nTenderloins, Grilled Marinated, with an Orange-Apricot Glaze, 243\n\nWraps, Spicy with Creamy Coleslaw, 142\u201343\n\nPotato(es)\n\nButtermilk Mashed, 173, 173\n\nEmeril's New-Style Caldo Verde, 216, 217\n\nand Leek Soup, 120\u201321, 121\n\nOven-Crispy French Fries with Paprika-Parmesan Salt, 146,, 147\n\nShrimp and Corn Chowder, 218\n\nand Turkey Hot Dog Soup with Herbs, 124, 125\n\nPoultry. See also Chicken; Turkey\n\nHoney-Lemon-Thyme Cornish Game Hens, 190\u201391, 191\n\nProsciutto\n\nCantaloupe, and Arugula Salad, 22, 23\n\nChicken Cordon Bleu, 194\u201395, 195\n\nand Mozzarella Panini, 40\n\nTurkey Saltimbocca, 196\u201397\n\nPrunes and Apples, Pork Loin with, 240\u201342, 241\n\nR\n\nRadishes\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad, 135\n\nGlazed, 68, 69\n\nRed Snapper, Roasted Whole,\n\nwith Orange, Rosemary, and\n\nKalamata Olives, 230\u201331\n\nRice\n\nBasic Risotto, 161\n\nChicken and Mushroom Risotto, 224\n\nand Chicken Soup, 115\n\nJasmine, Aromatic, 57\n\nPilaf, Green Onion, 160\n\nPortuguese, with Tuna, 225\n\nShrimp Fried, Kicked-Up, 54\u201355, 55\n\nWild, and Turkey Salad, 56\n\nRisotto\n\nBasic, 161\n\nChicken and Mushroom, 224\n\n\"Risotto,\" Orzo, with Tomato,\n\nMozzarella, and Basil, 148\n\nSalad dressings. See also specific salad recipes\n\nBalsamic Vinaigrette, 30\n\nButtermilk Dressing, 28, 29\n\nHerb Vinaigrette, 32\n\nRed Wine Vinaigrette, 31, 31\n\nSalads\n\nAntipasto Pasta, 21\n\nCaesar, Real, 16\n\nCantaloupe, Prosciutto, and Arugula, 22, 23\n\nChicken, with Fresh Herbs and Celery, 82\n\nChickpea, with Tabbouleh, 137\n\nCucumber Ribbon, 20, 20\n\nEmeril's, 14, 15\n\nGarden Vegetable, 135\n\nIceberg Wedges with Cherry Tomato Vinaigrette, 26\n\nNoodle, Emeril's, 134\n\nOrange, Fennel, and Black Olive, 24\u201325\n\nOrange, Walnut, and Goat Cheese, 18, 19\n\nSeared Shrimp, 132, 133\n\nSpinach, with Bacon and Fried Eggs, 17\n\nTropicale, 27\n\nTurkey and Wild Rice, 56\n\nSalmon\n\nBroiled, with a Warm Tomato-Lemon Vinaigrette, 72\n\nwith Orange Butter Sauce, 184, 185\n\nSeared, with Lentils, 228\u201329, 229\n\nSandwiches\n\nBacon, Lettuce, Avocado, and Tomato, with Basil Mayo, 35\n\nChicken Patty Pockets with Minted Yogurt Sauce, 144\u201345, 145\n\nChicken Queso Burgers, 138\u201339\n\nChili-Rubbed Shrimp Wraps, 140\u201341, 141\n\nFish Tacos with Black Bean Salsa, 44\n\nKicked-Up Tuna Melts, 42, 43\n\nOpen-Face Turkey and Cheese, 41\n\nPressed Roast Turkey, Pesto, and Provolone, 38, 39\n\nProsciutto and Mozzarella Panini, 40\n\nSausage and Pepper Po-Boy, 34\n\nSpicy Pork Wraps with Creamy Coleslaw, 142\u201343\n\nSteak and Cheese, 36\u201337\n\nSauces\n\nMinted Yogurt, 144\u201345, 145\n\nStrawberry, Flamb\u00e9ed, for Angel Food Cake or Ice Cream, 107\n\nTartar, Kicked-Up, 75\n\nSauerkraut, Sausages and, 204\n\nSausage(s)\n\nAntipasto Pasta Salad, 21\n\nBean, and Cheese Nachos, Spicy, 58, 59\n\nCreamy White Beans with, 165\n\nEmeril's New-Style Caldo Verde, 216, 217\n\nand Escarole, Penne with, 150, 151\n\nand Pepper Po-Boy, 34\n\nQuick Red Bean Soup, 114\n\nand Sauerkraut, 204\n\nShrimp and Chorizo Tapas, 6\n\nSpicy Smoked, Tomato, and Mushroom Soup, 118\n\nScrod, Roasted, with Herbed Breadcrumbs, 180, 181\n\nSeafood. See Fish; Shellfish\n\nSesame Eggplant, 170, 171\n\nShellfish. See also Shrimp\n\nClassic Moules Marini\u00e8re, 78, 79\n\nShrimp\n\nChili-Rubbed, Wraps, 140\u201341, 141\n\nand Chorizo Tapas, 6\n\nand Corn Chowder, 218\n\n\u00c9touff\u00e9e, 234, 235\n\nand Feta, Greek-Style, 182\u201383\n\nFried Rice, Kicked-Up, 54\u201355, 55\n\nGaaahlicky Sizzling, 73, 73\n\nand Green Onion Dip, Creamy, 131\n\nIndian-Inspired, with Coconut, Chiles, and Tomatoes, 174, 175\n\nand Linguine Fra Diavolo, 154\n\nand Pasta, Emeril's, with Garlic, Lemon, Crushed Red Pepper, and Green Onions, 52, 53\n\nSeared, Salad, 132, 133\n\nand Zucchini Fritters with Roasted Red Pepper Mayo, 128\u201330, 129\n\nSloppy Joes, 200, 201\\\n\nSnickerdoodles, Kicked-Up, 210\u201311\n\nSoups\n\nBroccoli and Cheese, 112, 113\n\nCarrot Ginger, 116, 117\n\nChicken and Rice, 115\n\nEmeril's New-Style Caldo Verde, 216, 217\n\nGarden Vegetable, 122, 123\n\nHot and Sour, 119\n\nItalian Wedding, Simple, 4\n\nPotato and Leek, 120\u201321, 121\n\nPotato and Turkey Hot Dog, with Herbs, 124, 125\n\nRed Bean, Quick, 114\n\nShrimp and Corn Chowder, 218\n\nSpicy Smoked Sausage, Tomato, and Mushroom, 118\n\nSweet Pea, 5\n\nTomato, Cream of, 127\n\nSpice mix. See Creole Seasoning\n\nSpinach\n\nBoursin Cheese, and Pecan\u2013Stuffed Chicken Breasts, 188\u201389\n\nCarrots, and an Asian Vinaigrette, Baked Flounder with, 186\n\nand Mushroom Lasagna, 248\u201349, 249\n\nOpen-Face Turkey and Cheese Sandwich, 41\n\nSalad with Bacon and Fried Eggs, 17\n\nSweet Pea Soup, 5\n\nSquash. See also Zucchini\n\nGarden Vegetable Soup, 122, 123\n\nPasta Primavera, 158, 159\n\nYellow, Saut\u00e9ed, with Carrots and Tarragon, 64, 65\n\nStarters\n\nBalsamic-Marinated Cremini Mushrooms, 10\n\nBruschetta, 11\n\nCaramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Tart, 220\u201321\n\nCreamy Shrimp and Green Onion Dip, 131\n\nCreamy White Beans with Sausage, 165\n\nHerbed Olives, 7\n\nMozzarella and Tomato Bites with Kalamata Olive Drizzle, 13\n\nPan-Roasted Asparagus with Shiitake Mushrooms and Cherry Tomatoes, 60\n\nRoasted Red Pepper Hummus, 8, 9\n\nShrimp and Chorizo Tapas, 6\n\nShrimp and Zucchini Fritters with Roasted Red Pepper Mayo, 128\u201330, 129\n\nSpicy Sausage, Bean, and Cheese Nachos, 58, 59\n\nStew, Brazilian Fish, 232, 233\n\nStrawberry(ies)\n\nFresh Berries with Balsamic Drizzle and Almond Cream, 104, 105\n\nMelon with Amaretti Cookie Crumbles, 103\n\nSauce, Flamb\u00e9ed, for Angel Food Cake or Ice Cream, 107\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nT\n\nTabbouleh, Chickpea Salad with, 137\n\nTacos, Fish, with Black Bean Salsa, 44\n\nTart, Caramelized Onion and Goat Cheese, 220\u201321\n\nTartar Sauce, Kicked-Up, 75\n\nTomato(es)\n\nBacon, Lettuce, and Avocado Sandwich with Basil Mayo, 35\n\nBetter Than Mama's Chili-Mac, 222\u201323, 223\n\nBruschetta, 11\n\nCherry, and Shiitake Mushrooms, Pan-Roasted Asparagus with, 60\n\nCherry, Vinaigrette, Iceberg Wedges with, 26\n\nCoconut, and Chiles, Indian-Inspired Shrimp with, 174, 175\n\nKicked-Up Tuna Melts, 42, 43\n\n-Lemon Vinaigrette, Warm, Broiled Salmon with a, 72\n\nMozzarella, and Basil, Orzo \"Risotto\" with, 148\n\nand Mozzarella Bites with Kalamata Olive Drizzle, 13\n\nPenne alla Puttanesca, 155\n\nSalad Tropicale, 27\n\nShrimp and Feta, Greek-Style, 182\u201383\n\nSoup, Cream of, 127\n\nSpicy Smoked Sausage, and Mushroom Soup, 118\n\nSwordfish with Puttanesca Relish, 178, 179\n\nTortillas\n\nChili-Rubbed Shrimp Wraps, 140\u201341, 141\n\nFish Tacos with Black Bean Salsa, 44\n\nSpicy Pork Wraps with Creamy Coleslaw, 142\u201343\n\nSpicy Sausage, Bean, and Cheese Nachos, 58, 59\n\nTurkey and Pinto Bean Tostadas, 164\n\nTostadas, Turkey and Pinto Bean, 164\n\nTrout\n\n\u00e0 la Meuni\u00e8re, 77\n\nRainbow, Blue Corn\u2013Crusted, with Cilantro-Lime Sour Cream, 76\n\nTuna\n\nMelts, Kicked-Up, 42, 43\n\nPortuguese Rice with, 225\n\nTurkey\n\nBreast, Roast, with Bacon and Sage, 236\u201337\n\nand Cheese Sandwich, Open-Face, 41\n\nHot Dog and Potato Soup with Herbs, 124, 125\n\nMeatloaf, Simple, 250, 251\n\nand Pinto Bean Tostadas, 164\n\nRoast, Pesto, and Provolone Sandwiches, Pressed, 38, 39\n\nSaltimbocca, 196\u201397\n\nand Wild Rice Salad, 56\n\nV\n\nVegetable(s). See also specific vegetables\n\nGarden, Salad, 135\n\nGarden, Soup, 122, 123\n\nKicked-Up Shrimp Fried Rice, 54\u201355, 55\n\nW\n\nWild Rice and Turkey Salad, 56\n\nY\n\nYogurt Sauce, Minted, 144\u201345, 145\n\nZ\n\nZucchini\n\nBroiled, 63\n\nGarden Vegetable Salad, 135\n\nGarden Vegetable Soup, 122, 123\n\nPasta Primavera, 158, 159\n\nand Shrimp Fritters with Roasted Red Pepper Mayo, 128\u201330, 129\n\n## About the Author\n\nEMERIL LAGASSE is a chef, restaurateur, and bestselling author of thirteen popular cookbooks, including Emeril's New New Orleans Cooking, which introduced his creative take on Creole cuisine, and Emeril at the Grill: A Cookbook for All Seasons. He is the proprietor of eleven restaurants in New Orleans, Las Vegas, Orlando, Miami, Gulfport, Mississippi, and Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.\n\nAs a national TV personality, Emeril hosts Emeril Green, an original series exploring fresh and seasonal ingredients on the eco-lifestyle network Planet Green, and is the food correspondent for ABC's Good Morning America. His show Essence of Emeril can be seen on the Food Network, and Emeril Live appears on both Fine Living and the Food Network.\n\nIn 2002, Emeril established the Emeril Lagasse Foundation to support children's educational programs, life skills development, culinary training, and cultural enrichment. As of May 2009, the foundation has contributed $3 million to organizations in New Orleans and on the Gulf Coast.\n\nwww.emerils.com\n\nVisit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.\n\n## Also by Emeril Lagasse\n\nEMERIL AT THE GRILL\n\nEMERIL'S CREOLE CHRISTMAS\n\nEMERIL'S DELMONICO: A RESTAURANT WITH A PAST\n\nEMERIL'S NEW NEW ORLEANS COOKING\n\nEMERIL'S POTLUCK: COMFORT FOOD WITH A KICKED-UP ATTITUDE\n\nEMERIL'S THERE'S A CHEF IN MY SOUP!: RECIPES FOR THE KID IN EVERYONE\n\nEMERIL'S THERE'S A CHEF IN MY FAMILY!: RECIPES TO GET EVERYBODY COOKING\n\nEMERIL'S THERE'S A CHEF IN MY WORLD!: RECIPES THAT TAKE YOU PLACES\n\nEMERIL'S TV DINNERS: KICKIN' IT UP A NOTCH WITH RECIPES FROM EMERIL LIVE AND ESSENCE OF EMERIL\n\nEVERY DAY'S A PARTY: LOUISIANA RECIPES FOR CELEBRATING WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS\n\nFROM EMERIL'S KITCHENS: FAVORITE RECIPES FROM EMERIL'S RESTAURANTS\n\nLOUISIANA REAL AND RUSTIC\n\nPRIME TIME EMERIL: MORE TV DINNERS FROM AMERICA'S FAVORITE CHEF\n\n## Credits\n\nPhotography by Steven Freeman\n\nCover design by Mary Schuck\n\n## Copyright\n\nEMERIL 20\u201340\u201360. Copyright \u00a9 2009 by Emeril\/MSLO Acquisition Sub, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.\n\nAdobe Digital Edition September 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-196592-0\n\n10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1\n\n## About the Publisher\n\nAustralia\n\nHarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.\n\n25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)\n\nPymble, NSW 2073, Australia\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au\n\nCanada\n\nHarperCollins Publishers Ltd.\n\n55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900\n\nToronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollinsebooks.ca\n\nNew Zealand\n\nHarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited\n\nP.O. Box 1\n\nAuckland, New Zealand\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollins.co.nz\n\nUnited Kingdom\n\nHarperCollins Publishers Ltd.\n\n77-85 Fulham Palace Road\n\nLondon, W6 8JB, UK\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk\n\nUnited States\n\nHarperCollins Publishers Inc.\n\n10 East 53rd Street\n\nNew York, NY 10022\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollinsebooks.com\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2014 by Nicky Epstein  \nPhotographs copyright \u00a9 2014 by Potter Craft\n\nAll rights reserved.  \nPublished in the United States by Potter Craft, an imprint of Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.  \nwww.pottercraft.com  \nwww.crownpublishing.com\n\nPOTTER CRAFT and colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.\n\nLibrary of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data  \nEpstein, Nicky.  \nKnitting reimagined \/ Nicky Epstein.\u2014First edition.  \npages cm  \nIncludes index.  \n1. Knitting\u2014Patterns. I. Title.  \nTT825.E64226 2014  \n746.43'2\u2014dc23 2013028642\n\nISBN 978-0-385-34625-2  \nEbook ISBN 978-0-385-34626-9\n\nDesign by Jan Derevjanik  \nPhotographs by Rose Callahan  \nCover design by Jan Derevjanik  \nCover photographs by Rose Callahan\n\nThe author and publisher would like to thank the Craft Yarn Council of America for providing the yarn weight standards and accompanying icons used in this book. For more information, please visit www.YarnStandards.com.\n\nv3.1\n\nTo my husband, Howard, who has encouraged me to \"take the road less traveled\"... and that has made all the difference!\n\n# CONTENTS\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nHOW TO USE THIS BOOK\n\n[Chapter 1  \nDIRECTIONALS](Epst_9780385346269_epub_c01_r1.htm)\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic\n\nOn the Block Topper\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape\n\nThe Deep End Shawl\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi\n\n[Chapter 2  \nCOOL CONSTRUCTION](Epst_9780385346269_epub_c02_r1.htm)\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan\n\nOn the Edge Dress\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan\n\nDirectional Vest\n\nShape-Shifter Vest\n\n[Chapter 3  \nWOVEN WEAVES](Epst_9780385346269_epub_c03_r1.htm)\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette\n\nChaos Couture Pullover\n\n[Chapter 4  \nSTITCH IMPACT](Epst_9780385346269_epub_c04_r1.htm)\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress\n\nABBREVIATIONS\n\nKNITTING TECHNIQUES\n\nRESOURCES\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nINDEX\n\n_About the Author_\n\n# INTRODUCTION\n\nTwo roads diverged in a wood, and I\u2014\n\nI took the lesser traveled by,\n\nAnd that has made all the difference.\n\n\u2014Robert Frost\n\nI consider Knitting Reimagined the destination I've arrived at after a thirty-year journey on a less-traveled road: designing hundreds of published pieces, authoring twenty-five knit and crochet books, and developing and teaching unconventional techniques of knitting. One of my priorities\u2014and passions\u2014over the years has been creating unique designs. I have never adhered to the adage that \"everything has been done in knitting.\" I respect and love traditional knitting techniques, stitches, and patterns, but there comes a time to break new ground, a time for experimentation and improvisation, and a time to rethink and reimagine typical structures and shapes in hand-knitting.\n\nMy goal was to fill this book with chic, wearable, but uniquely atypical garments that will appeal to knitters of all skill levels. The stitches are easy, as are the techniques to make the designs, but the resulting structures and shapes are unconventional, unexpected, and, if I do say so myself, showstopping. Hopefully these pieces break interesting new ground in hand-knitting, without being radically over-the-top avant-garde. Knitting Reimagined has twenty-five original designs using a variety of forward-looking techniques that will transform your yarn into sophisticated, adaptable knitted garments.\n\nThe designs run the gamut from tailored to bohemian, structured to unstructured. They are made with a variety of yarns, including handspun, hand-dyed, novelty, and cashmere. Everything is detailed for you in the instructions and diagrams: stitches, shapes, angles, openings, lengths, button closures, tucks, twists, layering, and more. Also noted are skill levels and approximate time frames to complete each project. You'll find Reimagine It sidebars that offer a few more ideas you can try when knitting the design. Perhaps there will be a suggestion to spark a new idea of your own. What you knit is an expression of yourself, so reimagine what will make each piece uniquely you.\n\nJoin me on this road less traveled. I think you'll find it a very surprising and inspiring one.\n\nHappy Knitting,  \nNicky\n\n# HOW TO USE THIS BOOK\n\nThere are three key questions that knitters ask when they choose a project to knit.\n\n1. Is it hard to make?\n\n2. How long does it take to make it?\n\n3. How much does the yarn cost?\n\nOf course, we all vary in our mastery of knitting techniques. We knit with our different experiences, at different speeds, and have different amounts of money that we want to invest. But I've included a general skill level and a ballpark of the amount of time each pattern requires to offer some guidance and give you a frame of reference.\n\n## Skill Levels\n\nBeginner friendly: Basic stitches, minimal shaping, simple finishing\n\nIntermediate: More intricate stitches, shaping, and finishing\n\nAdvanced: For experienced knitters able to tackle more complicated stitches, shaping, and finishing\n\n## Time\n\nQuick: These projects are quick and can be done in a weekend or a few days.\n\nWeeks: These projects take at least a week or more to complete.\n\nMonths: Depending on how much you are knitting, these projects can take a month or more to complete.\n\nchapter 1\n\nDIRECTIONALS\n\nReaders of my book Knitting Block by Block already know how creative, easy, and fun it is to combine the simplest shapes and transform them into gorgeous, wearable designs. These directional knits show just a few ways you can construct garments using only rectangles, angles, and squares; think of it as working easy block puzzles. As you can see in the projects in this chapter, the 90-degree corners and angles lend themselves to beautiful draping over the body, but these pieces require little to no shaping. The structure and fit are formed simply by how the shapes are positioned and sewn together!\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl\n\n## RECKONING  \nRECTANGLES  \nshawl\n\nThis sheer beauty is a breeze to make with two lush, easy-to-knit rectangles and no additional shaping. Using sequined mohair yarn in a soft lavender adds sparkle and glamour. Knit the edging at the same time, then simply overlap the edgings and sew the rectangles together at the shoulders, leaving a neck opening. The nature-inspired leaf and floral embellishments are appliqu\u00e9d onto the front lace panel. The rectangles will drape gracefully over the shoulders and flatter all body types.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThis wrap can easily be turned into a shrug. Just sew the two rectangles together down the shoulder seam to the wrist, then sew two sleeve seams, leaving a center opening of approximately 22\" (56cm). Use any color you like, or try the same idea with a different stitch pattern and embellishment.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZE\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nEach piece measures 12\" \u00d7 50\" (16\" \u00d7 54\") [30.5 \u00d7 127 (40.5 \u00d7 137)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n18 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stitch pattern on smaller needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nSkacel Schulana Kid-Paillettes (42% kid mohair, 40% polyester, 18% silk), 0.87oz (25g), 137 yd (125m); 6 (8) balls of #380 Pale Mauve\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) straight needles and double-pointed needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) straight needles, or one size larger than gauge needles, for casting on and binding off\n\nTapestry needle\n\nRemovable stitch markers\n\nThree 8mm crystal beads for the flower\n\n### Open Honeycomb Stitch\n\n(over an odd number of stitches)\n\nRow 1 (RS): Purl.\n\nRow 2: Purl.\n\nRow 3: K1, *yo, ssk; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 4: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for pattern.\n\n### FRONT\/BACK (MAKE 2)\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 55 (71) stitches.\n\nChange to smaller needles and knit 8 rows.\n\nNext row (RS): K3, work in Open Honeycomb stitch to the last 3 stitches, k3.\n\nRepeat this row, working Open Honeycomb stitch between Garter stitch edges, until piece measures 49 (53)\" [124.5 (134.5)cm] from the cast-on edge, ending with row 1.\n\nKnit 8 rows.\n\nBind off with larger needle.\n\nNote: The stitch pattern will bias; block lightly to shape.\n\n### FINISHING\n\n#### Flower\n\nCast on 10 stitches with larger needle, leaving a 12\" (30.5cm) tail.\n\nRow 1: *Kfb; repeat from * to end\u201420 stitches.\n\nRow 2: Knit.\n\nRow 3: *Kfb; repeat from * to end\u201440 stitches.\n\nRow 4: Knit.\n\nRow 5: *K4, kfb; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, k5\u201447 stitches.\n\nRows 6\u201317: Work in Open Honeycomb stitch.\n\nRow 18: *K2tog; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1\u201424 stitches.\n\nRow 19: *K2tog; repeat from * to end\u201412 stitches.\n\nRow 20: Repeat row 19\u20146 stitches.\n\nPass the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th stitches, one at a time, over the first stitch and off the needle. Fasten off the last stitch.\n\nWeave the tail through the cast-on edge, gather tightly, and secure. Sew the cast-on edge to the bound-off edge to form the Flower and secure. Sew 3 crystal beads to the Flower center.\n\n#### Leaves (MAKE 9)\n\nCast on 5 stitches with larger needle.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K2, yo, k1, yo, k2\u20147 stitches.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: Purl.\n\nRow 3: K3, yo, k1, yo, k 3\u20149 stitches.\n\nRow 5: K4, yo, k1, yo, k4\u201411 stitches.\n\nRow 7: Knit.\n\nRow 9: Ssk, k7, k2tog\u20149 stitches.\n\nRow 11: Ssk, k5, k2tog\u20147 stitches.\n\nRow 13: Ssk, k3, k2tog\u20145 stitches.\n\nRow 15: Ssk, k1, k2tog\u20143 stitches.\n\nRow 17: Slip 1, k2tog, psso\u20141 stitch.\n\nFasten off.\n\n#### I-cord\n\nWith double-pointed needles, cast on 5 stitches.\n\n*Do not turn. Slide the stitches to the other end of the needle, k5; repeat from * for 17\" (43cm).\n\nNext rnd: Do not turn. Slide the stitches to the other end of the needle, k2tog, k1, k2tog\u20143 stitches.\n\nLast rnd: Do not turn. Slide the stitches to the other end of the needle, k3tog\u20141 stitch.\n\nFasten off.\n\n### ASSEMBLY\n\nLay both pieces side by side lengthwise, wrong sides facing up. Mark each side of the center 9 (10)\" [23 (25.5)cm] with removable stitch markers for the neck opening. Mark 6\" (15cm) out from each neck marker. Overlap the Back garter stitch edge over the Front garter stitch edge from the neck marker to the outer marker for each side, pin in place, and sew securely. The piece drapes over the shoulders and opens at the arms. Sew the Flower, Leaves, and I-cord to the Front using the photo and schematic as a guide. Sew one leaf to the Back.\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic\n\n## RENAISSANCE CASTLE  \ntunic\n\nFeaturing an enchanting castle motif, this versatile tunic moves from medieval to modern. Like the Reckoning Rectangles Shawl this piece is also created with two rectangles, but with a totally different style. The castle motif is worked using stockinette stitch, reverse stockinette stitch, and seed stitch to create a texture resembling brocade, or relief needle work. Adorned with my castle buttons, the sides are closed at the waist, but of course can be sewn together or left open. This design drapes down the front and back and is crowned with a seed stitch cowl neck and matching buttons.\n\nreimagine it\n\nYou can omit the castle, add more colors, and do some bold striping, or, perhaps, sew the side seams, add sleeves, and attach two 10\" \u00d7 12\" (25.5cm \u00d7 30.5cm) blocks that can be sewn together to make a hood.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nWidth: 22 (26)\" [56 (66)cm]\n\nLength: 29 (30)\" [74 (76)cm]\n\nNote: This tunic is worked from the bottom up.\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade Lana D'Oro (50% alpaca, 50% wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 219 yd (200m); 4 (5) skeins of #1086 Hare (A), 2 (2) skeins of #1049 Charcoal (B)\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nRemovable stitch markers\n\nTapestry needle\n\nThree 1\u215c\" (3.5cm) buttons (JHB's Nicky Epstein Carcassone #92725)\n\n### BACK\n\nWith B, cast on 110 (130) stitches.\n\n#### Seed Stitch Edging\n\nRow 1 (RS): *K1, p1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: *P1, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 (seed stitch) for 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nNext row (RS): With B, work 7 stitches in seed stitch, join A and k96 (116), join a second ball of B and work the last 7 stitches in seed stitch.\n\nNote: When changing colors, twist yarns on the wrong side to avoid gaps.\n\nContinue working 7 stitches at each end in seed stitch with B and the center 96 (116) stitches in stockinette stitch with A until piece measures 13\u00bd\" (34.5cm) from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nMark each end of the next row with removable stitch markers to indicate the button placement.\n\nNext row (RS): Work 7 stitches in seed stitch, k5 (15), work Back chart over the next 86 stitches, k5 (15), work 7 stitches in seed stitch.\n\nWork as established until 58 rows of the Back chart are complete.\n\nContinue in seed stitch and stockinette stitch until piece measures 13 (14)\" [33 (35.5)cm] from the button markers.\n\n#### Shape Shoulders\n\nBind off 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 10 (14) rows, bind off 2 stitches at the beginning of the next 12 (16) rows, then bind off 4 stitches at the beginning of the next 6 (8) rows\u201452 stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FRONT\n\nCast on and work Seed Stitch Edging same as for the Back.\n\nNext row (RS): With B, work 7 stitches in seed stitch, join A and k5 (15), work Front chart over the next 86 stitches, k5 (15), join a second ball of B, and work the last 7 stitches in seed stitch.\n\nNote: When changing colors, twist yarns on the wrong side to avoid gaps.\n\nMark each end for button when it is the same length as back markers.\n\nWork as established until 150 rows of the Front chart are complete.\n\nPiece should measure 26\u00bd\" (67.5cm) from the cast-on edge.\n\n#### Shape Shoulders and Neck\n\nBind off 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 10 (14) rows, bind off 2 stitches at the beginning of the next 12 (16) rows, then bind off 4 stitches at the beginning of the next 6 (8) rows.\n\nAt the same time, when 96 stitches remain, shape neck.\n\nNext row (RS): Bind off 2 stitches, k31, join a second ball of A and bind off 30 stitches, knit to the end.\n\nWorking on both sides at the same time, continue shaping shoulders as established and work neck shaping as follows:\n\nAt each neck edge, bind off 4 stitches twice, then 3 stitches once.\n\nComplete shoulder shaping.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nSew shoulder seams.\n\n#### Collar\n\nWith B, cast on 42 stitches.\n\nWork in seed stitch for 25\" (63.5cm). Bind off.\n\nPlace a marker 4\" (10cm) down the right front neck from the shoulder seam. Pin the long edge of the collar around the neck opening, working clockwise from the marker and extending the last 4\" (10cm) inside the collar to the shoulder seam. Sew in place. Sew a button to the collar overlap as pictured.\n\nMatch the Front and Back, overlapping the front seed stitch band over the back band at the button markers. Sew a button at each side through both bands.\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nOn the Block Topper\n\n## ON THE BLOCK  \ntopper\n\nThe topper is quickly becoming a new classic design and is also a favorite of mine for gift giving. By sewing just four blocks together you can create an easy cowl or topper. I call this the \"magic\" topper because it can be worn multiple ways, has easy sizing and fit, and offers endless design possibilities. Use any combination of yarns, stitch patterns, and knitted embellishments. Of course, there are thousands of edgings to choose from to frame your masterpiece! This design is so satisfying that you will want to make it over and over for yourself and for others.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThe possibilities here are truly endless. You just need four blocks. They can be any stitch pattern, of one or many colors, and made with your favorite embellishments or yarns. For a wealth of block ideas, refer to my book Knitting Block by Block. It is sure to inspire you. Take a look at a few examples of how to reimage this design for your own unique style!\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L, XL), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nLength (including waist and neck ribbing): 19\u00bd (20\u00bd, 21\u00bd, 22\u00bd)\" [49.5 (52, 54.5, 57)cm]\n\nBlock size: 12 (13, 14, 15)\" [30.5 (33, 35.5, 38)cm] square\n\nGAUGE\n\n18 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade Eco Cloud (70% undyed merino wool, 30% undyed alpaca), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 164 yd (150m); 3 (3, 4, 4) balls of #1802 Ecru (A), 3 (3, 4, 4) balls of #1803 Tan (B)\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) 16\" (40cm) circular needle\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) 32\" (80cm) circular needle\n\nTapestry needle\n\nStitch markers\n\nCable needle\n\nStitch holders\n\nPiece of cardboard, approximately 11\" \u00d7 11\" (28cm \u00d7 28cm)\n\n### BLOCKS (MAKE 4, TWO EACH WITH A AND B)\n\nWith larger needle, cast on 54 (58, 63, 67) stitches. Work in stockinette stitch until piece measures 12 (13, 14, 15)\" [30.5 (33, 35.5, 38)cm]. Bind off.\n\nPlace 3 blocks side by side, B-A-B, with RS facing up and sew together. (See diagram.) Flip over so the WS faces up. Place the second A block, RS up, on top of the first A block. Fold the top edges of the B blocks down to meet the side edges of the second A block, and sew them together.\n\n#### Bottom Edging\n\nNote: Two markers will be next to each other until rnd 1 is worked.\n\nWith RS facing, longer circular needle, and color A, and starting at a corner, *pick up and k1 corner stitch, place marker, pick up and k147 (159, 171, 183) stitches evenly to the next corner; place marker; repeat from * once more\u2014296 (320, 344, 368) stitches. Place marker for the beginning of the round, and place marker before corner stitch.\n\nRnd 1: Slip beginning-of-round marker, [m1p, slip marker, k1, slip marker, m1p, *k3, p3; repeat from * to 3 stitches before the next marker, k3] twice\u2014300 (324, 348, 372) stitches.\n\nRnd 2: Slip beginning-of-round marker, [p1, m1p, slip marker, k1, slip marker, m1p, p1, *k3, p3; repeat from * to 3 stitches before the next marker, k3] twice.\n\nContinue to work edging as established, increasing 1 stitch at each side of the corner stitch and working the increased stitches in purl, until the edging measures 1\u00bc\" (3cm). Bind off in rib.\n\n#### Cable Appliqu\u00e9s (MAKE 2, ONE EACH WITH A AND B)\n\nWith larger needle, cast on 12 stitches.\n\nRows 1 and 3 (WS): K2, p8, k2\n\nRow 2: P2, k8, p2.\n\nRow 4: P2, slip the next 4 stitches to a cn and hold in front, k4, k4 from cn, p2.\n\nRows 5, 7, and 9: Repeat row 1.\n\nRows 6, 8, and 10: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201310 for pattern until piece measures 38 (41, 44, 47)\" [96.5 (104, 112, 119.5)cm]. Do not cut yarn. Place stitches on a holder.\n\n### COWL\n\nWith the RS facing, shorter circular needle, and B, start at a shoulder seam and pick up and k102 (108, 114, 126) stitches evenly around the neck opening. Place marker and join for working in the round.\n\nWork in k3, p3 rib for 2\" (5cm).\n\nChange to A and continue in rib for 2\u00bd\" (6.5cm).\n\nRemove marker and work back and forth in rib as established for 1\u00be\" (4.5cm), creating a slit. Bind off in rib.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nPlace a piece of cardboard inside the garment to keep from sewing the front to the back.\n\nGather the cast-on edges of the 2 cables and secure.\n\nPin the cast-on end of cable A to the bottom left corner of one Block A. Lay it diagonally up just past the midpoint of the block and pin in place. Then bring it back to the upper left corner, over the shoulder, diagonally past the midpoint on the second block A, ending back at the lower right corner. Adjust the cable length as needed, and bind off. Repeat for the other cable, working in the opposite direction and looping it under the first cable so that it forms crosses on both front and back. Adjust the cable length as needed, and bind off. Gather the bound-off edges and sew them into a corner seam. Sew the cables in place (see diagram).\n\nOn the Block Topper~ return to the beginning of the project ~\n\nThis is one of my favorite projects to teach because my students learn to think \"outside the block\" and discover that they can easily make unique designs with just a little imagination. I hope these topper examples will encourage you to reimagine any design in this book by simply changing the color, selecting a different stitch pattern, or adding an embellishment.\n\nGarter striping makes lovely angles when the blocks are sewn together.\n\nA combination of two multi-cable and two plaid blocks topped with a turtleneck and 2\u00d72 mitre edging.\n\nLEFT: Bubble stitch blocks worked in a lovely multicolored yarn, topped with a flower. RIGHT: Counterpane lace trimmed with I-cord.\n\nMulti-cabled blocks with a buttoned edge on one of the seams.\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape\n\n## JE NE SAIS QUOI  \ncape\n\nYou will be amazed at how easy and quick this stunning design is to make. Truly one of my designs that looks complex but is not, it is constructed with cleverly placed rectangles and simple stitch pattern repeats that when put together give the design a curved appearance. Notice how the longest rectangles fold in half to create a unique shoulder curve when gathered. The cape is made with a bulky alpaca and large needles for a quick knit that looks like haute couture and is luxurious to wear.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThis piece is made in rectangles so you can easily change the stitch patterns, but make sure the yarn is the same weight and gauge to keep the fit. Cuffs can also be added to the arm opening.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nShoulder width: approximately 15 (18)\" [38 (45.5)cm]\n\nLower edge: 76\u00bd (92)\" [194.5 (233.5)cm]\n\nLength: 23 (25)\" [58.5 (63.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n12 stitches and 14 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nThe BagSmith Blissa Botanicals (85% baby alpaca, 10% extra-fine merino wool, 5% polyamide), 8 oz (226g), 70 yd (64m); 6 (8) balls of Dusty Plum\n\nSize U.S. 15 (10mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nTapestry needle\n\nOne 1\u215c\" (3.5cm) button (JHB's Nicky Epstein Carcassone #92725)\n\n### SIDE PANEL (MAKE 2)\n\n#### Open Rib Stitch\n\n(multiple of 7 stitches + 3)\n\nCast on 38 (45) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): P3, *k4, p3; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: K1, yo, k2tog, *p4, k1, yo, k2tog; repeat from * to end.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 for pattern. Work until piece measures 46 (50)\" [117 (127)cm].\n\nBind off.\n\n### LEFT FRONT AND COLLAR (MAKE 1)\n\n#### Elongated Basket Weave\n\n(multiple of 18 stitches + 10)\n\nCast on 28 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K11, p2, k2, p2, k11.\n\nRow 2: P1, k8, [p2, k2] twice, p2, k8, p1.\n\nRow 3: K1, p8, [k2, p2] twice, k2, p8, k1.\n\nRow 4: P11, k2, p2, k2, p11.\n\nRows 5\u20138: Repeat rows 1\u20134.\n\nRow 9: Knit.\n\nRow 10: [P2, k2] twice, p12, [k2, p2] twice.\n\nRow 11: [K2, p2] twice, k2, p8, [k2, p2] twice, k2.\n\nRow 12: [P2, k2] twice, p2, k8, [p2, k2] twice, p2.\n\nRow 13: [K2, p2] twice, k12, [p2, k2] twice.\n\nRows 14\u201317: Repeat rows 10\u201313.\n\nRow 18: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201318 for pattern 7 (8) more times. Piece should measure 41\u00bd (46\u00bd)\" [105.5 (118)cm].\n\nBind off.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT (MAKE 1)\n\n#### Garter Dash Stitch\n\n(multiple of 10 stitches + 12)\n\nCast on 32 (42) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K5, p7, *k4, p6; repeat from * to end.\n\nRows 2, 4, and 6: Purl to the last 6 stitches, k1, p5.\n\nRow 3: K5, p1, knit to the end.\n\nRow 5: K5, p2, *k4, p6; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, k5.\n\nRow 7: Repeat row 3.\n\nRow 8: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20138 for pattern. Work until the piece measures 22 (24)\" [56 (61)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\nButtonhole row 1 (RS): K3, bind off 2 stitches, work in pattern to end.\n\nButtonhole row 2: Work in pattern to the bound-off stitches, cast on 2 stitches, p3.\n\nContinue in pattern until piece measures 23 (25)\" [58.5 (63.5)cm].\n\nNote: The stockinette stitches at the front edge will curl, forming a cord-like edge.\n\n### BACK\n\n#### Seeded Zigzag Stitch\n\n(multiple of 9 stitches)\n\nCast on 45 (54) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): *[K1, p1] twice, k4, p1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: *P4, [k1, p1] twice, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: [K1, p1] 3 times, *k4, [p1, k1] twice, p1; repeat from * to the last 3 stitches, k3.\n\nRow 4: P2, *[k1, p1] twice, k1, p4; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, [k1, p1] twice, k1, p2.\n\nRow 5: K3, *[p1, k1] twice, p1, k4; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRow 6: *[K1, p1] twice, k1, p4; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 7: Repeat row 5.\n\nRow 8: Repeat row 4.\n\nRow 9: Repeat row 3.\n\nRow 10: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201310 for pattern. Work until piece measures 19\u00bc (20\u00be)\" [49 (53)cm].\n\nContinuing in pattern as set, decrease 1 stitch each side every row 13 (15) times\u201419 (24) stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nFold one Side Panel in half with the right sides together. Sew one side of the panel closed, leaving a 6\" (15cm) opening approximately 9 (10)\" [23 (25.5)cm] from the bottom edge for the armhole. With a doubled length of yarn, tightly gather the open rib stitches across the shoulder line of the panel to 4\u00bd (5)\" [11.5 (12.5)cm] and secure to form a nice rounded shoulder. Repeat for the other panel.\n\nPlace the Back between the right and left Side Panels, lining it up from the bottom edges to the back neck, and sew in place.\n\nThe Right Front is sewn to the right Side Panel.\n\nThe Left Front is sewn to the left Side Panel, over the left shoulder and across the back neck, over the right shoulder and across the top edge of the Right Front, ending at the p1 stitch of the edging.\n\n#### Closure\n\nSew the button to the Left Front, 1\" (2.5cm) from the shoulder and the Side Panel, to correspond with the buttonhole.\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nThe Deep End Shawl\n\n## THE DEEP END  \nshawl\n\nThis design has a mix of curves, rectangles, and a sharp elongated angle that come together perfectly to create a very unique shawl. There is a bit more knitted construction in this piece, but only two seams connect the three pieces. A cable loop closure is knit into the piece leaving an opening and the deep end point goes through the cable slit to close the shawl. A cable cord edging is knit in on the edges or can be knit separately and sewn around the edges instead. Wear this shawl for a casual elegant look.\n\nreimagine it\n\nI would love to see this stitch pattern made by selecting a solid color for A and a bold variegated yarn for B. Another way to go would be making the two-color stitch pattern with a solid color and then using a contrasting color for the cable slit and cord.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBack width: 25\u00bc (28)\" [64.5 (71)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n18 stitches and 36 rows = 4\" (10cm) in box pattern on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nPlymouth Yarn Baby Alpaca Aire (100% baby alpaca), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 218 yd (199m); 2 (3) balls of #5403 Charcoal (A); 5 (6) balls of #5002 Olive (B)\n\n2 pairs of size U.S. 9 (5.5mm) straight needles and a set of 2 double-pointed needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 2 (2.5mm) 16\" (40.5cm) circular needle (or smaller) to hold stitches\n\nStitch holder\n\nCable needle\n\nTapestry needle\n\n1 covered coat hook and eye (optional)\n\n#### Box Pattern\n\n(multiple of 3 stitches)\n\nRow 1 (RS): With B, knit.\n\nRow 2: With B, purl.\n\nRow 3: With A, k1, slip 1 wyib, *k2, slip 1 wyib; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 4: With A, k1, slip 1 wyif, *k2, slip 1 wyif; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for pattern.\n\n#### Cables Pattern\n\n(multiple of 8 stitches)\n\n4\/4 RC: Slip 4 stitches to cn and hold in back, k4, k4 from cn.\n\n4\/4 LC: Slip 4 stitches to cn and hold in front, k4, k4 from cn.\n\nRow 1 (RS): Knit.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: K2, purl to the last 2 stitches, k2.\n\nRow 3: Knit.\n\nRow 5: K2, *4\/4 RC; repeat from * to the last 2 stitches, k2.\n\nRows 7 and 9: Knit.\n\nRow 11: K6, *4\/4 LC; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, k6.\n\nRow 12: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201312 for pattern.\n\n#### Cable I-cord\n\n(over 6 stitches)\n\n2\/2 LC: Slip 2 stitches to cn and hold in front, k2, k2 from cn.\n\nRows 1\u20135: Knit. Do not turn, slide stitches to the other end of the needle.\n\nRow 6: K1, 2\/2 LC, k1.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20136 for pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\nWith larger straight needles and B, cast on 114 (126) stitches.\n\nWork in Box pattern until piece measures 6\u00bc (6\u00bd)\" [16 (16.5)cm], ending with a WS row 4.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, ssk, work in Box pattern as established to the last 3 stitches, k2tog, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 4th row 16 (18) more times\u201480 (88) stitches.\n\nWork 3 rows even in Box pattern.\n\n#### Shoulder Shaping\n\nContinuing in Box pattern as established, bind off 6 (7) stitches at the beginning of the next 6 rows\u201444 (46) stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nWith larger straight needles and B, cast on 63 (69) stitches. Work in Box pattern until piece measures 14 (15\u00bc)\" [35.5 (38.5)cm], ending with a WS row 4.\n\nNext row (RS): Work 46 (48) stitches in Box pattern, insert the smaller circular needle into the front of the last 28 stitches worked and leave it on the RS of the work to be used later for the Cable Tab, work in Box pattern to end.\n\nContinue in Box pattern for 5\" (12.5cm), ending with a WS row 4.\n\nLeave stitches on the needle.\n\n### TAB\n\nPlace the Tab stitches from the small circular needle onto the second set of larger needles, ready to work a RS row. Join B to the first stitch and work rows 1\u201312 of Cables pattern for 5\" (12.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Join Tab\n\nReturn to the Left Front stitches.\n\nJoining row (RS): With B, k18 (20), *knit 1 stitch from the Tab together with 1 stitch from the Left Front; repeat from * until all the Tab stitches have been worked, knit to end\u201463 (69) stitches.\n\nContinue in Box pattern for 6\u00bd\" (16.5cm), ending with a WS row 4.\n\n#### Side Shaping\n\nNext row: Bind off 28 (29) stitches, ssk using the 1 stitch on the right-hand needle as the first stitch, knit to end\u201434 (39) stitches.\n\nWork 3 rows in Box pattern as established.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, ssk, knit to end\u201433 (38) stitches.\n\nContinuing in Box pattern as established, repeat Decrease row every 4th row 15 (17) more times\u201418 (21) stitches.\n\nWork 3 rows even in Box pattern as established.\n\n#### Shoulder Shaping\n\nBind off 6 (7) stitches at the beginning of the next 3 RS rows.\n\nFasten off the last stitch.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nWith B, cast on 3 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): Knit.\n\nRow 2: Purl.\n\nRow 3: With A, k1, slip 1 wyib, k1.\n\nRow 4: K1, slip 1 wyif, k1.\n\nRow 5: With B, k2, kfb\u20144 stitches.\n\nRow 6: Purl.\n\nRow 7: With A, k1, slip 1 wyib, k2.\n\nRow 8: K2, slip 1 wyif, k1.\n\nRow 9: With B, k3, kfb\u20145 stitches.\n\nRow 10: Purl.\n\nRow 11: With A, k1, slip 1 wyib, k2, slip 1 wyib.\n\nRow 12: Slip 1 wyif, k2, slip 1 wyif, k1.\n\nRow 13: With B, k4, kfb\u20146 stitches.\n\nRow 14: Purl.\n\nRow 15: With B, k1, slip 1 wyib, k2, slip 1 wyib, k1.\n\nRow 16: K1, slip 1 wyif, k2, slip 1 wyif, k1.\n\nContinue to increase 1 stitch at the end of every Box pattern row 1 as established until a total of 60 (66) increases have been completed and there are 63 (69) stitches on the needle.\n\nWork 7 rows even in Box pattern, ending with a WS row 4.\n\nNext Row (RS): With B, k33 (38), k2tog, k28 (29).\n\n#### Side Shaping\n\nNext row (WS): Bind off 28 (29) stitches, purl to end\u201434 (39) stitches.\n\nWork Box pattern rows 3 and 4 as established.\n\nDecrease row (RS): With B, knit to the last 3 stitches, k2tog, k1\u201433 (38) stitches.\n\nContinuing in Box pattern as established, repeat Decrease row every 4th row 15 (17) more times\u201418 (21) stitches.\n\nWork 4 rows even in Box pattern as established.\n\n#### Shoulder Shaping\n\nBind off 6 (7) stitches at the beginning of the next 3 WS rows.\n\nFasten off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nWith the RS together, sew the 28 (29) bound-off stitches of the fronts to the side edges of the Back, the decrease edges and shoulder bind-offs, one after the other, as one seam.\n\n#### Cable I-cord Trim\n\nWith dpns and a doubled strand of B, cast on 6 stitches. With the RS facing, start across the cast-on edge of the Left Front.\n\nJoining row: K5, slip 1, pick up and k1 stitch, psso.\n\nRepeat the Joining row, working rows 1\u20136 of Cable I-cord, picking up and attaching 1 stitch on the body of the shawl for each I-cord row.\n\nWhen all cast-on stitches have been worked, work 5 rows of Cable I-cord without attaching them, for the corner.\n\nContinue to work Cable I-cord, attaching it evenly (approximately every 3rd row) up the side edge of the Left Front, across the Back, down the side edge of the Right Front, and around the front edges back to the start, working 5 unattached rows at each corner. Use the Kitchener stitch to graft the 2 ends together. Sew hook and eye (optional) at V-point on each side, under the cable edge where the fronts cross.\n\nThe Deep End Shawl[  \n~return to the beginning of the project~](Epst_9780385346269_epub_c01_r1.htm#c01-s5)\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood\n\n## ROYAL LACE  \ncoat with hood\n\nLike something out of a fairy tale, this design is created by sewing seven rectangles together and adding a detachable hood. Each rectangle is made with graduated arrow lace that knits up like a dream and converges into stockinette stitch forming lovely lace points on all the rectangles. The sleeves add structure for a more tailored fit, and the shape is perfectly flattering for any body size. Always in style, it's a piece that should be in everyone's closet. The sample pictured uses my Knight's Amour buttons and Fleur de Lis clasp from JHB.\n\nreimagine it\n\nKeep the lace pattern and construction, but try using a fabulous subtly colored, hand-dyed yarn. Add a different button and closure choice for a completely new look.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size L\/XL\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 39\u00bd (47\u00bd)\" [100 (120.5)cm]\n\nLength: 23\u00bc (25)\" [59 (63.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n16 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade Cloud (70% merino wool, 30% baby alpaca), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 164 yd (150m); 8 (9) skeins of #2109 Red\n\nSize U.S. 10 (6mm) needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) needles\n\nStitch markers\n\nStitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\nSix 1\u215b\" (2.8cm) buttons (JHB's Nicky Epstein Knight's Armour #92723)\n\n1 clasp (JHB's Nicky Epstein Fleur de Lis #4042)\n\n#### Pattern 1\n\n(multiple of 8 stitches + 1)\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1, *ssk, [k1, yo] twice, k1, k2tog, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: P1, *p2tog, [p1, yo] twice, p1, p2tog tbl, p1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: K1, *yo, ssk, k3, k2tog, yo, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 4: P2, *yo, p2tog, p1, p2tog tbl, yo, p3; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, yo, p2tog, p1, p2tog tbl, yo, p2.\n\nRow 5: K3, *yo, s2kp, yo, k5; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, yo, s2kp, yo, k3.\n\nRow 6: Repeat row 2.\n\nRow 7: Repeat row 1.\n\nRow 8: P1, *yo, p2tog, p3, p2tog tbl, yo, p1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 9: K2, *yo, ssk, k1, k2tog, yo, k3; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, yo, ssk, k1, k2tog, yo, k2.\n\nRow 10: P3, *yo, s2pp, yo, p5; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, yo, s2pp, yo, p3.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201310 for pattern.\n\n#### Pattern 2\n\n(multiple of 8 stitches +1)\n\nRows 1 and 3: K1, *ssk, [k1, yo] twice, k1, k2tog, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: Purl.\n\nRow 5: K1, *yo, ssk, k3, k2tog, yo, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 7: K2, *yo, ssk, k1, k2tog, yo, k3; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, yo, ssk, k1, k2tog, yo, k2.\n\nRow 9: K3, *yo, s2kp, yo, k5; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, yo, s2kp, yo, k3.\n\nRow 10: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201310 for pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 85 (101) stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rows.\n\nRow 1 (RS): [K1, p1] 3 times, place marker, work 73 (89) stitches in Pattern 1, place marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 2\u201370: Keeping 6 stitches at each end in rib as set, work Pattern 1 rows 2\u201310 between markers once, then work rows 1\u201310 another 6 times.\n\nRow 71: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 73 (89) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 72\u201380: Keeping 6 stitches at each end in rib as established, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 81: [K1, p1] 3 times, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 57 (73) stitches in Pattern 2 as established, place marker, k8, remove marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 82\u201390: Work 6 stitches in rib, 8 stitches in stockinette stitch, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, 8 stitches in stockinette stitch, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRow 91: [K1, p1] 3 times, k8, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 41 (57) stitches in Pattern 2 as established, place marker, k8, remove marker, k8, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 92\u2013100: Work 6 stitches in rib, 16 stitches in stockinette stitch, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, 16 stitches in stockinette stitch, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRow 101: [K1, p1] 3 times, k16, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 25 (41) stitches in Pattern 2 as established, place marker, k8, remove marker, k16, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 102\u2013110: Work 6 stitches in rib, 24 stitches in stockinette stitch, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, 24 stitches in stockinette stitch, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRow 111: [K1, p1] 3 times, k24, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 (25) stitches in Pattern 2 as established, place marker, k8, remove marker, k24, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 112\u2013120: Work 6 stitches in rib, 32 stitches in stockinette stitch, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, 32 stitches in stockinette stitch, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nSize S\/M only, skip to row 131.\n\nRow 121: [K1, p1] 3 times, k32, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 stitches in Pattern 2 as established, place marker, k8, remove marker, k32, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 122\u2013130: Work 6 stitches in rib, 40 stitches in stockinette stitch, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, 40 stitches in stockinette stitch, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRows 131\u2013150: Work 6 stitches in rib, 73 (89) stitches in stockinette stitch (remove markers on row 131), and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nPlace stitches on a holder.\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 45 (53) stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rows.\n\nRow 1: [K1, p1] 3 times, place marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 1, place marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 2\u201310: Work 6 stitches in rib, slip marker, work Pattern 1 rows 2\u201310 between markers, slip marker, work the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRows 11\u201370: Repeat rows 1\u201310 six more times.\n\nRow 71: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 72\u201380: Work 6 stitches in rib, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRow 81: [K1, p1] 3 times, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 25 (33) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 82\u201390: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 91: [K1, p1] 3 times, k8, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 17 (25) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 92\u2013100: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 101: [K1, p1] 3 times, k16, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 (17) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 102\u2013110: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nSize S\/M only, skip to row 121.\n\nRow 111: [K1, p1] 3 times, k24, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 112\u2013120: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRows 121\u2013139: Work in rib stitches as set and 33 (41) stitches between markers in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Neck\n\nBind off 8 (10) stitches at beginning of next WS row. Continue to bind off at the beginning of WS rows, 3 (4) stitches twice, and 2 stitches 3 times. Place the remaining 25 (29) stitches on a holder.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 45 (53) stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rows.\n\nRow 1: [K1, p1] 3 times, place marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 1, place marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 2\u201310: Work 6 stitches in rib, work Pattern 1 rows 2\u201310 between markers, work the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRows 11\u201370: Repeat rows 1\u201310 6 more times.\n\nRow 71: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 72\u201380: Work 6 stitches in rib, Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers, and the last 6 stitches in rib.\n\nRow 81: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 25 (33) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 82\u201390: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 91: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 17 (25) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k8, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 92\u2013100: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 101: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 9 (17) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k16, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 102\u2013110: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nSize S\/M only, skip to row 121.\n\nRow 111: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 9 stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k24, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 112\u2013120: Working rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRows 121\u2013138: Work in rib stitches as set and 33 (41) stitches between ribs in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Neck\n\nBind off 8 (10) stitches at beginning of next RS row. Continue to bind off at the beginning of RS rows, 3 (4) stitches twice, and 2 stitches 3 times. Place the remaining 25 (29) stitches on a holder.\n\n### SLEEVES (MAKE 2)\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 43 stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rows.\n\nRow 1: K1, place marker, work 41 stitches in Pattern 1, place marker, k1.\n\nRows 2\u201314: Keeping the first and last stitches in stockinette stitch, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 then rows 1\u20134 between markers.\n\nRow 15 (increase row): K1, m1, slip marker, work Pattern 2 row 5 between markers, slip marker, m1, k1.\n\nRepeat increase row every 6th row 8 (10) more times, working m1 one stitch in from each edge, working increases in stockinette stitch as follows:\n\nRows 16\u201320: Keeping the first 2 and last 2 stitches in stockinette stitch, work Pattern 2 rows 6\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 21 (increase row): K1, m1, k1, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 25 stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k1, m1, k1.\n\nRows 22\u201330: Keeping stitches at each end in stockinette stitch, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers\u201449 stitches. (Row 27 is an increase row.)\n\nRow 31: K12, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8 remove marker, k12.\n\nRows 32\u201340: Working stitches at each end in stockinette stitch, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers\u201453 stitches. (Rows 33 and 39 are increase rows.)\n\nRow 41: Knit across, removing markers.\n\nContinue in stockinette stitch, increasing as established, until you have 61 (65) stitches. If necessary, work even in stockinette stitch until Sleeve measures 16\" (40.5cm) from the cast-on edge, or to desired length.\n\nBind off.\n\n### HOOD  \nRIGHT SIDE\n\n#### Bottom Edge\n\nCast on 40 (48) stitches with larger needles.\n\nWork in knit 1, p1 for a total of 9 rows.\n\n#### Body\n\nRow 1 (RS): [K1, p1] 3 times, place marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k1.\n\nRows 2\u201310: Work rib stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 11: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 25 (33) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k1.\n\nRows 12\u201320: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 21: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 17 (25) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k9.\n\nRows 22\u201330: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 31: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 9 (17) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k17.\n\nRows 32\u201340: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 41: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, work 0 (9) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, k8, remove marker, k25.\n\nRows 42\u201350: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set; for size L\/XL only, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between the markers.\n\nRow 51: [K1, p1] 3 times, knit to end, removing all markers.\n\nRow 52: Purl to the last 6 stitches, [k1, p1] 3 times.\n\nRepeat rows 51 and 52 until Hood measures 12\" (30.5cm) from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nBind off.\n\n### LEFT SIDE\n\n#### Bottom Edge\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 40 (48).\n\nStarting on the WS, work k1, p1 for a total of 9 rows.\n\n#### Body\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1, place marker, work 33 (41) stitches in Pattern 2, place marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 2\u201310: Work rib stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 11: K1, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 25 (33) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 12\u201320: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 21: K9, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 17 (25) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 22\u201330: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 31: K17, remove marker, k8, place marker, work 9 (17) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 32\u201340: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 41: K25, remove marker, work 0 (9) stitches in Pattern 2, slip marker, [p1, k1] 3 times.\n\nRows 42\u201350: Work rib and stockinette stitches as set; for size L\/XL only, work Pattern 2 rows 2\u201310 between markers.\n\nRow 51: Knit to the last 6 stitches, [p1, k1] 3 times, removing all markers.\n\nRow 52: [P1, k1] 3 times, purl to end.\n\nRepeat rows 51 and 52 until Hood measures 12\" (30.5cm) from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nWith the right sides together, use the 3-needle bind-off to join the shoulders, leaving the 35 (43) Back neck stitches on a holder.\n\n#### Neck Band\n\nWith RS facing and smaller needles, pick up and k21 (25) stitches from Right Front neck edge to the right shoulder seam; k35 (43) Back neck stitches, increasing 2 stitches evenly across [37 (45) stitches]; pick up and k21 (25) stitches from the left shoulder seam down to the Left Front edge\u201479 (95) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (WS): P1, *k1, p1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: K1, *p1, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\n### MAKE BUTTONHOLES\n\nRow 3: Rib 3, [bind off 3 stitches, rib 11 (14)] twice, bind off 3 stitches, rib 11 (15), [bind off 3 stitches, rib 11 (14)] twice, bind off 3 stitches, rib 3.\n\nRow 4: Work in rib, casting on 3 stitches over the bound-off stitches.\n\nContinue to work in rib until band measures 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm). Bind off in rib.\n\nReinforce buttonholes with whipstitch.\n\nMeasure and mark 7\u00bd (8)\" [19 (20.5)cm] down from the shoulder on both the back and the front. Sew Sleeves between the markers under the rib edging (see photograph).\n\nSew sleeve seams.\n\nWith the right sides together, sew the top and back seams of the Hood. Sew buttons onto the Hood to correspond with the neck-band buttonholes.\n\nSew the clasp to the front at the neck (see photograph).\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi\n\n## WELTED BUTTON  \ntuck cardi\n\nThis asymmetrical style has an unusual drape and shape, and traditional armhole shaping for fit. The multiple buttons and buttonholes do much of the work by creating graceful folds and flowing tucks. The two front shapes are completely different, but when tucked at the sides and sewn into the back it creates a perfect fit. The sleeve cuffs have a little ruching and each is topped with a button. You need to enjoy the stockinette stitch because there is a lot of it! It is the perfect piece for therapeutic, stress-free, or on-the-go knitting.\n\nreimagine it\n\nMulticolored dyed yarns often create a one-of-a-kind look, such as the diamond patterning on the back. Yours may end up on the front! Try keeping the welted button side in one color, with the other side in two-color striping and the sleeves in another color. Consider adding a pocket to the left side.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 39 (50\u00bd)\" [99 (128)cm]\n\nBack length: 32\u00bd (34\u00bd)\" [82.5 (87.5)cm] at back point edge\n\nSleeve length 20\" (51cm) before gather\n\nNote: The front and back of this sweater are made from the top down. The sleeves are worked from the cuff up. The sleeves are intentionally long.\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nBlue Heron Yarns Rayon Metallic (88% rayon, 12% metallic), 8 oz (226g), 550 yd (503m); 3 (4) skeins of Water Hyacinth\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nTapestry needle\n\nEleven \u00be\" (2cm) buttons (JHB's Feng Shui #96992)\n\n### BACK\n\nCast on 83 (90) stitches.\n\nRows 1\u201345 (1\u201335): Starting with a purl row, work 45 (35) rows in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nRow 46 (36) (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201485 (92) stitches.\n\nRow 47 (37): Purl.\n\nRows 48\u201351 (38\u201355): Repeat rows 46 and 47 twice (rows 36 and 37 nine times)\u201489 (110) stitches.\n\nRow 52 (56): Cast on 4 (8) stitches, knit to the end\u201493 (118) stitches.\n\nRow 53 (57): Cast on 4 (8) stitches, purl to the end\u201497 (126) stitches.\n\nRows 54\u201371 (58\u201375): Work 18 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 72 (76): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201499 (128) stitches.\n\nRows 73\u201389 (77\u201393): Work 17 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRows 90\u2013143 (94\u2013147): Repeat rows 72\u201389 (76\u201393) 3 times\u2014105 (134) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 16\" (40.5cm) from the underarm, ending with a RS row.\n\n#### Shape Lower Edge\n\nRows 1, 3, and 5 (WS): Purl.\n\nRow 2: Bind off 5 stitches, knit to the end\u2014100 (129) stitches.\n\nRows 4 and 6: Bind off 4 stitches, knit to the end\u201492 (121) stitches.\n\nRows 7\u201348 (7\u201354): Repeat rows 1\u20136 seven more times (rows 1 and 2 twenty-four times).\n\nFasten off the last stitch.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nCast on 14 (18) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (WS): Purl.\n\n#### Neck Shaping\n\nRow 2: Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201415 (19) stitches.\n\nRows 3\u201324: Repeat rows 1 and 2 eleven more times\u201426 (30) stitches.\n\nRows 25 and 27: Purl.\n\nRow 26: Knit.\n\nRow 28: Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201427 (31) stitches.\n\nRows 29\u201344 (29\u201334): Repeat rows 27 and 28 eight (three) more times\u201435 (34) stitches.\n\nRow 45 (35): Purl.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nRow 46 (36): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201437 (36) stitches.\n\nRow 47 (37): Purl.\n\nRows 48\u201351 (38\u201355): Repeat rows 46 and 47 twice (36 and 37 nine times)\u201441 (54) stitches.\n\nRow 52 (56): Cast on 4 (8) stitches, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201446 (63) stitches.\n\nRows 53 and 55 (57 and 59): Purl.\n\nRow 54 (58): Knit.\n\nRow 56 (60): Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201447 (64) stitches.\n\nRows 57\u2013244 (61\u2013256): Repeat rows 1\u201328 six (seven) more times, then rows 1\u201320 once (zero times) more\u2014135 (155) stitches.\n\nRow 245 (257): Purl.\n\nRow 246 (258): Bind off 5 stitches, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u2014131 (151) stitches.\n\nRows 247\u2013268 (259\u2013280): Repeat rows 245 and 246 (257\u2013258) eleven times\u201487 (107) stitches.\n\nRow 269 (281): Purl.\n\nRow 270 (282): Bind off 5 stitches, knit to end\u201482 (102) stitches.\n\nRows 271 (283): Purl.\n\nRow 272 (284): Bind off 5 stitches, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201478 (98) stitches.\n\nRows 273\u2013300 (285\u2013312): Repeat rows 245\u2013272 (257\u2013284) once\u201421 (41) stitches.\n\nRows 301\u2013310 (313\u2013332): Repeat rows 271 and 272 five times (271\u2013272 ten times).\n\nFasten off the last stitch.\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nCast on 14 (18) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (WS): Purl.\n\n#### Neck Shaping\n\nRow 2: K1, m1, knit to the end\u201415 (19) stitches.\n\nRows 3\u201344 (3\u201334): Repeat rows 1 and 2 twenty-one (sixteen) more times\u201436 (35) stitches.\n\nRow 45 (35): Purl.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nRow 46 (36): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201438 (37) stitches.\n\nRows 47\u201350 (37\u201354): Repeat rows 45 and 46 twice (nine times)\u201442 (55) stitches.\n\nRow 51 (55): Cast on 4 (8) stitches, purl to the end\u201446 (63) stitches.\n\nRow 52 (56): K1, m1, knit to the end\u201447 (64) stitches.\n\nRow 53 (57): Purl.\n\nRows 54\u201371 (58\u201379): Repeat rows 52 and 53 nine more times (56 and 57 eleven more times)\u201456 (75) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 16\" (40.5cm) from the underarm, ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Shape Lower Edge\n\nRow 1 (RS): Knit.\n\nRow 2: Bind off 6 stitches, purl to the end\u201450 (69) stitches.\n\nRow 3: Knit.\n\nRow 4: Bind off 5 stitches, purl to the end\u201445 (64) stitches.\n\nRows 5\u201319 (21): Repeat rows 1\u20134 four (five) more times; for size L\/XL only, work rows 1 and 2 once more.\n\nFor size S\/M, fasten off the last stitch; for size L\/XL, bind off the remaining 3 stitches.\n\n### SLEEVES\n\nCast on 45 (51) stitches.\n\nKnit 4 rows.\n\nStarting with a purl row, work in stockinette stitch for 4\" (10cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Increase row every 4th row 2 (19) more times, then every 6th row 11 (0) times\u201473 (91) stitches.\n\nWork even until piece measures 20\" (51cm) from cast-on or to desired length, ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Cap Shaping\n\nBind off 4 (8) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201465 (75) stitches.\n\nDecrease 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 6 rows\u201459 (69) stitches.\n\nWork 2 rows even.\n\nDecrease 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 38 rows\u201421 (31) stitches.\n\nBind off 2 stitches at the beginning of the next 4 rows, then 3 stitches at the beginning of the next 2 (4) rows\u20147 (11) stitches.\n\nBind off the remaining stitches.\n\n### FINISHING  \nBOTTOM EDGINGS\n\n#### Back\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k105 (134) stitches. Knit 3 rows. Bind off knitwise on the RS.\n\n#### Right Front\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k144 (174) stitches. Knit 3 rows. Bind off knitwise on the RS.\n\n#### Left Front\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k56 (75) stitches. Knit 3 rows. Bind off knitwise on the RS.\n\nSew both shoulder seams.\n\n#### Buttonhole Band\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k200 (214) stitches, starting at the bottom edge of the Right Front and ending at the shoulder seam.\n\nRow 1 (WS): Knit.\n\nRow 2: K7, *bind off 2 stitches, k16 (17); repeat from * 8 more times, knit to the end.\n\nRow 3: Knit, casting on 2 stitches over each bind off on the previous row.\n\nBind off.\n\n#### Button Band\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k111 (119) stitches, starting at the shoulder seam of the Left Front and ending at the bottom edge.\n\nKnit 3 rows. Bind off.\n\n#### Neck Band\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k55 (54) stitches, starting at the right shoulder seam and ending at the left shoulder seam.\n\nKnit 3 rows. Bind off. Sew side edges to Right and Left Front bands.\n\nSet in the Sleeves. Sew left side and sleeve seams.\n\nFollowing the schematic, measure and make two tucks on the Right Front side edge.\n\nSew right side and sleeve seams. Measure 7\" (18cm) from the bottom and top center of the sleeve, and mark with a pin. Sew 9 buttons to the Left Front following the schematic, evenly spaced (approximately 2\u00bc\" [5.5cm] apart). With a threaded tapestry needle, work a running stitch to the pin, gather, and secure the yarn. Sew a button to the bottom to gather. Repeat for second sleeve.\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi  \n~return to beginning of project~\n\nchapter 2\n\nCOOL CONSTRUCTION\n\nThis chapter showcases a variety of nontraditional knit garments with creatively constructed shapes and interesting details. They are all inspiring and exciting to make, whether you are combining a cleverly placed scarf and a snap to create shaping, constructing a jacket from two knitted circles with sleeves extending from the center of the circle, or working short rows and cabled edgings at the same time for an avant garde vest. This chapter is sure to spark some new ideas and perhaps inspire you to explore the possibilities of knitting without using the traditional front, back, and two sleeves\u2014just for the thrill of it!\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound\n\n## WEEKEND WARRIOR  \nwraparound\n\nA bounty of colors is worked in short rows to create a large spellbinding circle. Instead of binding off the last row, the live stitches are threaded with a corresponding scarf, shaping the neck. A snap or two at the waist does the rest of the shaping for the tunic. To wear it as a cape just throw it around your shoulders and go. You can also bind off the last row and weave a scarf through the neckband instead of leaving the front stitches live. And yes, Weekend Warrior can easily be made in one weekend.\n\nreimagine it\n\nLive stitches and a scarf are used here to shape the neckline, but if you bind off those stitches, the cast-on and bound-off edges can become the front opening of a fun poncholette. Color combinations and multicolor yarn offer endless possibilities. An I-cord or even a thin belt could replace the scarf or ribbon.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nInner edge: 18\u00bd (27\u00be, 37)\" [47 (70.5, 94)cm]\n\nOuter edge: 112 (130\u00bd, 149\u00bc)\" [284.5 (331.5, 379)cm]\n\nWidth: 16 (17\u00bd, 18\u00be)\" [40.5 (44.5, 47.5)cm]\n\nNote: The Body is made in one circular piece using short rows.\n\nGAUGE\n\n9 stitches and 18 rows = 4\" (10cm) in garter stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nHPKY Flame (100% merino wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 100 yd (91m); 1 ball of Grape (A), 1 ball of Lilac (B), 1 (2, 2) balls of Orchid (C), 1 ball of Blue (D), 1 ball of Teal (E), 1 ball of Green (F), 1 ball of Seafoam (G), 1 ball of Purple (H)\n\nSize U.S. 15 (10mm) needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\n2 size 10 snaps\n\nTapestry needle\n\nMatching silk scarf (sample is shown with a hand-dyed scarf from HPKY) or ribbon\n\n### Circle Short Row Pattern\n\nRow 1 (RS): K3, turn.\n\nRow 2: Knit.\n\nRow 3: Knit to the gap, k3, turn.\n\nRow 4: Knit.\n\nRows 5\u201322 (5\u201324, 5\u201326): Repeat rows 3 and 4 until there are 3 stitches after the gap, end after a WS row.\n\nRow 23 (25, 27): Knit.\n\nSIZE S ONLY\n\nRow 24: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201324 for pattern.\n\nSIZE M ONLY\n\nRow 26: Slip 1, p2, knit to the end.\n\nRow 27: Knit.\n\nRow 28: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201328 for pattern.\n\nSIZE L ONLY\n\nRows 28 and 30: Slip 1, p2, knit to the end.\n\nRows 29 and 31: Knit.\n\nRow 32: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201332 for pattern.\n\n### BODY\n\nWith A, cast on 36 (39, 42) stitches. Work 3 repeats of Circle Short Row pattern.\n\nWork 2 repeats each of Circle Short Row pattern with B, C, D, and E.\n\nWith F, work 3 repeats of Circle Short Row pattern.\n\nWork 2 repeats each of Circle Short Row pattern with G, H, and C.\n\nWith E, work 1 repeat of Circle Short Row pattern.\n\nDo not bind off; cut yarn and secure.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nFold one end of the matching silk scarf or ribbon, thread it through the live stitches on the needle, and gather it for the neckline. Sew half the snap at the center of the cast-on edge on the RS and the other half at the center of the G-to-H color-change row on the WS. Sew 2nd snap where the piece wraps at the waist line.\n\nTie scarf\/ribbon at either the neck, back, or the side.\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan\n\n## NOUVEAU  \nwrap cardigan\n\nMake a grand entrance at the office, the theatre, a ball game, or any other event wearing this cardigan. Nouveau Wrap Cardigan is made with stockinette stitch and trimmed with an easy cable rib stitch. For drape and texture I chose a sensuous heathered alpaca yarn. Study the schematic to understand how the rectangles and curves come together for fit and at the same time include the scarves. One scarf end goes through a slit over the right shoulder and the other wraps over the left side and falls to the back.\n\nreimagine it\n\nI can see this design reworked in many ways using different colors and\/or stitch patterns. Try using a two-color small repeat pattern, a check or a houndstooth pattern repeat for the stockinette stitch area, and then continue with a single color for the cable scarf and edging.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBack width: 18 (20, 22)\" [45.5 (51, 56)cm]\n\nBack length: 19\u00bd (20\u00bd, 21\u00bd)\" [49.5 (52, 54.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n21 stitches and 28 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nBlue Sky Alpacas Melange (100% baby alpaca), 1\u00be oz (50g), 110 yd (100m); 12 (14, 15) balls of #808 Olive\n\n3 Size U.S. 6 (4mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nStitch holders\n\nRemovable stitch markers\n\nTapestry needle\n\n#### Baby Cable Rib\n\nRT: K2tog keeping both stitches on the left-hand needle, then knit the first stitch again, removing both stitches from the needle.\n\nRow 1 (RS): P2, *k2, p2; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRow 2: K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRow 3: P2, *RT, p2; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRow 4: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\nCast on 94 (106, 116) stitches. Work in stockinette stitch for 18 (19, 20)\" [45.5 (48.5, 51)cm], ending with a RS row.\n\nNext row: P30 (34, 37) and place stitches on a holder for the left shoulder, bind off 34 (38, 42) stitches for the back neck, p30 (34, 37), and place stitches on a holder for the right shoulder.\n\n#### Bottom Edging\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k94 (106, 116) stitches across the cast-on edge.\n\nSetup row (WS): K2,*p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nWork 8 rows of Baby Cable Rib.\n\nBind off in rib.\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nCast on 23 (26, 28) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (WS): Purl.\n\nRow 2: Knit to the end, cast on 2 stitches\u201425 (28, 30) stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 two (three, four) more times\u201429 (34, 38) stitches.\n\nRow 1: Purl.\n\nRow 2 (RS): Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201430 (35, 39) stitches. Repeat Rows 1 and 2 35 (35, 37) more times\u201465 (70, 76) stitches.\n\nStarting with a purl row, continue in stockinette stitch until piece measures 18 (19, 20)\" [45.5 (48.5, 51)cm] from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nNext Row (RS): K30 (34, 37) and place these stitches on a holder for the shoulder, knit to the end.\n\n#### Scarf\n\nContinue in stockinette stitch on the remaining 35 (36, 39) stitches for 26\" (66cm) more, ending with a WS row. Work 8 rows in Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nCast on 23 (26, 28) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (WS): Purl.\n\nRow 2: Cast on 2 stitches, knit to end\u201425 (28, 30) stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 two (three, four) more times\u201429 (34, 38) stitches.\n\nRow 1: Purl.\n\nRow 2 (RS): K1, m1, knit to the end\u201430 (35, 39) stitches.\n\nRepeat Rows 1 and 2 35 (35, 37) more times\u201465 (70, 76) stitches.\n\nStarting with a purl row, continue working in stockinette stitch until piece measures 14 (15, 16)\" [35.5 (38, 40.5)cm] from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Scarf Slit\n\nNext RS row: K54 (56, 59), place the last 22 stitches worked on a holder, knit to the end.\n\nNext WS row: P11 (14, 17), cast on 22 stitches using the cable cast-on method, p32 (34, 37).\n\nContinue in stockinette stitch until piece measures 18 (19, 20)\" [45.5 (48.5, 51)cm] from the bottom cast-on edge, ending with a RS row.\n\nNext row (WS): P30 (34, 37) stitches and place them on a holder for the shoulder, knit to end.\n\n#### Scarf\n\nContinue in stockinette stitch on the remaining 35 (36, 39) stitches for 26\" (66cm) more, ending with a WS row. Work 8 rows in Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\n#### Slit Facing\n\nWith the RS facing, place the 22 stitches from the holder onto a needle. Work 8 rows in Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\nUsing the 3-needle bind-off method, join shoulders. Mark 9 (9\u00bd, 10)\" [23 (24, 25.5)cm] down from the shoulder seams on both Fronts and Back.\n\n### SLEEVES\n\nWith the RS facing, pick up and k94 (100, 106) stitches evenly spaced between markers on the Fronts and Back.\n\nStarting with a purl row work 7 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, ssk, knit to the last 3 stitches, k2tog, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 4th row 25 (24, 25) more times\u201442 (50, 54) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until sleeve measures 16 (16\u00bd, 17)\" [40.5 (42, 43)cm].\n\nWork 12 rows in Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\n### FINISHING\n\n#### Fronts and Neck Facing\n\nWith the RS facing, starting at the top shoulder side of the Right Front scarf, pick up and k116 stitches to the shoulder seam, k34 (38, 42) Back neck stitches, pick up and k116 stitches to the top of the shoulder side of the Left Front scarf\u2014266 (270, 274) stitches.\n\nSetup row (WS): K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nWork 10 rows of Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\n#### Right Front and Scarf Side Edging\n\nWith the RS facing and starting at bottom side seam, pick up and k262 (266, 270) stitches evenly spaced to the top edge of the scarf.\n\nSetup row (WS): K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nWork 10 rows of Baby Cable Rib. Bind off in rib.\n\n#### Left Front and Scarf Side Edging\n\nStarting at top edge of the scarf and ending at the bottom side seam, work the same as for the Right Front and Scarf Side Edging.\n\nSew side and sleeve seams.\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nOn the Edge Dress\n\n## ON THE EDGE  \ndress\n\nEverything about this design is soft, sensual, and feminine. It is made in stockinette stitch using a lightweight wool blend metallic yarn. The main feature of this dress is the side and bottom edging. Simple rectangles are edged with a corresponding color in faux fur yarn and then spot sewn to the dress creating a very stylish and unique detail. The front and back are knit with increases and decreases designed to hug and flatter the body. The teardrop openings at the neck add another sexy detail but could be sewn closed instead.\n\nreimagine it\n\nEnvision the edging done with a colorful floral duplicate stitch, intarsia pattern, or a Fair Isle repeat. An easier idea might be colorful bold stripes. For a more textural look, use seed stitch in place of stockinette stitch.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L, XL), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 31\u00bc (35\u00bc, 39, 43\u00be)\" [79.5 (89.5, 99, 111)cm]\n\nLength: 31 (32, 32\u00be, 33\u00bd)\" [79 (81, 83, 85)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n19 stitches and 30 rows = 4\" (10cm) on smaller needles in stockinette stitch with A\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nBerroco Flicker (87% baby alpaca, 8% acrylic, 5% other fibers), 1\u00be oz (50g), 189 yd (173m); 10 (11, 12, 13) balls of #3317 Dark Taupe (A)\n\nBerroco Marmot (100% nylon), 1\u00be oz (50g), 93 yd (85m); 2 (3, 4, 5) balls of #3703 Moonstone (B)\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) straight needles and 16\" (40.5cm) circular needle\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nStitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### FRONT\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 110 (124, 138, 152) stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles. Work in stockinette stitch for 8\" (20.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nBind off 15 stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows.\n\nBind off 2 (2, 3, 3) stitches at the beginning of the next 6 rows\u201468 (82, 90, 104) stitches.\n\n#### Waist Shaping\n\nDecrease 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 8 (12, 12, 16) rows\u201460 (70, 78, 88) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 15\" (38cm) from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last 3 stitches, m1, k1.\n\nRepeat Increase row every RS row 4 more times\u201470 (80, 88, 98) stitches.\n\nContinue even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 18\" (45.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Raglan Shaping\n\nBind off 4 (5, 6, 7) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201462 (70, 76, 84) stitches.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K2, ssk, knit to the last 4 stitches, k2tog, k2.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Decrease row every RS row 3 (9, 11, 17) more times, then every 4th row 12 (10, 10, 8) times. Place the remaining 30 (30, 32, 32) stitches on a holder.\n\n#### Lower Front Side Edging\n\nWith the RS facing, B, and larger needles, pick up and k40 stitches along one 8\" (20.5cm) side edge of the lower front. Knit 3 rows.\n\nBind off. Repeat on the other side.\n\n#### Front Bottom Panel\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 110 (124, 138, 152) stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles. Work in stockinette stitch for 5\" (12.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to B and larger needles. Knit 3 rows. Bind off.\n\nWith the RS facing, B, and larger needles, pick up and k28 stitches along one side of the panel. Knit 3 rows. Bind off. Repeat on the other side.\n\n### BACK\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 120 (134, 150, 168) stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles. Work in stockinette stitch for 8\" (20.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nBind off 15 stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows, bind off 2 (2, 3, 3) stitches at the beginning of the next 6 rows, then decrease 1 stitch at the beginning of the next 0 (4, 2, 10) rows\u201478 (88, 100, 110) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until piece measures the same as the front to the armhole, ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Raglan Shaping\n\nBind off 4 (5, 6, 7) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201470 (78, 88, 96) stitches.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K2, ssk, knit to the last 4 stitches, k2tog, k2.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Decrease row every RS row 3 (9, 11, 17) more times, then every 4th row 12 (10, 10, 8). Place the remaining 38 (38, 44, 44) stitches on a holder.\n\n#### Lower Back Side Edging\n\nWith the RS facing, B, and larger needles, pick up and k40 stitches along one 8\" (20.5cm) side edge of the lower back. Knit 3 rows. Bind off. Repeat on the other side.\n\n#### Back Bottom Panel\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 120 (134, 150, 168) stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles. Work in stockinette stitch for 5\" (12.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to B and larger needles. Knit 3 rows. Bind off.\n\nWith the RS facing, B, and larger needles, pick up and k28 stitches along the side of the panel. Knit 3 rows. Bind off. Repeat on the other side.\n\n### SLEEVES  \n(MAKE 2)\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 52 (56, 60, 62) stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles. Work 6 (6, 2, 6) rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nRepeat Increase row every 8th (6th, 6th, 4th) row 6 (9, 10, 14) more times\u201366 (76, 82, 92) stitches.\n\n#### Raglan Shaping\n\nWork raglan shaping same as the Front. Place the remaining 26 stitches on a holder.\n\n### SIDE PANELS (MAKE 2)\n\nWith B and larger needles, cast on 128 stitches. Knit 3 rows.\n\nChange to A and smaller needles.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 5\" (12.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to B and larger needles. Knit 3 rows. Bind off.\n\nWith the RS facing, B, and larger needles, pick up and k28 stitches along one side of the panel. Knit 3 rows. Bind off. Repeat on the other side.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nThe edgings may roll. Lightly steam flat.\n\nSew the Back raglan seams. Sew the Front raglan seams, leaving a 3\u00bd\" (9cm) opening 1\" (2.5cm) down from the top edge. Sew sleeve and side seams, leaving the lower front and back side edges open.\n\n#### Neck Band\n\nStarting at the Back right neck seam, place all stitches from the holders onto the circular needle\u2014120 (120, 128, 128) stitches. With B, knit 3 rows. Bind off.\n\n#### Assembly\n\nWith B, sew the Front and Back Bottom Panels for 1\" (2.5cm) at 6 points evenly spaced across the lower edges of the dress, starting and ending at the side edges.\n\nWith B, sew the Side Panels to the lower Front and Back side edges of the body for 1\" (2.5cm) at 5 points evenly spaced across, starting and ending at the cast-on edges of the body and leaving the ends over the bottom panels free.\n\nOn the Edge Dress  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan\n\n## GLORY RISING CIRCLE  \ncardigan\n\nThis design consists of two large circles knitted from the outer edge to the center stitches, which are then used to continue knitting the ribbed sleeve. You heard me correctly: The circle extends into the sleeve! A variety of intriguing stitches and some easy color work are used to create the circle itself, which is shaped by strategic placement of decreases in between the stitches and row counts. The two circles are overlapped and sewn at the back, while the front collar is shaped by folding the outer edge back.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThis could be created using two strong contrasting colors like black and white. And why not try making three-quarter sleeves instead? You could even reimagine this piece using different circles or experimenting with other closures. It might be tricky, but it could be worth the effort.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L\/XL), shown in size M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 36 (40, 50)\" [91.5 (101.5, 127)cm]\n\nLength: 22 (26, 29\u00bc)\" [56 (66, 74.5)cm]\n\nSleeve length: 15 (16, 17)\" [38 (40.5, 43)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n16 stitches and 22 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nSkacel Schulana Accordion (80% merino wool, 20% super-kid mohair), 1\u00be oz (50g), 93 yd (85m): 10 (13, 15) balls of #13 Blue (A); 1 ball of #00 Natural (B); 1 ball of #09 Navy (C); 1 ball of #02 Orchid (D)\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) 24\" (60cm), 32\" (80cm), 40\" (100cm), and 47\" (120cm) circular needles as needed, and a set of 5 double-pointed needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nStitch markers\n\nCable needle\n\nTapestry needle\n\n3 toggle buckles\n\n### Pattern Stitches\n\n1\/1 RC: Slip 1 stitch to cn and hold in back, k1, k1 from cn.\n\nMB (make bobble): [K1, p1] twice, k1 all in the same stitch. Turn, k5; turn, pass the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th stitches over the first stitch.\n\n### CIRCLE (MAKE 2)\n\nWith longest circular needle and A, cast on 276 (328, 368) stitches loosely. Place marker and join for working in the round, being careful not to twist the cast-on stitches.\n\nWork 16 (24, 26) rnds of ribbing as follows:\n\n*K2, p2; repeat from * around.\n\nDecrease rnd 1: K1 (2, 2), k2tog, *[k1, k2tog] 3 (4, 3) times, k2, k2tog; repeat from * around\u2014191 (226, 255) stitches.\n\nWork 12 (16, 22) rnds of garter stitch as follows:\n\nPurl 1 rnd, knit 1 rnd.\n\nDecrease rnd 2:\n\nSize S only: *P2tog, p3; repeat from * to the last 6 stitches, p2tog, p4\u2014153 stitches.\n\nSize M only: [P2tog, p3] twice, *p2tog, p2, [p2tog, p3] 10 times; repeat from * around\u2014180 stitches.\n\nSize L only: *P2tog, p3; repeat from * around\u2014204 stitches.\n\nWork 7 (9, 15) rnds in Cable Rib as follows, ending with rnd 1:\n\nRnd 1: *K2, p1; repeat from * around.\n\nRnd 2: *1\/1 RC, p1; repeat from * around.\n\nDecrease rnd 3:\n\nSize S only: P2tog, p3, [p2tog, p2] twice, *[p2tog, p3] twice, p2tog, p2; repeat from * around\u2014120 stitches.\n\nSize M only: *P2tog, p3, p2tog, p2; repeat from * around\u2014140 stitches.\n\nSize L only: *P2tog, p2, ([p2tog, p3] twice, p2tog, p2) 7 times; repeat from * around\u2014160 stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rnds.\n\nNext rnd: *K2, MB, k2; repeat from * around.\n\nKnit 2 rnds.\n\nDecrease rnd 4: *P2tog, p3; repeat from * around\u201496 (112, 128) stitches.\n\nChange to B.\n\nNext rnd: With B, knit.\n\nWork 9 rnds of Chart 1.\n\nDecrease rnd 5: With B, *[k2tog, k1] 4 times, k2tog, k2; repeat from * around\u201466 (77, 88) stitches.\n\nWork 6 rnds of Chart 2.\n\n### SLEEVE\n\nChange to A.\n\nRnd 1: With A, knit, decreasing 0 (3, 2) stitches evenly around\u201466 (74, 86) stitches.\n\nRnds 2\u20134: K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * around.\n\nDecrease rnd: K2tog, work in rib to the last 2 stitches, ssk\u20142 stitches decreased.\n\nContinuing in pattern as established, repeat Decrease rnd every 4th rnd 14 (16, 18) more times\u201436 (40, 48) stitches.\n\nWork even in rib until sleeve measures 15 (16, 17)\" [38 (40.5, 43)cm] or to desired length.\n\nBind off all stitches loosely in rib.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nPlace the circles side by side with the beginning of rounds together. Overlap one circle's ribbing on top of the other by 10 (12, 14)\" 25.5 (30.5, 35.5)cm], measured along the beginning of the garter stitch section with the beginning of the rounds at the center. Pin in place, allowing the ribbing overlap to curve outward. Sew both right side and wrong side in place using a [whipstitch.\n\nFold the ribbed sections to the outside along the front edges and the top of the neck to form a shawl collar. Sew 3 toggle closures to the Front (see photograph for placement).\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nDirectional Vest\n\n## DIRECTIONAL  \nvest\n\nAlthough easy to knit, the avant-garde construction will interest any knitter who likes the challenge of unusual shaping (take a quick look at the diagram). This design is shaped by using short rows and at the same time knitting the cabled edging around the front, back, and armholes. A cabled back insert pulls it all together, and cord closures embellish the front. Once you have made one of these vests, you will want to make it again and again.\n\nreimagine it\n\nI can see this vest reworked using a hand-painted yarn, but be careful the yarn isn't so busy that you lose the short-row and cabled edging patterns. Also try this with a clasp instead of the I-cord closure. Adding sleeves is another option.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZE\n\nOne size\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBack width (at underarm): 18\" (45.5cm)\n\nBack length: 21\" (53.5cm)\n\nGAUGE\n\n14 stitches and 22 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nMATERIALS\n\nMadelinetosh Tosh Chunky (100% superwash merino wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 165 yd (151m): 4 skeins in Oceana\n\nSize U.S. 10 (6mm) straight needles\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) set of 2 double-pointed needles\n\nCable needle\n\nStitch markers\n\nTapestry needle\n\n#### Pattern Stitches\n\nM2kp: Insert the left-hand needle, from front to back, under the horizontal bar between the last stitch worked and next stitch, k1 in the back loop, p1 in the back loop\u20142 stitches increased.\n\nM2: Insert the left-hand needle from front to back under the horizontal bar between the last stitch worked and next stitch, k1 in the back loop, k1 in the front loop\u20142 stitches increased.\n\nPkp: [P1, k1, p1] into the same stitch\u20142 stitches increased.\n\n2\/2 RC: Slip 2 to cn and hold in back, k2, k2 from cn.\n\n#### Cable Rib\n\n(multiple of 9 stitches + 5)\n\nRow 1 (RS): *[P1, k1] twice, p1, k4; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, p1, [k1, p1] twice.\n\nRow 2: *[K1, p1] twice, k1, p4; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, k1, [p1, k1] twice.\n\nRow 3: *[P1, k1] twice, p1, 2\/2 RC; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, p1, [k1, p1] twice.\n\nRow 4: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for pattern.\n\n### CENTER BACK INSERT\n\nCast on 32 stitches.\n\nRows 1\u201328: Work 7 repeats of Cable Rib pattern.\n\nRow 29 (RS): P1, ssk, work in pattern to the last 3 stitches, k2tog, p1\u201430 stitches.\n\nRow 30: K1, p2tog, work in pattern to the last 3 stitches, p2tog tbl, k1\u201428 stitches.\n\nRows 31\u201342: Repeat rows 29 and 30\u20144 stitches after row 42.\n\nRow 43: P1, k2tog, p1\u20143 stitches.\n\nRow 44: S2kp\u20141 stitch.\n\nFasten off.\n\n#### Right Armband\n\nCast on 14 stitches.\n\nWork 60 rows in Cable Rib (15 cables), ending with row 4.\n\nNote: From this point on, \"Cable Rib\" refers to working these 14 stitches as established.\n\nIncrease row (RS): P1, [k1, p1] twice, k4, [p1, k1] twice, pkp\u201416 stitches.\n\nNext row: K1, p1, Cable Rib.\n\nContinue in pattern as established until 28 rows (7 more cables) have been completed, ending with row 4.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nRow 1 (RS): Work 13 stitches of Cable Rib, m2kp, p1, k1, p1\u201418 stitches.\n\nRow 2: [K1, p1] twice, place marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 3: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2kp, [k1, p1] twice\u201420 stitches.\n\nRow 4: [K1, p1] 3 times, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 5: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2kp, [k1, p1] 3 times\u201422 stitches.\n\nRow 6: K1, [p1, k1] twice, p3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 7: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2kp, k3, p1, [k1, p1] twice\u201424 stitches.\n\nRow 8: K1, [p1, k1] twice, p4, k1, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 9: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2kp, p1, k4, p1, [k1, p1] twice\u201426 stitches.\n\nRow 10: K1, [p1, k1] twice, p4, k1, p1, k1, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 11: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2kp, k1, p1, 2\/2 RC, p1, [k1, p1] twice\u201428 stitches.\n\nRow 12: K1, [p1, kl] twice, p4, k1, [p1, k1] twice, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 13: Cable Rib, slip marker, m1, place marker, Cable Rib\u201429 stitches.\n\nRow 14: Cable Rib, slip marker, p1, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 15: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201431 stitches.\n\nRows 16 and 18: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 17: Cable Rib, slip marker, m1, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201432 stitches.\n\nRows 19\u201325: Repeat rows 15\u201318 twice, then rows 15\u201317 once more\u201438 stitches; 10 stitches between markers.\n\nNote: From this point until row 291, stitch counts will not include Cable Ribs.\n\nRow 26: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 27: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 28: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRows 29\u201334: Repeat rows 15\u201317 once, then rows 26\u201328\u201413 stitches.\n\nRows 35\u201346: Repeat rows 29\u201334 twice\u201419 stitches.\n\nRow 47: Cable Rib, slip marker, m2, k3, p16, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201421 stitches.\n\nRow 48: Cable Rib, slip marker, k16, p5, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRows 49 and 50: Repeat rows 17 and 18\u201422 stitches.\n\nRows 51\u201356: Repeat rows 29\u201334\u201425 stitches.\n\nRow 57: Cable Rib, pbf, slip marker, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201426 stitches.\n\nRow 58: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 59: Bind off 14 stitches, place marker, m2, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201428 stitches.\n\nRow 60: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 61: P1, slip marker, m1, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201429 stitches.\n\nRow 62: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 63: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 64: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 65: P1, slip marker, m2, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201431 stitches.\n\nRows 66\u201370: Repeat rows 60\u201364\u201432 stitches.\n\nRow 71: P1, slip marker, m2, k3, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201434 stitches.\n\nRow 72: Cable Rib, slip marker, knit to 5 stitches before marker, p5, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 73: P1, slip marker, m1, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201435 stitches.\n\nRow 74: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 75: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 76: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 77: P1, slip marker, m2, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201437 stitches.\n\nRow 78: Cable Rib, slip marker, p17, w&t.\n\nRow 79: Knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 80: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRows 81\u201396: Repeat rows 73\u201380 twice\u201443 stitches.\n\nRows 97\u2013122: Repeat rows 71\u201396\u201454 stitches.\n\nRow 123: Purl to the 2nd marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 124: Cable Rib, slip marker, knit to end.\n\nRow 125: P1, slip marker, k1, ssk, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201453 stitches.\n\nRow 126: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 127: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 128: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to 3 stitches before the next marker, p2tog tbl, p1, slip marker, k1\u201452 stitches.\n\nRow 129: Repeat row 125\u201451 stitches.\n\nRow 130: Cable Rib, slip marker, p17, w&t.\n\nRow 131: K17, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 132: Repeat row 128\u201450 stitches.\n\nRows 133\u2013148: Repeat rows 125\u2013132 twice\u201442 stitches.\n\nRows 149\u2013152: Repeat rows 125\u2013128\u201440 stitches.\n\nRows 153 and 154: Repeat rows 123 and 124.\n\nRow 155: P1, slip marker, k2, m1, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201441 stitches.\n\nRow 156: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 157: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 158: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to 2 stitches before the next marker, m1p, p2 slip marker, k1\u201442 stitches.\n\nRow 159: Repeat row 155\u201443 stitches.\n\nRow 160: Cable Rib, slip marker, p17, w&t.\n\nRow 161: K17, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 162: Repeat row 158\u201444 stitches.\n\nRows 163\u2013182: Repeat rows 155\u2013162 twice, then rows 155\u2013158 once\u201454 stitches.\n\nRows 183 and 184: Repeat rows 123 and 124.\n\nRow 185: P1, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201452 stitches.\n\nRow 186: Cable Rib, slip marker, p17, w&t.\n\nRow 187: K17, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 188: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 189: P1, slip marker, k2tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201451 stitches.\n\nRow 190: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 191: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 192: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRows 193\u2013208: Repeat rows 185\u2013192 twice\u201445 stitches.\n\nRow 209: P1, slip marker, k3tog, k2, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201443 stitches.\n\nRow 210: Cable Rib, slip marker, knit to 3 stitches before the next marker, p3, slip marker, k1.\n\nRows 211\u2013236: Repeat rows 185\u2013210\u201432 stitches.\n\nRow 237: P1, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201430 stitches.\n\nRow 238: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 239: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 240: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRow 241: P1, slip marker, k2tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201429 stitches.\n\nRow 242: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, k1.\n\nRows 243\u2013246: Repeat rows 237\u2013240\u201427 stitches.\n\nRow 247: Cast on 14 stitches, Cable Rib 13 stitches, p2tog, place marker, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201454 stitches total, 26 stitches between markers.\n\nRow 248: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 249: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201424 stitches.\n\nRow 250: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 251: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 252: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 253: Cable Rib, slip marker, k2tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201423 stitches.\n\nRow 254: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 255: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201421 stitches.\n\nRow 256: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 257: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 258: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 259: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, k2, p16, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201419 stitches.\n\nRow 260: Cable Rib, slip marker, k16, p3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 261: Cable Rib, k2tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201418 stitches.\n\nRow 262: Cable Rib, slip marker, p3, w&t.\n\nRow 263: K3, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 264: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 265: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201416 stitches.\n\nRow 266: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRows 267\u2013280: Repeat rows 261\u2013266 twice\u201410 stitches.\n\nRow 281\u2013284: Repeat rows 263\u2013266\u20148 stitches.\n\nRow 285: Cable Rib, slip marker, k2tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u20147 stitches.\n\nRow 286: Cable Rib, slip marker, purl to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRow 287: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, knit to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib\u20145 stitches.\n\nRow 288: Repeat row 286.\n\nRows 289\u2013290: Repeat rows 285\u2013288\u20142 stitches.\n\nRow 291: Cable Rib, slip marker, k2tog, slip marker, Cable Rib\u201429 stitches.\n\nRow 292: Cable Rib, remove marker, p1, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nRow 293: Cable Rib, slip marker, k3tog, continue in pattern to end\u201427 stitches.\n\nRow 294: Work in pattern to marker, slip marker, Cable Rib.\n\nRows 295\u2013302: Repeat rows 293 and 294\u201419 stitches.\n\nRow 303: Cable Rib, slip marker, k2tog, p1, k1, p1\u201418 stitches.\n\nRow 304: K1, p3tog, Cable Rib\u201416 stitches.\n\nNext row: Cable Rib, k1, p1.\n\nContinue in Cable Rib as established until 27 rows (7 more cables) have been completed, ending with row 3 of pattern.\n\nDecrease row (WS): K3tog, work in pattern to end\u201414 stitches.\n\n#### Left Armband\n\nWork 60 rows in Cable Rib (15 cables).\n\nBind off in pattern.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nSew the cast-on ends to the bound-off ends of the armbands. Beginning at the center back point, sew the Center Back Insert to the center of the V. Sew the armbands to the back armholes and the sides of the insert, matching the small increases in each band to the top edge of the insert.\n\n#### I-cord Closure (MAKE 2)\n\nCast on 3 stitches onto a double-pointed needle.\n\nRow 1: Do not turn. Slide stitches to right end of needle, k3.\n\nRepeat Row 1 for 24\" (61cm). Bind off.\n\nStarting at the center, form a spiral approximately 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm) wide, leaving remaining 14\" (35.5cm) for the tie, and sew to secure. Knot the ends of each cord.\n\nSew each closure to the Front (see photograph for placement).\n\nDirectional Vest  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nShape-Shifter Vest\n\n## SHAPE-SHIFTER  \nvest\n\nThe fusion of two slightly shaped rectangular pieces becomes a forward-looking, nontraditional vest. I will let you in on a designer secret: This vest started out as sleeves for a coat, but when I put the pieces on my mannequin they overlapped, and with a little twisting and stitching, became the Shape-Shifter Vest. The contrasting cord trim is sewn on and twisted to resemble the organic shape of a tree branch. Knitting accidents like this one can be wonderfully inventive.\n\nreimagine it\n\nTry this design using a different rib stitch for the overall pattern; just be careful of your gauge. Or try using a lovely multicolored hand-dyed yarn for a stylish look. It might also be interesting to use a textured bobble or cabled I-cord for the edging. See my book Knitting over the Edge for a variety of I-cord patterns.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 40 (48)\" [101.5 (122)cm]\n\nLength: 27\u00bd (28)\" [70 (72.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n12 stitches and 16 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\n18 stitches and 10 rows = 4\" (10cm) in Eyelet Rib pattern on larger needles\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade 128 Superwash (100% superwash merino wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 128 yd (117m); 7 (9) skeins of #1926 Tan (MC), 1 skein of #1981 Brown (CC)\n\nSize U.S. 10\u00bd (6.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 10 (6mm) double-pointed needles\n\nStitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\n#### Eyelet Rib Pattern\n\n(multiple of 7 stitches + 3)\n\nRow 1 (RS): P3, *k4, p3; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: K1, yo, k2tog, *p4, k1, yo, k2tog; repeat from * to end.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 for pattern.\n\n### LEFT\/RIGHT SIDE  \n(MAKE 2)\n\nWith larger needles and MC, cast on 52 (59) stitches.\n\nWork in Eyelet Rib pattern for 18 (19)\" [45.5 (48.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\nNote: Lengthen or shorten here as desired.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nBind off 7 (9) stitches at the beginning of the next RS row, then bind off 2 (3) stitches at the beginning of the following RS row\u201443 (47) stitches.\n\nContinue in pattern as established for 16\" (40.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nCast on 2 (3) stitches at the beginning of the next RS row, then cast on 7 (9) stitches at the beginning of the following RS row\u201452 (59) stitches.\n\nContinue in pattern as established for 18 (19)\" [45.5 (48.5)cm]. Bind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nFold each piece in half widthwise at the center of the armhole and sew the side seam. Join the two sides following the diagram, adjusting for fit as necessary.\n\n#### I-cord Trim\n\nWith dpns and B, cast on 5 stitches and work I-cords to the lengths listed below. When each cord is the desired length, do not bind off; place stitches on a holder.\n\n\u2022 2 Armhole Cords, 18 (19)\" [45.5 (48.5)cm] each\n\n\u2022 1 Body Cord, 96 (100)\" [244 (254)cm]\n\n\u2022 1 Lower Left Front Cord, 6 (7)\" [15 (18)cm]\n\nSew the Armhole Cords to armholes, beginning with the cast-on end at the underarm seam, lengthening or shortening the cord as needed.\n\nStarting at the lower right front, sew the Body Cord to 13 (14)\" [33 (35.5)cm] of the edge, leave the next 7\" (18cm) of the cord and front edge unattached, continue sewing up the right front neck and down the right center back, leaving the last \u00bd\" (13mm) of cord and back edge unattached; sew the corner.\n\nFollowing the diagram above, loop around the unattached sections and continue twisting around the 7\" (18cm) unattached section. Sew the twist section and continue to sew up the left front and left back neck. Adjust the length if necessary, bind off, and sew to the front.\n\nAdjust the length of the Lower Left Front Cord if necessary, bind off, and sew to the lower left front edge.\n\nchapter 3\n\nWOVEN WEAVES\n\nSome of my previous designs that have included weaving have proven so popular with knitters and seemed to have such an impact in our knitting world that I decided to devote an entire chapter to woven pieces. Although they may look complicated, you'll quickly discover that they are as simple to make as an easy braid or a child's loomed potholder. Color choices here also have a big impact; with hand-dyed variegated yarn, each piece is one of a kind, because you never know where the colors will end up in the finished garment.\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank\n\n## CRISSCROSS WEAVE  \ntank\n\nThis peaceful design is so simple to knit even though it uses two weaving techniques, braiding and woven weaves. The shoulder straps are three braided cords, woven together and sewn in place at the back for a more exciting detail and fit. Squares sewn into the side seams add an unusual drape to the design, complementing the thick and thin cotton ribbon yarn used for a zen look. A perfect piece for hot weather or winter wear over another garment.\n\nreimagine it\n\nTo make a more fitted piece, leave out the squares sewn into the sides and sew the whole side seam. I can see this tank made longer and becoming a sexy dress or even a gown, especially if you use a yarn with some bling in it.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 33 (38\u00bd, 44)\" [84 (98, 112)cm]\n\nLength: 25 (27, 29)\" [63.5 (68.5, 74)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nTahki Yarns Ripple (100% mercerized cotton), 1\u00be oz (50g), 142 yd (130m); 5 (6, 8) balls of color #10 Pewter\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSpare needle for holding stitches\n\nStitch holders\n\n6 large safety pins\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### POCKET LININGS\n\n(MAKE 2)\n\nCast on 19 stitches. Work in stockinette stitch for 3\u00bd\" (9cm). Leave on a spare needle.\n\n### FRONT\n\nCast on 100 (116, 132) stitches. Work 10 (8, 6) rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 10th row 8, (9, 10) more times\u201482 (96, 110) stitches.\n\nAt the same time, when piece measures 5\u00bd\" (14cm) from the cast-on edge, make the first pocket as follows:\n\nNext Row (RS): Knit to the last 30 stitches and place the next 19 stitches onto a holder; knit the 19 held stitches of Pocket Lining 1, knit to the end. Continue in stockinette stitch and decrease as established until piece measures 9\" (23cm) from the cast-on edge for the second pocket.\n\nNext Row (RS): K10, place the next 19 stitches onto a holder, knit the 19 held stitches of Pocket Lining 2, knit to the end. Continue as established until piece measures 16 (17, 18)\" [40.5 (43, 45.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n### Shape Armholes\n\nBind off 5 (7, 8) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201472 (82, 94) stitches.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every RS row 3 (4, 6) more times\u201464 (72, 80) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until armhole measures 5 (5\u00bd, 6)\" [12.5 (14, 15)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n### Neck Shaping and Crisscross Strips\n\nNext Row (RS): K24 and place these stitches on a holder, bind off the next 16 (24, 32) stitches, [k8 and place these stitches on a safety pin] twice, k8.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch on these 8 stitches for 19 (20, 21)\" [48.5 (51, 53.5)cm] and place stitches on a safety pin.\n\nSlip the next set of 8 stitches onto a needle and work in stockinette stitch for 19 (20, 21)\" [48.5 (51, 53.5)cm]. Repeat for the remaining set of 8 stitches.\n\nRepeat for the opposite set of 24 stitches.\n\n### BACK\n\nWork same as the Front to the neck shaping, omitting the pockets\u201464 (72, 80) stitches. Decrease 6 (9, 17) stitches evenly across the next row, leaving the remaining 58 (63, 63) stitches on a spare needle.\n\n### SIDE SQUARE GUSSETS (MAKE 2)\n\nCast on 40 stitches and work in stockinette stitch for 8\" (20.5cm). Bind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nMake 6\" (15cm) braids at the front ends of the strips and stitch to secure them, then crisscross the strips following the photo (right), adjusting length if necessary. Place the 6 strips onto a needle and join, evenly spaced, to the 58 (63, 63) Back stitches, using the 3-needle bind-off as follows:\n\n[Bind off 8 strip stitches together with 8 Back stitches, bind off 2 (3, 3) Back stitches only] 5 times, bind off 8 strip stitches together with 8 Back stitches.\n\nStarting at the underarm, sew the side seam, leaving 8\" (20.5cm) up from the bottom open. Insert the Side Square Gusset and sew two consecutive sides, as a triangle, into the opening. Repeat for the other side seam.\n\nWith the RS facing, place the front pocket stitches onto a needle. Bind off the stitches and using a long tail, sew the edges of the pocket linings to the inside of the garment.\n\nPress seams lightly.\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover\n\n## BRAIDED VITALITY  \npullover\n\nFeaturing a bold all-over rib pattern, this pullover is worked in three pieces: a front, a back, and a combined bodice and sleeves made in one piece. The dramatic design is all about the center braid on the front of the sweater. The sleeves and shoulders have been knitted cuff to cuff and are sewn to the front and back pieces. The rectangular neck band is knit separately and sewn on, bringing this revolutionary pullover together in a medley of lovely color striping.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThis was such a fun, quick piece to make. I used Lion Brand's Da Vinci yarn, which comes in many great colors you can choose from for this piece. Imagine this pullover made longer into a tunic or dress. You could wear it with fun leggings or tights and a cool pair of boots!\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 43 (48)\" [109 (122)cm]\n\nLength: 23\u00bc (25\u00bc)\" [59 (64)cm]\n\nSleeve length to underarm: 16 (17)\" [40.5 (43)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n13 stitches and 17 rows = 4\" (10cm) in k2, p2 rib\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nLion Brand Da Vinci (53% wool, 47% acrylic), 1\u00be oz (50g), 55 yd (50m); 14 (16) skeins of #207 Quartz\n\nSize U.S. 10\u00bd (6.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nStitch markers\n\nWaste yarn or stitch holders\n\nMatching worsted-weight yarn for seaming\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### K2, P2 Rib\n\n(multiple of 4 stitches + 2)\n\nRow 1 (RS): *P2, k2; rep from * to last 2 stitches, p2.\n\nRow 2: *K2, p2; repeat from * to last 2 stitches, k2.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 for pattern.\n\n### FRONT\n\nCast on 70 (78) stitches.\n\nWork 6 rows in k2, p2 Rib pattern.\n\nSetup row (RS): Work 17 (21) stitches in rib, place marker, work [12 stitches in rib, place marker] 3 times, work 17 (21) stitches in rib.\n\nWorking on the last set of 17 (21) stitches only, work in rib as established for 17\" (43cm), ending with WS row. Place stitches on a holder.\n\n*Join new yarn to the next set of 12 stitches ready to work a WS row, and work in rib as established for 20\" (51cm), ending with WS row. Place these stitches on a holder; repeat from * for the next 2 sets of 12 stitches.\n\nJoin new yarn to the last set of 17 (21) stitches ready to work a WS row, and work in rib as established for 17\" (43cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nFollowing the photograph, braid the three center strips tightly. Place all 70 (78) stitches back onto the same needle ready to work a RS row.\n\nWork 4 rows in rib as established.\n\nBind off in pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\nCast on 70 (78) stitches. Work in rib pattern until piece measures 17\" (43cm). Bind off.\n\n### RIGHT SLEEVE\n\nCast on 34 (38) stitches. Work in rib pattern for 8\" (20.5cm).\n\nIncrease row (RS): Work 1 stitch in rib, m1p, work in rib to the last stitch, m1p, work 1 stitch in rib.\n\nRepeat Increase row every 4th row 7 more times, working increased stitches into pattern and using either m1 or m1p as needed\u201450 (54) stitches.\n\nWork even in rib as established until piece measures 16 (17)\" [40.5 (43)cm] or desired length to underarm, ending with a WS row.\n\nBind off 5 stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201440 (44) stitches.\n\n#### Yoke\n\nWork even in rib for 7 (8)\" [18 (20.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n#### Neck Shaping\n\nNext row (RS): Work 18 (20) stitches in rib, join new yarn and bind off the next 4 stitches, work 18 (20) stitches in rib. Work both sides at the same time in rib as established for 8\u00bd\" (21.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nNext row (RS): Using one yarn across all stitches, work 18 (20) stitches in rib, cast on 4 stitches, work 18 (20) stitches in rib\u201440 (44) stitches.\n\nContinue in rib as established for 7 (8)\" [18 (20.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n### LEFT SLEEVE\n\nContinuing in rib, cast on 5 stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows\u201450 (54) stitches.\n\nWork 4 rows even in rib.\n\nDecrease row (RS): Work 1 stitch in rib, p2tog, work in rib to the last 3 stitches, p2tog, work 1 stitch in rib.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 4th row 7 more times, using either k2tog or p2tog as needed\u201434 (38) stitches.\n\nWork even in rib until left sleeve measures 16 (17)\" [40.5 (43)cm] from underarm.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nNote: Use a plain worsted-weight yarn for sewing.\n\nSew Front and Back side seams. Sew sleeve seams. Pin yoke to Front and Back, matching side and underarm stitches, and sew in place, easing yoke stitches across the Front and Back.\n\n#### Neck Band\n\nCast on 17 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): *K2, p2; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1. Work in pattern as established for 21\" (53.5cm). Bind off. Sew cast-on edge to bound-off edge. Using the k1 edge as the seam stitch, sew Neck Band to the neck opening, centering the seam at center back.\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover\n\n## ETIQUETTE UNCHAINED  \npullover\n\nYou are sure to be in the spotlight when you wear this colorful woven pullover. This piece is reminiscent of other designs I've created over the years but with several twists. It is knit from the top down using stockinette stitch strips in a multicolor yarn, which assures each of these will look like a true original. Whether you are a novice or an advanced knitter, I think you will enjoy the excitement of making this piece. The woven strips require some extra fussing and sewing but it is worth it.\n\nreimagine it\n\nEnvision this pullover as a vest: Simply leave off the sleeves. Using the Mochi Plus multicolor skeins also ensures your piece will look different than mine. Every project becomes one of a kind. This technique is also lovely in solid colors. Try belting the finished garment.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L, XL), shown in size M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 35 (37\u00bd, 41\u00bd, 48)\" [89 (95, 105.5, 122)cm]\n\nLength: 27 (28, 29, 30)\" [68.5 (71, 74, 76)cm]\n\nNote: Length is approximate. Garment is draped on the bias and is highly elastic. It is worked from the top down.\n\nSleeve length to underarm: 17\u00bd (17\u00bd, 18, 18)\" [44.5 (44.5, 45.5, 45.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n18 stitches and 22 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCrystal Palace Mochi Plus (80% wool, 20% nylon), 1\u00be oz (50g), 95 yd (87m); 13 (14, 16, 18) balls of #608 Rainbow Trout\n\nSize U.S. 10 (6mm) needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### FRONT (MAKE 2)\n\nNote: Neck and strips have some natural roll.\n\nStarting at the shoulder, cast on 28 (31, 34, 37) stitches. Purl 1 row.\n\nIncrease row (RS): *K1, m1; repeat from * to end\u201456 (62, 68, 74) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 7 (7, 7\u00bd, 8)\" [18 (18, 19, 20.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n### Strip 1\n\nK19 (21, 23, 25), leaving the remaining stitches on the needle.\n\nIncrease row (WS): P1, m1, purl to the last stitch, m1, p1\u201421 (23, 25, 27) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch for 20 (21, 21\u00bd, 22)\" [51 (53.5, 54.5, 56)cm], ending with a RS row.\n\nKnit 4 rows. Bind off.\n\n#### Strip 2\n\nWith the RS facing, join yarn to the next stitch and k18 (20, 22, 24).\n\nIncrease row (WS): P1, m1, purl to the last stitch, m1, p1\u201420 (22, 24, 26) stitches.\n\nContinue as for Strip 1.\n\n#### Strip 3\n\nWork the same as Strip 1.\n\n#### BACK\n\nMake 2 pieces the same as the Front.\n\n#### SLEEVES\n\nNote: The sleeves are knit from the top down.\n\nCast on 64 (64, 68, 72) stitches.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 2\" (5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 6th row 12 (12, 11, 9) times, then every 4th row 2 (2, 4, 7) times\u201434 (34, 36, 38) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until sleeve measures 17\u00bd (17\u00bd, 18, 18)\" [44.5 (44.5, 45.5, 45.5)cm], ending with a RS row.\n\nKnit 4 rows. Bind off.\n\n#### FINISHING\n\nGently press strips, allowing the sides of each strip to roll slightly to the wrong side.\n\nWeave the Fronts together following the diagram above.\n\nFlip the piece over so the wrong side faces up. Tack the strips in place at each corner as pictured in the diagram.\n\nWeave the Backs together the same as the Fronts.\n\nSew the shoulder seams. Sew in the Sleeves. Sew the side and sleeve seams.\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette\n\n## PIXILATED WEAVE  \ndrapelette\n\nAn interesting woven I-cord wakes up the casual drape of this go-anywhere design. It is knit from side to side using rib-stitch cuffs and a stockinette-stitch body with a series of decreases to shape the deep flattering angle. The knitted cord looks as though it is knitted into the background but it is actually woven, pinned, and sewn on after the piece is knit. Try a contrasting color for the cord if you like, substitute one of the many cord applications and motifs in my other books, or make up your own!\n\nreimagine it\n\nEven if you leave the background piece the same, there are hundreds of different ways you can embellish this sweater using knitted cords, flowers, leaves, bobbles, colorwork, or embroidery! Or try a multicolored yarn with complementary colors for the embellishments.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZE\n\nOne size\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 73\u00bd\" (186.5cm)\n\nCuff to cuff: 36\u00be\" (93.5cm)\n\nLength: 13\u00be\u201325\u00bd\" (35\u201365cm)\n\nGAUGE\n\n16 stitches and 22 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nFyberspates Scrumptious Aran (45% silk, 55% merino), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 180 yd (165m); 7 balls of #409 Teal Green\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) straight needles and double-pointed needles\n\nStitch holders or large safety pins\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### FRONT\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 55 stitches.\n\nWork 2 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the end.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Increase row every 4th row until there are 102 stitches. Work even for 2\u00bd\" (6.5cm), until piece measures 34\u00bd\" (87.5cm). Bind off.\n\n### BACK\n\nWork same as Front, working Increase row as follows:\n\nIncrease row (RS): Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nMatch the Front and Back pieces WS together and sew the shoulder seams, leaving a 9\" (23cm) neck opening in the center.\n\n#### Cuffs\n\nMark 25 rows down on each side (Front and Back) of the shoulder seam. With the RS facing and smaller needles, pick up and k50 stitches between the markers.\n\nWork in k2, p2 rib for 3\" (7.5cm) or desired length. Bind off in rib. Repeat on the other side.\n\nSew cuff and side seams.\n\n#### Weave\n\nFollow the diagram opposite for strip placement. Pick up and k6 stitches for each strip. Work in stockinette stitch for 10\" (25.5cm) for each straight strip and 15\" (38cm) for each spiraled strip. End each strip by threading the end through the 6 stitches, pulling it tight, and securing. Weave the strips, spiral the ends, and tack them in place, allowing the sides of the strips to curl and form tubes.\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nChaos Couture Pullover\n\n## CHAOS COUTURE  \npullover\n\nSplendid textural yarn and braiding create this dazzling pullover that is one of a kind, thanks to a variety of different yarns that are hand-tied together. The combination of knitted details\u2014the braided sleeve, diagonal ribbed treatment, and cable edgings\u2014takes this design in a new direction. If you are substituting different yarns, be aware that combining a cohesive mix of yarn textures will add to the overall richness of this look.\n\nreimagine it\n\nIt is hard to consider using a different yarn since the beautiful textural variety of the Prism yarns adds to the bold depth of the braided sleeve. (Any piece knit using Prism yarns will always be a one-of-a-kind sweater!) The slanted rib at the bottom edge could be lengthened and belted, or worked in a mix of fun colors.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 39\u00bd (46\u00be, 55\u00bd)\" [100 (118.5, 141)cm]\n\nLength: 18\u00bc (19, 19\u00bd)\" [46.5 (48.5, 49.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 28 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch using size U.S. 6 (4mm) needles with yarn A\n\nApproximately 18 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch using size U.S. 8 (5mm) needles with yarn B (yarn is a mix of textured yarn so the gauge varies throughout the skein)\n\n12 stitches and 16 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch using size U.S. 10 (6mm) needles with yarn C\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nPrism Symphony (80% merino, 10% cashmere, 10% nylon), 2 oz (57g), 118 yd (108m); 7 (8, 9) balls of Mushroom (A)\n\nPrism Layers Stuff (rayon, cotton, nylon, kid mohair, bamboo, Tencel, wool, cashmere), 6\u20138 oz (170\u2013226g), 300 yd (274m); 1 (1, 1) ball of Mushroom (B)\n\nPrism Plume (100% nylon), 2.8 oz (79g), 45 yd (41m); 2 (2, 3) balls of Mushroom (C)\n\nSize U.S. 6 (4mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 8 (5mm) needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 10 (6mm) needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nCable needle\n\nStitch markers\n\n4 stitch holders\n\nWaste yarn for provisional cast on\n\nTapestry needle\n\nNotes\n\n\u2022 Yoke depth and sleeve width are approximate since the braids are elastic. The bust is based on the stockinette stitch gauge. The cables draw the fabric in to create gathers.\n\n\u2022 Sleeves and yoke are made in strips and then braided to shape one piece for the sleeves, shoulders, and neck opening.\n\n### Diagonal Wave Rib\n\n(multiple of 6 stitches + 3)\n\n3\/3 RPC: Slip 3 to cn and hold in back, k3, p3 from cn.\n\nRows 1, 3, and 5 (RS): K3, *p3, k3; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRows 2 and 4: P3, *k3, p3; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRow 6 *3\/3 RPC; repeat from * to the last 3 stitches, k3.\n\nRows 7, 9, and 11: P3, *k3, p3; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRows 8 and 10: k3, *p3, k3; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRow 12: P3, *3\/3 RPC; repeat from * to the end.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201312 for pattern.\n\n### FRONT\n\nWith smallest needles and A, cast on 99 (117, 129) stitches. Work 18 rows in Diagonal Wave Rib.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch until the piece measures 5\u00bd (6, 6\u00bd)\" [14 (15, 16.5)cm] from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K14 (20, 26), place marker, work Diagonal Wave Rib over the next 21 stitches, place marker, k29 (35, 35), place marker, work Diagonal Wave Rib over the next 21 stitches, k14 (20, 26).\n\nRows 2\u201324: Work in patterns as established.\n\nWork 12 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nMark the center 27 stitches.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, work 12 rows of Diagonal Wave Rib over the center 27 stitches.\n\nAt the same time, after 6 rows, bind off 3 (5, 7) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows, then 2 (2, 3) stitches at the beginning of the next 4 rows\u201485 (99, 103) stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### BACK\n\nMake same as the Front.\n\n### FRONT\/BACK SLEEVES AND YOKE\n\nNote: This piece starts with the sleeves on the left side, divides into two side strips to accommodate the braid, is worked across the yoke, down the right side, and joined to end at the opposite cuff.\n\n#### Left Side\n\nWith medium needles and A, cast on 51 (57, 63) stitches. Work 18 rows in Diagonal Wave Rib.\n\nWork 6 (6, 4) rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Increase row every 6th (6th, 4th) row 3 (3, 5) more times\u201459 (65, 75) stitches.\n\nPurl 1 WS row.\n\nDividing row (RS): K7 (10, 15), attach a second ball of A and k45, place these 45 stitches on a holder, k7 (10, 15).\n\nWorking both sides of the sleeve at the same time, continue to work Increase row every 6th row at the outside edges 10 more times\u201417 (20, 25) stitches each side.\n\nWork even on both sides until the sleeve measures 17\" (43cm) or the desired length to the underarm. Make note of the number of rows worked so it can be repeated on the other side.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nBind off 3 (5, 7) stitches at each armhole edge, then 1 stitch every other row 2 (2, 3) times\u201412 (13, 15) stitches each side.\n\n#### Yoke\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch on both sides for the front and back yokes for 18\u00bd (22, 24\u00bc)\" [47 (56, 61.5)cm].\n\n#### Right Side\n\nAt each armhole edge, increase 1 stitch every RS row 2 (2, 3) times, then cast on 3 (5, 7) stitches\u201417 (20, 25) stitches each side.\n\nWork the same number of rows noted from the first sleeve.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches of the other side, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 6th row 9 more times. Work 3 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nJoining row (RS): K7 (10, 15), cast on (preferably with a provisional cast on) 45 stitches, k7 (10, 15)\u201459 (65, 75) stitches.\n\nContinue decreasing 1 stitch at each outside edge every 6th row 4 (4, 1) more time(s), then every 4th row 0 (0, 5) times\u201451 (57, 63) stitches.\n\nWork 6 (6, 4) rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\nWork 18 rows in Diagonal Wave Rib.\n\nBind off in rib.\n\n### CENTER SLEEVE AND YOKE STRIPS\n\nNotes: The number of rows worked in each strip differ because of yarn variations. Knit each strip to the indicated length, ending all strips with a WS row.\n\n#### LEFT SIDE\n\n#### Strip 1\n\nWith the RS facing, place the rightmost 11 stitches onto medium-size needles. With B, k1, m1, k9, m1, k1\u201413 stitches.\n\nWork in seed stitch for 23 (26, 28)\" [58.5 (66, 71)cm] as follows:\n\nRow 1: K1, *p1, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRepeat row 1 for pattern.\n\nPlace stitches on a holder.\n\n#### Strip 2\n\nWith the RS facing, place the next 10 stitches onto the largest needles.\n\nWith C, k1, m1, k8, m1, k1\u201412 stitches.\n\nWork in reverse stockinette stitch (purl on RS, knit on WS) for 23 (26, 28)\" [58.5 (66, 71)cm].\n\nPlace stitches on a holder.\n\n#### Strip 3\n\nWith the RS facing, place the next 13 stitches onto the smallest needles.\n\nWith A, work in stockinette stitch for 23 (26, 28)\" [58.5 (66, 71)cm].\n\nPlace on a holder.\n\n#### Strip 4\n\nWith the RS facing, place the last 11 stitches onto the medium-size needles.\n\nWith B, k1, m1, k9, m1, k1\u201413 stitches.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 23 (26, 28)\" [58.5 (66, 71)cm].\n\nPlace on a holder.\n\n#### Braiding\n\nFollowing the diagram (right), braid the 4 strips together. Pin and sew them to the inner sleeve edges. Twisting 2 strips each for the front and back yokes, pin in place and set aside.\n\n#### RIGHT SIDE\n\nRemove the waste yarn, and work the strips the same as the left side. When dividing strips for the yoke, make sure to match the ones from the left side, adding or removing rows as necessary to meet at the center neck edge. Pin in place.\n\n#### FINISHING\n\nGraft the strips using Kitchener stitch and sew them to the sleeve and yoke side strips.\n\nMark the center 9\" (23cm) for the neck opening and tack the strips together at each side.\n\nSew the sleeve seams. Sew the side seams.\n\nSew the front and back yoke edges to the Front and Back, matching underarm shaping.\n\nChaos Couture Pullover  \n~return to beginning of project~\n\nchapter 4\n\nSTITCH IMPACT\n\nThis chapter includes interesting and unique stitches, color work, and edgings that all go beyond \"business as usual\" stitches. By that I mean they jump out and shout, \"Look how special I am!\" Within these patterns you'll find a lovely repeat tuck stitch, a bulky knit bold leaf stitch, and two exciting motifs\u2014a dressage horse and a scary skull spirit. Edgier versions of traditional stitches include an unusual use of Fair Isle knitting and a cool slant using a scalloped edging. Adding such elements to a design transforms a garment into something far from ordinary. I hope you enjoy knitting and wearing these bold fashion statements as much as I do.\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic\n\n## SPRING FORWARD  \ndress or tunic\n\nBig needles, big yarn, big bold stitches, and a fabulous dress (or tunic) that takes little time and effort. What could be more fun and creatively rewarding? Spring Forward features flattering, bold lines that update a classic knitted leaf. The shape is knit in two pieces from the bottom up to the bodice, and the sleeves are made up to the armholes. Then all four pieces are placed on one circular needle and knit in a rib pattern with graduated decreases to shape the yoke. Be prepared to hear, \"Wow! Where did you get it?\"\n\nreimagine it\n\nConsider making a shorter version and continuing the neckline to create a cowl neck. Cascade Yarns also offers Magnum Print (a multicolor version of Magnum), which can be used for a completely different look. Or combine that print with a solid yoke and a multicolor bottom.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS\/M (L\/XL), shown in size S\/M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 36 (45)\" [91 (114)cm]\n\nOverall length: 30\u00bc (32\u00bc)\" [77 (82)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n8 stitches and 12 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade Magnum (100% Peruvian highland wool), 8.8 oz (250g), 123 yd (112m); 6 (7) skeins of #2422 Orchid\n\nSize U.S. 15 (10mm) straight needles and 24\" (61cm) circular needle, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nStitch markers (optional)\n\nStitch holders\n\nMatching worsted-weight wool for seaming\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### Leaf Pattern\n\n(begins with 3 stitches)\n\nRow 1: K1, yo, k1, yo, k1\u20145 stitches.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: Purl.\n\nRow 3: K2, yo, k1, yo, k2\u20147 stitches.\n\nRow 5: K3, yo, k1, yo, k 3\u20149 stitches.\n\nRow 7: K4, yo, k1, yo, k4\u201411 stitches.\n\nRows 9 and 11: Knit.\n\nRow 13: Ssk, k7, k2tog\u20139 stitches.\n\nRow 15: Ssk, k5, k2tog\u20147 stitches.\n\nRow 17: Ssk, k3, k2tog\u20145 stitches.\n\nRow 19: Ssk, k1, k2tog\u20143 stitches.\n\nRow 21: Sk2p\u20141 stitch.\n\nThere are 2 stitches decreased after each leaf is complete.\n\n### FRONT\n\nCast on 54 (62) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: P2, *k2, p2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: Purl.\n\nRow 4: K26 (30), k2tog, k26 (30)\u201453 (61) stitches.\n\nRow 5: P10 (14), k1, [p7, k1] 4 times, p10 (14).\n\nRow 6: K10 (14), p1, [k7, p1] 4 times, k10 (14).\n\nRows 7\u201324 (7\u201330): Repeat rows 5 and 6.\n\nAt the same time, decrease every 16th row 4 times as follows:\n\nDecrease row (RS): P1, p2tog tbl, work to the last 3 stitches, p2tog, p1.\n\nNote: See photographs for leaf placement on the dress. The leaves are numbered 1 through 5 from right to left. The single columns of RS knits are the stems on which leaves will be knit.\n\nWork leaves on stems 1 and 5 as follows:\n\nLeaves 1 and 5 setup rows (RS): Work to 1 stitch before stem 1, work row 1 of Leaf pattern over the next 3 stitches, work to 1 stitch before stem 5, work row 1 of Leaf pattern over the next 3 stitches, work to the end. (If desired, place markers before and after Leaf pattern stitches.)\n\nContinue in patterns and decreases as established, ending with row 4 of Leaf pattern.\n\nLeaf 3 setup row: Work in patterns as established to 1 stitch before stem 3, work row 1 of Leaf pattern, work in patterns as established to the end.\n\nContinue in patterns and decreases as established, ending with row 16 of Leaf 3.\n\nLeaf 2 setup row: Work in patterns as established to 1 stitch before stem 2, work row 1 of Leaf pattern over the next 3 stitches, work in patterns as established to the end.\n\nContinue in patterns and decreases as established, ending with row 6 of Leaf 2.\n\nLeaf 4 setup row: Work in patterns as established to 1 stitch before stem 4, work row 1 of Leaf pattern over the next 3 stitches, work in patterns as established to the end.\n\nWhen the last Leaf is complete, ending with a WS row, [purl 1 row, knit 1 row] twice, decreasing 0 (1) stitch on the last WS row\u201436 (42) stitches.\n\nPlace 36 (42) stitches on a holder.\n\n### BACK\n\nWork same as the Front.\n\n### RIGHT SLEEVE\n\nCast on 18 (22) stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: P2, *k2, p2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: P9 (11), m1p, p9 (11)\u201419 (23) stitches.\n\nRow 4: Knit.\n\nRow 5: P9 (11), k1, p9 (11).\n\nRow 6: K9 (11), p1, k9 (11).\n\nRows 7 and 8 (7\u201310): Repeat rows 5 and 6.\n\nAt the same time, increase every 6th row 4 times as follows:\n\nIncrease row (RS): P1, m1p, work to the last stitch, m1p, p1\u201427 (31) stitches.\n\nBegin Leaf pattern on RS center k1.\n\nLeaf setup row 9 (11): Work to 1 stitch before the stem, work row 1 of Leaf pattern, work to the end.\n\nContinue in patterns and increases as established until sleeve measures 16 (17)\" [40.5 (43)cm], ending with a WS row\u201425 (29) stitches. Place stitches on a holder.\n\n### LEFT SLEEVE\n\nWork same as the Right Sleeve, starting the Leaf pattern 9\" (23cm) from the cast-on edge.\n\n### YOKE\n\nPlace stitches onto the circular needle, ready to begin a WS row.\n\nStarting at the center back, place 18 (21) Back stitches, 25 (29) Left Sleeve stitches, 36 (42) Front stitches, 25 (29) Right Sleeve stitches, 18 (21) Back stitches onto the circular needle\u2014122 (142) stitches.\n\nBeginning with a WS row, work back and forth as follows:\n\nRow 1 (WS): P2, *k2, p2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 2: K2, *p2, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: Repeat row 1.\n\nRow 4: K2, *p2, k2tog; repeat from * to the last 4 stitches, p2, k2\u201493 (108) stitches.\n\nRow 5: P2, *k2, p1; repeat from * to the last 4 stitches, k2, p2.\n\nRows 6\u20139: Work in rib as established.\n\nRow 10: K2, *p2tog, k1; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1\u201463 (73) stitches.\n\nRow 11: P2, *k1, p1; repeat from * to the last stitch, p1.\n\nRows 12\u201315: Work in rib as established.\n\nBind off in pattern.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nWith matching worsted-weight yarn, sew the top 9\u00bd (10)\" [24 (25.5)cm] at each side of the Sleeves to the Front and Back. Sew the side seams. Sew the sleeve seams.\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau\n\n## BUTTONS AND BOWS  \nmanteau\n\nThe colors, buttons, and tailored shape give this delightful-to-wear design a slightly vintage appeal. Although it has classic knit shaping, using the tuck stitch texture makes it new and interesting. This versatile design can be worn as either a dress or a jacket. If you'd like, the bows can be omitted and the waist belted. As you can see, this piece has a lot of stockinette stitch along with the entertaining tucks, and though not difficult, it is a time-consuming piece.\n\nreimagine it\n\nThink about choosing a color for the tucked bottom section and switching to a contrasting color at the beginning of the waist darts. Then choose a third color for the collar and bows. Remove bows or add even more to create the look you want. The piece could also be easily converted into a shorter cardigan style.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M\/L, XL), shown in size M\/L\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 39\u00bc (45\u00bd, 58)\" [99.5 (115.5, 147.5)cm]\n\nOverall length: 31 (32, 33)\" [79 (81, 84)cm]\n\nSleeve length to underarm: 10 (10\u00bd, 11)\" [25.5 (26.5, 28)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 28 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nKollage Milky Whey (50% milk, 50% soy), 1\u00be oz (50g), 137 yd (123m); 9 (12, 16) balls of #7610 Milky Green (A); 2 (2, 3) balls of #7604 Cameo (B)\n\nSize U.S. 6 (4mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 4 (3.5mm) set of 5 double-pointed needles\n\nStitch markers\n\nRemovable stitch markers\n\nStitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\nEight \u00be\" (2cm) buttons (JHB's #12594)\n\n5 sew-on snaps (optional)\n\n### LEFT FRONT\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 55 (75, 95) stitches.\n\n### Hem\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 1\" (2.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to A and knit 3 rows.\n\nWork in Tuck Stitch pattern as follows:\n\nRows 1\u201316: Work in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 17 (RS): K15, *k5, insert the dpn through these 5 stitches on the WS, k15; repeat from * to end. Place a marker in the last stitch on the WS.\n\nRows 18\u201326: Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 27: K15, *knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k15; repeat from * to end, knitting the last stitch together with the marked stitch below.\n\nRows 28\u201344: Work 17 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 45: K5, *k5, insert a dpn through the back of these 5 stitches, k15; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, k5. Place a marker in the last stitch on the WS.\n\nRows 46\u201354: Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 55: K5, *knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k15; repeat from * to the last 10 stitches, knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k4, knit the last stitch together with the marked stitch below.\n\nRow 56: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201356 once, then work rows 1\u201344 once more.\n\n### Shape Waist\n\nRow 1: K15, *ssk, k1, k2tog, k15; repeat from * to end\u201451 (69, 87) stitches.\n\nRows 2 and 4: Purl.\n\nRow 3: K14, *ssk, k1, k2tog, k13; repeat from * to the last 14 stitches, k14\u201447 (63, 79) stitches.\n\nRow 5: K13, *ssk, k1, k2tog, k11; repeat from * to the last 13 stitches, k13\u201443 (57, 71) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch for 4 (4\u00bd, 5)\" [10 (11.5, 12.5)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\n### Shape Armhole\n\nNext row (RS): Bind off 3 (5, 8) stitches, knit to the end\u201440 (52, 63) stitches.\n\nNext row: Purl 1 row.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the end\u201439 (51, 62) stitches.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every RS row 2 (2, 8) more times\u201437 (49, 54) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until armhole measures 5 (5\u00bd, 6)\" [12.5 (14, 15)cm], ending with a RS row.\n\n### Neck Shaping\n\nAt the beginning of WS rows at the neck edge, bind off 10 (12, 14) stitches once, 2 stitches 3 (4, 5) times, then 1 stitch 2 (2, 3) times\u201419 (27, 27) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until armhole measures 8 (8\u00bd, 9)\" [20.5 (21.5, 23)cm]. Place shoulder stitches on a holder.\n\n### RIGHT FRONT\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 55 (75, 95) stitches.\n\n### Hem\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 1\" (2.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to A and knit 3 rows.\n\nWork in Tuck Stitch pattern as follows:\n\nRows 1\u201316: Work in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 17 (RS): Place a marker in the first stitch on the WS. K15, *k5, insert a dpn through the back of these 5 stitches, k15; repeat from * to end.\n\nRows 18\u201326: Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 27: Knit the first stitch together with the marked stitch below, k14, *knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k15; repeat from * to end.\n\nRows 28\u201344: Work 17 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 45: Place a marker in the first stitch on the WS. K5, *k5, insert a dpn through the back of these 5 stitches, k15; repeat from * to the last 5 stitches, k5.\n\nRows 46\u201354: Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 55: Knit the first stitch together with the marked stitch below, k4, *knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k15; repeat from * to the last 10 stitches, knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, k4, knit the last stitch together with the marked stitch below.\n\nRow 56: Purl.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201356 once, then work rows 1\u201344 once more.\n\nWork same as the Left Front until the armhole shaping, ending with a RS row.\n\n### Shape Armhole\n\nNext row (WS): Bind off 3 (5, 8) stitches, purl to end.\n\nDecrease row (RS): Knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every RS row 2 (2, 8) times more\u201437 (49, 54) stitches.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until armhole measures 5 (5\u00bd, 6)\" [12.5 (14, 15)cm], ending with a WS row.\n\nWork neck shaping and remainder of Right Front same as Left Front, working neck bind-offs at the beginning of RS rows.\n\n### LEFT AND RIGHT BACKS\n\nMake Left and Right Backs same as Left and Right Fronts, omitting the neck shaping. Place 37 (49, 54) stitches on a holder.\n\n### SLEEVES\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 57 (61, 67) stitches.\n\n### Hem\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 1\" (2.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to A and knit 3 rows. Mark the center 5 stitches.\n\nWork 16 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nRepeat Increase row every 4th row 7 (8, 9) more times\u201473 (79, 87) stitches.\n\nAt the same time, starting on the same row as the first increase, work 3 Tuck Stitches on the center 5 stitches as follows:\n\nRow 1 (RS): Knit to the center 5 stitches, insert a dpn through the back of these 5 stitches, knit to the end.\n\nRows 2\u201310: Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRow 11: Knit to the center 5 stitches, knit the next 5 stitches together with the 5 stitches from the dpn below, knit to the end.\n\nRows 12\u201328: Work 17 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201328 once, then work rows 1\u201311 once more.\n\nWork even in stockinette stitch until sleeve measures 10 (10\u00bd, 11)\" [25.5 (26.5, 28)cm].\n\n### Shape Sleeve Cap\n\nBind off 3 (5, 8) stitches at the beginning of the next 2 rows, then decrease 1 stitch each side every RS row 16 (17, 18) times. Bind off 3 stitches at the beginning of the next 8 rows. Bind off the remaining 11 stitches.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nSew the back seam.\n\nJoin shoulder seams using the 3-needle bind-off method. Set in the Sleeves. Sew the side and sleeve seams. Sew hems to the wrong side.\n\n### Left Front Band\n\nWith the RS facing and A, pick up and k141 (147, 153) stitches from neck edge to the bottom edge, working through 3 layers over the tucks. Work in k3, p3 rib for 1\" (2.5cm). Bind off in rib.\n\n### Right Front Band\n\nWith the RS facing and A, pick up and k141 (147, 153) stitches from the bottom edge to the neck edge, working through 3 layers over the tucks. Work 3 rows in k3, p3 rib.\n\nButtonhole row (RS): *Work 14 (15, 16) stitches, bind off 3 stitches; repeat from * 7 more times, work to the last 5 (3, 1) stitches as set.\n\nNext row: Work in rib as established, casting on 3 stitches over the bound-off stitches of the previous row.\n\nContinue in k3, p3 rib until rib measures 1\" (2.5cm). Bind off in rib.\n\nSew buttons to Left Front band to correspond with buttonholes.\n\n### Neck Band\n\nWith the RS facing and smaller needles, pick up and k95 (107, 131) stitches evenly around the neck opening, including the front bands. Work in k1, p1 rib for 3\u00bd\" (9cm).\n\nWork Picot Bind-Off as follows:\n\nBind off 2 stitches, *slip the last stitch back onto the left-hand needle, cast on 3 stitches using the cable cast-on, bind off 5 stitches; repeat from * to the last stitch, bind off the last stitch.\n\n### Lace Ruffle Collar (optional)\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 295 (323, 379) stitches (a multiple of 14 stitches plus 1 more).\n\nRow 1 and all WS rows: Purl.\n\nRows 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and 12: K1, *yo, k3, ssk, yo, sk2p, yo, k2tog, k3, yo, k1; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 14: K1, *k2tog; repeat from * to end\u2014148 (162, 190) stitches.\n\nRow 16: P1, [k1, p1] twice, *k2 (2, 2) ssk; repeat from * to the last 7 (5, 5) stitches, k2 (0, 0), [p1, k1] twice, p1\u2014114 (124, 145) stitches.\n\nRow 17: Purl, decreasing 11 (7, 10) stitches evenly between the two sets of rib stitches\u2014103 (117, 135) stitches.\n\nWork in k1, p1 rib across all stitches for 1\" (2.5cm). Bind off in rib.\n\nSew 5 snaps evenly across the edge of the collar and around the neck band to attach it.\n\n### Bow (MAKE 3)\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 15 stitches.\n\nWork in k1, p1 rib for 4\" (10cm). Bind off in rib.\n\n### Tie (MAKE 3)\n\nWith larger needles and B, cast on 5 stitches.\n\nWork in k1, p1 rib for 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm). Bind off in rib.\n\nWrap the tie around the center of the bow and sew the bound-off edge to the cast-on edge.\n\nNotes: Adjust the fit of this jacket by connecting 2 adjacent darts (waist decrease points) and sewing a bow over each join. Make a pleat between the front decrease darts and attach a bow on each side. Make one pleat at center back and attach bow.\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette\n\n## DRESSAGE PONY  \nponcholette\n\nAny horse lover would be happy wearing this piece, sporting a classic jumping horse and other sophisticated details. The main feature is the horse motif that can either be knitted in or worked in duplicate stitch after the piece is knit. The triple cuff detail includes a rolled edge, a rib, and a two-color houndstooth pattern. An I-cord drawstring calls attention to one side, and an elegant braided cord collar at the neck adds extra interest to this universally flattering style.\n\nreimagine it\n\nSans horse the piece is instantly reimagined. Omitting the horse will give you a subtler look, and you can still keep the comfy fit and casual style of the design. Instead of the horse, you can also add any motif of your choice, for example, a flower or a cat. The shape provides the perfect canvas for you to reimagine this stylish design.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZE\n\nOne size\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: Oversized 58\u00bd\" (148.6cm)\n\nOverall length (including waist ribbing): 24\u00bd\" (62.2cm)\n\nSleeve length to underarm: 12\u00bd\" (31.7cm)\n\nGAUGE\n\n20 stitches and 28 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nAslan Trends Royal Alpaca (100% alpaca), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 220 yd (200m); 5 balls of #6365 Sable (A); 2 balls of #19 Black (B); 1 ball of #1570 Pale Blue (C)\n\nSize U.S. 7 (4.5mm) 24\" (61cm) circular needle, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 5 (3.75mm) double-pointed needles\n\nStitch markers\n\nTapestry needle\n\nWaste yarn\n\nSafety pin\n\n### Houndstooth Check Pattern\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1 B, *k1 A, k3 B; repeat from * to the last 3 stitches, k1 A, k2 B.\n\nRow 2: *P3 A, p1 B; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 3: *K3 A, k1 B; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 4: P1 B, *p1 A, p3 B; repeat from * to the last 3 stitches, p1 A, p2 B.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for pattern.\n\nNote: This garment is knit from side to side. Read ahead as multiple shapings occur at the same time. The silhouette of the horse is worked in duplicate stitch, or can be knitted in intarsia instead.\n\n### BACK\n\nStarting with B and larger needle, at the right back sleeve, cast on 30 stitches. Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nShoulder Increase row (RS): K1, m1, knit to end.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Shoulder increase row every 10th row 10 more times.\n\nAt the same time, when sleeve measures 4\" (10cm), ending with a WS row, increase on next and every RS row 6 times as follows:\n\nUnderarm Increase row (RS): Work to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201440 stitches for body.\n\nAfter all underarm increases have been completed, cast on 70 stitches for body using the cable cast-on method at the beginning of the next WS row.\n\nWork 43 rows in stockinette stitch, continuing shoulder increases as established, ending with a WS row\u2014117 stitches.\n\nChange to C and work 20 rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\nChange to A and work 10 rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Back Neck\n\nPlace a marker at the shoulder edge, work 59 rows even in stockinette stitch, place marker at the next shoulder edge.\n\nShoulder decrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to end.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Shoulder decrease row every 10th row 10 more times.\n\nAt the same time, when piece measures 24\u00bd\" (62.2cm) from the body cast on, work bottom curve on WS rows as follows:\n\nBind off 1 stitch every WS row 6 times, 1 stitch every 4th WS row 5 times, then bind off 59 stitches for body\u201440 stitches.\n\nUnderarm decrease row (RS): Work to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Underarm decrease row every RS row 5 more times\u201434 stitches.\n\nWhen all shoulder decreases have been worked, work 9 rows even in stockinette stitch on 30 stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FRONT\n\nStarting at the right front sleeve, with B and larger needle, cast on 30 stitches. Work 9 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nShoulder increase row (RS): Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Shoulder increase row every 10th row 10 more times.\n\nAt the same time, when sleeve measures 4\" (10cm), ending with a WS row, increase on next and every RS row 6 times as follows:\n\nUnderarm increase row (RS): K1, m1, work to the last stitch.\n\nAfter all underarm increases have been completed, cast on 70 stitches for body using the cable method at the beginning of the next RS row.\n\nWork 43 rows in stockinette stitch, continuing shoulder increases as established, ending with a WS row\u2014117 stitches.\n\nChange to C and work 20 rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\nChange to A and work 10 rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\n#### Front Neck Shaping\n\nDecrease row (RS): Knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every RS row twice more, then every 4th row 3 more times\u2014111 stitches.\n\nWork 26 rows even in stockinette stitch.\n\nIncrease row (RS): Knit to the last stitch, m1, k1.\n\nRepeat Increase row every 4th row twice more, then every RS row 3 more times\u2014117 stitches.\n\nPurl 1 WS row.\n\nShoulder decrease row (RS): Knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Shoulder decrease row every 10th row 10 more times.\n\nAt the same time, when piece measures 24\u00bd\" (62.2cm) from the body cast-on, shape the bottom curve, then the underarm, on RS rows as follows:\n\nBind off 1 stitch every RS row 6 times, 1 stitch every 4th row 5 times, then bind off 59 body stitches.\n\nUnderarm decrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, work to end.\n\nRepeat Underarm decrease row every RS row 5 more times.\n\nWhen all shoulder decreases have been worked, work 9 rows even in stockinette stitch on 30 stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\nWith B, work Dressage Pony chart on the Front in duplicate stitch, starting the first stitch of the chart in the 3rd stitch from the ribbing and the first row in the C section.\n\n### SLEEVES\n\nSew Front to Back from cast on to neck edge.\n\nWith the RS facing, larger needle, and B, pick up 60 stitches evenly along the sleeve edge. Work 12 rows in Houndstooth Check pattern. Keeping the needle in the stitches, thread waste yarn through the stitches for later use.\n\nNext row (RS): With B, knit.\n\nWork in k2, p2 rib for 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm). Bind off.\n\nPlace the stitches on the waste yarn onto larger needle, ready to work a WS row.\n\nWith C, purl 1 WS row.\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nContinuing in stockinette stitch, repeat Decrease row every 4th row 8 more times\u201442 stitches. Bind off. Repeat for second sleeve.\n\n### FINISHING\n\n#### LOWER EDGE RIB\n\n#### Front\n\nWith the RS facing and matching colors across the bottom edge, with B and larger needles pick up 39 stitches, with C pick up 18 stitches, and with A pick up 117 stitches\u2014174 stitches. Work in k2, p2 rib in established colors for 1\" (2.5cm). Bind off.\n\n#### Back\n\nWith the RS facing and matching colors across the bottom edge, with A and larger needles pick up 117 stitches, with C pick up 18 stitches, and with B pick up 39 stitches\u2014174 stitches. Work in k2, p2 rib in established colors for 1\" (2.5cm). Bind off.\n\n#### SIDE CASING\n\n#### Front\n\nWith the RS facing, larger needles, and A, starting at the rib edge, pick up 6 stitches along the side edge of the rib and 33 stitches across the bound-off stitches\u201439 stitches.\n\nKnit 1 WS row.\n\nKnit 1 RS row. Continue in stockinette stitch until casing measures \u00be\" (2cm) from the pickup. Bind off.\n\n#### Back\n\nWith the RS facing, larger needle, and A, starting at the 33rd bound-off stitch from the left, pick up 33 stitches across the bound-off stitches and 6 stitches along the side edge of the rib\u201439 stitches.\n\nKnit 1 WS row.\n\nKnit 1 RS row. Continue in stockinette stitch until casing measures \u00be\" (2cm) from the pickup. Bind off.\n\nSew underarm and side seams. Fold Front and Back casings to the WS and sew in place.\n\n#### I-cord (MAKE 2)\n\nWith dpns and A, cast on 3 stitches. *Do not turn work. Slide the stitches to the other end of the needle, k3; repeat from * until cord measures 30\" (76cm).\n\nK3tog and fasten off.\n\nAttach a safety pin to one end and insert an I-cord through each casing. Secure the tops of the I-cords to the casing and knot the ends of the cords.\n\n#### NECK BAND\n\nWith A, cast on 21 stitches. Work in k1, p1 rib for 6\u00bd\" (16.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nNext row (RS): *Work 7 stitches in rib, join another strand of A; repeat from * once, work 7 stitches in rib.\n\nWork each strip separately in stockinette stitch for 6\" (15cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nBraid these three separate strips together, ending with the first strand ready to work a RS row.\n\nJoining row (RS): With the first strand of yarn, k21, dropping the other strands of yarn.\n\nContinue across all stitches in k1, p1 rib for 6\u00bd\" (16.5cm). Bind off.\n\nSew cast-on edge to bound-off edge. Center the cable at the front neck and sew in place.\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette  \n~return to the end of the project~\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover\n\n## SPIRITS FLY  \npullover\n\nAn admittedly faux Goth look, the shape and fit of this piece is one of my favorites. The extra-deep raglan sleeve is quite flattering. The skull, crosses, and edging motifs are created with duplicate stitch, so you can also create this piece with or without the motifs. The yarn used for the background creates a wonderful uneven striping that is beautiful on its own, but also makes the perfect background for the skull spirit. Although made with easy stockinette stitch, this piece requires a lot of knitting and some advanced color work. Let your needles fly!\n\nreimagine it\n\nAnything goes here. Reimagine this basic shape without the motifs, give it a different background color, and add stitch patterns or your own motif or two if you wish.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZE\n\nOne size\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 54\" (137cm)\n\nOverall length: 30\" (76cm)\n\nSleeve length: 12\u00bd\" (32cm)\n\nGAUGE\n\n16 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nNote: Skull motif is worked in duplicate stitch after the piece is knit.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nCascade Casablanca (60% wool, 25% silk, 15% mohair), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 220 yd (201m); 5 skeins of #12 Jemstones (A)\n\nCascade Lana D'Oro, (50% alpaca, 50% wool) 3\u00bd oz (100g), 219 yd (200m); 1 ball each of #1055 Black (B), #1086 Hare (C), and #1089 Dark Grey and Medium Grey Twist (D)\n\nCascade 220 Heathers (100% Peruvian highland wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 220 yd (201m); 1 skein each of #2425 Provence (E) and #2450 Mystic Purple (F)\n\nPlymouth 24K (82% nylon, 18% lam\u00e9) 1\u00be oz (50g), 187 yd (171m), 1 ball of #0002 Silver (G)\n\nSize U.S. 9 (5.5mm) straight needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nTapestry needle\n\nSize U.S. G-6 (4mm) crochet hook\n\n### BACK\n\nWith B, cast on 117 stitches. Starting with a WS row, work 6 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nKnit 1 WS row for turning ridge.\n\nWork 6 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nContinue in stockinette stitch in the following color sequence: 10 rows F, 2 rows E, 10 rows F, 12 rows B.\n\nChange to A and work in stockinette stitch until piece measures 14\" (35.5cm) from the turning ridge, ending with a WS row.\n\n### Raglan Shaping\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every RS row 5 times, every 4th row 14 times, then every RS row 20 times\u201437 stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FRONT\n\nWork same as Back, ending with 12 rows of B.\n\nChange to D and work 8 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nChange to A and continue same as Back until 53 stitches remain, ending with a WS row.\n\n### Neck Shaping\n\nContinue raglan shaping at armholes and at the same time, work as follows:\n\nNext row (RS): Work 15 stitches, join a second ball of A, bind off the next 23 stitches, work the remaining 15 stitches to the end.\n\nWorking on both sides at the same time, at each neck edge, bind off 2 stitches twice and 1 stitch once.\n\nWhen all raglan shaping is complete, bind off the remaining 2 stitches on each side.\n\n### SLEEVES (MAKE 2)\n\nWith B, cast on 44 stitches. Work in K1, p1 rib for 1\u00bd\" (3.8cm).\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, *kfb; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1\u201486 stitches.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch for 1\" (2.5cm), ending with a WS row.\n\nChange to A.\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, knit to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201488 stitches.\n\nRepeat this Increase row every RS row 13 more times\u2014114 stitches.\n\nContinue even in stockinette stitch until piece measures 12\" (30.5cm) from the cast-on edge, ending with a WS row.\n\n### Raglan Shaping\n\nDecrease row (RS): K1, k2tog, knit to the last 3 stitches, ssk, k1\u2014112 stitches.\n\nRepeat Decrease row every 4th row 9 more times, then every RS row 35 more times\u201424 stitches.\n\nBind off.\n\n### COWL COLLAR\n\nWith B, cast on 115 stitches.\n\nWork in stockinette stitch in the following color sequence: 6 rows B, 10 rows F, 4 rows B, 8 rows E, 4 rows B, 22 rows A, 8 rows B, 6 rows D.\n\nWith D, knit 5 rows.\n\nBind off loosely.\n\n### SKULL, ARROW, AND DIAMOND MOTIFS (OPTIONAL)\n\nWork motifs in duplicate stitch following the charts and referring to photographs for placement.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nSew raglan seams. Sew side and sleeve seams, using a full stitch at each selvedge. Fold and sew hem to WS of the garment. Sew the Collar seam. With the WS of the Collar facing the RS of the garment, pin the cast-on edge of the Collar to the neck opening. With B and the crochet hook, join them using a slip stitch.\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover\n\n## VICTORY FAIR ISLE  \npullover\n\nWith its beautiful fit and easy but intricate stitch work, this sweater is a new classic for your wardrobe. I am a big fan of traditional Fair Isle knitting, but I always try to kick it up a notch by mixing the treasured technique with other stitch patterns and textures, or by giving it nontraditional placement, as you can see here. Be warned, this piece is a major time investment and not for a novice knitter. There is Fair Isle color work (in this case, with lots of ends to work in) and the combination of the colors and stitch pattern is seriously exciting knitting.\n\nreimagine it\n\nImagine omitting the fur on this piece and using a cabled or bobbled I-cord in its place. Instead of the Fair Isle pattern, make the V and sleeves in an easy stripe or a solid color.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust\/lower edge circumference: 35 (40, 45)\" [89 (101.5, 114)cm]\n\nLength: 24\u00bd (26\u00bd, 27\u00be)\" [62 (67.5, 70.5)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n24 stitches and 32 rows = 4\" (10cm) in stockinette stitch using size U.S. 6 (4mm) needles.\n\n26 stitches and 30 rows = 4\" (10cm) over Lattice pattern using size U.S. 6 (4mm) needles.\n\n27 stitches and 27 rows = 4\" (10cm) over Fair Isle pattern using size U.S. 6 (4mm) needles.\n\n16 stitches = 4\" (10cm) over stockinette stitch using size U.S. 10\u00bd needles with fur yarn (row gauge not necessary)\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nRowan Felted Tweed (50% wool, 25% alpaca, 25% viscose), 1\u00be oz (50g), 191 yd (175m); 6 (6, 7) balls of # 175 Cinnamon (A), 1 each of the following: #167 Maritime (B), #158 Pine (C), #153 Phantom (D), #178 Seasalter (E), #184 Celadon (F), #150 Rage (G), #161 Avocado (H), #154 Ginger (J), #177 Clay (L), #181 Mineral (M)\n\nPrism Plume (100% nylon) 2.8 oz (79g), 45 yd (41m), 2 skeins of Denali\n\nSize U.S. 4 (3.5mm) 16\" (40.5cm) and 32\" (81cm) circular needles\n\nSize U.S. 6 (4mm) 16\" (40.5cm) circular needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 6 (4mm) 32\" (81cm) circular needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 10\u00bd (6.5mm) 16\" (40.5cm) circular needles\n\nStitch holders\n\n25 stitch markers\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### Pattern Stitches\n\nLT (left twist): With the right-hand needle behind the left-hand needle, skip 1 stitch and knit the second stitch through the back loop; then insert the right-hand needle into the back of both stitches (the skipped stitch and the second stitch) and k2tog.\n\nRT (right twist): K2tog, leaving both stitches on the left-hand needle; then insert the right-hand needle through the front of the first stitch just knitted together, and knit the first stitch again; then slip both stitches from the needle together.\n\n### Lattice Pattern\n\n(multiple of 8 stitches + 2)\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1, *LT, k4, RT; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: Purl.\n\nRow 3: K2, *LT, k2, RT, k2; repeat from * to end.\n\nRow 5: K3, *LT, RT, k4; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, LT, RT, k3.\n\nRow 7: K4, *RT, k6; repeat from * to the last 4 stitches, k4.\n\nRow 9: K3, *RT, LT, k4; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, RT, LT, k3.\n\nRow 11: K2, *RT, k2, LT, k2; repeat from *to end.\n\nRow 13: K1, *RT, k4, LT; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 15: K8, *LT, k6; repeat from * to the last 2 stitches, k2.\n\nRow 16: Purl.\n\nRepeat Rows 1\u201316 for pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\nWith A and 32\" (81cm) smallest-size circular needle, cast on 114 (130, 146) stitches.\n\nWork back and forth on the circular needle to make the hem. Beginning with a knit row, work 8 rows in stockinette stitch, ending with a WS row.\n\nPurl 2 rows.\n\nChange to the 32\" (81cm) medium-size circular needle.\n\nWork 134 (150, 150) rows in Lattice pattern.\n\n#### Shape Underarms\n\nNext row (RS): Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, work in pattern to end.\n\nNext row: Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, purl to end\u2014106 (120, 132) stitches.\n\nPlace stitches on a holder.\n\n### FRONT\n\nNote: Treat the Fair Isle V-neck panel as an intarsia shape, twisting yarns on the WS when changing from Lattice pattern to Fair Isle panel and back to Lattice pattern.\n\nWork same as Back until 48 (64, 64) rows of Lattice pattern have been completed.\n\n#### Fair Isle V Panel\n\nRow 1 (RS): Work 57 (65, 73) stitches in Lattice pattern, drop yarn. With color of Row 1 of Fair Isle V chart, m1, drop yarn. Attach a new ball of A and work 57 (65, 73) stitches in Lattice pattern\u2014115 (131, 147).\n\nRow 2: Purl, keeping in patterns and colors as established.\n\nRow 3: With A, work in Lattice pattern to 2 stitches from V, k2tog, drop yarn. With color(s) of next row of Fair Isle V chart, m1, k1, m1 in colors of chart, drop yarn(s). With A, ssk, work in Lattice pattern to end.\n\nRow 4: Purl, keeping in colors as established.\n\nRepeat rows 3 and 4, keeping patterns as established, until row 86 of Fair Isle V chart has been completed and piece measures same as the Back to the underarm shaping.\n\n#### Shape Underarms\n\nRow 87: Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, work in patterns as established to the end.\n\nRow 88: Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, purl to end, keeping in patterns and colors as established\u2014107 (121, 133) stitches. Place stitches on a holder.\n\n### SLEEVES (MAKE 2)\n\nWith A and 16\" (40.5cm) smaller sized circular needle, cast on 49 (49, 65) stitches. Work back and forth on the circular needle to make the hem: Beginning with a knit row, work 8 rows in stockinette stitch, ending with a WS row. Purl 2 rows.\n\nChange to 16\" (40.5cm) medium sized circular needle.\n\nRow 1 (RS): With A, k1, work 18 (18, 26) stitches of Lattice pattern, drop yarn. With color(s) of Sleeve charts, work 11 stitches of Sleeve chart. Attach a new ball of A, work 18 (18, 26) stitches of the Lattice pattern, k1.\n\nRow 2: Purl, keeping in patterns and colors as established.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2, working through 128 rows of Sleeve chart and keeping in patterns as established.\n\nAt the same time, working increases into Lattice Pattern, increase every 6th row 18 (20, 16) times as follows:\n\nIncrease row (RS): K1, m1, work in patterns as established to the last stitch, m1, k1\u201485 (89, 97) stitches.\n\nWork even in patterns until row 126 has been completed.\n\nRow 127: Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, work in patterns as established to the end.\n\nRow 128: Bind off 4 (5, 7) stitches, purl to the end, keeping in patterns and colors as established\u201477 (79, 83) stitches. Place stitches on a holder.\n\n### YOKE\n\nWith RS facing, 32\" (81cm) medium sized circular needle, and D, k77 (79, 83) Left Sleeve stitches, k107 (121, 133) Front stitches, k77 (79, 83) Right Sleeve stitches, and k106 (120, 132) Back stitches\u2014367 (399, 431) stitches. Place marker and join for working in the round.\n\nPreparation round (RS)\n\nSize S: With B, k2, k2tog, k61, k2tog, k127, k2tog, k61, k2tog, [k26, k2tog] 3 times, k24\u2014360 stitches.\n\nSize M: With B, [k10, k2tog] twice, k45, m1, k15, m1, k111, m1, k24, m1, [k28, k2tog] 5 times, k30\u2014396 stitches.\n\nSize L: With B, k378 (to center back), m1, knit to end\u2014432 stitches.\n\nAll sizes: Place a marker every 18 stitches, using 20 (22, 24) markers around.\n\n#### Work Yoke Chart\n\nSize L only: Work rounds 1\u20134 and 8\u201311 of Collar chart, then continue as for all sizes.\n\nAll sizes: Work 44 rounds of Yoke chart, working all decreases as k2tog, and changing to shorter circular needle as necessary\u2014100 (110, 120) stitches.\n\n### COLLAR\n\nRemove all markers and shift stitches around the needle to begin the new round at the center back neck.\n\nSizes M and L only: With C, *k9 (10), k2tog; repeat from * around\u2014100 (110) stitches.\n\nAll sizes: Place a marker every 10 stitches, using 10 (10, 11) markers around.\n\nWork 43 rounds of Collar chart.\n\n#### Make Hem\n\nRemove markers and change to smaller circular needle.\n\nWith A, knit 1 round, purl 1 round, knit 8 rounds.\n\nBind off very loosely.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nWeave in all the ends. Sew side, sleeve, and underarm seams. Sew collar, sleeve, and body hems to the WS. Block lightly.\n\n#### Add Fur Trim to Body\n\nWith the largest size circular needle and fur yarn, cast on 280 (300, 320) stitches. Knit 1 row. Bind off. With A, whipstitch the fur trim to the body of the sweater, outlining the entire Fair Isle section, following photographs.\n\n#### Add Fur Trim to Sleeve Cuffs\n\nWith largest size circular needle and fur yarn, cast on 30 (30, 35) stitches. Knit 1 row. Bind off. With A, whipstitch the fur trim to the sleeve edge. Repeat for the second sleeve.\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover\n\n## QUINTESSENTIAL CABLE  \npullover\n\nPeplums are always a favorite fashion silhouette. This design uses an easy cable rib pattern for a sleek fit, but the real interest here is threefold: the very unusual way the sleeves are made, the flap edging made in graduated short to long lengths on the bottom and sleeve edges, and the bold oversize rib collar that enhances the neck shaping and shoulder detail. The sleeve shaping is entirely innovative, so study the diagram for a better understanding of this new sleeve style technique. Also note the stunning side seaming.\n\nreimagine it\n\nYou'll want to keep the unique sleeve construction and the flaps, so instead you may want to reimagine this pullover into a dress using a yarn with sequins or metallics. You can also leave off the collar for a sleek V-neck.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size S\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nBust: 32\u00bd (37\u00bd, 41\u00bc)\" [82.5 (95, 105)cm]\n\nLength above flap joining to shoulder: 20\u00bd (23\u00be, 24\u00be)\" [52 (60, 63)cm]\n\nSleeve length from wrist to underarm: 17\u00bc (18, 18\u00be)\" [44 (45.5, 47.5)cm]\n\nNote: This pattern is written for size S; the M and L sizes are achieved by using larger-sized needles. Both stitch and row gauges are important.\n\nGAUGES\n\nFor S: 26 stitches and 29 rows = 4\" (10cm) on size U.S. 7 (4.5mm) needles in Cable and Rib pattern, slightly stretched\n\nFor M: 24 stitches and 26 rows = 4\" (10cm) on size U.S. 8 (5mm) needles in Cable and Rib pattern, slightly stretched\n\nFor L: 22 stitches and 24 rows = 4\" (10cm) on size U.S. 9 (5.5mm) needles in Cable and Rib pattern, slightly stretched\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nNotes: All decreases are made 1 stitch in from the edges as k2tog or p2tog as needed for continuity of pattern stitch. All increases are made 1 stitch in from the edges as m1k or m1p as needed for continuity of pattern stitch.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nPlymouth Select Merino Superwash (100% superwash fine merino wool), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 218 yd (196m); 9 (10, 11) skeins of #0027 Caraway\n\nSize U.S. 7 (8, 9) [4.5 (5, 5.5)mm] needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nCable needle\n\nRemovable stitch markers\n\nStitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### Pattern Stitch\n\n2\/2 RC: Slip 2 stitches to the cn and hold in back, k2, k2 from cn.\n\n### Cable and Rib Pattern\n\nRow 1 (RS): P1, k1, p1, *k4, [p1, k1] twice, p1; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, k4, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 2: K1, p1, k1, * p4, [k1, p1] twice, k1; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, p4, k1, p1, k1.\n\nRow 3: P1, k1, p1, 2\/2 RC, [p1, k1] twice, p1; repeat from * to the last 7 stitches, 2\/2 RC, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 4: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 for Cable and Rib pattern.\n\n### BACK\n\n#### First Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 6 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Second Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 7 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Third Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 8 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Fourth Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 9 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Fifth Flap\n\nWork same as Third Flap.\n\n#### Sixth Flap\n\nWork same as Second Flap.\n\n#### Seventh Flap\n\nWork same as First Flap, but do not cut yarn, turn.\n\n**Joining row (WS): K1,*p1, k1, p4, [k1, p1] twice, k1, p4, k1, p1, k2tog, repeat from * to the last 18 stitches, p1, k1, p4, [k1, p1] twice, k1, p4, k1, p1 k1. Place a marker at each end of the row\u2014127 stitches.\n\nRows 1\u201332: Working in Cable and Rib pattern, decrease 1 stitch each end of every RS row 15 times\u201497 stitches. Place a marker at each end of row 31.\n\nRows 33\u201336: Work in pattern as set. Place a marker at each end of row 36.\n\nRows 37\u201350: Work in pattern, increasing 1 stitch at each end of every RS row 7 times\u2014111 stitches.\n\nRows 51\u201382: Work in pattern, increasing 1 stitch each end of every 4th row 8 times\u2014127 stitches.\n\nRows 83\u201386: Work even in pattern.\n\n#### Armhole Shaping\n\nRows 87 and 88: Bind off 8 stitches, work in pattern to end\u2014111 stitches.\n\nRows 89\u201394: Work in pattern, decreasing 1 stitch at each end of every RS row\u2014105 stitches.**\n\nRows 95\u2013148: Work even in pattern.\n\nMark the center 41 stitches for the back neck and place all stitches on a holder.\n\n### FRONT\n\n#### First Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 6 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Second Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 5 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Third Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 4 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Fourth Flap\n\nCast on 19 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 3 times, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\n#### Fifth Flap\n\nWork same as Third Flap.\n\n#### Sixth Flap\n\nWork same as Second Flap.\n\n#### Seventh Flap\n\nWork same as First Flap, but do not cut yarn, turn.\n\nWork from ** to ** of Back.\n\nRow 95 (RS): Work in pattern over 52 stitches, join a second ball of yarn and bind off 1 stitch, continue in pattern over last 52 stitches.\n\nRow 96: Working both sides at the same time, work even in pattern.\n\nRows 97\u2013128: Work in pattern, decreasing 1 stitch at each neck edge every RS row 16 times\u201436 stitches each side.\n\nRows 129\u2013144: Work in pattern, decreasing 1 stitch at each neck edge every 4th row 4 times\u201432 stitches each side.\n\nRows 145\u2013148: Work even in pattern.\n\nPlace stitches on a holder.\n\n### SLEEVES (MAKE 2)\n\n#### Flaps\n\nCast on 10 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): P1, k1, p1, k4, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 2: K1, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1.\n\nRow 3: P1, k1, p1, 2\/2 RC, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 4: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 twice more, then work rows 1\u20133. Cut yarn and leave stitches on needle.\n\nMake 2 more flaps the same as the first, but do not cut yarn after the third flap, turn.\n\nJoining row (WS): K1,* p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k2tog; repeat from * to the last 9 stitches, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1\u201428 stitches. Place a marker at each end of this row to mark wrist.\n\n#### Sleeve Shaping\n\nRow 1 (increase row): Work in pattern to the last stitch, m1, p1.\n\nRows 2\u2013119 (2\u2013109, 2\u2013105): Continue in pattern, repeating the increase row every 4th row 0 (5, 7) more times, then every 6th row 19 (14, 12) times\u201448 stitches.\n\nWork 6 (8, 8) more rows in pattern, ending with a RS row.\n\n#### Cap\n\nBind off 8 stitches, work in pattern to end\u201440 stitches.\n\nRows 1\u20136: Decrease 1 at the end of the next 3 RS rows\u201437 stitches.\n\nRows 7\u201349: Work 43 rows in pattern as established. Place a marker at each end of row 49 for the top of the sleeve.\n\nRows 50\u201392: Work 43 rows in pattern as established.\n\nRows 93\u201397: Increase 1 at the end of the next 3 RS rows\u201440 stitches.\n\nNext row (WS): Cast on 8 stitches, work in pattern to end\u201448 stitches.\n\n#### Sleeve Shaping\n\nWork 6 (8, 8) rows even in pattern.\n\nRow 1 (RS decrease row): Work in pattern to the last 3 stitches, decrease 1, p1.\n\nRows 2\u2013115 (2\u2013105, 2\u2013101): Repeat RS decrease row every 6th row 19 (14, 12) more times, then every 4th row 0 (5, 7) times\u201428 stitches.\n\nPlace a marker at each end of the last row for the wrist.\n\n#### Flaps\n\nNext Row (WS): K1,* P1, k1, p4, k1, p1, kfb; repeat from * to the last 9 stitches, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1\u201430 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): P1, k1, p1, 2\/2 RC, p1, k1, p1. Leave the remaining stitches on the needle or place on a holder.\n\nRow 2: K1, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1.\n\nRow 3: P1, k1, p1, k4, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 4: Repeat row 2.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 twice, then rows 1\u20133.\n\nBind off.\n\n*Join yarn to next stitch on a holder and work the next flap same as the first; repeat from * for the third flap.\n\n### COLLAR\n\nCast on 145 stitches.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134 of Cable and Rib pattern 9 times.\n\nMark the center 41 stitches for the back neck. Bind off.\n\n### WRIST BAND (MAKE 2, OPTIONAL)\n\nCast on 10 stitches.\n\nRow 1 (RS): P1, k1, p1, k4, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 2: K1, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1.\n\nRow 3: P1, k1, p1, 2\/2 RC, p1, k1, p1.\n\nRow 4: K1, p1, k1, p4, k1, p1, k1.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u20134, 14 more times.\n\nBind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nWith the RS facing, join the 32 shoulder stitches of the Front and the Back using the 3-needle bind-off, bind off the 41 Back neck stitches, use the 3-needle bind-off to join the remaining 32 shoulder stitches.\n\nStarting at right edge marker at the top of the Sleeve, weave a length of yarn over the ribs and under the cables to the left marker, then back again to the right marker. With RS together, sew the center sleeve seam. Set the sleeve cap into the armhole and adjust the gathers at the top using the photo as a guide. Sew optional wrist bands between wrist markers. Sew the sleeve seam from the Joining\/dividing row markers to the underarm. Sew the side seams from the Joining row markers to the underarm, matching waist markers.\n\nPin the WS of the Collar to the RS of the neck opening, matching the center 41 stitches of the Collar to the back neck and the ends to the point of the V. Sew in place and tuck the seam to the WS.\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress\n\n## EDGING EPILOGUE  \ndress\n\nBeautiful silk yarn with sparkling sequins and an asymmetrical design create a romantic silhouette perfect for an evening out. The neckline is sexy but wearable. The bold scalloped bottom edge flows into a quiet eyelet stitch to make the front and back. A double overlay of the scalloped edges along the top creates off-the-shoulder glamour. Three Swarovzki crystals are sewn at each scallop for a bit more glitz. The double overlay is used again for a wide shoulder strap across the left shoulder.\n\nreimagine it\n\nIf you stay with the stunning yarn, consider lengthening the pattern to make it a dramatic dress or gown. Another way to go would be to use a cotton yarn (watch the gauge) for a more casual summer look.\n\nSKILL LEVEL\n\nTIME\n\nSIZES\n\nS (M, L), shown in size M\n\nFINISHED MEASUREMENTS\n\nWidth: 15\u00be (20\u00be, 26)\" [40 (53, 66)cm]\n\nLength from shoulder: 25\u00bc (27, 28\u00bd)\" [64 (68.5, 72)cm]\n\nLength from underarm: 18 (19, 20)\" [45.5 (48.5, 51)cm]\n\nGAUGE\n\n18 stitches and 22 rows = 4\" (10 cm) stockinette stitch on larger needles\n\nTake time to check gauge.\n\nMATERIALS\n\nTilli Tomas Disco Lights (100% silk), 3\u00bd oz (100g), 225 yd (206m); 4 (5, 7) skeins in Ocean Spray\n\n2 size U.S. 8 (5mm) 29\" (73cm) circular needles, or size needed to obtain gauge\n\nSize U.S. 6 (4.25mm) 29\" (73cm) circular needle\n\nWaste yarn or stitch holders\n\nTapestry needle\n\n### Scallop Pattern\n\n(multiple of 23 + 2)\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1, *k8, k2tog, yo, k1, p1, k1, yo, ssk, k8; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 2: K1, *p7, p2tog tbl, p2, yo, k1, yo, p2, p2tog, p7; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 3: K1, *k6, k2tog, k1, yo, k2, p1, k2, yo, k1, ssk, k6; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 4: K1, *p5, p2tog tbl, p3, yo, p1, k1, pl, yo, p3, p2tog, p5; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 5: K1, *k4, k2tog, p2, yo, k3, p1, k3, yo, k2, ssk, k4; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 6: K1, *p3, p2tog tbl, p4, yo, p2, k1, p2, yo, p4, p2tog, p3; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 7: K1, *k2, k2tog, k3, yo, k4, p1, k4, yo, k3, ssk, k2; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 8: K1, *p1, p2tog tbl, p5, yo, p3, k1, p3, yo, p5, p2tog, p1; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 9: K1, *k2tog, k4, yo, k5, p1, k5, yo, k4, ssk; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 10: K1, *p11, k1, p11; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 11: K1, *k11, p1, k11; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 12: Repeat row 10.\n\nRepeat rows 1\u201312 for pattern.\n\n### Eyelet Pattern\n\n(multiple of 23 + 2)\n\nRow 1 (RS): K1, *k4, k2tog, yo, k1, yo, ssk, k2, pl, k2, k2tog, yo, k1, yo, ssk, k4; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRow 2: K1, *p11, k1, p11; repeat from * to the last stitch, k1.\n\nRepeat rows 1 and 2 for pattern.\n\n### FRONT\n\nWith larger needles, cast on 71 (94, 117) stitches.\n\nKnit 2 rows.\n\nWork rows 1\u201312 of Scallop pattern twice, then work rows 1\u201310 once more.\n\nWork rows 1\u20132 of Eyelet pattern until piece measures 18 (19, 20)\" [45.5 (48.5, 51)cm] from the beginning, ending with a RS row.\n\n#### Armhole and Short Row Shaping\n\nRow 1 (WS): Bind off 2 (2, 4) stitches; work in pattern as established to the last 5 stitches, w&t.\n\nRow 2 and all RS rows: Work in pattern as established to end.\n\nRows 3 and 5: Bind off 1 stitch, work in pattern to 4 (5, 5) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRow 7: Work in pattern to 4 (5, 5) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRepeat row 7 every RS row 0 (1, 15) more times.\n\nNext row (WS): Work in pattern to 3 (4, 4) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRepeat the last row every RS row 13 (14, 1) more times\u20148 (5, 8) stitches remain before the last wrapped stitch\n\nNext row (RS): Knit to the last 10 stitches, lifting the wraps and working them together with the wrapped stitch, work 10 stitches in pattern\u201467 (90, 111).\n\nNext row: Work 10 stitches in pattern, purl to end.\n\nNext row: Knit to the last 10 stitches, work 10 stitches in pattern.\n\nNext row: Work 10 stitches in pattern; purl to end.\n\nPlace all stitches on a holder.\n\n### BACK\n\nWork the same as the Front to Armhole and Short Row Shaping, ending with a WS row.\n\nRow 1 (RS): Bind off 2 (2, 4) stitches, work in pattern as established to the last 5 stitches, w&t.\n\nRow 2 and all WS rows: Work in pattern as established to end.\n\nRows 3 and 5: Bind off 1 stitch, work in pattern to 4 (5, 5) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRow 7: Work in pattern to 4 (5, 5) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRepeat row 7 every RS row 0 (1, 15) more times.\n\nNext row (WS): Work in pattern to 3 (4, 4) stitches before the last wrapped stitch, w&t.\n\nRepeat the last row every RS row 13 (14, 1) more times\u20148 (5, 8) stitches remain before the last wrapped stitch.\n\nNext row (WS): Purl to the last 10 stitches, lifting the wraps and working them together with the wrapped stitch, work 10 stitches in pattern\u201467 (90, 111).\n\nNext row: Work 10 stitches in pattern, knit to end.\n\nNext row: Purl to the last 10 stitches, work 10 stitches in pattern.\n\nPlace all stitches on a holder.\n\n### LARGE SCALLOP BAND (MAKE 2)\n\nWith larger needle, cast on 140 (186, 232) stitches.\n\nWork Rows 1\u201311 of Scallop pattern.\n\nRow 12: Purl, decreasing 26 stitches evenly across\u2014114 (160, 206) stitches.\n\nPlace all stitches on a holder.\n\n### SHOULDER SCALLOP BAND\n\nCast on 71 (71, 94) stitches.\n\nWork Rows 1\u201312 of Scallop pattern.\n\nWork 8 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nPlace all stitches on a spare needle.\n\nMake a second Shoulder Scallop Band, working the same as the first to row 12.\n\nWith the RS facing up on both bands, place the first band behind the second band.\n\nNext row (RS): *Using the smaller needle, knit 1 stitch from the second band together with 1 stitch from the right band; repeat from * to end\u201471 (71, 94) stitches.\n\nKnit 5 rows. Bind off.\n\n### FINISHING\n\nPlace the shoulder stitches from the Front and Back (the 10 stitches worked in pattern) onto separate needles. Join the shoulder stitches using the 3-needle bind-off.\n\nPlace the remaining 114 (160, 206) stitches onto the larger needle, and the 114 (160, 206) stitches of one Large Scallop Band onto the smaller needle. With the RS facing up on both pieces, place the body needle inside the Large Scallop Band needle. Starting at the underam with the second larger needle, *knit 1 stitch from the band together with 1 stitch from the body; repeat from * around.\n\nWork 8 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nPlace the stitches of the second Large Scallop Band onto the larger needle. Using the smaller needle, join the second band the same as the first band.\n\nWork 5 rows in stockinette stitch.\n\nBind off.\n\n### Armband\n\nWith the RS facing and smaller needle, starting at the underarm, pick up and k64 (70, 78) stitches evenly around the armhole. Knit 4 rows. Bind off knitwise on the WS.\n\nSew the side seams, starting at the uppermost row of the Scallop pattern, leaving slits at the lower edge. Leave the edges of the Large Scallop Bands unsewn.\n\nPin the ends of the Shoulder Scallop Band underneath the upper edges of the Front and Back, adjusting as necessary to fit. Sew in place. Weave in ends.\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress  \n~return to the beginning of the project~\n\n# ABBREVIATIONS\n\nInstructions for cables, bobbles and special increases\/decreases are included with the pattern.\n\ncn \u2022 cable needle\n\ndpn \u2022 double-pointed needle\n\nk \u2022 knit\n\nkfb \u2022 knit in front and back of the same stitch\n\nm1 \u2022 make 1 by lifting the bar between the last stitch and the next stitch, k1 tbl\n\nm1p \u2022 make 1 by lifting the bar between the last stitch and the next stitch and p1 tbl\n\np \u2022 purl\n\np2tog tbl \u2022 purl 2 stitches together through the back loops\n\npbf \u2022 purl in back and front of the same stitch\n\npm \u2022 place marker\n\nrnd \u2022 round\n\nRS \u2022 right side\n\ns2kp \u2022 slip 2 stitches as if to k2tog, k1, pass the 2 slipped stitches over the k1\n\ns2pp \u2022 slip 2 stitches as if to p2tog, p1, pass the 2 slipped stitches over the p1\n\nsk2p \u2022 slip 1 stitch knitwise, k2tog, pass the slipped stitch over the k2tog\n\nsm \u2022 slip marker\n\nssk \u2022 [slip 1 knitwise] twice, insert LH needle through the front of the 2 slipped stitches and k2tog tbl\n\nSt st \u2022 stockinette stitch: knit on the RS, purl on the WS\n\ntbl \u2022 through the back loop\n\ntog \u2022 together\n\nw&t \u2022 wrap and turn (see here for detailed instructions)\n\nWS \u2022 wrong side\n\nwyib \u2022 with yarn in back\n\nwyif \u2022 with yarn in front\n\nyo yarn over\n\n# KNITTING TECHNIQUES\n\n3-NEEDLE BIND-OFF\n\nWith the right sides of the two pieces facing each other and the needles parallel, insert a third needle knitwise into the first stitch of each needle, wrap the yarn around the needle as if to knit, as shown. Knit these two stitches together and slip them off the needles. Repeat to end, binding off at the same time.\n\nCABLE CAST-ON\n\nWith a slip knot on the left needle, insert the point of the right needle knitwise into the stitch on the left needle. Wrap the yarn around the right needle as if to knit. Draw the yarn through the first stitch to make a new stitch, but do not drop the stitch from the left needle. Transfer the new stitch to the left needle.\n\nFor each successive stitch to be cast on, insert the point of the right needle between the two stitches on the left needle. Wrap the yarn around the right needle as if to knit and pull the yarn through to make a new stitch, but again do not drop the stitch. Transfer the new stitch to the left needle. Repeat for the required number of stitches.\n\nDUPLICATE STITCH\n\nThread a tapestry needle with the desired color. *Draw the needle from the back to the front at the base of the V of the knitted stitch to be covered. Bring the thread over the right-hand leg of the stitch, down into the stitch in the row above it, over the left-hand leg and back down into the base of the same stitch. Repeat from * working from right to left and bottom to top until the desired area is covered.\n\nI-CORD\n\nWith two double-pointed needles, cast on 3 (4, 5) stitches. *Do not turn work. Slide the stitches to the other end of the needle, k3 (4, 5); repeat from * until cord measures desired length and fasten off.\n\nINTARSIA\n\nStep 1: On the knit side, drop the old color. Pick up the new color from under the old color and knit to the next color change.\n\nStep 2: On the purl side, drop the old color. Pick up the new color from under the old color and purl to the next color change.\n\nRepeat these two steps.\n\nKITCHENER STITCH\n\nTo set up: Thread a tapestry needle with a strand of yarn three to four times the length of the edge to be grafted together. Hold the working needles parallel to each other with the tips pointing in the same direction and the right sides facing up. Insert the tapestry needle purlwise into the first stitch of the front knitting needle, draw the yarn through, without dropping the stitch from the needle. Insert the tapestry needle knitwise into the first stitch on the back knitting needle, and draw the yarn through without dropping the stitch.\n\nTo graft: *Insert the tapestry needle knitwise into the first stitch on the front needle, and drop the stitch from the needle. Insert the tapestry needle purlwise into the next stitch on the front needle. Draw the yarn through and leave the stitch on the knitting needle. Insert the needle purlwise into the first stitch on the back needle. Drop the stitch from the knitting needle. Insert the tapestry needle knitwise into the next stitch on the back needle, and draw the yarn through without dropping the stitch.* Repeat from * to * until all live stitches have been grafted.\n\nCOLOR STRANDING \/ FAIR ISLE\n\nHolding colors left\n\nHolding colors right\n\nStranding one-handed: On the knit side, drop the working yarn. Bring the new color (now the working yarn) over the top of the dropped yarn and work to the next color change. Repeat these two steps when changing colors.\n\nOn the purl side, drop the working yarn. Bring the new color under the dropped yarn and work to the next color change. Repeat these two steps when changing colors.\n\nStranding two-handed: On the knit side, hold the working yarn in your right hand and the nonworking yarn in your left hand. Bring the working yarn over the top of the yarn in your left hand and knit with the right hand to the next color change.\n\nThe yarn in your right hand is now the nonworking yarn, the yarn in your left hand is the working yarn. Bring the working yarn under the nonworking yarn and knit with the left-hand needle to the next color change. Repeat these two steps when changing colors.\n\nOn the purl side, hold the working yarn in your right hand and the nonworking yarn in your left hand. Bring the working yarn over the top of the yarn in your left hand and purl with the right hand to the next color change.\n\nThe yarn in your right hand is now the nonworking yarn, the yarn in your left hand is the working yarn. Bring the working yarn under the nonworking yarn and purl with the left-hand needle to the next color change. Repeat these two steps when changing colors.\n\nSLIP STITCH (CROCHET)\n\nInsert the hook into a chain or other stitch, wrap the yarn around the hook, and then draw the yarn through both the stitch and the loop already on the hook.\n\nWHIPSTITCH\n\nThread a strand of yarn into a tapestry needle. Holding two knitted pieces, stitch over the edge where the seams align to create small, evenly spaced diagonal stitches.\n\nWRAP AND TURN (FOR SHORT ROWS)\n\nKnit to the specified stitch, and with yarn in back, slip this stitch onto the right needle. Bring the yarn from back to front, wrapping the stitch.\n\nSlip the same stitch back to the left needle.\n\nTurn the work. Bring the yarn to the front or back (depending on whether you are knitting or purling) to complete the wrap. Finish working the row.\n\n# RESOURCES\n\nAslan Trends\n\n8 Maple Street\n\nPort Washington, NY 11050\n\n(800) 314-8202\n\nwww.aslantrends.com\n\nThe BagSmith\n\n24000 Mercantile Road, Suite 7\n\nBeachwood, OH 44122\n\n(888) 879-7224\n\nwww.bagsmith.com\n\nBerroco, Inc.\n\n1 Tupperware Drive, Suite 4\n\nN. Smithfield, RI 02896-6815\n\n(401) 769-1212\n\nwww.berroco.com\n\nBlue Heron Yarns\n\n8737 Brooks Drive, #108\n\nEaston, MD 21601\n\n(410) 819-0401\n\nwww.blueheronyarns.com\n\nBlue Sky Alpacas, Inc.\n\nP.O. Box 88\n\nCedar, MN 55011\n\n(888) 460-8862  \nwww.blueskyalpacas.com\n\nCascade Yarns\n\n1224 Andover Park East\n\nTukwila, WA 98188\n\nwww.cascadeyarns.com\n\nCrystal Palace\n\n160 23rd Street\n\nRichmond, CA 94804\n\nwww.straw.com\n\nFyberspates\n\nUnit 1 + 6 Oxleaze Farm Workshops\n\nBroughton Poggs\n\nFilkins Lechlade\n\nGloucestershire GL7 3RB\n\nUnited Kingdom\n\n+44 1367 850880\n\nwww.fyberspates.co.uk\n\nHPKY (Hand Painted Knitting Yarns)\n\n7 Tiffany Lynn Court\n\nWentzville, MO 63385\n\n(636) 332-9931\n\nwww.hpkyllc.com\n\nJHB Buttons\n\n1955 South Quince Street\n\nDenver, CO 80231\n\n(800) 525-9007\n\nwww.buttons.com\n\nKollage Yarns\n\n3591 Cahaba Beach Road\n\nBirmingham, AL 35242\n\n(888) 829-7758\n\nwww.kollageyarns.com\n\nLion Brand Yarn\n\n34 West 15th Street\n\nNew York, NY 10011\n\nwww.lionbrand.com\n\nMadelinetosh\n\n7515 Benbrook Parkway\n\nBenbrook, TX 76126\n\n(817) 249-3066\n\nwww.madelinetosh.com\n\nPlymouth Yarn Company, Inc.\n\n500 Lafayette Street\n\nBristol, PA 19007\n\n(215) 788-0459\n\nwww.plymouthyarn.com\n\nPrism Yarns\n\n3140 39th Avenue North\n\nSt. Petersburg, FL 33714\n\nwww.prismyarn.com\n\nRowan Yarns\n\nGreen Lane Mill\n\nHolmfirth\n\nWest Yorkshire, England\n\nHD9 2DX\n\n+44 1484 681881\n\nwww.knitrowan.com\n\nSkacel Schulana\n\n(800) 255-1278\n\nwww.skacelknitting.com\n\nTahki Stacy Charles, Inc.\n\n70\u201360 83rd Street, Building #12\n\nGlendale, NY 11385\n\n(718) 326-4433\n\nwww.tahkistacycharles.com\n\nTilli Tomas\n\n(617) 524-3330\n\nwww.tillitomas.com\n\n# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nThis unconventional book required a publisher with courage, imagination, and foresight. That publisher is Potter Craft, an imprint of Penguin Random House, and I want to thank the entire team for their ongoing support and great work.\n\nMany thanks to:\n\nMy editors Betty Wong, who made my vision a reality, and Caitlin Harpin, who skillfully and beautifully made it all come together.\n\nStephanie Huntwork, art director, for the beautiful look she created that was simply perfect for my designs.\n\nRose Callahan, photographer, whose talent and enthusiasm is elegantly expressed in these gorgeous photos, and her assistants Demetrius Fordham and Bowen Rodkey.\n\nMeg Goldman, stylist, whose great sense of style led to a harmonious wardrobe that beautifully blended with my knitted garments, and assistant Tara Ferri for all her hard work.\n\nYuko, hair and makeup artist, who made our beautiful models, Sanita and Nadine, look even more gorgeous.\n\nMy intrepid team of knitters, who in this book truly outdid themselves, especially dealing with the reimagined and off-the-beaten-track designs that looked challenging, but eventually, when they understood the premise, admitted were not much more difficult to execute than traditional knitting.\n\nMy talented and \"always there\" knitters Nancy Henderson, Jo Brandon, Eileen Curry, Mary Taylor, and Dianne Weitzul, along with Sammi Sherwin, Eva Wilkins, Marla Fialkow, Dana Vessa, and Megan Hand. I cannot imagine a better group of talented people. And to Eve Eng for easy-to-follow instructions.\n\nMy supportive friends Debbie Rufrano, Ashley Panaro, Emily Brenner, Christine Farrow, and Ryan Brandon.\n\nThank you as well to Cascade Yarns and to all the yarn manufacturers for their support and to Faryl Robin at Seychelles for the shoes, Karen Ko at K2o and Joan Goodman at Pono for their amazing jewelry, and to Jennifer Ouellette for the hats.\n\nAnd last, but certainly not least, thank you to Melody Remillard and the entire staff of Grey Towers National Historic Site for their hospitality and for allowing us to photograph the pieces at this beautiful estate. If you're ever in the Milford, Pennsylvania, area you must visit this magnificent and historic wonder.\n\n# INDEX\n\nNote: Page numbers in italics indicate projects.\n\nAbbreviations, See also Icon definitions\n\nAdvanced projects\n\nabout: icon for\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau, 4.1\n\nChaos Couture Pullover, 3.1\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette, 4.1\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan, 2.1\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover, 4.1\n\nBeginner projects\n\nabout: icon for\n\nOn the Block Topper, 1.1\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl, 1.1\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound, 2.1\n\nBind-off, 3-needle, bm1.1\n\nBlock topper, 1.1\n\nBook overview\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover, 3.1\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau, 4.1\n\nCable cast-on\n\nCable pullover, 4.1\n\nCape and topper. See also Coats and such\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape, 1.1\n\nOn the Block Topper, 1.1\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound, 2.1\n\nCardigans\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan, 2.1\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan, 2.1\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi, 1.1\n\nCastle tunic, 1.1\n\nCast-on, cable\n\nChaos Couture Pullover, 3.1\n\nCoats and such. See also Cape and topper\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau, 4.1\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette, 4.1\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood, 1.1\n\nColor stranding \/ Fair Isle\n\nCool construction projects\n\nabout: overview of\n\nDirectional Vest, 2.1\n\nOn the Edge Dress, 2.1\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan, 2.1\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan, 2.1\n\nShape-Shifter Vest, 2.1\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound, 2.1\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank, 3.1\n\nThe Deep End Shawl, 1.1\n\nDirectional projects\n\nabout: overview of\n\nThe Deep End Shawl, 1.1\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape, 1.1\n\nOn the Block Topper, 1.1\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl, 1.1\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic, 1.1\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood, 1.1\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi, 1.1\n\nDirectional Vest, 2.1\n\nDrapelette, pixilated weave, 3.1\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette, 4.1\n\nDresses\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau, 4.1\n\nOn the Edge Dress, 2.1\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress, 4.1\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic, 4.1\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress, 4.1\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover, 3.1\n\nFair Isle \/ color stranding\n\nFair Isle pullover, 4.1\n\nGlory Rising Circle Cardigan, 2.1\n\nIcon definitions\n\nI-cord, 1.1, bm1.1\n\nIntarsia\n\nIntermediate projects\n\nabout: icon for\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover, 3.1\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank, 3.1\n\nThe Deep End Shawl, 1.1\n\nDirectional Vest, 2.1\n\nOn the Edge Dress, 2.1\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress, 4.1\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover, 3.1\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape, 1.1\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan, 2.1\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette, 3.1\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover, 4.1\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic, 1.1\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood, 1.1\n\nShape-Shifter Vest, 2.1\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover, 4.1\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic, 4.1\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi, 1.1\n\nJe Ne Sais Quoi Cape, 1.1\n\nKitchener stitch\n\nManteau, buttons and bows, 4.1\n\nNouveau Wrap Cardigan, 2.1\n\nOn the Block Topper, 1.1\n\nOn the Edge Dress, 2.1\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette, 3.1\n\nPoncholette, dressage pony, 4.1\n\nPullovers\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover, 3.1\n\nChaos Couture Pullover, 3.1\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette, 4.1\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover, 3.1\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette, 3.1\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover, 4.1\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover, 4.1\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover, 4.1\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover, 4.1\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl, 1.1\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic, 1.1\n\nResources\n\nRoyal Lace Coat with Hood, 1.1\n\nShape-Shifter Vest, 2.1\n\nShawls\n\nThe Deep End Shawl, 1.1\n\nReckoning Rectangles Shawl, 1.1\n\nShort rows, wrap and turn for\n\nSkill levels\n\nSlip stitch (crochet)\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover, 4.1\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic, 4.1\n\nStitches. See Techniques\n\nStitch impact projects\n\nabout: overview of\n\nButtons and Bows Manteau, 4.1\n\nDressage Pony Poncholette, 4.1\n\nEdging Epilogue Dress, 4.1\n\nQuintessential Cable Pullover, 4.1\n\nSpirits Fly Pullover, 4.1\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic, 4.1\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover, 4.1\n\nStranding, color\n\nTank, crisscross weave, 3.1\n\nTechniques\n\ncable cast-on\n\ncolor stranding \/ Fair Isle\n\nduplicate stitch\n\nI-cord, 1.1, bm1.1\n\nintarsia\n\nKitchener stitch\n\nslip stitch (crochet)\n\n3-needle bind-off\n\nwhipstitch\n\nwrap and turn (for short rows)\n\n3-needle bind-off\n\nTime (clock) icons defined\n\nTopper, 1.1\n\nTunics\n\nRenaissance Castle Tunic, 1.1\n\nSpring Forward Dress or Tunic, 4.1\n\nVests\n\nDirectional Vest, 2.1\n\nShape-Shifter Vest, 2.1\n\nVictory Fair Isle Pullover, 4.1\n\nWeekend Warrior Wraparound, 2.1\n\nWelted Button Tuck Cardi, 1.1\n\nWhipstitch\n\nWoven weave projects\n\nabout: overview of\n\nBraided Vitality Pullover, 3.1\n\nChaos Couture Pullover, 3.1\n\nCrisscross Weave Tank, 3.1\n\nEtiquette Unchained Pullover, 3.1\n\nPixilated Weave Drapelette, 3.1\n\nWrap and turn (for short rows)\n\nWraparound, 2.1\n\n# ABOUT THE AUTHOR\n\nNicky Epstein is the beloved knitwear designer and best-selling author of numerous books, including Knitting Block by Block, Knitting in Circles, the Knitting on the Edge series, Knitting on Top of the World, and Nicky Epstein's Knitted Flowers. Must-haves in the libraries of designers and knitters alike, her award-winning knitting and crochet books range from highly original resource books to knitting\/travel books to collections for Barbie and 18\" dolls. She is a three-time winner of the National Independent Book Publisher's Award for Best Craft Book of the Year.\n\nHer innovative and fashion-forward designs have appeared in every major knitwear magazine, in museum exhibits, and on television. She loves to share her expertise and enthusiasm for knitting with countless fans around the world and has traveled and taught throughout the United States and in England, Australia, New Zealand, Italy, Canada, Argentina, Uruguay, and France, gaining a loyal following. She hosts popular knitting tours and recently launched the Nicky Epstein Knitting Club. A line of her designs and videos can be found on her website: www.nickyepstein.com.\n\nNicky lives in New York City but is constantly on the go, sharing her love of knitting with a fun-loving army of fans.\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":"\n\nThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.\n\nCopyright \u00a9 2010 by PJ Haarsma\n\nAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.\n\nFirst electronic edition 2010\n\nThe Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:\n\nHaarsma, PJ.  \nThe softwire : awakening on Orbis 4 \/ PJ Haarsma. \u20141st ed.  \np. cm. \u2014 (The softwire)  \nSummary: As the Scion's guardian, Johnny Turnbull is expected to begin training as a Space Jumper, a role he promised his girlfriend, Max, he would never take on, and which might not be enough to save his sister and friends when Orbis is threatened.  \nISBN 978-0-7636-2712-6 (hardcover)  \n[1. Computers \u2014Fiction. 2. Space and time \u2014Fiction. 3. Mercenary troops \u2014Fiction. 4. Science fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Awakening on Orbis 4. III. Title: Awakening on Orbis four. IV. Series.  \nPZ7.H111325Soi 2010  \n[Fic] \u2014dc22 2009032482\n\nISBN 978-0-7636-5238-8 (electronic)\n\nCandlewick Press  \n99 Dover Street  \nSomerville, Massachusetts 02144\n\nvisit us at www.candlewick.com\n\n#\n\n\"Stop it!\" I begged.\n\n\"I can't,\" Theylor whispered. \"Ketheria _must_ suffer this.\"\n\n\"When will it be over?\"\n\nMy sister's body convulsed while suspended over a thick block of chrome deep within the Keepers' lair on Orbis 1. I turned away.\n\n\"This is one of the fourteen steps of the awakening,\" Theylor reminded me. \"We have discussed this.\"\n\n\"But look at her. Her eyes are going to pop out of her head!\"\n\n\"The _glow_ is doing that. Her eyes will remain firmly inside their sockets,\" he assured me. \"That is nothing more than an illusion.\"\n\n_Glow_ was a clumsy description of what was happening to Ketheria. Her skin was shining with a lustrous golden light that pulsed brighter, not with each heartbeat but with some otherworldly measure that I was not privy to. I stood by, helpless, and watched as the metal block she floated above refused to absorb the glow, tossing it back while her body deflated with each throb of light. During one convulsion, Ketheria's head lobbed sideways and her eyes seemed to focus on mine.\n\n\"Ketheria!\" I called out, but her vacant stare just bore straight through me. I don't think she had a clue that I was even in the room with her.\n\nI felt Theylor place his slender hand on my shoulder. I turned and looked into the eyes of his left head. I had grown to trust Theylor over the last three rotations on the Rings of Orbis, and I searched his bluish face now to find any justification for my sister's suffering.\n\n\"The Nagools have been waiting their whole lives for this moment,\" he said. \"They will do everything to make the Scion's \u2014\"\n\n\" _My sister,_ Theylor. She's my _sister,_ nothing more,\" I corrected him. \"We traveled from Earth to work on these rings just like the zillions of other aliens who come here every rotation to do the exact same thing. Once our debt is paid, we get to start a new life of our own \u2014 as _Citizens._ That was the deal. Not this! The _Scion_? The _Tonat_? None of it makes sense to me, Theylor. I don't want any of it, and I'm certain Ketheria doesn't, either. You guys are the ones calling her the Scion. That word doesn't mean anything to me.\"\n\nTheylor bowed his head before he continued. \"Even if you do not want this to happen, you cannot deny that it _is_ happening. This is self-evident.\" Theylor motioned toward Ketheria. \"Yet for some reason, you resist believing what you see right before your very eyes. Your sister _is_ the Scion, Johnny Turnbull. I assure you that the Nagools will do everything possible to make her awakening a painless experience. I do not understand your anger.\"\n\n\"I'm not angry,\" I whispered. \"I'm confused.\"\n\n\"Some things are easier to accept if you simply trust the Universe.\"\n\nThat was easy for him to say. He wasn't a knudnik.\n\n\"Come now,\" he added. \"I must get you to the spaceport. There is not much time before the Orbis 4 shuttle launches. Your new work rule has already started.\"\n\nDespite the fact that everyone believed Ketheria was the new Scion, the Trading Council insisted that we finish our fourth rotation of indentured service, and the Keepers and the Nagools did not argue. They believed that the Scion had to awaken along the path that the Universe had predicted for him or her, no matter how dangerous that path may be. It was a small miracle that they even let me follow Ketheria to Orbis 1 once she got sick. I had hoped she might come out of her awakening and we could travel to Orbis 4 together, but that did not seem likely now.\n\n\"Please,\" I begged. \"I was hoping for a little more time.\"\n\n\"I am sorry. I have done everything I could just to let you stay this phase.\"\n\n\"I've been here a whole phase?\"\n\nTheylor nodded, and I remembered the moment when I had found Ketheria in the middle of one of her spells. It was right before we were all about to leave to meet our new Guarantor on Orbis 4. Ketheria had started doodling those little spirals on the walls while everyone else was packing. Soon afterward she slipped into the catatonic state that now consumed her. Usually Ketheria came out of one of her spells by the end of a cycle, but this time she hadn't. Instead, the glow had started. I told Vairocina, my friend inside the central computer, the moment it began, and she contacted Theylor immediately. Soon Theylor and an army of Nagool masters converged upon Ketheria. As they shuttled both her and me to Magna on Orbis 1, Theylor informed me that the glow was the Source working through her, making connections with the rest of the universe. Max, Theodore, and everyone else were shipped off to Orbis 4.\n\n\"Johnny,\" Theylor called. \"I'm sorry, but it is time.\"\n\nReluctantly, I turned from my frozen vigil and followed Theylor out of the room, entrusting my sister to the Nagools. When I thought about waking up the next cycle not knowing a thing about my sister's condition, I felt as if a Neewalker had clamped his hands around my throat, trapping the air inside me. It scared me and I hated it.\n\nTheylor paused next to one of the many treelike pillars that supported the largest cavern of the Keepers' lair located beneath the city of Magna and waited for me. I looked up to where the deep blue stone pillars made contact with the roof. Bands of yellowish light oscillated from the top of the support with a beat that was oddly reminiscent of the glow. I then followed Theylor as he navigated around huge pools of black water that glittered from deep below the surface.\n\nA small domed craft waited on a rail of shorter pillars next to a platform. I followed Theylor aboard, and we sat in silence during the short trip to the surface. It gave me time to think. What had happened? Why Ketheria? No one had any answers for me, but that didn't mean no one knew. I had heard stories of other Scions and the horrible fates they met. No matter what part of the universe they came from, new Scions were always persecuted by one group or another, tested until they broke. I had also heard tales of the Tonat, the guardian entrusted to protect the Scion once the awakening was complete. That's who they wanted me to be. But if the Tonat was so important, why was I leaving my sister behind? It didn't make sense, but then when had my life on the rings ever made sense? No one ever explained anything here. Three rotations had taught me that most people on the Rings of Orbis protected their knowledge more than they did an Orodi Orb.\n\nOnce we disembarked from the small craft, I followed Theylor up a wide staircase that led to two metal doors, scuffed and marred by eons of use. At the top of the stairs, Theylor paused and turned to me. \"Others may have come to see the Scion,\" he said, as if it were a warning.\n\n\"I thought no one knew where Magna was located.\"\n\n\"Idolatry has a unique way of bringing light to the blind,\" he replied.\n\nWhen Theylor pushed back the thick doors, the glassy glow from a distant star burnished my eyes, and faster than my pupils could contract, a throng of aliens burst upon us.\n\n\"Who are these people, Theylor?\"\n\n\"Worshippers,\" he replied, holding up his hand to the crowd. The effect seemed to push the people back, which allowed us to move forward. \"I did not expect to see so many. I am afraid news of the Scion has spread quickly. This is not good.\"\n\n\"Why is the Scion so important to them?\"\n\n\"It has been a very long time since a Scion has been discovered. In fact, most people thought it was no longer possible. Your sister is their last hope.\"\n\nThere must have been thousands of people gathered there. Every one of them seemed to be whispering something at me. Hushed pleas called to me from every side as we pushed through the crowds.\n\n\"They worship my sister?\"\n\n\"They worship the Scion,\" he said, as if Ketheria was a separate entity entirely. \"And some even worship the Tonat.\"\n\n\"I'm not the Tonat, Theylor. The Trust said _I_ have to make that choice, and I don't want to be a Space Jumper. In order to be the Tonat, I have to be a Space Jumper.\"\n\n\"I believe the Trust merely presented you with that choice as a gesture.\"\n\n\"A gesture of what?\"\n\n\"To appease your fierce need to control your own existence. I wonder how much choice you actually have in this matter.\"\n\n\"What does that mean, Theylor? It _is_ my choice.\"\n\nBut Theylor did not respond. It frustrated me to be fed these cryptic answers all the time.\n\n\"If this is so important, why won't you tell me anything else?\" I shouted as more people pushed in on us, but Theylor did not answer. His attention was now on the crowd. More and more people rushed toward us, and the crush was beginning to smother me. One alien tugged at my vest, another simply rubbed her hands over me, while another squawked in my face. Theylor tried to force them back, but that only created an opening for more to pour into.\n\n\"Theylor!\"\n\n\"I'm trying,\" he grunted.\n\nThe crowd now engulfed me. I could no longer see the sky and had lost sight of Theylor in a sea of wanting hands.\n\n\"I have nothing to give you!\" I shouted. \"I can't help you.\"\n\nThen someone struck me. It was a quick blow to my forehead, but still painful.\n\n\"Death to the Tonat!\" the alien screamed, but the crowd turned on the assailant. At least a dozen worshippers descended on my attacker and delivered blows much worse than the one he had given me.\n\n\"Stop!\" I screamed at them, but the crowd swallowed the brawling aliens. Then I saw the flash of a Zinovian Claw, a nasty little weapon that was often equipped with a poison cartridge. \"Look out!\" I screamed, pointing at the weapon. The effect was instant. The same punishment dealt to the first detractor was unleashed on the claw-toting alien. Fights were now breaking out between different groups, and my body flowed helplessly with the energy of the crowd.\n\n\"Theylor! Help me!\"\n\nSuddenly the crowd blew apart. Bodies wrenched away from me like metal shavings pulled helplessly toward a huge magnet. Theylor stood in the opening, flanked by two Space Jumpers, who immediately descended upon me. Theylor moved calmly, but I can't say the same for the mass of worshippers.\n\n\"Do you wish for war, Keeper?\" a shocked Citizen shouted.\n\n\"We will crush you!\" another added as the effect of seeing the heavily armed mercenaries rippled through the crowd.\n\n\"This is a taste of your life now, whether you accept your fate or not,\" Theylor whispered to me. \"Just imagine what this is going to be like for Ketheria. She is going to need you.\"\n\n\"I won't do it, Theylor. This is not our battle. I don't know how any of this happened. I'm just a kid from Earth.\"\n\nOne of the Space Jumpers grunted.\n\n\"But she is your _sister,_ \" Theylor pleaded.\n\n\"And I will protect her, but it has to be in my own way.\"\n\nTheylor breathed deeply. I knew he didn't like my answer. \"You are naive. Your actions risk your life, they risk your sister's life, and they might even risk every life in this universe. We will talk of this again,\" he said, motioning to the Space Jumpers at my side. And then I was gone.\n\nA moment later, I was standing in a field, rubbing the smell of sweat-soaked socks out of my nose. The Space Jumper to my left had released me. I looked up and saw the city of Nacreo gleaming in the distance.\n\n\"Hello, Johnny Turnbull. Or do you prefer JT?\" a voice called out.\n\nI turned; a tall, strong-looking humanoid was standing next to one of the Keepers' fliers. He was wearing a heavy-looking overcoat flung back to expose his tall black boots. When I noticed the small stalactites of flesh that hung from his jawline, I suddenly realized that I had seen this alien before. At Odran's! The dinner party! This alien was a Trading Council member.\n\n\"You're the \u2014 the \u2014\" I stammered.\n\n\"Hach. I believe we've met once before. I am your new Guarantor.\"\n\nMy first Guarantor was a weaselley little rat named Weegin. The Keepers replaced him with Odran, a vile creature whose scruples were worse than his appearance (and trust me, his appearance was disgusting). My third Guarantor was my friend, a human named Charlie Norton. A cycle never passed when I did not think about him. But Hach was nothing like my previous Guarantors, even Charlie. I'd never forget the way he had confronted his fellow Trading Council member for insulting us at Odran's party. Hach stood confidently, with his hands cupped, waiting patiently for my reply.\n\n\"Hello. Yeah \u2014 JT. That's what my friends call me,\" I told him.\n\n\"I look forward to being your friend, then, JT. If you'll follow me, the Keepers have arranged transportation to the spaceport.\" Hach motioned toward the flier. It was nothing more than a wheel with a cockpit near the center. \"Normally I have a driver, but I couldn't resist flying one of these things.\"\n\nThe Space Jumper to my right pushed me toward my new Guarantor. The unexpected force tripped me up, and I fell to my knees. Hach spun around and unleashed a small staff from beneath his cloak. I had the keen sense to duck as he thrust his right arm in front of him, unfolding the device like a double-sided whip. In one complete motion, Hach caught the Space Jumper around the ankles and pulled. The Space Jumper toppled to the ground.\n\n\"What's it like from down there?\" Hach hissed at the fallen Space Jumper.\n\n\"Wow,\" I mumbled. I had never seen anyone take out a Space Jumper before. I didn't think it was even possible.\n\n\"Come, JT,\" Hach ordered, and turned toward the flier. Both Space Jumpers glared at me as I walked past. The air around them seemed to ripple as the light folded in on them, and then they were gone, jumping back to wherever they had come from.\n\nI had seen one of the Keepers' fliers on Orbis 3. It was basically a large wheel piloted from a cockpit positioned off center and lower to the ground. This cockpit remained in its position as the wheel spun around. Hach took his seat at the controls while I climbed in and sat up behind him. I snuggled in, and the seat conformed to my body.\n\nHach uplinked to the control panel using the neural port embedded behind his left ear, and the cockpit closed in around us. The clouded glass slowly became transparent. I was seated slightly higher than Hach, so I had an unobstructed view of what was in front of me. The craft rolled forward and then lifted into the air, picking up speed as the huge wheel spun faster and faster. Soon it was spinning so fast that I could barely see it except for the slight distortion it made in my vision.\n\n\"Comfortable?\" Hach asked, his voice soft in my ears, amplified through the smart material behind my head.\n\n\"Um, yes,\" I said. \"Thank you.\" I was not used to having a Guarantor care about my well-being. (Except for Charlie, of course, but that was different.) Most of the Citizens on the Rings of Orbis treated knudniks with the same respect they gave the dirt between their toes, if they had toes. I wasn't going to let Hach's seemingly open manners go to waste.\n\n\"Hach, may I ask you something?\" I said.\n\n\"You may.\"\n\n\"How did you become our Guarantor?\"\n\nThere was a pause before Hach answered. History had taught me that this sort of pause was usually followed by a lie.\n\n\"You were given to me.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"Your last Guarantor.\"\n\n\"Charlie?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say. When could Charlie have entrusted us to anyone? The attack had left him unconscious and he'd never come out of it. During our first rotation back on Orbis 1, Madame Lee had murdered Max's first Guarantor, Boohral, and since he had not willed his knudniks to anyone in time, the Keepers redistributed Max and the others (much to the anger of Boohral's brood). I could only assume the same would have happened after Charlie died.\n\n\"When?\" I said. \"How?\"\n\n\"I am not at liberty to say,\" he replied. \"Policy of the Trading Council.\"\n\nAnd there it was again, the same nonanswer to my most important questions. Why couldn't anyone on these stupid rings just tell the truth? Every response was a diversion.\n\n\"Can I ask another one?\"\n\n\"How many do you plan on asking?\"\n\n\"I \u2014 I . . . don't know.\"\n\n\"You may ask me three more questions. I'm sure that's all we'll have time for before we reach the city of Nacreo.\"\n\nThree questions? I had a million, and Hach was a Trading Council member. Didn't they know everything? I watched the city growing in front of me as the flier sped toward the spaceport. Three questions. Better start now.\n\n\"Do you know what's happening to my sister?\"\n\n\"Of course. Everyone does. That's an odd waste of a question since I'm sure you, too, are aware of that answer.\"\n\n_But that's not what I meant!_ I knew about the awakening. I knew it was some sort of transformation. That's how the Keepers explained it, but I didn't believe it. There was no way my sister or I had anything to do with the salvation of the universe.\n\n\"No, I meant what does it _mean_?\"\n\n\"It means your sister is the Scion and you are the Tonat.\"\n\n\"I know that, too.\" I resisted the urge to call him a split-screen. \"You don't understand. No one knew I was coming to Orbis. I can't possibly have anything to do with all of this. Our parents smuggled us onto the _Renaissance_ in hopes of a better life, away from Earth. That's all. Did _you_ know that?\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"So then I don't get it. I don't understand how my sister is the Scion or how I'm supposed to be the Tonat. What's going to happen to us if what they say is true?\"\n\n\"Oh, it _is_ true, but that, I'm afraid, is question number four, and we've arrived at the spaceport. Get ready for a jolt. I can't land these things as well as the Keepers can.\"\n\n#\n\nOnce inside the spaceport, I gazed at the starships nestled in their docking bays as I waited for Hach on a crystal bench. _Is this their first time to the Rings of Orbis?_ I wondered. _Are they here to do business with the Trading Council, or are their bellies filled with aliens looking for a better life?_\n\n\"Keep going if _that's_ what you're looking for,\" I whispered to them.\n\nI tried to remember what the _Renaissance_ had looked like sitting in the same spot after its one-way journey from Earth, but I could not recall ever seeing our ship docked in the spaceport. What would have happened if we had never arrived? I suddenly wondered. Where would I be right now if I had listened to Switzer and helped him escape with the _Renaissance_? Would I have been able to pull it off? I didn't even know I was a softwire back then.\n\nI watched the largest ship unhook and push back, moving like a Samiran in the crystal-cooling tank. The nose of the starcraft pushed away from me as if sniffing out the open space behind it. Suddenly I sprang from the bench and rushed to the window. I wanted to be on that ship! At that very moment, as I pressed against the glass, I wanted nothing more than to feel the thrust of the engines against my chest. I couldn't explain why, but my stomach surged with a huge gulp of regret as the starship disappeared into deep space. Then Hach called for me, and I followed him to our ship.\n\nInside the shuttle to Orbis 4, the drill was familiar. I was placed in a lower cabin while Hach sat in an area reserved for Citizens. _Where would the Scion sit?_ I wondered as I glanced at the empty plastic benches. _If I had chosen to be the Tonat, would I still be sitting here?_\n\n_\"Your actions risk your life, they risk your sister's life . . .\"_\n\nI shook Theylor's dire words from my head and tried to focus on the activity visible through the portal that lined the shuttle's cabin, but the huge passenger shuttles tethered to the spaceport only reminded me of my friend Toll. Would he have approved of my choice? Of course not. He would have insisted I follow in my father's footsteps \u2014 a Space Jumper whom I had never met and whose origin was still a mystery to me. Argh! So many things pointed to a conclusion that I was simply not willing to accept. I was _not_ just some kid from Earth. Neither was Ketheria, _but why_? How did this happen?\n\nEven if it was true, I still refused to become a Space Jumper. I had my reasons, and the most important one was waiting for me on Orbis 4. I had made a promise to Max that I would _never_ become a Space Jumper. I knew full well how much she detested Space Jumpers, and it would kill me to have her think of _me_ like that. I _was_ going to watch over my sister, but I would protect Ketheria in my own way, no matter how difficult that proved to be.\n\nAfter the shuttle pulled away, I must have fallen asleep with my face pressed against the glass. I woke to find Hach standing over me.\n\n\"Get up,\" he ordered. \"We're here.\"\n\nI wiped the drool off the window and looked out at the spaceport of Orbis 4. The ring was in shadow, and the inky darkness was pierced by a multitude of lights that glittered throughout the port. Red beacons flashed across the sky, alerting incoming ships to the tallest buildings inside the port, while glaring white spotlights interrogated the docked spaceships, exposing the fatigue of deep-space travel. Gold, orange, and green lights advertised the locations of the different trading chambers within the port, while frosted blue lights wove their way through the different levels, one after another, like a stream of frozen water. The spaceport on Orbis 4 was a busy place.\n\nMy temples throbbed and I felt nauseous as I jogged to keep up with Hach. Then it dawned on me that this was the farthest I had ever been from Ketheria. Ever since we were young, I had never liked being apart from her for long periods of time, and whenever we were separated, I became distracted by a weird empty feeling that I had always assumed was simply anxiety. I never really paid much attention to it, but after the awakening started, it had become more noticeable. This was the worst I had felt since the start of her awakening, and it was also the farthest I had been from her \u2014 a fact that was not lost on me.\n\nI followed Hach as he marched across the spaceport and through one of the many exits. Once outside, we descended a broad set of stone steps that led into a city. When I caught sight of the city, I gasped. Hach turned and saw me gawking.\n\n\"Welcome to the dumping ring,\" he said.\n\n\"Who calls it that?\"\n\n\"I do. They call it Murat. I believe it was named after some Nagool. Now, come, we have people waiting for us.\"\n\nI followed my Guarantor into the city. Murat looked like a way station, a shantytown constructed from used materials fastened to anything that was standing. Metal and glass structures like you might find on the other rings were buried under an erratic framework of multilevel trading chambers that sold what looked like the worthless trinkets Switzer and Dalton had scavenged on Orbis 2. The ones that sold useful items, like food or tools, were the busiest, but most of the action seemed to come from customers haggling over prices.\n\nAs I was walked deeper into Murat, I noticed that a lot of the signs were painted on boards or scratched right into the concrete and that the central computer did not translate half of them. Along the cramped streets, I also witnessed small fires burning in the open, where aliens roasted small creatures \u2014 skin, fur, and all. The smell was disgusting, as if you had burned the hair on your arm.\n\n\"This is where you work?\" I said.\n\n\"Of course not,\" Hach replied. \"My industries are off-ring, mostly on Ki and Ta. This is where _you_ will work.\"\n\n_What could I possibly do here?_ my mind cried.\n\nI stepped to the side as an alien with a narrow chin and a hunched back scurried toward Hach and offered him what I thought was a chemical analyzer, though the tool was too mangled to be certain. Hach took the used item from him and tossed the alien a tiny crystal in return. Two other aliens emerged from the shadows and pawed at the alien's new bounty. Farther down the path, Hach gave the broken device to another alien, sitting alone in the street.\n\n\"Sad, isn't it?\" he remarked. \"This is what they risked their lives for. They've traded rotation after rotation of indentured service for this meager existence.\"\n\n\"I don't get it,\" I said. \"How do they end up like this?\"\n\n\"It's simple, really. The First Families like what they have, and they work diligently to keep it for themselves. When knudniks complete their work rules, most of them don't have the finances or the skill set required to live as proper Citizens. Do you know what it costs to live on Orbis 3? Even if half the people here pooled their resources, they couldn't afford a dwelling on the ring. Here lies the Rings of Orbis's dirty little secret. And it could be even worse.\"\n\n\"Worse?\"\n\n\"Orbis 4 would be overflowing with refugees if these aliens weren't offered passage through the wormhole after their work rule ended. If I were them, I wouldn't stay here, either.\"\n\n\"But don't the Keepers know about this? I can't imagine them allowing it.\"\n\n\"But that's the genius of the Citizens, especially the Trading Council. You see, the Trading Council controls the wealth. The Keepers do not have to do anything; the Citizens pay for everything, but that leaves the Keepers without any hard currency. Don't get me wrong: the Keepers are wealthier than you can imagine, but they waste their money here. They try to do what they can, but it's a futile effort. There are too many forces working against them.\"\n\n\"But you're on the Council. You sound like you hate this. Why can't you do anything?\"\n\n\"I _was_ on the Trading Council, but I'm not anymore. That is why _you_ are here,\" he said.\n\nHach was no longer a council member! When had that happened? And more important, why?\n\nI must have been gawking. \"Don't worry,\" he said. \"I left the Trading Council of my own accord.\"\n\nThen Hach stopped in front of a private flier. I looked back down the street toward the spaceport. I knew it was rude and dangerous to question my Guarantor, but I had to ask.\n\n\"Why didn't we just \u2014\" I pointed back toward the spaceport.\n\nHach cut me off. \"I wanted you to see Murat. I wanted you to experience the city for yourself. I felt it was important for you to know. You'll understand my motives later.\"\n\nAn alien with thick legs and muscular arms emerged from the ruby-red craft.\n\n\"I trust your trip was satisfactory,\" the alien said.\n\n\"Yes, I believe it was,\" Hach replied, motioning toward me.\n\nThe alien looked at me and smiled. _Another knudnik,_ I thought. It was undeniable. The hopeless look in his eyes gave him away. Did I look like that?\n\nThen the alien reached for the door. I thought he was opening it for Hach, but another alien with taut, glowing-white skin, stepped out of the flier and strode toward me. As he stood up, the skin at the edges of his collar and sleeves seemed to ripple before settling.\n\n\"It's good to see you again, Queykay,\" Hach said, but the candescent alien stepped around my Guarantor without even a glance. Queykay was the same height as Hach but walked with his chin raised, forcing him to look down upon anyone he spoke to. Hach ignored the snub and continued. \"Queykay ba Torel, meet JT. JT, meet your new liaison with the Trading Council. It was not possible for me to be your Guarantor and sit on the Council, but the Trading Coun \u2014\"\n\n\"The Trading Council feels the pulse of its Citizens,\" Queykay interrupted him. \"And we feel it is necessary that a member of our elite supervise the arrival of a Scion, independent of your Guarantor's responsibilities. Besides the honor her presence bestows on the multitude of Citizens on Orbis 4, your sibling's existence creates many security risks. The Tonat cannot be in all places at once.\"\n\n\"I'm not the Tonat,\" I informed him.\n\n\"I thought this was taken care of,\" he said as he turned to Hach.\n\n\"It will be,\" Hach assured him. \"I am aware of the arrangement, and I will deliver as promised.\"\n\n_What arrangement?_\n\nQueykay stared at me, sizing me up before speaking. \"So if you are not the Tonat, then who are you?\" he asked. I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.\n\n\"I'm . . . I \u2014\" I stumbled for an answer. \"I'm the Softwire.\"\n\n_What a stupid answer,_ I thought. I didn't want to do this. I saw the other knudnik get into the flier and took it as my cue to get away from this guy. I tried to step around Queykay, but his hand darted out from his burgundy cape and pressed against my face. His skin felt damp and sickly except where a large crystal ring encircled his finger. Repulsed, I pulled away from him, glancing up his sleeve.\n\n\"But you are still a knudnik,\" he hissed. \"It would be healthy if you remembered that.\"\n\nI didn't like Queykay. It was one of those instant feelings you get. His entire demeanor seemed polished to make me feel inferior. And he was creepy. When I had pulled away from him just then, something rattled my senses. It wasn't even possible, my mind reasoned. For the tiniest moment of time, I swear that I saw a hundred tiny red eyes blink at me from the depth of his black silk shirt. I shook it off. Weird. I hoped I didn't have to be around this guy too much. I did not see a long-lasting friendship in our future.\n\nHach leaned in and mumbled something to Queykay. Then he motioned for me to get in the flier. I slipped into a seat at the back, glad to be out from under Queykay's glare, as the flier lifted above the crowds and then turned toward the ring's edge on my right. After a short trip across the tattered city, the flier settled down atop the only building I could see that appeared to be constructed from a set of plans rather than the wire and guesswork that seemed to hold the rest of the city together.\n\nWhen the flier settled, I waited for my Guarantor to exit first, but he turned to Queykay. He was about to speak when Queykay raised his finger and focused on me. They were both staring when Hach motioned for me to get out.\n\n_My pleasure._\n\nI scrambled out of the flier and moved as far away as possible. While I waited for their conversation to finish, I surveyed what I assumed was my new home. The ship was resting on the lower roof of a multilevel structure, some sort of landing pad, I figured. Behind the flier, about a hundred meters away, I spotted an entrance to the second level \u2014 a curved structure comprised of nothing but tall black windows. I looked for some sign of life but saw none. _Is Max inside?_ I wondered. I hoped so.\n\nI turned away from the black windows and moved to the edge of the lower roof. I glanced below and spotted a long, walled walkway that led away from the front of the building. The concrete path ended at a huge open square. _What does Hach do here?_ I wondered. Or rather, what was _I_ going to do here?\n\n\"It's impressive, isn't it?\" Hach called out.\n\nI turned and saw him walking toward me. Queykay and the flier were nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"Don't worry \u2014 he's gone.\"\n\n\"Would I be punished if I said that I hoped he was gone for good?\"\n\n\"I won't punish you, but don't let _him_ hear that. Just stay out of his way, all right? The Trading Council needs to appear to be in control despite the fact that they were caught completely off guard. They need the Citizens to believe that the Scion is in _their_ pocket. They don't want the Keepers taking all of the credit.\"\n\n\"She's not in their pocket,\" I told him.\n\n\"That doesn't matter. Appearances can have just as much influence as fact.\"\n\n\"It sounds like more politics to me,\" I said. \"What is this place?\"\n\n\"For you? This is home. For me, this is a unique partnership. I hope it does us both some good.\" Then he let out a deep breath and turned away. \"Come, there are some people eager to see you, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Hach?\"\n\nHe turned back toward me. No Citizen I ever met liked to be addressed by a knudnik. Inside I cringed, waiting for his punishment, but none came. \"Yes?\" was all that he said.\n\n\"I was hoping that the work I have to perform, you know, what you want me to do, could keep me close to my sister. I've always looked out for her and \u2014\"\n\nHach interrupted me. \"Don't worry, Softwire. I'm counting on that.\"\n\nI wasn't used to getting my way with a Citizen, but I knew when to keep my mouth shut. If Hach was expecting me to stay close to my sister, then that could only mean that he was counting on me to play the Tonat. Even Queykay seemed to expect it. The way those two had confided in each other made me think they were planning something. _But what?_\n\nI followed Hach toward the wall of black glass. As he neared the middle, he waved something in the air and the glass plates parted in response. When I stepped through the door, I was greeted by a digi three times my height, hanging in a hallway that ran parallel to the curve of the glass. I could see at least twenty digis, lit with pink lights that appeared to float above the polished floor. Some digis showed images of aliens I had never seen while others displayed places I had never visited.\n\nHach had turned right and was marching down the hall. \"This way,\" he called over the echo of his boots striking the glasslike floor.\n\nPast the last of the enormous digis, Hach stopped under the center of an arched doorway, where cooler light spilled out from the room beyond, along with a familiar chatter. I knew instantly who was in there. I rushed past Hach.\n\n\"JT!\" Theodore shouted as I entered the room. He sprang from the floor. Theodore was as tall as I was now, and he had let his hair grow into a shaggy mop. It reminded me of the mane on a Garin, the knudniks that served the Trading Council. Everyone rushed toward me \u2014 all of the eighteen kids who had lived together with Ketheria and me as knudniks on the Rings of Orbis, though we were only a small fraction of the total number of kids from the _Renaissance._\n\nI scanned the room for Max. When I saw her, my stomach tightened and sent a jolt to my heart. She looked up, tucked her hair behind her ear, and smiled. She was so pretty \u2014 I couldn't take my eyes off her. Some of the other kids gathered around me and created a barrier between me and Max before she slipped out of sight entirely.\n\n\"How's Ketheria?\" Grace asked.\n\n\"Where is she?\" asked someone else.\n\nMy replies were quick but friendly. I didn't have the nerve to break through the crowd and go over to Max. Something inside me still hesitated when it came to showing my affection toward her in front of the others.\n\n\"Is the awakening finished?\" Theodore asked.\n\n\"No,\" I answered. \"Ketheria is still with the Nagools.\"\n\nThat's when I noticed Theodore's clothes. He should have been wearing his vest and the tattered clothes he had owned since the _Renaissance,_ but he wasn't.\n\n\"What are you wearing?\" I asked him.\n\n\"This?\" he said, pulling at the burlaplike robe wrapped around his body. \"It's actually quite comfortable. Don't laugh. You have to wear one, too.\"\n\nI looked around. Everyone was wearing these dull robes; some had different-colored cords tied around the middle or scarves draped around their necks.\n\n\"I'm not wearing that,\" I told him.\n\n\"Actually, you won't,\" Hach remarked. \"The Tonat requires something a little different.\"\n\nI looked around and found Max standing behind Grace. I saw her frown when Hach mentioned the word _Tonat._\n\n\"I'm not the Tonat,\" I insisted. \"I have no intention of becoming a Space Jumper.\" I looked directly at Max when I said it.\n\n\"But the others on the ring don't need to know that,\" Hach argued. \"Remember what I said about the power of appearance? I simply need you to _pretend_ to be the Tonat. Will you at least agree to that?\"\n\n\"Pretend? Why would I would I pretend to be something I don't want to be?\"\n\n\"Because that's our new job,\" Max said, now standing to my left and looking at Hach. \"Well, yours, anyway. This whole building has been designed for it. Once Ketheria is finished with the awakening, this building will become a shrine and fees will be charged so others may visit her.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" Hach exclaimed. \"Humans are so much more observant than they give you credit for. Personally, I have no need for these fables. OIO and its teachings have no room in my life, but that doesn't mean there aren't plenty of individuals on the rings who feel differently.\"\n\n\"And will pay a lot for the privilege to see the Scion,\" Max added.\n\n\"As well as the Tonat,\" Hach reminded her. \"The Trading Council sees a great profit in this little charade.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say. I just stared at Hach. Could it be true? Were we going to be put on display like animals in a zoo?\n\n\"What about everyone else?\" I asked.\n\n\"Every deity needs her disciples,\" Hach replied.\n\n\"Ketheria won't go for it.\"\n\n\"I would not count on that. When your sister is delivered to me, she will be well on her path to becoming the Scion.\"\n\nWith that, Hach turned and headed out of the room. \"Queykay will return later with instructions on preparing for the Scion's arrival.\"\n\n\"Queykay?\" I cried.\n\n\"I take it you've met him,\" Max commented.\n\n\"Although I am your Guarantor, the Trading Council's needs supersede any authority I may have over you. They, along with the Keepers, are an integral part of this arrangement. I know you will not like to hear this, but when I am not around, Queykay is in charge. He is to be treated with the same respect you would afford me, if not more.\"\n\n\"You're leaving?\" I called after him. \"But I don't understand. I thought we were working for you.\"\n\nHach stopped at the doorway. \"My new contracts require my presence on Ta. I have simply provided the building to house the Scion. You are in capable hands with Queykay. This is what's best for everyone, you included. Please trust me when I tell you that this arrangement is far too complicated to explain.\"\n\nHach looked at me, waiting for a response, but I said nothing. Anything that I wanted to say would only make matters worse for everyone else.\n\n\"Remember,\" he added, \"you could be sleeping in Murat this cycle, and eating one of those things you saw grilling in the street.\" Then he left. I turned away, grinding the palm of my hand into my forehead.\n\n\"I don't understand what's wrong, JT,\" Grace said. \"I think it's wonderful. One more rotation, and then we're free, with Ketheria as the Scion. I can't think of a better scenario.\"\n\n\"I can think of a few,\" I muttered, glancing at everyone in the room, dressed in those stupid robes. Max caught me looking.\n\n\"What? You don't like them?\" she said, smiling and smoothing out the material on her stomach. \"They're really quite comfortable.\" She came over to me and took my hand. I instantly felt better. \"C'mon, you have to admit this place is better than the trash belts at Weegin's. Remember that radiation gel?\"\n\nI followed Max away from everyone else and out of the back of the room into another glassed hallway. She led me past small pools of water cut into the stone floor and stopped at a crystal bench under a yellow tree that grew right inside the building. The black windows, despite their color, provided an ocean of light, as if a beaming sun were hanging right outside.\n\n\"Are the windows lights?\" I asked, pointing toward them.\n\nShe didn't answer. Instead she grabbed my arm, pulled me close, and kissed me.\n\n\"I've been waiting a long time to do that,\" she said.\n\n\"You can do it again if you like.\"\n\nMax leaned toward me, and this time I kissed her.\n\n\"How long is this going to go on for?\" Theodore interrupted as he walked toward us. Max pulled away.\n\n\"Not long _now,_ \" I complained.\n\n\"Good, because there are some things we need to discuss,\" he said, and thrust something in my face. It looked like the taps we used to get at the Illuminate on Orbis 3.\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked him.\n\n\"Queykay has us handing them out all over Murat,\" Max said.\n\n\"No one refuses them,\" Theodore added. \"Some people even try to resell them.\"\n\nI poked into the tap with my softwire. Accessing something like a tap was almost as easy as breathing for me now. I no longer thought about the mechanics; I simply concentrated on the outcome, and the contents of the device filled my thoughts. The tap contained moving images of Ketheria with the glow all about her. She was smiling and touching people softly, people who were kneeling in front of her. Some were crying, some rejoicing. It was all strangely eerie, as if Ketheria were some sort of god. This was followed by more images of crowds streaming up the walkway that led to this building. The fictitious events played out inside my head stronger than my most vivid memories.\n\n\"I don't get it. Ketheria has never been here before,\" I said.\n\n\"It's an advertisement,\" Max informed me.\n\n\"The Trading Council is going to have Ketheria hold sermons or something,\" Theodore said.\n\n\"Hach knows about this?\"\n\nMax nodded.\n\n\"What does it mean? They're using _us_ to start a religion?\"\n\n\"OIO is not a religion,\" she argued.\n\n\"But some aliens distort it for their own gain,\" Theodore said. \"They prey on those who worship the Ancients.\"\n\n\"He's right,\" Max said. \"I think that's what the Trading Council is attempting to do here, but OIO is actually a philosophy. It's the art and science of cosmic energy. It helps you to interpret the events in your life so you might gain control. They believe that everything, even your thoughts, goes out into the cosmic soup and has the potential to affect everyone else. Through this energy, we are connected with everything in the universe, no matter how close or how far. Nagools try to master this energy, releasing only constructive energy while avoiding deconstructive energy. But even they look at the arrival of Ketheria as a messiah, as if she's going to help them tip the scales of the deconstructive energy they claim plagues our universe.\"\n\n\"They think it's that bad?\" I asked.\n\nTheodore scoffed. \"Have you seen it out there? This place is a hellhole.\"\n\n\"And Hach is trying to capitalize on this?\" I said.\n\n\"The Trading Council is. I'm certain of it,\" Theodore whispered.\n\n\"Queykay has been the one making us hand out the taps,\" Max reminded him. \"I think most of Hach's work is with mining or something.\"\n\n\"You just wander around the city handing out taps? Isn't Queykay afraid we're going to try to escape?\"\n\n\"Where would we go? This is by far the best place on the ring. Besides, our staining would make it easy for them to find us.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"It doesn't make sense.\"\n\n\"Yes, it does. Hach is a Citizen,\" Theodore reminded me.\n\n\"I know, but you remember him, don't you? Remember how he acted toward that other Citizen at Odran's party?\"\n\nMax was nodding. \"The one who didn't like knudniks much? I think her name was Pheitt.\"\n\n\"Hach was golden.\" Theodore smiled.\n\n\"I can't picture him doing this. Why would he want to start a religion? You said he was into mining? This doesn't make sense.\"\n\n\"Well, he's doing it,\" Theodore insisted.\n\n\"Vairocina?\" I called out. \"You can show yourself. It's just us.\"\n\nParticles of light pooled in front of us, and a figure began to form. Vairocina had started changing her appearance ever since she had begun projecting her holograph for us. Each time it seemed as if she was trying to look a little older. Her new look was not lost on Theodore, who always straightened up whenever Vairocina appeared.\n\n\"Hi, V!\" Theodore gushed.\n\n\"Hello, Theodore. Hello, everyone.\"\n\nI looked at Theodore and mouthed, _\"V?\"_ He only shrugged.\n\n\"Hi, Vairocina,\" I said. \"I know I'm always asking for your help, but . . . well, I need your help again.\"\n\n\"You know I will always help you in any way I can.\"\n\n\"Thank you. This time I was wondering if you could help us with our new Guarantor. Hach told me earlier that he gained possession of us from Charlie.\"\n\n\"He did?\" Max interrupted, and I nodded to her.\n\n\"Can you check and see how that happened? I can't figure out when Charlie had any interactions with Hach. Charlie never mentioned him. It just seems strange that he would leave us to Hach. Will you see if you can dig anything up?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" she replied.\n\n\"Did you ever find out how Charlie got all that wealth when he became a Citizen?\" Max asked her.\n\n\"After his demise, I was certain you wouldn't be interested anymore. I did find a trail, but it ended at the Keepers.\"\n\n\"The Keepers?\" I said.\n\n\"Do you wish me to look further?\"\n\n\"No. You're right. It's not important anymore, but I would appreciate any information about Hach and how we came into his possession.\"\n\n\"I'm on it already,\" she said, smiling and blinking.\n\n\"Bye, V!\" Theodore said.\n\n\"Good-bye, Theodore.\"\n\nVairocina's image mixed with the light in the room, and then she was gone.\n\n\"You _like_ her,\" Max squealed.\n\n\"I do not,\" Theodore said.\n\n\"Yes, you do!\"\n\nTheodore shot me a look. \"Don't look at me,\" I argued. \"I mean, you do act a little . . . weird whenever she's around.\"\n\n\"Me? _I'm_ weird? Maybe I should leave so you guys can get back to sucking on each other's faces.\"\n\n\"Theodore!\" Max exclaimed, but I was nodding, hoping my friend would leave quickly.\n\n#\n\nAnother entire phase passed and still there was no sign of Ketheria. I was nervous, and to make matters worse, Theylor had not sent me a single screen scroll updating me on my sister's condition. _How long does this step of the awakening take?_ I worried.\n\nI was lying in my sleeper, squeezing my temples with the palms of my hands, when Theodore barged into my room. The pain in my head had been coming in waves ever since I woke.\n\n\"Come on, malf!\" Theodore cried, but then stopped short. \"What's wrong with you?\" he said.\n\n\"Don't get too close,\" I groaned. \"I just might throw up on you.\"\n\n\"We have a lot of these taps to deliver,\" he complained while hoisting up a large blue sack. \"How are you going to help if you look like that?\"\n\n\"I can't. You go. Queykay's not here, is he?\"\n\n\"I don't know. He might have left already. He did ask for you, though. Max covered. She'll be here in a sec.\"\n\nI sat up, making the pain worse, as if my brain were trying to squeeze out around my eyes. I couldn't help but think of Ketheria and the glow.\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I can't. Tell Max I'm not feeling well or something. Tell her I'll catch up with you guys later.\"\n\n\"She thinks you're avoiding her, you know.\"\n\n\"Did she say that?\"\n\n\"Not exactly.\"\n\n\"I'm not doing this on purpose. I can't control it. I go from zero to puke in a nanosecond. Can you imagine if I tossed in front of Max? Not to mention while I was kissing her!\"\n\nTheodore cringed. \"No. I don't want to imagine that.\" He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. \"Argh! Too late. All right, I'll cover for you again. Get some sleep, but you'll have to do them _all_ next cycle.\"\n\nI nodded as Theodore left. Then I lay down, careful to place my head on the sleeper as gently as possible. I was aching to see Max, but not like this. I tried to avoid her whenever I felt this way. I knew it wasn't right, but I couldn't face the alternative. After a few moments on my back, another wave of nausea crested in my throat and I jumped off my sleeper despite the cries from my splitting head. I made it to the bathroom just before I threw up.\n\nSatisfied that my stomach was empty and hoping that the others had already left to flood Murat with more propaganda, I set off to find the chow synth. I still hadn't adjusted to the layout of the building, so every stroll was an adventure. The place was enormous. I swear it was as big as a space station, but I needed some water. Outside my room I saw a knudnik pulling a train of double-shelved carts filled with bowls and flowers. The alien deftly maneuvered the six or seven linked carts around the corner; none of them even came close to scraping the wall. It had been like this for the whole phase. Knudniks and construction-bots were everywhere. Queykay was building some sort of shrine in preparation for Ketheria's arrival, but I didn't care. It just meant that Ketheria would be here soon.\n\nI was following the train-pulling knudnik down an enormous hallway when I heard Max and Theodore coming toward me.\n\n\"This is ridiculous. If he's this sick, then he needs to see a doctor, Theodore,\" I heard Max say.\n\nI was trapped. If I headed back in the direction of my room, I was certain she would see me. What would I say to her?\n\n\"Trust me, Max. I saw him. He's in no condition to see anyone,\" Theodore said.\n\nThe knudnik with the carts stopped, as if he, too, were reacting to their voices. For a moment I thought about crawling into the cart, but I didn't see anything that could hide me.\n\n\"This is stupid,\" I muttered. _Just deal with it,_ I thought.\n\nThen the wall to my right seemed to split apart as two seamless stone doors swung open. A couple of Argandians, squat knudniks with yellow, scaled bellies, waddled through the opening. The alien pulling the carts greeted them, and they continued down the hall in the direction of Max and Theodore.\n\nI dove inside the room before the doors swung closed.\n\nI waited for my eyes to adjust to the light, or the lack of it. A soft blue glow arched around the perimeter, but it was not enough for me to see anything. I groped the wall, looking for some sort of control panel that I might push into, but I found only smooth stone, cold and indifferent under my fingertips. _What is this place?_ I wondered. I walked slowly toward the blue glow. _That light has to be controlled by something,_ I thought. I reached out in front of me, swiping at the air for any obstacles lurking in the dark, when _BAM!_ I hit my shin on something hard and sharp. The pain bolted up my leg, and when I reached down, expecting to find blood, I struck my forehead on another stupid barrier.\n\n\"Of all the \u2014!\" I yelled, and then I was gone.\n\nAt first I didn't know what had happened, but the rancid smell of feet gave it away. I had _jumped._ I hadn't tried to jump; I just did. _But how?_\n\nThe smell of feet was too much for my weak stomach, and I unloaded the meager contents of my stomach onto my boots. Embarrassed, I wiped my mouth and looked around. Thankfully, there was no one watching. I was alone in an alley, except for a bunch of garbage and busted shipping crates that gave no clue to my whereabouts. As I moved away from the smell of my own vomit, the space rippled while the light closed in, forming a single point. It meant only one thing to me.\n\nSpace Jumpers.\n\nTwo of them surfaced on either side of me \u2014 tall, imposing figures clad in silvery chest plates and thick leather boots. One wore a helmet that covered half of his face. Him I recognized, from my encounter last phase on Orbis 1, but the other I had never seen before.\n\n\"You again,\" the familiar one grunted.\n\n\"For a group of individuals who are supposed to be banished from the Rings of Orbis, you sure do show up a lot,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Here, take this,\" the masked Jumper ordered. \"Keep it with you at all times.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" I asked, holding up the smooth disc he'd handed me.\n\n\"That device informs us that it's just you trouncing through space,\" he replied.\n\n\"So we don't have to babysit you anymore,\" the other spat.\n\nThe new Space Jumper glared at him before telling me, \"What you're doing is illegal, and we have no way of telling who you are without a belt. This is for your own safety.\"\n\n\"We should arrest the _popper,_ \" the surly one complained. \"Let him spend a few rotations in slow-time.\"\n\n\"Take it up with the Trust,\" the other Space Jumper snapped at him. \"You have your orders.\"\n\n\"How do I get back?\" I asked him.\n\n\"You're smart; figure it out,\" one of them replied, and then they were gone.\n\n\"Wait!\" But there was no one left to answer. The Space Jumpers had left me there, and I had no idea where _there_ was. I tried to jump back home, but nothing happened. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my new home, but still \u2014 nothing. I simply remained there as motionless as the metal crates that surrounded me, only feeling a little more stupid.\n\n\"Great. Now what?\"\n\nI stepped away from the crates and found myself behind a small group of trading chambers. _Is this Murat?_ I wondered. I had no idea. I could be anywhere, couldn't I? I mean, I had no clue how I was jumping, let alone where. _Spontaneous space jumping?_ _This is great,_ I thought. I knew everything about my softwire abilities but nothing about this new, uncontrollable ability to move through space. I knew that Space Jumpers were softwires, but they all used belts to jump. I also knew that the Trust trained softwires to jump, but I had no training. So how was I jumping without a belt?\n\nSuddenly I wished Charlie were there. He never answered much, either, but at least he had a way of making me feel better about not knowing anything.\n\nThe streets were clogged with aliens as scruffy-looking as the tiny trading chambers wedged together, some even built right on top of one another. I saw stuff for sale that wasn't much better than the scraps we used to throw out at Weegin's World. Max was right. If this _was_ Murat, Murat was a dump. _How do these aliens even survive?_ I wondered. I was waiting for an opening in the traffic of well-worn trams and smoking cargo hovers when I heard my name.\n\n\"Johnny Turnbull!\"\n\nI spun around and saw a Keeper disembarking from one of those circular fliers.\n\n\"Drapling?\"\n\n\"How are you, child?\" Drapling said, rushing toward me.\n\nDrapling was my least favorite Keeper. From the moment I met him on Orbis 1, he had treated us humans with such contempt that I had always tried to avoid him. But then he had changed. It started after the staining on Orbis 2. Now Drapling was . . . well, nice. Almost too nice. I wondered if he'd known about Ketheria and me back then. Did he _have_ to be nice to us now for some reason? I didn't know, and I knew he would never tell me. Drapling was just like everyone else. Despite his new friendly attitude, he still had that look on his face and that slight pause before he spoke, as if he were going over some list of rules in his head, deciding what information he could divulge without really telling me anything.\n\n\"Hi, Drapling,\" I said. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"Someone informed me of your misfortune,\" he said as his left head smiled.\n\n\"Someone? How did you find me?\"\n\nDrapling held up a small device, cradling it in his long bluish fingers. \"I told you the staining would help us protect you.\"\n\n\"From whom?\" I mumbled.\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"Drapling, I'm sure you must have better things to do than chase an errant knudnik around the rings. Besides, what are you doing on Orbis 4, anyway?\"\n\nDrapling was next to me now. He was trying to shake his left head, but it just sort of wobbled. He wasn't that good at Earth gestures. \"Keepers spend most of their time on this ring,\" he said. \"You have no idea about our work on this ring, do you?\"\n\n\"So we're on Orbis 4?\"\n\n\"Yes. Let me show you what we do.\"\n\nI felt awkward walking through the streets with Drapling, almost as if we were friends. He informed me that I was somewhere on the far side of Murat. He asked if I was hungry and how I'd gotten here. They were simple questions, nothing too probing, since I didn't know myself. I asked him when Ketheria was coming.\n\n\"Soon,\" he replied.\n\n\"That's all you know?\"\n\n\"No one can say for sure. Remember, this is only the beginning of her awakening. It will take your sister a while to adjust to her new responsibilities. The Nagools will help her through each step. Ketheria will know when she is ready.\"\n\nHow my sister even had a clue about what was happening to her was beyond me.\n\n\"Why here?\" I said.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Drapling replied.\n\n\"Why this place? I mean, if Ketheria is going to be so important, why are they bringing her to a dump like Murat? Is it because of our work rule? Somehow I think Ketheria would be better served on a different ring.\"\n\n\"That is where you are wrong,\" Drapling said. \"Murat needs her the most, and it is here she will find her strongest advocates.\"\n\n\"You mean, this is the place with the most knudniks who are willing to give up what little they own to have an audience with her?\"\n\nDrapling stopped and turned toward me. Both his heads were focused on me, and they were both frowning. \"You know so little,\" he whispered. \"You have much to learn.\"\n\n\"I couldn't agree more, but the funny thing is that no ones ever tells me the truth.\"\n\n\"Let us try to change that. Shall we start here?\" Drapling said, gesturing toward a slanted glass building flanked by several impressive spires.\n\n\"What happens here?\"\n\n\"I'll show you,\" he said, and stepped toward the building.\n\nThe doors disappeared, and I followed Drapling inside. I noticed that the air in the building was much cooler, like in the Keepers' home below Magna. Even the glass walls changed the light to a bluish color similar to the tone down in the caverns. I saw dozens of Keepers strolling across the atrium and even more knudniks waiting on narrow benches that lined the long room.\n\n\"When their work rules are completed, many former knudniks are unable to adapt to the Citizens' way of life. We help arrange passage for them through the wormhole. This allows them to find another planet more suited to their needs.\"\n\n\"So you just get rid of them?\"\n\n\"The Descendants of Light struggle every cycle to improve the living conditions of new Citizens. Some don't want to leave, and we help them as well.\"\n\nI looked at the aliens sitting, waiting. Would that be me at the end of the rotation? Assuming the Citizens declare my work rule finished, that is. Each alien looked either worried or just plain exhausted. Had they failed? Was their dream to live as Citizens on the Rings of Orbis simply a bust?\n\n\"So if I understand this correctly, the Trading Council makes promises of a better life to lure knudniks here, but it's a promise they never plan to keep. When these individuals learn they've been lied to, you ship them off to another world. Problem solved.\" I turned to Drapling. \"Do you like doing the Council's dirty work?\"\n\n\"Your judgment is too harsh. It is quite expensive to live on the Rings of Orbis, despite our best efforts. Many Citizens are descendants of the First Families, and their wealth is, well, unimaginable. It makes it impossible for the newcomers to compete.\"\n\n\"Or maybe the Citizens just like it that way. Isn't it true that when you become a Citizen, you receive a percentage of the proceeds from the crystals harvested from the moon?\" I said.\n\n\"That is correct, but before you can receive your share, you must first establish a place of residence and prove to the Trading Council that you are a stable and contributing member of this society.\"\n\n\"So then the other Citizens aren't too big on sharing what they have with these new Citizens, especially the ones who used to slave for them.\"\n\nDrapling looked at me but said nothing. Then he leaned in and whispered to me, \"Some observations are better kept to oneself. Especially since there is a new Scion on the horizon.\" He nudged me toward the door and then in a louder tone said, \"You know, many of those who want to stay on the rings reapply for work rule. I admit the circumstances are slightly different, but it does give the new Citizens more time to establish their residency.\"\n\n\"You mean they volunteer to be knudniks again?\" I was astonished.\n\n\"Queykay is one such alien,\" Drapling informed me. \"The rules become a little blurred at times, but look at Queykay. He is a very respected Citizen on the rings now. He even sits on the Trading Council, and he was once a knudnik, just like you.\"\n\nI still didn't like him any better.\n\n\"But despite the success of a few individuals like Queykay, many do struggle. I cannot deny that, but Ketheria will change everything.\" Drapling was whispering again. \"She will give us hope. She can restore the dream that was the Rings of Orbis. This is where she belongs.\"\n\n\"You mean _them,_ \" I corrected him.\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"You said she would give _us_ hope. Don't you mean _them_?\" I said, pointing to the aliens on the benches. \"I think the Keepers already have it pretty good around here. How can the Scion help the Keepers?\"\n\n\"I believe I was referring to the work class here on the rings. You must be mistaken.\"\n\nHe said _us._ I was sure of it.\n\nHe lifted his hand toward the exit. I took this as my cue to leave.\n\n\"If you ever find yourself lost, I want you to know that you can come here,\" he said. \"And if you are ever in trouble, please tell your friend in the computer to find me. I will come immediately.\"\n\nI looked at Drapling as he walked ahead of me back onto the streets of Murat. He was up to something.\n\n\"Drapling?\"\n\nHe stopped and turned. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"What are you up to? What do you want?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Let's face it. When we first met, you were not this nice to me, or to any of us, for that matter. Does this have anything to do with Ketheria?\"\n\n\"How can you say that? I remember several instances where my actions displayed nothing but kindness toward you.\"\n\n\"Yeah, ever since the staining. Is that when you realized Ketheria was the Scion? What are you trying to get from us?\"\n\n\"You are forgetting Odran's. Do you not remember my concern for your well-being when Odran forced you into the crystal-cooling tank? That was well before your staining.\"\n\n\"But you still let me get inside,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"The sanctity of the rings was at stake. Everyone was at risk, not just you.\"\n\nBoy, he was good at lying.\n\n\"JT!\"\n\nI turned and saw Max waving at me from across the street. I was glad that I was feeling better. Theodore and the others were marching down a narrow path that separated the stacks of trading chambers. I must admit that they were an imposing group dressed in their matching robes.\n\n\"Your friends can show you the way home, JT,\" Drapling said.\n\n\"Thanks for your help, Drapling.\"\n\n\"Remember, do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything,\" he said, and then he slipped away.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" Theodore asked. \"And was that Drapling?\"\n\n\"It's a long story. What are you guys doing?\"\n\n\"We're all done,\" Max exclaimed, holding up an empty sack. \"Let's get something to eat.\"\n\n\"We don't have any money,\" I said.\n\n\"Wait until you see what these robes can get us.\"\n\nMax led us to a narrow eating-house a few streets away. Tables were constructed from scraps of metal that looked like they were torn right off one of the shuttles.\n\n\"Far cry from the Earth News Caf\u00e9, huh?\" Theodore whispered.\n\n\"Yeah, but the food's good,\" one of the other kids remarked.\n\n\"I still don't know how we're going to pay,\" I said.\n\n\"Watch and learn,\" Max boasted.\n\nAfter we entered the caf\u00e9, an alien leaped out from behind the tiled counter. \"You're back! I'm honored,\" he shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. \"Do you see who my caf\u00e9 attracts?\" he added, addressing the other patrons. \"Sit, sit! I will bring you my finest dish. No charge. Nothing but the best for those who share their existence with the Scion.\"\n\nI was attempting to decipher the caf\u00e9's odd odor \u2014 pungent spices mixed with a strong detergent \u2014 when the round little alien spotted me. His mouth hung open and he pushed past the other kids. The alien dropped to his knees and began rubbing my feet with his thick hands. He was mumbling something, but I couldn't understand a word.\n\n\"Please don't do that,\" I whispered.\n\nThe alien bolted upright and said, \"Whatever you ask me, I will do. Please sit. I, Kasha, will serve you personally.\"\n\nHe led me to a seat near the front and shoved a patron off one of the short stools. He cleared the table with the sweep of his hand. Everyone in the caf\u00e9 turned and looked.\n\n\"Dodu! Clean this mess!\" he shouted, and an alien appeared at his side, snatching the broken dishes off the floor.\n\n\"Is this comfortable for you?\" Kasha asked me.\n\n\"Please don't do this,\" I told him. \"Please don't make a fuss.\" He saw me looking at the other patrons.\n\n\"I understand. The Tonat wishes to have privacy. I will respect this.\" Kasha stood up and clapped his hands. Four aliens rushed from the back, dragging metal stands, each draped with purple cloth. Kasha directed them to place the dividers around my table. I only groaned and shook my head.\n\n\"You're coming out with us more often,\" Theodore gushed, stepping around the cloth dividers with the others.\n\nI looked at Max. Her pained expression rattled me more than the caf\u00e9's odor.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said to her.\n\n\"It's not your fault,\" she mumbled.\n\n\"Are you crazy?\" one of the kids said, eavesdropping on our conversation. \"You've got it made here, JT.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" I told him.\n\nMax sat to my right while Theodore sat across from me. Grace dragged a stool across the floor and squeezed next to Max. She and Max had grown closer, ever since Grace started hanging out with the tall boy with black hair. I couldn't remember his name because he was always changing it. Even on the _Renaissance_ he was always trying different names, the same way Ketheria would rummage through other people's clothes and try on different shirts.\n\nThe other kids were also trying to squeeze through the dividers, and the table was getting a little crowded.\n\n\"This is ridiculous,\" I said, standing up and pushing back the dividers.\n\nKasha flew to my side, wringing his hands. \"Is something wrong?\" he gasped.\n\n\"We don't need these, Kasha. Thank you, but we can eat without them,\" I told him.\n\n\"As you wish.\" Kasha clapped his hands once more. The aliens returned and dragged the barriers away, scraping the metal against the concrete floor. Some of the other patrons were staring now. Not my favorite feeling in the world, that's for sure.\n\nI sat back down. \"A lot of people on Murat act like him,\" Theodore pointed out.\n\n\"It's weird. I don't like it,\" I told him.\n\n\"Better get used to it,\" Grace said. \"Especially when Ketheria gets here.\"\n\nThat worried me even more.\n\n\"Forget Kasha. I'm just glad you were feeling well enough to join us,\" Max said, slipping her hand onto my knee. My mind became focused on her warm touch. \"How did you find us?\"\n\n\"I jumped here. Can you believe it?\"\n\n\"What?\" she said, pulling her hand off my knee. The empty space now felt like a hole in my leg.\n\n\"Wait, it's not like that. It was an accident.\"\n\n\"Well, you're acting like it's golden to be one of those vile mercenaries.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not,\" I pleaded. \"You know I don't want to be a Space Jumper. I told them, no way. You have to believe me. I told the Keepers. I told Hach. I told everyone. I didn't _try_ to jump. I couldn't control it.\"\n\n\"I believe you, but do you really think the Citizens on the rings will? Do you think they're just going to let you pop around the rings as you please? You know how they feel about Space Jumpers around here. If someone sees you and complains, you'll be banished for sure, whether you _say_ you're a Space Jumper or not.\"\n\nI never thought about that. \"I guess you're right,\" I mumbled. I was staring at my feet. How could I have been so stupid? If I were banished, I would never see Max again.\n\n\"You have to start thinking like that, JT. We're still knudniks.\"\n\n\"I'm the last person you have to remind.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\nI looked up at Max, but she was already talking to Grace as if the two of them had been in conversation the entire spoke. Max hated anything to do with space jumping, especially when it involved me.\n\n\"What do you mean by 'an accident'?\" Theodore asked.\n\nI turned to Theodore and sighed. \"It was weird,\" I said. \"I was roaming around in the dark, trying to find some sort of control panel, when I bumped into something and the next thing I knew I was at the back of some trading chamber in Murat.\"\n\n\"How did you do that?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I didn't _try_ to jump, it just happened,\" I whispered.\n\n\"You better get that looked at.\"\n\n\"Get what looked at? It's not like I have some sort of switch that I turn on and off. I don't even have a belt.\"\n\nI sat back as Kasha and the others arrived with bowls of steaming liquid and placed them in front of us. I could see chunks of meat and vegetables bobbing in the brown stew. It smelled like cinnamon and apples.\n\n\"This is the dish my father served to me as a boy. An ancient recipe my people share during the Hudshuka. Now I make it for you. Please, enjoy!\" Kasha exclaimed.\n\nKasha passed out an assortment of mismatched spoons, one to each of us, and then crowded in next to me. He was grinning wildly, waiting for me to try his dish. I only asked the Universe that it would taste as good as it smelled.\n\nI dipped the spoon into the bowl and scooped up the broth, trying to avoid the chunks of meat until I knew what they were. I lifted the spoon to my lips, blowing on it gently. Kasha leaned in even closer as I tasted it. It was sweet with a meaty thickness. I liked it. I smiled and nodded to Kasha. \"It's good,\" I told him. \"Really good. Thank you.\"\n\nKasha bolted upright and clapped his hands. \"He likes it! He _really_ likes it! The Tonat likes my _hudspa._ The Tonat is eating at my caf\u00e9. I will rename this dish after the Tonat,\" he cried, turning back toward me.\n\n\"I am not the Tonat,\" I seethed through clenched teeth.\n\n\"I don't understand. You _are_ the Tonat. You will be the greatest Space Jumper ever to step on these rings, and _you_ ate my food.\"\n\n\"I am not the Tonat!\" I yelled. I felt my face flush with rage. Kasha was staring at me. \"Stop looking at me!\" I slammed my fists on the table.\n\nAnd then I was gone \u2014 again.\n\nI tumbled backward onto a soft patch of grass and leaves, my hands still ringing from the contact with Kasha's table.\n\n\"This is ridiculous!\" I screamed, and fell back onto the ground. It was darker here, wherever _here_ was. I looked up at the lights sparkling on the far side of the ring. Was that Murat? There were more patches of twinkling lights spread across the ring but none in the vicinity of where I landed. Where was I now?\n\n\"Vairocina!\"\n\nDrapling sent a small shuttle to pick me up. By the time I arrived back home, everyone was already sleeping.\n\n\"That's a nasty tic you've picked up. I hope you don't make it a habit,\" said Queykay, stepping out from the shadows.\n\n\"Tell me about it,\" I replied. I tried to slip past him, but he reached out and caught me by the shoulder. I turned and looked at him. _What now?_ I thought, but Queykay didn't say anything. He just stared at me, studying my face. It was creeping me out.\n\n\"It's not my fault, Queykay.\"\n\nHe pulled his lips back, sucking in air as if charging his lungs to speak. His teeth were narrow and pointed and just as white as his skin.\n\n\"What!\" I asked.\n\n\"The Scion arrives next cycle. You may not be the Tonat, but I'm certain she will ask for you. Do not mess this up.\"\n\n\"Ketheria? Ketheria is coming?\"\n\nThe alien let go of my shoulder and turned away without a word.\n\n\"Queykay!\" I called after him. \"Mess what up?\" But he was already gone.\n\n#\n\nI woke the next cycle to the hum of cart-bots. I stepped outside my room and saw a dozen motorized baskets writhing through the corridors like the jointed tail of a sea dragon. The only other time I had seen this much commotion was during the preparations for the Harvest of Life back on Orbis 2, and that only happened once every seventy rotations. I reached out and snatched a peachlike item from a bowl of fruit. It was one of the few items I could actually recognize on the carts, besides the enormous bouquets of flowers.\n\nI stopped a Honine carrying three bolts of silk and asked him, \"What's all this for?\"\n\n\"The Scion is coming,\" he gushed, and hurried past me.\n\n\"When?\" I yelled after him in vain.\n\nI turned to go back into my room and found Max standing in the doorway.\n\n\"Hi,\" I said softly.\n\n\"Can we talk?\" she said.\n\n\"Sure.\"\n\nOnce we were inside my room, the door closed behind us. The building was big enough that each of us had our own room, but they weren't really more than large closets with a sleeper. Max found a spot on the floor and leaned back on a pillow against the wall.\n\n\"I'm sorry about last cycle,\" she said. \"I didn't realize how bad it was.\"\n\n\"Me neither. That's what I tried to explain to you.\"\n\n\"You don't have to, JT. As much as I don't want to accept it, you _are_ a Space Jumper.\"\n\n\"I'm _not_ a Space Jumper. Being a Space Jumper requires training. It's something I have to choose, and I haven't chosen it.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"You know why not.\"\n\n\"Say it again anyway.\"\n\n\"Max!\"\n\nMax stood up and wrapped her arms around me. \"Say it,\" she whispered.\n\nWhen Max was this close to me, I usually wasted most of my time worrying about when it was going to end. This time I forced myself to focus on Max.\n\n\"It's because of you. I'm doing it for you. You know that.\"\n\nMax pushed me away.\n\n\"For _us_!\" she said.\n\n\"That's what I meant. I made you a promise.\"\n\n\"But you understand _why,_ don't you? I don't want you to do this just for me.\"\n\n\"But Max, I don't really understand.\"\n\n\"Space Jumpers are horrible, JT. They're trained for one purpose \u2014 to destroy things. They're hired killers, just like Neewalkers. They have no life outside of the Trust, and they certainly don't get to make any choices for themselves. I know that's not you, JT. If you choose that path, there will never be an _us_!\"\n\nI slumped on her pillow.\n\n\"I don't know who I am anymore, Max. When I came to the Rings of Orbis, I just wanted a home. A place to belong, to grow up. A place to have some _fun._ But I don't get to have any of that.\"\n\n\"Me neither, but we still _can._ We simply need to stay out of their way. The Keepers, the Space Jumpers, the Citizens, the Neewalkers, they've been fighting since the beginning of time. They're not going to stop whether you're a Space Jumper or not.\"\n\n\"Then what _am_ I, Max? I'm certainly not normal.\"\n\n\"You're mine,\" she said, and climbed into my lap. \"That's all I care about.\"\n\n\"I know _that._ \"\n\nMax frowned.\n\n\"I mean, c'mon, Max. They're not telling us everything. First the softwire thing, then Ketheria becomes the Scion, now I'm bouncing through space if I sneeze. I don't get it. It has to mean _something._ I'm really beginning to believe we're here for some other purpose.\"\n\nMax didn't say anything. She just stared at me for an uncomfortably long time.\n\n\"What?\" I said.\n\n\"No, we're not. We're a bunch of kids from Earth. You've said that a million times. It's just a freak coincidence what happened to you and Ketheria. How come no one else from the _Renaissance_ has any of these abilities or powers? Don't you find _that_ strange? If someone had planned this, then why aren't we all softwires, or Scions, or Space Jumpers? Why just you guys? Look, we have one rotation left, and then we can go do what we want. They'll forget about us, pin their hopes on some new knudnik, and we can live life the way you always said we would.\"\n\n\"That's another thing. What's _that_ going to be like? I don't think I can live like those other knudniks in Murat. It's horrible.\"\n\nMax sat back. \"I know,\" she mumbled. \"And it's so sad. Do you know some of them become knudniks again?\"\n\n\"Drapling told me. I'm certainly not going to make that choice.\"\n\nMax kissed me. \"We'll figure it out together, all right? Nothing's changed. Everything is still the same. Nothing will come between us.\"\n\nThere was the sound of a chime in the room, and then the door opened. Queykay was standing there. I thought I noticed him grimace slightly when he saw Max in my lap.\n\n\"Your sister is here,\" he said. \"She's asking for you.\"\n\nBefore I realized what I was doing, I had pushed Max away from me and rushed toward the door.\n\n\"JT!\" Max complained.\n\nI turned and found her on the ground. Had I pushed her that hard?\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said, and helped her off the floor. I made a mental note to make it up to her later.\n\n\"I want to see her, too,\" Max said, pushing me out of the room.\n\nIt was easy to tell where Ketheria was. All the knudniks who had been working in the building were now crowded around the open door of the room where I'd made my first unwanted jump. Max and I tried to nudge our way through the crowd, but they were having none of that. I looked at Queykay, and he rolled his eyes.\n\n\"Move back!\" he demanded, and the crowd parted. Then he turned to me and said, \"The Citizens should be thankful that you're not the Tonat. I doubt you could make the Scion's enemies very nervous.\"\n\nI ignored Queykay and examined the circular room. It was filled with Citizens and bathed in a soft blue light from huge crystals lodged in the ceiling. Some aliens were draped in clothes that sparkled under the godly light, while others wore fitted suits with their Citizen's emblem displayed prominently, as if their arrogance wasn't enough to announce their status. I found Ketheria engulfed in some sort of ceremonial chair at the center of the room under the brightest crystal. I could swear the air around her seemed to sparkle. She was dressed in a pure white version of the robes we all wore.\n\n\"Wow,\" Max whispered.\n\nI hung back, watching the crowd watch Ketheria. With each delicate move she made, an anxious shiver rippled through the crowd. Ketheria's hair seemed fuller and longer, covering most of the silver band that was still wrapped around her head. The amber crystal at the center glowed brighter than I remembered.\n\n\"She looks different,\" Max said.\n\n\"It's scary,\" I said.\n\n\"These people worship her.\"\n\n\"That's even scarier.\"\n\nAliens dressed in navy jumpsuits and masked in ashen helmets that extended beyond their chins to form narrow chest plates kept the perimeter of the room clear. Queykay strode along the open passage, and Max and I followed. When we stepped onto the riser supporting Ketheria and her chair, she saw us.\n\n\"JT!\" she exclaimed. She stood up and glided over to hug me. I swear her feet never touched the ground.\n\nOver her shoulder, I watched the crowd react to her affection. Their admiration now seemed to consume me as well.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" I whispered. \"The last time I saw you, you didn't look too good. I was worried.\"\n\n\"I'm wonderful,\" she said, squeezing me tighter. \"I feel fantastic.\"\n\nShe pulled away and then hugged Max. \"I've missed you so much,\" she gushed.\n\n\"Me, too,\" Max replied.\n\nThen Ketheria took Max's hand and placed it in mine. She smiled at Max, and I felt my skin flush. Then I saw them. Her eyes. Ketheria's pupils were gone. Well, they were still there, but they were strange-looking. As if the glow was still circulating through her eyes, weaving through her irises, surfacing occasionally, and then settling back where her pupils once were. I caught Max staring.\n\n\"There's so much to do,\" Ketheria exclaimed. \"So much.\"\n\n\"What?\" I asked. \"What do you have to do?\"\n\n\"We! _We_ get to do it.\"\n\nJust then Queykay began to address the crowd. \"The Trading Council is pleased with your presence. The honorable Citizen Hach Ba Fay and myself welcome you, our closest friends, to this privileged viewing, but as you are aware, the Scion will not receive guests until the next phase,\" Queykay announced. \"The Scion must begin her work. Believe me when I tell you how excited I am that the Universe has chosen a Scion from among us. It echoes our belief that the Rings of Orbis are truly an important place. Again, the Trading Council thanks you for your patronage, and we are looking forward to a long and special relationship with the Scion. I am personally handling her security for the Trading Council, so everyone can leave here knowing that she is safe. You are all welcome to return to hear the Scion speak at the Cycle of Witnessing. Admission to this rare and distinguished event will be available for a nominal fee.\"\n\nMany in the crowd moaned, but most turned for the door. No complaining, no pushing or shoving, just an orderly reaction to Queykay's announcement. As the visitors streamed out, six Nagool masters squeezed in and waited patiently in the wings.\n\nKetheria acknowledged them and then whispered to us, \"We'll talk more later. I have so much to tell you.\"\n\nShe turned away and moved toward the Nagools.\n\n\"Ketheria?\" I said, but the Nagools had swallowed her up. I felt cheated. Where was my little sister? Who was this diplomat they had replaced her with? Queykay nudged me toward the door.\n\n\"Don't touch me,\" I spat, not caring whether he'd punish me for my rudeness.\n\nQueykay squeezed my shoulder, digging his fingers into my skin.\n\n\"Do as you're told, knudnik,\" he sneered.\n\n\"But why do I have to leave? She's my sister.\"\n\n\"That is irrelevant. She is far more important than that label. Now, do as you're told and run along, knudnik.\"\n\nI reached across with my robotic arm and grabbed Queykay's wrist. I applied just enough pressure to make him grimace and his fingers retract from my skin.\n\n\"Do not underestimate me,\" I warned him.\n\n\"JT, what's gotten into you?\" Max cried. \"Stop it!\"\n\nThen I felt a stinging sensation run up my arm as if something bit me. I pulled away, and Max grabbed my wrist, dragging me toward the door. I looked back and caught Queykay smirking.\n\nOutside the room, Max continued to drag me away from everyone else. When we were alone, she pushed me up against the wall.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she hissed.\n\n\"What am _I_ doing?\n\n\"Yes! That's a Trading Council member you just assaulted. Do you want to get thrown into one those blue cells again, or worse? What's wrong with you?\"\n\n\"With _me_? There's nothing wrong with me. I want to see Ketheria! If that even is Ketheria. Did you see her eyes?\"\n\n\"Yes, her eyes seemed a little strange, but she said it herself: she feels fantastic. You should be happy right now.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm not. That's not my sister in there. She's changed.\"\n\n\"You're the one who's changed, JT. You avoid me for a whole phase \u2014 I have no idea why. You freak out at the slightest thing and then disappear into thin air.\"\n\n\"It has to do with her. I'm sure of it.\"\n\n\"Then what happened at Kasha's? Ketheria wasn't there. It was just you getting angry again. Soon you'll be jumping who-knows-where around the ring.\"\n\n\"If I could just talk with \u2014\"\n\n\"I don't have time for this. Figure it out and let me know.\" With that, she turned and stormed away.\n\n\"Max! Wait!\"\n\nI stood frozen, my brain unhinged, waiting for any part of my consciousness to take control. My body ached as the sound of Max's boots against the hard floor faded. _Go after her!_ But I turned to find Ketheria instead.\n\nI returned to the hall where I had left my sister. I didn't feel completely in control. I was relieved to not feel the nausea and headaches I had been experiencing for phases, but still I felt different. I had an overwhelming urge to be near my sister. I only hoped nothing was wrong. I found the room still lit, but empty. I spotted another door at the back of the room behind Ketheria's chair. I slipped through it and moved quietly, hoping Ketheria was still inside with the Nagools.\n\n\"Ketheria?\" I whispered. The room was so still that I could hear my own heartbeat.\n\nI moved into another room, hoping to find Ketheria, but instead I found two Space Jumpers guarding an archway. I knew my sister was through there.\n\nWhen they saw me, the Jumpers stiffened and closed the space between them. I hesitated but tried to act as if I was supposed to be there. As I moved toward them, the Space Jumper on my left said, \"She's not seeing anyone right now.\"\n\n\"I'm . . . I'm the Tonat,\" I lied, hoping it would work.\n\n\"The Tonat? Really?\" the other one said. \"As far as I understand, you've chosen _not_ to be one of us. Instead, you let the insects who run the Council do what you were born to do. Where is the courage in that? Now, get out of here before you get hurt.\" His words hissed through a face mask that covered the lower part of his face.\n\n\"Well, then, tell my _sister_ that her _brother_ wants to see her.\"\n\n\"Go home, _popper,_ \" scoffed the first one.\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\nThe other one gave a knowing grunt.\n\nI moved forward, trying to squeeze between them. They both reached for their weapons and pressed their shoulders together. The clacking of metal and the hum of their plasma rifles changed my mind.\n\n\"Ketheria!\" I shouted. \"Ketheria!\"\n\nIt felt childish, but what else could I do? It was my _sister_ back there. Why couldn't I see her? _They would let you pass if accepted your destiny. You are the Tonat,_ someone whispered inside my head. It wasn't Vairocina \u2014 that's for sure. The voice rattled me. I stumbled back, waiting to hear it again.\n\n\"Go home,\" one of them growled.\n\n\"I don't have a home!\"\n\n\"JT?\" I heard Ketheria's voice from inside the room.\n\n\"Ketheria! These space monkeys won't let me through!\"\n\nMy sister squeezed between the Space Jumpers. \"It's all right,\" she told them. \"We're finished.\"\n\nThree Nagool masters slid out from behind her and slipped away. My skin prickled as their robes brushed against me. One glanced back at Ketheria, and she nodded, smiling. All I could do was stand there and stare. I was not part of Ketheria's world anymore.\n\n\"I'm glad you came,\" she whispered to me. \"Come. There's lots I want to tell you.\"\n\n\"Finally,\" I said under my breath.\n\n\"Popper,\" one of the Space Jumpers muttered as I elbowed my way past them.\n\nInside Ketheria's room, I stepped around bowls of fruit and flowers. The same ones I had seen delivered earlier that cycle. Long silks clung to the pale stone walls, and lights seemed to sparkle through pinholes in the rock. The floor was padded with a thick carpet that swallowed up the soft tones that resonated off metallic bowls of water placed about the room like sculptures.\n\nI spotted Nugget sitting in the corner. He saw me as well and jumped to his feet.\n\n\"Nugget! What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I take care of Ketheria,\" he proclaimed, standing in front of me with his fists on his waist and his feet planted shoulder-width apart. The bald little beast had hardly changed. His pink skin seemed a little more burgundy, but he still sported the same thick, protruding lower jaw, and he had it raised proudly (as usual).\n\n\"Good for you,\" I said.\n\n\"Someone has to do it,\" he grunted.\n\nI chuckled. \"You, too, huh?\"\n\n\"Let him be,\" Ketheria said. \"He makes a good bodyguard.\"\n\n\"Do you need a bodyguard now?\" I asked.\n\n\"So they tell me.\"\n\nI didn't want to get into an argument with my sister, so I turned away to admire the room.\n\n\"What is this place?\" I asked.\n\n\"It's my place,\" she replied.\n\n\"You mean you're not staying with us?\" I knew it was a dumb question.\n\nKetheria shook her head, smiling and resting herself on a long cushion on the floor near a shallow metal pan. A blue flame flickered from is center. Ketheria tapped the cushion, inviting me to sit, which I did. I couldn't help but think how much older she seemed.\n\n\"Isn't it amazing?\" she gushed.\n\n\"Isn't _what_ amazing?\"\n\n\"All of this,\" she replied, stretching her arms out.\n\n\"Is it? I wouldn't know.\"\n\nKetheria frowned. \"Why do you have to be like that? Aren't you the one who always talked about having some sort of purpose on Orbis, something to do? That's all you ever talked about. I loved listening to your stories about the rings when we were on the _Renaissance._ Now we have everything you ever wanted. Why is this so hard for you to accept?\"\n\n\"Because I don't see it that way at all.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nI stood up, feeling an argument coming on again. I inspected the room once more and noticed several antechambers that led from this main room, each with the same sparkling walls. The place was so still, I could hear myself breathe.\n\n\"We didn't get to pick this,\" I said, turning back to her. \"You didn't choose to be the Scion. I don't even know what you are, really.\"\n\n\"Some things choose us, JT.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"It doesn't make sense. Why us? I think they know more and they're not telling us. That scares me, Ketheria, and it should scare you as well. You know their history, their greed. This doesn't feel right.\"\n\n\"Who? Who are you talking about?\"\n\n\" _Them,_ Ketheria. All of _them._ The Trading Council, the Citizens, the Trust, even the Keepers. This is their world, not ours.\"\n\n\"I'm not the one who has changed, JT. Listen to yourself. This is not the brother I know. You couldn't wait to get to the Rings of Orbis and start a new life, and now you're going to be the Tonat.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not!\"\n\nKetheria cocked her head at me. The swirling in her eyes intensified, and I looked away. It was freaking me out. When I turned back, Ketheria had a large book opened on her lap and she was reading something. The book's pages were yellowed, and its edges looked tattered.\n\n\"What's that?\" I asked.\n\n\"It's a book,\" she replied.\n\n\"I know that, but why do you have it?\"\n\n\"The Nagools gave it to me.\" Ketheria closed the book and slipped it partly under the cushion. It was too thick to go willingly.\n\n\"Don't do that, Ketheria.\"\n\n\"Do what?\"\n\n\"Be like them,\" I said. \"Toy with your answers when you know the truth. I'm your brother. I deserve the truth.\"\n\n\"Sit down,\" she said. It was an order, and I obeyed.\n\n\"You must stop this. It's only a book. It helps me understand the reactions of those around me. The awakening is not finished yet. There are fourteen stages in all, and there is much I have to learn. That's why I have this book. That is all, nothing more.\"\n\n\"What do you have to learn?\"\n\nThen Ketheria reached up to the metal band that wrapped around her head and removed it with a click.\n\n\"I didn't know you could do that,\" I said.\n\n\"The Nagools showed me how.\"\n\nKetheria turned it over and pointed at the underside. \"See that?\" she said.\n\nI leaned in and saw an OIO symbol carved into the metal behind the amber crystal. \"Yeah. What does it mean?\"\n\n\"The person who made this knew he was making it for me.\"\n\n\"That's impossible.\"\n\n\"That's the first thing you have to change, JT. Anything is possible. Learn that now. You are so bound to a false vision of how you _think_ your life should be that your eyes are closed to everything around you. Don't feel bad, though. Most of the universe is like that.\"\n\nKetheria pushed the metal crown toward me. \"Take it,\" she urged.\n\nThe metal was warm in my hands. I rolled it around and ran my fingers over the OIO symbol. \"So what does it mean, then?\" I asked, trying to sound open to her ideas.\n\n\"The person who made that \u2014\"\n\n\"I thought that guy Tinker made it.\"\n\n\"He did. He knew the Scion would be forced to wear it some cycle. Tinker is a believer, and he worked with the Nagools to create something that would enhance the Scion's abilities while allowing the Citizens to believe that he or she was under its control. That's why Tinker was so freaked out when he met us. He recognized his work and knew who I was. Who _we_ were.\"\n\n\"But what does that mean?\"\n\n\"There are many, many forces at work here, JT. This is bigger than me; this is bigger than _you._ \"\n\nI stood up again. \"You make me sound like some self-centered fool.\"\n\nKetheria didn't reply.\n\n\"I'm not just thinking about myself, Ketheria,\" I argued. \"Did you ever think that we might just be tokens, meaningless gambits for them to use?\"\n\n\"Pawns in their game?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Now _you_ are a clich\u00e9. This _is_ our game, JT. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You _are_ the Tonat. There is no choice. This is your life now whether you accept it or not.\"\n\n\"Well, I won't.\"\n\n\"Max will understand,\" she said. \"Would you like me to talk to her?\"\n\n\"Max! Are you reading my mind right now, Ketheria? That's not fair. Get out of my head.\"\n\n\"Max is worried about losing you.\"\n\n\"Stop it, Ketheria. I don't want to talk about Max.\"\n\n\"She's smart. More than you give her credit for. She knows what the life of a Space Jumper will be like, and there is no way that life can include her. It's Max that's being selfish here, JT.\"\n\n\"Don't say that!\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, but it is true.\"\n\n\"I'm leaving,\" I announced.\n\n\"Will you come and visit again?\" Ketheria asked me as if my being upset had little relevance. She opened her book again, and this time she made a mark in it.\n\n\"What's that for? Why are you doing that now?\"\n\n\"I explained that to you already,\" she said. \"Are you going to come back?\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" I snapped. \"Your goons here won't let me in, and why do you have Space Jumpers guarding your room, anyway? They're supposed to be banished. If Queykay finds out, he'll surely notify the Council. He's a member, you know. They could cause a lot of trouble, Ketheria.\"\n\n\"Many things are changing, JT.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, I'm not one of them.\"\n\nI stormed out of Ketheria's room and past her Jumpers.\n\n\"See ya, popper,\" one of them joked.\n\nI spun around. \"What does that mean?\" I yelled, and shoved him. The other Space Jumper slammed the butt of his rifle into my stomach. I heard them both laughing as my body and mind were torn through space and time yet again.\n\n#\n\nThe stink and decay were familiar to me now, so I knew I had jumped to Murat. The nausea returned, too; I felt my stomach tighten and push toward my throat. I was once again in an alley. I leaned against an abandoned transport \u2014 one wheel was missing, and the engine had been ripped out. I figured it wasn't going anywhere, so I just lay back and closed my eyes. The cold metal felt soothing against my neck, and I took this private moment to catalog the recent events in order to establish some direction in my life.\n\nIt was obvious to me that the awakening was changing Ketheria on a deeper level than I had even imagined. She seemed so different to me now. I felt like the Rings of Orbis had taken my sister from me. It was one more reason to hate it here. It was almost as if she was on _their_ side now, but I couldn't figure out when that line had been drawn. And where did that leave me? Ketheria had always been on _my_ side. I felt more isolated than I had on the _Renaissance._\n\nMy problems with Max were not making any of this easier. How could I keep my promise to her now? Could I really take care of Ketheria if I was no longer part of her inner circle? The fact that I was being shut out of Ketheria's life simply dumbfounded me. What if being the Tonat was the only way I could protect my sister? But if I became the Tonat, I was certain that I would lose Max, and I was not prepared to do that.\n\nSitting against the cold machine and feeling sorry for myself certainly wasn't going to help me. I knew that much. I needed a plan. What could I use to my advantage? Well, I could move freely about the ring, while Space Jumpers had to stay in the shadows. Maybe there was some way to control this spontaneous jumping. I also had my arm. Its robotics had come in handy more than once. And there was my alliance with Vairocina. That relationship was very important to me. But best of all, I could get inside their precious central computer whenever I pleased. _My side_ was looking pretty good. It was time to learn what they knew.\n\n\"Vairocina?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, JT?\"\n\n\"Can you determine my location?\"\n\n\"Yes. You're in Murat. What are you doing there?\"\n\n\"Long story. Do you know about the place where the Keepers do their charity work on Orbis 4?\"\n\n\"I believe it's called the Center for Relief and Assistance. It's 3.7 kilometers from where you are now.\"\n\n\"Great. Which way?\" I asked, getting up.\n\n\"Up ring. It will be on your right near the center of the city but, JT, I would like to talk about the information you asked me to find.\"\n\n\"Oh, sure, but can it wait, Vairocina? I need to talk with a Keeper right now. We'll chat when I'm done.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\nI may not have decided to be the Tonat yet, but I was certain I could garner valuable information while they tried to convince me. Drapling's defenses were down. He wanted me to become the Tonat so bad, I could almost smell it on him. I was going to leverage his desire to get something from _me_ to get what I wanted from _him:_ information.\n\nA large, scarred metallic orb drifted over me. Six bluish lights crawled along the orb's surface and scanned the area around me. _Security?_ The searchlights converged on the ship's belly and focused on me for only a moment. The orb then rotated and drifted away. I figured Vairocina must have sent it, so I followed my makeshift escort.\n\nMurat's buildings grew taller as I marched toward its center. Instead of building out, Murat had built upward. I began to notice a larger, more modern city beneath the refuse. Skyscrapers fashioned in the images of those you might find on Orbis 1 poked through the city's poorer framework. I followed a narrow canal of green silt, which seemed to flow in and out of the city, and stopped just inside the densest part of Murat. Next to me, a metal and glass pod cracked open and a gangly alien unfurled himself. I looked up and saw more pods mounted above that one, each attached to the same narrow beam that arched up and over my head. I could see more aliens lumbering inside the dull, well-worn pods. They were roughly the same size and shape as the nurture pods we had used on the _Renaissance._ In one capsule, I saw a female with two small children. I could not even imagine having to _live_ inside one of those things.\n\nI moved away from the pods and squinted through the mountains of oxidized metal framework that formed a forest of trading chambers and makeshift shelters. There was no sign of the Center for Relief and Assistance, so I kept moving.\n\n\"Vairocina? Can you tell if I'm close to the Center yet?\"\n\nThere was a pause before she replied. \"You need to walk about six hundred meters and you will find it on your left.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nAs Vairocina predicted, the slanted glass structure appeared like a distress beacon amid the chaos of Murat. A steady stream of aliens flowed through the Center's pristine doors, and I stepped into the flow.\n\nInside I found more aliens, sitting at O-dats, while three Keepers emerged from light chutes located behind a large oval counter. I watched as each Keeper retrieved a new Citizen and then left with him or her through the same chute. I searched for an empty O-dat, but they were all occupied, with at least two or three aliens waiting their turn. How many aliens did the Keepers help? I decided to find out for myself.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" I said to the Saliman standing in front of me. I could always spot a Saliman because they had big hornlike ears that pointed backward. \"Are you a Citizen?\"\n\n\"Lot of good it does me,\" the alien grunted, waving one of her thick pink forearms in the air for emphasis. \"The First Families have the system so rigged, I was better off as a knudnik.\"\n\n\"What will the Keepers do for you?\"\n\n\"Keepers? Don't confuse the Descendants of Light with the Keepers. They may look the same, but they are definitely two different breeds. Watch out for the DOL,\" she said in a gossipy tone, and then glanced at the Keeper standing a few meters to her right.\n\nAnother alien had been eavesdropping on our conversation. \"Get your pass and get out of here,\" he said.\n\n\"Pass?\" I said.\n\n\"Through the wormhole,\" replied the Saliman. \"It's the one good thing about the DOL. They love to see you go.\"\n\n\"And I'm going to keep them happy,\" added the other one. I turned toward that alien. His face was almost as wide as his shoulders. It was a Roshilon. His eyes blinked at me as they struggled to peer around his big bony face. \"There's no way I can afford to live on these rings, and there is absolutely no way I can afford the tax to travel through that wormhole. The DOL arranges your passage for free. It's the best assistance this place can offer.\"\n\n\"Is everyone here leaving?\" I whispered.\n\n\"If they're smart, they will.\"\n\nThe Saliman squatted in front of the terminal and reached up with his short arms. I stood back, digesting what the aliens had told me, when I heard my name.\n\n\"Johnny Turnbull!\" Drapling called out to me. \"What a pleasure. Are you lost again?\"\n\nI saw the Saliman glance at me over his shoulder.\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"I was hoping we could talk.\"\n\n\"Absolutely,\" Drapling cried. \"Follow me.\"\n\n\"Get your pass!\" hissed the Saliman.\n\nI followed Drapling through the light chute, then emerged to find him waiting next to a tall green crystal anchored in the wall. It was one of many that lined the polished stone hallway.\n\n\"This way,\" he said, motioning.\n\nI followed Drapling down the hallway and across the glossy floor. Below my feet, buried about ten centimeters under the clear floor, I could see rows and rows of loosely arranged hand-fashioned copper slabs. These plates were separated by globs of rust-colored grout, just the sort of sloppy brick-and-mortar job one might find in Murat.\n\n\"What are these?\" I asked, pointing at the floor.\n\n\"Keepers who have served their purpose beyond all expectations,\" he replied.\n\n\"They're graves?\"\n\n\"This is much more honorable,\" he replied.\n\n\"Walking on them is honorable?\"\n\n\"They're still serving the greater good. I find that honorable, don't you?\"\n\n_No! How is spending eternity as a paving stone honorable?_ I stepped away from the tombstones, tiptoed along the grout, and followed Drapling into a room near the end of the hallway. He sat in a sloped chair made from some sort of greenish, silky material. There was no place for me to sit.\n\n\"How is Ketheria?\" he asked.\n\n\"She says she's fine,\" I replied, walking past amber lights embedded in the floor.\n\n\"I take it you do not agree.\"\n\n\"Tell me about the Tonat, Drapling. I may have been hasty in my decision.\"\n\nDrapling stood up. There was that pause again. He was thinking about the proper response, but at least I had his attention.\n\n\"What would you like to know?\" he asked carefully.\n\nHe was stalling. I could feel it.\n\n\"Have there ever been other Tonats?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Is the Tonat always a sibling of the Scion?\"\n\nDrapling got up and slid along a narrow table near the back of the room. I watched as he lifted a thin carafe and poured an opaque liquid into a fragile fluted glass. He placed the glass on the table before answering me. I knew this entire charade was just a way to give him time to think about his answer.\n\n\"That is hard to say,\" he finally responded.\n\n\"Well, is it a condition of their relationship?\"\n\n\"We are all connected in more than one way, Johnny. Even you and I are connected within this universe. OIO tells us \u2014\"\n\n\"Just answer the question, please,\" I interrupted.\n\n\"I am confused as to the point of your question. I should inform you that I have not met any other Scions. Your sister is my first. A Scion is a rare and extraordinary individual, but unfortunately most do not live long. Your species has destroyed many.\"\n\n\"You mean humans?\"\n\nDrapling nodded but said no more. I think he was waiting for my response to his doomsday claim, but I didn't take the bait. \"Not every Scion has found his or her Tonat in time. I believe Ketheria is unique in having a Tonat who is also her brother, although you seem indifferent to her safety.\"\n\n\"I care for my sister more than you know. Tell me more about this _connection._ \"\n\n\"You must be feeling it now. You became sick as the awakening started, did you not?\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"See? And your movements through space and time, despite being so unorthodox, are, I am convinced, also connected to your relationship to the Scion. As her awakening continues and as you move closer to your destiny, I am convinced this little anomaly will disappear.\"\n\n\"How is that possible?\"\n\n\"You are connected to her like no other creature in this universe. You feel her pain and sense her danger. This will grow stronger as the awakening continues. You cannot escape this. A Tonat is burdened with all the pain the Scion experiences. You are like a valve that releases this pressure so that she may live in the light and bring harmony to the universe. You, in turn, must use this pain to protect her. You must fashion this energy as a soldier fashions a weapon. It is your greatest strength. That is why you are feared. As the Scion grows and takes on the pain of all those suffering in the universe, so, too, does your power grow. The longer the Scion lives, the more feared you become. This pain and suffering will strengthen you and allow you to do what others cannot. Feel her, sense her, think like her. There is not a Space Jumper in the universe that will protect your sister as you will. You and the Scion are connected like no other individuals in this universe.\"\n\n\"But _how_ did this happen, Drapling? Who made this connection? I'm certain not every brother and sister has this kind of connection.\"\n\nDrapling sat the glass down, but did not respond \u2014 again.\n\n\"Drapling, tell me how this happened. Please!\"\n\n\"You may want to sit down,\" said a voice from the door. I spun around to find Theylor entering the room. He extended his arm toward the chair. \"Please, sit,\" he said. \"I believe the answer to your question might not please you.\"\n\n#\n\nI slept straight through the next two cycles. My head was so full, I couldn't hold it up, anyway. I spent the first diam of the third cycle simply staring at the ceiling. Ketheria came to visit me while I was awake, but I pretended to be asleep. I figured her telepathy would give me away, but she let me be, all the same. Even Queykay left me to myself, but there was nothing unusual about that.\n\nI finally got up and washed. Moments later I heard a soft tapping at my door.\n\n_Go away,_ I thought\n\nWhen I didn't answer, they did go away. I had already made my decision about what I was going to do, and I didn't need others trying to change my mind. Despite the odds, I was even more resolved to have it my way now. _How dare they do this to me? How_ dare _they?_\n\nWhen I felt ready, I ventured out into the building. The first person I wanted to find was Max. I found her in her room with Grace and that other kid, whatever his name was.\n\n\"Hi.\" I waved from the doorway.\n\n\"JT!\" Max shrieked, and bolted to her feet. Grace got up, too, and kicked the other kid to do the same.\n\n\"We were just on our way out,\" Grace declared. \"Good to see you up, JT. Max, we'll talk about it more later.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" she replied, looking anxious for them to leave.\n\nI nodded at the other kid as he and Grace slipped out of the room.\n\n\"What's his name now?\" I whispered to Max.\n\n\"Dante,\" she replied.\n\n\"What were you guys talking about?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Sit. Are you all right? Theylor said you got sick in Murat. He told us not to disturb you.\"\n\n\"Was that you who knocked earlier?\"\n\nShe smiled. \"Yeah. I'm sorry. I just needed to apologize about the other cycle. Knowing you were here and I couldn't talk to you \u2014 well, it was driving me crazy. Ketheria is your sister and that _is_ precious. I had no right to say what I did. It was horrible. Can you forgive me?\"\n\n\"You don't need to be forgiven, Max. I was the one who was acting like a malf \u2014 to everyone. I know that now, but that's going to change \u2014 I promise. It's just like you said: one more rotation and then we can do whatever we want. We can even leave the rings if you want. I'll lead the way.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Really,\" I assured her.\n\nMax just stood there, smiling. \"So, now what?\"\n\n\"Let's have some fun.\"\n\nA large furry knudnik with thick arms appeared at the door. It was a Garin, and they were only assigned to Trading Council members. \"Queykay sent me to retrieve you. Your sister has requested you.\"\n\nI looked at Max and then back to the messenger. \"Tell Queykay I'm sure the Council can deal with the Scion. Tell Ketheria I'll come by later. Much later.\"\n\nI grabbed Max's hand and pulled her out of the room as the Garin stepped aside. I really don't think he knew what to do, but I didn't care.\n\n\"You do not have permission to leave,\" he challenged me.\n\nI turned and faced him, Max's hand firmly in mine. \"This is not your fight. Are you going to stop me?\" Max stepped next to me.\n\nThe Garin sucked the air through his teeth, and I adjusted the controls in my arm just in case.\n\n\"Well?\" Max said.\n\nHe glared at us for another moment. \"I must report this,\" he spat, and then stormed off.\n\n\"You should get sick more often,\" Max teased.\n\nI could only smile. The fact was that my stomach had been doing backflips ever since I refused to go to Ketheria, and I was afraid to open my mouth in fear of what would come out.\n\n_Live with it,_ I told myself. _That's your new motto._\n\nTypical of Max, she had already found a secret route into Murat. I followed her through one shortcut that was nothing more than a crack in a concrete barrier. The maze of trading chambers and living quarters was like second nature to her.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" I asked.\n\n\"It's a surprise.\"\n\nI followed Max down a series of steps that ended in a small amphitheater carved into the foot of one of Murat's superstructures. The building's green glass bathed the entire courtyard in its reflection of a distant, dying sun. Max found a spot on the stone seats and settled into the eerie afterglow. I must admit, the effect did a pretty good job of masking the city's decay.\n\n\"What are we doing here?\" I whispered as we sat among other aliens, some of whom seemed to be sleeping.\n\n\"This is a special cycle on the Rings of Orbis. Not one that everyone celebrates, but quite a few do. Look up in the sky.\"\n\nMax pointed down ring and up about sixty degrees. I followed her finger to see what she was pointing at. \"See it?\" she said. \"The rings. They spell OIO.\"\n\nIn the sky, Orbis 1 and Orbis 3 were positioned next to each other, and Orbis 4, the ring we were on, ran up between them. It did spell OIO \u2014 well, kind of, anyway.\n\n\"The golden thing is that OIO works in any language. It's really a symbol.\"\n\n\"I always thought the central computer translated it for us.\"\n\n\"Everyone gets the same translation. That's one of the things that makes it so special. The alignment happens once every rotation.\"\n\n\"What's going to happen now?\" I asked.\n\n\"It's a celebration. Remember that place you took me to on Orbis 3? The place with the musician?\"\n\n\"He was amazing.\"\n\n\"Then I think you might like this. Watch,\" she said, holding her fingers to her lips.\n\nI looked at the stage near the bottom of the amphitheater. A few aliens were setting up musical instruments among the rubbish. Single notes washed over me as they tuned their stringed devices. I watched more musicians join the group, and the air soon resonated with a cacophony of notes and sounds as they set up their instruments. I fidgeted in my seat, anxious to hear them play. Max looked at me and smiled.\n\n\"Thanks,\" I whispered.\n\nThen she leaned toward me and rested her head against my shoulder at the precise moment the musicians came together. A wall of sound fell upon us, and anyone who had been sleeping now sat up. It was amazing that amid all this atrophy, a sound so pure and so promising could lift me up and turn my dingy surroundings into the most exquisite concert hall in the universe. I sat with Max and listened without saying a word. We let the music fill in the spaces around us, and for that moment, I had everything I had ever dreamed about when I was on the _Renaissance._ It did not matter what they had planned for me. It didn't even matter what Theylor said they had done to me. I could resist it. I knew I could.\n\nThen I threw up. The feeling came so fast, I barely had time to react. As my mouth filled with vomit, I tore away from Max, horrified that I might puke on her. I unloaded the contents of my stomach on the unfortunate alien to my right.\n\n\"JT! Are you all right? What's wrong? Are you still sick?\" she cried.\n\nI couldn't face Max. I was so embarrassed and I didn't want her asking why I was still sick because I don't think could have lied to her just then.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said to the alien next to me, but he didn't seem to mind. Instead he picked through the remains on his shirt as if I had passed him the leftovers of my meal (which I kind of did, in a way).\n\nI wiped my mouth and turned back to Max. \"I guess I'm not a hundred percent yet,\" I said.\n\n\"Let's go back,\" she insisted.\n\n\"No, I said. I love this. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Don't be sorry. You're sick. What if it's something serious?\"\n\nIt was serious, _very_ serious. But I couldn't tell her I was going to be like this for the rest of my life and that it was only going to get worse. My head was splitting now, and my underarms were soaked as well. If Max knew the truth, if she knew what Theylor had told me, I was certain that she would never accept me and I would lose her.\n\n_Live with it!_ I reminded myself.\n\n\"Let's get some water,\" she said.\n\n\"Good idea.\"\n\nReluctantly, I left the amphitheater, following Max back up and into the street, mumbling to her the entire time that I was sorry.\n\nAfter I assured Max that I was fine, I told her, \"That's such a golden place. How did you ever find it?\"\n\n\"That's the thing, JT. There is so much like that here in Murat, but the Trading Council won't fund any of it. In fact, they made it illegal for certain groups, like those musicians, to even perform concerts anymore.\"\n\n\"That's stupid.\"\n\n\"But it's happening. The city is jam-packed with these little pockets of creativity. It's really inspiring. I mean, despite the conditions these people are forced to live under, they are still able to connect to the Source.\"\n\n\"The Source?\"\n\n\"Creativity is the best way to connect to the Universe,\" she replied matter-of-factly as she dashed into the surface street, pausing for a makeshift tram to pass.\n\n\"Do you really believe all that stuff, Max?\"\n\n\"You mean OIO?\"\n\n\"Yeah. I don't get it. It just smells like another system of rules.\"\n\nMax stopped in front of a fountain where water bubbled out of a plastic pipe. \"Here,\" she said. \"Drink this.\"\n\n\"Is it clean?\" I asked her.\n\n\"Crystal,\" she replied, and I drank. \"OIO's not like that at all. It's really an investigation of truths and principles that guide our Universe. It helps a lot of people remain calm in the presence of all the trouble and chaos around them. You ever see a Nagool get upset?\"\n\n\"None that I can think of. So that's it? It just makes you calm?\"\n\nMax turned to me and chuckled. \"No! You really don't get this stuff, do you? I'm so surprised. Look. It's very simple. The Universe is energy. Our thoughts and actions contribute to this energy and have influence over every creature within it. Negative or deconstructive energy created by individuals, and even societies as a whole, contribute to behaviors that are self-destructive, like a hidden virus undetected in our psyche. That deconstructive energy feeds certain forces in our Universe and has the power to corrupt entire cultures \u2014 look at the Trading Council. Even when they know their actions are destructive, they continue because they are addicted to this energy. Remember Theodore and those tetrascopes?\"\n\n\"What does this have to do with Ketheria?\"\n\n\"Some say the Universe chooses a Scion. The balance of constructive and deconstructive energy flowing from the Source is very delicate. The universe can self-destruct under the sheer mass of unopposed deconstructive energy. When Ketheria has completely awoken these negative forces will no longer influence her. Her nodes will be in perfect sync with the brightest part of the Source. Nagools consider Scions to be the only enlightened individuals in the universe. A Scion's presence alone can raise the consciousness of another individual by absorbing all their deconstructive energy. To become conscious is the greatest gift a Scion can give you, but it scares the crap out of the Trading Council.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"There is a direct link between consciousness and a sense of self. When your nodes are clogged by deconstructive energy, you feel worthless and incapable of achieving anything, which makes you very easy to control. The Trading Council likes their knudniks that way. On the other hand, a higher consciousness can make you feel like you can do anything. Even run these rings.\"\n\n\"No wonder so many Scions have been killed,\" I said.\n\n\"It reminds me a lot of the way you acted around Switzer on the _Renaissance._ You really kept your head when most people wouldn't.\"\n\n\"I don't consider those the finer moments in my life. I'd rather forget them,\" I said.\n\nMax smiled, moved toward me, and put her arms around me. \"Did you like me back then?\"\n\n\"Did you like me?\" I asked, resting my nose against hers.\n\nWhen I breathed, Max winced and pinched my lips together with her fingers. \"You shouldn't talk. C'mon, let's get something to eat. Something that will settle your stomach.\"\n\n\"What? Does my breath stink? Great!\"\n\n\"C'mon. I know another place,\" she yelled as she ran ahead.\n\nI looked at Murat a little differently after what Max had told me. Instead of seeing trading chambers simply filled with junk, I began to notice exquisite little dolls fashioned from scraps of plastic and thread as well as detailed paintings on discarded scraps of metal or wood, all hung neatly in the chambers and ready for sale. Windows were no longer stacked with discarded electronics but rather parts used by skilled technicians repairing anything their customers could bring them. Despite the obstacles created by the First Families, these new Citizens had carved out an existence for themselves.\n\n_Just like you,_ I whispered to myself. I sure was going to try.\n\nI saw Max stop under a huge splash of red light outside a tiny chamber. The doorway was so small, I was forced to turn sideways to enter, and once I was inside, the smell of cooking grease violated my senses. To my right, I saw three Bachaks stuffed behind a tall counter lined with mismatched metallic stools. I watched as these brawny-looking aliens with thick forearms jammed pouches of fried foods under tiny light chutes that delivered the food to smaller tables along the wall. Max and I sat at the farthest table from the counter. She was giggling as we sat.\n\n\"Golden place, huh?\" she said.\n\n\"Small,\" I remarked.\n\n\"This is only part of it.\" Then Max knocked on the wall behind her bench. A few moments later, part of the wall slid back.\n\n\"Max!\" cried the alien who opened the door. I stepped back. It was a Belaran. Her inky black skin and sharp features immediately brought back memories of Madame Lee, who had tried to kill me on Orbis 1.\n\n\"Hi, Tic. I brought my friend, the one I told you about. I hope you don't mind,\" Max said.\n\nTic looked me over and smiled. \"Of course not. Come in!\" Max squeezed past, and I followed. \"Who would refuse the Tonat?\" Tic whispered as I passed. I spun around to look at her, but the alien's back was to me while she locked the little door.\n\nI turned back and followed Max down the narrow hallway and into a much larger, circular room. We stepped over cushions scattered on the floor, and I ducked under one of two metal pots that hung from the center of the ceiling. The pots leaked blue smoke that wove its way through the silks also hanging from the ceiling. Max plopped onto one of the cushions, and I did the same as Tic gathered some drinking glasses. The Belaran appeared much older than Madame Lee and walked with a slight stoop. To me, Tic seemed like a bland version of the warrior I once knew, but I was still nervous. Belarans had a fierce reputation.\n\n\"JT wasn't feeling well, and I didn't want to go home,\" Max said.\n\n\"You are always welcome here,\" Tic exclaimed. \"I have just the thing that will help your friend as well.\"\n\nWhen Tic left the room, I whispered to Max, \"What's a Belaran doing here?\"\n\n\"We are not all as fortunate as some of our race,\" Tic answered for herself, returning to the room with three glasses.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said. \"I didn't mean to be rude. I was just surprised to see someone from Zinovia in Murat.\"\n\n\"Zinovia is an amazing planet, but far too ruthless for my tastes. I like the simplicity of Murat. Don't you?\" she said as she passed me a glass and then another to Max. I noticed that mine was filled with a black liquid while Max's was yellow. \"Drink it. It will help your stomach.\"\n\n\"How did you know it was my stomach?\" I asked.\n\nTic did not reply. Instead, she took a sip from her own glass and glanced at Max. \"I trust you're feeling fine,\" she said.\n\n\"Yes, but I do need to use your bathroom.\"\n\n\"Of course. You know where it is.\"\n\nAfter Max left the room, I sat in awkward silence while Tic just stared at me. I tried to drink the liquid, but the smell only twisted my stomach more.\n\n\"Trust me: it will help you. I have more if you need it.\"\n\n\"Thanks, but this will pass.\"\n\n\"Will it?\" she asked.\n\nI glanced up at Tic. What did she know?\n\n\"The Belaran believed that they possessed the Scion at one point, as well you know,\" she whispered. \"In fact, I believe you met her once.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Madame Lee believed that she was the Scion, or at least she wanted to be. Such a taste for power, that one.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"She was livid after the Keepers had proven her unworthy. She even had a Tonat.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\"\n\n\"Why do you assume it was a male?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry. Where is _she_?\"\n\n\"Dead. The genetic alterations killed her, as often happens when individuals try to force what should be a natural process.\"\n\n\"You know about that?\"\n\n\"It's written all over you.\"\n\n\"Don't tell Max. Please!\"\n\n\"Don't tell her what? That the boy she loves has been genetically altered by the Trust to protect his sibling? That her partner will forever feel the tug of the Scion even to the point of physical ailment?\"\n\n\"Max loves me?\"\n\n\"You miss the point. As the Tonat, your cell structure has been coded to respond to the needs of the Scion. Even if you do not want to be the Tonat, you cannot escape its effects.\"\n\n\"I know. The Keepers told me already. Theylor explained to me that even if I choose _not_ to be the Tonat, my genetic structure will fight me every step of the way.\" I stood up. \"I can't believe they did this to me.\"\n\n\"Understand that the Trust, those five patriarchic Space Jumpers, are wired to do one thing: create the Space Jumper that protects the Scion. That's all they care about. The Trust knows what they are doing. They've been getting ready for this just as long as the Nagools. Maybe longer. The Scion needs a Tonat.\"\n\n\"But this is supposed to be _my_ life. How can I have my own life and choose what I want to do when a bunch of aliens have already rewired me to protect another?\"\n\n\"Do you think it's fair not to tell Max? Do you think that's fair to either of you?\"\n\n\"Nothing seems fair on the Rings of Orbis.\"\n\n\"Then you should feel welcome here.\"\n\n\"What are you guys talking about?\" Max asked as she returned.\n\nI looked at Tic. I wasn't ready to tell Max. _Please don't,_ I thought.\n\n\"JT was telling me how my little concoction was making him feel much better.\"\n\n\"Golden!\" Max exclaimed. \"I knew it was a good idea to come here.\"\n\n\"You must take some home with you,\" Tic insisted. \"In case you feel a relapse.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" I replied.\n\nWe sat and talked with Tic for some time. She was so much different from Madame Lee, although I sometimes caught glimpses of a ferocious warrior hidden in her chiseled bone structure and jet-black skin. Tic told us she had lived on Orbis since before the Citizens' uprising on Orbis 3. That's when she moved to Murat and began living like a knudnik. I was interested, but my thoughts began to drift away from the conversation. I was thinking about what to do with Max. Would she find out on her own? She wouldn't let me live like this, even if I explained to her that it wasn't that bad. Theylor told me that the symptoms would get worse the farther I traveled from Ketheria, but I figured I could live with throwing up every once in a while. Besides, I could always get more of Tic's magic drink.\n\nThe truth was, all _I_ wanted was to be with Max. The fact that my genetic structure had been altered to help protect Ketheria was not going to get in the way. Whoever did this to me had no right to do so. I would protect my sister, but I would have my own life as well. I had always protected her in the past, and I didn't see why I couldn't continue to do so. Ketheria had enough Space Jumpers around her, anyway. One more wasn't going to help. I would keep this a secret from Max and have my own life. At least that was my plan.\n\nBy the time Hach had returned from his business dealings, my plan seemed to be working. I had programmed the chow synth to create more of Tic's drink, and I drank it in private at the start of every cycle. I also tested Theylor's distance theory and began going out with the other kids to distribute taps around Murat. The only new symptom was a sharp headache stabbing at my temples as I ventured farther from home. It was still plenty of distance to lead my own life, despite what the Keepers had warned.\n\nThe guilt, however, was something I couldn't escape. Ketheria must have known that I had no intention of becoming the Tonat. She _was_ a telepath. But if she was disappointed in me, she never let it show. In fact, it seemed to me that Ketheria did her best to accept my decision; she was always assuring me that she was well protected. I made her promise to inform me if anything seemed out of the ordinary or dangerous. The thing was, Ketheria seemed so loved by everyone around her that I didn't understand why there was so much worry about her safety, anyway. Still, to demonstrate my ability to protect her, I made alliances with the knudniks who served her, cleaned her room, and worked in the building. I asked them to report anything suspicious. They eagerly agreed to help, but only reported that Ketheria spent every cycle with the Nagools. When I questioned her, she said that she was learning about the Universe and preparing for the Cycle of Witnessing. She never left the building, and the Space Jumpers always guarded her door. It seemed like a boring existence to me, but Ketheria looked happy and she was safe. That's all that mattered.\n\n\"There are some in the universe who are appalled by your sister's very existence,\" Hach told me when I asked about her security a few cycles later. He was dining in his room and had asked me to join him. \"Her existence is an affront to their own beliefs, and they refuse to see the truth.\"\n\n\"So you believe in it too?\" I asked.\n\n\"There's nothing to believe. OIO does not ask you to have faith in anything or follow anyone; it simply is. They say OIO is a seamless part of your own existence.\"\n\n\"I still don't get it.\"\n\n\"You don't have to. Listen to me. It is believed that the Ancients _made_ the first softwires.\"\n\n\"Made?\"\n\nHach stuffed a piece of meat in his mouth and shook his head. \"I don't know folklore. Don't drill me on it, but it's common knowledge that the Ancients gave them the technology for their belts, and we know the Ancients picked the first Trust \u2014 that council of Jumpers who now govern and train all Space Jumpers. You see, the Ancients knew that there would be many individuals in this universe, even believers, who would see any Scion as a threat. They have been right in the past. I'm afraid you can't fight this.\"\n\n\"I've heard that,\" I mumbled. \"So you're not upset with all these Space Jumpers hanging around here?\"\n\n\"I'm not, but I do worry for the Keepers. They are running a huge risking by parading them in the open like this. I can't help but feel they are taunting the Trading Council. The Keepers cannot afford a war. We've made certain of that.\"\n\n\"Then why do you allow the Space Jumpers to remain here?\"\n\n\"I suppose some things are worth the risk. At least the Keepers feel that way,\" he said, stabbing another piece of meat with his fork and winking at me. It was nice to have Hach back.\n\nA knudnik entered the room. \"Your guests have arrived,\" he announced.\n\nHach swallowed and said, \"Good. Have them wait. I'm not finished with the Tonat just yet.\"\n\nThe thin alien nodded before leaving. Hach put down his fork and knife and said, \"I know you're not happy with this arrangement, but as I'm sure you are well aware, you are in no position to deny me.\"\n\n\"I've been in Murat. I've passed out the taps. I've done everything that has been asked of me.\"\n\nHach nodded. \"The Scion's first public appearance is a few cycles away. The Cycle of Witnessing. I certainly can't have a bunch of Space Jumpers lining the stage, now, can I? Your presence will be required.\"\n\n\"Why? These people worship her. No one is going to hurt her,\" I complained.\n\nHach leaned on his elbows. \"On the planet of Sorlinda, maybe ninety million light-years from here, a very advanced society discovered that a Scion was among their ranks. They rejoiced. They celebrated. As far as they were concerned, _they_ were the chosen ones, but as they waited for the Scion to fully awaken, others on the planet decided that they, too, were worthy of this title. If the Universe had chosen one Sorlindian, why shouldn't it choose them all?\"\n\nHach grabbed another hunk of meat from the tray in front of him and plopped it onto his plate. He sliced it as he spoke. \"Come the Cycle of Witnessing, a powerful arm of its government seized the Scion and ceremonially sliced her up, serving her flesh for consumption to anyone in attendance at the Witnessing. They passed around pieces of her on plates, just as you might do at a banquet.\" Hach shoved a piece of meat into his mouth for emphasis. My stomach rolled over once, but it had nothing to do with my illness.\n\n\"Where was the Tonat?\" I asked.\n\n\"They had tricked the Tonat and drugged him. He was unconscious during the entire event. When he awoke, he was so enraged that he slaughtered every single person who had attended the Witnessing, and there were many. He piled the dead bodies in a pyramid on the exact spot where the Scion had died. Then he stole their precious metals and entombed the bodies in a silver shrine so no one would ever forget what they had done to the Scion. It was quite ghastly. In fact, the Tonat is now considered a monster in Sorlindian folklore.\"\n\n\"The Keepers never spoke of this,\" I said.\n\n\"I can see why. Even your own people have destroyed their share of Scions. One fable talks of a Scion who was nailed to a piece of wood while he was still alive; those who worshipped him stood around and watched him suffer. He died eventually, of course.\" Hach sipped from a goblet. \"Shall I go on?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"You're just trying to scare me,\" I said.\n\n\"I know you want to live your own life, but believe me when I tell you that your sister _needs_ you. I do not trust the Council. Do it for your sister, Ketheria, not for the Scion.\"\n\nThat was a dirty trick. \"Fine,\" I said. \"But since I'm not trained as a Space Jumper, I don't know what I'll do if anything happens at the Witnessing.\"\n\n\"Presentation will be our best defense.\" Hach said, and stood up, pushing his chair back. \"People fear the Tonat,\" he called out as he left the room. \"Use that.\"\n\n#\n\nThe Cycle of Witnessing was sort of like Ketheria's coming-out party. Anyone who had heard rumors about the Scion was now allowed to see her firsthand (if they paid the fee, of course). I stood back and watched as the corridors of Hach's newly created temple buzzed with gossip and the workers scrambled about under Queykay's precise, military-like instruction. He oversaw every detail, including the new robes he ordered us to wear. It was clear that the Trading Council wanted everyone to know that they were in charge of the Scion.\n\nThe new cream-colored robes were detailed with a broad, deep red collar marked with the OIO symbol. My outfit was different, though. Instead of a robe, I was given bloodred pants that matched the collars on everyone's robe. My pants flared behind my legs, leaving a short train of fabric as I walked. I wore a belt marked with the OIO symbol and a long, double-breasted jacket lined with gold buttons, each one sporting the Orbis emblem.\n\n\"I think you look . . . great!\" Max exclaimed, tugging at the jacket as I got dressed in my room.\n\n\"I look ridiculous,\" I complained.\n\n\"No, you don't. In fact, you look impressive.\"\n\nMax put her arms around me and kissed me.\n\n\"What's that for?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, blushing. \"Just because.\"\n\n\"Well, your robe looks very nice, too. You wear it . . . well,\" I said, searching for the proper word.\n\n\"You think?\" Max said, rubbing her hands over the material. It was so hard for me to compliment her without sounding like a malf. Did I tell her how much I liked the way the material stretched over her legs as she walked? Or the way it clung to her waist? It sounded stupid in my head. I couldn't imagine saying it out loud. I was staring at her and she saw me. Max kissed me again. \"Thanks,\" she whispered in my ear.\n\nTheodore charged into my room. \"Have you seen all the people out there?\" he exclaimed. \"The place is already full, and it doesn't start until the next spoke. No wonder the Trading Council wants to charge for this.\" He turned to Max. \"Queykay also wants us to hand these out among the crowds.\"\n\nTheodore held up four huge sacks filled with more taps. The bags were three times as big as anything we had ever handed out in Murat.\n\n\"Wow!\" Max remarked. \"Where is he, anyway?\"\n\n\"Not a clue. These were left outside my door with a note.\"\n\n\"We better get going. It will take all the time we have to hand them out,\" Theodore said.\n\n\"Queykay left me a note with my clothes. He asked me to stay with Ketheria,\" I told them.\n\nMax frowned. \"Aw, come with us. Please. I was getting used to you in your new clothes.\"\n\n\"Yeah, that's way more golden than what we have to wear,\" Theodore added.\n\nI looked at Max and Theodore, with those huge bags of taps. \"What can it hurt?\" I said. I'd get to the stage in time. No one was going to carve up Ketheria and feed her to the Citizens. I would much rather be with Max than stand around like some stupid trophy. My stomach reacted to my thoughts, turning over once before settling. \"Let me grab something, and then we'll drop by Ketheria's room before I help you with the taps.\"\n\nI made sure not to let Max see me chug Tic's drink from the chow synth. The liquid's effect on my stomach was instant, and I was thankful for my encounter with the Belaran even though her warning about Max crept back into my head. _I_ will _resist their genetic tampering,_ I said to myself. _I don't care what they're trying to do. I will live my own life, and right now I want to be with Max._\n\nTheodore handed off two of the sacks, one to Grace and one to Dante (I think that's what he was calling himself at the moment). Then we stepped outside with the remaining bags. I stopped when I saw the crowd outside waiting to see Ketheria. I think every alien from all four rings was standing in the open courtyard. I looked out and saw more aliens pouring over the concrete walls and stuffing themselves into the walkway leading to the building. Over the farthest points of the audience, huge O-dats floated in the sky as everyone was straining to see the platform extending from the roof and over the crowd.\n\n\"How many people do you think are here?\" Max wondered aloud.\n\n\"More than I ever imagined,\" I mumbled.\n\nI walked next to Theodore while he handed out the taps to aliens thrusting their hands toward him. No one pushed or grabbed at Theodore, but you could tell they were anxious to get any information they could. As I walked through the crowd, people whispered and moved out of my way. Max stayed at my side, scooping taps from her sack and handing them to anyone who wanted them. Theodore then fell in behind.\n\n\"We're going to need more than this,\" Theodore declared.\n\n\"Can't they share?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't think they want to. They keep these taps like souvenirs.\"\n\nI tried to read the faces. Some immediately averted their eyes when I looked at them, and I even caught the odd daring sneer. What did they think I was going to do? Chop _them_ all up and eat them? I imagined parents threatening their unruly offspring with horrible stories about the Tonat. Would I ever live up to those fears? _Impossible,_ I thought. I mean, look at the outfit I was wearing. Who would be afraid of me?\n\nA Choi stepped in front of me and grabbed my hand with her scaly paw. The familiar knobby stumps poking out from her shoulder blades reminded me of Weegin, our first Guarantor. The alien rubbed my hand along her face, mumbling something I couldn't understand, an odd display of affection by a Citizen over a knudnik. Did they realize I was still a knudnik? I stopped and looked at Max. _What do I do now?_ my eyes pleaded, but Max only shrugged. With my other hand, I stroked the top of the Choi's bumpy head. Others, seeing my reaction, poured in around us as if by invitation. They pawed at my shoulders, my hair, and even my legs. A sea of hands engulfed Max and me, reaching out to touch any part they could reach. There was no way to move.\n\n\"Stop!\" I shouted.\n\nThe aliens pulled back as if I had used some sort of invisible battering ram. The Choi in front of me started crying. Dirty yellow tears puddled at my feet, and I moved around her to get away. I had no idea what to do.\n\n\"This is creepy,\" Max whispered.\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" I said.\n\n\"What about Theodore?\"\n\n\"He'll understand.\" I turned to him and called out, \"Theodore, we'll be back in a bit. We'll meet near the right side of the platform when Ketheria comes out.\"\n\n\"Hey!\" Theodore tried to protest, but the aliens reaching for their taps closed in and smothered him. Max and I slipped into the crowd.\n\n\"I feel bad leaving him like that,\" Max said.\n\n\"He'll be fine,\" I assured her, straining to locate a private spot among the throng of aliens. I grabbed Max's hand and pulled her along as the crowd parted for us.\n\n\"Where are we going to go?\" she asked.\n\n\"Anywhere,\" I replied.\n\nBeneath one of the huge O-dats floating over the crowd, I found a tower holding speakers and smaller O-dats; it was draped in some sort of black material. I poked my head under the cloth. Nothing but the metal frame. _Perfect,_ I thought. I lifted the cloth and motioned Max to get under. She laughed and looked over her shoulder. It felt good to be doing something I wanted to do.\n\nInside, the light barely penetrated the thick material. \"I can hardly see you,\" I whispered, but Max only chuckled in response.\n\n\"Use your hands then,\" she said, and placed mine on her face. I ran my fingers around the edges of her face, across her cheeks, and along her lips. We were silent as I explored her face, but I swear I could have started a fire in the space between my fingers and her soft skin. Her warm breath seemed to quicken against the palm of my hand and then I cupped the back of her neck.\n\n\"Kiss me,\" she said, and I obliged.\n\nWe remained tangled in each other's arms, invisible to the pageantry that surrounded us. I felt happy, truly happy. This was all I wanted \u2014 to be alone with Max. We could have been hidden under those drapes for a parsec or an entire light-year. I had no idea. Time was not relevant at that moment; I just wanted more of it.\n\nWithout warning I felt like a Neewalker had dug his claws into me and ripped out my stomach. I pushed away from Max and doubled over in the dark.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Max cried.\n\n\"I don't know,\" I croaked. I could hardly breathe.\n\n\"JT! Are you sick again?\"\n\nClawing at the fabric, I dug my way into fresh air. The light slammed into my eyes with a searing bolt of pain to my brain, and I screamed. Or maybe Max did \u2014 I couldn't tell. I stared into the crowd and a found a Neewalker, directly in front of me, setting up a long-range plasma rifle. I cried out, lunging toward the creature, but found myself with my hands wrapped around the throat of a terrified knudnik, scrambling to get away from me. I spun around, but the Neewalker was gone. _What's happening to me?_\n\n\"JT! What are you doing?\" Max cried.\n\nThe pain seized my brain again and squeezed mercilessly. Another flash, as if someone pointed the sun directly into my eyes, but this time I saw Queykay running along the rooftop.\n\n\"Queykay!\" I screamed, and pushed through the crowd, stumbling toward him.\n\nMax was at my side. \"JT, Queykay's not here. Talk to me. What's happening?\"\n\nI looked at the roof. She was right. Queykay was gone. Then another flash. More pain.\n\n\"JT! Talk to me. Please!\"\n\nI turned to Max and saw a wormhole pirate standing behind her. Max saw me staring and spun around. Then I saw another and another. The pirates revealed weapons cloaked at their hip.\n\n\"Max, something's wrong!\" I yelled.\n\n\"I see that.\" She grabbed me by the shoulders. \"Look at me, JT. Tell me what's happening to you.\"\n\n\"I'm seeing things. It has something to do with Ketheria \u2014 I'm certain of it.\"\n\nAnd as I spoke her name, my sister stepped out onto the rooftop platform.\n\n\"I have to get to her, Max!\"\n\nI lunged forward as the crowd around me broke free like a solar flare. The sound was deafening. A wave of people pushed toward the platform, and Max was swallowed up in the rush.\n\n\"JT!\"\n\nBut I couldn't respond. Another bolt of pain stabbed at my head, and this time I saw another alien remove a strange-looking device from under his emerald-colored cape. The device was electric of some sort, its long barrel crackling from some unknown power source. I blinked and he disappeared.\n\nI spun toward the platform. I could see my sister waving to the crowd.\n\n\"Welcome,\" her voice echoed through the loudspeakers. \"I know some of you have traveled far, and I thank you.\"\n\n\"Ketheria!\" I screamed.\n\nAnd then I heard it. I knew instantly.\n\nA sting ripped over the crowd, like an electrical cable had been cut free. There was a short pause followed by a crack. I looked up and saw Queykay moving away from Ketheria, just as I had envisioned earlier. Then I saw Ketheria fall. The crowd gasped and fell silent. I heard nothing but the sound of Ketheria's body hitting the platform before the air was gobbled up with mayhem. As some screamed, others began to run. Instantly, more than a dozen Space Jumpers appeared on the platform.\n\nThat's when I felt it.\n\nI didn't try to jump. It was as if someone was _making_ me jump. My mind and my body struggled to gain control while some psychic tether yanked me through space and time.\n\nFor a nanosecond, the world about me appeared frozen before I was torn from my current moment in time and placed next to my sister on the platform without lapse. The chaos and pandemonium roared back in as the universe caught up with me. Four Nagool masters moved toward my sister, and I spotted Drapling running across the platform. I turned to see where Queykay had gone, but I could not find him. Then four Jumpers closed in around me. Each one grabbed onto Ketheria, and then they were gone, my sister with them. All of this happened within a single breath.\n\n\"Wait! Where are they taking her?\" I screamed, staring at the spot where they had just been. I ran to the next Jumper, but he disappeared before I even got close. Each Jumper followed, one by one. \"Where are you taking her?\" I screamed at them.\n\nWith Ketheria gone, my head felt like it was going to crack open and its contents spill out on the platform. I was drowning in a wave of nausea as I tried to focus, to unlock some hidden link to the Space Jumpers or to Ketheria herself. Surely the Trust had wired me with something like that. I fixated on being with Ketheria, being off this platform, being next to her. Precious seconds slipped away. _Where are they?_ Then my mind unhinged and I pushed myself forward, not from where I was standing but rather through space and time. Instead of darkness, my mind exploded with pure light, and I felt relief as I slipped away from the here and now. I let the Universe guide me and prepared myself for what was to come. I even welcomed the sickly scent of smelly feet.\n\n#\n\nI had an idea where I was. The pain in my head had subsided the moment I jumped, and even my stomach felt better.\n\nKetheria was close.\n\nI recognized the steel beams and walls rooted in the black rock from the last time I had been held here a rotation ago. The Space Jumpers had taken Ketheria to the Trust \u2014 I was certain of it. Standing in a wide corridor, I saw blue light glowing along the ceiling's edge and sparkling on the textured floor, just as I remembered. The fact that I had left the Rings of Orbis and jumped to the Trust was not an easy concept to understand, but, as with my softwire abilities, I chose to simply accept it. Right now I only wanted to find Ketheria.\n\nThe Trust was powerful, and my last meeting with them had not been a favorable one. They could inflict pain without laying a finger on me, and they could track my movements whenever they pleased. Besides that, whenever the Keepers spoke of the Trust, I always sensed both fear and respect in their tone. When Theylor had informed me that I was genetically altered to be the Tonat, he told me that it was under their instruction. Theylor also told me that the Trust had been instrumental in arranging our trip from Earth. The Trust's main mission, he told me, was to search for a Scion and then, once he or she was found, to help the Scion awaken. But who gave them this role? I assumed it had been the Ancients.\n\nI heard footsteps around the corner to my right. I bolted across the corridor and slipped down another hallway on my left. I had to move quickly, before I ended up in some hole waiting to find out what had happened to Ketheria. I knew she wasn't dead; I sensed it. _Is that from their programming?_ I wondered. Or was it simply because Ketheria was my sister? I couldn't even imagine how my body would react if she died.\n\nI slipped along the corridor, searching for some connection to the computer that ran the place. What would I say to Ketheria once I found her? Certainly this incident proved that the security around my sister was inadequate, despite their manpower. I knew Ketheria would say that none of this was my fault, but it was. It had been my decision to handle security in this manner, yet the first time Ketheria appeared in public, she was attacked. What was I thinking? I should have been next to her. It _was_ my fault.\n\n_Max!_ I had simply left her in that mob of aliens. _Have I failed everyone? Would she even understand?_ I hoped she would.\n\nI stopped in front of a glass panel embedded in the wall. It was the best chance I had. I pushed into the device.\n\n\"Ouch!\"\n\nI pulled out immediately. My teeth were ringing from the shock, and I could taste a peculiar metal tinge on the roof of my mouth. I tried to shake it off, but it stuck to me like radiation gel. The Trust was using some sort of security device to keep people out of their computer. I moved on, looking for something else, but all I found were more and more corridors with more useless little panels.\n\nAgain the sound of footsteps resonated down the hall. There were lots of them this time, and they were marching. I searched for a place to hide and found a small impression in the bedrock. I pushed against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible, when the wall opened up and I fell inside.\n\n\"It doesn't take a softwire to use one of those door panels,\" said a voice from somewhere within the room. Actually, it was more like the voice was everywhere in the room.\n\n\"Who said that?\" I called out.\n\n\"I did,\" the deep voice replied.\n\nThe room wasn't much. In fact, all I saw were two sloped chairs similar to the ones in Drapling's rooms. There was also a small table. That was it.\n\n\"Please sit if you feel more comfortable,\" the voice offered.\n\n\"Thanks,\" I mumbled, with no intention of sitting.\n\nThe walls were the most active things in the place. Lights seemed to flash through the room as if circulating through the rock. Tubes and pipes filled in most of the blank spaces, and then I saw it. To my left, in one corner of the room, I saw a hand, as if it was stuck in the rock. A small control panel was placed within reach of the hand's fingers. I began to notice more body parts spread out through the rock and around the entire room.\n\n\"Who are you?\" I asked.\n\n\"That's rather rude,\" the voice replied.\n\n\"I'm sorry. This is a little strange for me. I'm worried about my sister. She's hurt, and I want to get to her.\"\n\n\"Ketheria is fine. They are attending to her now.\"\n\n\"You know! Can I see her? Do they know who did it?\"\n\n\"They know who wasn't protecting her.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nI knew it. And so did they. I wasn't going to live this one down, that's for sure. I failed Ketheria on my initial test. The anger flushed through my skin. Anger at myself.\n\n\"I do not know why you resist it,\" the voice said. \"It is your destiny,\"\n\n\"Says who?\"\n\n\"Says me.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Every cell in your body has been programmed to protect that girl. It does not matter how hard you try to avoid your responsibility; you cannot escape it. That sickness you feel? Can you imagine what that would be like if she left this galaxy?\"\n\n\"I can handle it. I handled it when she came here,\" I said.\n\n\"This asteroid is simply orbiting the rings, you fool.\"\n\nWell, that explained all this rock.\n\n\"What you feel now is nothing compared to what you will feel if you don't stay close to the Scion. You'll need more than those foolish little potions you drink.\"\n\nThe lights in the rock flared with the sound of the voice, as if agitated.\n\n\"How do you know this? Tell me who are you,\" I said.\n\n\"I'm surprised you haven't figured that out. You haven't read those files I gave you, have you?\"\n\n\"Files? No one gave me any files,\" I complained.\n\n\"Were you not given a device by a Space Jumper and told to keep it with you at all times?\"\n\nI reached into my pocket and touched the cold metal disc given to me by one of the Space Jumpers.\n\n\"Yes,\" I muttered.\n\n\"Were you not curious to examine the device, to see what you were asked to carry around with you? Obviously not. This is why you need training. You must join us, son. Protecting the Scion is the one thing I cannot program into you.\"\n\n_Program into me?_ I removed the disc and pushed inside it. Nestled behind the intricate tracking device was a single nugget of data. I willed it open, and my parents' missing files flashed in front of me, all 321 of them.\n\n\"You're . . .\"\n\n\"Quirin,\" the voice replied.\n\n\"My father?\"\n\n\"By definition.\"\n\nI didn't look for the chair; I simply sat on the floor and stared at the body parts spread around the room.\n\n\"How can it be?\" I whispered. \"What happened to you?\"\n\n\"When the _Renaissance_ was attacked, I attempted a jump that I knew was not possible. I tried to take everything with me and move backward through time. I failed, and now I will be like this forever.\"\n\n\"But my mother. You left her there.\"\n\n\"Your mother never left Earth.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You will find everything in those files. I'm afraid most of it will upset you, and I caution you against telling the others any of what you find, but that is your choice. I would rather use this time to help you accept your fate. The Scion needs you.\"\n\nThe weight of this revelation tightened around my chest. I tried sitting up to let some much-needed oxygen into my lungs, but could breathe in only a little. It seemed every time some inexplicable part of me was explained, I was left feeling emptier and even more hollow. A million new questions crept in to fill the void. Why had I not seen my father sooner? What did he mean that my mother never left Earth? Would he be a part of my life now? If he was my father, was I even human?\n\nI rubbed the smooth disc across the palm of my hands, afraid to look inside it again. How could my life have strayed so far from my own desires? Where was the promise of happiness on the Rings of Orbis? I didn't want my father to be some freak pieced together inside some asteroid. I wanted the man in the photo \u2014 the human who had left Earth to create a better life for his family.\n\n\"I don't want any of this,\" I told him.\n\n\"You're willing to sacrifice the future of the universe for your own selfish desires. This obsession with free will is ridiculous. There are no options after this. That is why everything has been sacrificed to save the last possible Scion. There isn't a species left in the universe that can fill this role. We've tried.\n\n\"Only a Scion can raise the consciousness of the universe. Without a Scion, the universe will implode under the mass of deconstructive energy that its inhabitants will produce. But before that happens, the universe will be fed upon by beings I can only begin to describe. Ketheria is the last possible candidate. If we fail, the universe will fall.\"\n\n\"Why? Why her? Why me?\"\n\n\"Only your ego, that sense of yourself, would ever ask such useless questions. There is no _you_ or _her_ in this equation. The fact that you are involved is nothing more than a random outcome. You were simply the embryo I reached for. You were nothing more than a group of cells that took the genetic information I gave it. The others did not survive. . . .\"\n\n\"What do you mean, 'the others'?\"\n\n\"It is far too risky to prepare only one Tonat. Once the Scion was stable, I needed to make absolutely certain to link a Tonat. We could not wait for it to happen naturally. Had the ship not been attacked, I would have tried several combinations. I must admit, though, your abilities have exceeded my expectations. I am grateful you survived. I believe the remaining candidate would have proven even more difficult.\"\n\n\"There's another Tonat?\"\n\n\"You are the only Tonat.\"\n\n\"You are not making any sense. This is only confusing me more.\"\n\n\"Before the _Renaissance_ was attacked, I had time to prepare two cell specimens to receive the required genetic coding. You and one other survivor. The one you call Switzer.\"\n\nNow I really couldn't breathe. I swallowed hard, hoping that some oxygen would sneak in as well.\n\n\"I need to know more,\" I croaked.\n\n\"The wormhole pirate you helped capture had received similar genetic coding to yourself. He was prepared as a backup, if you will \u2014 a replacement should something have gone wrong with you. I fear his sociopathic behaviors and narcissistic tendencies are the direct results of my procedures. If I had had more time to give him the attention required, I would have adjusted those anomalies. I would have made him more like you.\"\n\n\"So there would be two Tonats running around the rings?\"\n\n\"No, I would have destroyed one of you before the _Renaissance_ ever arrived on the Rings of Orbis. In fact, I would have destroyed all the embryos except for you and the Scion. That was the plan.\"\n\n\"You would have killed everyone?\"\n\n\"Yes. Why does this matter?\"\n\n\"It matters.\"\n\nA world without Max? Without Theodore? Without Switzer? I felt dizzy even though I was already sitting. I wanted to lie down.\n\n\"I don't feel good,\" I said.\n\n\"This is why you need more training. Your emotions are too strong. Your sense of self blinds you. Stay with me and become who you are destined to be. I offer you one of the greatest roles in the history of the universe. Your name will be emblazoned in the hearts of every creature in every galaxy. With Ketheria as the Scion, every human in the universe will be given a unique path to enlightenment. She will guide humans to fulfill their new role in this universe. The Ancients are gone, my son. When the Scion completes the fourteenth step of the awakening, then humans can succeed the Ancients and bring harmony to this universe. It is our last defense against the Knull. An entire universe will stand behind you. You are poised for greatness, John Turnbull. You only need to accept it.\"\n\nI could only think about Max and Theodore and Grace and even the guy whose name I had trouble remembering, and Switzer. They existed only because the Trust tried to grow their own Scion and Tonat \u2014 Ketheria and me. Switzer is sitting in a cell, probably for the rest of his life, because of me. Now, more than ever, I wished I had waited until I was inside his spaceship on Orbis 3, so he could have escaped. At least he would have some sort of life right now.\n\n\"It still matters,\" I mumbled. \"It matters a lot.\"\n\nEvery one of them had suffered life as a knudnik on the Rings of Orbis. Suffered because of me and Ketheria. Of course I didn't think Quirin should have actually followed through with his mission and destroyed everyone, but I wanted desperately to be back on the _Renaissance,_ trying to help Switzer steal the ship.\n\nI was staring at my hands. It would be Switzer standing here right now if a single one of my cells had mutated in some errant fashion. It would be Switzer poised for all this \"glory,\" not me. I was feeling worse by the second. I really didn't want to be me right now.\n\nI looked up at the wall. \"Wait,\" I said. \"Did you do this on purpose? Did you bring Ketheria here so I would hear this?\"\n\n\"You had to come on your own.\"\n\n\"So does this mean that Switzer is my brother or something?\"\n\n\"You both share my genetics.\"\n\nWow! Too much. I needed to get out of here.\n\n\"You, however, have proven to be a much better candidate. I abandoned him for you.\"\n\n\"I want to see my sister,\" I whispered.\n\n\"But we are not finished.\"\n\n\"I was finished a long time ago,\" I replied. \"In fact, I want to go back to the rings. You said Ketheria is all right, didn't you? I want to go home.\" The word struck me as odd. I had never referred to the rings as my home before. \"I need time to swallow all of this.\"\n\nQuirin did not reply.\n\n\"Look, I'll come back so we can talk again,\" I lied, purely to let him believe that I was considering the situation.\n\n\"Certainly. If you remained, however, and if you studied, you could jump back to the rings yourself.\"\n\n\"I said we would talk some more. That is all I can offer you right now.\"\n\n\"There is no way you can fight this,\" he warned me.\n\n\"I can find a way.\"\n\n\"Then I suggest you act quickly. It is dangerous on the rings for your sister.\"\n\n\"Then keep her here.\"\n\n\"The awakening must be allowed to continue. She must do so among those whom she will enlighten.\"\n\n\"Or those who will kill her.\"\n\n\"We must not interfere.\"\n\n\"You are _way_ beyond that,\" I reminded him.\n\nThe door to Quirin's room opened, and a Space Jumper stepped in, someone I had never seen before. This Jumper was not as militarized as the others and was dressed in a sleek grayish material. His belt, however, was still prominent.\n\n\"He will return you to the rings,\" Quirin said. \"Your sister will be fine. She will follow you there shortly.\"\n\n\"Good-bye . . . Quirin,\" I said. There was no way I could call him Father, not now.\n\n\"Good-bye, son.\"\n\nThe Space Jumper returned me to Ketheria's room on Orbis 4. We did not speak even once, and that suited me fine. I was eager to get back to my own room, lock the door, and open my parents' files. For so long I had wanted to see what was on those restricted documents, but now I had almost forgotten about them. When Madame Lee destroyed the copy from the _Renaissance,_ I had thought that was the end of it.\n\nWhat would I find now? I was almost too afraid to look.\n\n\"JT!\" Theodore stopped me as I stepped into the corridor outside Ketheria's chamber. \"Where's Ketheria? Is she dead? Where did she go?\"\n\n\"She's fine. The Trust has her.\"\n\n\"Is that where you went?\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"All those Space Jumpers!\" he exclaimed. \"Everyone is talking about war. So many people saw how easily they moved about the rings. The Citizens are really going crazy. Queykay arrived with the entire Trading Council. They put all these new laws into place. You can't even move from ring to ring now. They said it was to protect the Scion, but Hach was furious. They took him with them when they left.\"\n\n\"Where's Max?\"\n\n\"She's with Grace and that guy \u2014 what's his name?\"\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"Come on, I know Max will be glad to see you. They're having a meeting or something. Max has Grace getting everyone together.\"\n\nTheodore tried to guide me in the direction he was going, but I pulled away.\n\n\"I can't,\" I told him.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"There's something I've got to do first.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" he said, turning back in my direction. \"We'll go after that.\"\n\n\"Alone,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Don't be. I understand. We'll come by later. Max will want to see you when she finds out that you're back.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to tell her you saw me,\" I said.\n\nTheodore just looked at me. \"What's wrong, JT? Let me help you.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Not this time. It's not like that.\"\n\n\"But \u2014\"\n\n\"I'm sorry. Really.\" I turned and headed toward my room. \"Don't tell her, all right?\" I yelled back.\n\nBut Theodore did not respond.\n\nInside my room, I sat at the edge of my sleeper and slipped the disc from my pocket. I ran my finger along the impression that circled the face of the disc. I pushed in and grabbed a random file.\n\n**NEXUS ACCESS 12B-532-AFG**\n\n**TIME POINT: 12:45.2: 227**\n\n**CONTACT: QUIRIN NE YARNOS**\n\n**The genetic enhancements on specimen 1325b appear to manifest the desired traits far more rapidly than the original candidate (specimen 334). My fears that I may not be able to procure an alternate now seem unfounded. Cleavage of the Scion zygote coupled with the experimental regermination may prove to have created an exceptional candidate for the Tonat.**\n\n**If success continues, I will destroy specimen 334 prior to the standard schedule.**\n\n**_Transmission successful._**\n\n_It's true!_\n\nI pulled out of the storage device. The residual burn of Quirin's entry still sparkled against the inside of my forehead. It would fade, I knew, but the knowledge would stay with me forever.\n\nWas _I_ specimen 1325b? I had to be. When Theylor admitted that I had been genetically altered, I never once thought it happened on the _Renaissance._ I assumed it was when they replaced my arm, or when I almost drowned in the cooling tank on Orbis 2.\n\nIf this was true, then Switzer must have been specimen 334. What did they do to him? Did Quirin start to turn Switzer into the Tonat and then stop? If Quirin had never touched Switzer, would he be like the other kids from the _Renaissance_? Out of the two hundred children born on that ship, Switzer was the only one we feared. He was a monster, and they had made him that way. It was not fair.\n\n_If success continues, I will destroy specimen 334 prior to the standard schedule._\n\nThey had planned to flush everyone on that seed-ship. The thought horrified me. Where were all of our parents? Were they already dead? This didn't make sense. Quirin said my mother was still on Earth.\n\n\"JT?\" Vairocina's voice whispered inside my head.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied, welcoming the distraction.\n\n\"I was hoping we could talk now.\"\n\n\"It's not a good time.\"\n\n\"But I think it is too important for you to wait any longer. I've located the information you requested.\"\n\n\"What information?\" I stood up and paced the room.\n\nVairocina formed to my left. \"You asked me to gain a better understanding of your transfer to the Citizen Hach,\" she replied.\n\n\"I did, didn't I? I'm sorry. I forgot. Did you find anything?\"\n\n\"Yes. It seems that Charlie had made arrangements for his possessions to be distributed through an advocate.\"\n\n\"Is that normal?\"\n\n\"Absolutely. Advocates are usually appointed by the Trading Council to ensure a fair and honest allocation of assets in the event there are no relatives.\"\n\n\"Like that would ever happen. No wonder I ended up with Hach.\"\n\n\"No,\" Vairocina interrupted. \"The unusual aspect is that Charlie had _already_ chosen an advocate well before he died. In fact, the same cycle he became a Citizen and only moments after an enormous sum of chits was transferred to his personal holdings.\"\n\n\"Who? Who did he assign?\"\n\n\"Well, it wasn't a single person really. . . .\"\n\n\"Who, Vairocina?\"\n\n\"The Descendants of Light. Drapling signed the transfer. Drapling is also the one who then bequeathed you to Hach.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The Descendants of Light. The trans \u2014\"\n\n\"I heard you. I just can't believe it. It doesn't make sense. Charlie was no fan of the DOL, especially Drapling. I even heard them fighting once when I was half-conscious. I'm sure it was Charlie and Drapling. This just doesn't make sense.\"\n\nI sat down on my sleeper and hoped the room would stop spinning.\n\n\"Is there anything else I can find for you, JT?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"but there is something you can do.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Can you tell Drapling I need to meet him? It's an emergency.\"\n\n\"I'll do it now.\"\n\nI pushed back into the storage device. This time I discovered a small interface along with the hidden data. _Only a softwire would find this interface,_ I thought. The interface displayed a projection mode, which I initiated, then pulled out of the device and sat the metal disc on the lid of my sleeper. Using my softwire, I interacted with the display projected on the wall in the same manner I would with an ordinary O-dat. I opened another file at random.\n\n**NEXUS ACCESS 6F-448-MGH**\n\n**TIME POINT: 14:40.9: 814**\n\n**CONTACT: QUIRIN NE YARNOS**\n\n**Long-range subspace tracers have detected a distress signal in the Dorvum system. Ion Signatures identify craft as a Zinovian class 4 cruiser: nonmilitary issue.**\n\n**Threat: none.**\n\n**Current systems are stable. Recommend jump interaction. Please advise.**\n\n**_Transmission successful._**\n\nZinovian class? Was that Madame Lee? Did she trick him? I opened another file.\n\n**NEXUS ACCESS 11C-102-MKL**\n\n**TIME POINT: 03:03.1: 019**\n\n**CONTACT: QUIRIN NE YARNOS**\n\n**AI programming was initiated as per instructions. Earthlike histories for all specimens now loaded. Scion and Tonat entered as siblings. The AI has been time-stamped to display death of parents, children, and crew upon arrival. Birth sequence initiated for Scion and Tonat and scheduled to arrive on the Rings of Orbis near their thirteenth Earth year.**\n\n**_Transmission successful._**\n\nKetheria and I were supposed to arrive on the rings as the same age. I tried to think of Ketheria as seventeen, just like me. It was too weird. What would she look like? I retrieved the first file I had opened. What did the words _zygote_ and _cleavage_ mean? Were Ketheria and I twins? Impossible!\n\n\"JT?\" Vairocina whispered inside my head.\n\n\"Did you find Drapling?\"\n\n\"He will meet you at the Center for Relief and Assistance.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Whenever you are ready.\"\n\n\"I'm ready now.\"\n\n#\n\n\"I want to see Switzer,\" I told Drapling. We were seated in the same room underneath the Center for Relief and Assistance.\n\nBoth of Drapling's heads converged on me. \"I'm sorry, but that is impossible,\" he stated.\n\n\"I'm learning quickly that nothing is impossible. I want to see him, Drapling. He shouldn't be there. What happened to Switzer is not his fault. In fact, it is more the Rings of Orbis's fault than his.\"\n\n\"Your friend is a criminal, a wormhole pirate. He will never see the surface of the ring for as long as he lives. Your request is denied.\"\n\nI stood up, marched over to Drapling, and leaned in close. Any other person would have shrunk back into their seat, but Drapling remained indifferent. \"Listen carefully,\" I whispered. \"This is not a request. I don't need your answers anymore. I _know._ Do you understand me? I met with Quirin. He gave me the missing files. As far as I can figure, you guys sent him to snatch a bunch of embryos from Earth and grew your own Scion. Except your plan didn't work out the way you wanted it to, and now you have all of _us._ Switzer isn't just a friend; he's my brother.\"\n\n\"Technically, I believe you would call him a half brother. You share only the genetic coding of Quirin. You and the Scion share a common human egg.\"\n\n\"Shut up! No matter how you spin it, the life Switzer now has is directly the result of _your_ actions.\"\n\n\"This means nothing. You feel this way only because you have been adjusted to exhibit a greater care for your sibling. For Ketheria, _not_ for Randall Switzer.\"\n\nI pulled back and stepped around Drapling. It took eight strides across the shiny floor to reach the door. I _pushed_ into the control panel and locked it. My old feelings for Switzer were gone. _Now_ I wished that I had helped him steal the _Renaissance_ when we first arrived. _Now_ I wished I had let him escape on Orbis 3. I had to make it up to him before I did anything else. It was not right for him to be forgotten and left to rot away in some cell. I wanted to apologize to him. I wanted to apologize for everything.\n\nI turned toward Drapling. He hadn't moved a muscle. \"I know about the Descendants of Light,\" I told him. \"I know that you helped Charlie become a Citizen. Yet I was wondering if Theylor and the other Keepers know everything. If I remember correctly, when Theylor came to greet us on the _Renaissance,_ he was expecting to find a ship filled with adults. Or was that a ruse as well?\"\n\nDrapling did not respond. Instead he looked toward the glasses at the far side of the room.\n\n\"Is something wrong, Drapling? Was that information restricted? I don't know what it means yet, but I think I can use it.\"\n\n\"You cannot comprehend the magnitude of the situation,\" Drapling declared.\n\n\"Let me see him.\"\n\nDrapling spun toward me.\n\n\"Why can't you just accept it? You _are_ the Tonat. This is your destiny!\"\n\n\"Let me see him!\"\n\nDrapling just stared at me from across the room. Then, without speaking, he stood up and strode toward the door.\n\n\"Please unlock the door,\" he said. \"And follow me.\"\n\nDrapling led me from the room, across the floor of tombs, and past the light chute we used to descend from the Center for Relief and Assistance. He stopped at the end of the corridor in front of another chute.\n\n\"Can this take us off the ring?\" I asked. \"Switzer's at the Center for Science and Research on Orbis 1, isn't he?\"\n\n\"No,\" Drapling replied. \"I am afraid you underestimate your adversary.\"\n\n\" _I_ could never escape from the Center,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"You never tried.\"\n\nHad Switzer tried to escape? I doubted he was the easiest prisoner for the Keepers to deal with.\n\n\"Please understand that if Quirin had failed with your enhancements, Switzer would have been the Tonat. All that remained for Quirin to do was to initiate the proper gene activation sequence and Switzer, too, would have been a softwire.\"\n\n\"I thought softwires were rare. If it's so easy to cook one up in a test tube, then why don't you just make an army of them?\"\n\nDrapling was about to punch the code into the panel next to the purplish light chute when his right head turned and said, \"Believe me when I tell you that we have tried, but it is not as simple as you suggest. You must appreciate how fortunate Quirin was to have two workable specimens at his disposal. I only wonder if Quirin may have made the wrong choice, as Switzer certainly exhibits the ruthlessness required for the job.\"\n\n\"It sounds to me like you built a monster that you cannot control and now you're going to imprison him for the rest of his life to avoid dealing with your own mistake.\"\n\n\"What do you suggest? That we kill him?\"\n\n\"No! Let him go. You made him this way.\"\n\n\"We also made you.\"\n\nThe edge in Drapling's voice and the sneer rubbed across his face reminded me of the Keeper I first encountered when I had arrived on the Rings of Orbis. Any niceties he had recently shown were gone. I watched him over my shoulder as I stepped into the chute.\n\nWhen I exited the light chute, the first thing I felt was cold. In fact, it was freezing. I moved away from the chute and into a gray, lifeless corridor. Drapling was behind me in the next instant.\n\n\"Where are we?\" I asked. I could see my breath in front of me.\n\n\"Deep within Orbis 4,\" Drapling replied, stepping past me.\n\nHe walked beneath a single bluish light source embedded in the ceiling of the concrete corridor, and I followed, avoiding his purplish robe, which dragged behind him. I glanced at my surroundings and noticed frost gathering in places where the walls met the ceiling. I could only assume Switzer was somewhere behind one of these walls.\n\nA green electrical field blocked us from continuing down the corridor. I watched as Drapling turned and placed his hand inside a device mounted on the right wall. The green force field appeared to drop away and run along Drapling's arm before scanning his entire body. He removed his hand and ordered me to follow him.\n\nOnce we passed through this entry point, I saw a series of thick chrome doors along the wall every three meters or so. Each door flashed an LED symbol embedded right at the Keeper's eye level.\n\n\"What is this place?\" I asked Drapling.\n\n\"It does not have a name.\"\n\n\"What do _you_ call it?\"\n\n\"Terminus,\" he mumbled.\n\n\"Why is it so cold?\"\n\n\"I hadn't noticed.\"\n\nDrapling stopped in front of the second door. I waited as he reached inside his left sleeve and a small bench slid out from the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. He sat but motioned me toward the metal door.\n\n\"What am I supposed to do?\"\n\nDrapling reached under his sleeve again, and this time the door disappeared. A paler version of the electrical field I saw earlier remained in its a place.\n\nOn the other side, I saw Switzer lying on the floor.\n\n\"Switzer!\" I cried.\n\nHis body only jerked in response. I turned to Drapling. \"Open it!\"\n\nDrapling reached under his sleeve, and the field fell away. I raced in and knelt next to Switzer. He was balled up in a fetal position, clutching his stomach and moaning. Someone had removed the piece of screen over his eye but had left the wires sticking out of his face.\n\n\"Switzer!\"\n\nHe cracked open his eyes and stared at me through the pus that had crusted around his lids.\n\n\"Switzer, it's me, JT!\"\n\nSwitzer didn't respond. Instead, his body convulsed as if he was trying to throw up, but nothing came out. I looked around the room. By the looks of the mess near the toilet I didn't think he had much left to throw up, anyway. I turned to Drapling. He had replaced the barrier to the room.\n\n\"Does he have the same thing as me, the sickness when Ketheria is too far away?\" Drapling nodded. \"How could you leave him like this?\" I screamed at him. \"Do you have any idea what that feels like?\"\n\n\"You appear to be doing fine,\" he reminded me.\n\n\"That's because \u2014\"\n\nI thrust my hand into my pocket. I had the medicine that Tic had given me. I pulled it out and chewed off the lid as I propped Switzer's head up.\n\n\"Drink this. It will help. I know what you're going through. I would be just like you if it wasn't for this stuff.\"\n\nI expected Switzer to resist, but he raised his chin a little and parted his lips. They were dried and cracked. Scabs had grown over the smallest crevices, but thick, bleeding sores were visible at the corners of his mouth. I poured the liquid over his lips. He pawed at my hand, forcing me to pour more liquid into his mouth.\n\nHe pulled his head away and fell back onto the floor, his arms flung out. Then he bellowed with laughter and cried, \"Sweet golden universe! Where was that stuff when I needed it?\"\n\nI sat back, relieved to see the liquid working so quickly. \"I'll bring you more. You won't have to feel that way again.\"\n\n\"You can't even imagine what I felt,\" he mumbled, and tried to sit up.\n\n\"Yes, I can,\" I replied.\n\nSwitzer looked at me and then looked out at Drapling. \"What's he doing here?\"\n\n\"Forget him. We need to talk.\"\n\n\"About what? You want to rub it in my face a little? You want to tell me how you were right all along?\"\n\n\"No, Switzer. _You_ were right. You were right about everything. They did this to you. They made you this way. They messed with your genetic code, trying to create a security force for Ketheria. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Sorry? For what?\"\n\n\"For everything. I should have listened to you. I should have helped you get out of here.\" I leaned toward him. \"I should have left with you. It's my fault you are in here.\"\n\nSwitzer pushed himself up to his sleeper and then struggled to stand. He walked over to the door and stared at Drapling. \"Don't take the blame for everything, split-screen. These two-headed space monkeys aren't telling you the whole story. I'm sure of it.\"\n\n\"I don't need them now. I know all the answers now. I found the files from the _Renaissance._ \"\n\nSwitzer turned to me. \"And?\"\n\n\"On the _Renaissance,_ they messed with your genetics to create a Space Jumper who would be the Tonat. Then they made me. You were supposed to be . . . well, let's say that when the ship was attacked, they didn't have time to finish with their experiments and you were born. They made you who you are and they should be responsible for you. You should be out there learning to be a Space Jumper. Enjoying your life. Preparing for great things.\"\n\n\"But somehow I'm stuck in here, regretting my every waking moment.\" Switzer turned and looked at me. \"And don't think that an apology is enough, Dumbwire.\"\n\nHe was right. Words weren't going to change anything. I stood up and marched toward the door.\n\n\"Drapling. You have to let him out. Let Switzer study with the Space Jumpers. Let him go with the Trust.\n\n\"I will not let Switzer roam free,\" he insisted.\n\n\"The Trust will take him away from the Rings of Orbis. He won't stay here. He'll leave Orbis. I know he will.\" I turned to Switzer. \"Won't you?\"\n\n\"Forget it. He's not going to do it,\" Switzer mumbled.\n\n\"Drapling, Switzer's wanted to leave here ever since he knew about the Rings of Orbis. He has the same genetic enhancements I have, so let him fulfill his role as a Space Jumper. You owe that to him, Drapling. It's the right thing to do. He deserves at least _that,_ not a life like this.\"\n\nDrapling stood up and walked toward the force field.\n\n\"Fine,\" he said. \"But with one condition.\"\n\n\"Anything,\" I replied.\n\n\"You go with him.\"\n\n#\n\nI returned to my room and found Max kneeling in front of my sleeper with half a dozen tools scattered about the room. She had the front panel of my sleeper on her lap and was picking through a fistful of knotted wires.\n\n\"I don't know why that makes me nervous,\" I said.\n\n\"Should you be?\" she asked without looking up, and then placed the ball of wire between her teeth. With her hands free, she snapped the plastic panel back into place and snatched a laser drill off the floor to secure her handiwork. She looked satisfied and stood up, tossed the wires onto the sleeper, and turned to me.\n\n\"Don't I need those?\" I asked.\n\n\"You could have let me know you were back,\" she said.\n\nI walked toward her and took her hand.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Max. I really am.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\nWhat was I going to say? I knew _too_ much now. Should I tell Max that her entire existence was a mistake? Should I tell her that the Trust had messed up and she was never meant to be alive? The life that she and the others had suffered on Orbis was all because of Ketheria and me. What about the others, who I hadn't seen since we arrived? What were they suffering?\n\n\"I went to see Switzer,\" I told her.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He shouldn't be there, Max.\"\n\nMax pulled away, but it felt like someone had chopped my hand off. \"What caused this turn of events, JT? You've hated him ever since you were born. He tried to kill you. He was directly involved in Charlie's death and who knows what else? Trust me: he's supposed to be wherever he is.\"\n\n\"It's not his fault, Max.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I can't believe you can even say that. It's certainly not _your_ fault. I don't get this, JT. You went to see Switzer instead of coming to see me? Ketheria I could understand, but him?\"\n\n\"Max, you _don't_ understand.\"\n\n\"Apparently I don't. I had no idea what happened to you. First you start going crazy, then someone tries to assassinate Ketheria, and then, _bang,_ you're gone, too! I was going crazy wondering what happened to you. If it wasn't for Theodore telling me you were all right, I don't know what I would have done.\"\n\n\"Theodore told you I was here?\"\n\n\"Don't get mad at him. He was just being a good friend.\"\n\n\"Some friend,\" I mumbled.\n\n\"You could take a few lessons from him, Johnny Turnbull.\"\n\nMax turned and walked out of my room. I didn't try to stop her. Maybe it was the best thing, anyway. I didn't have a clue how to tell her that I was leaving.\n\nKetheria returned the next cycle along with an army of Space Jumpers and a half dozen Nagool masters.\n\n\"This isn't good,\" Theodore said as we watched Ketheria's entourage pile into the antechamber of her room. I caught Queykay watching from down the corridor. He did not look happy.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I asked Theodore.\n\n\"All those Space Jumpers, JT. The Council is having a fit. They're saying that the Keepers have broken the treaty.\" Theodore glanced toward Queykay. \"Look at him. I would stay out of his way if I were you.\"\n\n\"But I thought most of the people on the rings loved this OIO stuff. Isn't Ketheria their leader now or something?\"\n\n\"Not really. The OIO philosophy is basically a set of tools to aid in enlightenment. The Scion acts as a seed. Her purpose is to awaken the Universe and help it protect itself against the Knull. I can understand why the Council is nervous. Who's going to listen to them now?\"\n\nI turned toward Theodore. \"Where did you learn this stuff?\" I asked him.\n\nTheodore grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the crowd. He stopped when it appeared no one could hear him. \"From Grace and Diablo.\"\n\n\"Diablo?\"\n\n\"That's what he's calling himself now.\"\n\n\"And you know this because?\"\n\n\"I have joined their group. Max started it, actually.\"\n\n\"What group?\"\n\n\"Shhh!\" Theodore pulled me farther down the corridor, but I didn't think anyone could hear us anyway.\n\n\"We call ourselves Knudnik Nation. We're convinced that if the Citizens go to war against the Keepers again and we, the knudniks, work behind the scenes to undermine the Citizens' efforts, then we can sway the outcome of the war. Do you know how much business on these rings is dependent upon knudniks? Just by collectively refusing to work, we could bring the Citizens' cycle-to-cycle activity to a halt. We have so much power! We simply need to unite. Our biggest hurdle is to get the word out. The taps have helped. Max has hacked into them and we've begun leaving little messages after the original propaganda. They're only viewed once and then the tap is destroyed. There's no way it can come back to us.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say. It was as if someone had shone a light on Theodore. He had been in the room all along, but no one had ever noticed him. Theodore was empowered by this mission in a manner I had never seen.\n\n\"Well, what do you think? Join us. We could use your softwire abilities. You could use it to spread the message and connect to the other rings inside the central computer. Even Vairocina could help.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I don't think I can,\" I told him.\n\n\"Why not? Max is there. She's practically our leader. I think Ketheria would actually promote it. She knows how evil the Citizens are; that's why the Council is so afraid of her.\"\n\n\"It's not that.\"\n\n\"Then what is it?\"\n\nHow was I going to explain to Theodore that I was leaving to become a Space Jumper in order to free the one person we had both despised? Our hate for Switzer was a common bond that Theodore and I had shared our entire lives. If I told him now, I knew I would be hurting our friendship, maybe permanently.\n\n\"It's nothing,\" I said. \"Of course I'll join. Are you crazy? When do they meet? Is it soon? I'll come with you.\"\n\n\"That's golden, JT. I knew I could count on you. This is going to strengthen our effort like you can't believe. We meet in Murat next cycle. I don't have the location yet, but I'll let you know the moment I do.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" I said, and motioned back toward Ketheria. \"I want to check on my sister. I still haven't seen her yet.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course. Go. Do you want me to say anything to Max for you? We're going to deliver some more taps.\"\n\n\"You and Max?\"\n\n\"And a bunch of us,\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" I replied. \"I have to deal with Max myself. It's only fair.\"\n\n\"I'll tell her you're with Ketheria; she'll understand,\" he said as he turned away.\n\n\"No!\" I yelled after him. \"Don't say anything else. Please. Let me deal with Max.\"\n\n\"All right, but remember: say nothing. To anyone.\"\n\nI nodded as I watched Theodore trot down the corridor in the opposite direction of Queykay. I was jealous. _I_ wanted to be going to see Max. I wanted to make plans with them, but all I was going to do was disappoint Max and Theodore. I couldn't tell them. Not yet. I needed a better reason, one that everyone would understand and one that would not expose the fact the each and every kid from the _Renaissance_ was never meant to be alive.\n\nInside the first chamber of Ketheria's room, I found two Nagools discussing something quietly. They both looked up when I entered and smiled. I returned the gesture.\n\n\"We welcome your participation,\" the one Nagool said, his voice like still water.\n\n\"And thank you for your decision,\" the other added.\n\n\"You're welcome,\" I muttered. Truth was, Nagools made me nervous. I didn't understand them, and I didn't want to. In fact, I didn't really know what they did. I made a mental note to ask Ketheria.\n\nInside Ketheria's main room, I found my sister sitting up in her bed. Seated on the far side were Theylor and another Keeper I had never seen before. This Keeper had only one head. I had never seen that before, either.\n\n\"Hello, Johnny Turnbull,\" Theylor said when I entered.\n\n\"Hi, Theylor. I didn't know you were here.\"\n\n\"I wanted to make sure your sister was comfortable. She has been through a great deal.\"\n\n\"Hi, Ketheria,\" I whispered.\n\nShe smiled weakly, her eyelids looking heavy upon her eyes. I saw a yellow bandage wrapped around her left shoulder and arm. Tiny sensors protruded from the bandage, and one of those blue med-lights glowed in a semicircle over the headboard of her sleeper. Seeing my sister wounded by some unknown attacker only reinforced my decision to become a Space Jumper. Suddenly, my own desires seemed selfish and childish to me. Was I feeling this way because of their genetic tampering? _No,_ I thought. Ketheria needed me. No one had to alter any part of me to understand that.\n\n\"Does anyone know what happened?\" I asked Theylor. I moved closer to my sister and let my fingertips caress her hand. She felt warm.\n\n\"She was attacked by a long-range plasma rifle,\" he informed me. \"The most disturbing aspect is that our security sensors never picked it up.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"Someone had to program the sensors around her platform to ignore the signature of that weapon.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Our first suspicion was that someone close to her had done it. Someone with access to the platform, but we have questioned everyone. I am afraid that we have found nothing.\" The Keeper stood up and walked toward me. \"Your acceptance will go a long way to eliminate these holes in their security. I am confident you will rise to be the greatest Tonat ever. An achievement only possible as Ketheria's brother.\"\n\n\"So you know about my plans?\" I said.\n\n\"This is a great cycle for everyone. I am proud of you.\"\n\n\"Let's hope I can live up to the hype,\" I said.\n\n\"You will,\" he said, and then Theylor and the single-headed alien slipped away, leaving me with Ketheria.\n\n\"Thanks,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Don't thank me yet. I haven't told you about the details.\"\n\nKetheria closed her eyes and attempted to smile.\n\n\"You know?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Aren't you upset?\"\n\n\"I'm proud of you as well. To put your hatred aside and seek a path to help undo the misfortune set upon another \u2014 a person with whom you have such a tattered history. I couldn't be more happy, JT.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid,\" I told her.\n\n\"I know that as well.\"\n\n\"Not just for me, but about what Max will think.\"\n\nKetheria winced as the light around her bed pulsed red.\n\n\"Don't talk anymore,\" I whispered, and helped her to lie on her pillow. \"Get your rest.\" But I don't think she heard me. Whoever was monitoring Ketheria had put her to sleep as soon as the pain registered. I stood over the bed and watched my sister rest. _Such a little girl with such an enormous responsibility,_ I thought. How could I _not_ protect her? Whatever the Universe had planned for Ketheria, I knew in my heart that she needed me. I had made the right decision. Now I had three cycles to convince Max of my decision before I left the Rings of Orbis.\n\n_It simply wasn't enough time._\n\nWhen I left Ketheria's room, I found the two Nagools still waiting outside. One of them drifted my way when Ketheria's door closed behind me.\n\n\"She's sleeping,\" I whispered.\n\nThe Nagool simply reached into his robe and removed something with the OIO symbol marked on one side. He handed it to me.\n\n\"What's this?\" I asked, turning the card over in my hand.\n\n\"It's an OIO key,\" he replied.\n\n\"What do you do with it?\"\n\n\"It's simply a reflection of the energy that is moving through you right now. Use this gift as you see fit.\"\n\n\"Um, thanks, I guess.\"\n\nWhen he turned back to the other Nagool, I slipped past them and returned to my room. I flopped on my sleeper and looked at the OIO key. I turned it over and brushed my fingers over the raised letters. I tried to push into the thing, thinking it was some sort of computer device, but there was nothing. It was simply a piece of plastic. It read:\n\n_Many entities in this universe feed on fear. They seek out fear, and when they find it, they encourage it. Their efforts are often subtle but effective, and you are completely unaware of their presence._\n\n_Understand that your fears are learned and compounded by others around you. Simply let this energy pass through your nodes and do not give it attention, as this fear is not yours._\n\n_Fear Nothing._\n\nI read the words again. There was something in their meaning that struck a chord deep within me, like the music I enjoyed so much. It felt like the OIO key was speaking directly to me, as if the author had followed me my entire life, experienced everything I had, and eavesdropped on that inner voice that only I heard. Is this what OIO was all about?\n\nI read the card one more time. The words empowered me. They allowed me to release the ownership of my fears and look at my needs with intense clarity.\n\nIt was time to talk to Max.\n\nBefore I even placed my feet on the floor, there was a knock at my door.\n\n\"Come in,\" I said, hoping it was Max. The door disappeared, and Hach entered my room.\n\n\"I've been informed about your decision,\" he said. \"I am pleased by this, especially after the incident with your sister.\"\n\n\"It was a little more than an incident,\" I pointed out. \"Someone tried to kill her. Someone who might even be involved with this place.\"\n\nHach checked the door. He seemed nervous. \"So you know? This is the reason for my visit. The Trading Council believes that one of you \u2014 one of the humans \u2014 is responsible for the attempt on your sister's life.\"\n\n\"One of us!\" I jumped off my sleeper. \"Are you crazy?\"\n\n\"May I remind you that I am still your Guarantor? And please keep your voice down. I understand the mood of many of the knudniks and the new Citizens on Orbis 4. I hear the whispers of war. Many feel cheated and rightly so, but it is no reason to upset the balance that we have worked so hard to maintain on these rings.\"\n\n\"At the expense of others,\" I reminded him.\n\nHach could only nod.\n\n\"Has anyone looked at the Council?\" I asked.\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous. The Council needs the Scion.\"\n\n\"So what are you getting at?\"\n\nHach checked the door again. \"At first I, too, thought it might be the Council that staged the attempt on the Scion. It certainly helps their position. But Queykay informed me that someone has been tampering with the taps. A concerned Citizen returned one to us, but the additional information had been wiped. I have authorities attempting to retrieve the missing data and trace the source of the tampering, but I must assume that one of the renegade groups of Citizens on 4 has something to do with this. My concern is that a few of _you_ my have been persuaded to join their ranks.\"\n\n\"Why are you telling me this?\"\n\n\"If this is true, I can only warn you that such an action is a threat to their lives.\"\n\nWhat had Theodore gotten himself into? Then I remembered: it wasn't just him. Max was involved, too, and so were Grace and that other kid.\n\n\"You look as is if you have just remembered something,\" Hach said.\n\nI stared at Hach and tried to put on my best liar's face. \"I don't know anything. Look, I'll be gone in a few cycles. My new training should help me track this person. It's not one of us, I assure you. I'll find whoever it is \u2014 I promise.\"\n\n\"That's good, because that _is_ your job now. You are the Tonat. Even if you discover that your friends are the culprits, Queykay will make you punish them. He may not own you, but he will use you.\" Hach turned to leave. \"Get some rest,\" he said. \"You look tired.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" I muttered as the door closed. I fell back onto my sleeper. _What had I done?_ I couldn't leave my friends with Queykay. I needed to know what he knew. I jumped off my sleeper and peeked out the door to make sure Hach was gone. I slipped into the corridor but realized I had no idea where Queykay stayed when he was here, if he even was here.\n\n\"Vairocina?\" I whispered.\n\n\"Yes, JT.\"\n\n\"Do you know where Queykay rests when he visits us?\"\n\n\"Not exactly, but I do know there is a section of your building accessible only by council members.\"\n\n\"Can you help me locate it?\"\n\n\"It's only for council members,\" she reminded me.\n\n\"That's never stopped us before.\"\n\nUsing my staining, Vairocina located where I was in the building and directed me to the far side of the complex. I figured a good conversation with Queykay might reveal a few of his suspects, or at least get him thinking in another direction.\n\n\"I believe these are his quarters,\" Vairocina stated, and I stopped in front of a set of double brass doors stamped with the Orbis emblem.\n\nI knocked. No one answered.\n\n\"Is he here?\" I asked.\n\n\"It is impossible for me to know,\" she replied.\n\nLooking for an access point into the central computer, I spotted the entry pad to the left of the doors. When I pushed inside, I found Vairocina waiting for me.\n\n\"He is a Trading Council member,\" she reminded me. \"I don't want to see you get in any trouble.\"\n\n\"Something's not right about this guy. If I'm going to go away, I need to be certain he won't hurt my friends. I just want to talk to him.\"\n\n\"What if this is not his room? What if he is not even here?\"\n\n\"Then it won't hurt to look around a little.\"\n\nVairocina paused before she stepped aside. \"Thanks,\" I whispered, and then I unlocked the door and slipped out of the central computer and into Queykay's room.\n\nI was glad that he was gone. It would be easier to snoop around to find some answers than actually trying to get it out of him myself. I crept down the entry to his quarters, staying close to the cold walls. The only light seemed to emanate from plants spilling out of tall vases that were set back in the walls. It reminded me of an underwater cave.\n\nAt the end of the main hall, I spotted an open door. Warm light spilled into the hallway and mixed with the cool green light from the hall plants. I stopped just outside the door and peeked around the corner.\n\nWhat I saw caught my breath. Queykay was naked, lying on a stone slab, his robe on the floor beside him. His porcelain skin was covered with hundreds of little wriggling wormlike creatures that seemed to swell in unison as they nurtured themselves off Queykay's body. I stared in horror when one of the parasites, no more than six centimeters long, pulled away from Queykay. The moist sucking sound made me choke as the creature turned in my direction. Its beady red eyes lit on fire when they caught mine. Then it opened its bloody mouth and screamed.\n\nI ran.\n\nI did not leave my room the next cycle. I had no intention of bumping into Queykay and his brood. I had wanted to see Max, but everything I needed to say was now bottlenecked by the enormous amount of information that had been dumped on me. The missing files I had read before falling asleep only thickened the logjam with more of Quirin's reports.\n\nThe history of our parents, whom we thought had died on the _Renaissance,_ had been manufactured and placed within Mother purely for Ketheria's and my benefit. The depth of their elaborate ruse was actually inspiring, as Quirin and the Trust had created backup contingencies for every possible scenario. What they never anticipated, however, was two hundred of us arriving on the Rings of Orbis. Their intentions had been to destroy all the embryos and blame it, along with the death of the adults, on the failed cryogenics. Madame Lee's attack now looked like a convenient coincidence, but her actions must have been the catalyst for Quirin to abort his mission.\n\nComing to grips with the fact that there never were any human adults aboard the _Renaissance_ was like cutting the tether that secured me to the ship. I grew up thinking my parents had chosen to come to the Rings of Orbis to begin a new life. I had openly adopted that dream for Ketheria and myself, but now . . . all of that was a mirage. The dreams, the hopes, and even the girl I loved weren't ever meant to be. She wasn't meant to exist, according to the plan set forth by the DOL and the Trust. But why? So they could rig the outcome of their fate with the Knull? That's what it seemed like to me. And what was the Knull, anyway?\n\nThe craziest part of all was that I was going to accept this new reality and become a Space Jumper, the Tonat, or whatever they wanted me to be, so I could protect my sister. I was also forcing them to release my lifelong enemy \u2014 who apparently was my half brother. Argh! How in the universe could I explain any of this to Max? It didn't even make sense to me.\n\nI let another cycle slip past. I stopped in on Ketheria while they were changing the sensor bandages. Whoever had attacked her had done a nasty job on her shoulder. The medical AI was attempting to fabricate new bone tissue before tackling her muscles. I couldn't stomach anymore. I left Nugget with Ketheria and returned to my room to find Theodore waiting.\n\n\"You're coming next cycle, right?\" he asked.\n\n\"Sure,\" I told him. \"When?\"\n\n\"Third spoke. I don't know the location yet. It's kept secret until the very last moment.\"\n\n\"Are you sure this is safe, Theodore?\"\n\nHe looked at me and chuckled. \"Since when did you get concerned about _safe_?\"\n\n\"How does this group feel about Ketheria? You know, about OIO and all of the stuff that's going on.\"\n\n\"There are a lot of believers. Most agree that Ketheria's awakening is a sign \u2014 a sign that it's time to act. I think most of them would follow Ketheria to the corners of the universe.\"\n\n\"And you?\"\n\n\"What do you mean? I know Ketheria's your sister, but she's every bit a sister to me as well. We are a family.\"\n\n\"In more ways than one,\" I muttered.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" I said. \"Do you ever wonder why Ketheria and I are the only siblings from the _Renaissance_?\n\n\"What are you getting at, JT?\"\n\n\"Think about it \u2014 all those kids and only one pair of siblings. Seems odd to me, don't you think?\"\n\n\"More odd than you being a softwire and Ketheria being the Scion?\"\n\n\"Good point.\"\n\n\"What's wrong, JT?\"\n\nI wanted to tell Theodore everything I had found out. I wanted to share it with someone. I needed to. I couldn't keep all of this inside me. But how could I tell Theodore he was a mistake? Just one of a thousand embryos brought along for the ride \u2014 just in case?\"\n\n\"My dad is alive,\" I told him.\n\n\"What?\" Theodore jumped off my sleeper.\n\n\"I met him after Ketheria was attacked. He's the reason why Ketheria and I are the way we are. He's not human. Well, not completely. He was a Space Jumper, just like they said. He messed around with our genetics. The Keepers wanted us this way.\"\n\n\"That explains a lot.\"\n\n\"Does it?\" I asked him.\n\n\"Well, first off, it explains your softwire abilities and Ketheria's awakening. No one else on the ship has the powers you guys have. _That_ I always found strange. It was only natural you were siblings. If your evolution had been affected somehow by space travel, why wouldn't it have happened to some others?\"\n\n\"You sound envious.\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't I be? I would kill to have some of what you have. Why was it that only you two got to race down the evolutionary highway at the speed of light?\"\n\n\"We aren't the only ones.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Who else? There's another softwire?\"\n\n\"Switzer.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"And we share the same genetic code from Quirin, my father.\"\n\n\"You and Switzer are brothers?\"\n\n\"Kind of, but not really. We both received genetic anomalies from Quirin, so in some sense we _are_ connected genetically. Ketheria and I are actually from the same human female egg.\"\n\n\"So you and Ketheria are twins?\" Theodore slumped onto my sleeper, the weight of the information visible in his posture.\n\n\"Just imagine how I feel,\" I said. Theodore's blank stare told me he was trying to digest everything.\n\n\"And now Switzer is locked up.\"\n\n\"Because of this, the way I see it.\"\n\n\"Doesn't seem fair, does it?\" he remarked.\n\n\"I feel the same way,\" I whispered.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I've already done it. I've agreed to become a Space Jumper if they let me take Switzer. He doesn't deserve to be where he is. It's not his fault.\"\n\n\"JT!\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"Max is not going to like this.\"\n\n\"You can't tell her. I want to tell her.\"\n\n\"When? You've been avoiding her like a case of space scratch. Everyone sees it. She's crazy about you, you know.\"\n\n\"Does she say that?\"\n\n\"Everyone knows.\"\n\n\"I'll tell her at your meeting tomorrow. It's right before I leave. I think it will be easier that way.\"\n\n\"For who?\"\n\nI glared at Theodore, but he was right. It wouldn't be easier for Max. I'd been sitting with it for cycles, and now I was just going to dump it on her at the last minute. Now I felt twice as bad.\n\n\"You're not helping any,\" I said.\n\n\"She deserves to know,\" he said as he headed for the door.\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"But you should.\"\n\nWhen Theodore opened the door, a messenger-bot entered with a screen scroll.\n\n\"I didn't think knudniks could get those,\" Theodore said.\n\n\"I think my cycles as a knudnik are numbered,\" I mumbled.\n\n\"Fortunately, mine are, too,\" he said, and left me alone.\n\nI pushed into the screen scroll thinking it was from Theylor. The scroll read:\n\n**Human: Turnbull, J.**\n\nAn escort will arrive on the next cycle during the third spoke to retrieve you. Your training will begin the moment your escort arrives. You are prohibited from bringing any possessions.\n\n**THE TRUST**\n\nThe third spoke! It figured. Well, they would have to find me, because I was going to that meeting with Theodore.\n\nAt the start of the next spoke, I went to say good-bye to Ketheria. I didn't know how long I would be gone, but I assumed it would be a short trip. How else was I supposed to protect her? I figured the Trust would make me uplink a few codecs, give me a belt, and then ship me back here before anyone knew I was gone.\n\nThe two Space Jumpers standing outside Ketheria's room only glanced at me as I slipped past them. I found my sister sitting up. She was alone and sipping from a small ceramic bowl.\n\n\"You look better,\" I told her.\n\n\"I don't feel it yet,\" she groaned. \"Who would want to do this to me?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid more people than you realize.\"\n\nKetheria gestured for me to sit on her sleeper, and I did.\n\n\"We need to talk before you go,\" she said.\n\n\"About?\"\n\n\"The Nagools have a ritual they call awakening a self. It is a fourteen-step spiritual journey that allows the individual to discover some part of him or herself, usually an important part on their path to enlightenment. Even I'm experiencing these steps on my path to truly becoming the Scion.\"\n\n\"Theylor told me about that, but why fourteen?\"\n\n\"Fourteen nodes in and around your body . . . fourteen levels to the labyrinth . . . fourteen keys to enlightenment. Fourteen is an important number. But that's not why I bring it up. Sometimes it can take an entire lifetime to awaken a single self. Sometimes it never happens. Space Jumpers use the same technique to awaken the selves that exist within them. Above all else, they believe in courage, self-discipline, and integrity.\"\n\n\"So? Those are good traits, aren't they?\"\n\n\"Yes, but they don't let you wait a lifetime to awaken that self. This is one aspect of their training I do not agree with. They use force to awaken those parts within you whether you're ready or not.\"\n\n\"How do they do that?\"\n\n\"I don't know exactly. I can't get anyone to tell me, but I wanted to warn you. I know you can be a little . . . stubborn sometimes, but that won't work with the Trust. You need to open your mind and allow them to do their work. Otherwise, I'm worried that the training will be a horrible experience for you.\"\n\nMy sister's eyes ballooned with tears ready to pop. I loved her for that. \"I can take care of myself,\" I whispered. \"They're just going to zap me with a couple of codecs and then I'll be back. Don't worry. Everything will be all right.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she said, and tried to smile, \"but this is different. Please listen to me and try to understand. Don't fight them. Let it happen. It will be good for you, for me, for us.\"\n\nI held Ketheria's hand in mine. \"I promise,\" I told her. \"I know it seemed I was resisting before, but I will make this work. Besides, the training will help me to protect you so that nothing like this will ever happen to you again.\"\n\n\"Good. Now, I also want you to think of something else to say to Max. What you're going to say won't work with her. In fact, it will probably make matters worse. Try something different. Tell her how much you feel for her, and blame this on me. She can't stay mad at me.\"\n\n\"Out of my head, little sister!\"\n\nKetheria laughed and swiped at a wayward tear that trickled onto her cheek. \"All right. But really, think of something else to say to Max. I'll be fine. They'll let you come back and see me, I'm sure. You're not in prison.\"\n\nI got up and walked to the door. Before I left, I turned to Ketheria and asked, \"Hey, with all your power to read minds and whatever other miraculous things you can do now, did you see who tried to kill you?\"\n\nKetheria shook her head. \"I was too busy soaking up all the love coming toward me. That's why I need a Space Jumper, big brother. Finding the bad guys is your job.\"\n\nKetheria's eyes were welling up again. She looked past me, as if trying to fight back the tears. She stood up, and I moved toward her. \"Ketheria . . .\"\n\nShe shook her head and pointed toward the door. I turned to find Nugget standing there.\n\n\"You're so handsome!\" Ketheria gushed.\n\nNugget stood at attention while holding his chin up like some dignitary. His big clumsy feet poked out from an absurd-looking military uniform with mismatched epaulettes and a crude set of medals pinned to his chest. I leaned in and noticed that the medals were made from pieces of plastic and crystal rocks stitched or pinned to his jacket.\n\nI tried not to laugh. \"What's going on?\"\n\n\"Nugget is on a mission,\" Ketheria said, and moved next to him. Nugget stood a little taller. \"I have made him a mediator on his home planet. It's one of his fourteen keys.\" Ketheria rubbed his chin, and I remembered the first time she did that back on Orbis 1, when she was the only one who could control him. \"Nugget is going to return to Krig and help reunite the Choi and the Choival. Nugget will do so with the blessing of the Scion. He will be an extremely important person on his planet. They will write songs about Nugget some cycle.\"\n\nKetheria couldn't stop the tears now. Nugget practically fell on her and threw his arms around her waist.\n\n\"It's all right,\" she cooed. \"I will miss you so much, you can't even imagine.\"\n\n_What was she doing?_ I wanted to step in. I wanted to say something. The race wars on Krig were legendary. Nugget didn't stand a chance. This was a death sentence for him.\n\n\"No, it's not,\" Ketheria said, reading my mind. \"Nugget is going to do great things. If he has any trouble, he knows that I will be in his heart. All he has to do is reach out to the Source, and I will be there for him.\"\n\n\"I don't know about this, Ketheria,\" I said.\n\n\"Of course, it will be difficult, but I know Nugget can do it.\"\n\n\"I am not afraid,\" he declared.\n\n\"But \u2014\"\n\n\"Walk us out, will you, JT?\"\n\nNugget spun on his heels and marched through the door.\n\n\"Why him, Ketheria?\"\n\n\"Why not him? You're judging him on his size.\"\n\n\"I'm judging him on more than that. You've seen what the Choival did to the Choi. Look at Weegin's wings.\"\n\n\"Trust me, JT. I have a knack for these things now. Nugget will perform magnificently in his new role, and he will bring peace to his planet like they have never experienced.\"\n\n\"You can see the future now?\" I asked, almost mocking her.\n\n\"No, but I can see into Nugget's Source, and he is the only one capable of performing this task, just as you are the only one capable of being the Tonat. It's your judgment of his ability that clogs his nodes and weakens him. So many creatures in this universe are repressed by the thoughts and discriminations of others. You need to stop that, JT. You must stop that now.\"\n\nKetheria reached for my hand and then smiled, taking the edge off her demand. I obliged, and we followed Nugget past the Space Jumpers and out into the open hall. Ketheria stopped short and glanced down the hall to her right. I could hear some sort of commotion coming toward us, as if someone was being dragged down the corridor. The sound was quickly succeeded by the spectacle of four faceless guards dragging the kid whose name I could never remember over the stone floor. Queykay marched behind them as Max and Grace hurried to keep next to him.\n\n\"Max!\" I cried, and rushed toward her.\n\nThe four guards stepped between us and took an aggressive position between me and the kid. Their long chrome chest plates extended and then locked together to form a barrier.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" I yelled.\n\n\"Leave it alone, JT,\" Max called out.\n\n\"He is my prisoner,\" Queykay responded as he stopped in front of the wall of guards.\n\n\"What did he do?\" I asked\n\n\"Darja didn't do anything!\" Grace said, and kicked one of the guards with her boot. The guard only glanced over his shoulder at her.\n\nQueykay threw back his crimson robe and reached behind the guards as if digging into a shipping crate. He surfaced with his rigid white fingers ensnared in Max's hair and dragged her to the front.\n\n\"Maybe I should arrest everyone to prove my point,\" he said with a snarl.\n\n\"Don't you touch her!\" I yelled.\n\n\"I can do whatever I want. I am a Trading Council member. _You_ are nothing.\"\n\nQueykay's brood scrambled down his arm and reached for Max's hair as well. They were getting bigger now, more than ten centimeters long. Queykay barked something at them, and they scurried back into his robe. Max's toes clicked on the floor as he lifted her higher off the ground.\n\n\"Stop it!\" Ketheria yelled at him. \"Put her down.\"\n\n\"If you hurt her, Queykay, I swear, I'll \u2014\"\n\n\"You'll do nothing unless I tell you to do it,\" he hissed. I watched in vain as Max clawed at the alien's hand.\n\n\"We'll see about that,\" I said, and moved toward the guards.\n\n\"Don't!\" Max screamed, but I would not stop.\n\nAs I moved, I adjusted the strength and torque settings in my right arm and used it as a battering ram on the four guards. I hit the middle one, hoping to buckle its armor and send them scattering. As my arm made impact, I heard the metal crunch and then snap apart as the guards scattered. I spun around, ready to attack Queykay, but the guards re-formed and surrounded me, their plates locking together again without a scratch.\n\n\"How pathetic,\" Queykay sneered. \"You? As the Tonat?\"\n\n\"Let them go!\" I yelled from within my makeshift cell.\n\n\"He is my prisoner. He is charged with treason. I have proof that he has been tampering with the taps and spreading lies around the rings. His punishment is death.\"\n\n\"No!\" Grace cried.\n\nNugget ran toward Queykay, his big snout open. He clamped onto Queykay's leg as the guards broke rank and turned on him. As Nugget bit down, Queykay screamed and released Max from his grip. She fell to the floor and rolled away from Queykay. I moved toward her.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" she said.\n\nI looked up and saw Queykay remove a long, silvery talon from under his cloak.\n\n\"Don't!\" Ketheria screamed.\n\nHe raised it over Nugget's head. The four guards that circled me broke rank and lashed at Nugget with black metal prods. In an instant, they had each secured one of Nugget's limbs with a lasso of sorts that was attached to the end the prod. They pulled, lifting Nugget off the ground as I leaped toward them.\n\n\"You're hurting him!\" Max yelled.\n\nJust as Queykay was about to bring the talon down upon Nugget, the hallway went silent. Queykay slid into a state of motionlessness, his eyes locked on Ketheria. The air around us was so still, I could hear my heartbeat. I could even hear Max breathing behind me.\n\nI looked down the corridor and then back the other way. It seemed as if everything was a little less colorful, a little less in focus. Frozen in their attack, Queykay and his goons did nothing as Ketheria moved toward Nugget and untangled him from the metal prods.\n\n\"Are you doing this, Ketheria?\" I asked.\n\nBut she didn't say anything. She worked quickly to get Nugget loose, and I moved in to help, snapping the prods in half with my robotic arm.\n\n\"What sort of powers _do_ you have?\" I whispered.\n\nOnce Nugget was free, she looked at me and said in a hushed voice, \"I don't really know. I find new ones every cycle.\"\n\nWith everyone still locked in some sort of alternate reality, Ketheria turned to me and said, \"I suggest you leave.\"\n\n\"Wait!\" I protested. \"He's not safe.\" I pointed at Darja. \"Queykay will take revenge on him \u2014 I guarantee you that.\"\n\n\"Queykay will not remember a thing. Nor will the guards. At least I don't think so,\" she replied, and turned to Darja. \"Where were you when this all started?\"\n\n\"I was in my room,\" he said.\n\n\"Go back there. I will meet you there shortly. Queykay will attempt to arrest you as he did before, but I will be there with a Keeper and a Nagool. They will not let Queykay take you. Max, Grace, take him there now, please.\"\n\nThen Ketheria put her arm around Nugget's shoulder and started to lead him away.\n\n\"But wait. I don't know when I will see you again,\" I said.\n\n\"You will. That's all that matters.\"\n\nKetheria disappeared down the corridor and I turned to Max, but she had already disappeared with Grace and Darja.\n\n\"Max?\"\n\nI looked up at Queykay, who was still staring at the spot where Nugget once was. I stepped toward him and reached up with my hand, waving it in front of his icy face.\n\n\"I wish you could stay like this forever,\" I whispered.\n\nWith my forefinger and thumb, I picked at the edge of Queykay's sleeve and lifted it up, hoping for a glimpse of the tiny creatures nurturing themselves off Queykay's body. Before my eyes were able to crack the darkness of his sleeve, two bloodred eyes launched themselves at me. A zipper's worth of pointed white teeth sparkled as they broke from the shadows, and I fell back, horrified. The little worm landed on my leg screeching as it tore at my pants, trying to burrow itself into my leg. With a quick sharp blow, I struck the abomination with my right hand and watched it skitter across the stone. I was on my feet and down the corridor before it even turned around.\n\n#\n\nI sat up in my sleeper. _Theodore will be here soon,_ I thought. I had tried to sleep, but instead I'd lain awake berating myself the entire spoke. I was ashamed at how useless I had been against Queykay and his goons. What good was I going to be to Ketheria? What could the Trust teach me that wasn't better than these powers she kept developing? I hoped I had made the right decision.\n\nSince I couldn't sleep, I decided to stop at the chow synth before I went to the meeting with Theodore. I needed to get that food dispenser to manufacture Tic's lifesaving potion into some sort of solid form, like the food tablets we ate at Weegin's World. There was no one at the chow synth when I entered, and I was glad for that. I poked into the synth's chip, and despite the infinite array of choices, I could not figure out how to change a liquid to a solid. The synth would let me freeze and dehydrate, which I thought might work, but it would not let me make a tablet. I pulled out and called Vairocina for help.\n\n\"I was wondering when you were going to call,\" she said.\n\n\"Can you help?\"\n\n\"Let me link through the chow synth,\" she replied as she materialized before me.\n\n\"I guess you know I'm leaving.\"\n\n\"I do,\" she said.\n\n\"I should have called you to say good-bye.\"\n\n\"Good-bye? I assumed I was coming with you.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" I hadn't thought about bringing Vairocina.\n\n\"I was told I could not bring anything \u2014 I mean anyone!\" I said, correcting myself and trying to sound as if I had already thought about this. \"Besides, I would feel much better if I knew you were still here keeping an eye on everyone for me. I have no idea what my training is going to be like or even how long I will be gone. I really need you here. I'm sure if anything goes wrong, you can get a message to me through Theylor or Drapling.\"\n\n\"So, this is good-bye then?\"\n\n\"It's more like see you in a while.\"\n\nVairocina dropped her head as if she were looking at the ground.\n\n\"It's getting boring in here,\" she whispered. \"It's so much more exciting when I'm inside your arm, going places with you.\"\n\n\"I'll be back, and it will be like I never left. I need you here, V,\" I said, hoping Theodore's nickname would help.\n\nShe smiled. It was a small smile, but it was better than nothing. \"I'll try to find the link the Keepers use with the Trust, and maybe I can communicate with you through that,\" she said.\n\n\"That would be perfect,\" I told her. \"Now, any chance you can help make this thing spit out some magic tablets for me? I'm going to need a lot.\" I was also thinking about taking some for Switzer.\n\n\"My pleasure,\" she replied.\n\nBy the time I returned to my room, Theodore was waiting for me to go to the secret meeting. I had half expected to find a couple of Space Jumpers waiting for me instead.\n\n\"I thought Max was going to be with you,\" I said.\n\n\"She went with Grace.\"\n\n\"Does she know I'm coming?\"\n\n\"Yes, she does, but Darja doesn't think this is a good idea.\"\n\n\"Darja?\"\n\n\"You know, that kid. He changed his name again.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"How long do these meetings take?\" I asked him.\n\n\"Usually most of the spoke,\" he replied.\n\nWith the tablets spread between two pockets in the legs of my pants, I slipped Quirin's disc into my back pocket. I had become used to traveling light, and I saw nothing else worth taking. I tossed my skin onto my sleeper.\n\n\"You're not coming back, are you?\" Theodore asked. There was a little worry in his voice.\n\n\"Not for a while, I'm beginning to think.\"\n\nTheodore checked and rechecked each corridor leading to the far end of our building and away from Queykay's quarters, counting his steps as we moved. When he was sure no one was watching, he overrode the security panel at the back exit of the building using a crude-looking uplink attached to his neural port. A small blinking box dangled in the middle of the hardwire. When it turned blue, the door opened.\n\n\"How did you learn to do that?\" I whispered.\n\n\"Max showed me.\"\n\nAs we sprinted across the open compound and into Murat, Hach's suspicions that one of us was involved in the attack on Ketheria trickled into my thoughts. _That's just ridiculous,_ I told myself.\n\nThe city was rotating into shadow, and the building lights blinked on in sequence as the city was slowly swallowed up by the encroaching darkness. I stayed close to Theodore as he picked up the pace and raced toward the darkness. This was my favorite time on the rings. Sparkling reflections of red and gold replaced the dirt and grime, which seemed to wash away with the receding light. Things that once looked decrepit and uninviting now shimmered in the golden dusk.\n\nThis was also the same time of cycle that Max had taken me to the concert in Murat and the time we'd held hands while watching the musician play those strange glass bowls on Orbis 3. This was also the time Max and I would leave the Labyrinth and head home after a Quest-Nest match last rotation. It was in this same dusky glow that Max and I would walk in the garden behind Charlie's, and it was the same time of the cycle that Max and I often strolled through Murat. I loved this time of cycle.\n\nTheodore and I stopped in front of the podlike living quarters that stacked up and over the street. Using a control pad, he punched in a long access code, one I would never have been able to remember.\n\n\"We can't possibly be meeting in one of these things, can we?\" I said.\n\n\"Keep it down,\" he whispered. \"We're not.\"\n\nOne pod broke rank, rotated silently to the street level, and then cracked open. Theodore reached inside and pulled out a tap that he attached to his neural port.\n\n\"What's it say?\" I asked.\n\nHe pulled the tap out and dropped it on the ground. Then he crushed it under the heel of his boot. \"I got it,\" he announced, and turned up the street. All I could do was stare at the shards of plastic on the ground. What had happened to the Theodore I knew? The one who avoided trouble like a Trefaldoor avoided a lie?\n\n\"Wait up!\" I called after him.\n\n\"It's not far,\" he said, pointing up ahead.\n\n\"Does everyone find out about the meeting this way?\"\n\n\"Pretty much. It changes, though, when we think someone might be watching us.\"\n\nI turned and looked behind me to see if that was the case, but I saw no one. \"Who sets this up? I mean who's going to these great lengths to keep this hidden?\"\n\n\"We are,\" he replied.\n\n\"I know that, but who's the leader, who's the head guy?\"\n\n\"Oh, we've never met them. We're just one cell. There are hundreds, just like us, waiting all over the ring.\"\n\n\"Waiting for what?\"\n\n\"For orders.\"\n\n\"Orders for _what_?\"\n\n\"Well, obviously we're waiting for the big order, the one that tells us we're going to fight for our freedom. When the Keepers and the Trading Council go at it, we'll be ready to spring into action. But mostly it's little things. Like that tap back there. I'm sure someone in some cell was given an order to place that there. They had no idea why; they just did it.\"\n\n\"Have you ever had one of these orders?\"\n\n\"Lots.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" I said, stopping in the street. \"What's going on here, Theodore?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Everyone running around following these orders, with no connections to the big picture. Think about it. How easy would it be to set up an assassin to take out Ketheria? No one would really know what had happened. All these little things could be put in place without anyone ever knowing they were helping to kill the Scion. Think about that.\"\n\nTheodore stopped and cocked his head, his eyes wide. \"We wouldn't kill Ketheria. The Scion is one of us. The Scion is a knudnik, JT. She came here just like we did, to work for the Citizens, to labor in their system, to dream _their_ dream. We have more in common with the Scion than we do with anyone here.\"\n\nWas this where I told my friend that he had nothing in common with the knudniks on the Rings of Orbis? Did I tell him that he never had parents who chose to come to Orbis to work \u2014 that his life was an accident? Did I tell him that if Madame Lee had never attacked the _Renaissance,_ he would have been flushed with the rest of the embryos on the seed-ship?\n\nOf course I didn't.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I mumbled. \"I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just that Hach told me that someone on the inside was involved.\"\n\n\"And you thought it was _me_? You thought I would try to kill Ketheria? Are you crazy? I can't believe you would think that.\" Theodore glanced over his shoulder toward the building to my right.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know if you should come, JT. People in there aren't going to take that kind of thinking lightly. We are the last people who would try to kill the Scion.\"\n\n\"Theodore, I'm sorry. I won't say anything. Please, I need to talk to Max. I'll be _gone_ by next cycle.\"\n\n\"I don't even know if she'll talk to you. Now is not the right time. You should have done this earlier, JT.\"\n\n\"But I didn't. This is my only chance. Please. I won't say a word. I'm sorry for even thinking it.\"\n\nTheodore waited. It was a long pause. He was actually considering not bringing me. The thought freaked me out a little.\n\n\"Not a word, then?\" he whispered.\n\n\"I promise.\"\n\nAs we slipped off the main street and down an unlit alley, I was reminded that this was the second time I had followed Theodore to some unfamiliar place under his direction. The first one was the Shed, where he'd sneaked off to use a tetrascope. I only hoped this was a better place than that. When Theodore stopped, there was no light chute this time, no industrial cavern, just an unmarked metal door. He opened the door without knocking, and I followed him down a narrow hallway lit with golden glass balls that were embedded in the mottled walls.\n\n\"Whose place is this?\" I whispered.\n\n\"I don't really know. No one ever tells me,\" he replied.\n\n\"Has the meeting started?\"\n\n\"I don't think so.\"\n\nWe passed several unmarked doors before stopping in front of a double metal door at the end of the hall on the right-hand side. I waited as Theodore ran his hand over some sort of scanner before reaching down to grab a cable that hoisted the door up. I don't know why the scanner bothered me. Maybe because it meant that there was some record of the people who were allowed entry into whatever club was now meeting on the other side. I had always thought anonymity was the best defense when doing something you weren't supposed to.\n\nThere were several people on the other side of the door. They looked up at Theodore and me when we entered. I saw Grace and that kid immediately.\n\n\"What's he doing here?\" the kid said. I didn't like his accusatory tone. If any knudniks were involved in the attack on Ketheria, I would check him out first. Maybe Queykay had something when he picked this kid up.\n\n\"What's wrong with JT coming?\" Theodore confronted him in my defense.\n\n\"He's a softwire. He's not on our side.\"\n\nThere was that side issue again. This little group was quickly getting on _my_ bad side.\n\n\"He's still a knudnik,\" Theodore argued.\n\n\"Hardly,\" the kid spat.\n\n\"What is your name now, anyway?\" I interrupted.\n\n\"Why do you want to know, so you can run and tell them?\"\n\n\"Tell who? Queykay? It seems he knows you're up to something already. Need I remind you that you're stained, just like me? They don't need your name to find you.\"\n\nGrace jumped in. \"His name is Ganook now. He won't be changing it again,\" she said, smiling and placing her hand on his shoulder. Grace's smiled seemed to put the kid at ease. _Ganook?_ His choice, not mine.\n\n\"Besides, I think you should be thanking me for rescuing you last cycle.\"\n\n\"You? Rescue _me_? The Scion did everything. In fact, as I recall, you were rather useless.\"\n\nI stepped toward the kid. Even Theodore moved next to me.\n\n\"That is enough,\" a voice said behind me.\n\nI turned and saw a slender alien approaching me. Large green eyes eclipsed his narrow forehead, and two small bones protruded from his slanted shoulders. The bones supported a deep burgundy cloth that wrapped around him, almost like a loose cocoon.\n\n\"Remember: we are against no one,\" he said, his voice deep and soothing. Instantly, I felt relaxed. \"We are for freedom and the sanctity of the moons, just as the Ancients were so long ago. We only wish to awaken from the dream, the dream of the Trading Council.\"\n\n\"You must agree with the Keepers then. They want the same thing,\" I said.\n\n\"Some, maybe. But greed has corrupted many of them as well.\"\n\n\"Then what _do_ you guys want?\" I asked him.\n\n\"Freedom from the way of life that has destroyed the hearts and minds of so many here on the rings. Freedom from the tyranny of the Citizens and freedom from the deconstructive energy that plagues these rings and anyone who walks among us. It was not always like this, you know. The Rings of Orbis were once the glowing epicenter of true Source energy.\n\n\"So I've heard,\" I said.\n\n\"Please join us. My name is Horgan.\"\n\nHorgan extended his arm and motioned toward a large green and gold curtain suspended from the ceiling. I could see more light through the sheer material and more people. The room was larger than I had realized.\n\nHorgan walked next to me as the group moved toward the curtain.\n\n\"We could benefit from the abilities of a softwire. I'm sure you appreciate this. Your powers could single-handedly disrupt the lives of the Citizens.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I've heard that one before as well.\"\n\n\"You are far more powerful than you realize, and so many of your friends are already with us.\"\n\nOn the other side of the curtain, I saw Max sitting at a huge round table in the center of the room. Her shadow, created by open fires placed around the table like gigantic candles, flickered on the wall. Everything was afire in an orange glow.\n\n\"I can see that,\" I replied, \"but I'm afraid I can't stay long.\"\n\n\"Maybe after you sit with us, you will decide to stay longer.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" I said.\n\nWhen Max saw me, she looked at Theodore and then back at me. Max turned away and struck up a conversation with Grace, who had slipped in next to her.\n\nMy ears were burning. I almost used the sweat from my palms to cool them off. Max was going to freak when I told her I was leaving to train as a Space Jumper. I knew it. I hesitated to sit next to her, but I knew there was no more time to waste. In fact, my escort could show up at any second to take me away. I was moving toward the empty seat next her when a small Honine, her forehead spotted with small spikes, sat down before I could.\n\n\"Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit here? I would like to talk to my friend,\" I said. I made sure Max could hear the last part so at least she would be aware of my intention.\n\nThe Honine smiled and moved away without incident. I sat next to Max, but she continued to talk with Grace. I hadn't been this close to Max in a while. Just her scent made my eyes close, and I secretly breathed her in. When I opened my eyes, she was looking at me.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she hissed.\n\n\"I was just \u2014 I mean, I . . .\" It was hard to talk over the lump that was now formed in my throat. Why was this so difficult?\n\n\"I mean, what are you doing here?\" Max said.\n\n\"I need to talk to you about something.\"\n\n\"We've had plenty of time to talk since your return. I don't think this is the appropriate place for you to be apologizing to me.\"\n\n\"Who said I was \u2014? I mean, I _am_ sorry.\"\n\nMax kind of grunted. \"Do you even know what you're sorry for?\"\n\n\"I know what I'm going to be sorry for,\" I mumbled.\n\n\"What?\" she asked, but then Horgan stood up and raised his arms to quiet everyone down.\n\n\"Welcome, all. There are some new faces around the table. It makes me happy to see our ranks swelling.\"\n\nMax's arm was about ten centimeters away from mine \u2014 so close. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to tell her what I was about to do while I was holding her, not like this. Theodore was right. It was the wrong place and the wrong time. I was such a malf.\n\n\"Max, there's something I need to tell you.\"\n\n\"Shhh,\" she shushed me as Horgan continued.\n\n\"As we discussed last time, signs of war are increasing. It was just this cycle that the Trading Council suspended all new petitions for work rule from inquiring races.\"\n\n\"What?\" I said out loud.\n\nHorgan paused and nodded. \"Oh, yes,\" he said. \"The Council has even suspended education for knudniks and Citizens nationalized in the last five rotations. And there is talk to suspend all work-rule expirations until the Council feels it appropriate to continue normal contracts. They want to make sure they have control of everyone and everything if they choose to go to war against the Keepers.\"\n\n\"But why would they want war?\" I asked.\n\n\"The Keepers have broken the treaty set in place almost two thousand rotations ago. The Council is using the Keepers as scapegoats and rallying the Citizens into a unified frenzy over the need to eliminate all Space Jumpers, and the Keepers with them. The Keepers' arrogance has given the Trading Council the perfect enemy to go to war against.\"\n\nThe crowd seated at the table fidgeted in their seats each time Horgan spoke. Some nodded anxiously while others called out in agreement.\n\n\"But why would they want war? They will only hurt themselves,\" I yelled over the others. They went quiet when I spoke.\n\n\"War will give them more power. War will give them more control over the crystal moons with less interference from the Keepers and the Trust. The Citizens could rule the rings the way they want to, without restriction, and _that_ would be devastating for the likes of you and me on the Rings of Orbis.\"\n\nHorgan began speaking to the entire crowd now. \"Can you imagine what it would be like on the Rings of Orbis if the Trading Council controlled the laws? Can you imagine how many races would suffer under the hand of slavery? Enticed by wealth and greed, many more people would flock to the rings unaware of the consequences that await them.\n\n\"The Trading Council also wants to set their own prices for the crystals harvested from Ki and Ta. Many civilizations that rely on these energy sources would be shackled under the exorbitant prices set by the Council. With no intervention from the Keepers, economies would grind to a halt, societies would crumble, and, all the while, the Council would grow fatter from their obscene profits.\"\n\n\"And how do you plan to stop them?\" I asked.\n\n\"Do we have to explain ourselves every time someone new comes along?\" Ganook complained. \"This is a waste of time.\"\n\nI stared at the kid I had grown up with on the _Renaissance._ \"What's your problem?\" I asked him. \"What do you have against me?\"\n\n\"He has nothing against you,\" Grace interrupted, putting her hand on the kid's shoulder.\n\n\"Let _him_ answer,\" I said.\n\nGanook stood up, shaking off Grace. He kicked his chair back and walked away from the table. Then he turned toward me. \"Don't you see it? You are their instrument,\" he growled. \"Just your presence gives the Trading Council another excuse to act.\"\n\n\"But if you want the Keepers to stay in power, aren't you going to need the Space Jumpers on your side? When I become a Space Jumper, I \u2014\"\n\nI stopped mid-sentence and looked at Max. She spun around, her mouth agape.\n\n\"I'm sorry. I can explain,\" I whispered.\n\nMax's eyes filled with tears. She shoved her chair back and ran from the room. Grace got up to go after her, but I stopped her. \"Let me, please,\" I said.\n\nI chased Max through the curtains and found her against the wall, her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook in unison with her sobs. I placed my hand on her back.\n\n\"Don't!\" she cried, and pulled away.\n\n\"Max, please, it's not what you think. I don't have a choice.\"\n\n\"We always have a choice!\"\n\nWithout warning, an explosion ripped through the building. Chunks of concrete tore through the curtain, and I threw myself over Max as the debris rained down upon us. I heard screams and felt my skin turn warm as the open fires leaped from the their containers and crawled over anything that would burn.\n\n\"Theodore!\" Max cried from underneath me. She pushed me off, and we both jumped up. Max sprinted through the dust and smoke that now choked the room.\n\n\"Theodore!\" I yelled, but I heard only moans and crying as the last pieces of rubble trickled to the ground. \"Be careful, Max!\"\n\nI bumped into Grace, clawing her way through the smoke and debris. She was bleeding from her forehead, and her hands were covered in blood.\n\n\"Ganook!\" she screamed, looking around. \"Ganook!\"\n\nI grabbed her by the shoulders. Tears and blood raked through the dust on her face. \"Grace! Grace, we'll find him,\" I yelled, shaking her back to reality.\n\n\"He turned blue!\"\n\n\"Blue? Who turned blue? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Ganook. He turned blue just before the explosion! His whole body.\"\n\n\"Blue? Grace, you're hurt. Sit down.\"\n\n\"No! He was a target. They wanted him. They knew!\"\n\nIt was Queykay. I was certain of it. If Ketheria's little stunt had not completely erased his memory, then a trace on Ganook could have exposed his whereabouts. Could they simply kill us from an O-dat whenever they wanted? I certainly hoped not.\n\n\"JT, find Theodore,\" Max cried.\n\n\"I'm here. I'm all right,\" he shouted from somewhere in the smoke. \"You have to find Grace. Make her stay where she is. Don't bring her over here.\"\n\n\"Why!\" Grace screamed. \"GANOOK!\" She ran into the dust before I could grab her.\n\nI was wading through the debris, looking for Max, when I saw streams of light materialize in the dust. They rippled before merging into a single point. A moment later, I was staring at two Space Jumpers standing in front of me.\n\n\"Not now!\" I cried, but the Space Jumpers looked at the destruction around me and worked quickly. One armed his plasma rifle, while the other moved toward me and gripped my forearm.\n\n\"What happened here?\" he said.\n\n\"I don't know. Let me find out. Give me a minute. Please! Max!\"\n\nMax stepped through the dust and saw me standing between the two Space Jumpers. \"Please, Max, not like this,\" I pleaded. \"Try to understand. I never wanted to hurt you.\"\n\nMax didn't say anything. She just stood there amid the debris. Tears streaked the soot that had settled on her face. She lifted her right hand as if to wave good-bye. I didn't know for sure because I was ripped away before I could respond.\n\n#\n\nMy arrival at the Trust was as uneventful as a solar flare on the surface of the sun. The two Space Jumpers dumped me into my room and left without even a welcome. The stone floor and metal fixtures were an exact copy of the room they had put me in before, the first time I was taken to their comet. I looked up and realized, however, that something was different. This time I had a roommate.\n\n\"Of all the rocks in the universe, they have to put me with you?\" Switzer grumbled.\n\nI sat on the floor, Max's image still emblazoned on my mind. \"Give me a minute and I'll call someone to see if they have anything else available, something more suiting a wormhole pirate.\"\n\n\"At least your sarcasm has gotten better,\" Switzer said, and leaned back on his sleeper. He hoisted his huge boots over the edge and let them clunk on the metal as he clamped his thick hands behind his even thicker neck. It was difficult for me to get used to the older Switzer. I had to look carefully, past the scars and muscles, to see the kid I had grown up with. If it wasn't for his cocky attitude, I don't know if I would have recognized him at all. \"But really,\" he went on in his deeper, Switzer-the-man voice. \"Thanks. I thought I was going to rot in that awful cell. I owe you one.\"\n\nHis grateful remark caught me off guard. So much had happened between the two us, and none of it was pleasant. Yet I couldn't help but glance at him and blame myself for his very existence. \"It was the least I could do,\" I said without sarcasm.\n\n\"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. Why _did_ you do it, anyway? From what I've seen, you had a pretty good thing going on down there. What possessed you to drag me out of prison?\"\n\n\"I told you already. It's not fair what they did to us. They made you the way you are. They are responsible for you. They can't just lock you away. Your actions are just as much their fault as yours.\"\n\n\"Not sure I see it your way, split-screen. I've done a lot of bad things that had nothing to do with them, but thanks all the same.\"\n\n\"Please stop calling me that.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Split-screen, Dumbwire, or whatever witty little tag you can come up with. Call me JT or don't call me anything.\"\n\nSwitzer paused before muttering, \"Sure. Whatever you want. Hey, how did your girlfriend take it?\"\n\nI stood up and moved in front of his sleeper. \"Do not talk about Max,\" I told him. \"Ever! Understand that I do not want to be here. I did it to get you out. My goal is to get through this stupid training and then get back to the Rings of Orbis. I need to protect Ketheria. You're not the only one I feel responsible for. When you're done with your training, I want you to accept some post in another galaxy, all right? But after you become a Space Jumper, I never want to see you again. Understood?\"\n\n\"Wow, one minute you're feeling sorry for me and the next minute you never want to see me again. What's with that?\"\n\n\"Nothing that I'm going to tell you,\" I said as I turned away.\n\n\"Suit yourself,\" he replied, and leaned back only to sit right back up again. \"Hey, do you have any more of that stuff you gave me back on the rings? I could really use some right now. Just a little. I don't want to get used to it.\"\n\nI reached into my pocket and pulled out the bag of tablets I had made for Switzer. I took a couple from the bag and popped them into my mouth. My head had been killing me ever since I'd arrived. \"Here,\" I said, and tossed the bag to him. \"They'll do the trick.\"\n\nSwitzer caught the bag and held it up, admiring it. Then he looked at me and said, \"You'll make a good wife some cycle, split-screen.\"\n\nSwitzer's teasing was the least of my concerns. I went to sleep worrying about how they'd gotten to Ganook and woke up wondering what Max was doing. How long was I going to be here? _It couldn't be that long,_ I told myself. Then I remembered slow-time. The Keepers had used it in the Center for Science and Research, and the Trust even mentioned it the first time I was here. Surely they must be using it now. If they wanted me to protect Ketheria, how could I do it from here? All I had to do was finish their little course and I would be done. _Keep an open mind._ That's what Ketheria had said. How hard could that be?\n\nSwitzer's sleeper was closed, but I could still hear him snoring. I pushed back the lid of my own sleeper and stared at the metal door. A soft blue light lined the perimeter. I figured some sort of computer chip controlled all the doors on this ship, or rock, or whatever it was that they called this thing. I glanced over at Switzer. He was out cold. Since no one said we had started training yet, I figured now was a good a time as any to do a little exploring.\n\nI slid off my sleeper, stuffed my feet into my boots, and went to the door. I pushed into the blue light and was surprised to find a rudimentary locking device, which I merely nudged open. The last time I was on this thing, the Trust had kept me locked up using a far more elaborate security system. _It's not like I could leave here, anyway,_ I thought as the door disappeared. Outside, I dragged my fingers along the stony wall and slipped down the corridor.\n\nI had no idea where I was going, so I followed the polished support girders that reflected the frigid glow from caged lights mounted above my head every meter or so. It was cold, and I could smell a slight medicinal scent lingering in the air.\n\nI turned right down another corridor. _The place is bigger than I thought._ I found a short set of stairs at the end and climbed them into a small atrium. I stepped toward a large door at the far end, and it disappeared. Once inside, I found myself looking out at the stars through an enormous glass dome. It was some sort of observation deck, like the one we had on the _Renaissanc_ _e._ I loved that place. I spent so many cycles staring out at the stars, wondering what my new home would be like.\n\nI went up to the glass to look out over the ship, but what I saw really wasn't a ship at all. It was just a big rock \u2014 a huge comet falling through space. Behind me, a brilliant white tail of dust and ice lit up the empty blackness, and it was _empty._ There were no planets on the horizon, no nearby stars to light up the ship. But worse than that, the most glaring absence of all was that of the Rings of Orbis. I searched everywhere, running from side to side of the observation deck, but I could find no sign of it. _Where was I?_ Everything I knew was gone. The home I had struggled to accept was nowhere to be found. _What had I done?_ The enormity of my decision settled on my shoulders and forced me to the ground. I had felt alone in my life before, but never like this. Sitting there, on top of the comet, with nothing in sight, I felt _more_ than alone. I felt dead.\n\n\"Do I really snore that bad?\" Switzer asked.\n\nI opened my eyes. I was still in the observation deck. I must have fallen asleep on the floor. \"What time is it?\" I mumbled, looking up at Switzer. There was a strange device hovering near his head, a golden light suspended over a metal spike like a torch.\n\n\"Um . . . you got something here,\" Switzer whispered, pointing at the corner of his mouth. I reached up and wiped away the drool that must have escaped while I was sleeping.\n\n\"Thanks. Who's that?\"\n\n\"Him?\" Switzer said, thumbing at the thing floating in the air. \"That cheery little fellow is our escort. I think we're going to meet the rest of our playgroup.\"\n\n\"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I didn't want to start my first cycle of school without my new buddy.\"\n\n\"Enough with the sarcasm. Do you have any of those tablets? My head is killing me.\"\n\nSwitzer tossed me a couple tablets and said, \"Try to suck it up a little and use those only when it hurts. I don't know how long we're going to be on this icicle.\"\n\n\"So you know where we are?\"\n\n\"I do now,\" he replied, walking over to the edge of the observation deck.\n\n\"Orientation is now assembling. Your presence is required. Please follow me,\" the floating thingy announced as its light flashed red.\n\n\"Ah, the universal color of danger. How long do we plan on letting them wait?\" Switzer said, turning to me.\n\n\"I don't,\" I told him, and sprang to my feet. \"Time to be a Space Jumper.\"\n\nWe followed our escort down several corridors before the light led us to a small lift suspended over a huge open area. The place was so big that I think I could have flown a ring shuttle through it. Directly across from our lift were a couple of enormous cylinders like two giant spacescopes standing next to each other, balanced on their lenses. I squinted to see what they were made of, but the black metal was punctured with an assortment of bright yellow, green, and white lights that made it hard to tell. I could see that each pillar was constructed from odd-size sections stacked one upon the other and that the sections were simply too numerous to count. _Theodore would have tried to count them, though,_ I thought.\n\nThen I heard some unseen motor clunk into action, and the two massive pillars began to rotate as we descended to the floor. I watched the enormous structures peel back and the room we were in flood with a brilliant blue light that hung at the center of the next room.\n\n\"This is what I call an entrance,\" Switzer remarked as we both stepped off the lift. There was another alien already on the floor, watching the pillars part. I elbowed Switzer and he glanced at our new companion.\n\n\"We aren't the only new kids at school,\" he said.\n\nWe followed the red light into the next room. It was circular, lined with balconies. It was difficult to see all the way to the top because the light source was blinding near the room's apex. I shielded my eyes and discovered rows and rows of Space Jumpers awash in the harsh light and staring down at us.\n\nSwitzer was gawking as well. \"Guess being a softwire ain't as special as you thought,\" he whispered.\n\nI guess it wasn't. I knew that all Space Jumpers were softwires and from what I'd understood, it was an especially rare ability. But when I walked past the cylinders and looked up, I almost felt common.\n\nSwitzer, the new guy, and I walked under a huge egglike structure suspended by a thick metal cable at the center of everything. The thing must have been the size of a small spaceship. In fact, I actually wondered if it _was_ a spaceship of some sort.\n\n\"Well, I'm impressed,\" Switzer said.\n\n\"Me too,\" I replied.\n\nThe other guy, an alien with thin tentacles that sprouted from his head, his arms, and even his back, did not respond. Instead, his many tentacles cautiously flicked about as if they were licking the air.\n\n\"What are we supposed to do?\" I whispered to Switzer.\n\n\"Nothing. At least that's what I normally do when the odds are like this. Let them make the first move,\" he replied.\n\nThe egg thing started to descend, and Switzer and I moved back. Circling the center of the egg was a metal support mounted with half a dozen spotlights. Three of them fired up and focused on us. The two giant cylinders slowly swung closed as the egg began to speak.\n\n\"The Source has bestowed its most important gift upon you,\" a voice boomed from the egg. I recognized that voice. It was one of the Trust. \"Do you accept this gift?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried the alien next to us.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" Switzer exclaimed.\n\nI looked at Switzer. I guess this was it. I was going to do it. I was doing it for Ketheria, but I was also doing this for me in some weird way. I was finally able to make that \"choice\" I was always grumbling about.\n\n\"Yes,\" I added, with much less enthusiasm than the others.\n\n\"Your softwire ability is a prerequisite, but your Source is the admission into our family,\" the Trust continued. \"Do you accept these terms?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" cried the other alien.\n\n\"You bet,\" Switzer added.\n\n\"What does that mean?\" I whispered to Switzer. \"Source? What source? I don't get it. What terms?\"\n\n\"Just say yes, split-screen. There is no pamphlet to read, and I don't think they pay for the ride home if you want out now.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied, looking up at the egg. I couldn't believe I was taking advice from Switzer.\n\n\"A Space Jumper is nothing without his family. His family understands his gift, and his family shares his unquestionable belief in the trinity,\" the egg said.\n\n\"Courage! Integrity! Self-discipline!\" These three words stormed down upon us from the hoards of Jumpers who filled the balconies all around us.\n\n\"Your new family will guide you in your acceptance of these tenets. Only when these selves are awakened within you can you claim to be a Space Jumper.\"\n\nThe Space Jumpers responded by cheering and thumping on whatever was close to them, even if that included each other.\n\n\"Piece of cake,\" Switzer boasted.\n\n\"Please step forward as your name is called,\" the Trust ordered. \"Gora Bloom!\"\n\nThe alien with the tentacles practically jumped.\n\n\"Your connector will be Sul em Pah; your monitor will be Kebin Tam.\"\n\nThe crowd applauded, and Gora looked like he or she (I couldn't tell) had won some sort of award.\n\n\"Randall Switzer!\"\n\n\"Here goes nothing. Wish me luck,\" he whispered as he stepped toward the egg.\n\n\"Your connector will be Che Tort; your monitor will be Temasos.\"\n\nThe crowd cheered again, and Switzer held out his arms. This made them cheer a little louder. Switzer always loved attention.\n\n\"Johnny Turnbull!\"\n\nDutifully, I stepped toward the egg as Switzer returned to his original spot. The crowd had stopped cheering, and they were all staring at me. _Did they know about me?_ I hated feeling this way, like I already knew things weren't going to be fair for me. I knew it was just in my head, but that's the way I always felt.\n\n\"Your connector will be Brine Amar.\" The Space Jumpers cheered just like they had for Switzer and Gora. _See?_ I told myself. _It's all in your head._ \"Your monitor will be Quirin Ne Yarnos.\"\n\nThat shut them up. The cheering had stopped immediately at the mention of Quirin's name, and I shook my head. I knew it. It was always like this. I moved back toward Switzer.\n\n\"You always have to be different, don't ya?\" Switzer muttered.\n\nGora turned and spoke to us for the first time. His lipless mouth seemed to cut his face in half. \"No one gets a member of the Trust for a monitor, especially Quirin,\" he said.\n\n\"Is that good or bad?\" I asked.\n\nGora grunted. \"I suppose that depends on you. I envy you, but I would not change places with you for a million yornaling crystals.\"\n\n\"There's a lot I would do for a million yornaling crystals,\" Switzer interrupted.\n\n\"Not this,\" Gora spat, and all his tentacles lay down at once.\n\nI looked up and saw the Space Jumpers start to shuffle away as the huge egg rose silently toward the blinding light above my head. \"Doesn't anyone explain things properly?\" I grumbled.\n\n\"Why?\" Switzer replied. \"Why do you always have to _know_? You live in an alien world. Maybe they don't explain it because it's natural to them. Maybe it's like breathing for them. I don't see you going around explaining breathing to everyone you meet.\"\n\n\"It's not the same thing,\" I argued.\n\n\"Isn't it? Why do you feel so entitled to get an answer for everything? It looks like things have been going along just dandy here before you showed up. You think they're going to change how things are done just to suit you? Maybe it's you who needs to do a little changing. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. Something tells me that this is a place you need to figure out on your own.\"\n\n\"Strong advice,\" Gora added.\n\nSwitzer made it sound so easy, but I still couldn't let it go. \"Then what do we do now?\" I asked, but it felt like more of a complaint.\n\n\"You follow me,\" said a voice walking toward us. The light was strong across the open floor, and three figures emerged out of the glare. They were Nagools.\n\n\"See?\" Switzer whispered. \"Let it come to you.\"\n\n\"I am Brine Amar,\" the Nagool greeted us. \"This is Sul em and Che. Please follow me.\"\n\nBrine Amar appeared a little more colorful than most of the Nagools I had encountered. While his face was still ashen, he sported colors of shimmering sapphire around his eyes and brow. His forehead formed a ridge just above this blue marking that crested up and over his head. As the Nagools turned back in the direction they had come from, I could see that this bone ran all the way to the back of his skull. Thin brown hair grew on the sides of his head \u2014 maybe to even it out, I thought, but it still left him with a long, oval-shaped head.\n\nWe followed slowly, as each of the Nagools shuffled their feet so delicately that it looked as if they were floating. I was careful not to catch their robes as I walked, staring at their high collars. Brine Amar's was decorated with a thick bouquet of colored animal feathers, while the others were a plain golden material.\n\nAs we were leaving, I glanced up at the balconies. They were all empty.\n\n\"Where did they go?\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, would you shut up!\" Switzer cried.\n\nI glared at Switzer as we slipped through a tall, crowned doorway and into a coolly lit corridor. Wherever the Nagools had taken us, it was much different from the rock and metal section of the comet we were staying on. The corridor was molded from some sort of plastic, and a soft bluish light reflected off threads in the Nagool's robes. I noticed that crystal markers identified the different hallways and doors that we passed.\n\n\"I guess these guys live a little better than we do,\" I whispered, and then asked, \"Why are you called connectors?\"\n\nSwitzer jabbed me in the ribs.\n\n\"Ow. Can't I ask?\"\n\n\"Certainly you may,\" Brine Amar said, turning to look at us. \"That is part of our role: to help you understand the magnitude of your responsibility. Sometimes the answer to a seemingly insignificant question can mean the difference between life and death in your travels. As your connector, I am here to help your nodes establish a permanent link with the Universe. A Space Jumper's greatest accomplice is his connection with the Source, but understand that this is not a simple task. In order to make this link, you must be willing to abandon the dream that you are currently in. Through self-discipline and trust in yourself, you will be able to manifest a new dream, a dream in which you are in perfect harmony with the energy that flows through our universe. The Source is abundant. It can provide everything you need. It can connect you with the infinitesimal components of the atom and put you in harmony with the orbit of the largest planets. The Source is your point of singularity. The enlightened state is a Oneness in which there is no division of parts. The Source will present everything you need to reach your true potential as a Space Jumper. You simply need to accept it.\"\n\nI only understood about a quarter of what Brine Amar said, but I liked the fact that he was answering questions. \"All those Space Jumpers I just saw, have they all reached this enlightened state?\"\n\n\"Again with all the questions,\" Switzer scoffed.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" replied Brine Amar.\n\n\"It is a difficult task,\" Sul em Pah remarked.\n\n\"Some spend a lifetime reaching and never move from the spot you occupy right now,\" Che Tort added.\n\n\"Most of the universe is unable to resist the negative distractions,\" Brine Amar said.\n\n\"Do I need this connection to be a Space Jumper?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"Be careful \u2014 that sounds like a question,\" I said.\n\n\"The path is just as important as the destination,\" Brine Amar replied.\n\n\"I'll take that as a no,\" Switzer said.\n\n\"But it will make your task much easier,\" Sul em Pah added.\n\nThe corridor opened into a small glass atrium similar to the Spaceway stations on Orbis, only much smaller.\n\n\"This is where we depart,\" Brine Amar announced.\n\n\"How do we get back?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'm sorry. I meant, this is where we will separate and begin your individual orientation. The goal of a connector is to gain a deeper understanding of the candidate so that we may lay out the best path for your awakening. One-on-one encounters are a necessary part of this process. We will meet four times every cycle, between your training sessions. I thought we might begin with a relaxing tour of your environment. It may be our last chance before you begin.\"\n\nThe glass doors opened up and allowed us to access three small fliers, each large enough to hold three or four people. I followed Brine Amar into the middle one. I sat next to him in the back. Some sort of bot piloted each flier \u2014 it was hard to tell, as the pilot was encased in a dark green shield near the nose of the craft, but I was able make out someone moving inside. _Only a robot could see through that cockpit,_ I thought.\n\nThe Nagools did not say good-bye to each other, but I nodded at Switzer and he did the same. We pushed away before he did, and as the flier wobbled over the expanse that opened up below me, I really got a sense of how big this place was.\n\n\"Are we on a ship or a comet?\" I asked.\n\n\"Both,\" Brine Amar replied. \"The Trust built a base within the comet and then eventually harnessed the mass to move at their will. The comet provides perfect cover when their work requires proximity to a young or primitive civilization. Are you aware of the nickname the other Space Jumpers have for the comet?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said.\n\n\"They refer to it as the Hollow.\"\n\n\"Why the Hollow?\"\n\n\"They've called it that for so long now that I don't believe anyone really remembers, but it certainly makes this place seem more friendly. Don't you agree?\"\n\nBrine Amar did not seem like a typical Nagool to me. My history had afforded me many encounters with Nagools, and they always seemed extremely isolated. In fact, I had hardly ever heard them speak.\n\n\"Friendlier? Maybe,\" I replied. \"Brine Amar, will I be able to go back to the Rings of Orbis and visit my friends and my sister? I was hoping I could see them soon.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that is not possible. You belong to the Trust now. It is up to them to decide when you are fit to leave.\"\n\n\"Well, how long will my training take?\"\n\n\"That is up to you.\"\n\n\"That's not an answer.\"\n\n\"What would you like the answer to be, then?\"\n\n\"I would like you to say _soon._ I would like you to tell me that I can see my friends very soon.\"\n\n\"If that is what you want, then you must believe that you will see them as soon as you want. As I said, it is up to you.\"\n\n\"That doesn't make any sense at all.\"\n\n\"It will. That is why you are here. You will understand in time.\"\n\nTime was the one thing I didn't feel like wasting on this rock.\n\nI glanced out the window as our flier cleared the bay where we had boarded. Below us, I saw half a dozen spacecraft parked in some sort of landing bay that was carved into the side of the comet. I guess Space Jumpers need spacecraft on occasion as well. I didn't bother to ask. Near the top and on the far side of the bay, we entered an oval shaft that looked like some sort of connector tube to another part of the comet. When we emerged from the other end, Brine Amar gestured below us and said, \"I'm sure you are familiar with this.\"\n\nI was. Below me I could see a Quest-Nest arena, more like the one on the _Renaissance_ than the one on Orbis 3.\n\n\"You will be spending a lot of time here. I understand you are quite accomplished.\"\n\n\"Switzer's better,\" I remarked, watching the Space Jumpers watching the labyrinth. They were running some sort of drill, and the different participants were waiting for their turn.\n\n\"Are they training as well?\" I asked.\n\n\"I believe they are refreshing their skills.\"\n\n\"I don't mean to be rude. . . .\"\n\n\"It is impossible for you to offend me,\" he asserted.\n\n\"That's good to know, but I was just wondering about _your_ involvement, you know, as a Nagool, I mean. I thought Nagools were against violence and this sort of thing,\" I said, pointing at the Quest-Nest arena. \"I remember witnessing a group of Nagools protesting outside the Labyrinth before the Chancellor's Challenge.\"\n\n\"The Citizens on the Rings of Orbis use the Space Jumpers' training field in a perverse manner. It is true that we oppose all violence, but Space Jumpers are not here to initiate violence; they are merely here to protect and facilitate this universe's path to enlightenment. You will never find a Space Jumper who strikes first or one who uses his powers for personal gain. A Space Jumper serves the Ancients, prepares for enlightenment at the hands of the Scion, and eventually, if needed, will stand against the Knull.\"\n\n\"I've heard the Knull mentioned before, but I don't know anything about it,\" I said.\n\n\"You will know everything in time.\"\n\nBrine Amar and I moved through more tubes and even smaller sections of the Hollow. My escort pointed out one of the eating commons, a relaxation area, a holographic recreation area, which looked interesting, a medical center, and even a commerce area with little Trading Chambers.\n\n\"This is like a city,\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Much bigger, really. I've only shown you the highlights.\"\n\n\"Is that some sort of robot?\" I asked, pointing to an individual attending one of the Trading Chambers. \"That person there. The one with that metal thing around the back of his neck. He doesn't look like a Space Jumper.\"\n\n\"That is a Honock. You'll find many here at the Hollow.\"\n\n\"Honock? I'm sorry, but that didn't seem to translate. Is that a race?\"\n\n\"No, they are workers for the Trust.\"\n\n\"Knudniks?\"\n\n\"No, not at all. How do I explain? The Space Jumpers . . . make them.\"\n\n_\"They make them?\"_\n\n\"Yes, in a way. During their travels, Space Jumpers come across individuals who have been killed, often wrongly so. When possible, the Space Jumpers can save certain parts of the unfortunate individual. It can be some tissue or some memories, and if they're lucky, a little bit of their Source energy, and then they instill that essence into these Honocks. They really are machines by most definitions, but depending on how much of the individual is salvaged, they are every bit as functioning an individual as you or I.\"\n\nI thought about Vairocina. I wondered if she would be able to use a Honock for a new body. She had been searching for so long. I felt a tinge of regret for not bringing her.\n\n\"Do they ever leave the Hollow?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, I don't believe they could survive outside this environment.\"\n\nHonocks certainly sounded like knudniks to me. I couldn't help but wonder if a Honock ever wished that Space Jumpers hadn't saved them. I'm sure Max would spend a few cycles trying to find one or two who agreed.\n\nOur flier returned to our original docking station while I was thinking about Max. I saw only one other flier parked next to us, but I couldn't remember if it was Switzer's craft or Gora's. I followed Brine Amar out of the small station and down the posh corridor.\n\n\"Your room is down here, two decks below. It will not take you long to learn the layout. It's one big circle, with most facilities located in or near the center. There is a schematic for you to upload if you like,\" he informed me.\n\nBrine Amar paused in front of his door.\n\n\"When do I see you again?\" I asked him.\n\n\"I will find you,\" he replied.\n\n\"All right. What do I do now?\"\n\n\"Return to your room. There is someone waiting there for you.\"\n\n\"For me?\" Who was it? Someone I knew? Suddenly I was anxious to find out. I spun around to go, but Brine Amar stopped me.\n\n\"JT, excuse me, but could I ask you a favor?\"\n\nI turned back around. \"Yeah, sure. What do you need?\"\n\n\"It seems the security access code on my door is not working. Do you think you could use your softwire to allow me entrance?\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"You are a softwire, are you not? I think that task would be quite easy for you.\"\n\n\"You're right, it's just that when most people ask me to help them with my softwire, it's usually for something illegal.\"\n\n\"I assure you my intentions are to merely gain access to my room so I may rest until we meet again.\"\n\n\"Of course. I didn't mean to imply \u2014\"\n\n\"You didn't.\"\n\nI approached the door and pushed into the control pad. Once inside the chip, I expected to find something blocking the access sequence, but there was nothing. I simply switched the \"access granted\" algorithm to _true_ and the door disappeared.\n\n\"There you go,\" I said.\n\n\"Your ability must come in handy,\" Brine Amar remarked.\n\n\"It just gets me in trouble mostly.\"\n\n\"Well, you helped me, and I thank you.\"\n\n\"It's just a door,\" I said.\n\n\"To you, maybe.\"\n\nNagools certainly were strange creatures. I turned and hurried down the hall, anxious to greet my guests.\n\n\"JT!\" Brine Amar called out.\n\n_What did he want now?_\n\n\"Yes?\" I said, stopping and turning.\n\n\"Max is not waiting for you in your room, nor is Theodore, or your sister.\"\n\n\"How do you know about them?\" I asked.\n\n\"There is a Space Jumper waiting to begin your training.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I moaned.\n\n\"You're a Space Jumper now,\" he said solemnly as I turned and walked away.\n\n_Not yet,_ I thought, and took my time going back to my room. Who was I fooling, thinking that my friends where waiting for me in my room? _Split-screen._ The thought of Max and Theodore made me wonder what they were doing. I hoped they were all right. I hoped Max was avoiding Queykay. If only I had some way to know. It might make living on this comet a little easier.\n\nJust as Brine Amar had promised, there was a Space Jumper waiting when I returned.\n\n\"Take your time, why don't ya!\" Switzer cried when I walked in. \"You kept our new friend waiting. Benas, isn't it?\" Switzer asked as he slapped the Space Jumper on the shoulder. The jumper nodded in reply.\n\n\"He's not much of a talker,\" Switzer remarked.\n\nBenas then stepped away from Switzer. I think he must have found Switzer's familiarity uncomfortable or at least odd. I took a moment to marvel at what Benas was wearing. It was a suit fashioned from a shimmering gray material with the texture of rough concrete. I couldn't tell if the pieces of metal and leather layered over the suit were decoration or padding. His Space Jumper's belt hung casually around his waist, but I could see no weapons attached to his body. I liked the leanness of his suit. I wondered if it was his choice.\n\n\"You are requested to dine with the others,\" Benas announced.\n\n\"Food?\" Switzer said. \"But I thought we would jump right into training. I'm interested to find out what kind of firepower this place holds.\"\n\nBenas looked at him. It wasn't the kind of look friends shared, at least not my friends. \"You are many phases away from weaponry training,\" Benas scolded him. \"If you even make it that far. Pseudos usually don't last long at the Hollow.\"\n\nI wouldn't say Benas pushed passed me to get to the door, but I honestly believe that if I hadn't moved, he would have walked right through me.\n\nSwitzer stared after him and then said, \"Now, what's that all about?\"\n\n\"Welcome to my world,\" I replied, and followed Benas.\n\nThe eating area was the same one Brine Amar had showed me during the orientation. I wasn't really hungry. Those pills I took to combat the effect of being away from Ketheria always curbed my appetite. They also made it hard to sleep. I figured I should eat something, though. I didn't know how hard they worked new recruits, so I felt it best to assume I would need my energy.\n\nThe food commons was a large open area with individual tables that rose out of the floor, similar to the ones Odran used in his private quarters on Orbis 2. These seating stations, however, were able to move and connect into larger groups. I could see that several of them were now joined and about four dozen Jumpers were seated around the room in various-size groups.\n\nAlong one wall, behind the tables, I spotted rows and rows of little latch doors that protected a zillion little compartments of food. The food wall had an eerie similarity to the chow synth on the _Renaissance._ It was another similarity with my past that proved that my whole life had been orchestrated by the Trust.\n\nSwitzer had seemed unusually quiet ever since the comments made by Benas. I caught him checking out the other Space Jumpers in the room, and they were checking us out as well. Benas had slipped away the moment we arrived and had linked up with another group. It felt like he didn't want to be seen with us.\n\nAs I walked up to the food wall, a Space Jumper to my left whispered, \"Hey, popper.\"\n\n\"What did you say?\" Switzer retorted, but the Space Jumper ignored him and went on talking with his friends.\n\n\"This isn't good,\" Switzer grumbled behind me.\n\n\"Better get used it,\" I said. \"This was my life on the _Renaissance_ \u2014 my _whole_ life, for that matter.\"\n\n\"What I don't understand is why you put up with it.\"\n\nAnother Space Jumper whispered, \"Pseudos,\" as we walked past. Switzer spun around and scanned the crowd for the culprit, but everyone appeared to be minding their own business.\n\n\"What was I supposed to do?\" I asked him.\n\n\"I'll show you what you were supposed to do.\"\n\nSwitzer turned and headed toward the largest group of Space Jumpers.\n\n\"Switzer, where are you going?\"\n\n\"Just watch and learn,\" he called out.\n\nI followed him but kept my distance. He strolled over to the table and stopped in front of the largest Space Jumper. This was one of those militarized Jumpers, the ones who used every spare inch of his suit to hold some sort of weapon. There were more weapons on the table than there were items to eat. I watched in horror as Switzer reached forward and shoved his fingers into the guy's food. Then he scooped out a handful of something I would never attempt to eat and shoved it into his mouth.\n\n\"Mmmm, that's good,\" he cried with his mouth full. It was loud enough that everyone turned to watch. \"Where'd you get that? Mind if I have some more?\"\n\nThe Space Jumper stared at Switzer as if he had just popped a circuit. When Switzer reached for another scoop, the Space Jumper clamped onto Switzer's forearm. The guy's paw was almost as big as Switzer's arm, and that's saying something, because Switzer is a big guy.\n\n\"Switzer!\" I cried, but he didn't listen. After the Space Jumper clamped onto him, Switzer swung around, his fist clenched, and caught the Jumper right under the chin. The whole room heard the crack. The big Space Jumper fell backward, unconscious. Switzer moved around the table and pushed the guy's legs away. Then he took his seat. The other Jumpers at the table all stood up, but Switzer ignored them. I think it was the complete lack of fear on Switzer's face that scared the other Jumpers and thwarted any retaliation on behalf of their friend. They remained motionless, leaning toward Switzer and staring at him.\n\n\"What?\" Switzer snapped. \"He told me he was done. Didn't you hear him?\"\n\nSwitzer dove into the guy's food.\n\n\"What's your name?\" one of the Space Jumpers asked.\n\n\"Switzer,\" he replied. \"Do you need me to write that down? Because you should remember it.\"\n\nThe Jumper did not respond, but he did sit down. Switzer scooped the last little bit of the slop from the plastic bowl and licked his fingers. Then he stood up and said, \"Oh, that was good. I have to get some more. You guys want anything while I'm up?\"\n\nThe rest of the Space Jumpers at the table either shook their heads or grunted, concentrating on their food again. Switzer strolled over to where I was standing and used his fingers to push my chin up, closing my mouth. His fingers were still wet from the guy's food.\n\n\"I think that's been taken care of,\" he whispered.\n\nI followed Switzer to the food wall and asked, \"Why that guy? Is it because he was the biggest?\"\n\n\"No. Have you seen these guys fight? He was the only one I saw whose belt was on the table. I didn't want him slipping out and popping back up behind me. That's not a fair fight.\" Switzer looked over his shoulder and saw the Space Jumper getting up and returning to his seat. Switzer nodded at the guy, and he returned the nod. \"The fact that he was the biggest is just a bonus,\" Switzer added.\n\nI grabbed some food behind Switzer \u2014 a few things I could recognize \u2014 and we sat at a table with some of the other Jumpers. Switzer was already making alliances and starting friendships. As I ate and watched him, I realized that I would never be like him. If we were somehow picked from the same gene pool, then why were we so different? How come he could adapt so quickly to this new world when all I did was resist?\n\nAs a couple of Space Jumpers got up to leave, I overheard Switzer making plans with them to meet at Quest-Nest. I just shook my head.\n\n\"So I was just supposed to walk up to you on the _Renaissance_ and knock your stars out?\" I asked. \"When we were eight years old?\"\n\n\"Better than trying it now,\" he replied.\n\nAfter we ate, I was informed by tap that we were to meet with our advisors. I uplinked directions to Quirin's quarters and then mumbled good-byes to Switzer. For the first time in my life, I found myself craving Switzer's company. His altercation at mealtime garnered us immediate respect with the other Jumpers, but I knew that the respect afforded me was due to my association with him, not from my own actions. Walking alone left me feeling exposed and I knew there was no way I was going to knock someone out, no matter how effective Switzer made it look.\n\nFortunately, I made it to Quirin's without the need to knock someone's head off and slipped inside his quarters.\n\n\"I was pleased to hear of your decision to participate, although I was concerned about your request to include the other human,\" he said. His voice seemed to come from every corner of the room.\n\n\"That other human is partly my brother, according to you. It was not fair what you did to us. It was the least I could do for him.\"\n\n\"I had hoped these sentiments would have been erased with your gene therapy.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You were not programmed to be so empathetic toward other life-forms. It was a human trait I clearly underestimated. Yet this Randall Switzer, from what I have heard, does not seem to share your feelings for your own kind.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by _programmed_? You make it sound like I'm some sort machine.\"\n\n\"In a way you are. Aren't we all?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Shall I say _designed,_ then? As the Tonat, you will be placed in many situations where your only concern should, and will, be the survival of the Scion. You cannot fight that even if you try. All other life-forms will be of no consequence to you. They simply cannot be. That is why you have difficulty understanding the OIO philosophy. It was part of your design. As much as I believe in the value system, I could not have the questions it raises clouding your decisions.\"\n\n\"Well, I think there may be some flaws in your design,\" I told him.\n\n\"Then that is where we will start,\" he replied.\n\nThe light in the room focused on a point near the center of the floor. A sort of workstation with a seat and a panel of O-dats placed in a semicircle around the metal stool emerged.\n\n\"Sit,\" Quirin ordered.\n\nAs I obeyed, several wires snaked out from points in the wall, or rather from Quirin, that is, and connected with my workstation.\n\n\"We must upload traditional Space Jumper protocols into your cortex before physical training can begin. These rules, procedures, and themes are at the core of your studies. I will be uploading large chunks of data, so be prepared. The sooner this is done, the sooner your physical training can begin.\"\n\nThe O-dats lit up, and I began to feel a little nauseous. Hoping Quirin would not notice, I reached into my pocket and took a tablet, pretending to rub my nose as I slipped it into my mouth.\n\nBut Quirin saw it just the same. \"You must learn to control that discomfort,\" he said. \"It is a tool that allows you to physically estimate your distance from the Scion. Masking its effect is not the proper way to master the tool's important function.\"\n\n\"Some tool,\" I muttered.\n\n\"I am placing the files I need you to upload on the terminal in front of you. Please access the computer and install each one in sequence.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" I said. \"How is Switzer doing this? He's not a softwire. I thought you had to be a softwire to be a Space Jumper. Are they doing it with his hardware?\"\n\n\"The genetic structure for this gift was always within Switzer. The sequence was never initiated, as I found you a much better candidate. Once the genetic coding is manipulated, Switzer will share the same abilities as any other softwire. That is why he survived the jump from Orbis 2. The belt recognized the dormant genes and made a connection with him. Otherwise he would have died.\"\n\n\"He'll be just like me,\" I said.\n\n\"In some ways; in others not. Your ability to jump without a belt is a unique skill that no other Space Jumper has, although you are unable to control it. The mishaps you experienced early on, jumping without warning, will disappear. I'm convinced they were the result of Ketheria's awakening.\n\n\"Your softwire is merely used to connect with the belt. A Space Jumper's belt does most of the work under normal situations. It stores entry points throughout the universe and allows a Space Jumper to return to wherever he has been. You, on the other hand, simply need to remember a place in order to jump there. Unfortunately you cannot jump to a place you have never been without the use of a belt.\"\n\n\"But I've jumped to places I'd never been before. I've showed up in back alleys in Murat and other places on the rings,\" I told him.\n\n\"But you did not control those jumps. They were simply sparked by your emotions and sent you adrift through the Source. You are lucky you did not jump to the center of a black hole.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" I replied.\n\n\"May I continue?\"\n\n\"Sorry.\"\n\n\"Your unique ability to jump without a belt parallels your ability to _push_ into a computer, as you call it. Softwires merely connect to a computer without hardware and interface with the data. You can actually enter a computer with your mind, manipulating its contents in ways we are unable to do. Although I did manipulate your genetic structures, I believe you were the only candidate capable of evolving in this manner. But I don't know why. You are unique. You are the future of our kind.\"\n\n\"And you did all this for me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" I said. \"I guess.\"\n\nThe O-dats lit up, and I began downloading file after file. Most of it I didn't even acknowledge outside of the title. I knew that the information would come to me when I needed it, as long as I accessed it often enough to store it inside my long-term memory. That was the purpose of my physical training, Quirin said, to ingrain the information into my unconscious.\n\nBy the time we were finished, I figured I was going to have to do a lot of training to use all of this information. I uploaded data files big enough to knock out a whole class back at the Center for Wisdom, Culture, and Comprehension. I was exhausted and had to drag myself back to my room.\n\nThe moment I was settled in my sleeper, Switzer burst into the room.\n\n\"You've been hiding this your whole life!\" he cried.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"This!\" he yelled, tapping his head. \"I can't believe you've been ashamed of this.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\" I asked him.\n\nSwitzer was prancing around the room as if he had just discovered a new planet.\n\n\"Your softwire,\" he cried. \"They just turned mine on, or whatever it is they do. It's incredible!\"\n\n\"Oh, that,\" I scoffed. \"If I recall, you gave me a lot of crap over it when they discovered mine.\"\n\nSwitzer walked over to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. \"Look, I'm sorry about that, all right? How was I supposed to know? I was just a kid, remember? And besides, how could someone else fathom this power?\" Switzer took up prancing around the room again.\n\n\"It's done more harm than good,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"That's where you're wrong. Do you even realize the power you have inside your head? I think half the training here is going to be about not abusing this.\"\n\n\"Abusing it? What are you talking about?\" Suddenly, I felt extremely nervous about the fact that I had brought Switzer here. \"Look,\" I said, standing up. \"Don't do anything stupid, all right? I convinced them to bring you here because of what they did to us. It wasn't fair. Your situation is the exact result of their actions. Don't go proving me wrong, please.\"\n\n\"Don't get your uplink in a tangle. I'm not going to do anything. But that's why we haven't gotten the warmest reception around here. All these other Space Jumpers evolved this ability. It made them exceptional on whatever planet they came from. You and I, on the other hand, were tinkered with. They needed the process speeded up so baby-malf could be the Scion. Humans were their last hope.\"\n\n\"Don't call her that.\"\n\n\"Sorry. Old habits.\"\n\n\"So that's what they meant by calling us psuedos?\"\n\n\"Yep.\"\n\n\"What about this popper thing I keep hearing?\"\n\n\"Even _I_ can figure that one out. It's because you were popping in out of space and time when you were getting angry. And you were doing it without a belt. No one else can do that, by the way.\"\n\n\"I've heard.\"\n\n\"I think it makes them a little jealous. We can't jump without a belt.\"\n\n\"We?\" I said.\n\n\"Us _softwires._ I'm one of you now, my friend!\"\n\nSwitzer punched me in the shoulder and laughed out loud. I couldn't believe how much he was enjoying this. I had spent my entire life hiding my softwire ability, and he was wearing it like some sort of medal. I couldn't even imagine acting like that. I wondered if the other Space Jumpers were stuffed with this much pride about their condition.\n\nSwitzer flopped onto his sleeper, still smiling.\n\n\"What are you thinking about?\" I asked.\n\n\"The future,\" he replied.\n\n\"What about it?\"\n\n\"How great it's going to be!\"\n\nAs I lay in my sleeper, waiting to sleep, I tried to see Switzer's point of view, but it was impossible. Being a softwire was not something I looked at with such optimism. As a kid, my abilities had only garnered me ridicule and shame, but when I thought about it, Max was excited when my abilities were first discovered. It was just the Space Jumper part she didn't like. And I had promised her I wouldn't become one. _So much for keeping my promise._\n\nInsomnia. A side effect from the tablets that I kept popping despite Quirin's instructions. While Switzer snored in his sleeper, I lay in mine, staring at the darkened lid. It was no use. I wasn't going to fall asleep. I pushed the lid back and sat up. I was really missing Max. I wanted to know what she was doing, and the same with Theodore and Ketheria. I pulled on my clothes and headed for the observation deck.\n\nSomeone else was sitting there when I arrived. It was a Honock. He turned and looked at me when I entered.\n\n\"You bad!\" he hissed.\n\nI remembered that voice.\n\n\"Hey, I know you.\" It was the same voice I heard the first time I was taken to the Hollow, when I had popped during the Chancellor's Challenge on Orbis 3. This Honock was the one outside my room. \"What's your name?\"\n\nThe Honock stood up and moved away from me. \"You bad,\" he repeated.\n\n\"No, I'm not. My name is JT. What's yours?\"\n\nHe didn't reply. His back was against the glass, and he was sidling along it back toward the entrance. I didn't push him. I kept my distance.\n\n\"I'm not bad. Why do you keep saying that?\"\n\nHe pointed at my waist. \"You bad.\"\n\n\"What?\" I said, patting my waist. \"I'm bad because I don't have a Space Jumper's belt? Why would that make me bad?\"\n\n\"You bad!\" he yelled, and bolted for the door.\n\n\"Wait! Tell me why!\" But the Honock was gone. At first I thought about following him. It made me wonder if Honocks even slept. How much of them were machine, anyway? Instead of following him, I sat near the glass and looked out at the stars. \"Where are you, Max?\" I whispered. \"I miss you.\"\n\n#\n\nThe next cycle, I was forced to endure Switzer's whistling as he strutted around the room, getting ready for the cycle's training. I allowed myself to take pride in the fact that he wouldn't be feeling this way if I had not gotten him out of that hole and brought him to the Hollow. Despite the rotations of abuse I'd taken from Switzer when we were kids, and even later when he was a wormhole pirate, I could see that he was a completely different person now. Secretly, I took a little credit for his change.\n\nI started my cycle with a visit to Brine Amar, who asked me if I could help him fix his O-dat. I had to use my softwire ability again, and I started to wonder if the Nagool only thought of me as his own little handyman. Where was the connection to the Source? Where was the guidance? At least he was extremely thankful, and I liked using my softwire to _help_ people, for a change.\n\nOnce at Quirin's, I uploaded more files \u2014 simulated experience memories, or SEMs, as he called them. This cycle, I learned how to pilot a shuttle that I had never even been on. Now, that was definitely something I would like to try. I could only imagine how much fun Switzer was having.\n\nDuring mealtime, I caught myself thinking about Max again, as well as Ketheria. Switzer was knee-deep in friends now, and even I began to feel a little camaraderie with everyone sitting at our table. But enjoying myself made me feel guilty for not knowing what was happening down on the rings. I wished there was some way to contact my friends, but when I had mentioned this to Quirin, he'd quickly shut me down, saying it was out of the question.\n\nDuring the sleep spokes, I often found myself back in the observation deck. This routine continued for many cycles, but the Honock never showed again. I did spot him once, working behind the food wall, but he acted as if he didn't know me. I don't know why the Honocks interested me so much. Maybe I saw them as knudniks and felt some sort of connection to them.\n\n\"You look like crap,\" Switzer said to me one cycle as he was headed out our door.\n\n\"Thanks,\" I replied.\n\n\"No, I mean it. When was the last time you slept?\"\n\n\"I don't remember.\"\n\n\"Are you still popping those pills?\"\n\n\"Yeah, aren't you?\"\n\n\"No. I'm fighting it,\" he replied, but I found that hard to believe. The headaches, the nausea, it was too much to endure this far away from Ketheria.\n\n\"How?\" I asked.\n\n\"I just _am._ It's not as hard as you think. You have to put the pain to the back of your mind and focus on something else.\"\n\nSwitzer would have made a better Tonat, I told myself. \"I can't,\" I said. \"I've tried.\"\n\n\"Well, try harder. You think you're going to be able find a lifetime supply of those things when we're done? What if you get stationed in another galaxy?\"\n\n\"What do you mean _stationed_ in another galaxy? Who told you this? I'm going back to the Rings of Orbis. I'm supposed to be protecting Ketheria. I'm not going anywhere.\"\n\nSwitzer had stopped at the door, but now he walked back to my sleeper. \"Give it up,\" he growled. \" _This_ is your life now. You are an instrument of the Trust, a protector for the Ancients. You have a far greater purpose than all the split-screens on Orbis combined.\" Then he left.\n\nSwitzer _definitely_ would have made a better Tonat.\n\nThe next cycle was the first phase of our physical training. Using the Quest-Nest arena at the most physically demanding settings I had ever seen, a team of seasoned Space Jumpers ran us through coordination, endurance, flexibility, and strength drills. And then we did it again. The playing field had been replaced with what was mostly an obstacle course, which re-formed on me when I was too slow. With each run at the course, the computer would slip in new elements that required the use of another SEM, usually one that I had uplinked in a previous session with Quirin. The Space Jumpers had us take single turns, as well as switching out partners, using Gora, Switzer, and one of the trainers. We were often in pairs.\n\n\"Do Space Jumpers always work as pairs when they are on missions?\" I asked the instructor, a big militarized Space Jumper.\n\n\"Concentrate on the now, popper. You're in no condition to be thinking about a mission,\" he barked.\n\n_So much for camaraderie,_ I thought.\n\nWhenever Switzer was asked to \"run the Nest,\" as he began to call it, he didn't just walk up to it; he attacked it. Each obstacle was something else for him to conquer. I had to admire how good he was at it. He even completed one run ahead of the trainer. Not something he let slip by, either.\n\n\"You should have used that immobility cube on those spheres near the end. I find it acts as an adhesive on inanimate objects,\" he boasted.\n\nThe trainer did not snap at him. In fact, he seemed to be absorbing what Switzer was telling him. I often saw them discussing a move Switzer had tried or an unorthodox manner in which he employed his weapon.\n\n\"You were made for this,\" I said to him once at mealtime.\n\n\"Technically, I was,\" he said, his mouth full of something green. \"But my experiences as Captain Ceesar taught me to be resourceful. I have to think it's going to get a lot harder than this if we are to live up to the Space Jumpers' reputation.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I asked. Switzer stuffed something with a tentacle into his mouth. I guess being a wormhole pirate had also broadened his appetite.\n\n\"Out there, in the real universe, these guys are gods,\" Switzer whispered. \"On some planets, the mere mention of a Space Jumper can send an enemy scurrying for cover. I just thought it would be a little tougher.\"\n\n\"Or maybe you're just that good,\" I told him.\n\n\"Hey, don't worry \u2014 you're going to get better.\"\n\n\"I don't need your pity, thanks.\"\n\n\"I didn't mean it that way. Look, what are you now, seventeen? I have ten, maybe fifteen years' experience on you. That's all. How can anyone expect to be good at this right off the launch? That's what the training's for. I'm sure you're much better than me when you're using that thing in your head and jumping around computers and stuff. I'm still grasping working the interfaces on O-dats.\"\n\n\"You really like this life, don't you?\"\n\n\"It's better than what I used to do.\"\n\nWe finished our meal in silence. We were both exhausted and sore. It even hurt to stand up. As I limped back to our room, I hoped I might get some sleep, but it did not come. I lay in my sleeper, thinking about what Switzer had said, about the reputation of Space Jumpers elsewhere in the universe. I thought about how they were feared. Max had heard those stories as well. I'm sure a lot of people on the rings shared the same sentiment. I wondered if Max would ever take me back now.\n\nOver the next few cycles, I watched Switzer begin to dominate the trainers during the Quest-Nest drills. I then decided that instead of sitting there and grumbling about it, I would watch him and learn. Switzer was good, often combining two movements at once. But when I tried to repeat the task, it was simply impossible for me.\n\n\"Don't give up!\" he encouraged me.\n\nAnd I didn't. Whenever I trained with him, I stayed close, trying to reenact his movements even if it resulted in a painful drop to the floor or being blindsided by a moving obstacle.\n\nDespite my exhaustion, I still wasn't sleeping.\n\nOne spoke, I caught another Honock in the observation deck. This one did not resort to calling me bad, but he was still afraid of me. I wondered if they had always been afraid. Had this individual almost been killed by a Space Jumper, only to be reincarnated as a machine and forced to live among us? How horrible would that be? No wonder he thought I was bad.\n\n\"Do the Honocks ever ask to go home?\" I asked Brine Amar during one session.\n\n\"No. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"I've seen them in the observation deck, looking out at the stars, almost as if they were reminiscing about something. I thought they might be thinking about their former lives.\"\n\n\"Honocks are not designed that way. Yes, some of their personality is maintained, but you really must think of them as machines, just as you would a cart-bot or an android.\"\n\nBefore I left, though, he made the oddest request.\n\n\"Could you do me a favor?\" he asked. \"Would you play in a match of Quest-Nest with Randall Switzer? I would enjoy that very much.\"\n\n\"Me? I guess. Sure, why not? Whom will we play against?\"\n\n\"No, I want you to play against Randall Switzer. You will use one of your instructors as your partner.\"\n\n\" _Against_ him?\"\n\n\"Yes. Do you mind?\"\n\n\"Um, no. I guess not.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Now.\"\n\nInstead of training this spoke, it appeared I was going to enter the labyrinth and play against Switzer. When I arrived, Switzer was already waiting, as were most of the other Space Jumpers I had seen in the Hollow.\n\n\"Just like old times,\" he said.\n\n\"You know?\"\n\n\"Yeah, my guy asked me to play you.\"\n\n\"Mine, too. Don't you think that's weird? I mean everyone in the Hollow is here.\"\n\n\"Why should I? I'm looking forward to watching you lose.\"\n\nSwitzer yanked the helmet over his head and launched into the labyrinth. One of my trainers walked up and asked, \"You want to be the bait or the tracker?\"\n\n\"Tracker,\" I said under my breath, and pulled a helmet off the wall.\n\nThe labyrinth on the Hollow was different from the one I had been using on the Rings of Orbis, in that it did not have a sort. I was glad that I did not have to think of a sort strategy to use against Switzer. I was comforted by the fact that I would not be floating in a vacuum while trying to navigate multidimensional mazes after the door opened. No, this match would be familiar to me. This would be just like on the _Renaissance._\n\nWaiting for the computer to set, I felt the sudden urge to run. What if I was wrong? What if it was different here as well? _But you've already been practicing here,_ I reminded myself. _Concentrate!_ When the door peeled away, it was like stepping back onto the _Renaissance._ It was exactly the same! I sprinted along the curved purple walls and jumped over the blue lights embedded in channels on the floor. I knew the first obstacle of metal crates was just ahead to my right and the immobility cube would be waiting on the other side.\n\nI dragged the metal crate next to the other two and used it to hop up and over a half wall. I grabbed the immobility cube and then used the ladder I knew would be there to sidestep two more obstacles, just as I had done so many times before on the _Renaissance. This is almost too easy,_ I thought. It was obvious to me now that Quirin had designed our Quest-Nest on the _Renaissance._ Didn't they know I had played this version many, many times before? Was this some sort of trick? It certainly must have been boring for Brine Amar to watch.\n\nI was ready for the four frontier pilots hiding in the deep trenches past the next doorway. An additional immobility cube and a plasma rifle took them down before they even started to scream. I ran across the darkened room, past a sparking electrical circuit that provided the only light. I was about to run through the doorway when I stopped.\n\nThe door was on the wrong side of the room. It should have been on the left, but it was on the right, on the other side of a snaking electrical wire that was torn loose from the wall. I wouldn't even have even thought about it if everything hadn't been so exact up until this point, right down to the color of the lights and scars on the walls. It was a complete reenactment of the _Renaissance._\n\nExcept for this door.\n\nI approached the door and saw that it was slightly open, as if someone had tried to open it but it had jammed. Had Switzer already been here and messed with the door to slow me down? I searched for some sort of control panel near the door, but there was none. I peered through the crack and saw a pink light flickering on the other side, so I figured this was the way to go. I even tried to pry it open with the butt of my fedaado blade, but the door was stuck.\n\nI flexed my arm, used my softwire to adjust the torque and pain levels and then clobbered at the door with my right arm. The metal buckled, but I knew I was going to have to destroy the door to get through. I had to admire Switzer for jamming it like this. The delay was definitely going to set me back.\n\nI pounded on the door several times; each effort widened the crack a little more. When I peered through again, it was mostly black beyond except for the beams of pink light that crisscrossed the darkness. I figured it was coming from some light source on the wall. With one final lunge, I hammered at the door, and whatever had jammed it came loose. The door jerked to the right with such a jolt that I lost my footing and fell forward, through the opening.\n\nIt was a hole.\n\nI was falling through the beams of pink lights that flicked on as I passed them. _This is going to hurt,_ I thought, but I didn't scream. Who would hear me, anyway?\n\nAnd then I hit water. Water isn't as hard as concrete, but it still hurts. I felt my right leg jam up into my hip socket and the water crash in on my face.\n\nIt was over. I had lost.\n\nI looked up through the tiny beams of pink light, waiting for the labyrinth to turn off. The water would drain away, and I would be left with my sore leg and my loser self. I had wanted to beat Switzer. I knew I didn't have a chance, but I wanted to beat him.\n\n\"Hey!\" I called out when no one turned the maze off. \"I'm down here. You win!\"\n\nBut the water was not draining. In fact, I noticed that the water level was creeping upward, swallowing the little beams of pink light as it rose. Soon there were just as many pink lights in the water as there were above me.\n\n_Is this part of the match?_\n\nWhen I floated up to the door that I had fallen through, some sort of force field swallowed the opening before the water could spill out. The well, or tunnel or whatever I had fallen into, was filling up.\n\nAs I passed the broken door, I searched frantically for some sort of computer device. I knew I wasn't supposed to use my softwire to aid myself in the game, but that was on Orbis. Everyone here was a softwire. Everyone was on equal ground. I searched the walls for something to push into, but I found nothing. _What put up that force field?_ I wondered. Where was the computer that ran this thing, for that matter? _Surely there must be something around here to manipulate,_ I thought.\n\nI could see the top of the tunnel, only a few meters above my head. There wasn't enough time to figure out why, nor was there anyone around who could answer my questions. There had to be a way out of here. If they weren't turning the labyrinth off, then that meant the match wasn't over. There must be a way out.\n\nI swam to the edge and groped the walls for some sort of plate or panel, anything really, but the walls were smooth like glass. I couldn't even find a seam, nothing except for the little holes where the pink beams of light shone. Was that it?\n\nMy hand was now against the ceiling. There was nothing else to try. I held my breath and dove under, close to one of the lights. There was nothing to interface with, so I tried to push in, but I found nothing. I moved to another light, hoping it might be different, but again, nothing. I surfaced, gasping for air. There were only about fifteen centimeters left for me to breathe in. Surely they wouldn't let me die in here. This wasn't the Chancellor's Challenge. _Do I simply give up?_ I wondered. _What if Ketheria was with me? Would I give up then?_\n\nI dove back into the water, searching for any light that was different in any way. Near the bottom, I spotted one that appeared slightly brighter than the others. I dove deeper, knowing that this was my last chance, since the water would surely be at the ceiling by now. In front of the light, I groped for a computer device but still found nothing! This time, I pushed in and discovered a single computer chip attached to a sensory timer. It was the smallest thing I had ever pushed into before, but at least it was something. I knew it had to connect to something larger. I forced myself inside the circuit and pushed against the resistance. It felt as if something was scratching at my skin, pawing for something to latch on to, something to hold me back with. The narrow corridor I found inside the chip then opened into a larger chamber of data cells stacked one on top of the other. I noticed that the one at the center was highlighted with a bright yellow glow as if it were a beacon to let me know I had arrived.\n\nA simple manipulation of the data sequence, clearly marked for anyone who found it, set the tank on drain, and I felt the rush of water pull me down to the floor. The water drained through a grate that ran the circumference of the tank. I waited as the floor extended downward, enlarging the grate until I could simply walk out. My bait was waiting for me.\n\n\"Well done!\" he cried. \"You're the first.\"\n\n\"First what?\"\n\n\"The first one to ever escape that trap. Nice job!\"\n\nThe trek back was simple. The water obstacle was gone, and I exited the maze in front of the bait. Those watching erupted in cheers as we stepped out. A few Space Jumpers who had made friends with Switzer were coming up to me and clapping me on the back, hanging close to me and discussing the match with whoever walked up. I listened as some, in the excitement, even answered questions that were directed to me. It felt good.\n\nSwitzer was nowhere to be found.\n\nBrine Amar walked up to me and said, \"I must say, I am impressed. I'm sure your name will be carved into a rock around here somewhere. You should be proud of your accomplishment.\"\n\nAnd I was. A little voice tried to creep up and remind me how scared I'd been, how I thought about quitting. _But I didn't,_ I argued. I had figured it out and now I was here. The winner. If I had given up, I would have been the loser. If I had given up in real life, I would have been dead.\n\nSwitzer finally came out, shaking his head. \"Nice job!\" he cried. There were no jabs at my abilities, no taunts about next time. Switzer seemed genuinely proud of what I had done. \"I couldn't get out of that tank. I tried everything. The softwire thing didn't help me at all.\"\n\n\"Ah, you just need a little practice. I'll show you,\" I called out to him as he walked over to the group of Space Jumpers standing around me. I expected the other Space Jumpers to turn to Switzer and leave me to myself, but they didn't. He joined us as if it was the most natural thing in the universe.\n\n\"Go on, smile,\" he whispered. \"You deserve it. You won.\"\n\nThings were different after our Quest-Nest match. I don't just mean with Switzer and me, but with everyone at the Hollow. I enjoyed my friendships with Max and Theodore, and even my sister \u2014 in fact, I cherished them \u2014 but this was different. We were all joined by an ability we shared, a talent that had at one time made me an outsider, but not now, not here. Here you wore that ability like a badge. Your softwire was your admission to the Hollow, and it didn't matter anymore if some alien had tampered with your genetic structure or you had come to it through your own natural evolutionary process.\n\nDespite our past, I felt that a bond had now formed between Switzer and me. We were in this together. I had finally accepted that. The fact that we _had_ actually been in this together from the beginning did not escape me, either, but I was glad we had found a way to overcome all that. I looked forward to his company, and he had even begun asking me for help with his softwire ability. Switzer and I had become friends.\n\nThen I found Charlie.\n\n#\n\nI tried to stop using the tablets like Switzer had suggested. It wasn't that I couldn't handle the nausea or the headaches \u2014 I really did want to live without the pills. The real problem was that whenever I began to feel sick, I thought about home. I thought about Ketheria and Max and Theodore. I ached to know what they were doing and to be near Max again. The Hollow provided an excellent distraction, but the sickness was a strong reminder of the people I had left behind.\n\nAs I did on most sleepless spokes, I snuck off to the observation deck instead of staring at the lid of my sleeper. I found that the stars relaxed me, and if I was lucky, I might even drift off for a diam or two. When I entered the deck this time, however, I wasn't alone. A Honock was there, staring at the stars. At first, I thought it was the one that was afraid of me, but when I got near and it didn't run off, I assumed it had to be a different one.\n\nLeaving him to himself, I sprawled out in front of the glass, a good five meters away just to be polite. As I sat down, I glanced over to see if my presence had disturbed him.\n\nBut there was something about him that looked familiar to me.\n\nI looked over my shoulder, trying not to stare. He was definitely a Honock \u2014 I could tell from the way his facial skin was pulled over his metal skull \u2014 so there was no way I could have known him. The skin stopped right at the jawline exposing a multitude of wires and metal bones. But despite the hardware, his profile was undeniable. It was Charlie Norton.\n\n\"Charlie?\" I whispered.\n\nThe Honock turned and looked at me. It was Charlie, all right. The thick nose. The rugged chin. \"Hello,\" he replied.\n\nI jumped up. \"Charlie, it's me. JT!\"\n\nI scrambled over to my old Guarantor, my friend \u2014 the person they told me was dead.\n\nHe scooted back a little when I rushed forward. His movements were precise and machinelike \u2014 very \"un-Charlie,\" but there was no denying the resemblance.\n\n\"Don't you remember me, Charlie?\"\n\nI sat still and let him examine me. I waited as his eyes searched my face, and I stared back at his waxen skin. I had never been this close to a Honock before, but I could see why Brine Amar treated them like machines. The facial skin was an excellent plasticlike imitation, right down to the fake pores. I heard a humming sound coming from him, sort of like the whir of many tiny motors. Each gesture he made had a slight pause and the exacting execution of a machine.\n\nWhat had they him done to my friend?\n\n\"Ketheria?\" Charlie said.\n\n\"No, JT. But do you remember Ketheria? She was my sister. She loved you.\"\n\n\"Peanut Butter.\"\n\n\"Yes! Yes! Ketheria loves peanut butter.\"\n\n\"I don't eat peanut butter.\"\n\n\"You did,\" I told him.\n\nCharlie turned and looked back out at the stars, casually sitting next to me as if the two of us had done so a dozen times before. It hurt to think that he didn't remember me, but what did I expect? I didn't even know what Charlie _was_ anymore. I looked at his profile again, following the metal and wires down in to the collar of his green jumpsuit.\n\n\"What have they done to you, Charlie?\" I whispered softly. I didn't think he heard me, but he turned and smiled anyway.\n\nIt hit me that I was not as surprised by his presence as one might think. They had brought Switzer back from the dead, didn't they? Why not Charlie?\n\n\"What are you looking for?\" I asked him.\n\nCharlie turned to me and said, \"Chicago.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid we are a long way from home, Charlie. A very long way.\"\n\nI wanted to blame the Rings of Orbis for what had happened to Charlie, but Orbis had nothing to do with it. Charlie was they way he was because of one person. Randall Switzer. It was Switzer's malf of a plan to steal the Ancients' Treasure that had gotten Charlie killed. Charlie's presence was a glaring reminder of every selfish act Switzer had ever committed in his life \u2014 from his tyranny on the _Renaissance_ to his utter lack of concern when he entered us in the Chancellor's Challenge. Switzer was an animal, pure and simple. He was not my friend. Who was I kidding? I hated Switzer at that moment.\n\n\"Charlie, do you know who I am?\"\n\n\"You're JT.\"\n\n\"I am, but do you remember me? Do you remember being my Guarantor on the Rings of Orbis? Do you remember Max or Theodore?\"\n\n\"Your friends.\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"My friends.\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"They're sleeping.\"\n\n\"Who's sleeping?\"\n\n\"Our friends.\"\n\nWas Charlie talking about the other Space Jumpers at the Hollow? I'm sure he had seen me training with them. \"No, Charlie. I don't know what our friends are doing right now. They're far away. Too far, I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"I watch them. I watch you. I watch your friends now.\"\n\nI looked through the glass and out into the stars. Could he see the Rings of Orbis? \"Don't you mean my friends here, Charlie? On the Hollow? Do you watch me and the other Space Jumpers?\"\n\n\"I watch them.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" I mumbled.\n\n\"But I watch Theodore and Max and Ketheria and you.\"\n\n\"What?\" I cried.\n\n\"Shh!\" Charlie whispered. \"I am not allowed. I watch when they aren't watching me.\"\n\n\"Charlie, you can see Max? Where? Show me.\"\n\n\"It is forbidden. I am not allowed.\"\n\n\"You have to show me, Charlie. Where is it? Is it here on the ship? I have to see them, Charlie. Show me, please!\"\n\nCharlie covered my mouth with his hand. To my surprise, it was warm. Charlie looked over his shoulder toward the door and then stood up. I followed him, something I had done so often that the back of his head had been emblazoned into my memory, but this was different; everything was different. The confidence in his walk was gone; there was a Honock-like stiffness to his movements, and the hardware around the base of his brain looked unnatural. Plus, he was bald.\n\nOutside the observation deck, Charlie moved quickly, even with his awkward gait. I followed him down four decks and through the Honocks' living quarters. He never once paused to see if I was keeping pace. When he did stop, the only exit I could see in the dimly lit corridor was a ventilation grate that covered most of the wall.\n\n\"What is this place, Charlie?\" I asked him.\n\n\"Shh!\" he replied, and glanced back down the corridor. He lifted the thick metal grate out of the wall and set it down with a clank. The thing must have weighed sixty kilos, yet he moved it as if it was a scrap of plastic.\n\n\"Go,\" he whispered, and nodded for me to enter the tunnel.\n\nI heard the grate grind back into place as Charlie followed, covering our tracks. A greenish electrical glow at the end of the tunnel was my only guide as I slid my foot forward to make sure I was walking on solid ground. When I reached the light, I discovered a patchwork of O-dat terminals, wires, and computer parts, all linked to a control panel that looked as if it had been hacked open.\n\n\"Charlie, did you make all of this?\" I asked, staring at his makeshift control center. I think the hideaway was fashioned from some sort of a utility shaft off the main ventilation system.\n\nI moved aside so Charlie could sit at a small stool he must have taken from the meal room. Then he pulled a scrap of polymer out of his pocket and attached the crude device to a hardwire that he coaxed from his arm. The makeshift O-dat sparkled to life, and Charlie began copying numbers into the larger O-dats in front him. After a few moments, I saw the screens light up with unrecognizable coordinates, each with small blinking dots near the right of the screen. I could see that one of the dots was moving slightly.\n\nI looked at Charlie as he rested his head on his hands and stared longingly at the screens. What was he looking at? The markings made no sense to me whatsoever. They looked like some sort of radar coordinates, or maybe he had hooked into a deep-space probe. I couldn't break it to him that he was just staring at nothing, especially if he thought these were Max and Ketheria. Or _should_ I tell him? I didn't know how much a Honock understood. What sort of feelings he had, if any at all. The creature in front of me looked like Charlie, but he _wasn't_ Charlie. My friend never had a nest of computer circuitry mounted to the base of his skull. Suddenly, I felt sad. What had I done to him? What had Switzer done?\n\n\"That's nice, Charlie. They look good,\" I croaked, pushing down the lump trying to free itself from my throat.\n\nThen, as if as an afterthought, Charlie flipped a yellowed toggle switch mounted to the frame of his contraption. The screens exploded with images of Max, Theodore, and Ketheria. They were all asleep except Max.\n\nI pushed myself in front of Charlie, practically jumping into his lap.\n\n\"How are you doing this?\" I grabbed the piece of polymer. It was filled with numbers and symbols. \"What are these? Where did you get them?\"\n\nCharlie typed in some more numbers, and an image of my room on Orbis 4 came up on one of the previously blank O-dats.\n\n\"Charlie, how do you know how to do this? Who gave you these? Did someone put surveillance equipment in our rooms? Charlie, tell me!\"\n\n\"I don't remember,\" was all he said, and then he went back to staring at the screens.\n\nMax was not in her sleeper. She was sitting at her chair, her back to the camera. There was something in her hands, something she was looking at, but I couldn't make it out. How long had it been since I'd seen her? She looked just as she did in the image that was burned into my memory. Maybe her hair was a little longer, but that was it. The sight of her flooded my senses with her smell, her touch, the smoothness of her skin, the sound of her voice \u2014 all of it was inside me right now, igniting an ache I had been trying to bury. I wanted to be back on the Rings of Orbis. I wanted to be back on the rings _right now._\n\nI watched as Max placed whatever she'd been holding on her table and then walked toward her sleeper. She slipped out of her robe and climbed in. As the lid closed, she looked up \u2014 toward whatever was looking at her, I thought. For a nanosecond I was looking straight into her eyes again. It felt as if I had been impaled with a rod of hot metal. After the lid closed, I stood there staring at her sleeper, and then I slumped onto the floor. Charlie flipped the toggle switch, and the green dots came back up. He just sat there and watched them.\n\nWhen I returned to my room, I found Switzer already up.\n\n\"Up early or just getting in?\" he asked.\n\nI couldn't talk to Switzer. Not right now. I crawled into my sleeper and closed the lid. I didn't even look at him. Knowing what he did to Charlie made me sick to my stomach.\n\n\"I'll take that as just getting in. You got to lay off those tablets, JT.\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" I muttered, and closed my eyes. How could we ever be friends? How could I ever forget what he did?\n\nSwitzer thumped his big hand on the lid of my sleeper.\n\n\"C'mon. Big cycle. We start looking like Space Jumpers. New uniforms. I want something mean-looking. What do you want to get?\"\n\nI didn't reply. I couldn't. Not a single word. I wanted to throw back the lid and rip Switzer's throat out. I wanted to hit him, punch him once for every one of the millions of stupid things he had done in his life. I wanted to hit him until he was dead.\n\n\"Suit yourself,\" he grumbled, and then I heard the door disappear.\n\nFinally, I breathed. Then, for the first time in a long time, I slept. I didn't dream; my body simply wanted to check out for a while, to turn my brain off. When I woke, Switzer was back in his sleeper. I had spent the entire cycle asleep. No one had bothered me. No one had come looking for me when I missed my scheduled appointments with my connector or my meeting with Quirin. I found that odd, but I was relieved to find some freedom left in my life.\n\nI got up and searched for Charlie. He was not in the observation deck, so I traced my steps back to the ventilation shaft. The huge grate was in its proper place, and when I went to remove it, I was forced to adjust the settings to my arm. How strong was Charlie now? I wondered. The clunk of the grate hitting the floor resonated down the hallway, but I didn't wait to see if I had alarmed anyone. With the grate back in place I headed toward the green glow.\n\nCharlie was not at his screens, and all the O-dats were turned off. I searched the counter under the screens for the polymer, but that was nowhere to be found. _Where are you, Charlie?_ I sat waiting for him to return, but he did not come. Instead, I stared at the blank O-dats. I wanted so badly to turn them on. I could simply push in and take a little peek into his handiwork. He wouldn't mind, I convinced myself, and so I sat at his stool and fired up the portal that was my only link to my old life.\n\nCharlie's computer creation seemed designed for only one purpose: to spy on us. Once inside his array, I found hundreds and hundred of unlabeled files containing digis of Max, Theodore, Grace, Ketheria, me, and most of the other kids who had lived with Charlie on Orbis 3. Somehow Charlie had managed to locate each of us on Orbis 4. It was easy to figure out how he had done it \u2014 the staining. Everyone had been stained on Orbis 2 with a genetic mark that allowed Citizens to track us. After Switzer had jumped (and taken my arm with him), the Trading Council demanded that we get stained or be put to death. I remember Charlie railing against the staining at the time. I wondered if they gave him the tools to find us after he became our Guarantor. It all seemed plausible, but who had installed the surveillance equipment in our rooms and why? And how did a Honock find out about it?\n\nInstead of watching the files inside Charlie's computer, I pulled out and displayed them on the O-dats. File after file, each of us sleeping or sitting in our rooms. Sometimes there was nothing but long passages of our empty rooms. I could find no pattern to what Charlie had saved. Every clip had a time stamp, the earliest dated right after we arrived on Orbis 4. Charlie, and whoever else, had been watching us since the moment we had arrived.\n\nI pulled up a recent clip of Ketheria and began to watch. She was sitting with two Nagools, nodding as they spoke. What were they saying? All this equipment and no sound? It didn't make sense. I watched as one of the Nagools got up and left. Ketheria began to fidget, pulling at her robe and looking past the remaining Nagool. Then the first Nagool returned with another alien. He had his arm around the alien's waist, supporting him as he stumbled toward my sister. I think the creature was another Nagool. He had the same ashen complexion and OIO symbol marked on his face as the others, but he wasn't wearing the traditional Nagool garb.\n\nI stared at the O-dat in fascination as the Nagool helped the alien kneel in front of Ketheria, and then the alien dropped his head onto her lap. The two other Nagools moved back and out of the frame. She looked up as the others left and then seemed to focus on the alien in her lap. Ketheria's shoulders slumped, and then her whole body flexed. The room became brighter, and I realized that Ketheria was glowing. The light seemed to radiate from her skin, getting brighter and brighter as she stroked the Nagool's forehead with her right hand, all the while clutching his left hand in hers.\n\nThe light continued to build around her, and she began to tremble. She was shaking now, and then she threw her head back as if to scream. The O-dat flashed white as the glow around Ketheria exploded, making it too bright for the surveillance equipment to register an image. When the flash subsided, so had the glow around Ketheria. She was no longer trembling, but her hair was soaked with sweat. The two other Nagools rushed back in, and one caught Ketheria as she collapsed onto the makeshift sleeper. The third Nagool, the one that had needed to be helped in, stood up without the aid of the others. His skin looked tighter, and he stood straight, smiling at the other Nagools.\n\nDid Ketheria do that to him? What had I just watched? Was Ketheria healing people now?\n\nI opened another file that had been recorded after my arrival at the Hollow. An image of Max jumped to the screen, making my stomach lurch. She was seated on the floor in her room, and I could tell she was crying. Theodore was seated next to her. When he put his arm around her, I immediately felt angry. _I_ should be there comforting her, not Theodore. What was he doing, anyway? I pulled up another file of Max. This time Queykay was in her room, leaning over her. It looked as if he was yelling at her. About what, though? Max was holding her ground, at least she was trying to, but Queykay seemed very angry, very threatening. He waved his arms about, forcing himself into her personal space. At one point, I thought he might even hit her, but then he stormed out. Grace entered. She kept glancing over her shoulder as she spoke closely with Max. What was going on? I wondered. I flipped over to a file with the same time stamp. A file for Theodore, but he was not in his room. I couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. I searched Charlie's computer to find some sort of live feed like the one he had shown me before.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Charlie said from behind me.\n\nI spun around on the stool to find Charlie looming over me, a plastic pipe in his hand. He swung and struck me in the head before I had time to react.\n\nI awoke to a pounding headache and a nice lump near the top of my head. Someone had put me back in my room. I pushed the lid aside and sat up. The blood rushed from my head, leaving nothing but the pain, which exploded and filled my entire skull. I pried open my eyelids to see if Switzer was sleeping. He wasn't there; I was glad about that. Had Charlie brought me back here? Had Switzer seen him? I couldn't tell what spoke it was, but despite the rocket that kept launching inside my head, I was hungry.\n\nI found Switzer eating with our usual group of Space Jumpers, but he didn't see me enter the food commons. Switzer was holding up something attached to his uniform and showing it to the others while they ate. It looked like some sort of fabricated metal pocket. Our new uniforms! I had forgotten. _Who cares?_ I muttered to myself while I searched the food wall for something to eat.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" Switzer asked, coming up behind.\n\n\"Nowhere,\" I replied, and kept pulling food out and stuffing it into my mouth before even putting it on my plate.\n\n\"How can you be nowhere? You weren't in training. You weren't around to get your uniform, and you certainly weren't in the room.\"\n\n\"What are you now, my Guarantor? I was doing stuff.\" I slammed the last door and pushed past him.\n\n\"Stop taking that crap. Those tablets are making you unbearable,\" he called after me.\n\n\"Yeah? What's your excuse?\" I said, and left the food area.\n\nWhy had Charlie hit me? Had he not remembered me? I wanted to go back and find out. I also wanted to get something to protect myself with, or at least be ready to use my arm if Charlie attacked me again. He was strong, though. I needed to be prepared. Maybe there was something in my room to use, I thought.\n\nWhen I returned to my room, Brine Amar was waiting for me.\n\n\"You've missed our scheduled appointments,\" he said.\n\n\"Sorry, I haven't been feeling well,\" I told him. It wasn't really a lie. My head was killing me.\n\n\"Did you go to the infirmary?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What is ailing you?\"\n\n\"Um . . . my head. I'm having bad headaches.\"\n\n\"They can fix that immediately. Come. I'll show you the way if you don't know,\" he said, standing up.\n\n\"Now?\"\n\n\"Yes, now, unless there is somewhere else you are off to, though I don't know where that could be since you're supposed to be with me right now.\"\n\nDespite the fact that he had told me that I could not offend him, I detected a tinge of anger in Brine Amar's voice. Should I tell him about Charlie? What if that led to Charlie's little surveillance room? I couldn't risk that. I wanted to see Max again. I wanted to know how Ketheria was healing people.\n\n\"You know, I just had something to eat and I'm starting to feel a little better. Why don't we just have our session? I apologize if I messed up our schedule.\"\n\n\"That is fine as well. We have much to do.\"\n\nI tried to concentrate on what Brine Amar asked of me, but I could not stop thinking about Charlie. How long had he been here? Why couldn't he remember anything? How much of him was really Charlie? My connector was instructing me to upload file after file of Space Jumper history, most of it dry and boring, while I thought of Charlie. The process reminded me of my first rotation at the Center for Wisdom, Culture, and Comprehension.\n\n\"What do I need this for?\" I complained.\n\n\"Do you not wish to understand the rich heritage created by the many Space Jumpers that have come before you?\"\n\n_Not really,_ I said to myself, but I had to admit, Brine Amar was right. There were a lot of Space Jumpers who had done some amazing things in the universe. Softwires didn't seem so rare when you looked at their entire history. I did notice, however, that there was little mention of the Tonat. Instead, I found stories that involved other categories of Space Jumpers. I read about units of militarized Space Jumpers, as well solitary Jumpers called Cenots, who worked undercover within unknowing civilizations. I read of one Cenot who lived among a warring race known as Forlians for more than forty rotations. He single-handedly created a new form of government that, once adopted by its people, allowed the Forlians to reach the stars and assist the Ancients in constructing the Rings of Orbis. I wondered why I had never heard of the Forlians before and why I had never encountered any on the rings. Orbis certainly held a lot of mysteries. Did anyone truly know everything?\n\nI went slowly with the Cenot files. I found myself admiring these aliens and their dedication to the Ancients, but I could not understand why they sacrificed their entire lives yet had lapsed into obscurity. It just seemed strange.\n\n\"These Cenots,\" I said to Brine Amar. \"Are there any here? You know, at the Hollow?\"\n\n\"I don't believe so. It takes a special kind of Space Jumper to spend his or her life in isolation.\"\n\n\"Her? I wondered about that. So there are female Space Jumpers as well?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Some of the best.\"\n\n\"I don't know how those Cenots do it,\" I said, shaking my head.\n\n\"Acceptance,\" Brine Amar replied. \"Something you have much trouble with, I'm afraid. I hoped we would be much further along than this before you commenced the next stage of training.\"\n\n\"Next stage!\" I cried. \"I thought we were done. I thought we were getting our uniforms and that was it. Switzer has his now. I thought I could go back to the rings.\"\n\n\"But you don't even have your Burak yet.\"\n\n\"Burak?\"\n\n\"Your Space Jumper's belt. Your most important possession.\"\n\n\"But I don't need a belt.\"\n\n\"You will if you ever need to jump _with_ someone. _You_ may be able to jump without your burak, but you would surely kill anyone you ever tried to jump with.\"\n\n\"Cenots don't jump with anyone,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"I'm referring to a rescue attempt. What if you were forced to jump and take the Scion with you? Without a belt, you would be unable to make the proper temporal allowance for your passenger. I shudder to think of the result.\"\n\nI remembered the numerous times I had fantasized about jumping off the ring and taking Max with me. What if I had killed her? What else didn't I know? There was so much to learn, but I didn't want to stay here any longer. I wanted to be with my friends.\n\n\"When does the new training start?\" I asked.\n\n\"When you are ready,\" he replied.\n\n\"I'm ready.\"\n\n\"Are you?\"\n\nBrine Amar's tone frightened me. \"You don't sound very confident about my progress. What about Switzer? How is he doing? Perfect, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Why don't we start with your uniform? It is a big step in accepting who you are.\"\n\n\"I know who I am,\" I told him.\n\nBrine Amar didn't say anything, but he didn't need to; his silence said enough. He raised his hand toward the door, and I shrugged. I could use some new clothes, anyway.\n\nBrine Amar took me to the small cluster of trading chambers located near the recreation area, just past the food commons. I had yet to visit this area. I had heard Switzer talking about going there with a few other Jumpers, but I had not been invited.\n\n\"Who works here?\" I asked. \"Do they live on the Hollow?\"\n\n\"Most are Honocks. I believe there are also a few people who failed to complete the program but chose to stay.\"\n\n\"Or maybe the Trust didn't want them to leave and reveal the Hollow's whereabouts.\"\n\nBrine Amar looked at me. \"This is not an evil place, JT,\" he said. \"You really must open your mind before it's too late.\"\n\n\"Too late for what? You don't have to be so cryptic. Just tell me.\"\n\n\"Here we are,\" Brine Amar said, stopping in front of an open trading chamber. It was nothing more than a few tables arranged under a concrete shelter.\n\n\"But where are the uniforms?\" I said, staring at the bolts of material and piles of rubber, metal, and plastic.\n\n\"You don't think they stock uniforms for every species, do you? Your uniform is made specifically for you. It is unique, as unique as your softwire.\"\n\n\"That ability seems pretty common around here,\" I told him.\n\n\"You look only at what you see.\"\n\nA Honock entered from a door in the back wall. I could tell he was a Honock by the hunk of hardware around the back of his neck.\n\n\"Welcome,\" he said, beaming. \"One last straggler for a fitting?\"\n\nThis Honock seemed a little more \"awake\" than Charlie or the Honock that was afraid of me. This one acted like a normal person, despite the fact he was mostly metal, wires, and circuits.\n\n\"Just me. It must not be that busy around here,\" I said, pushing the Honock for information.\n\n\"Oh, you would be surprised. I also do repairs and tailoring. The Trust keeps me very busy, but it's always an honor to create a suit for a new Space Jumper. I've made every Space Jumper suit for . . .\" The Honock looked up as if trying to remember. Then he gave up and shook his head. \"Well, for a very long time. That's for sure, isn't it, Brine Amar?\"\n\n\"Indeed, Potu. Your work is worn by almost everyone at the Hollow.\"\n\nPotu looked at me, smiling. I was surprised by how alert he seemed to be. Why wasn't Charlie like this?\n\n\"Have you been assigned yet? I don't think so. Let me see. Something simple to start. A uniform you can build on. Do you see yourself in a militarized unit?\" Potu asked me.\n\n\"Actually, what about the suits you make for the Cenots? I think that's more what I'm looking for.\"\n\nPotu's smile faded, and he looked at Brine Amar, as if for guidance. From the corner of my eye, I saw Brine Amar nod gently.\n\n\"Then follow me,\" Potu instructed.\n\nPotu led me to another section of his trading chamber, where there was some type of scanning machine with four pillars. Potu ask me to stand at the center of it while he adjusted each pod, raising them to my height.\n\n\"This gives me a multidimensional rendition of your exact body shape. I can make you a suit that fits better than your own skin,\" he boasted.\n\n\"Sounds good,\" I said. \"Just make sure to leave my old skin where it is.\"\n\nPotu chuckled as he continued to set his fitting machine. _So, Honocks understand humor,_ I thought. Then Potu moved in and allowed me a closer look at the hardware attached to the base of his neck. Without asking, I pushed inside his little computer. Immediately, I found a simple interface that would allow other Space Jumpers access to Potu's mind. Not every variable was accessible. Some were password-protected. My softwire allowed me to push past that kind of simple security programming and look at the hardware in its entirety. It was fascinating \u2014 so many hardwire connections to his soft tissue, synaptic chips with chemical impulses, and electric pulse generators, all in that little construction at the back of his head.\n\nI pulled out, and Potu was staring at me. \"Don't do that,\" he scolded me.\n\nHow did he know? \"I'm sorry,\" I whispered. \"I just \u2014\"\n\n\"It's polite to ask first,\" he interrupted. \"I'm more than just a machine.\"\n\nPotu continued with his work and then punched at an O-dat on the wall. A beam of green light sprouted from each of the four posts and scanned my entire body. It was over before I blinked.\n\n\"Done,\" he said. \"Come back next cycle.\" The coldness in his voice was easy to detect.\n\n\"Don't I get to pick a style or anything?\"\n\n\"You already mentioned you were interested in a Cenot standard. That's what you'll get.\"\n\nI was embarrassed by what I had done, but I was also intrigued by how much emotion Potu displayed.\n\nI stepped out of the fitting machine and walked toward Brine Amar. \"I guess that's it,\" I said.\n\n\"It's just the start,\" he replied. \"With your new suit, you can begin the next stage of your training.\"\n\nI skipped my next meal and went looking for Charlie. I waited outside the ventilation grate and slipped into the shadows whenever I heard someone coming. If it was Charlie, I planned to warn him, so as not to scare him again. I didn't think I could take another blow to the head. I was convinced that Charlie's hidden O-dat setup was illegal, and I didn't want anyone tearing it down before I got a chance at it again. While I sat thinking about seeing Max again, Charlie lumbered up to the grate. I stepped out of the shadow and out of the range of his swing.\n\n\"Charlie, it's me, JT.\"\n\nCharlie stood there with his head cocked to one side, as if he was trying to remember who I was. Maybe he hadn't recognized me the last time and had taken me for an intruder. Charlie's awareness of the people around him seemed so much different from Potu's. Why? Was Charlie's brain damaged before they turned him into a Honock? I think I knew another possible reason. I was eager to find out.\n\n\"Charlie, don't you remember me?\"\n\n\"Ketheria?\"\n\n\"Yes, my sister. Peanut butter.\"\n\n\"Peanut butter!\"\n\nThere was something wrong with his memory. His short-term memory was either gone or disabled.\n\n\"We're friends, remember? You showed me your screens.\" I pointed at the grate. \"Max and Theodore. I would like to see them again.\"\n\n\"JT?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"My friends.\"\n\n\"Can we see them?\"\n\nCharlie turned and pulled the grate from the hole. I slipped inside, and Charlie followed. This time when Charlie sat at the controls, I looked at the computer circuitry behind his head. Then I remembered Potu's warning.\n\n\"Charlie, do you mind if I take a look?\" I asked, pointing at the metal.\n\nCharlie reached behind his neck and brushed his fingers across the device. Then he shrugged. That looked like a yes to me.\n\nThe interface inside Charlie's brain was just as complex as Potu's. After a little searching, I discovered controls for memory, emotion, coordination, and bodily functions, such as metabolism and heart rate. The Space Jumpers had completely mapped Charlie's brain and applied controls to every function. Could this be done to someone who was still alive? I wondered. The thought of Citizens controlling knudniks this way sent a shiver down my spine.\n\nWhen I pulled out, Charlie was leaning on his hands and staring at the green dots on the screen.\n\n\"Can you make them so I can see them? You know, see the images?\"\n\nCharlie flipped the switch, and there was Max. She was in her room with Grace and Theodore. Why was Theodore there every time I saw Max? I shook it off and looked at what they were doing. Grace and Theodore seemed to be watching the door. Max opened a panel in the wall and reached in to pull something out. It was slightly out of view, so I couldn't really see as it was. I stared at Max's face. It was so close to the secret camera that was spying on her that she was almost life-size.\n\nWhen she pulled back, Theodore turned to help her. What did she have? They placed whatever it was on the floor in front of the sleeper, and Max stood up. When Max reached for her tools, I caught a full view of what they had hidden. It was a plasma rifle, and a big one, too. What was Max doing with a weapon?\n\nCharlie reached up and flipped to another screen.\n\n\"Wait!\"\n\nBut Charlie was looking at an image of Ketheria now.\n\n\"No,\" he replied. \"Don't like guns.\"\n\n\"Charlie, I'm going to make a couple of adjustments, if you don't mind. You know, with that thing there on your neck.\"\n\nCharlie looked back at the screens and then at me. \"Sure,\" he said.\n\nI pushed back into Charlie's brain and went over the controls once more. What would make Charlie a little more coherent? How much would I need to tinker in order to give him back his memory, or his old attitude? These controls weren't like dials that you set from one to ten. It was more like restricting blood flow through a vein with your fingertips. I would have to go slowly.\n\nThe first thing I did was to adjust the memory variable. Was it possible to awaken memories of his childbirth if I went too far? And which way was more? What if I cut off still more of his short-term memory? I hesitated. I bet Max would know what to do.\n\nI made a tiny adjustment to his memory and pulled out.\n\n\"Charlie?\" I said.\n\nHe turned and looked at me.\n\n\"Yes, JT?\"\n\nThat was good. At least that was in the right direction.\n\n\"Charlie, where are you?\"\n\nHe cocked his head and looked at me. \"Here,\" he said, his tone slightly mocking.\n\n\"How did you get here?\"\n\nHe looked around as if he was trying to remember. Maybe I needed to adjust it more if he couldn't remember how he got here.\n\n\"Forget it,\" I told him. \"Watch your friends. I need to do a little more.\"\n\nCharlie turned back to the screens, and I slipped back inside. Maybe the variables were tied together in some way. Memories can elicit strong emotions, so maybe I needed to work the two controls together. I pushed through the memories and the emotion controls, working the two of them together. I increased both a little more than before. Was that too much?\n\nCharlie answered that for me. From inside his head, I felt his fingers clamp around my neck. I heard screaming. Was that me or was it Charlie? I pulled out and found Charlie on top of me, his hands clamped around my throat.\n\n\"Charlie!\" I croaked.\n\n\"What did you do to me? Where am I?\" he screamed. \"Where did you go this time? I do everything for you kids and this is how you treat me?\"\n\nSpit flew from Charlie's mouth, and the blood vessels in his eyeballs beat red with fire.\n\n\"Can't . . . breathe . . .\"\n\n\"Do you know what I sacrificed to take care of you? Can you even imagine what I've gone through? For what? You're nothing but a worthless, whiny punk!\"\n\nCharlie was going to kill me. At least he was trying to. I felt the familiar blackness creeping in around the edges of my vision. I pushed back into Charlie's brain controls and sloppily grabbed whatever I could find. Charlie's grip weakened, and he slumped backward. I sat up, coughing and rubbing my neck. My head throbbed from the lack of oxygen.\n\n\"Charlie?\"\n\nHe said nothing. He just sat there, drooling, staring at a spot on the floor. Then he slumped over.\n\n\"Charlie!\"\n\nNothing. He was practically catatonic. What had I done? How did I fix this? I stood up and moved him to the stool. He didn't resist. It was like pushing around a huge weather balloon. I slipped back inside his brain, looking for traces of what I had touched. Everything looked normal, the same as the first time I entered Charlie's brain. _Do I go get help?_ I wondered. _But where?_\n\nI began tweaking the variables one by one, pulling out each time to check Charlie's reaction. After a few tries, I got the drooling to stop, but he still wasn't responding to his name. _What am I going to do? I can't leave him like this. He'll never find his way out of here._ After a few more adjustments, Charlie seemed a little more alert, but he still wasn't what he had been.\n\n\"Charlie, c'mon, get up. Can you follow me?\"\n\nHe just stared at me like the little ones used to do on the _Renaissance._ Once I got him up, I pushed him toward the ventilation grate. If anyone could help fix him, Quirin could.\n\n#\n\n\"You knew he was here the whole time and you didn't tell me?\" I cried. Charlie was standing next to me in Quirin's quarters.\n\n\"You are not here to make friends,\" Quirin said. His voice was sharp. \"You are here to learn. Besides, I gathered that your emotional needs were met by the other human you so adamantly requested to participate.\"\n\n\"Switzer? I only wanted him here because I thought it was the right thing to do after what _you_ did to him.\"\n\n\"I thought it was the right thing for the Honock after what _you_ did to _him._ \"\n\n\"Me? I didn't do this! If anyone is to be blamed, it's Switzer. He had one of his wormhole pirates kill Charlie.\"\n\nI cringed at the awful sound of crunching bones as Quirin shifted in his rock bed.\n\n\"This is enough,\" his voice boomed. \"I will not tolerate insubordination. You are an instrument, controlled by us, in service to protect the Scion. Your wishes are irrelevant. I have only appeased you so far because humans are the last chance.\"\n\n\"Against what? Some invisible force that's eating up other universes? Sounds pretty far-fetched to me. It's just another story to oppress those stupid enough to believe it.\"\n\n\"Enough!\"\n\nI felt the stone walls of Quirin's room shudder as if his anger had lifted the rock. Even I knew when to shut up. I just needed to get my training over with and get back to the Rings of Orbis.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I said.\n\n\"I don't want your apologies. I want your commitment. I want you to stand up and be the man I created. Your life is filled with pathetic self-awareness that only hampers your ability to act. It is time to awaken what is in you, to awaken the Space Jumper.\"\n\nThe door to the room opened, and two Space Jumpers walked in and seized Charlie.\n\n\"Wait!\" I cried, but I could only watch as they led Charlie, unresisting, from the room. \"Quirin, what are they going to do to him?\"\n\n\"Fix what you did,\" he spat.\n\n\"What are _you_ going to do _me_?\"\n\n\"Train you. I am going to turn you into the softwire you are destined to be.\"\n\nAfter two more Space Jumpers entered the room, the gravity of the moment settled upon me.\n\nI just had my first argument with my father.\n\nI did not look back as the Space Jumpers escorted me out.\n\nI had expected to be led back to my room, but they turned in the other direction, securing me by the arms before I could resist. It wasn't necessary, though. I wasn't going to resist. As they marched me down the corridor, I thought of my sister's warning. The one where she told me that the Trust used force to awaken parts within you whether you were ready or not. Would Quirin use that force on me? I was not scared. I couldn't have been more ready.\n\nI was taken to an area behind the labyrinth, where I was loaded into a light chute and then dumped into a part of the Hollow that I had never seen before. I looked around the huge cavernous space and couldn't see where the room ended. In the distance, I spotted a tiny light blinking through the mist on the horizon, but I could not figure out where I was. I followed the Jumpers a few meters to my left, but instead of finding solid flooring, I discovered individual platforms that seemed to float over a murky abyss. The center platform was the only one rooted to something, but I could not see what. When I looked down, the cylinder supporting the platform merely disappeared through a bluish fog. Each platform was rimmed with a cool, electric light; and a narrow railing, only wide enough to let one person pass, surrounded the entire area.\n\n\"Is this where I train?\" I asked.\n\n\"This is where everyone trains,\" the Space Jumper to my left replied.\n\n\"Why not in the labyrinth?\"\n\n\"This is where you learn to use your burak.\"\n\nI wanted to shout, \"I don't need a belt!\" But what was the use? No one would listen, anyway.\n\nI looked up toward the ceiling and spotted an alien descending swiftly to the center pod. The creature sprouted thick pointed tentacles from the back of his head that made him look as if he were caught in a wind tunnel. His broad shoulders were pulled back, and he carried a long staff in his right hand. The smug look on his face alone told me that I was in trouble.\n\nWithin an instant, the alien was next to me \u2014 he was a Space Jumper. He began sniffing me like an animal.\n\n\"So you're the one they speak so much of. A Tonat. How privileged are we?\"\n\nThe alien circled me. Each step was a cautious gesture with a threatening glance, and I should have been scared, even terrified, but I suddenly found myself fighting the urge to laugh. I clenched my teeth and stared past the vile creature. I had an intense moment of clarity in which I saw this guy as a caricature of every alien I had ever scuffled with. Suddenly, I was outside of my body looking down at this whole absurd ceremony. All I saw was a kid \u2014 a kid from a planet called Earth. And now I was living in a comet with this animal towering over me, strutting about, as if _I_ were a threat that needed to be dealt with. Maybe it was a nervous reaction, I don't know, but finally I couldn't help myself anymore, and I snickered.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" I mumbled, but the alien wasn't accepting apologies.\n\nHe swung around and struck me in the stomach with his muscular left arm. The blow pushed my stomach up into my lungs, leaving no room for air. I buckled over, gasping, and the alien brought the staff up into my face. The pain exploded across my nose and I tumbled backward, slipping under the railing. At the very last moment, I reached out and caught the vertical support, but the rest of me dangled over the empty void.\n\n\"Is _that_ funny?\" he asked.\n\nI couldn't breathe, let alone answer him. Blood poured down the back of my throat, and reality came crashing down upon me. Now I was scared, _really_ scared.\n\n\"Is that funny?\" he screamed. His voice echoed across the void.\n\nI shook my head. That was all I could do.\n\n\"For the rest of your pitiful life, you will remember your time with me as your easiest cycles. I am your best friend now. Once you are placed in the universe, everyone will be your enemy. You will be hunted like a common cochark, and even your own family will loathe you.\" The alien knelt in front of me, his tone growing softer. \"But _I_ will love you, and so will your brethren. A Space Jumper's plea can be heard across the galaxy, and they are the only ones who will ever answer you. You have one purpose in your life now, and that is to serve the Ancients, to serve the Scion.\"\n\nThen he kicked my hand and sent me falling into the abyss.\n\nI awoke in my sleeper with all my appendages intact. Had I dreamed it? The pain in my fingers and my nose told me that everything was real, but how had I gotten here? Switzer was sitting up, putting his suit on. There seemed to be a new piece attached to it, a metal plate over his heart.\n\n\"So you met Chausau, huh? I wouldn't look in any mirrors for a few cycles.\"\n\nI sat up but didn't reply. Every time I looked at Switzer now, I saw the wormhole pirate and thought about what he did to Charlie.\n\n\"Still not talking to me?\" He stood up and stomped his thick boots on the floor as if they were new. \"Suit yourself, but I'm gonna need your help here. I've done so much in my life, I don't know what part you want me to apologize for.\"\n\n\"All of it,\" I muttered as Switzer marched from the room, but he poked his head back in.\n\n\"You know you're not being fair,\" Switzer said.\n\n\"Fair? What do you call fair? Your whole life has only been about yourself. If there's not something in it for you, then forget about it. Why don't you just get out of here? Go back to whatever wormhole you were hiding in and leave me alone, _Captain Ceesar._ \"\n\n\"You have no idea what it was like for me. You think I roamed around the universe pillaging whatever I wanted, like it was some perpetual Birth Day celebration?\"\n\n\"You certainly seemed proud of your actions.\"\n\n\"I wasn't even sixteen years old when I popped up onto that pirate ship! They were brutal. Simply brutal. I begged the Universe to let me be a knudnik again, but no one answered. I _fought_ for my position in their world, literally.\n\n\"Life as a wormhole pirate is nothing like they whisper in the back rooms of your cushy little school. If you've got the stomach for it, I'll tell you about the time I almost froze to death, abandoned on a mining moon with my best friend. I held him in my arms like a little one, wishing he would hurry up and die so I could gut him and then crawl inside his dead carcass to keep warm. You don't want to know what I did with his insides.\"\n\n\"You murdered _my_ best friend.\"\n\n\"That was not my intention, JT. Charlie was an accident. I only wanted him out of the way for a while. How was I supposed to know he would have an allergy to the stuff? I'm sorry. I really am. Besides, he's not dead. Look at him! I think he looks pretty good.\"\n\n\"Get out of here.\"\n\n\"It was an accident.\"\n\n\"Get out of here!\"\n\nI fell back into my sleeper and heard the door close. Then I swung my feet around and over the edge. I didn't want to go back to Chausau. Who was I kidding? I wasn't cut out for this. Switzer should be the Tonat. It was like he relished this stuff. I couldn't stand him for what he did to Charlie, but I had to admit that the Hollow had changed him. He acted with purpose now and a sense of belonging. Why couldn't I find that?\n\nDespite my best efforts to resist, I put my feet on the floor and stood up. I didn't have to be a softwire to imagine the consequences for missing Chausau's training. That's when I realized I hadn't taken one of those tablets for quite some time. When I went looking for it, I found the nausea and the headache lurking inside me, but now it was more of a gauge, a tool to tell me how far away Ketheria was. The more I concentrated on the feeling, the more sick I felt. Ketheria was far away. I pushed the sickness back down, but it didn't go easily. I reached into my pocket, fished out a tablet, and popped it into my mouth. I didn't need anything getting in the way of my training. But I knew that was just an excuse.\n\nIn the food commons, I grabbed an olack, a sweet fleshy fruit Switzer had shown me, from the food wall. I also grabbed a bowl of protein grains. I ate some of it while walking, but I tossed most of it. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Switzer with some of the other Space Jumpers. I tried to picture the old Switzer I knew popping up on that pirate ship as a kid. He had to have been scared. I couldn't even imagine trying to crawl inside another person to keep warm, let alone a friend.\n\nWhen I reached Chausau's training facility, I found several other Space Jumpers, including Gora Bloom, already waiting on the outside platform. I also noticed several Honocks, but Charlie was not among them. I wondered where he was. I wanted to see him. Not just so I could look at his surveillance monitors again, but because I wanted my old friend back.\n\n\"I heard we're getting our belts,\" Switzer remarked as he stepped out from the light chute.\n\nThe best I could do was a grunt. When I offered Switzer no more, he walked over to Gora. Chausau entered from above, just as he had last cycle, but this time with a Honock in tow. The Honock, floating behind Chausau, concentrated on the platform below as if to make sure he wouldn't miss it. Clutched in his arms was a collection of Space Jumper belts.\n\n\"I have here your most prized possession!\" Chausau shouted to us from the middle platform. \"This single item has as much value as the Source used to ignite your existence. Lose this and you may as well lose your life!\"\n\nChausau took the belts from the Honock and held them up.\n\n\"Well, what are you waiting for? Come and get them.\"\n\nI looked at Gora and Switzer. They were trying to find a way across to Chausau, but there was none. His platform was too far to physically jump across the void to, and there was no craft to take them. Was I supposed to jump? I could do it without a belt, although I had only done it around Ketheria, or when I got upset. Even that little glitch had seemed to fade, however. Was this a test?\n\nI concentrated on the center platform, trying to will myself there, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to move the platform to me. If I was a Space Jumper who could jump without a belt, someone was going to have to show me how. I was relieved to think the burak would take that pressure off me. I was anxious to get that belt.\n\n\"Well?\" Chausau called out. Then he was next to Switzer. \"That's a joke. Of course you can't do it without the belt. That was the whole point.\"\n\nI watched him hand a belt to Gora and then to Switzer. I could see Gora's eyes light up as he cradled the belt in his hands. Then Chausau turned to me. There were no more belts left.\n\n\"But I _was_ hoping to be surprised by you,\" he cried. \"Are the rumors false?\"\n\n\"What rumors?\"\n\n\"What rumors?\" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. \"The rumor that you can move through space and time without a belt. That you possess an ability no other Space Jumper has ever exhibited . . . until now.\"\n\nChausau's face was centimeters from mine, and the intense air from his nostrils pushed against my skin. I didn't dare move.\n\n\"Care to demonstrate this extraordinary ability?\"\n\n\"I can't,\" I mumbled.\n\n\"Speak up!\"\n\n\"I can't!\"\n\nChausau circled me. \"You can't or you won't? I've been told that you never require a belt. That you can jump whenever you like.\"\n\n\"You're wrong. It's not like that,\" I told him. \"It's tied somehow to my sister. I can't just jump when I feel like it.\"\n\n\"I'm _wrong_?\" The other Space Jumpers standing along the railing chuckled. \"I'm never wrong. Just ask any one of them. The fact that you can't jump whenever you want has to do with this,\" he said, and stabbed my head with his finger. \"It has nothing to do with this.\" Chausau then stabbed at my heart. \"But that's what you're here for. I will awaken that part of you that can control your gift, to make it part of you, a function as automatic as breathing. That is, if it's even true.\"\n\nChausau walked away. \"Put your new belts on!\" he cried. \"Look at them! Are they not beautiful? They are yours now. Take care of them as if your life depends on them \u2014 because it does.\"\n\nI stood there as the other Space Jumpers cheered. I watched Switzer and Gora slip their belts around their waists and admire them. I couldn't look at the others, though. I only stared at the belts. I hated Chausau for singling me out like this. I didn't want the other Space Jumpers to look at me without a belt, naked and waiting for ridicule. Switzer looked up and ours eyes met. I expected to see that stupid smirk on his face. I assumed he would be the first to ignite my long and torturous humiliation, but he didn't. No, it was much worse than that. When I looked at Switzer, I saw pity. Pity for me. I wanted to die.\n\nChausau assigned a Space Jumper and a Honock to Switzer and then to Gora and instructed them to walk the new owners through their belt's interface.\n\n\"What am I supposed to do?\" I asked as Chausau walked past me.\n\n\"Come with me,\" he said, and my nostrils immediately filled with the stench of feet.\n\nChausau released his grip, and I found myself standing with him on the center platform.\n\n\"Warn me next time you're going to do that, will ya?\" I said.\n\n\"Hopefully there won't be a next time. Quirin has informed me of the details of your ability, and it seems quite simple. Unlike those who use a belt, you cannot jump with anyone in tow. Only a belt can create the proper time distortion for that. If you try, you will kill them. And you do not need to put coordinates in a belt as we do; you simply need to know _where_ you're jumping.\"\n\n\"That seems pretty limiting, don't you think? Why don't you just give me a belt, like them, so I can learn this properly? Why burden me with those limitations?\"\n\n\"It's not the limitations that count. It's the freedom to jump whenever you want. Imagine yourself torn apart in battle protecting the Scion. If you had a belt and it was lost or damaged you would be useless. But not you. You can still jump. It is a gift beyond comprehension. They will fill moons with stories about you.\"\n\n\"I don't want anyone to write anything,\" I spat.\n\n\"That is not up to you. Your burden is to master your gift. That is your only concern. Do you see the spot where you were just standing?\" he asked, pointing back to the railing near the light chute.\n\n\"Yes,\" I grumbled.\n\n\"That is your goal. That is where you are going.\"\n\n\"How? Aren't you supposed to teach me?\"\n\n\"Did someone teach you to breathe?\"\n\n\"That's a stupid question.\"\n\n\"Really? When you concentrate on your breathing, you can block out most of the deconstructive energy that flows through you. When you concentrate on your ability, you can block out most of the Universe, as well as its physical form. You may then choose what part of the Universe will be manifested in your presence. _You_ choose your own reality, Space Jumper. Whether you are here or there is up to you. Matter does not exist until it is observed; until then, it's simply waiting for you.\"\n\nThen Chausau jumped, and a moment later I spotted him near the light chute where I had started.\n\n\"That doesn't make any sense!\" I yelled after him, but he only turned and walked over to Switzer.\n\nHow was I going to get over there? What kind of training was this? I looked around the platform, but for what? I had no clue. Maybe I could find something to tell me what to do, but the circular markings I saw on the floor were nothing more than decorations.\n\n_You have to concentrate._ But I just stood there with my arms crossed, watching the others. Gora and Switzer looked like they were swapping notes as the other Jumpers explained the workings of their new belts. Why wasn't that me? Why did I always seem to be the one like _this_? Abandoned in the middle of nowhere and left to figure things out for myself. I hated it. It wasn't fair.\n\n\"Hey, I can't do it!\" I yelled. Switzer looked up as my cry echoed back to me. I cringed as my whining replayed across the void.\n\nI sat down near the center of the platform in an attempt to concentrate, but concentrate on what? My breathing? That seemed like a bunch of nonsense to me. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath.\n\nNothing.\n\nThe sound of laughter from the others across the void crept into my mind. _Push that out. Concentrate on the spot. Picture it in your head._\n\nStill nothing.\n\n\"This is stupid!\" I cried, standing up. No one looked across at me this time, not even Switzer. \"Hey!\"\n\nI stared at the spot near the light chute. I pictured myself standing there. I clenched down on my back teeth, trying to focus harder on the location. I even bulged my eyes for effect.\n\n\"Oh, this is useless,\" I said, and flopped back down. This time, I sat at the edge of the platform and let my feet dangle over. I wanted to throw something down the void, to hear how long it took before it hit bottom. At that moment, I almost pushed myself off the platform. I almost threw myself down the void just to see what would happen. My arms tensed, and I even felt the rush inside my stomach just before someone does such a stupid thing. Of course it was a stupid thing. Chausau wouldn't have kicked me over if there were any chance I could die, but he wasn't here right now was he? Why even take the chance?\n\nI looked up to see where Chausau was, but I couldn't find him. He had left. So, too, had Switzer and Gora. I watched the other Space Jumpers gather their things and leave as well.\n\n\"Hey, what about me?\" I yelled.\n\nA moment later, I was alone. Now all I _could_ hear was my own breathing. Immediately I began to wonder how long Chausau would leave me here. What if I got hungry? What if I had to go to bathroom? _I could always void over the void,_ I thought.\n\nHow pathetic. Look at me. What a malf.\n\nAll I had to do was jump. I had done it before. _But that was different,_ I tried to reason. Ketheria was in danger. That's what triggered my jump, and the time in the food chamber I was simply angry. _Then get angry._\n\nI clenched my fist and snorted. Then I narrowed my eyes. I recalled every clich\u00e9 I could think of to express my anger. Then I thought about Switzer and Queykay, even Odran and Weegin. I thought about the time Weegin tried to sell us, and I thought about my life on the _Renaissance._ The anger smoldered, and soon a small flame ignited all those things I wanted to say but never did. I was getting very angry now. I could feel it. I stood up and concentrated on the spot near the light chute. Oh, I was mad, really mad. . . .\n\nNothing.\n\nI screamed. I guess I wasn't mad enough. I lay back on the platform with my hands behind my head. My headache, the one always lurking just behind my eyes, raged against my forehead now. I reached into my pocket for one of the tablets, hoping for relief, but I paused before popping it into my mouth. These things weren't stopping me, were they? I didn't eat much or even sleep much when I took them, and it made me wonder if they were part of the problem. It seemed unlikely, but I still tossed the tablet over the edge. In fact, I turned my pocket inside out and let all of the tablets tumble into the void. I waited to hear if the tablets ever hit bottom, but I never heard a thing. _Must be too small to make a sound, anyway,_ I told myself.\n\nThen the lights went out.\n\nI think I fell asleep shortly after the place went dark. I remember staring up at the soft blue haze in the ceiling and wondering about Max. I didn't dream about her. In fact, I don't remember dreaming about anything at all. I woke to the sound of Space Jumpers filing into the training area. I saw Switzer and Gora and then immediately looked up. Chausau should be descending upon my platform like he always did, but I saw nothing. Instead I heard him across the way. He had used the light chute, bypassing me completely. They were ignoring me, I realized.\n\nI sat and watched Switzer make his first jump with the belt. After several tandem jumps with another Space Jumper, he moved from one platform to another. The others cheered and gathered around him, thumping him on his back. I could see him smiling even from where I sat. I hope he enjoyed the smell of stinky feet.\n\nGora was next. I watched him fidget with his belt as if he was checking and re-checking something, or everything, while the others waited patiently. When he did manage to jump, he found himself teetering close to the edge of the other platform. So close that he almost missed his mark entirely. Everyone remained breathless, even me, until he steadied himself and found solid footing. He turned and thrust his arms into the air, his tentacles wiping widely about, and a cheer erupted.\n\n\"Goodie for you,\" I said.\n\nThey made it look so easy with the belt. _Why not just give me one?_ I could learn the harder way later. I wanted to be next so badly. I wanted the others to cheer as I jumped from platform to platform. I knew I could skip across every one of them if they just gave me one of those stupid belts. I sat back, concentrating on the platform they were all standing on. I would show them. I'd jump over there and demand a belt. I focused hard, willing every cell of my body away from the space I was currently occupying. I dove deep inside, looking for any exit out of my current reality. Something tingled. I was close. A little more.\n\nNothing.\n\nI looked up, and Chausau was making them jump again. I couldn't hear what he said, but everyone stood still, listening carefully. I turned my back to them and started thinking about my stomach. Despite the nausea, I was starving. Right now I was so hungry, I'd even eat that slop Odran used to feed us. I tried to concentrate on the food hall. Maybe the hunger would help me. But I found nothing to grab on to. Why wouldn't they give me some sort of instruction? This was ridiculous.\n\nI sat firmly rooted in my self-pity and continued to watch the triumphs of the Hollow's newest recruits. Switzer seemed more confident than Gora, jumping much faster and even able to pick up an object from one platform while jumping to another. I saw him for only a split second before he appeared on the platform far to my right. Gora was a little slower. I supposed he was having trouble setting the coordinates in the belt fast enough. Maybe he wasn't that attuned to working with his softwire. I wanted to jump so bad that the pain was worse than the hole now growing in my stomach.\n\nAfter nearly a cycle, they all left, not a single one of them acknowledging me or even glancing in my direction. I curled up on the floor, hoping sleep would come quickly. I did try to jump once more, but it was useless. I didn't know what to do.\n\n\"Wake up,\" something shouted as I felt the weight of a boot push against my ribs.\n\nI opened my eyes to find Chausau standing above me.\n\n\"I can't do it,\" I mumbled, and curled back up.\n\nThis time Chausau kicked me. \"That's because you're weak.\"\n\n\"No, it's because no one has shown me how to do it. You show Switzer and Gora how to work their belts. Everyone is there helping them learn, but I'm supposed to figure it out myself. Why?\"\n\n\"You were given all of the skills to perform your task. In fact, you have already done it. No one can show you because you are the only one who can do it. Yet you sit here as if someone owes you something. As if it is our responsibility to take your hand and do it for you. You are pathetic, and you are lazy.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, you're ugly.\"\n\nFive other Space Jumpers appeared on my platform. Each of them was carrying some sort of teal-colored piece of metal. The strain in their muscles told me that the pieces were heavy.\n\n\"On your knees, Jumper,\" Chausau ordered.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" I asked.\n\n\"On your knees!\" Chausau kicked me again, lifting me off the floor. I got on my knees. Two of the Space Jumpers moved in and placed their pieces of metal on either side of me. They pushed them together, slamming against my knees. I lifted my knees, and the pieces slid together perfectly, stopping at my waist, with barely enough room left for me. I could feel the rough iron against my legs, my hips, even my feet.\n\n\"Chausau, what are you doing?\"\n\n\"Put your arms out in front of you.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Do it!\" Chausau screamed in my face, and my arms shot forward, a survival reflex.\n\nThe other two Jumpers placed two more pieces of the puzzle around my chest, shoulders, and arms, locking me in the metal cocoon. The only part of me that was exposed was my head. I couldn't hold the weight of the thing, and I toppled forward, slamming against the platform. The sound of metal striking metal rang across the void.\n\n\"What are you doing, Chausau?\" I pleaded.\n\nI tried to look up, but the metal was too close to the base of my skull. All I could do was stare at their feet.\n\n\"You wanted help. This is how I will help you.\"\n\n\"By locking me up? I already can't get off this platform.\"\n\n\"You're not staying here,\" he whispered.\n\nI watched the feet move away from me. \"Where are you going?\" I screamed.\n\nThen I heard a clink, and then another. I felt myself lift off the platform. Something was pulling me into the air. When I cleared the platform, I could see the other Jumpers watching as I pulled away. Chausau was not there.\n\n\"Chausau, where are you?\"\n\n\"I'm right here,\" I heard him say from somewhere behind me. He must have been standing on me as I was pulled into the air.\n\n\"Please tell me what's going on.\"\n\n\"Your mind is your worst enemy, Softwire. The Nagools tried to bring you through your awakening their way, but now we will do it my way.\"\n\nThis is what Ketheria was talking about. What were they going to do me? I could hardly see the platform below me as the mist around me grew thicker. I could feel the cold moisture against my face, but then it was gone, as if we had slipped through some atmospheric cloud. I pushed against the metal cocoon, but there was no wiggle room. The metal fit as close as my own skin. But the more I pushed, the less I began to feel the metal. I couldn't move, yet I could no longer feel anything pushing against my skin. It was maddening.\n\nIn front of me I could see the plate metal wall, scarred with hooks and bare bolts. The space closed in, tapering as I rose higher and higher. Then I passed another metal cocoon bolted to the wall. It looked identical to the pieces that were placed around me. Was he going to mount me to the wall like some trophy? My metal mold swung toward the wall. Then I heard the sound of a small motor as I rotated up, my hands and knees now pointing toward the wall in front of me. To my left was another one of the metal molds. It was empty.\n\nMy cocoon hit the wall with a clank, and Chausau was now balancing himself on my arm. I heard more whirring and clicking as I was fastened in place on the wall.\n\n\"Please, Chausau, don't do this,\" I begged.\n\n\"A disciplined mind is a Space Jumper's best ally.\"\n\n\"I don't want to be a Space Jumper, Chausau, really I don't.\"\n\n\"Hush now. You will thank me when it is over.\"\n\nThen I felt a vibration at the back of my neck, and something began to crawl across my skull, then over my eyes, and then over my mouth. My lips brushed against the crimpled surface. It was more metal, but the sensation of something pressing against my mouth soon disappeared. Finally the thing sealed itself around my neck. I screamed out, \"No!\" and felt my own hot breath fall back against my skin. Chausau did not answer. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, and soon I was no longer able to feel the warmth of it pushing back against my face.\n\n\"Chausau!\" I screamed once more, and the material covering my face spilled into my open mouth. I clenched down, pushing whatever it was out of my mouth, but then the sensation of that slipped away as well. I didn't know if the stuff had worked its way down my throat or if I had been successful in pushing all of it out.\n\nMy mind scrambled for some solution, rattling in my skull, bouncing around in my head as it searched for some way out of this. I pushed outward with my mind, looking for any sort of computer device to interface with, but there was nothing. Even the interface for my arm was no longer available to me.\n\nI needed to move, but I felt paralyzed. I thought I was moving, but I couldn't feel it. I was panicking. _Calm down,_ I told myself. Think about what Ketheria said. This is their method. Chausau mentioned that the Nagools had tried with me, but they had failed. Failed at what? My ability to jump without a belt? What was it?\n\n_Relax. I can't!_\n\nMy mind was screaming again. I hated it. I wanted out, but I couldn't think of a single thing to do. I felt like I was going crazy. I wanted out of this contraption so bad, I would rather die than spend another parsec in this thing.\n\n_Then die._\n\n_What do you mean?_\n\n_Give in._\n\n_Give in to what?_\n\n_Just give in._\n\n_I can't!_ my mind screamed.\n\nI think I fell asleep. I'm not quite sure. Maybe my brain had simply shut down. When I awoke, the futility of my situation poured back into my metal mold, but I did not panic. I was surprisingly calm. I would not let it control me this time. I knew the only way out of here was to jump, and the only way to do that was to discipline my mind.\n\nI noticed that even the sound of my breathing was gone. I could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, and smell nothing. Every part of me was completely deprived of stimuli, and I was left with only myself to talk to. _This is how Vairocina must have felt,_ I thought. _Now I understand why she searched so desperately to find a real body._ But _I_ was not my body. I could still think. In fact, I was talking. Talking to myself. What was this sense of self that was left to wander about my head? As if I was talking to someone else entirely. It had no physical form, yet it demanded attention. It argued with me, influenced me, praised me, and even berated me, more often than not. But where did it come from? Who controlled it? Me?\n\n\"Hello?\" I said, as if to call out that part of me, to identify it as a separate entity.\n\nIt did not respond. Or did I not respond?\n\nDespite my lack of contact with the physical world, \"I\" still existed. \"I\" existed independently of my race, my job, my clothes, even what others thought about me. For so long, I had defined myself by those things, but here, now, they meant nothing. They served no purpose whatsoever. Suddenly, I craved to see something, feel something, or hear something. I needed to know that I still existed.\n\n_But why?_\n\nMaybe _I_ didn't even exist. For all I knew, I could be dead. Was this what death felt like? I hoped not. But then it struck me. I realized something about the \"I\" alone with me in this mold. I realized that this was the person who loved Max, who loved Ketheria and Theodore and even the Keepers. Suddenly, despite the lack of stimuli, I felt a flood of love and warmth rush through my body. I did have a body! If I could have felt it, I know I would have felt tears against my skin. I imagined my tears rolling down my cheeks and dropping off my face. In my mind, I reached down to the puddle of tears with my fingertips and raised them to my mouth. The salty teardrops touched my tongue, and I slept again.\n\nI awoke to a blinding white light. I closed my eyes, but the light persisted, boring through to the back of my skull. Was someone doing this, or was I hallucinating the light? I tried to will the light away, but it remained. I even imagined myself lying at the bottom of a lightless tunnel, but still the white light pierced its depths. Who was doing this? _Please stop,_ I begged them.\n\n\"JT? Wake up. JT?\"\n\n\"Hello?\" I croaked.\n\nThe light was still there, but softer somehow, as if someone had managed to gray the edges.\n\n\"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Who is that?\"\n\nIt sounded like Ketheria, or was it Brine Amar? The voice seemed to change pitch every time I recognized an inflection or the speech pattern.\n\n\"You must help yourself if you are going to leave here,\" the voice said. It was Brine Amar.\n\n\"Why are you doing this to me? I don't know how to jump without a belt. I can only do it around Ketheria. I think Quirin made it that way.\"\n\n\"Yes, you can, but you refuse to release your physical body.\" The voice did not belong to Brine Amar. It was Ketheria.\n\n\"Who is this?\" I asked again.\n\n\"Your mind is sick, and the disease is fear.\"\n\n\"I'm not afraid of anything.\"\n\n\"You are afraid of yourself.\"\n\nMy mind tuned out, and I turned off.\n\nWhen I woke next, I was standing on the observation deck of the _Renaissance._ The ship was orbiting a dying star, and the golden light burned away the edges of everything I saw. I shielded my eyes to look at the star. _We're too close,_ I thought. _The ship will burn up._\n\n\"Mother!\" I called out, but the computer did not answer.\n\nOf course not. The _Renaissance_ was gone. Dismantled and sold for parts the moment after we arrived on the Rings of Orbis, almost four rotations ago.\n\nWas this a dream?\n\n\"Hello, JT.\"\n\nI spun around. It was Max!\n\n\"Max!\"\n\nThe soft cream-colored robe she wore on Orbis 4 sparkled in the intense sunlight. The edge of her hair burned blond. She was beautiful. I rushed toward her and took her hands in mine.\n\n\"Max, I'm so sorry. I should never have left you. Can you forgive me? Please. I love you so much. I want it to be just like you said with Ketheria and Theodore. Together. We can have that!\"\n\nMax shook her head gently and held her finger to my lips. I breathed in her scent, she was so close. My mind filled with flowers and sunlight and fresh running water. I wanted to hold her.\n\n\"You've done the right thing,\" she whispered. \"I see the importance of the task that has been placed upon you. I was so selfish to want something else. You have greatness in your future. I want you to have that. You deserve it.\"\n\n\"But \u2014\"\n\n\"You need to get out of here, JT,\" Max insisted. \"You have to jump. We need you. It is time.\"\n\n\"Time for what?\"\n\n\"Time for you.\"\n\n\"We can stay here, Max. Just like you wanted it. We can live here on the _Renaissance_ again. We'll travel the stars, just you and me. We don't have to go.\"\n\nI pulled her close to me. I could feel her warmth under her robe as she pressed against me. Was this real? I pushed my lips against hers. I could taste her.\n\n\"This _is_ real, Max. I know it. Can't you feel it? I don't know how I did it, but we're together again on the _Renaissance._ \"\n\nMax pulled away, gently, as if not to make a statement by her actions. She reached for my hand and led me away from the observation deck. Below deck, I took the lead, remembering each corridor, stairwell, and quarters. I had forgotten how much I missed the _Renaissance._ I pulled Max into the chow synth and saw that Mother had created all of our favorite foods, but why hadn't the computer answered me?\n\n\"Max, Mother is not responding.\"\n\nBut Max was gone. My hand was still outstretched, but it was empty.\n\n\"Max?\"\n\n\"Hey, JT.\"\n\nI turned toward the voice, a new voice. I thought I recognized it but wasn't quite sure. Out of the light stepped a young man, maybe thirty Earth-years old. I recognized something in his face, and his hair was still the same unmanageable brown nest I knew.\n\n\"Theodore?\" I asked the man.\n\n\"You look well, JT.\"\n\n\"You look . . . older. Why are you so much older than me? We're supposed to be the exact same age.\"\n\n\"We still are.\"\n\nI looked at my hands. They looked like they always did, and they also looked liked Theodore's \u2014 older. \"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"That's part of the problem, JT. Everything is not meant to be understood. It is impossible for you to comprehend and control every aspect of the universe. I know you always try, but sometimes you just have to accept what is. I don't know if you noticed, but I gave up counting things. That had been my way of trying to control situations. You have to trust that no matter what comes at you, you will manage. You have to trust yourself, JT.\"\n\nI felt a tinge of jealousy. \"How do you know?\" I said. \"If anyone was always afraid, it was you. Do you know how many times I wished you had spoken up to Switzer? To defend yourself? You were the one who was afraid, Theodore.\"\n\n\"But I'm not anymore. This is not a competition. You can see that, can't you? Now it's your turn. I know you can do it, JT. Just let go.\"\n\n\"Let go of what?\"\n\n\"Your mind,\" said a voice from behind me.\n\nI spun around and saw Ketheria sitting on my sleeper. It was just like the first time we tried to leave the _Renaissance._ A huge sack was slumped at her feet, and in her hands she held the crude locket containing the image of our parents.\n\n\"Your entire image of yourself is based on a lie,\" she said, holding up the makeshift locket. \"That was their only mistake. They created a false dream for you \u2014 a dream of a reality that never existed. And you are holding on to that dream in the same manner the knudniks do on the Rings of Orbis. You believe that if you allow your own domestication at the hands of the Citizens, you, too, will share in all their wealth and glory. You dream of parents who left Earth for a new life, parents who never existed. You dream of a life on the Rings of Orbis with me, Max, and Theodore living free, but no one on the rings is ever free. It has all been a lie, JT.\"\n\nKetheria squeezed the locket in her hand. When she opened it again, the locket was gone and in its place was a handful of space dust. Ketheria turned her palm over, and the shimmering particles drifted across the cabin.\n\n\"Now it is time to wake up from _that_ dream and create your own dream. Humans are destined to play a marvelous role in this universe. A role that awakens oppressed cultures from their own dreams, not by war but through love and kindness. We are all that is left. You and I are standing at the event horizon, JT. You and I will lead them into the light. But you must act now. I can't wait any longer for you, JT. It is time. You must trust me. You must trust yourself.\"\n\nKetheria's eyes burned with the glow. She was standing now, reaching out to me.\n\n\"Now, JT! There is no more time!\"\n\nHer mouth hung open, ripping at the edges and consuming all the light in the room as she screamed. The sound tore me away from the _Renaissance,_ and I reached out, trying to hold on, but I was swallowed by the darkness bearing down on me.\n\nI stood up. I was alone.\n\nI gazed out from the center platform of the training area. An alarm ripped through the silence. _Was I out of the cocoon? Was this real?_ I looked up to see if I could spot the metal mold, but it was too far. If I had jumped, then I could do it again. Ketheria needed me. Whatever had happened inside that thing, I knew in my heart that Ketheria needed me.\n\nWithout thinking about my body and with complete trust that I could do it, I focused on the platform across the void. It was sort of like the pushing I did when I entered a computer. I accepted the fact that I would succeed. I did not drag my body with me, or anything else, for that matter. I simply placed the \"I\" inside of me on the platform, as light from the room began to pull into my eyes. I breathed deeply, welcoming the smell of stinky feet.\n\nI stood on the platform across the void and looked back at where I had just been. I expected a rush of pride to swell up inside me, but none came. There was no need. I smiled. The alarm, which was now sounding at regular intervals, told me that something was wrong. I pictured my room in the Hollow and willed myself there.\n\n\"Where did you come from?\" Switzer said as I appeared in front of him.\n\n\"I jumped here,\" I told him.\n\nSwitzer's eyes ignited, and a smile stretched across his face. He leaped toward me, arms outstretched, ready to thump me on my back, but he stopped.\n\n\"You still pissed at me?\" he asked, his old mask slipping over his face.\n\n\"No,\" I said. \"That was then. There's nothing I can do about it, and you've worked hard to gain my trust. Just like a friend would do.\"\n\nSwitzer smiled.\n\n\"What's the alarm about?\" I asked.\n\n\"I was about to go look. It just started.\"\n\n\"I'll go with you,\" I said.\n\nBut before we could leave, the door to the room disappeared and one of Switzer's friends rushed in. \"The Scion is gone!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I cried.\n\n\"She's gone! Someone took her.\"\n\nI pushed in front of him. \"She can't be gone. She's stained. Track the staining.\"\n\n\"We have. There's nothing,\" he replied. \"They're sending a team to look for her.\"\n\nThe Space Jumper turned to leave, and I was close behind.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Switzer cried.\n\n\"I know how to find her,\" I said.\n\n\"I'm coming with you.\"\n\nI ran all the way to Charlie's little surveillance room. While I thumped on the grille to his hideout, I cursed at myself, thinking I could simply have jumped.\n\n\"Charlie! It's me!\"\n\n\"What's a Honock going to do?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"Wait.\"\n\nCharlie came to the grill and spotted Switzer. One look and he turned away.\n\n\"Charlie, it's all right. He's with me. He won't hurt you.\"\n\n\"I didn't hurt you the first time,\" Switzer added.\n\n\"Charlie, Ketheria's in trouble, We have to find her.\"\n\nCharlie peeked through the grate. After an excruciatingly long moment, he hoisted the gate off it moorings. I slipped past Charlie and dashed to the monitors. They were already on. I scoured the screens for any sign of Ketheria, but there was nothing. In fact, there was no sign of Max or Theodore, either.\n\n\"They're all gone,\" Charlie informed me.\n\n\"What's this?\" Switzer asked, looking around the room.\n\n\"There's no time to explain. We have to get assigned to that search party. Meet me back at our room.\" I turned to Charlie. \"Keep looking for them, will you? Search everywhere you can. There must be a sign of one of them somewhere.\"\n\nThen I jumped to Quirin's room. I didn't even shoot for outside; I went straight in.\n\n\"Just because you've accepted your skill does not mean you should abandon your manners,\" he said.\n\n\"I want to be on that search party you are sending for my sister.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" he replied. \"Tensions are too delicate on the rings. I cannot have a Space Jumper moving about freely. It will tip the scales in the Council's favor. We cannot have a war.\"\n\n\"But I have to go! I am the Tonat, aren't I?\"\n\n\"I have sent four experienced Jumpers who will find the Scion without anyone ever seeing them. You will finish with your training.\"\n\n\"How will they find her? The staining doesn't work anymore,\" I told him.\n\n\"That is impossible. The staining is foolproof. I invented it. This is merely a glitch in the system. The staining will locate her much more easily than you can.\"\n\n\"You don't know about the Scion. She can do things you don't know about.\"\n\n\"There is no argument that will change my mind. Go back to your quarters. This will be over shortly.\"\n\n\"Quirin, please \u2014\"\n\n\"Go!\"\n\nI left his room, certain he was wrong. Ketheria was trying to tell me something. I knew it. When I returned to my room, I found Switzer lying on his bunk.\n\n\"Get up,\" I ordered him.\n\n\"Where are we going now?\" he asked, sitting up.\n\n\"We're going home,\" I informed him.\n\n\"Have fun.\" Switzer flopped back onto his sleeper.\n\nI slipped through space, compressing the distance between us. The room blurred, and in the exact same moment, I was standing next to Switzer. Using my right arm, I grabbed him by his uniform and dragged him off his sleeper. With one clean jerk, I hoisted him high in the air, his shocked expression staring down at his feet, which were nowhere near the ground now.\n\n\"You're coming with me, and you're bringing Charlie. I don't have a belt, so I can't jump with him. It could kill him. You're bringing him back for me. You owe me that, and you owe him at least that. This is not the life he was supposed to live. Charlie doesn't deserve to live here any more than you deserved to live in that hole I rescued you from.\"\n\n\"Fine, enough with the melodrama. Put me down.\"\n\nI let Switzer fall to the floor but he jumped in midair, reappearing soundly on his feet.\n\n\"Nice,\" I said, nodding at his acrobats. \"Now let's get Charlie. I need to get to Max and Theodore.\"\n\n#\n\n\"I don't want to go,\" Charlie snapped after I told him what we were doing.\n\n\"Suits me,\" Switzer said, turning back down the hall.\n\n\"Wait,\" I cried. \"Charlie, look at the screens. Ketheria's gone. Max and Theodore will know where she is. We have to find them. I want you to come with me.\"\n\nCharlie looked at the screens but shook his head. While he stared, I slipped into the computer device at the back of his head. With the precision of a laser drill, I adjusted the controls for memory, then pulled out.\n\n\"What did you do?\" Switzer grumbled. \"He's crying now.\"\n\nCharlie was staring at the screens and weeping. Maybe I should have adjusted the controls for emotions when I was in there, but I didn't have time.\n\n\"Charlie? You all right?\" I asked him.\n\nHe turned and said, \"Let's go find them.\"\n\nAs Charlie stood up, Switzer said, \"Wait. I can't jump without the coordinates. I'm not like you. All you have to do is bring up a memory. I'm sorry, but I can't take him to Orbis 4.\"\n\n\"Charlie, that surveillance system we watch \u2014 there must be some sort of coordinates link with it, right? I mean, if they're spying on people, they must know where they're looking. Can you pull up the coordinates off one of those cameras and give them to Switzer?\"\n\nCharlie parked himself in front of the O-dats without speaking. After a few moments, a stream of digits rolled across the screens.\n\n\"I only need one,\" Switzer scoffed.\n\nCharlie tapped on one screen, and a single string of symbols flashed on the O-dat.\n\n\"That's JT's room,\" he said.\n\n\"Grab it,\" I told Switzer.\n\nSwitzer interfaced with the O-dat and uplinked the info Charlie had provided. \"All set,\" he replied.\n\n\"You go first,\" I told him.\n\n\"Why, you don't trust me?\"\n\n\"Just go first. I'll see you in my room.\"\n\n\"Come on, big guy,\" he said to Charlie. \"Let's hope you stay in one piece.\"\n\n\"Don't say that!\" I said.\n\nBut they were gone. The air rippled the moment Switzer latched on to Charlie while any light reflecting off them broke apart and scattered across the room. I envisioned my room on Orbis 4 and jumped right behind them.\n\nWithin the same breath, I was standing next to my old sleeper with Switzer and Charlie, trying to rub the smell of feet out of my nose.\n\n\"I know you were messy on the _Renaissance,_ \" Switzer said, looking around my room, \"but this is ridiculous.\"\n\nSwitzer nudged an errant pot with his toe, a pot I had never seen before. It rolled toward my sleeper, the lid of which hung at a reckless angle, as if someone had tried to rip the sleeper from its moorings. Someone or something had destroyed my room.\n\n\"I didn't leave my room like this,\" I said. \"Something is wrong. Hurry, we need to find them.\"\n\nOutside my room, the walls were marred with charcoal streaks, results of a plasma rifle. I maneuvered around an overturned bench and noticed that a chunk of the wall was completely missing. Switzer stepped over a discarded wall panel and crushed the remains of an uprooted plant.\n\n\"What happened here?\" I asked. \"And where is everyone?\"\n\n\"Someone was either looking for something or just felt like trashing the place,\" Switzer answered.\n\n\"I saw it,\" Charlie murmured. \"It looked like a bit of both.\"\n\n\"Max's room is right up here,\" I told them.\n\nMy stomach flipped once when I said her name and then settled at an uncomfortable angle when I paused outside her room. How would she react when she saw me? How would I react? I was so confident about finding them, but the thought of speaking to Max made me uncertain. Switzer reached past me and thumped on the door. No one answered. I pushed into the door's control panel and opened it.\n\n\"Max! Max, you here?\" I called toward the bathroom without entering her room, but there was no sign of her.\n\nSwitzer whistled. \"Wow, and I thought you were the messy one.\"\n\n\"Be quiet. It's obvious someone has trashed the place. Let's check Theodore's room.\"\n\n\"He's not there, either,\" someone said behind me.\n\nI turned to find Queykay, flanked by four armed guards, standing at the top of the corridor. The faceless creatures, protected by long, chrome chest plates, took cautious positions around Queykay, as if ready for a fight. I had no intention of giving them one.\n\n\"They're all gone, including your sister,\" he said.\n\n\"Where are they?\" I demanded to know.\n\n\"I was hoping that maybe you knew where they were.\"\n\n\"Why? Because it doesn't look good that the Trading Council doesn't know where the Scion is? Are you afraid of her power?\"\n\n\"The Trading Council has far more power than you will ever have.\"\n\nThe four armed guards took a step toward me, their plasma rifles readied in their grips.\n\n\"Actually, I do know where one of them is,\" he added as an afterthought. \"The one you call Theodore has been arrested for treason. I personally stopped his plot to overthrow the Council.\"\n\n\"That's not true!\" I cried, and the guards raised their weapons at me.\n\n\"Then what _is_ true?\" he asked.\n\nWhat had Theodore gotten himself into? Where were the others?\n\n\"Do you have something to tell us?\" Queykay said.\n\n\"I don't have to tell you anything. You have no authority over me.\"\n\n\"That's where you are wrong. Things have changed since you left, Softwire. The Trading Council has invoked certain privileges, and I am here to enforce them. For one, strolling about the ring with a convicted wormhole pirate is definitely grounds for treason charges.\" Queykay pointed a long bony finger at Switzer. \"Seize them!\" he ordered.\n\n\"Stop!\" Hach cried as he rushed into the corridor just behind the security guards. \"What are you doing, Queykay? This is still _my_ house,\" he insisted.\n\n\"The Trading Council has jurisdiction over it now.\"\n\n\"That's ridiculous!\"\n\n\"The Chancellor has suspended all civil rights, but how could you know that, with the time you spend on Ki and Ta tending to your privileged mining rights?\" Queykay turned back to us. \"Arrest the enemy,\" Queykay growled, pointing at me. \"He is a Space Jumper. The Council has clearly \u2014\"\n\n\"The Council does nothing _clearly,_ \" Hach interrupted. He pointed at the armed guards. \"Who are these men?\"\n\n\"These are the Trading Council's Preservation Forces.\"\n\n\"Preservation Forces? I know nothing of this.\"\n\n\"The Council has enlisted their services, and I have been given authority to use them. I signed the order myself. If you continue to interfere, then I will have them arrest you as well.\"\n\n\"I will not abide by this foolish rule!\" Hach cried, and reached inside his long jacket.\n\nAs Hach stepped back to remove his weapon, the four guards turned their focus on him. \"Now!\" Switzer hissed, and we both jumped at the same time.\n\nI moved across the room and refocused just behind the guard on the far right of Queykay. I stepped into him, and knocked his rifle away with my strong arm. Switzer struggled with the two guards closest to Queykay, while Charlie lunged for the remaining one. I watched Charlie bend the guard's gun in half as if it were made of rubber and then fling the guard thirty meters over his head and down the hall. The guard slid along the floor and hit the wall with a thud. He did not move again.\n\nFrom the corner of my eye, I watched Queykay fling back his thick cloak as he squared off against Hach. Queykay's brood, the disgusting creatures that fed off his body, launched at Hach the moment the light hit them. The squirrely creatures were at least a foot long now, and more than two dozen of them landed on Hach. He dropped his weapon, clawing at the creatures as they bit into his neck and face.\n\n\"No!\" I cried.\n\nWhile I watched Hach writhing under the sickening creatures, Queykay thrust a Zinovian Talon into Hach's ribs. I grabbed Queykay's arm, but when he pulled back, I saw the empty cartridge from the talon dangling from Queykay's hand. His brood must have tasted the poison now running through Hach's veins; they scurried back to their father like maggots scrambling over rotten meat. I ran to Hach's side.\n\n\"Don't fight it,\" Queykay whispered to Hach. \"It will be over quickly. There is no room on the rings for sympathizers. The Keepers have broken their agreement, and they must be punished. Their time on the Rings of Orbis is finished, with or without the Scion.\"\n\nI held Hach's head as Queykay casually reloaded his talon.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Hach breathed. \"I thought I was doing good. I thought you and the Scion would be safe here. I failed.\"\n\n\"Do you know where they are?\" I whispered.\n\n\"They disappeared after Theodore was taken. I think Ketheria knew. They are nowhere to be found. I should have been here.\" Hach's voice was almost a whisper.\n\n\"What did Ketheria know? Hach!\" His eyes began to roll back into his head. I turned to Queykay. \"Help him!\" I cried, but he only smiled.\n\n\"Your Guarantor was given lucrative mining rights to new fields on the crystal moons in exchange to protect you. He made this deal with the Keepers. I have no intention of helping him.\"\n\nI looked at Hach, his face and neck a bloody mess. \"Is this true?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nHach swallowed hard but did not reply.\n\n\"That's a question for the Keepers,\" Queykay hissed. \"They have broken the treaty, and now we will take what is ours.\"\n\nSwitzer stepped toward Queykay as he removed a small communication device from his robe and raised it to his mouth. \"I have the Tonat,\" he said into the device.\n\n\"Wow, for a Trading Council member, you are one dumb alien!\" Switzer cried. Then he jumped across the room and refocused next to Charlie. \"We're Space Jumpers!\"\n\nAs if on cue, I jumped at the same time Switzer did. I couldn't look at Hach. I knew he was dying. I didn't want to think about the deal he had made with the Keepers. I liked Hach and wanted to leave it that way, whether he was dead or alive.\n\nI knew where Switzer was going. He only had the coordinates for one place on Orbis 4, and I jumped there. I wished it was a little farther away from Queykay, but it would have to do. I refocused back in my room, with Switzer and Charlie at my side.\n\n\"They made some pretty good improvements to you,\" Switzer said to Charlie, lifting his right arm and inspecting it like part of a ship's engine.\n\nCharlie pulled his arm away. \"I wish I could remember you,\" he said.\n\n\"No, you don't,\" Switzer replied.\n\n\"What do we do now?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know; this is your plan.\"\n\n\"We need to get out of here, but you can't jump without coordinates. We have to walk out.\"\n\n\"That's not going to happen without some firepower.\"\n\n\"Well, whatever we do, we have to do it quickly. Vairocina?\"\n\n\"JT? You're back!\" her voice rang inside my head. \"I'm so pleased to hear your voice.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not a scheduled visit, that's for sure, but listen, I'm in trouble. I need some help with burak coordinates for Orbis 4. Is there any way to uplink them from my room?\"\n\n\"Why don't you \u2014?\"\n\n\"It's not for me. It's for Switzer.\"\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\n\"Vairocina?\"\n\n\"Hurry up,\" Switzer urged.\n\n\"The only O-dat I see working near you is located inside Ketheria's chambers,\" she replied.\n\n\"It's not far,\" I told Switzer.\n\n\"JT, someone has placed a query on your whereabouts within the central computer. They are commencing a trace at this very moment,\" she informed me.\n\nI remembered what they did to Ganook before I left. I assumed they had placed a trace on him and then sent some sort of explosive to finish him off. Would Queykay try to kill me?\n\n\"Can you do anything to slow them down?\" I asked her.\n\n\"It will not be permanent.\"\n\n\"Do what you can,\" I told her. \"And get ready with the coordinates for Switzer.\" I turned to Switzer and Charlie. \"We have to move now. If I start turning blue, move away from me quickly.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"Just do it.\"\n\nKetheria's room was not far away, but I had no idea where Queykay and his goons had gone. I was certain that he had initiated the trace, but I was also sure he didn't think I would still be in the building. I knew that once he discovered I was still there, I would have very little time to get the coordinates into Switzer's belt. I took the lead and slipped through the debris, careful not to attract attention. Inside the main chamber, I headed straight to Ketheria's room.\n\n\"I don't remember her being the tidy one,\" Switzer said as all three of us filled her room. Charlie went to a table near Ketheria's bed, where some of her personal things were still arranged neatly, as if she would be right back. Charlie picked up a hairbrush and cradled it in his clumsy hands.\n\n\"You miss her, don't you?\" I whispered, and he only smiled.\n\n\"Can we get on with this?\" Switzer grunted.\n\n\"Vairocina, you ready?\"\n\n\"Almost,\" she replied. \"There is an O-dat in her room. Have Switzer interface with the device.\"\n\n\"Over there,\" I told Switzer, pointing to the O-dat screen on the table.\n\n\"Tell him that in the system's local memory, there is a file marked _charts._ It's big, but I just grabbed everything I had.\"\n\n\"Look for something called charts,\" I called out to him.\n\n\"Got it!\" he replied.\n\nCharlie returned the brush to its original place and looked around the room. \"No one would hurt Ketheria,\" he said.\n\n\"That's where you are wrong,\" Queykay said, stepping into the room, the Talon already drawn.\n\n\"Switzer?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" he croaked, and I nudged Charlie to move toward him.\n\n\"It was simple. You did not want to be the Tonat. With you out of the way, the Council could control the Scion. We were in charge. Everyone feared she was not safe; we proved that. The Council would protect her, _for their Citizens._ Everything would have run smoothly, but you just couldn't play along, could you?\"\n\n\"You staged her assassination attempt, didn't you? She read your mind. That's why she's not here. You can't be trusted.\"\n\n\"I'll make you a deal,\" Queykay continued, slinking into Ketheria's room. I could see the Preservation Forces moving in the shadows of the other room and Queykay's army of assassins rippling at the collar of his cloak. \"You help me find her, and I'll spare your life.\"\n\n\"What about _her_ life?\" I said.\n\n\"The Scion will be very useful to the new Council. Of course we would protect her.\"\n\n\"Don't believe him,\" Switzer groaned. His voice was strange. I looked over and saw that he was swaying slightly.\n\n\"Switzer?\"\n\nHis knees buckled, and Queykay raised his talon. I jumped across the room and refocused right under the weapon. I sprang straight up and knocked the weapon from Queykay's grip as it discharged, the poison spear now safely lodged in the ceiling.\n\n\"You stupid \u2014\"\n\nBut before he could finish the insult, I landed on Queykay and delivered a thunderclap to his neck.\n\n\"You really are dumb,\" I said as Queykay crumpled underneath me. I saw the Preservation Forces scrambling in the other room, so I pushed into Ketheria's door and jammed the energy field, preventing the others from entering. Two of Queykay's brood had escaped and sunk their teeth into my robotic arm. I already had the pain turned off. I felt nothing, but more were crawling toward my feet.\n\n\"Wrong arm, kids,\" I said, and flicked them off. They screamed as they splattered against the wall. The others hesitated between their father and me before choosing to retreat. They were not very brave now that he was unconscious.\n\n\"Switzer!\" I turned and saw him slipping to his knees as Charlie pulled on his right arm.\n\n\"Vairocina, what did you give him?\"\n\n\"I told you it was a lot of information. I didn't know what exactly to leave out or if you would have another chance to do this again. He will be fine in a moment.\"\n\n\"We don't have a moment!\"\n\n\"Switzer! Switzer!\" I yelled. I turned and saw the guards hacking their way through the wall, bypassing the energy field all together. A chunk of the wall landed on the floor. They were almost through.\n\n\"Uh . . . too much . . .\" he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. I remembered when this happened to Theodore; he was out for a whole cycle.\n\n\"Switzer. Do you have it all? Come on. We have to go!\"\n\nCharlie helped me get Switzer to his feet. He was barely conscious. There was no way he could jump, let alone take Charlie with him.\n\nThe forces were almost through the wall.\n\n\"Take his belt,\" Charlie said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Take his belt and jump with all three of us.\"\n\n\"But I've never used a belt,\" I told him. \"I don't know \u2014\"\n\n\"The belt is only there to create the pathway for me and him. You do not even need it.\"\n\n\"But what if it doesn't work. What if I \u2014\"\n\n\"You'll do fine. You're a Space Jumper.\"\n\nI unclipped the belt from Switzer's waist. It was warm. I slipped it around my own and let it hang down over my right thigh. There was no time to adjust it. I held up the other side with my left arm.\n\n\"Grab him and get close to me,\" I told Charlie. \"And if this doesn't work, I'm sorry.\"\n\nI pictured the city of Murat in my head and interfaced with the belt. I activated the only button on the belt that I had ever seen before \u2014 the button that I thought had once killed Switzer, back on Orbis 2. It felt like forever before the smell of stinky feet invaded my senses.\n\n#\n\nI half expected to find Max waiting for me. I half expected to find Charlie in little pieces at my feet and Switzer lost in some corner of the universe, but none of that came true, especially the Max part. Before I jumped, I had pictured the concert area she had shown me on Murat, recalling my amazement that she had remembered my interest in music and thinking it was one of the finest moments of my life. Standing on the stone steps with only Charlie and Switzer at my side, I looked up as the ring unrolled its shadow across the city.\n\n\"Where are you, Max?\" I whispered.\n\n\"We'll find her,\" Charlie replied.\n\n\"Vairocina?\" I called out.\n\n\"You're safe!\" she cried.\n\n\"You have to tell me if anyone puts another trace on me, all right? And don't worry about Switzer. According to the central computer, he's dead, but you need to give me as much time as you can. I can't risk what they did to Ganook.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she said.\n\n\"Can you find any sign of Theodore?\"\n\n\"No, I've been looking. I cannot trace his staining unless a Citizen initiates it, and can find no record of this happening. The Keepers may have done it, but I have not been able to breach their security.\"\n\n\"Then you have to get ahold of Theylor for me. I need to meet with him, but be very careful. I don't know who's on what side anymore. After you establish a meeting place, check to see if a trace is placed on me. If there is, then we'll know what side Theylor is on.\"\n\n\"Where do you want to meet him?\"\n\n\"Across from the Center for Relief and Assistance. I think I might know where they are holding Theodore.\"\n\nWhile we waited for Theylor, Vairocina discovered two different traces placed on me.\n\n\"Can you trust him?\" Switzer said.\n\n\"I want to,\" I replied, refusing to believe that it was Theylor who had initiated the trace. \"We need to keep moving.\"\n\nThe more I jumped around Murat, the more obvious it seemed that war was coming to the Rings of Orbis. Vairocina had given Switzer plenty of coordinates for Murat, and this enabled us to move freely. Each time we jumped, we found barricaded streets, closed trading chambers, and barely a person to be seen. The three of us stuck out everywhere we jumped, so we glued ourselves to the shadows.\n\nWhen Vairocina informed me that Theylor was waiting for us, I jumped once more to shake off anyone who might be tracing me. Switzer was walking on his own now, but not saying too much except to warn me.\n\n\"I don't trust those two-headed space monkeys,\" he hissed.\n\n\"I trust Theylor,\" I reassured him.\n\nAcross from the Keepers' aid center, I saw Theylor standing near one of those sleeper arches that Theodore had used. I watched him open a capsule and place something inside it. He closed it and slipped away.\n\n\"I'll get it,\" Charlie said. \"You stay here.\"\n\nTheylor was being careful. That worried me. How bad were things now? Charlie returned with a tap and handed it to me. I pushed in and grabbed Theylor's message.\n\n\"Wait here,\" I told them, and stepped out into the open courtyard. I felt naked.\n\nOn the tap were simple instructions, yet they were odd just the same. Theylor instructed me to walk across the stone plaza and jump when I reached the center. I was supposed to jump to the darkened alley directly across from the center, less than thirty meters away.\n\n\"Good,\" Theylor said when I had refocused in the shadow of the empty alley. \"If anyone was following you, they would assume you jumped far from here. Follow me.\"\n\nThe Keeper turned away, his purple robe brushing against my leg. Another fifty meters down the alley and the Keeper pushed opened the dull-looking door of a lifeless building. Inside, the air felt bitter, as if trapped in a long-sealed metal container.\n\n\"How are you?\" he asked, and offered me a metal crate for a seat.\n\n\"I'm good, Theylor, but I can't say the same for the Rings of Orbis.\"\n\n\"No, you are right. It seems the Council wants a war and the Descendants of Light are willing to oblige.\"\n\n\"Drapling?\"\n\nTheylor removed a small light source from the depths of his robe and placed it on the floor. The blue light exposed the veins glowing under his skin like circuits in a computer. \"They feel empowered by the presence of the Scion. They believe the Ancients will return now,\" he confessed.\n\n\"Will they?\"\n\n\"It is foolish to believe that the Ancients are still alive, Johnny. This is the reason we have worked so hard to bring you and your sister to the Rings of Orbis. Humans were the last chance for this universe. The Ancients sacrificed everything when they found your Earth, so isolated from everything else in the galaxy. Yet they feared that humans were too far along in their evolution to ever seed a Scion. To solve this, they moved backward through time, to find the precise moment to best alter the human race and seed your fate. It was almost ninety thousand rotations ago that this journey began. You were the very last component of the intricate project. But what the Ancients did is something that breaks all rules of physics. You cannot go backward in time without destroying what you leave; it is a one-way journey. However, the Ancients knew that unless they did so, someone like your sister could never be born.\n\n\"This was their sacrifice, and they have succeeded. The Scion has almost completed her enlightenment. We are so close to fulfilling the dream of the Ancients. Ketheria will have the power to enlighten every one of us and connect us all to the Source. It is our only defense against the Knull.\"\n\n\"How can she do this from the rings?\"\n\nTheylor did not answer.\n\n\"But she's gone now. What's going to happen?\" I pressed.\n\nTheylor shook his head. I was suddenly aware of how familiar he was now with Earth gestures.\n\n\"Why can't you find her?\" I said. \"That's why you agreed to the staining in the first place, isn't it? How else could you keep track of her? You knew back then.\"\n\n\"We do not understand how she's doing it. Drapling is livid. Somehow she has cloaked her staining. She is nowhere to be found. In our defense, we had never stained a Scion before.\"\n\n\"You never stained my sister before,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"You must find her and bring her to us.\"\n\n\"I don't think she'll come.\"\n\n\"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"Because if she trusted you, she would have gone to you already.\"\n\n\"It is the Descendants of Light who cannot be trusted. They want to _use_ the Scion just as the Council would use a weapon. They believe she can unite the knudniks and the new Citizens against the Council and the First Families. The DOL have never forgotten the humiliation and loss caused by the War of Ten Thousand Rotations. They are convinced that the Scion can bring them revenge.\"\n\n\"Can she?\"\n\n\"She is the Scion. Of course she can.\"\n\n\"I have no idea where she is,\" I told him.\n\nBoth of Theylor's heads stared at me, each one creased with anxiety.\n\n\"But \u2014\"\n\nI interrupted him. \"Do you know where Theodore is? Is he where they held Switzer?\" If anyone knew Ketheria's whereabouts, it was Theodore. I was certain of it.\n\nTheylor shook his head and said, \"We have been trying, all of us.\"\n\n\"Trying what?\" I asked.\n\n\"To keep him alive. The Trading Council has charged him with treason. The penalty is death, even for a Citizen.\"\n\n\"You have to stop them!\"\n\n\"The Council has convinced the Citizens that unless the Scion is controlled, she is a threat to their well-being. The Citizens have granted the Council control over every aspect of life on the rings, and they have banned the Keepers from participating in any decisions. This in itself is grounds for war, but the Trust does not want to attack until the Scion is located. I am afraid that Theodore, as he has been so close to you and Ketheria, is merely being used as a pawn in all of this. They are using him as an example of the Council's ability to deal with the growing rebellion of knudniks and to convince the Citizens that they can use force over the Scion's power.\"\n\n\"How can I get to him?\"\n\n\"I am afraid it's impossible. He is guarded more carefully than the Ancients' Treasure.\"\n\n\"I already got through that defense,\" I reminded him.\n\nAs I feared, Theodore was being held in the same facility that Switzer had called home for so many phases. Theylor could not provide entry, as the Keepers had been banned from entering the holding area, and he was convinced that the Trading Council would carry out Theodore's sentence, with or without a war.\n\nI first thought about simply jumping into Theodore's holding cell, but I didn't know which one it was, nor did Theylor. In fact, he believed they were using Theodore as bait to lure me into a trap. But if they were, why wouldn't they simply declare his location to me?\n\n\"Oh, this is ridiculous,\" Switzer said, bolting to his feet, as Charlie and I were discussing an assortment of strategies. \"Why can't we just walk into the Keepers' building, use the light chute, and jump our way through? That's what we do. We're Space Jumpers! How many times do I have to remind you of that important fact?\"\n\n\"He might be right,\" Charlie agreed.\n\n\"And remember: we have the Hulking Honock here. He's a regular superhero, if you ask me. I'm sure he could crack a few heads if they overwhelm us.\"\n\n\"You can't do that,\" I told him. \"We don't have any weapons, and we don't have a clue what their defenses are. For all we know, they could have changed the path of the chute and directed it right into a holding cell that we can't jump out of. We may be Space Jumpers, but you seem to have forgotten most of what we learned at the Hollow.\"\n\n\"Well, my way has worked a million times before,\" he said, almost pouting.\n\n\"You're not a wormhole pirate anymore, Switzer. Look, I'm going to do this myself. I'm going to jump in there and grab Theodore and then jump out. You don't have any coordinates, and at least I know how to get inside.\"\n\n\"How are you going to bring him out? You don't even have a belt!\"\n\n\"I'll use yours.\"\n\n\"And leave me here with nothing? Did you pop a chip? What if you get caught? No way. You're not taking my belt.\"\n\n\"Switzer. There's no other way!\"\n\n\"JT, another trace has been placed on you,\" Vairocina whispered in my ear.\n\n\"How long do we have?\" I asked her.\n\n\"They're close, maybe a fraction of a diam. If you jump now, you might be able to shake the trace.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" I told her, and turned to Switzer. \"Come on. We can't stay here.\"\n\nWe jumped to the far side of Murat, near the restaurant I went to with Max and Theodore. My whole life seemed marked by moments with them. I had to find them.\n\n\"Look, Switzer, do you have a better solution?\" I asked, pushing Charlie into the shadows of a trading chamber.\n\n\"Of course. We can all go. You jump with me. My belt will store the coordinates. We jump back out and then grab circuit-man here.\"\n\n\"You really don't trust me, do you?\"\n\n\"It's not that I don't trust you; it's that I don't trust them. I've got a good thing here. I lose this belt and I have nothing. There's no way I could get back to the Hollow, and I don't even want to think about what the Council will do to me. I really thank you for getting me out of that hole, but I cannot risk going back in there. If you want your little friend, then we do it my way. I'm not letting this belt out of my sight.\"\n\n\"What if we jump right into _them_ and give our plan away? Then we lose the element of surprise.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid there ain't much to give away,\" he said.\n\n\"Let's do it, JT,\" Charlie urged. \"I don't think we have much time.\"\n\nA clatter was seeping through the stillness. I peeked out of the shadows and glanced up the empty alley. On the horizon, a jagged line of darkness was gobbling up the sky.\n\n\"Who are they?\" I whispered.\n\n\"You want to stick around here and find out?\"\n\n\"Fine! Give me the belt. Charlie, we'll be right back. And stay hidden!\"\n\nCharlie nodded as Switzer unlocked his belt and moved next to me. I slipped the belt around my waist and grabbed Switzer. I was so angry with him, I wanted to throw him through the jump.\n\nI remembered the corridor Drapling had taken me to in order to see Switzer. That's where we jumped. As we refocused, Switzer and I crouched with our backs to each other. It was a standard position we learned using SEMs at the Hollow when jumping tandem into a hostile environment. I had never tried it before, but I needed it.\n\nFour armed guards from the Council's Preservation Forces were marching straight toward the spot where we had materialized.\n\n\"Again!\" Switzer shouted, and I jumped behind the four guards as they readied their plasma rifles.\n\nBefore they could spin around, Switzer and I dropped to the floor and swept their feet out from under them. The four guards collided into one another as Switzer and I each secured a plasma rifle. Since I had the belt, I knew Switzer was unable to jump again, so I refocused back to my original position. My hope was to keep the guards disoriented.\n\n\"Hey!\" I screamed. I greeted the first guard with my right foot. I spun around and planted my new plasma rifle in the belly of the second guard. Then I turned to help Switzer.\n\n\"Could you take longer,\" he said. Switzer stood triumphantly over the remaining guards, who were unconscious, with both of their rifles slung over his shoulder.\n\n\"Show off,\" I muttered under my breath. Switzer was a natural.\n\nI stared down the corridor. No one else was coming.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"I don't know. It seems too easy.\"\n\n\"I tell ya, we're Space Jumpers!\"\n\n\"Still.\"\n\n\"Think they contacted anyone?\"\n\n\"I don't think they had time,\" I told him.\n\n\"Your guys might have.\"\n\n\"Funny.\"\n\n\"So where's split-screen?\"\n\n\"Don't call him that.\"\n\n\"Fine, any idea where we might locate _Theodore_?\"\n\n\"He has to be in one of these rooms. You never had any guards watching your cell. I guess they weren't as afraid of you.\"\n\n\"Now, _that's_ funny,\" Switzer said.\n\nI found Theodore in the third cell down from Switzer's. He sprang from the floor when he saw me.\n\n\"JT! How \u2014?\"\n\n\"Don't worry about that. We have to get out of here.\"\n\n\"You want to go get circuit-man first?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"What's he doing here?\" Theodore asked.\n\n\"Don't worry \u2014 he's on our side,\" I said.\n\nTheodore only snorted.\n\n\"We could leave you in there, you know,\" Switzer said with a sneer.\n\n\"No, we won't,\" I argued.\n\nI jumped to the other side of the energy field and refocused next to Theodore.\n\n\"Golden!\" he cried.\n\n\"Grab on to me,\" I instructed.\n\nOutside of the cell, both of us refocused next to Switzer. \"Now you,\" I told him.\n\n\"Give me my belt. I can take both of you,\" Switzer protested.\n\n\"You're ridiculous,\" I said, unlatching the belt and handing it to Switzer. He slipped it lovingly around his waist and then held his arms out to both of us.\n\n\"Come to Papa!\"\n\n\"Oh, shut up,\" I snapped.\n\nBack on the surface, Charlie was waiting patiently, shrouded by the shadows. The angry mob I had seen in the distance now spilled through the streets of Murat. I had to shout in order for Charlie to hear me.\n\n\"Who are they?\"\n\n\"Knudniks, Citizens, all of them angry,\" Charlie replied. \"Very angry.\"\n\n\"Charlie?\" Theodore said, his voice almost cracking.\n\n\"Hi, Theodore,\" he said. \"I missed you.\"\n\n\"But . . . I thought . . . he . . .\" Theodore was gawking at Charlie, then Switzer, then me.\n\n\"It's hard to explain, but, yes, that's Charlie.\"\n\n\"Part of me,\" he corrected me.\n\n\"The best part,\" I pointed out, and Charlie smiled.\n\n\"Enough with the family reunion,\" Switzer butted in. \"I don't like hanging out here in the middle of their party.\"\n\nI looked down the alley and saw that the mob was blocking the entrance. I watched hundreds of aliens file past, some with metal pipes, some with sticks, a few even with real weapons. Zinovian claws were popular, but I also saw a Fedaado blade and even a Choi cril.\n\n\"They mean business,\" I said.\n\n\"They're everywhere,\" Theodore remarked. \"Ever since the Council began adding more and more restrictions on our way of life, people have been rallying. They want a war.\"\n\n\"So does the Council,\" I replied.\n\nSuddenly I felt a horrible rumble that dampened the sound of the crowd. The shock stretched down the alley and called up the stone beneath my feet.\n\n\"What was that?\" Theodore cried.\n\nThe crowd was turning. I watched a Honine backtrack and then fall. Another retreating alien stomped on his chest, and the Honine screamed in vain. I jumped to the end of the alley.\n\n\"JT!\"\n\nPanic. The crowd was rushing from something, but I could not see what that was. Another explosion. I jumped to the top of the building across the street to get a better look.\n\n\"What do you see?\" Theodore called out.\n\nI didn't speak at first. Not because I couldn't see what was coming, but because I couldn't believe it. An army of Neewalkers was marching, rolling, and flying through Murat. One machine, or monster (there wasn't much difference), rolled over anything in its path while firing at anything above it. A Neewalker, strapped to the controls, artfully maneuvered the rolling tank against the outmatched aliens. I counted more than a dozen of the machines before I jumped back into the alley.\n\n\"It's bad,\" I told them.\n\n\"What do we do?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"We should help them,\" I said.\n\n\"Let's do it.\"\n\nNeewalker defense strategies were a vital part of a Space Jumper's training. These nefarious creatures were often at the heart of conflicts in this star sector. At least this is what we were taught at the Hollow, and it happened to be the norm on the Rings of Orbis.\n\n\"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?\" Switzer asked. His faced brightened with anticipation.\n\n\"Remember: I can push into those stilts and disable them once you knock them out. It will take you too long to decipher the interface.\"\n\n\"Always trying to show off,\" he muttered.\n\n\"And I'll handle those rollers as well.\"\n\n\"Why do you get all the fun? _Those_ I can handle.\"\n\n\"Fine,\" I agreed. \"But let's get the guys on the ground first. Those machines look like they'll take forever to turn around.\"\n\n\"Got it.\"\n\n\"I'll be right back,\" I told Theodore, and turned to Charlie. \"Make sure \u2014\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\nSwitzer and I jumped behind the center roller. We refocused next to a Neewalker. We dropped fast, swiping out the stilts with our legs. My good arm was far more effective, and I grabbed the first Neewalker and snapped its stilt. As it fell, I pushed inside the stilt chips and trashed anything I could find. Switzer and I took out more than a dozen Neewalkers before they even knew what had hit them, and even then they couldn't find us. When one spotted us, we jumped to the other side of the battalion, working in unison. I jumped a nanosecond behind Switzer, waiting for the Neewalker to fall before taking out its computer. I began to see glimpses of Switzer as he broke through time and space and refocused next to the unprepared Neewalker, as if a ghost image of him revealed his whereabouts between dimensions. I found the effect extremely useful in trying to stay close to him.\n\nSoon Neewalkers began to abandon their broken stilts, but their fins were useless on the streets of Murat. The rollers crushed many of them as they frantically searched the skies for Switzer and me.\n\n\"JT!\" Switzer called.\n\nI turned to Switzer, who was strapped into one of the rollers, firing on our enemy. I watched the Neewalkers turn and run while the crowd of angry aliens moved in on them.\n\n\"Get out of there!\" I shouted at him.\n\n\"I couldn't resist!\"\n\nOne of the other rollers saw Switzer and returned fire with a direct hit.\n\n\"Switzer!\"\n\nI jumped next to the attacking machine and pushed into the controls. The machine was useless by the time it tried to fire again. I jumped to Switzer's machine and found it pitched wildly on its side. Switzer was coughing and swiping at the smoke as a small fire licked at the cockpit, but he was still alive.\n\n\"Get out of there, Switzer!\" I grabbed him by the collar with my good arm and hoisted him out, and we both jumped to the ground.\n\n\"The Tonat!\" I heard someone cry from the crowd, and a group of aliens near the front line rushed in and smothered me. \"The Tonat! The Tonat is helping us!\"\n\nThe words echoed through the crowd.\n\n\"It's time to go, Switzer!\" I cried out.\n\nThe aliens were trying to lift me up. Hands grabbed at me from all sides, like kids reaching for a pouch of toonbas.\n\n\"Tonat! Tonat! Tonat!\"\n\n\"Now, Switzer!\" I shouted.\n\nWe both refocused in the alley.\n\n\"That was amazing,\" Theodore cried.\n\n\"Dazzling would be a better word,\" Switzer argued. \"Maybe even stunning, but we can't stay here. There'll be more.\"\n\n\"Come on, this way,\" Theodore instructed.\n\nWe followed Theodore through the streets. My blood was pumping; I was filled with pride in our victory.\n\n\"That was golden,\" I told Switzer.\n\n\"I gotta tell ya, you're fast,\" he complimented me.\n\n\"Did you see the looks on their faces?\"\n\n\"They didn't have a clue what was happening to them.\"\n\nSwitzer followed Theodore up another street, and I fell behind.\n\n\"You were amazing, JT. The way you and Switzer worked in unison, those Neewalkers didn't have a chance,\" Charlie said.\n\n\"Thanks, Charlie.\"\n\nIt seemed obvious to me why Space Jumpers worked in tandem. Switzer and I had performed like a single machine connected by some kind of cosmic cable as we sliced through space, refocusing in the exact position required to chop down our enemy. I wondered if I could work with Switzer, as in permanently. When Space Jumpers were teamed together by the Trust, the only thing that separated them was death. What would that be like? What would Max say?\n\nTheodore stopped outside a building draped in permanent shadow. The plastic structure was the color of despair, and if you didn't have a reason to be here, you would never even see it.\n\n\"Where are we?\" I asked.\n\n\"The hideout,\" he whispered as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. \"This is where Max and Ketheria are. Hey, everyone,\" he called out into the darkness, \"look who I found!\"\n\n\"Theodore! No!\" I cried.\n\nBut it was too late. Switzer and Charlie had followed Theodore inside. My cry was muffled by Ketheria's scream as she caught sight of Charlie. I stayed back as she jumped up from her metal crate and charged at her old friend. Gone was the Scion, the person who had the weight of the Universe placed on her shoulders. Instead, I saw the little girl I knew as my sister, the little girl who loved the man once called Charlie.\n\nThe Honock scooped her up in his clumsy arms and hoisted her into the air like a piece of solar paper. She dripped tears of joy on his face.\n\n\"Charlie! How! Oh, Charlie,\" she cried.\n\nMax walked up behind her. She was looking at Charlie, but she saw me as well. She moved slowly, and then, as if everything that had happened between us recently melted away, as if the Rings of Orbis had melted away, she rushed toward me. That was my signal, and I flung myself at her. We collided in the middle of the room, and I gulped her in. How long had I dreamed about this moment? With my face in her hair, I felt her tears on my neck. I squeezed her tighter.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she said.\n\n\"I love you,\" I whispered back, and she held me tighter.\n\nWe were all together again. Despite what had happened and who we had become, it was still us \u2014 just the kids from the _Renaissance._ This is what Max had always wanted. This is what _I_ had wanted. It should have been a wonderful reunion, but it lasted only a nanosecond.\n\n\"JT, a trace has been placed on Theodore,\" Vairocina whispered in my mind. \"It was triggered the moment you left his cell. A mobile force has picked up the signal. They have you as well, I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"I know,\" I replied silently with Max in my arms. It crushed me to let the outside in during that moment. I knew we were in trouble as soon as Theodore found this place. That was why they just let me take Theodore. They knew we would come here. \"How long do we have?\"\n\n\"Not long. Not long at all.\"\n\nIt was the most difficult thing I ever had to do, but I unlocked from Max's embrace.\n\n\"Listen, everyone!\" I called out. There must have been thirty people or more spread out across the dusky rooms. When I spoke, more kids stepped out from their hiding places. \"Do you have any weapons?\"\n\n\"What's wrong, JT?\" Max asked.\n\nI looked over at Theodore. He knew. \"They're coming,\" I whispered.\n\nThose sitting on crates jumped up. Someone cried out, but Max took control.\n\n\"We planned for this! Everyone get ready!\" she ordered. \"Grace! The windows. Theodore, raise the barricade.\" Then she turned to me. \"We have weapons.\"\n\n\"Good,\" Switzer cried. \"We're going to need them.\"\n\nHe tossed a plasma rifle to Theodore, who caught it in midair and came closer to me.\n\n\"JT, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking \u2014\"\n\n\"Stop,\" I interrupted him. \"It's all right. This moment was inevitable. We had to take a stand eventually.\" I turned to my sister. \"Ketheria!\"\n\nShe was still in Charlie's grip. Seated on his crossed forearms, she was gently examining the metal and wires exposed in his neck. She was smiling, but her eyes were close to unloading their payload of regret. I let her have another moment. It was an expensive gesture, but I let them have it.\n\nThen I spoke again. \"Ketheria!\"\n\nShe turned to me slowly, as if forcing herself to come back to this moment.\n\n\"How are you blocking the staining?\"\n\n\"It's easy,\" she replied. \"I sort of let my mind drift around it, and then it's not there anymore.\"\n\n\"Can you do it for everyone?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Then do it now, please.\" I turned inside. \"Vairocina, how long \u2014?\"\n\nThe wall behind Charlie blew apart. Shards of plastic and stone rained down on him and Ketheria.\n\n\"They're here!\" Vairocina said.\n\n\"Move!\"\n\nI jumped outside and refocused for a nanosecond. I was gone again before I could swallow my surprise. \"I think they sent an entire battalion,\" I whispered to Switzer.\n\n\"That just means more fun for us,\" he gloated. \"Theodore, you ready?\"\n\n\"Ready!\"\n\n\"JT! Can you create a distraction, give us more time?\" Max called out. She was tossing weapons to anyone within range. Four other people piled crates and other pieces of metal into a makeshift barricade. It wouldn't be enough. Not even close. We were dead.\n\n\"Yes!\" I told her, and turned to Charlie. I pointed at Ketheria, still in his arms. \"Protect her!\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"Switzer, this time we have to take the big machines out first. There are four of them. I don't know if we can confuse them like the Neewalkers. These guys are going to be ready for us.\"\n\n\"No one is ever ready for _me,_ \" Switzer said, and looked back at Max and the others. \"You think these guys can hold while we go out there?\"\n\n\"They have no choice,\" I whispered.\n\n\"Down the street, then on the backside. Go,\" he ordered, and we refocused behind the battalion of Preservation Forces.\n\nIn front of us, hovering on the flanks of the battalion, I could see four of the metal monsters \u2014 two on each side.\n\n\"Take the one on the far left and fire across the battalion. You get one shot,\" Switzer said.\n\nI refocused inside the weapon's cockpit.\n\nThey were waiting for me.\n\nTwo guards from the Preservation Forces tossed a net at me the moment I refocused. The mesh burned my skin as it touched me. The net was weighted with some sort of electrical spheres that were moving together, trying to close the loop. Something told me that if they touched, I would never get out of this net. I jumped back.\n\nSwitzer was already waiting.\n\n\"What was that?\" he cried, rubbing at his skin.\n\n\"They know we're here.\"\n\n\"So much for that plan. Time to show you what I learned during my missing years. Wait here.\"\n\nBefore I could protest, Switzer jumped. A few moments later, he was standing next to me again holding two plasma cannons. There was a trickle of blood running down his forehead.\n\n\"Where did you get those?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Up my ass, where do you think? From out there! Here.\"\n\nSwitzer tossed me a fist-size object. It was spiked like a space mine.\n\n\"Explosive?\" I asked.\n\nHe nodded as one of the huge metal tanks blasted another hole in the hideout. \"Get out of the way after you toss that thing,\" he ordered. \"And toss it hard. It blows on contact. They'll know what's happening after the first one. I figure we jump as we toss. We have to do this together. You ready?\"\n\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\n\"You take the two on the left; I've got these two. On three.\"\n\n\"One . . .\"\n\n\"Switzer?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\n\"Shut up and go blow stuff up.\"\n\nI nodded and smiled.\n\n\"Three!\"\n\nI jumped within a meter of the first hover tank and felt the burn from its turbine reaching for my skin. No one saw me as I wound up and drilled the explosive into the rear-mounted engine. I jumped before it hit the tank. I refocused behind the next tank and felt the pressure from the first explosion race me to the next tank. Even the air was trying to get away, knocking over everything in its path. As I felt myself fall, the explosive slipped from my fingers.\n\n_It blows on contact._\n\nI watched the spiked device roll over in the air as debris from my first strike pelted my skin. I refused to close my eyes in fear the explosive would speed up. I pushed myself through the empty space, reaching for the explosive before I even refocused. I stretched out and grabbed the prickly metal from some other dimension, refocusing on my back. I hurled the hunk of metal at the belly of my target. When I looked up, I saw the butt of a plasma rifle coming down from the sky, guided by a Preservation guard. The rifle and the guard both disappeared with the exploding hover tank. Obviously things standing straight up were ripped away first. I jumped before I was forced to follow them.\n\nBack behind the action, I watched the last hover tank rip apart and the bulk of the beast land lopsided on the ground. Several troops were crushed after being knocked down by the explosion and unable to get out of the way. Switzer was next to me before they even cried out.\n\n\"Now for the messy part,\" he said, and hoisted the cannon onto his shoulder. He looked at me before firing into the crowd. \"Why don't you go see if they need help inside?\"\n\n\"You all right here?\"\n\n\"Perfect,\" he said, grinning.\n\nAs I refocused inside, I heard the first cannon blast from outside. Grace cried out as the walls of the building echoed the explosion.\n\n\"Don't worry,\" I told her. \"That's us. We got the tanks, too. It's almost over.\"\n\nEvery one of the kids in the room was armed and ready, hidden by a crate or a wall or some sort of makeshift barricade, most of the items just hunks of garbage. One blast from a cannon out there would blow all of this apart. Maybe they should know the Scion was in here. It would probably save a few lives.\n\n\"I'll be back,\" I whispered to Max, and she nodded.\n\nI jumped outside and refocused away from the fight. I searched the mayhem for Switzer and found him to my left, jumping through the troops. I watched one guard turn where Switzer had refocused and fire. The errant round sailed past Switzer as he jumped again. After the guard watched one of his comrades fall from his own gun, he dropped his weapon and ran. Others followed his lead, but as the guards began to scatter, I heard a roar rushing up behind me. I turned to witness thousands and thousands of knudniks and Citizens marching to join the battle. The Preservation Forces were about to be unmatched.\n\nI jumped next to Switzer. \"Having fun?\"\n\n\"More than you can imagine,\" he replied.\n\n\"It's time to go,\" I told him. \"That mob is even larger than before, and they're headed this way. We need to leave before more troops arrive.\"\n\n\"I'm right behind ya.\"\n\nWe refocused inside.\n\n\"Theodore, come here!\" I called to him, and then found my sister. \"Ketheria, we are going to leave, but we'll be back. When we return, can you do that thing you do and cloak us in your staining? Both me and Theodore. You have to be fast. Can you do that?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" she said. \"Is Charlie staying here?\"\n\n\"For now,\" I told her, and turned to Switzer.\n\n\"Let's jump back to Hach's and wait for the trace to be picked up there. The moment they have us, we'll jump back here and slip under Ketheria's cloak.\"\n\n\"Then what?\" he said.\n\n\"I haven't thought that far ahead, but I know we can't stay here.\"\n\nSuddenly, the door behind Switzer swung open. Everyone turned and readied their weapons in the direction of the door as Drapling strolled into our hideout with three other Keepers following.\n\n\"The Scion can handle all of this,\" Drapling announced. \"She can take care of this fighting. She is coming with us. The Descendants of Light will show her how to use her powers. The Scion will restore order. Our order.\"\n\n\"That's not going to happen,\" I told him.\n\nMax stood next to me. \"How did you find us?\"\n\n\"I imagine everyone on the rings is converging upon this point,\" he said, and then raised his hand toward Ketheria. \"Come, my child. Now is the time for you to fulfill your destiny.\"\n\nA surge of kids jumped up and surrounded Ketheria. We made an imposing posse of plasma-toting teenagers.\n\nDrapling stepped back, his arms still reaching out to Ketheria. \"This is ridiculous. She is the Scion! You have to let the prophecy fulfill itself. You must not intervene in these matters.\"\n\n\"Like you, Drapling?\" I said.\n\nDrapling would not look at me. He wouldn't take his eyes off Ketheria, and she wouldn't leave Charlie's side. I could see the yearning in Drapling's eyes. His prize was right in front of him! I looked at Charlie. \"Don't let him touch her,\" I whispered, and he nodded. I might as well have locked Ketheria in a safe.\n\n\"C'mon, guys,\" I said to Switzer and Theodore. \"Be ready, Ketheria. We'll come right back here. Max, please make sure everyone is ready.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"To leave,\" I told her.\n\n\"To leave where?\"\n\n\"To leave the Rings of Orbis.\"\n\nWe jumped back to Hach's and hid in an empty room down the corridor from Theodore's room. The stillness of the air made the building feel empty and lifeless.\n\n\"I don't think there's anyone here,\" Theodore whispered.\n\n\"What do we do now?\" Switzer asked.\n\n\"We wait. Vairocina, let me know when a trace has been placed on one of us, will you, please?\"\n\n\"Already waiting for it,\" she replied.\n\n\"I'm sorry about back there, JT. I wasn't thinking,\" Theodore mumbled.\n\n\"It was my fault. I should have told you.\"\n\n\"That's enough, girls,\" Switzer scoffed. \"Look, we found them, can we get back to the Hollow now? Pick your favorites and let's jump back. I'm hungry.\"\n\n\"I'm not leaving any of them,\" I argued. \"In fact, I'm not going back to the Hollow.\"\n\n\"What \u2014?\"\n\n\"JT.\" Vairocina materialized in front of us. \"The trace has been placed. The Trading Council has mobilized an even larger force, and they're heading in your direction.\"\n\n\"Perfect. Now \u2014\"\n\n\"JT, they have no intentions of capturing you. The Trading Council has given orders for you to be killed on sight.\"\n\n\"JT!\" Theodore cried.\n\n\"It's all right,\" I assured him. \"If they wanted me dead, they could have done it already. They could have killed me like they did Ganook.\" I turned to Vairocina. \"Thanks. One last thing.\"\n\n\"Don't say it like that,\" she replied.\n\n\"Don't worry. I have no intention of dying this cycle,\" I told her. \"Listen, can you jam the signal from the staining? I don't know how, but is there some way of thinking I'm still here after I leave?\"\n\n\"I don't know if it's possible, but I could try some sort of echo. I might need a little time, and it certainly won't last. I'm sure they'll figure it out.\"\n\n\"That's all I can ask.\" I turned to Switzer and Theodore. \"Switzer, straight back to Ketheria. Let her put Theodore under the cloak.\"\n\n\"What about you? You're not staying here by yourself.\"\n\n\"Just until Vairocina's ready. It's me they want. Not you two.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Then what?\"\n\n\"Then it will be time to go. We're not wanted here anymore,\" I said.\n\n#\n\nI sat alone in my old room and waited for Vairocina's cue. It wasn't much of a room now, but that did not matter anymore. I wasn't scared, either. In fact, I was quite excited by what was coming next. We would all leave the rings together, I thought, including the Scion. And better yet, I would have Max with me. With her and Switzer at my side, we were an invincible force.\n\n\"It's ready,\" Vairocina said.\n\n\"How much time do I have?\"\n\n\"Fraction of a diam, not much more.\"\n\n\"I'll take it. Thank you.\"\n\n_What am I going to do without Vairocina?_ I suddenly wondered. I didn't even know how I was going to say good-bye.\n\nThe moment I returned, Ketheria confirmed that we were now protected from any attempts to trace our genetic stain. I did not question her methods. I simply trusted them.\n\nOutside the hideout, I could hear the war cries from knudniks charging the Preservation Forces.\n\n\"They're pushing them back,\" I said to Switzer.\n\nHe nodded. \"I figure the rebels are getting squashed or being forced back into the city. Either way, I don't think we have much time.\"\n\n\"I know you have a plan,\" Max whispered, slipping next to me and wrapping her arm in mine. I took a moment to enjoy her touch.\n\n\"I always knew you two had a thing,\" Switzer added, and Max smiled.\n\n\"I do,\" I told her. \"But it wasn't my idea. This idea was presented to me a long time ago, but I refused to listen.\"\n\n\"Tell me! Don't be so cryptic,\" she begged.\n\nTheodore, Grace, and a few other kids from the _Renaissance_ had gathered around me. I looked over at Switzer. \"It was really his idea,\" I told them, thumbing in his direction. \"Before we ever arrived on the Rings of Orbis, all I ever thought about was coming here and starting a new life with my sister. Remember our observation deck?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Grace answered.\n\n\"Well, I would lie there dreaming about what my life on the Rings of Orbis would be like.\"\n\n\"We all did that.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but I had imagined a utopia. A place where they handed out chits and no one went sick or hungry. It was childish. In my imagination, this was a perfect place. I gobbled up every story they planted in Mother and wished away every moment so I could get here sooner. Even when Theylor told us about our fate, I refused to let go of my dream. I would not even consider that the Rings of Orbis might be a cruel place, motivated by greed, a place where success was achieved only by sacrificing others.\"\n\n\"It wasn't always like that,\" Drapling cried out. \"The Rings of Orbis were different. The Trading Council changed everything. This is why the Scion is here.\"\n\n\"Shut up!\" Switzer growled. \"Or I will come over there and do it for you, you two-headed space freak.\"\n\n\"I should have listened when Switzer convinced you guys to take the _Renaissance._ \"\n\n\"No!\" Max said.\n\n\"Let him talk,\" Switzer argued.\n\n\"If I had known back then that I was a softwire, I could have pushed into the ship's computer, or at least I should have tried. You don't know how many times I have thought about that moment, over and over and over again. I know now that I should have listened. We _should_ have taken the _Renaissance_ and never looked backed.\"\n\n\"What are you saying?\" Theodore asked.\n\n\"I say we do that now.\"\n\n\"The _Renaissance_ is gone, split-screen,\" Switzer reminded me.\n\n\"No, he wants to steal a new starship and leave the rings,\" Max said, smiling.\n\n\"Have you flipped a chip?\" Theodore cried. \"We can't steal a starship. Who's going to fly it?\"\n\nSwitzer's face sparkled with surprise, quite a feat for such a scarred mug. He put his hand up and grinned sheepishly. \"Captain Ceesar, at your service,\" he gloated.\n\n\"And Switzer and I have been versed on a zillion different spacecraft in our training,\" I added.\n\n\"It's still crazy,\" someone else complained.\n\nI turned to Max. \"Isn't this what you always wanted? We can be together, all of us, away from here. No Scion, no Tonat, no Space Jumpers. Just _us._ We can find a new world to live on, and we'll never look at the Rings of Orbis again.\"\n\n\"Where did the Keepers go?\" someone asked.\n\nI turned and they were gone. \"Drapling?\" No answer.\n\n\"I don't think Twin-Top ran off to book us a seat on the shuttle,\" Switzer said.\n\n\"If we're going to go, then we go now,\" I told the group.\n\n\"Wait!\" Grace cried. \"Can we think about this?\"\n\n\"What for?\" Switzer said, throwing his arms up and stomping to the back of the room.\n\n\"We don't have time,\" I argued.\n\n\"Just wait!\" Grace said.\n\nGrace and two other kids broke into their own group, then four other kids did the same. Theodore glanced at them.\n\n\"It will be all right,\" I told him.\n\n\"I know it will.\" He stepped toward me. \"Of course I'm with you.\"\n\n\"I think it's perfect,\" Max said. \"Especially the part about us being together. Not just you and me. I mean, of course I love that, but I want all of us to be together, even Switzer.\"\n\nI looked over at Switzer, who was now perched on a metal shipping crate. Ketheria was next to him. They were whispering about something, and I could only assume she was forgiving him for everything he had done in their past. Inside, I smiled (I wouldn't dare let Switzer see me). Their reconciliation was necessary if we were going to live together on a starship again. I could not even guess how long it would take to find a new home.\n\n\"They have a lot to discuss,\" Max whispered.\n\n\"He's different now,\" I told her. \"He's not the Switzer we used to know.\"\n\nMax took my hands and turned me to face her. She was intoxicatingly close to me. It took everything to keep my eyes open.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Don't,\" I said.\n\n\"No, I want to. I wasn't fair to you. I ignored the pressures they placed on you. I did not want to admit what they had done to you, _to us._ I'm so sorry. I love you, and I don't ever want us to be apart again. It just hurts too much.\"\n\n\"We won't. I promise.\"\n\n\"All right!\" Grace said. \"We'll go. But Switzer cannot be in charge. It has to be Ketheria.\"\n\nI looked over at Switzer, knowing he would protest, but Switzer was staring over Ketheria's shoulder. His faced showed no sign that he had heard the group's objection.\n\n\"Switzer?\" I called out to him.\n\n\"What's wrong with him?\" Max whispered.\n\n\"Switzer!\"\n\n\"What?\" he grunted, shaking off his trance.\n\n\"They won't let you be captain. They want Ketheria,\" I told him.\n\n\"What?\" Switzer protested. \"I'm the captain.\"\n\n\"Then no deal,\" Grace said.\n\nI glared at Switzer.\n\n\"Fine,\" he grumbled, although his protest was unusually weak. \"But I'm not calling her Captain Ketheria.\"\n\nKetheria glanced at Switzer. \"I'm ready,\" she said.\n\n\"There's still a war going on out there,\" I warned them, \"and Switzer's right: Drapling didn't leave to reserve a seat for us. It's a long way to the spaceport, maybe four kilometers.\"\n\nJust then I heard a _WHUMP._ In fact, I felt it. Even the air pushed against me.\n\n\"What was that?\" Grace cried.\n\n\"We better hurry,\" Max whispered.\n\n\"Can't you jump there and take us?\" Theodore asked.\n\n\"First, there are too many of you to jump at once with Switzer, and I don't have a belt to help.\"\n\n\"I don't know how far my cloaking works, either,\" Ketheria said.\n\n\"We can't risk it. We need to stay together and move as a group.\"\n\nThe building shivered from another blast, coaxing the dust and debris from the ceiling.\n\n\"Can we go?\" Grace demanded.\n\n\"I will take the lead and Switzer will follow last. Everyone else pair up and keep Ketheria protected. Charlie, you stay with her, in the middle. Don't talk to anyone, and keep your head down!\" I yelled.\n\nPeople began pairing off, moving Ketheria to the middle. Max came up behind me. \"I'm with you,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Stay close,\" I said, and kissed her on the cheek. I thought of Vairocina's warning. \"But not too close. Give yourself some running room.\"\n\n_I'm not dying this cycle._\n\nOnce outside the building, I could see intense fighting still raging to my left. The knudniks appeared to be holding their own as the Preservation Forces hunkered down into a building at the edge of Murat.\n\n\"Don't look,\" I whispered to Max as I stepped around the aftermath of Switzer's cannon.\n\n\"Oh, that's disgusting!\" Grace cried.\n\nMy plan was to race around the far side of Murat in order to reach the spaceport. The military aircraft (and there were a lot of them) were converging over the center of the city, so most of the conflict was happening there. The detour added a kilometer to our run, but there were too many of us to risk getting caught in the skirmish. I was certain that once we reached the spaceport, operations would be so chaotic on the landing pads that Switzer and I could jump inside a ship and leave orbit before anyone even knew we were there.\n\n\"Ketheria, what's the range on that ability of yours?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she called out.\n\n\"Then stay close, everyone!\"\n\nI treated the city as nothing more than an obstacle course. To me, it was just another map in a game of Quest-Nest, and my bait was the spaceport. Actually, my bait was a shiny new spaceship ready to take me to my new home, far away from here.\n\nAs we raced past the busted buildings and abandoned trading chambers, I concentrated on the prospects of a new life and it sparked an excitement in me. The energy moved my legs forward unconsciously, and I occasionally glanced behind to make sure everyone was keeping close.\n\nWe moved as one group over barricaded alleys and crumbled buildings, slowing only when a quick climb seemed faster than finding a new way around a fallen structure or mountain of garbage.\n\n\"I didn't know things had gotten so bad here,\" I called out to Max.\n\n\"The Trading Council really wants the rings.\"\n\n\"They won't go without a fight.\"\n\n\"You weren't the only knudnik who thought the Rings of Orbis should have been their utopia.\"\n\nWe had run about a kilometer when I was forced to pull up.\n\n\"Stop!\" I cried out.\n\nIn front of us was an enormous hole in the ring. Some sort of bomb or missile had destroyed an entire city block, preventing us from going any farther. I couldn't tell what had caused the damage, but whatever it was, it was big. Scary big.\n\n\"I hope they ran out of whatever did that,\" Theodore remarked.\n\nThe guts of Orbis 4 lay open at our feet, like some kind of busted space shuttle abandoned by its mechanic.\n\n\"This just happened,\" I said. \"The dust has hardly settled and parts are still burning. That must have been the sound we heard back at the hideout.\"\n\n\"We can't cross this,\" Max said.\n\nShe was right. To my right I could see rows of factories turned into mountains of rubble by the explosion.\n\n\"Just go around it,\" Switzer ordered.\n\n\"We can't,\" Max said. \"I've been here before, handing out taps in the city. Those factories go on forever. That would be a very long detour.\"\n\n\"It looks like someone knows what they're doing,\" I said.\n\n\"They're cutting off access, keeping everyone in the center,\" Switzer pointed out.\n\n\"Or they're making it very difficult for anyone to leave,\" I added.\n\n\"There's only one person who knows what we're trying to do,\" Max whispered.\n\n\"Think Double-Dome would risk baby-malf's life like that?\" Switzer asked.\n\nI frowned at him.\n\n\"Sorry,\" he mumbled.\n\nI looked to my left. The long street still sparkled, a reminder of the city that once was. Only now it led directly into the conflict, a route I wasn't prepared to take, but I saw no other choice.\n\n\"We don't have to go all the way in,\" I told Switzer. \"We could work our way in just a little, to cut back over and up.\"\n\n\"I know this street, too,\" Theodore said. \"Every alley dumps into the center of Murat.\"\n\n\"Maybe we should send a reconnaissance group out and map a route to avoid that,\" I offered.\n\n\"No, JT,\" Max said. \"If one goes, we all go. We stay together now. You said so yourself. Think of the staining.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" someone else called out.\n\nI looked back up toward the factories.\n\n\"We could jump \u2014\" I started to say, but Max cut in.\n\n\"No,\" she snapped. \"Look!\"\n\nFar down the street, I spotted two enormous hover tanks as they rounded the corner. Behind them was a wave of Preservation Forces. I couldn't tell if they were retreating or moving toward us. Circular fliers spun overhead, firing into the crowds.\n\n\"Look! Knudniks!\" Max cried. They were fighting the Preservation Forces hand to hand. \"We're trapped.\"\n\n\"Let's move!\" I cried. \"Everyone into the alley!\" I pointed to an opening in the building between the hole and the fighting moving toward us.\n\n\"Vairocina,\" I called out. \"I'm stuck in the city, trying to make my way around Murat's industrial core. Can you see where I am and find me the shortest route around it?\"\n\n\"I am unable to locate your whereabouts, JT. The manner in which you are blocking the staining is very effective. More than three dozen attempts to trace your location have been attempted \u2014 unsuccessfully, I might add. If you give me a bearing, I can pull up a schematic to help you navigate,\" she offered.\n\nA small speck tumbled toward us like an extinguished star giving up its spot in the night sky. The speck grew larger, and for a moment, I didn't comprehend what it was. In fact, I was mesmerized by the curve of its trajectory as it sailed past my head. Only when the thing disappeared inside the factories next to us, did I realize.\n\n\"No!\" I cried, but a deafening _WHUMP_ rolled over me, flinging me backward as the air seemed to disappear, as if it was being sucked into outer space.\n\nThe ground vomited as I hit it, tossing me back up and mixing me into the debris. The blast from the explosion refused to subside, as if it were taunting me. I couldn't get a bearing on anything, or anyone, and it felt as if someone had set the ring spinning out of control. Suddenly, I slammed to a stop. A large hunk of factory followed me to the ground and crushed my robotic arm. I pulled my arm out and watched my fingers curl back, almost touching my wrist. The pain shot up my arm before my fingers snapped back into place, lifeless.\n\n\"Switzer!\" I cried out. Even I was surprised that this was my first word.\n\nI turned into the swirling debris. \"Max!\"\n\nI tried to focus on something \u2014 anything to make my world settle, but everything was in motion.\n\nCharlie slumped, lifeless, on the ground.\n\nTheodore crawled on his knees.\n\nGrace wandered, bleeding.\n\nSwitzer was nowhere to be seen.\n\n\"Max!\"\n\nI jumped out of the chaos, to a place just beyond the explosion. I refocused and saw another gaping hole in the center of the street as debris swirled about the opening as if some vortex had been ripped open by the blast. I could see some people standing; some were lying on the ground. Some I could hardly see at all.\n\n\"Ketheria!\"\n\nThe Preservation Forces were now at my heels, but they were too busy fighting the knudniks. I jumped back to the highest point of the rubble and refocused atop the aftermath and inside the growing tornado. I tried to flex my crushed arm again, but it would not respond. It flopped at my side, useless.\n\n\"Max!\"\n\nStill no answer.\n\n\"Max!\"\n\nIn the hole, about twenty meters below me, I could see the purple stream of a light chute, untethered and flailing about like a broken gas line. The stream crackled and hissed across the black void. Another uprooted chute intersected with the first one, igniting a light storm whenever they touched.\n\n\"Max!\"\n\n\"JT,\" my sister called out.\n\n\"Ketheria! Where are you?\"\n\n\"Down here,\" she cried. \"I have Max.\"\n\nI fell on my belly and peered over the edge. Ketheria's crimson hands clung to a utility pipe sprouting from the rubble and over the hole in the ring. Max, her hair matted with blood, was lying unconscious on a chunk of concrete just above Ketheria's head and slightly to my right.\n\n\"Ketheria! Are you all right? Is Max alive?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Be careful. I think everything is really loose.\"\n\n\"Hold on!\"\n\nI jumped to the far side of the hole so I could get a better look. Max was barely on the rock, and there was no way to jump to Ketheria. _Where was Switzer?_\n\nI refocused on a small metal girder just above the girls. I struggled to keep my footing as the girder tilted severely toward my sister. My right arm was now switching between functioning and useless as I looked for a way to secure myself. I jammed my legs between the girder and a slab of concrete. As I reached over the edge, another explosion set the world in motion yet again.\n\n\"Ketheria!\"\n\nThe blast heaved Max into the air while the rock underneath her tumbled into the void. The busted light chute gobbled it up. Ketheria reached out and caught hold of Max's shirt while my left hand clamped onto Ketheria's right wrist. My other hand, the bad one, snagged Max's shirt. It wasn't much, but it was holding.\n\n\"JT, help me!\" Ketheria begged.\n\nKetheria's plea for help ignited some part of me that found strength I never knew I had. My mind focused on my contact with Ketheria while I shifted my weight to help Max. She was heavy.\n\n\"Max!\" I pleaded.\n\n\"I have to let go of her, JT!\" Ketheria said. A red trail grew on Max's shirt as she slipped through Ketheria's bloody fingers.\n\n\"Wait! I don't have her!\"\n\nI concentrated hard to maintain what little hold I had. I interfaced with my arm, but there was only a patchwork of controls at my disposal now, and most of those were unresponsive. I only managed to squeeze a little more strength out from it.\n\n\"JT!\"\n\n\"All right! I have her.\"\n\nKetheria grabbed the pole again as Max's shirt ripped.\n\n\"You don't have her, JT. Use both hands!\"\n\nKetheria was holding on to the metal pipe sticking out of the concrete, but my hand would not release her wrist.\n\n\"I can't!\"\n\n\"Yes, you can. I'm fine!\"\n\n\"No. I can't.\" I stared at my left hand clamped around Ketheria's wrist. \"My mind won't let me.\"\n\nAs much as I wanted to let go of Ketheria and use both hands to pull Max to safety, something inside of me refused to let go of my sister, to let go of the Scion.\n\n\"That's not you, JT! That's what they did to you! That's the coding working. The coding the Trust put inside of you. You love her, JT. Fight it! Let go of me!\"\n\nMax's shirt ripped again.\n\n\"JT!\" Ketheria screamed.\n\nI tried. I tried so hard to let go of Ketheria, but my mind refused the logic.\n\n\"Max, wake up, please,\" I whispered.\n\nEverything in my vision now began to swim together in the purple light. Tears fell from my face and sparked against the chute.\n\n\"JT, it's not you! Let go of me and grab Max, please!\"\n\nI thought of every moment I'd ever had with Max. The first time she helped me with the hidden files on the _Renaissance,_ the first time she held my hand, even our first kiss. My hand wriggled on Ketheria's wrist, but it was not enough. I could not let go.\n\nMax's shirt ripped again \u2014 a final time.\n\nKetheria grabbed at Max as she fell, and I like to think I tried as well. My left hand stayed on Ketheria while my right hand scratched at the air.\n\nI didn't scream. I didn't cry out. Instead, I told Max I loved her as her body plunged into the purple light chute.\n\n\"I'm so sorry, JT,\" Ketheria whispered through her sobs. \"I'm so sorry for this.\"\n\nI stared at the purple chute for a while. _This couldn't be happening. Max? Max! This isn't real,_ I tried to tell myself, but I knew Max was gone. I could hear Ketheria sobbing, and I could hear the war raging over my head, but I could also hear my breathing over it all, for some weird reason.\n\nAs I stared at the purple light chute, waiting for time to reverse itself, I felt my hate for the Rings of Orbis burn my insides. I hated everything they had done to me. I hated them for everything I had lost and everything I'd never had.\n\n\"It's not your fault, JT.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" I whispered.\n\n\"It's not. It's this place, these people.\"\n\n\"I know that, but it won't bring Max back.\"\n\n\"I'm so sorry,\" Ketheria whispered again as she stood up. I was still staring down the hole where Max fell. \"They did this to you, JT, and they'll do it again. I have to stop them.\"\n\nWithout looking, I said, \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"It's my destiny.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"To save them.\"\n\n\"Save who?\"\n\n\"Save everyone.\"\n\nI finally turned toward my sister and away from where Max had fallen. In the back of my mind, I was aware that my life was still moving forward. \"Ketheria, what are you talking about? Here, grab on to me. Can you pull yourself up at all?\"\n\n\"JT?\" It was Switzer.\n\n\"Where were you?\" I screamed. \"I needed you! You could have helped me.\"\n\nSwitzer was kneeling on the far side of the hole. I could see blood gushing from a nasty cut over his right eye, and his left arm was clearly busted.\n\n\"Switzer!\" my sister cried, trying to look over her shoulder. \"Is that you? I'm ready.\"\n\n\"Ready for what?\" I said.\n\n_Max is gone._\n\n\"JT, I must suffer this,\" she said. \"It will not happen if I do not do this. It is the last thing I must do before I can truly awaken.\"\n\n\"Ketheria, tell me what you are going to do,\" I demanded.\n\n\"I have to do this, and I have to do it without you. I see that now. I'm sorry.\"\n\nThen Ketheria bit down on my hand. \"Ow!\" My fingers loosened just enough for her to slip from my grip, and she let go of the bar.\n\nShe tumbled into the hole.\n\n\"Ketheria!\"\n\nSwitzer was next to her in an instant and plucked her out of the purple air. He refocused on the far side of the hole, just as he had practiced at the Hollow. I did the same, surfacing in the center of the battle. Preservation Forces were fighting hand to hand with knudniks and Citizens alike. I couldn't help but think that Switzer, with Ketheria in his arms, was a far better Space Jumper than me.\n\n_Max is gone._\n\n\"What are you doing, Switzer?\" I said.\n\n\"Getting a little payback. Something you should have done a long time ago.\"\n\n\"Put her down!\"\n\n\"No. I'm not like you, buddy. Things are black or white for me. You spend too much time in here,\" he said, pointing at his head. \" _This_ is a good deal, and I'm going to take it.\"\n\n\"Deal? What deal?\"\n\n\"It was my idea,\" Ketheria said. \"Don't blame him.\"\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Put me down, Switzer, but don't let go until I say.\"\n\n\"Ketheria. I don't understand. Tell me, please,\" I pleaded with her.\n\n_Max is gone._\n\nKetheria did not reply. She stood perfectly still with her feet together and lifted her arms to the side. Then the glow within her eyes seemed to expand. The golden luminescence flowed from her eyes and formed a radiant coronet around her head before dropping to her feet. When the light hit the ground, it exploded outward like the birth of a new galaxy. The circle of light engulfed everyone in its path. Citizen, knudnik, and soldier alike dropped their weapons and bathed in the stream of light now flooding Murat. I could not tell how far the light was going, but soon it flowed as far as I could see.\n\nEveryone just stood there and stared at the people next to them with this perplexed look on their faces, as if they were trying to understand how they had gotten here. Soon some people were tending to the fallen and no one was fighting anymore. I gawked as Preservation Forces stepped down from their tanks and pulled knudniks from the rubble. Was Ketheria doing this? I turned toward my sister as the stream of light faded and eventually stopped flowing. Then she turned toward me slowly. There was something different about her. I didn't know if it was her eyes or her smile. She looked as if she was capable of understanding anything.\n\nThen she smiled at me and said, \"Good-bye, JT.\"\n\n#\n\n\"Are you sure you want to do this?\" I asked Charlie.\n\n\"I have a few debts to repay,\" he replied.\n\nCharlie and I were seated in the spaceport on Orbis 4. His shuttle was about to leave, and he had asked me to visit him before he left.\n\n\"Your real name isn't Charlie, is it?\"\n\nHe shook his head and said, \"Harlan. Harlan Admunsen.\"\n\n\"I like _Charlie_ better.\"\n\n\"Then let's leave it like that.\"\n\n\"I'm going to mi \u2014\" I started to say, but he interrupted me.\n\n\"Don't get me crying. Something might start to rust. You never did turn down those emotion levels, either,\" he complained. \"But thanks for making me feel like myself again. You know, with the . . .\" Charlie pointed at the metal around the back of his skull.\n\n\"No problem,\" I said.\n\nI stared at the floor, swallowing the lump in my throat.\n\nThen he said, \"They still might find her.\"\n\nI shook my head, unable to talk.\n\n_\"The shuttle for Orbis 2 is now boarding.\"_\n\nFinally, I croaked out, \"No.\" I looked up at him. \"I wish I could feel what everyone has been feeling since the awakening. Theylor said I was designed to not experience it. The enlightenment had no effect on me. Just another gift from the Trust to ensure that their fighting machine stays true to its mission. I don't mind, though. . . .\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"No, I think it's helped a little, with Max, you know, to fill that hole up a little bit.\"\n\n\"You're going to be all right,\" he said, and clamped his hand on my shoulder. It was a painful blow.\n\n\"Ouch! You may act like the old Charlie, but you have superhuman strength now.\"\n\n\"Sorry.\"\n\n_\"The shuttle for Orbis 2 is now boarding.\"_\n\n\"I gotta go,\" he said, standing up. \"Give me a hug and then go and get on with your life.\"\n\nI laughed.\n\n\"Hey! None of that. You know what you have to do. You are a Space Jumper. They're going to write stories about you one cycle, JT.\"\n\nI stood and smiled. Then I gave Charlie a hug. \"Come find me,\" I whispered.\n\n\"I will,\" he croaked.\n\n_\"The shuttle for Orbis 2 is now boarding.\"_\n\nCharlie broke away. \"Go on, go say good-bye to Theodore,\" he ordered.\n\n\"Good-bye. Charlie.\"\n\n\"Good luck, kid.\"\n\nCharlie picked up his bag and joined the line for the shuttle. He didn't turn back to look at me again, but I waited until he disappeared through the loading door. Even after everything that had happened, Charlie still managed to avoid most of my questions. I wondered where he was off to. I wondered if I would ever know.\n\nI set out to find the New Arrival Processing Center, to say good-bye to Theodore. Theodore was now helping the new knudniks arriving on the Rings of Orbis. He had wanted to take this cycle off work, but I told him not to. I figured it would be easier to say good-bye that way.\n\nNo one referred to the new arrivals on the rings as knudniks anymore, and they were no longer indentured to the Citizens, either. Ketheria's enlightenment had spread fast through the rings, even reaching the Trading Council, who structured a new power deal with the Keepers.\n\nWatching everyone file through the spaceport, I couldn't help but feel that they looked a little happier in their home. But the Rings of Orbis were no longer home for me. For so long I had thought that this is where my life would end up, but now I realized that it was only the starting point. My home was always where my friends were. I had had a home on the _Renaissance,_ and I had had a home on the rings when we were all together, despite the conditions. I just didn't see it.\n\nI missed Max terribly. I hoped for so long that the light chute had transported her to another place on the ring, but after a long and fruitless search, the Keepers were unable to locate her. Phase after phase, I blamed myself for that moment. I was unable to turn off the creature inside of me long enough to help the girl I loved. I could still get angry thinking about it, but at least the awakening had created enough space for me to move on with my life.\n\nI stopped outside the entrance to the New Arrival Processing Center. I watched Theodore talking with each alien, directing them to the R5s and then helping them uplink information for their adjustment period on the rings. He moved from alien to alien, more confident than I had ever seen him. Theylor said it was from the enlightenment, but I couldn't get a sense of that. In fact, I think Theodore's change had nothing to do with Ketheria. I think he'd simply found his passion.\n\n\"JT!\" Theodore called out when he finally saw me.\n\nI waved at him and walked into the room. \"I wouldn't have guessed in a billion rotations that we would have ended up like this,\" I said.\n\nTheodore looked back at the aliens huddled near the R5s.\n\n\"I know! It's crazy, isn't it? But you know, I feel so empowered. It's hard to explain. I just want to help. I want to make the rings a better place, and it's not just me. The sentiment is spreading through every ring.\"\n\n\"It's almost as if the Ancients have come home,\" I replied.\n\n\"That's what Theylor said!\"\n\n\"I guess we did what they needed.\"\n\n\"But what does it mean? You know, for us? What will happen when Ketheria goes around the universe waking everyone up?\"\n\nI looked at Theodore and shrugged. \"I don't know. Like this, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Then it's going to be great.\"\n\n\"You can still change your mind.\"\n\nTheodore shook his head. \"No. My place is here now. You know, _you_ could stay. Switzer can take care of Ketheria. Even you said he's changed.\"\n\n\"I don't think so. Switzer saw a good deal and he took it. He will always be looking for what's best for him. Ketheria will have no effect on him. One of those deals is going to hurt Ketheria some cycle, and I can't have that. Besides, I think she expects me to find her. It was something she said. You know . . . after . . .\"\n\nTheodore looked at his feet, and I did the same. It was a routine we went through whenever there was nothing left to discuss but Max. Theodore had helped me the most after the accident, and I was grateful for that. I hoped he knew.\n\n\"Thanks,\" I whispered just in case he didn't.\n\nHe nodded and smiled. \"Will I ever see you again?\"\n\n\"I'm going to make it a promise,\" I said. \"One that I will keep.\"\n\n\"Then I'll see you soon, my friend. Stay safe,\" he said, and hugged me.\n\n\"You too.\"\n\nTheodore broke away and waved as he returned to the new arrivals. I watched him slip back into his work, and then I turned for the door. I spotted two Keepers walking through the spaceport and wondered if Theylor had arrived yet. He had personally disbanded the Descendants of Light after it was discovered that they were the ones who bombed the exit points from Murat. I wondered if Drapling even knew what he had done. Theylor never mentioned what happened to him.\n\nMy instructions stated that I meet Theylor at the wormhole launch located at Gate 5 on the far side of the Spaceport 1. Whenever a knudnik's work rule had expired, the knudnik was offered the choice to stay and petition for citizenship or take a free trip through the wormhole. Not once had I ever thought about taking that trip. I always saw the rings as my final destination, yet here I was, ready to leave the place I had so wanted to call home.\n\nThe cycle's traffic was sparse near the gate. I figured few knudniks opted for the wormhole option anymore. I spotted Theylor waiting near the gate. Both his heads were smiling.\n\n\"I have a present for you,\" he said.\n\n\"That sounds intriguing. Is it something to eat?\"\n\n\"You must be hungry, but you can eat on the other side. It's best to travel through the wormhole on an empty stomach.\"\n\n\"So what is it?\"\n\n\"Come, I'll show you.\"\n\nI followed Theylor through the gate. He was the first person I had ever met from the Rings of Orbis. It was appropriate that he be the last I see. Throughout everything, Theylor had never changed. He was the same alien as he was the first time I met him.\n\nI stepped through the gate and onto a curved platform. Theylor moved toward the huge windows that arched up and over our heads. On the other side of the glass was a small spacecraft docked at the portal. The slick flier glistened under the warm floods that spilled down on the ship.\n\n\"That's mine?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, you certainly cannot walk through the wormhole. Did you ever wonder why the trip was so expensive? You need a vessel.\"\n\n\"And you're giving this one to me?\"\n\n\"It is our gift. A token of our gratitude for everything you have done for the Rings of Orbis. I took it upon myself to make a few upgrades and enhancements,\" he said. \"I see you've done the same.\" He glanced at my right arm.\n\n\"You know?\" I said.\n\n\"Of course. She was worried that we might still need her, but I assured her that we could cope in her absence. Besides, I believe she would have missed you more than she will miss us.\"\n\nI held up my right arm and fiddled with a thick piece of jewelry made of silver metal and black bands of rubber that now clung to my wrist. It looked like a bracelet, but it was one that I could never take off, for it was actually attached to my arm.\n\n\"Vairocina made the addition,\" I whispered.\n\n\"A girl needs a little room,\" she teased inside my head, \"especially if I'm going to traipse around the universe locked inside your arm.\"\n\n\"It looks nice,\" Theylor remarked. \"No one will ever know. Would you like to see your new ship?\"\n\n\"You know I have to do this, right, Theylor?\" I said.\n\n\"Of course I do.\"\n\n\"And I have to do it alone.\"\n\n\"As you have always stated.\"\n\n\"Vairocina gave Switzer the coordinates of every place she had ever visited in the galaxy when she uploaded those coordinates in Ketheria's room. Switzer can only jump to those star systems. I figure I'll simply do the same thing. I'm certain I can pick up his trail somewhere along the line.\"\n\nTheylor reached into his robe and removed a Space Jumper's belt.\n\n\"Then you'll need this when you find her,\" he said.\n\nI took the belt in my hands. All my thoughts and emotions for Max ignited inside my chest. If only I hadn't been so stubborn, if only I had accepted my fate sooner, then I would have had one of these stupid things. I could have jumped to Max after she fell and then jumped to safety. It was the most costly mistake of my life, but one I would never make again.\n\n\"Thanks,\" I mumbled, and slipped the belt around my waist. \"I still don't understand why Ketheria had to leave without me. Switzer is not the most trustworthy person.\"\n\n\"She had to. It was part of her awakening. The fourteenth and final step required her to let go of the thing she cherished most in this universe. That, I am afraid, was you. Only when she released you from your duties could she truly be the Scion. The results were immediate, as you remember.\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"When you emerged from the cocoon on the Hollow, you, too, completed the final step of your awakening. Without it, you would never have become a Space Jumper and Ketheria would be on her own forever.\"\n\n\"I'll find her soon,\" I told him.\n\n\"I know you will.\"\n\n\"Ready, Vairocina?\"\n\n\"Absolutely,\" she said.\n\n\"Good-bye, Theylor. Thank you for everything.\"\n\nThe Keeper smiled, and both heads nodded. \"Drink deep from the Source, my friend,\" he said.\n\nI looked back at the spaceport before stepping onto the ship. The tallest spire was reaching for the eclipse as the ring laid its shadow across the city. _I will never miss this place,_ I told myself. As I hesitated outside the bay, I felt a deep pain in my stomach and a wave of nausea rose up in my throat. I smiled, not because I was leaving but because I knew that Ketheria was still within my reach.\n\n# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nYou always hear about writers locked away, toiling over their manuscripts for years, before unleashing them on the world. It sounds like a solitary process, but it's far from that. I would personally like to acknowledge those who have namelessly helped me bring the Softwire series to life. Thank you so much. I really mean it.\n\nTo Eddie, for getting the ball rolling in the first place.\n\nTo Liz, Lynne, and Michael for finding the Softwire books a home at Candlewick.\n\nTo Sarah for putting up with me and making me a better writer.\n\nTo Laura, for your patience and always taking my phone calls. :)\n\nTo Lisa, for your big bookstore support when others were silent.\n\nTo Denise and the girls at KNTR \u2014 your support has never wavered. Thank you. Ninjaritas for everyone!\n\nTo Jim, thank you for your insight and encouragement.\n\nTo Faith for living up to your name and helping me carry the torch.\n\nTo Nard \u2014 the keeper of the case. Thank you for always being there.\n\nTo Michelle, for your amazing novel studies.\n\nTo Alan, for your encouragement and friendship. And your voice.\n\nTo Nathan, for your relentless support and unwavering friendship. Thank you.\n\nTo my fans for your great letters and e-mails. They really kept me writing.\n\nTo the Citizens of Orbis for helping me create an unbelievable place to hang out online at the ringsoforbis.com\n\nTo teachers and librarians who invited me into your schools and placed books in the hands of kids who might never have heard of them.\n\nTo all of the independent bookstores that love the Softwire series and hand-sell my books. I can't thank you enough and tell you how important that is.\n\nTo Frank, the best friend I could ever have in my corner. Thank you so much.\n\nTo Sky, for being patient with Daddy and loving me no matter how often I had to go away to promote the Softwire books.\n\nAnd to Marisa, for your love, your understanding, and for sticking it out with me. You're amazing. I love you.\n\n#\n\nPJ HAARSMA has always been transfixed by what lies beyond our solar system. He says, \"When the mother ship finally arrives, and they ask if there are any humans who want to go for a spin, I'll be the first to sign up.\" When he's not gazing at the stars waiting for his ride, you can find him on the Rings of Orbis, the online universe that he created for the Softwire series, which has spawned a legion of loyal fans. He has a degree in science and lives in southern California with his wife and daughter. To learn more about PJ Haarsma, visit his website at www.pjhaarsma.com.\n","meta":{"redpajama_set_name":"RedPajamaBook"}}
+{"text":" \nCharlotte Markham and the House of Darkling\n\nMichael Boccacino\n\nDedication\n\nFor my mother\nContents\n\nCover\n\nTitle Page\n\nDedication\n\nPart 1\n\nChapter 1\n\nChapter 2\n\nChapter 3\n\nChapter 4\n\nChapter 5\n\nChapter 6\n\nPart 2\n\nChapter 7\n\nChapter 8\n\nChapter 9\n\nChapter 10\n\nChapter 11\n\nChapter 12\n\nChapter 13\n\nChapter 14\n\nChapter 15\n\nChapter 16\n\nPart 3\n\nChapter 17\n\nChapter 18\n\nChapter 19\n\nAcknowledgments\n\nP.S.: Insights, Interviews & More . . .\n\nAbout the author\n\nAbout the book\n\nRead on\n\nAdvance Praise for Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling\n\nCredits\n\nCopyright\n\nAbout the Publisher\nPart 1\n\nThe Other Side\nCHAPTER 1\n\nThe Unraveling of Nanny Prum\n\nEvery night I dreamt of the dead. In dreams those who have been lost can be found, gliding on fragments of memory through the dark veil of sleep to ensnare themselves within the remains of the day, to pretend for a moment like a lifetime that they might still be alive and well, waiting by the bedside when the dream is done. They never were, but I could not stop myself from wishing for the possibility that everything I remembered was a mistake, a nightmare taken too literally by the imagination. But morning always came, and with it the startling realization that the dead continued to be so, and that I remained alone.\n\nThat night the pleasant rest of black, unthinking oblivion gave way to a dimly lit ballroom without any ceiling or walls, a place lost in the bleak abyss of time. Crystal chandeliers hung above the marble flooring untethered to any surface, threatening to crash down upon the guests, who were dressed in moldering finery that would have been out of fashion decades before. The dance began with a slow, melodious waltz that felt akin to a waking sleep, and I let it wash over me, swaying with the rhythm until someone from behind took me into his arms. I did not need to see his face; I knew who it was. My late husband, Jonathan, turned with me across the ballroom, faster and faster, never reaching any wall or barrier, never colliding with another couple, until he dipped me deeply. My mother and father were next to us, warm and whole, younger than I ever remembered them being. This was the dance of the dead.\n\nThe music stopped. My husband let go of me and bowed before retreating into the dark place beyond the ballroom. The room began to fill with people I did not recognize\u2014leering strangers with faces that were really masks, ready to slip at any moment. My parents disappeared into the crowd. I tried to find them, but the crowd was too large and the music began again, this time an eerie, cruel sound, a broken music box filled with regret. A man appeared before me dressed all in black, his features cloaked in shadow. As he took my hand I knew with a certainty that only dreams can provide that he was not a stranger; we had met before. His hands were cold and his lips, though I could not see them, were smiling. The other dancers spun around us until they blurred together. He pulled me close against his body, into the darkness that surrounded him until I was falling, the chandeliers trailing away as I spun through the void, screaming into nothingness.\n\nI woke upon the realization that the screams were not my own. A woman was shrieking in the night. At first I was deeply annoyed, for anyone blessed with the company of another could at least have the decency to keep their nocturnal enjoyments to themselves. But then I wondered at the length of the cry, and the tone. Whatever was happening didn't sound very pleasurable, and if it was meant to be, then both parties involved had failed. There was something primal and finite in it, and when it stopped it did not begin again. The sound had come from outside my window, and for a moment I thought to tell my father, but then I remembered that he was dead and my heart fell as I lost him all over again. The feeling passed quickly, as it was something I was accustomed to; the same thing happened at the end of every dream.\n\nI shook my head, refusing to dwell on it. A woman was in trouble, and there were not many who lived within the confines of the estate that I would not count as my friends. I threw off the blankets and ran to the wardrobe, pulling out my warm dressing gown. Winter was coming, and the house was growing colder every evening. I pulled my hair over one shoulder, like my mother used to, thinking how much it was like hers\u2014soft and pale gold in the moonlight, lacking only her distinctive scent of lilac and jasmine. I observed myself quickly in the mirror. Every photograph of my mother had been lost in a fire years before, and when in need of comfort or strength I could sometimes find traces of her in my own features. Though I was taller than she had been, I had the same short, pointed nose and lips that were always slightly parted, as if I had something to say (which I often did), and hazel eyes like my father's. I slid the robe over my white cotton nightgown, the one Jonathan had loved so much, and left my room.\n\nEverton was a large country house, and while it had once been very fine, it had fallen into a comfortable state of disrepair well before my arrival nine months earlier. The burgundy carpets in the hallway were worn and fraying at the edges; the gaslights, turned down to candle flames with just enough light to cast rich black shadows along the walls, were tarnished; the floral pattern of the wallpaper cracked and withered on the vines as it peeled away from the walls. This condition was not for lack of trying. Mrs. Norman, the housekeeper, seemed to hire new maids daily in her futile efforts to bring the house back to its former glory, but it was no use. The manor continued to crumble away. Just the week before, the cook claimed to have seen mice scurrying about her kitchen. The other servants had started to whisper that the spirit of the house, if there ever were such a thing, had died with its mistress the year before.\n\nFor my part I did not mind the imperfections of the place. There was a warmth to it, a kind of intimacy that only comes with age, like the creases around the mouth that appear after years of excessive smiling, or a favorite blanket worn down from friendly use. It was certainly less intimidating than the cold, austere manors found in the larger towns and cities. Everton was happily flawed, like any person of true merit. It was a house of character, and I sustained that thought as I padded down the dark hallway.\n\nThe children had their nanny in a room connected to the nursery, but all the same I felt responsible as their governess to look in on them. Nanny Prum was known to drink after putting the children to bed. She was a very silly drunk, tripping over carpets and talking to birdcages as if they were party guests in a very high-pitched voice that was not at all like the deep baritone she usually employed while sober. Because of her predilections she slept very deeply, and a random sound in the night was unlikely to disturb her whereas it could very well tip the younger of the two boys into a web of nightmares that the both of us would then have to spend the remainder of the evening cooing and coddling away.\n\nThe door opened as I approached it, and a small head with wild blond hair emerged from the gloom, peering in my direction with round green eyes.\n\n\"Charlotte?\"\n\n\"Go back to sleep, James.\" I took him gently by the hand and led him back into the room, but not before he stuck out his bottom lip with indignation.\n\n\"But I heard a noise and Nanny isn't in her room and I'm scared,\" he said in a single breath. I sat him down on his bed and smoothed out his hair, brushing it away from his face as his older brother, Paul, growled dangerously from beneath a mound of covers at the other end of the room, apparently as resolute in not being disturbed by the nocturnal rustlings of the house as his five-year-old brother was in taking part in them. James had left Nanny Prum's door half open.\n\n\"Are you sure she's not there?\" I asked him in a voice just above a whisper. The little boy nodded carefully, wide-eyed and eager to be of help in the strange business of adults that only takes place when children are asleep in bed. I lifted him so that he straddled my waist and entered the nanny's room.\n\nThe bed was indeed empty, and I began to worry. Nanny Prum was not the sort of person to leave the children unattended, and she was certainly not the type to wander the grounds of the estate at night, even while intoxicated. She was a woman of some physical substance, and there were few people in the village who were not intimidated by her girth.\n\nI tucked James back into bed and stroked his forehead until he fell asleep again. Paul continued undeterred from his slumber, and I sat in Nanny's rocking chair curled into a blanket like an old maid, which was how I felt\u2014full of maternal feeling for the children and anxiety at the absence of my friend and confidant. Only a year before I would have been lying next to my husband in bed, the mistress of my own estate. How odd are the places one finds oneself as time passes. It's best not to look back, but how can one resist? I slept very briefly, the specters of the past only just uncoiling from my subconscious like a blot of ink unspooling itself in a pool of water, before the door to the nursery was opened by one of the maids.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham?\" she whispered in surprise. I put a finger to my lips and met her by the door, careful not to wake the children. She appeared very frightened, and I placed my hand over hers. She was shaking.\n\n\"What is it, Ellen?\"\n\nThe maid closed her eyes and grasped the silver cross that hung around her neck with callused fingers. She was a stout, rotund woman, never one to talk out of turn and hardly ever intimidated by anything, but all decorum seemed to have left her as she took my hand and kissed it. Her lips were as rough as her hands looked.\n\n\"Oh, thank the Lord, Charlotte! When I went to your room and found it empty, I was certain that . . .\" She stopped herself and sighed. \"You're needed in the kitchen.\"\n\n\"At this hour?\"\n\n\"It's a dreadful thing, too dreadful to mention so close to the ears of the children, be they sleeping or awake. I'll keep watch over them while you're gone.\"\n\nShe patted my hand but would tell me no more than she already had, so I left the boys in her care. The house was still dark, but now there were footsteps in addition to my own, and voices. In another room, a woman who was not Nanny Prum spoke quickly in a trembling voice. I crept along the hallway, down the grand staircase, through the dining room, and into the kitchen, where a small group of people had gathered over a pale figure collapsed on the cool stone floor. It was Susannah Larken, the apprentice seamstress from the village, wife of the local barkeep, and my friend.\n\nHer head was in the large lap of Mrs. Mulbus, the cook, who knelt on the ground and stroked the side of the poor girl's face, which was now nearly as red as her hair. Mrs. Norman, the housekeeper, and Fredricks, the butler, stood anxiously beside them.\n\nI bent down and took her hand. The wild look in Susannah's eyes abated slightly, and her breathing returned to normal.\n\n\"Oh, Charlotte, it was dreadful!\" She blinked away tears and began to sob.\n\nMrs. Norman, a severe, controlling woman with a hook nose and an anxious, birdlike disposition, continued speaking where my friend could not. \"There's been a murder,\" she said with a hungry, ghoulish enthusiasm.\n\nI wanted to slap the housekeeper's face for her repulsive insensitivity, but I restrained myself as Susannah sat up and continued her story.\n\n\"I was taking Mr. Wallace home from the pub. He'd had a bit too much to drink, and Lionel was busy behind the bar. Mrs. Wallace couldn't be bothered to collect him. You know how that woman is.\"\n\nI nodded in agreement. Mildred Wallace was the village busybody, eager to know everyone else's business so that she might forget her own. For years her husband had been the most loyal customer of the Larken brothers' pub, the Crooked Stool, but she continued to deny it, telling anyone who would listen how much her dear Edgar loved his nighttime strolls about the village.\n\nSusannah curled her lip into a sneer. \"Wouldn't lift a finger to help a soul, not even her own husband. I took him home to his cottage and went back by the path along the lake. That's when I heard the scream, that terrible sound, and I saw them at the edge of the forest behind Everton. There was a man standing over a woman on the ground, a man dressed all in black.\" Suddenly I remembered the man from my dream. My mouth went dry and a chill prickled across the surface of my skin. I brushed the thought aside as mere coincidence and begged her to go on.\n\n\"Lionel had given me the club, just in case I had any trouble.\" She fingered the wooden bat at her side, a small, heavy thing with just enough force to knock some sense into a drunken attacker, but perhaps not enough to ward off someone with murder on his mind.\n\n\"I ran over to help her, but there was nothing to be done . . .\" Her voice gave out, and she closed her eyes as if to stop herself from seeing it all again. I squeezed her hand, and brought it to my cheek.\n\n\"Who was it, Susannah?\"\n\nShe took a deep breath and opened her eyes.\n\n\"It was Nanny Prum . . . all in pieces. Like she'd come apart from the inside.\"\n\nI looked up at the others, but none of them could meet my gaze. They were all lost in shock. Even Mrs. Norman's unpleasant interest in the matter had soured. For myself I could not believe that something so horrific could possibly have happened in a village as quiet as Blackfield, at a house as great and noble as Everton. I believed Susannah and everything she said, but just as I did when I woke from my nightmares, wishing them real and everyone I ever loved still alive and well, I hoped that there had been a misunderstanding, some mistake, perhaps a play of shadows and moonlight over the ground that had made the situation more grotesque than it actually was.\n\n\"The constable . . .\" I spoke up weakly but felt as if I might be sick, for when I said it aloud I knew that there could have been no mistake. Susannah, having worked for many years in a dress shop and in a pub, had an eye for detail no matter how small. Something unspeakable had happened to Nanny Prum in the woods. Who would tell the children?\n\nFredricks spoke up in a wavering, nervous voice that was not much different from the one he normally used. \"Mr. Darrow and Roland have already gone to fetch him.\"\n\n\"He saved my life . . .\" Susannah's eyes began to glaze over again with a look lost in terror and madness. Her nails dug into the flesh of my hand. \"When I ran to help her, the man in black tried to come toward me. He smelled dreadful, like the very depths of Hell. It was so strong it burned my throat. I nearly fainted, but then Roland was there and the man fled into the woods. He saved my life.\" She started to sob again, but then caught herself. \"Someone must tell Lionel.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" I looked to Fredricks, and he left to fetch Susannah's husband, who was probably still closing down the pub. Mrs. Mulbus made a pot of tea while we waited for the constable to arrive. He was not much help when he did.\n\n\"Looks like wild animals to me\" was the first thing he said after he swept into the kitchen with Roland, the groundskeeper of the estate, whose burly appearance belied a gentle, soft-spoken disposition. He nodded to me as he leaned against the wall, recovering from what I could only imagine to be an extended state of exhaustion and shock. Constable Brickner, a portly, balding man with a weak chin and a mustache too large for his face, was not a popular man. Whatever the crime, he didn't inspect it so much as pass judgment on it, disregarding facts and eyewitness accounts in favor of his own infallible opinion. Luckily, his opinion was easily swayed by whomever he last spoke with, and all anyone had to do to win an argument was to be the last one to speak to him before the case was closed.\n\nBehind him, the door stood open, the dark of the forest beyond fractured in the moonlight until Mr. Darrow, the master of the house, stepped forward to follow the constable inside, his skin pale and radiant against the shadows, his dark blond hair tangled and windswept, his cheeks mottled from the cold. He looked at me directly as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, and in his eyes I saw that it was as bad as anything I could imagine. We were the closest to Nanny Prum, and for a moment it was just the two of us in the kitchen, framed in that moment of time by the beginnings of grief and an almost conversational familiarity with death.\n\n\"But there was a man, I saw him!\" Susannah was feeling much better now and sitting at the cutting table, eating from a plate of biscuits that Mrs. Mulbus was nearly forcing into her mouth with meaty fingers.\n\nBrickner stroked his mustache and squinted. \"Surely no man could do that.\" He did not elaborate, but the emphasis on the word was enough for me to envision what was left of my friend on the floor of the forest. Nanny Prum had been a force of nature in her own right, and whatever happened to her, it would have taken an enormous amount of strength in addition to the obvious brutality.\n\n\"Perhaps he found the body before you did and ran off for fear of being mistaken for a killer.\" Constable Brickner picked up two biscuits, and then another, eating each in a single bite. Eventually Susannah pushed the plate toward him, but Mrs. Mulbus took it away with a look of disgust before he could finish them all off.\n\n\"He came toward me when I tried to go to her. He was going to attack me.\" Susannah's voice began to rise, but Brickner shook his head with blustering confidence.\n\n\"No man in town could do such a thing. Must have been an animal. I'm sure of it.\"\n\nSusannah stood from her chair, but Lionel came in at that moment with Fredricks and instead of launching herself at the constable, as she appeared ready to do, she collapsed into the arms of her husband. He took her home, a sobbing mess of nerves, while Mr. Darrow joined Roland and Brickner in collecting the remains of Nanny Prum. Mrs. Mulbus cleaned the kitchen after everyone had left, while Mrs. Norman and I went back to our rooms.\n\n\"Someone will have to tell the children,\" said the housekeeper.\n\nI wondered if she was assigning me the task or asking to do it herself, so all I gave her was a weary nod of the head. I did not look forward to the days ahead. The children had already seen too much death in recent years with the passing of their mother, the late Mrs. Darrow, the year before, and the loss of another woman from their lives was bound to do untold damage to the boys' already broken hearts.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" I said quietly. When I relieved Ellen of her watch over the children, they were, fortunately, fast asleep. I returned to my room and slipped out of my winter robe, back beneath the covers of the bed, already chilled from my absence. But I could not sleep. I rarely dreamt of the same thing twice, but that night I could not repel the fear that if I closed my eyes I would find myself once more in the infinite and mysterious ballroom, my lost loved ones now accompanied by the large, imposing figure of Nanny Prum, dancing amid a room full of strangers led by the man in black, further and further into the darkness.\n\nI rose from my bed and paused at the door to my room, fingertips grazing the doorknob with trepidation, knowing full well what would happen if I left my chamber and wandered the dim corridors of Everton until I found refuge in the place I went when the nightmares became too much to bear.\n\nI opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The air was cool inside the house, but the carpet was soft and warm against the soles of my feet. I ventured up the stairwell of the east wing and came to a set of double doors I had discovered on a similar evening months earlier, just after my arrival at Everton.\n\nThe loss of Jonathan had felt especially fresh that night, but I refused to cry alone in my room. I needed to separate myself from the sorrow, to put it somewhere and lock it away for safekeeping, where it would be waiting for me to take it out again on other lonely nights, so that I might explore it in the darkness that lay beyond midnight.\n\nThe space behind the double doors might have once been a music room, but the instruments had been covered in sheets and stacked against the walls for storage. The only piece of furniture that remained was a simple divan. I had found Mr. Darrow standing before the window gazing pensively into the night. I tried to turn back, but he had already noticed my presence and beckoned for me to join him.\n\n\"This was her favorite room. She played music, you know . . . the harp, piano, violin . . . They said she was a prodigy when she was young.\"\n\n\"Jonathan liked the accordion. It was utterly ridiculous, but he always made me laugh with the dance he did as he played.\" I smiled at the memory and noticed that Mr. Darrow was staring at me with a curious look, as if he were searching for something in my eyes. I turned away.\n\n\"There are times I'm in town, or in the city, when I see a woman from behind. I know it can't be her, but her hair may be just right, and her dress so familiar that I want to take her into my arms before she can turn around and break the illusion. Am I insane?\"\n\n\"Grief makes us all mad. I often imagine that I'm able to speak with him one last time.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\"\n\nMy throat tightened, but still I smiled, a portrait of Victorian composure despite the maelstrom of pain and regret that spun so quickly in my chest I felt as if it would tear my flesh away in strips from the inside out, until nothing would be left and everything I felt erupted out of me to devour the world.\n\n\"So many things. What would you say to your wife?\"\n\n\"I would tell her about the boys, as best I could. She loved them so. I'm afraid I've been rather distant with them. I would ask for her forgiveness on that point as well.\"\n\n\"She would forgive you.\"\n\n\"You're a kind soul, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"We're only as kind as people perceive us to be.\" I almost finished by calling him Jonathan, but caught myself before the word could form on my lips. Instead it stayed with me, calming the whirl of emotion that had built inside, and even though I kept the name in the silence that settled over us as we sat down beside one another on the divan, I knew that I had given it to him already. From that night on, we became nocturnal confidants, meeting in the sanctuary of the music room whenever fate and mourning compelled us to happen upon one another and remember aloud our lost loved ones as the sky beyond the windowpane turned with the stars into morning. At times our sessions together would only end when the sun threatened to appear over the horizon; at others they would continue on until a lull in the conversation became punctuated by a prolonged stare, or an accidental touch of one hand against the other charged the space between us with something unspoken and unacknowledged. We filled the music room with many things, but always left them there when we were done.\n\nIt was with great relief and little surprise that I found Mr. Darrow on the divan the night of Nanny Prum's murder, and together we sat in the darkness to wordlessly become reacquainted with the third member of our party: death.\nCHAPTER 2\n\nAn Inconvenient Holiday\n\nThe funeral was held at St. Michael's Church, a little toy parish on top of a hill overlooking the quaint village graveyard overrun with wildflowers and ivy. The vicar, Mr. Scott, a middle-aged bachelor with hair so fine and delicate it seemed to float over his head like a halo, gave an unusually somber sermon, only sporadically interrupted by Mr. Wallace's drunken outbursts. The poor man hadn't stopped drinking since he'd heard what almost happened to Susannah after she took him home from the pub the week before. His wife, Mildred, stood stiffly beside him clutching his arm, trying not to grunt as she struggled to keep him standing through the service. The two of them swayed back and forth, nearly making the rest of the mourners seasick. In a way, I felt that Nanny Prum would have approved of the spectacle.\n\nI stood with the Darrow family at the front of the church, before the colossal casket that Mr. Darrow had purchased. Nanny Prum had no family, or at least none that she ever spoke of, and so Mr. Darrow had spared no expense with the costs of the funeral. She had been a large woman in life, and the size of her coffin only highlighted the strangeness of her demise. Stranger still were the boys themselves. James held my hand and fidgeted in his seat, unable to stay interested in even something as extreme as the murder of his nanny. He did not cry, whereas his older brother, Paul, wept so profusely that the entire front of his shirt grew damp with tears. I tried to comfort him\u2014to take his hand, to kiss his forehead, as I had seen Nanny Prum do so many times before\u2014but he refused to be touched, preferring instead to be alone in his grief.\n\nMr. Darrow sat on the other side of the children with a glazed expression, his bright blue eyes lost in some distant memory. I had come into his employment only three months after the death of his wife, but I imagined her funeral must have looked very similar to Nanny Prum's: the same people, the same graveyard, even the same time of year. Death, it seemed, was another season, an inconvenient holiday put aside like any unpleasant responsibility, only to reappear once it's been forgotten, a reminder that time has passed, life has changed, and that nothing ever stays the same.\n\nThe next day Mrs. Norman and I put away Nanny Prum's things. Constable Brickner and his men had already been through her room looking for clues, despite his insistence against the evidence that the attack had been perpetrated by some wild animal. They were careless and cavalier in their search efforts, leaving the dresser drawers overturned on the bed and her belongings scattered across the floor.\n\nThere was very little clothing, only a couple of severe, high-collared black cotton dresses and a soft velvet maroon gown that she wore for special occasions. There were also books: a King James Bible, a volume of fairy tales, and a novel of some romantic melodrama told in three parts. I found a small wooden chest next to her bed filled with scraps of paper, pieces of jewelry, and faded pictures. I supposed it was a memory box, and I imagined her going through it each night before bed, thinking of all the children she had ever raised, gone off into the world, grown and with families and memories of their own. Perhaps she consoled herself by thinking that they thought of her every now and then when they remembered their youth, and that they might have smiled when they did.\n\n\"I warned her this would happen.\" Mrs. Norman stood in the shadow of the wardrobe, sliding dresses from their hangers and folding them in a sharp, mechanical fashion with her thin, birdlike fingers. She did not turn in my direction as she spoke. The wardrobe was now empty, and the contents of the room were slowly being siphoned away.\n\n\"What did you tell her?\"\n\nThe housekeeper went still for a moment, and then craned her neck toward the entrance of the room, listening to the ambient sounds that filled the house: women gossiping and snickering beneath their breath, heavy footsteps on creaking floorboards, a distant cough, metal scraping against wood . . . She added to them as she crept to the door and closed it with a soft click. Mrs. Norman took my arm and sat us on the bed, where she brought her face close to mine and began speaking with quiet urgency.\n\n\"That she was in terrible danger.\" A wave of dread went through me, and as she continued I could only think of the man in black standing over Nanny Prum's body, poised to lash out at Susannah. \"Someone must watch over this family, now that dear Mrs. Darrow has left us, God rest her soul, and I do what I can in my way. I clean up afternoon tea, every afternoon tea, and one can't help it if one sees something in the leaves.\" She pursed her lips, and appeared for a moment wearier than I had ever seen her before. \"Someone must watch over them, and warn them when necessary of the things that are coming. There is evil here. I did my part, I warned Nanny Prum, but she failed to heed my advice.\"\n\nThis was the longest conversation I'd had with the housekeeper in my nine months at Everton, and while her words were jarring, she spoke with a conviction that I could not ignore. \"What did you tell her, Mrs. Norman?\"\n\n\"There was a man in her life. Who, I'm not sure. But he meant her harm, and from what Susannah Larken saw, he meant her a great deal more than that.\"\n\n\"Have you told anyone else?\"\n\n\"What would be the point? Most people no longer believe.\" Mrs. Norman suddenly took my hand and looked into my eyes. \"Do you believe, Charlotte?\"\n\nI thought of my childhood in India, of the holy men and mystics, and of my mother gasping for air in her sickbed. I had been alone with her when she finally died, my father shouting at the doctor just outside the door. I never told him about the man in black who suddenly appeared next to her bedside. The room was dimly lit, so I could not make out his features, but when he moved in to touch my mother's body, I launched myself at him, kicking and biting with all my might. In the instant I reached him he was gone. My father reentered the room with the doctor a moment later and lost himself in his grief. There had been no time for the man to escape unnoticed and so I said nothing, thinking it all a dream until years later when my father and I were dining in the conservatory of our estate.\n\nOne moment he was smoking his pipe, gesticulating wildly at the azaleas as he explained his feelings about a certain political party, a wreath of smoke around his head, and the next he was grabbing his chest and slumping to the tiled floor. I cradled him in my lap and refused to cry before the doctor could arrive. When the bell rang, my father's manservant left us to answer the door, but I could sense we were not truly alone. The man in black stood by my side, wiping a bead of sweat from my father's brow. I knew then that he had died in my arms.\n\n\"Who are you?\" I shouted at the stranger. He placed a gloved hand beneath my face and tilted it to meet his own. Even at such a close proximity his features were occluded by a perpetual shroud of gloom. I shrank back in horror and clung tightly to my father, but the man stepped away from us, the plant life in his immediate vicinity shriveling to brown decay and dust.\n\nWhen I was married I told Jonathan about what I had experienced with my mother and father. At first I wasn't sure he had believed me, but then he wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered in my ear: \"I believe that the world is far more complicated than we could ever possibly understand. Perhaps you saw a hint of something that most people aren't meant to see. Death comes to us all, my love.\"\n\nAnd so it did. The fire came for my husband only a few months later, and as he lay dying on the charred remains of our estate, I was met by the man in black for a third time. I was too weak to attack him or to even shout after him as he closed Jonathan's eyes with his gloved fingers. But I did ask him a question: \"Do you cause this, or are you simply a vulture come to pick at the bones of my life?\"\n\nHe tilted his head to the side, but whether or not it was some kind of response, I never knew. In the morning they found me still clutching my husband's body, the trees and grass around us suddenly withered and dead, though the fire had never made it to the forest.\n\nWith each passing year I became more convinced that it was as Jonathan had said; for whatever reason, Death made himself known to me as he took the souls of my loved ones to the Other Side. I said none of this to Mrs. Norman. Instead I met her gaze and replied: \"I believe that the world is far more complicated than we could ever possibly understand.\"\n\n\"So you'll believe me if I tell you that you're in danger?\"\n\n\"What sort of danger?\"\n\n\"The same as Nanny Prum. A man waits for you. He watches you.\"\n\nMy face suddenly grew very hot, though I could not decide if it was due to panic or anger. Susannah had seen a man dressed all in black. If it was the same one that I had encountered, then was I being stalked by Death? And if so, then who might he take next? I was nearly shaking.\n\n\"How do I stop him?\"\n\n\"Be careful. Be watchful.\" She lifted the trunk from the bed and took it out of the room, providing a knowing look in my direction, and then said nothing more on the matter. We put everything else away, into boxes and cloth sacks, and left them in the hallway. Roland would load Nanny Prum's belongings into the wagon and take them to the church. There would be a bazaar at the start of winter, and the people of Blackfield would pick through Nanny Prum's things, dispersing her memories like seeds on the wind.\n\nIn the days that followed the funeral, I moved into the room connected to the nursery and filled the empty spaces with pieces of myself. I couldn't help but wonder, in the morbid way of all people who have lost more than once, what would be made of my things if I were to die before my time. There was the wedding ring I placed in a drawer of the table next to my bed, unable to wear it any longer, the weight of the thing too great a burden to bear; a lock of my mother's hair, bound in a thin blue ribbon, her scent intact, that I used for a place holder in the book upon my nightstand; my father's pipe, with a crack in its bowl, a dried husk of Sunday afternoons in his study, on his lap, reciting poetry, now with my mother's jewelry in a small box in the wardrobe. This was where I kept my memories, ensconced in little tokens that would be meaningless to anyone else. I wondered how people would remember me, what might cause them to stop, many years later, and pause for a moment to recall a woman named Charlotte.\n\nTo remember Nanny Prum I kept an ivory brooch that she used to wear about her throat, engraved with the image of a woman. Perhaps it was her mother or her grandmother? I never asked. Perhaps she had bought it secondhand at a bazaar, or took it to remember a lost friend as I did. It was elegant in a simple way, and it reminded me of the time we first met, during my first day at Everton.\n\nJonathan had not been the only one to perish in the fire. Six members of the household staff had died as well, leaving families with no means to support themselves. Against the wishes of our lawyer, Mr. Croydon, I used what wealth I had at my disposal to provide them with an element of comfort, though it could never have replaced the loved ones they had lost. I could not have lived with myself otherwise, and the thought of making a new home for myself, orphaned, widowed, and alone, was too much to bear. I still had my father's military pension. It was not enough to continue the kind of life I had been accustomed to, and so Mr. Croydon begrudgingly agreed to find me some kind of employment as a governess, where I could insert myself into someone else's life and family, if only for a little while.\n\nWithin a matter of weeks I found myself wandering the hallways of Everton, admiring a painting of a bleak, gray landscape, the signature of the work an enigmatic \"L. Darrow,\" when a hefty woman in heavily starched black skirts and the aforementioned brooch waddled down the corridor to meet me.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham!\" Her voice barreled off the walls in a loud, rolling crescendo. She approached me with open arms, and her thin, wide lips stretched into an effortless smile rounded off by apple-colored cheeks. The woman would have been plain if her sense of cheerfulness hadn't been so infectious. I found myself laughing as the stranger embraced me with thick, fleshy arms.\n\n\"Wonderful to meet you, my dear! I'm Nanny Prum.\" She released me from her grip and I quickly tried to catch my breath.\n\n\"The pleasure's all mine.\"\n\nThe woman cackled and slapped me on the back with a hand like a round steak. She took my arm and led me down the hallway.\n\n\"I expect we'll be like sisters, or at the very least a pair of silly aunties to little James and Paul! Such good boys, sweeter children I've never known. Very different temperaments, mind you, but sweet just the same. I wouldn't go so far as to call them angels, because they are children, after all, but their hearts are in the right place. Although I suppose you're more concerned with their minds, hmm?\"\n\n\"Their well-being is my primary concern.\"\n\nNanny Prum nodded in approval and led us up the grand staircase, careful to avoid the holes in the red fabric that covered the stairs, and the cracks that had started to appear in the wood.\n\n\"So you've met Mr. Darrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, he seems to be a fine sort of gentleman.\"\n\n\"To be sure, very fine and rather strapping if you ask me. But then his late wife, the boys' mother, was also very beautiful. Such a pair they made! So sad that she was taken from this world so young. But it is not for us to dwell on such things. We must help the children forget.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure I would say forget, exactly . . .\"\n\nIn hindsight, it was the first and only disagreement we ever had, and one, I'm sorry to say, that I would win. I would not let the children forget their late mother, or their nanny.\n\nWe turned the corner at a painting of a nocturnal landscape with a castle looming in the distance. Nanny Prum pointed to it as we passed.\n\n\"Mrs. Darrow enjoyed the fine arts: painting, singing, sculpting, that sort of thing. Although I daresay she had a rather morbid aesthetic.\" She stopped at the end of the hallway and entered the nursery.\n\nThe children were waiting for us. Paul was nearly thirteen at the time, thin and pale with dark hair like his mother, whose portrait hung in Mr. Darrow's study, and intense blue eyes. His brother, James, was four; a sandy blond\u2013haired little boy who wore a light, playful expression on his round, dimpled face. He held a small bouquet of wildflowers, and bowed politely while his older brother leaned against the wall.\n\n\"We are very pleased to meet you.\" said James.\n\n\"And I must say I'm very pleased to meet the both of you! I knew there was already one gentleman at Everton, but I had no idea I'd have the pleasure of acquainting myself with two more. And what lovely flowers!\" I clasped my hands together in approval and smiled as I was expected to do, even though I had no idea what I would do with them. Flowers always made me nervous, especially when given as gifts. One is expected to keep them alive, to help them flourish for a short while, and if they do not, well, then what does that say about a person? Too much can be inferred from such a failure: Is she simply incapable of keeping anything alive? Dear me, I do hope she does a better job with the Darrow children! And so on and so forth. \"I haven't smelled anything so wonderful since I was a little girl in India.\"\n\nJames immediately perked up. \"You lived in India?\"\n\n\"Yes, for many years. My father was stationed there when I was about your age.\"\n\n\"Did you get to see a cobra?\"\n\n\"Within striking distance! But thankfully it was under the spell of a snake charmer at the time, so it was probably much less of an adventure than you'd like to think. But I did see many wonderful things, and if you're at all interested I'm sure we could devote a small portion of our class time to the discussion of the Far East.\"\n\n\"Please, ma'am!\"\n\nPaul appeared to be uncomfortable during this entire exchange. He looked around as if he couldn't wait to leave.\n\n\"I do apologize, Paul. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is interested in hearing my stories.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's not that, ma'am. It's just that we're late, you see.\"\n\n\"Late?\"\n\nNanny Prum pushed me aside and took the boy by the arm. \"Not now, Paul dear. We can do that some other time.\"\n\nBut I continued to press the issue. \"On the contrary, I have no intention of disrupting anyone's daily routine, especially if they have an appointment elsewhere.\"\n\n\"It can wait.\"\n\n\"Really, I would feel just dreadful if I imposed on anyone my first day here.\"\n\nNanny Prum sighed, shrugged her large shoulders, and released the boy. \"If you insist. I'll help the boys with their coats.\"\n\nI assisted Nanny Prum with this endeavor and followed them out of the house into the sunlight. She and I walked beside one another as the boys trailed ahead of us, Paul with his hands in his pockets, quiet and distant, and James, skipping along singing some nonsensical song at the top of his lungs. We followed the path down to the entry gate and turned onto the road that led to the village of Blackfield below, situated comfortably at the base of the hill that provided Everton with a justified air of importance.\n\nThe village was full of thatched buildings and cobblestone streets. It was a small, wholesome sort of place despite having two pubs. Nearly all the people of Blackfield found this to be a sign of progress and perhaps evidence that the village was slowly becoming a town, except for Mildred Wallace, who complained bitterly to anyone who would listen that one pub was sinful, but two was simply decadent. After a while it was left to poor Mr. Wallace to listen to her ravings, as the rest of the villagers would turn around corners or move indoors as soon as they saw Mildred coming. It went without saying that this had something to do with Mr. Wallace's frequent patronage of both establishments.\n\nWe continued down the road until the buildings were overtaken by farmland and rolling hills. St. Michael's stood on its little hill at the edge of the town, a small country church with stone walls and a quaint, well-kept vicarage. A graveyard sat between them, and as we neared it Paul hastened his pace. He was through the gates and winding around the tombstones before I realized what we had come to do. James caught up to his brother and they knelt before a sizable headstone that bore their mother's name. The earth was still settling where she had been buried. Nanny Prum held me back as the boys chattered with enthusiasm at the plot of dirt that held their late mother; she spoke to me in a soft whisper as different from her normal voice as was possible while the children updated their mother on everything that had transpired since their previous visit.\n\n\"They come every day, the poor dears. I'm not sure that James even understands what's happened to her. He didn't cry at the funeral. But Paul . . . it cut him deeply.\" Even as she spoke it was apparent that Paul was taking the most time talking to his mother, and James became distracted by a pair of butterflies. To Nanny Prum's horror, he chased after them, hopping from one grave plot to another. She shouted after him. \"James Michael Darrow, stop that at once!\"\n\nPaul ignored his brother and continued his conversation with his mother, but he was surprised when I joined him before the tombstone.\n\n\"Please don't stop on my account,\" I said to him. The sun was heavy in the sky.\n\nThe boy squinted at me, and then looked on as his nanny chased after his brother, the hem of her skirts in her hands as she tried to avoid offending the dead. \"She thinks it's strange.\"\n\n\"It's difficult for people who have never lost someone close to them to understand what it's like.\"\n\nPaul looked back at the tombstone and traced the inscription of his mother's name with his fingers. \"I was the only one who wasn't there when she died.\" He looked up at me, a question in his expression.\n\n\"Why was that?\" I asked.\n\n\"I couldn't bear to see her like that. I tried, I truly did. I held her hand and I kissed her cheek, but then she would begin to wail. It wasn't even her anymore. It was as if something had taken her place, this thing that lived inside her skin, not even human, only just alive. I didn't want her to see me cry, so I kept away. I'm a coward.\"\n\n\"You are no such thing,\" I said, placing my hand tentatively on his shoulder. \"She knew how you felt, I'm sure of it.\"\n\n\"I dream about her almost every night,\" he sighed.\n\nI thought of my own dreams. I looked forward to them more than most things in life, and even when they turned into nightmares, I still found a sense of relief in seeing my mother dance or hearing Jonathan laugh. They became real in a way that memory could not make them.\n\n\"That must be wonderful.\"\n\n\"Sometimes. But when I wake up I have to remember that she's gone.\"\n\nJames shrieked in the distance. Nanny Prum had lifted him by the waist and held him under her arm. The little boy was screaming so ferociously that the vicar stepped out of his cottage to see if someone was being murdered in the graveyard.\n\n\"Is everything all right?\" Mr. Scott was a few years younger than my father would have been had he survived, and his hair billowed over his head, threatening to blow away completely as he looked frantically for the source of the screaming.\n\nNanny Prum waddled over to him, full of cheerful exuberance. \"Yes, Vicar, quite all right! Little James must learn to respect the dead.\"\n\nPaul and I left the grave and joined the others before the cottage. Nanny Prum set James back onto the ground and straightened her dress, even though it was so heavily starched that it was impossible for it to wrinkle. She introduced me to the vicar, and he inquired about my family before becoming embarrassed by the question when he learned that I had none.\n\nWe continued our daily trips to the graveyard, despite Nanny Prum's apprehensions about appearing to be too morbid, and every day Mr. Scott made a point of it to greet us before we left. It was something the boys and I would continue to do even after she died.\n\nNanny Prum's tombstone was not so very far from Mrs. Darrow's grave, and while the boys had considerably less to say to their late nanny than they did to their late mother, they did keep her updated on the happenings at Everton. Paul even began to bring her bits of gossip he had overheard from Ellen and the other servants, and while I scolded him for eavesdropping, I did not dissuade him from continuing to bring her news she might have enjoyed while she was alive.\n\nJames frequently grew tired of the game before it was time to turn back, and so he would go through the graveyard familiarizing himself with its other residents, having grown out of the habit of skipping from grave to grave thanks to the persistent conviction of Nanny Prum's large, heavy hand against his bottom.\n\nPaul always seemed less morose on the walks back to Everton. We had a specific route that we followed through Blackfield, starting with Mr. Ingrams at the blacksmith shop, who pulled and twisted burning metal in a shower of sparks like it was taffy, then to Mr. Wallace, who was the local clockmaker in addition to his duties as the village drunk. None of the clocks kept the same time, and so every moment in the shop was punctuated with the clanging of chimes or the cooing of a cuckoo, but the boys didn't mind. James relished the noise, and Paul watched with genuine interest when Mr. Wallace opened the clocks to show him the interlocking cogs and springs. He even smiled.\n\nAfter the clock shop it was impossible to avoid Mrs. Totter's bakery. She always kept the door open, even on the coldest days of the year, and the scents of freshly baked cakes and chocolate croissants and mincemeat pies all tangled together, snaking through the streets of Blackfield, a crisp, golden brown siren's call promising a warm, full stomach. I only let the boys purchase one item a week, usually a cookie the size of a dinner plate, but for the most part our trips to Mrs. Totter's were largely exercises in excruciation.\n\nMrs. Willoughby's dress shop was next, since that was where Susannah worked as an apprentice seamstress, and the week after Nanny Prum's funeral we found her alone in the front of the shop, pushing over a dressing mannequin out of frustration. She jumped when she saw us in the doorway, and then blushed furiously at her own display, her emotions laid bare with the mannequin rolling about on the floor.\n\n\"Hello,\" she said in a surprised, falsely tranquil voice, brushing away a strand of red hair that had fallen into her eyes. She bent down to pick up the dummy. \"How was the church?\"\n\nI frowned at her while her back was turned, but quickly removed the expression from my face. This was how the people of Blackfield referred to our daily visits to the graveyard. Most of them couldn't bear to name it for what it was, except for Susannah, who normally had no qualms about describing things exactly as they were.\n\n\"It was fine.\" I smiled, not judging her for attacking the lowly mannequin, who, for all I knew, might have had it coming after a day of uncooperative participation in the fine art of dressmaking. \"And how are you?\"\n\nThe question uncorked the remaining emotions that Susannah had thus far been successful in containing. She gripped the mannequin so tightly that I could have sworn she bent its metal frame. She sat down with a beleaguered sigh. \"Dreadful, Charlotte, just dreadful!\"\n\nI sat down beside her, amid the reams of fabric, which Paul examined thoughtfully with his hands, listening but not really listening, lost in his own morose thoughts, while James pulled needles of all shapes and sizes from their pincushions and stuck them into chairs and tabletops with a violence unique to little boys, absolutely determined to not be bored by the dull conversation of adults.\n\nSusannah went on. \"Brickner came by the shop, to tell me, to tell me, that I was mistaken in what I saw\u2014the hysterical ravings of a frightened woman. Can you imagine?\" She was waving her hands as she spoke, before catching herself, and stopping. \"Well, I suppose you can. But I wasn't hysterical, not then anyway, not that night. I know what I saw. Wild animal indeed!\" Susannah sat back, deflated, and looked at me with searching eyes, waiting for me to say something.\n\n\"It goes without saying that I believe you, and so does half the village for that matter.\"\n\nShe seemed genuinely relieved by this, and whatever was taken from her by Constable Brickner's lazy certainty was replaced with newfound confidence, stronger than before, like mended bone.\n\n\"Then why doesn't Brickner?\" she asked.\n\n\"Simple people like simple explanations,\" I said before I could stop myself. Paul stifled a small laugh.\n\nSusannah smiled briefly, and then became dark and serious once more. \"It's not for myself that I want to be believed, you know. I don't need justice served, but she most certainly does.\" She nodded curtly and looked past the boys at some distant memory of Nanny Prum, who some months before perhaps sat in that very same spot, having a very similar conversation about something moderately less sensational than murder.\n\n\"I would think,\" I said carefully, trying not to get her hopes too high, \"that Mr. Darrow would be of a similar mind.\"\n\n\"Could he be convinced to speak with Constable Brickner?\"\n\n\"I don't know about convincing, really, but it could certainly be suggested, yes.\"\n\nSusannah leapt up from her chair and threw her arms around my neck. \"Oh thank you, Charlotte!\"\n\n\"No need to thank me yet. Wait until I've at least done something mildly useful!\" I hugged her back and extricated myself from her embrace, rising to leave with the children before she found it necessary to inflict upon me the same force of emotion that she showed to the poor dressing mannequin, who now appeared fatally dented along one side. Paul helped me pull James away from the cutting shears before he could do any damage to them. The three of us continued on our way through Blackfield, rising with the incline of the path to the steep hill that held Everton, hidden behind a line of trees dusted with autumn.\n\nWhen we arrived back at the manor, I sent the boys inside and wandered through the wood at the back of the estate until I found the flattened patch of earth where Nanny Prum had met her end. Even with the onset of fall, it was impossible to deny the peculiar ring of dead grass and brittle, shriveled plant life that encircled the place where she had died, the center of it still stained with flakes of dried blood as dark as the shadows that cloaked the man in black's smiling, hidden lips.\nCHAPTER 3\n\nThe Mistress of Everton\n\nMr. Darrow was not the sort of tragic figure to stay forever locked away in his study, which was itself one of the last bastions of Everton's former glory, with waxed oak-paneled walls, a tidy, ash-free hearth, and antiquities that had been collected from around the world by the master of the house and his late wife, whose adventures had been chronicled on the marble globe that stood at the center of the room, their travels marked by glittering jeweled pinpoints of color. No one ever saw Mr. Darrow tend to the cleaning of his study, but as he did not allow anyone else to do it for him, everyone supposed that that was what he did when he was alone, perhaps beating the curtains with sullen determination as he stared longingly at the portrait of his late wife that hung above his desk.\n\nBut he was not always in his study. There were a number of occasions where I went to the door, in need of additional pocket money for school supplies, or to seek his permission for a day trip to a particular castle or battlefield, and I would find the room empty. No one knew where he went, and no one could say that they saw him depart. He did not like to leave Everton, and so I imagined him haunting the shadows of the hallways or drifting into unused rooms, resting on a chair that had long ago been covered over in cloth sheets, or pausing before a clock to wonder if it had stopped with the death of his wife.\n\nHe did not usually dine with us, and so the children and I were visibly surprised when two weeks after Nanny Prum's funeral he sat down at the head of the table in the dining room, looking rather dour until Fredricks, the butler, who either was very drunk or had completely forgotten how to use his own hands, lost hold of the soup kettle and tipped it down the front of his uniform. After establishing that the liquid was not so hot as to be scalding, everyone laughed together, and even Mr. Darrow seemed to enjoy himself for a brief moment, but then he looked at the other end of the table, where the late Mrs. Darrow would have sat, and he retreated into his comfortable melancholy. I do not know why he chose that night to join us. Perhaps the reality of Nanny Prum's death had sunk in and he needed the company, or perhaps he was reminded of his children's existence and sought to comfort them with his distant, sad presence.\n\nSoon after dessert, the grandfather clock began to chime. I took the boys upstairs to change for bed, saying good night to Mr. Darrow and leaving him alone at the table to finish off the contents of a wine bottle. I worried about his state of mind, but I was too busy adjusting to my new responsibilities with the children to think too intently on it.\n\nIn the days that followed Nanny Prum's death, it had quickly been decided that the most practical thing would be for me to take on her duties. I already spent a great deal of time with the boys as their tutor, and if I were able to control their lives beyond the schoolroom it would make life that much easier for everyone else. I would have been remiss to turn down such an offer, especially since it was accompanied by a nanny's salary in addition to my own. I understood the value of such an opportunity and was eager to please the apparent generosity of Mr. Darrow.\n\nIt was not so awkward a transition as might be imagined. As governess I had still been expected to deal with the well-being of the children at every occurrence of illness or injury, and I easily transitioned from in-class paper cuts and bleeding nostrils to bed-wetting and bad dreams.\n\nThat night after Mr. Darrow's surprising appearance at dinner, I tucked James into bed and read him a story while Paul perused some obscure volume of poetry, his back toward me. He was very much like his father, especially in the eyes\u2014very blue, large, and thoughtful. I wondered what Mrs. Darrow had been like, if she had been as erratic and adventurous as James, or something else altogether. When James fell asleep, or at least pretended to in order to get me out of the room, I left them alone. I did not have to go far.\n\nThe nanny's room had two windows that overlooked the forest behind the house, and while the grounds of Everton seemed to respond to Roland's care better than the house itself did to Mrs. Norman's, the wood still had a wild look about it, especially at night, when the depths of the forest were hidden even from the light of the moon.\n\nI changed into my nightgown and slid into bed, trying not to think of anything. Not of Nanny Prum and the dead circle of undergrowth that marked her demise behind the house, or of poor Mr. Darrow, probably still drinking himself into oblivion. But then the very act of not thinking about something is rather self-defeating, since one must think about the things one wants to avoid before nothing can be thought of. With that last tangled thought, my attention drifted inadvertently to Mr. Darrow.\n\nIt did not escape me that my new position had effectively made me into a mother of two. I was, for all intents and purposes, their guardian. I saw to it that the boys were fed, bathed, schooled, and looked after. I was the closest thing to a mistress of Everton since Mrs. Darrow's passing. I cannot deny that this pleased me, or that I did not spend those last moments before sleep thinking about my time with Mr. Darrow in the music room, hands beside one another, almost touching, and what would happen should one of us decide to cross that fraction of space . . .\n\nI drifted off and dreamt of my childhood in India, of temples and jungles and crumbling, many-armed statues, tigers and cobras and monkeys, and of our home in the colonial residency of Lucknow. It was a familiar scene, the same one that ended every dream about my youth: my mother's room, with the lights dimmed as she lay in bed with cholera, her body slowly drying out and withering into the shape of a child, gasping desperately for air, each moment a struggle until death. My father was nowhere to be found, and the servants avoided coming into the room. This part of the dream always ended the same way, would only end if I crawled into the bed to be with her, over sheets and pillows and shawls, unable to find her until at last I reached the center of the bed and realized that I must enact her death, live through it in order to wake. I would feel someone standing over the bed and observing me writhing in the damp sheets, a man dressed all in black. I struggled to see his face, but it was dark, and despite the fact that it was a dream, I could not will the face into existence. It was as if it were separate from my mind and from the dream of India. I tried to sit up from the bed, but instead sank down deeper into the mattress. However, unlike in the other occurrences of the dream, this time the figure whispered to me:\n\n\"Children need their mothers.\"\n\nIt was a woman's voice, and as she retreated to the other side of the room I died on the bed, choking for air with long, unbearable pauses between each breath until I was back at Everton, gasping as sweat trickled down my chest and face. I threw the blankets off the bed so as not to get them damp, and was about to change when there was a knock on the door to the nursery.\n\n\"Charlotte?\"\n\nJames opened it without waiting for me to respond. He had been crying, his face as wet with tears as mine was from perspiration. Both of the boys seemed to have unique problems with nightmares. Being the more courageous of the two, James often dreamt himself into outlandish adventures featuring ghouls, mummies, and spider women, just to name a few from his well-populated menagerie of monsters. Occasionally, the capacity of his imagination to invent horrors would outpace his actual ability to tolerate them, and he would wake up in the middle of the night absolutely convinced that the spider on the windowsill was an agent of the malevolent Spider Queen, intent upon making him pay for the theft of her enchanted silver webbing.\n\nPaul was another matter altogether. Quite often he would already be awake when I entered their room to take care of his brother, angry that he had been aroused from a most wonderful nightmare, as he was that night when I took James back to his bed.\n\n\"I was at a ball,\" he said as James nestled his head against my chest. \"And Mother was there. She was young and beautiful. I tried to move across the dance floor to speak to her, but it was too crowded. Every person in the ballroom was dancing with something inhuman, and Mother took the hand of a creature who only pretended to look like a man. She waved to me from across the room, and I was about to go save her, but then James started screaming about the stupid Spider Queen.\" He shot his brother a spiteful look.\n\n\"She's not stupid!\" James lunged out of the bed, his tear-streaked face furrowed in rage, but because he was in my arms and only five years old, I was able to hold him back without much effort.\n\n\"It's nothing to me if you want to kill one another,\" I told them. \"I imagine that it would be much easier to care for one child as opposed to two. But I daresay your father would be furious with whichever one of you murders the other. If violence and murder are the methods you choose to use when dealing with family, then we can only surmise the tactics you might use when dealing with your peers would be that much worse. We would be forced to lock you away in the attic for the good of the village. I don't believe that such an existence would be a very pleasant one, but then it's not up to me to make your decisions for you.\"\n\nThe boys had no idea which one of them I was talking to, and as they tried to sort out what I had said, their anger abated. I tucked them into bed so tightly that it was difficult for them to move about, even Paul, who was completely horrified that I had the gall to treat him like his younger brother. Rather than struggle against it, they both gave in to the hour of the night and fell asleep. I watched them for a while to make sure there was no relapse of flared tempers, and when I was satisfied that they were truly asleep, I retired to my room. By then the notion of sleep had left me completely, so I changed into a fresh nightgown, combed my hair, read for a bit, and finally decided to make myself a cup of tea.\n\nI always preferred Everton at night. It was not a noisy house, the sort of place that creaked or groaned a whole symphony of innocuous sounds that, when taken together, could twist a shadow into something tangible and dangerous. It was simply dark and quiet without any pretense, with the kind of rich, musty smell that only comes with age.\n\nMr. Darrow was still in the dining room. He was startled when he saw me, but not drunk. The wine bottle was gone and had been replaced by a full afternoon tea spread, despite the fact that it was well past two in the morning. There was a large pot of black tea, still steaming, the usual cream and sugar, as well as tea sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and a chocolate tea cake that sat on his plate, conspicuously untouched. He invited me to join him, and though there were many chairs to choose from, I sat down beside him rather impulsively and felt my face flush. He was a very handsome man, and the dining room was not the private refuge of the music room.\n\n\"Good evening, Mr. Darrow.\"\n\n\"Trouble sleeping?\"\n\n\"James had a nightmare.\" He looked concerned, and half rose from his chair, but I touched his arm and he sat once more, his eyes lingering where I had touched him. He gaped for a moment until I reassured him. \"It's all right. He's asleep again.\"\n\nMr. Darrow regained his composure. \"And now you're not.\"\n\n\"An occupational hazard, I'm afraid. May I?\" I reached for a teacup, but he grabbed it before I could and filled it with the black, aromatic contents of the teapot.\n\n\"Darjeeling.\"\n\n\"Wonderful.\"\n\n\"Scone?\"\n\n\"Please. Mrs. Mulbus has truly outdone herself, considering the hour.\"\n\n\"You underestimate my cowardice, Mrs. Markham. I would never approach dear Mrs. Mulbus's door at this time of night demanding food and drink. There is a specter of death that seems to hover over Everton, and I do not wish to tempt it.\" There was a weariness in his gaze, his blue eyes peering over the lip of his cup, framed by strands of his dark blond hair, fixated once more on the other end of the table, as empty and silent as the rest of the house. But then he smiled and reached for a scone. \"Besides, I'm not completely incapable.\"\n\n\"Of course not.\"\n\n\"I mean, why must one wait until the afternoon to have afternoon tea? That part of the day is so busy that one can rarely enjoy it.\"\n\n\"I quite agree.\"\n\n\"But I must say that it is nice to have your company outside of the music room.\"\n\nI tipped my cup toward him, and he returned the gesture. We sipped our tea in silence.\n\n\"You know, Mr. Darrow\"\u2014I finished my cup and set it in the saucer, carefully choosing my words\u2014\"if you require company during the daylight hours, I'm sure I could make the children available.\"\n\nHe nodded thoughtfully and refilled my cup. \"Yes, what must you think of me? Locked away in my study or wandering the halls of the house. I only seem to reclaim some semblance of my old life after everyone's gone to sleep. I'm afraid I've become something of a ghoul. It's rather pathetic.\"\n\n\"That's not how I meant it.\"\n\n\"But it is. Lily's been dead for . . . God, has it nearly been a year? And now Nanny Prum. How did you recover from the loss of your husband?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure one ever does. It still hurts for me to think of him. I miss him so.\" I relaxed as I said aloud what I always felt: his absence. I could tell that I was beaming as I thought of him. I dabbed my lips with a napkin. \"But there is something fortifying about the pain. It reminds me of how much I loved him, and my love is equal to the pain. It protects me, and it grows stronger the more I think of him. I'm sure that someday it will be the same for you and Mrs. Darrow.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, but then again . . .\" His brow contracted into an expression of anxiety as he finished eating a cucumber sandwich. \"Mrs. Norman will be up soon, and I like to avoid her when possible.\" He smiled weakly at me and stood from the table.\n\n\"Mr. Darrow, before you go. About Nanny Prum.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Well, it's Susannah Larken. She's one of the most honest, reliable people that I know, and\u2014\"\n\n\"I believe her.\"\n\n\"You do?\"\n\n\"Every word that she said. I've been meaning to speak to Brickner about the way he's handling the investigation, or lack thereof, but I've been preoccupied.\"\n\n\"I'd be very grateful.\"\n\n\"In that case, I'll be sure to pay him a visit tomorrow. You can count on it.\"\n\nHe nodded to me, and together we moved the plates and scraps of food back into the kitchen, leaving them in the sink for Jenny, the scullery maid, to take care of the next day. With that done, we awkwardly parted ways, and I found that I had to restrain myself from looking back at him as he left for his chambers. I hated myself for my slavish devotion to propriety, but what else did I have to be devoted to?\n\nI went to my room next to the nursery. I felt relieved at the thought of allaying Susannah's concerns, and at the possibility of finding whoever had killed Nanny Prum. Sleep came, but not without a struggle to quiet my mind.\n\nI dreamt of Heatherdale, my family's estate, where Jonathan and I lived for three glorious years. The dream was a recurring one, but as with the others, it was always different. I found it strange that this time I was detached from the scene, watching myself sleep in bed with my husband, his strong arms around my waist. I felt larger than myself, my body not a body at all, wrapped between the bones of the house, shifting them dangerously out of place. There was also a great heat radiating from my skin, curling the wallpaper to black char, eating away at the wooden beams that supported the house, and it caused me to expand with reckless abandon. I cackled, and sparks erupted from my throat in a plume of black smoke.\n\nJonathan woke gasping for air. He shook the other Charlotte awake, and together they ran through the house. But it was too late. I was all around them, singeing their skin and hair, choking them quickly back to sleep. Jonathan noticed a curtain that I had not yet touched, one of the only things that had not been burned. He wrapped it around his wife's body and picked her up in his arms, even as she struggled and screamed for him to stop, and plunged them both into the flames.\n\nI tried to stop him. I tore at his skin until it blistered and cracked, at his hair until it burned down to the scalp, but still he ran through the remains of the manor, not stopping until he was outside, collapsing into a ruined heap while his wife cried over him, begging him to wake up as the man in black observed the scene in silence, the light from the flames extending his shadow over the dying underbrush.\nCHAPTER 4\n\nA Lesson in Dreaming\n\nThe next morning, after taking breakfast downstairs with the children\u2014Mr. Darrow was good as his word and had already left to meet with Constable Brickner\u2014I marched the boys up to the schoolroom to begin their daily lessons.\n\nDuring the first few weeks after my arrival, Mrs. Norman and I scoured the empty rooms of the manor, lifting the covers off of antiquated pieces of furniture in search of practical desks, and kicking up small clouds of dust as we traveled through parlors, bedrooms, and servants' quarters that hadn't been used in generations. We eventually discovered a small attic at the top of the east wing of the house.\n\nIt was large enough that it had a proper staircase rather than one that had to be pulled down from the ceiling, and very little was actually stored up there. The ceiling was low, and both sides of the room slanted at an angle, reaching up to a point like a church steeple. It felt very much like a small country schoolhouse, with windows on each end of the wide room, and I knew when we found it that it was just what we needed.\n\nHaving discovered a desk in an unused study (presumably belonging to Mr. Darrow's father or grandfather), I had Fredricks and Roland carry it up into the attic. It was not an easy task, but then, as I reminded them, neither was the education of children. The desk was placed at the front of the room for my own use, before a blackboard Nanny Prum had kept in the nursery. Two low tables were found for the boys, and they were placed far enough apart as to avoid easy physical confrontation. The back of the schoolroom contained many of the items that had been found there upon its discovery. I arranged some old end tables, rusted gaslights, and empty picture frames into a sort of artists' corner, stocked with supplies I had brought to the house myself. An intellectual education was of course deeply important, but I felt that an aesthetic curriculum was equally worthwhile, especially in light of the late Mrs. Darrow's rather prolific creative accomplishments.\n\nEach day I began the boys' lessons with arithmetic. Mornings were best suited to intense study, as it loosened the mind for the interpretation of literature later on in the day. Whenever I felt that I was losing their attention or interest, I would quickly end whatever it was they were doing and challenge them to tackle some artistic accomplishment.\n\nThat afternoon, in the difficult time before lunch when children begin to think with their stomachs even though the next mealtime is at least an hour away, I was still fixated on the problem of dreams. The boys looked tired, and I myself hadn't been able to sleep very well after the nightmares of the past few evenings. It was silly that we should all suffer so much from self-inflicted trauma. I once read that dreams were the products of unacknowledged emotion and feeling, and that setting them down with either words or images often lessened their power. To understand fear was to control it.\n\nPaul yawned. James followed suit, and I was obliged to set down the book of poems they were reading through and send them to the back of the schoolroom.\n\n\"That's quite enough of that. I have a new task for you.\"\n\nJames yawned again. \"But it's nearly time for lunch!\" He clutched his stomach as if he would waste away to nothing before the end of the hour.\n\nI ignored him. \"You are to describe your dreams from last night with either drawings or prose.\"\n\nBoth of the boys grabbed the colored pencils on the table and ignored the mention of prose, despite the fact that this was my favorite medium. I frowned but said nothing, remembering that their late mother had created the majority of the artwork that decorated the walls of Everton.\n\nPaul began scribbling furiously without hesitation. He paused every few minutes to look out the window, and continued drawing, in fine detail, a meticulous landscape of Everton from a bird's-eye view. James had more trouble deciding what to draw. He had many dreams every night, and so choosing the most exciting and violent one to illustrate was no small task. Eventually he settled on what he knew best and began sketching the hulking black thorax of the Spider Queen.\n\nWhen the boys had finished, I led them back to their desks and asked them to present their artwork. James, who always demanded to go first and threatened to throw a magnificent tantrum if he didn't get his way, had found no purchase with me by using this tactic, despite a glorious performance involving impressive physicality with thrown chairs, toppled tables, and broken vases, during which I clapped and cheered him on as if I had paid for the privilege of his outburst, and eventually he relented to alternating turns with his brother. Nevertheless, it was his turn to present first. He stood from his chair and moved to the front of the room beside the desk.\n\n\"I drew the Spider Queen.\" The paper contained a black blob of a body with eight spindly appendages, but the face of the creature was very much like that of a young woman, with curly silver hair and pretty features. \"She lives in a cave beneath my bed and eats up the goblins whenever they try to steal my breath. Sometimes she has me over for tea, and sometimes we're friends, but other times she sends her children after me because I've stolen some of her treasures.\" He stopped and clutched his stomach again in an effort to remind me of his delicate and very hungry condition, but I did not let him return to his seat.\n\n\"But why would you steal from her? It sounds as if she's doing you a favor by gobbling up the goblins.\"\n\nJames looked at me as if I were quite slow. \"To buy back Mother's soul from the Goblin King.\"\n\nMy heart sank, and for a moment I did not know how to respond. What was there to say? It was a beautiful, sad sentiment, but I quickly recovered. \"Why would he have your mother's soul? She went to Heaven.\"\n\nThe boy thought about this and shrugged his shoulders. \"I dunno. It was just a dream I had.\" I nodded to him that he could return to his chair.\n\nPaul stood up and took his place before the blackboard. He held up his re-creation of Everton, which now resembled something like a treasure map.\n\n\"Last night I dreamt that I went to Mother's house.\"\n\nI took a deep breath and wrung my fingers together. This was not going at all the way I had expected. But then, what did I expect? The boys had lost their mother. Of course they were dreaming of her. I knew that they were dreaming of her. I had lost my mother nearly fifteen years before and still dreamt of her. It was not something that ever truly went away. The three of us would perhaps always be bound by our grief, never truly finished with the long nightmare of loss. But if that were true then we were also bound together searching in our dreaming for new memories of the mothers we lost. Children need their parents in whatever form they're available, and I shivered for a moment as I thought back to one of my dreams the night before.\n\nChildren need their mothers.\n\nPaul continued to explain his drawing.\n\n\"She came for me in the night and led me through a wood.\" He pointed to his illustration of the old-growth forest behind the house. \"The wood turned into an orchard, and there was a great house. Mother said we couldn't go inside just yet, that we had to do it in person. She's waiting for us.\"\n\nThe specificity of his dream was unnerving. I folded my hands on the desk and peered carefully at the young man. \"Why would she do that?\"\n\nHe looked down at the ground, his large blue eyes fixated on nothing particular but still lost in thought. He spoke without looking up. \"She misses us.\"\n\nWith those three words he nearly reduced me to tears. I felt the years of built-up sorrow at the loss of my own mother materialize as a tightening in my chest and the prickling sensation behind the eyes that heralded the impending arrival of tears.\n\n\"Paul\"\u2014my voice almost broke\u2014\"your mother is gone.\"\n\nHe finally looked up, his face creased in a pleasant, knowing expression that should have been impossible for someone who had just turned thirteen. \"I know. But every now and then, when we're in the village, and I see the back of a lady with long black hair, I always hope that it's her; that everything I remember is wrong. That she didn't die. It was all just a misunderstanding.\"\n\nIt was almost identical to what his father had told me that first night in the music room. We stared at each other in silence for what felt like a long while, until James grew tired of not being the center of attention and spoke up.\n\n\"Can we go?\"\n\n\"Lunch isn't for twenty more minutes,\" I reminded him.\n\n\"Not to eat; into the woods.\" He pointed at his brother's map.\n\n\"Whatever for?\"\n\nThe boy shrugged, and his older brother spoke up. \"Aren't some dreams true?\"\n\nWhile I wanted the boys to find solace in the idea that their dreams were not real, I hadn't anticipated them finding so much relief in the notion that they were. If I took them into the woods, they would find nothing there and be forced to face the fact that their mother was truly gone. If I did not, then it was likely they would find some way to use the map when I wasn't looking, and the last thing I wanted was for the boys to go off into the wilderness on their own, especially in light of the fact that whoever had killed Nanny Prum was still at large. There was only one option: I would take them, show them the reality of death, and deal with the consequences as they came.\n\n\"I suppose we could take our lunch outside this afternoon; I do enjoy picnics.\"\n\nAt the mention of a meal James clutched his stomach again and did his best to look pathetic. Paul looked over his handmade map with a frown, but said nothing.\n\n\"Does that sound like something you'd both enjoy?\"\n\nThe older boy folded the map carefully and placed it in his pocket. \"Yes, thank you.\" He smiled placidly. I was beginning to notice that he was unreadable when he wanted to be. It was an unnatural quality in one his age, and I made a note to watch him more carefully.\n\n\"Can we go now?\" James whined, taking my hand before I could respond and leading me down to the parlor, where I had them wait as I negotiated our picnic with Mrs. Mulbus. Luckily, Jenny was in the village running an errand, and so the usual shouting and arguing that accompanied a visit to the kitchen was replaced with complaints from Mrs. Mulbus about the scullery maid's tardiness and general laziness. As I provided a sympathetic ear to the cook's woes, she had no trouble procuring a basket full of finger sandwiches, slices of roast chicken, bread, cheese, pork pies, and fruit for our afternoon adventure. She even supplied a sturdy blanket for the occasion.\n\nAfter I'd collected the boys, we set out from the back of the house and found a patch of grass at the edge of the forest still awash in sunlight. It was unseasonably warm despite the impending arrival of winter. I spread the picnic blanket over the ground and laid out the contents of the basket. As we filled our stomachs, the shadows of the tree branches marked the length of the meal like a sundial, and when we finished, I fell back into the tall grass. The children danced around me in circles like giants among the dying wildflowers, happy and full, finally collapsing into a breathless, red-faced heap of tousled hair and grass-stained shins.\n\n\"We all fall down!\" James giggled into the hem of my dress as Paul tugged at his leg in an effort to twist it off. The little boy squealed, and I sat up with a dramatic sigh.\n\n\"Paul, must you do that to your brother's leg?\"\n\n\"It wouldn't come off when I pulled.\"\n\n\"I imagine it might be difficult to continue the day's activities if you have to carry your brother's leg around.\"\n\n\"Maybe, but he won't give me back my map.\"\n\n\"James?\"\n\n\"But I want to look at it!\"\n\n\"It seems to me that I've done a very poor job of teaching you the importance of sharing, and it may be time for a precocious little song.\"\n\nJames scrambled up and serenaded me with a series of high-pitched screams, a sound that, despite the ringing it left in my ears, spoke of the intimacy and affection that had quickly formed between us in the weeks since the loss of Nanny Prum. Paul put his hands over his ears and attempted to trip his brother.\n\n\"Yes, you should run! You've heard me sing! But by now you must also be aware that I happen to find threats and subterfuge a much more effective means of communicating with inscrutably dense children.\"\n\nJames stopped running and turned to squint back at me. \"What's dense?\"\n\nI leapt from the ground and snatched the paper from the young boy's hands. I was so quick he barely had time to register what had happened before I handed the homemade map over to his brother.\n\n\"Paul, what does dense mean?\"\n\n\"That we still have a lot to learn about the world.\"\n\n\"That will do for now, I suppose.\" I kissed James on the head and lifted him into the air, placing his legs so they straddled my waist. He scowled but put his arm around my neck anyway.\n\n\"Now, where does it say to go next?\"\n\nPaul held the map close to his face. It was eerily accurate as he compared it to the landscape, looking across the field toward the overgrown forest up ahead.\n\n\"Over there, into the woods.\"\n\n\"Off we go then.\" I set James back on the ground next to his brother and gathered up the remains of the picnic into the basket. As we marched away from the field, the sun slid behind the twisting, knotted tree branches and the ground swelled with half-buried roots and rocks, both big enough to trip over and small enough to get trapped at the bottom of a shoe.\n\n\"Paul, how much farther?\" I asked, becoming a bit nervous as the shadows grew longer.\n\n\"It was just ahead in my dream.\"\n\nI said nothing for a moment, prepared to let reality speak for itself as it tore away the curtain of hope to reveal the cruel actuality of death, which had been unable to grab hold of the children, even though James, at least, had been at their mother's side when she had passed on\u2014a prime example of the power of the heart to overwhelm the mind. \"And what do you expect to do if there isn't anything there?\" I said after a while.\n\n\"I'll keep dreaming.\" Paul said this matter-of-factly, without turning away from the task at hand, stepping over underbrush, moss-covered boulders, and rotted logs with complete determination. I held James's hand and continued my minor lecture as we walked.\n\n\"Dreams are my favorite things in the world. Sometimes they even come true, but sometimes we must learn when to wake up.\"\n\nPaul ignored me and pointed excitedly at something up ahead. \"There!\"\n\nThe path ended at a small fallow creek, but began again on the other side to disappear around a dark, massive cage of roots at the base of an ancient oak tree. Whatever lay beyond the magnificent tree was obscured in a thick, roiling patch of fog. James wrenched himself free from my hand and leapt over the creek, bounding into the mist before I was able to stop him.\n\n\"James!\"\n\nI quickly hoisted my dress up to my waist and jumped over the brook, glancing back at Paul to wave him on. Together we chased his brother into the mist.\n\nThe air around us grew heavy with a dampness that remained even as the fog subsided, and we found ourselves in the middle of a vast orchard. While it had been daylight mere moments before, the moon now hung low in the sky, larger than I had ever seen. It was so vast and oppressive I felt that if I were to reach toward the sky I might be able to push the orb back where it belonged, high above on the black velvet mantle of the night.\n\n\"It's nighttime here.\" Paul was behind me, hugging himself against the cool air.\n\n\"Perhaps I misjudged the time . . .\" I said with uncertainty as I took his hand very tightly into my own and began to march between the rows of squat orchard trees. \"We must find your brother.\"\n\nPaul was silent as he walked, his knuckles white as he peered between the trees at the shadows that stretched out to us when we passed, sensing us with hungry anticipation.\n\n\"Is this the place you dreamt of?\"\n\nPaul shivered against the chill in the air, observed the heavy moon in the sky, and shook his head slowly. \"No. There was an orchard, but it was different.\"\n\nNormally, I would have been very interested in such a sudden change of landscape\u2014and apparently, time\u2014but I was anxious to find James. My heart began to pulse in my ears, throbbing so intensely that my body seemed to reverberate with each beat. I refused to panic. Instead, I felt a heightened awareness of the atmosphere around me, of the curling fog behind a distant tree, of the rustle of branches around us, the movement of the shadows in our direction as we passed, of the very alien nature of the place that Paul's map had led us to.\n\n\"James!\" My voice did not echo through the air, nor could we hear the sounds of our footsteps on the hard, cold earth. Still, I continued to call out until I was hoarse. Paul dragged behind me, gasping every time he looked back to where we had come from, seeing nothing but a gloom as opaque and tangible as the fog that had heralded our arrival to this strange, dark land. It was building around and behind us, pushing us toward a destination neither of us wanted to think about.\n\n\"Charlotte . . .\"\n\n\"We'll leave as soon as we find your brother.\"\n\nI stopped at what appeared to be the main thoroughfare and peered in both directions, trying to decide which way James might have gone. Behind me, Paul pressed himself against the nearest tree, as if to block the creeping darkness from his line of vision. Thin branches and twigs cracked and broke around his body, and his head grazed the bottom of a low-hanging piece of fruit with enough force to knock it free. It dropped down into his hands.\n\nIt was about the same size and shape as a grapefruit, but before he could get a good look at it, he glanced up at me, clearly frightened, sensing that something was wrong. The fruit quivered, and with a wet, tearing sound it began to unroll from the inside out, the air laced with the scent of peaches as the thing in his hands untwisted its arms and legs from the pulpy interior of its body and wrenched its head free from its shell. A baby's face blinked at us with pale blue eyes as Paul dropped it onto the ground with a look of utter terror, backing away, his gaze transfixed on the thing as it fell onto its back, protected by what was formerly the leathery skin of the fruit.\n\nIt smiled at him with thin, sharp teeth.\n\nPaul let out a manic, consuming scream that frittered away the last remaining edges of his youthful courage and curiosity and exploded into his legs. He ran past me, past the trees, never looking directly at them, at the fruit, perhaps afraid that it might look back; his voice never breaking through the air as he shrieked, never echoing, but rather circling back in on him like a vulture, an eater of dead things, pecking away his every last hope, every rational thought, every instinct but the one that told him to run for as long as it took to escape.\n\nI trailed behind him, struggling to follow his voice, which was quickly muffled by the rows of trees, but as he was running in a straight line I was able to catch up to him when he stopped, panting and heaving at the edge of the orchard before a great house as grand as anything either of us had ever seen before.\n\nThe doors of the house stood open, and silhouetted against the light that streamed over the threshold as vibrantly as the darkness churned in the orchard was a woman, tall and regal, even at a distance. James was at her side, clinging to her waist as she descended the steps leading up to the house with slow deliberation, almost gliding to the ground, a beautiful phantom with a small, worried smile as she approached Paul and gently touched his face. He collapsed against her and sobbed so loudly into her shoulder that I was unable to dispute the name that he immediately and distinctly gave her:\n\n\"Mother!\"\nCHAPTER 5\n\nBargains with the Dead\n\nFor a moment, I could only stand at the foot of the great house in an attempt to catch my breath, my mind reeling, searching for some way to escape with the children. Lily Darrow was dead. There had been witnesses and a funeral and a painting commissioned to hang over the desk in her husband's study, a portrait of a raven-haired creature with glittering eyes like cracked jade and a playful expression of mock superiority, which he stared at for hours on end when he didn't think the servants were watching. And yet . . . the likeness was so startling that I had to shake myself of the very notion that the woman before us could possibly be the late Mrs. Darrow.\n\nThey had mourned her. What kind of wife and mother would allow her family to feel the things that her death had inflicted upon them if she were not well and truly dead? It was unfathomable. This was some act of trickery, a cruel impostor toying with the emotions of children. I would not stand for it.\n\nPaul sobbed into the woman's shoulder, crying and apologizing\u2014\"I'm sorry I wasn't there, I'm so sorry\"\u2014as she stroked his head and cooed away his sorrows. I stepped forward, stopping as I happened upon the crinkled hand-drawn map of the forest left behind on the ground of the orchard, a thing crafted from the scraps of dreams. How could anyone have influenced the boy to lead us into the woods? Was such a thing even possible? There were so many questions, all of them overshadowed by the one thought I could not ignore:\n\n\"No one ever comes back,\" I said.\n\nJames pulled his face away from the skirts of the mystery woman, and looked her over carefully before returning my pleading gaze with a confused expression. In his eyes I could see that there was no doubt the woman he clung to was his mother.\n\nPaul didn't bother to remove his head from the other woman's shoulder. He had awoken from his nightmare and it had all been some terrible misunderstanding. Everything he hoped for had come true.\n\n\"But she has. She's alive again.\"\n\nThe woman ran her fingers through Paul's hair and raised his chin so she could look into his eyes. \"No, my love, I am not.\"\n\nHis face fell, and he slowly backed away from her, dragging his brother with him. I quickly grabbed them both by the shoulders a little more roughly than I meant to and held them tightly before they could run off.\n\nThe great house before us was more appealing than the dark, oppressive gloom of the orchard, with the shadows that twitched and snaked about the ground, but I would not hesitate to escape the way we had come. I considered the woman who purported to be Mrs. Darrow. To anyone who might ask, I would deny that I had any belief in ghosts, but then what of the man in black? A mysterious shade prone to the company of corpses was just as unlikely as the resurrection of a young mother taken before her time. Was she a liar, a ghost, or something else altogether?\n\nMy heart continued on its perilous drop deep into the nether reaches of my chest, and I realized with no small amount of revulsion that I might soon begin to panic in the way I had witnessed other women do, as I was perhaps expected to do. But I refused to faint or swoon; the fearful emptiness I felt inside instead began to swell, blood raging in my ears, until it changed into something solid and substantial. Nothing would happen to the children\u2014I would not allow it. It was a very odd sensation, unlike anything I had ever experienced. We were in danger, true danger, and it thrilled me to know that I was equal to the challenge presented.\n\nPerhaps the woman saw this fearlessness in my gaze, which I imagine had become rather hard and fiery, for it was then that she sighed, her comfortable, dignified composure falling away. She folded her hands before her like the woman from the portrait in Mr. Darrow's study and began to look a bit desperate.\n\n\"Please, I've come back to you.\" She took a step forward, and the boys huddled against me. The woman stopped again and smiled faintly. \"I suppose I should have expected as much. I've been gone from you both for so long.\"\n\n\"And Father.\" Paul had let go of me, but did not move toward the other woman. He spoke with a slight edge in his voice.\n\nAt the mention of Mr. Darrow, the woman quickly looked back at the house and then returned her gaze to Paul. \"Please don't be angry with me. I never wanted to leave you, which is why I've come back. I would have returned to Everton, but there were rules I had to agree to.\"\n\n\"Come home with us.\" James stepped away from me to join his brother's side.\n\nThe woman shook her head. \"This is my home now, and you're welcome here anytime you'd like.\" She motioned to the massive house.\n\nThe boys looked at one another, and then to me, but I remained unconvinced.\n\n\"Do forgive me for being skeptical,\" I said, trying to contain the smoking flesh and boiling blood surging beneath the confines of my skin. \"But how can we be sure that you are really Mrs. Darrow, and not some impostor intent on doing us harm?\"\n\n\"I can see that my husband chose well.\" She paused at this, making an implication that was not lost on me. \"If that were my intention, why would I be reasoning with you to believe my story? Wouldn't I have done something by now to prove your point?\"\n\n\"I do not pretend to understand the whims of the dead.\"\n\n\"A wise decision. So you believe me then?\"\n\nI shot her a steely glare and changed the subject. \"This place is hardly fit for children.\"\n\n\"How can you be sure? You have not yet been inside. The House of Darkling can be whatever you choose to make of it.\" She had begun to regain her confidence, much to my dismay, and her lips formed into a tight smile at her own cleverness. I would have none of it. I turned with the children pressed against me and began to trot briskly back into the orchard. The woman called after us, desperate once more, which was the only way I would deal with her. Desperate people are more likely to make mistakes.\n\n\"Please! You must give me the chance to prove myself! Ask me anything. Something that only Lily Darrow would know.\"\n\nI stopped at the edge of the orchard and turned around slowly, searching my mind for every scrap of information I had ever learned about my employer's late wife.\n\nPaul spoke up before I could. \"What was the name of the lullaby you used to sing to us?\"\n\nThe woman smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, as if listening for the music on the soft wind that began to blow through the orchard trees, the fruit on their branches swaying in the breeze. \" 'Every Night at Everton.' We made it up together, and it was different every night depending on what had happened during the day.\"\n\nThis was enough proof for both of the children. They returned to their mother's side and hugged her tightly, immediately sorry that they had ever doubted her intentions. I, on the other hand, was dubious even as the thrill of danger dissipated into caution. When a person died, they did not come back to their children, but if this had somehow been reversed for Mrs. Darrow\u2014and I was not convinced that it had, nor that this was not some elaborate ruse to take advantage of the children of a wealthy widower\u2014then why had none of my loved ones been able to do the same? It was for this reason and this reason alone that I followed them into the great house with unease, remembering those that I had lost and hoping against hope that if what the woman said were true, then perhaps the place contained more than one departed soul.\n\nThe parlor was small and intimate, the walls lined with square wooden panels and elaborate tapestries depicting the room itself filled with a strange pantheon of creatures, perhaps from some obscure mythology or religion with which I was unfamiliar. As I stared at the fabric, examining the intricate patterns and threading, I realized with some bewilderment that the shapes were changing, reknitting themselves from left to right in an impossible act of defiance of the rules of scientific propriety, recasting the occupants of the room until I recognized myself and the children as carefully constructed embroideries. I reached out to pull aside the tapestry, but I stopped myself before I could uncover the mechanism enabling its manipulation. Against my better judgment I preferred to believe, if only for a little while longer, that the house and the alleged Mrs. Darrow were part of something extraordinary.\n\nA squat, muted chandelier hung low from the ceiling, casting the room in dim amber light. I sat on the edge of a thick leather armchair, determined not to sink back so far as to be rendered incapacitated should the strange situation spiral any further out of my control, even as I promised myself that it would not. To my bewilderment the cushions expanded as if the chair were fighting against me so that I might be more comfortable. Was it possible for furniture to become offended? I firmly kicked the leg behind my right foot, and the chair regained its former shape.\n\nBefore sitting down, Mrs. Darrow gently touched three of the wooden panels along the wall, each of them clicking open to reveal the different components of a full afternoon tea spread. She removed cups and a steaming pot from the first, a pedestal of finger sandwiches and scones from the second, and a chocolate tea cake from the last. I fought to ignore a pang of sympathy as I realized that the cake was the same as Mr. Darrow had provided during our midnight tea. She left it on a plate to the side of the table, as conspicuously untouched as her husband's had been. I imagined the two of them sitting alone in two different houses, Mr. Darrow at Everton and Mrs. Darrow at the place called Darkling, staring at the empty chairs that surrounded them, silence shrieking, with tea cakes perched on lone plates like ceremonial offerings to memories not quite dead.\n\nI eyed the boys carefully as they sat beside the woman who claimed to be their mother, sprawled on a plush divan before the large stone fireplace at the front of the room. The flames contorted into various shapes, casting shadows of flickering animals and their masters along the back wall. The children marveled at the trick for a long while, slowly drifting off to sleep as the alleged Mrs. Darrow watched me back, her eyes gleaming in the firelight, as dangerous and silver-green as a cat's.\n\n\"Your tea will cool,\" she said. Both boys were nearly asleep in her lap; even Paul, who was too old for that sort of thing.\n\nI looked at the saucer and brought the cup to my lips, careful to seal them to the rim so as not to allow any of the liquid into my mouth. I was already at a disadvantage if the woman meant us any harm, a fact I firmly kept at the forefront of my mind, and sitting in the parlor of a woman who claimed to be dead, in a strange land with shadows that crawled and pieces of fruit that walked, the least I could do was avoid a potentially poisoned cup of tea.\n\nI brought the cup away from my mouth and placed it back onto the saucer sitting primly in my lap. The other woman turned away from me and gazed into the fire.\n\n\"Is my husband well?\" The tone of her voice was emotionless and elusive. It reminded me of Paul's.\n\nI considered the question before I answered. A vague, bland answer might lead to an informal inquisition, but a detailed one might hint at a relationship that was more involved than was true.\n\n\"I've been with the Darrow family for nine months, and in that time I've come to know Mr. Darrow as two very different people. The first man smiles when someone says something clever and eats as voraciously as the groundskeeper. But then there are times when he sees something either in the house or in the boys that makes him grow very distant. He is my employer, and so I don't pretend to know him as one might know a friend, but whenever he is overcome by such an episode, I've begun to suspect that he's thinking of what he has lost, and there is a sadness in his distance that leads me to believe that he may forever remain two people: one struggling to enjoy life, and the other trapped in sorrow.\"\n\nThe woman did not look away from the fireplace. Her chest rose and fell in an uncomfortable quiet broken only by the ambient sounds of the room\u2014the embers in the fire crackling; the grandfather clock chiming; something shuffling across the floor in one of the upper chambers of the great house. I brought the cup to my lips again, pretended to drink, and set it back onto the saucer.\n\n\"You are very thorough, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\nI placed the saucer on the table between us and stood to circle the room. I spotted a bookcase filled with obscure texts whose titles seemed to be in a language I had never seen before. I fingered the spines lovingly and turned back to Mrs. Darrow. \"The one detail I find myself most curious about at present is the fact that I'm having a conversation with the alleged late wife of my current employer.\"\n\nThe woman smiled, and the stoic decorum that had framed her every action since we entered the house partially melted away. She lifted herself gingerly out from beneath the children and stood before the fireplace.\n\n\"You are right to be suspicious of me.\"\n\n\"The children believe you. Who am I to disagree with them? But by all accounts Mrs. Darrow died.\"\n\n\"So I did.\"\n\n\"I have lost many people from my life\u2014my mother to cholera, my father to a heart attack, and my husband to a fire\u2014and when they died, they did not come back.\" The end of the last word sharpened in the air for a pregnant moment until I began again. \"While I do not doubt the power of a mother's love for her children, I will not believe that the love of my family was somehow inferior to yours.\" I said this evenly, without hope of masking the jealous curiosity that had replaced my confidence, but I was determined nevertheless to have a cordial, honest discussion. \"In order for this conversation to continue, I feel that I must ask\u2014why you?\"\n\nThe woman did not appear to be surprised at the directness of my question; in fact she seemed relieved. The alleged Mrs. Darrow spoke facing the fireplace, a silhouette before the flames.\n\n\"When I first took ill, I told anyone who would listen that I would conquer my sickness, that I would not accept anything less than a full recovery; that God was testing me. I followed the doctor's instructions: I continued with my social engagements, I ate healthily, exercised regularly, and yet each day I grew more weary.\n\n\"Food began to make me queasy, and I lost the ability to stand under my own volition. I became confined to my bed and slowly wasted away until the skin hung from my bones, loose and pallid. People came to my bedside and whispered words of solace and comfort, but that was of little consolation after I went blind, and even less when I lost my hearing.\n\n\"You would think that a person in such a state would be adrift in the darkness, but I could still feel; I could still smell. I knew when my family was nearby; when Henry kissed my forehead or pushed a strand of hair from my face, when James took my hand into his to keep me company, just as I knew that Paul could not bring himself to see me bedridden. I knew that I would die and that they would miss me, though death was a thing I craved more and more each day.\n\n\"The very act of breathing slowly drove me to the brink of insanity. Even in my delirium I found it ironic how a thing that gives one life could become the most unbearable part of living. The moments between each breath grew further and further apart, a series of contractions as I delivered my own end, until finally, I stopped.\n\n\"I realized I had died when I opened my eyes and could see again. A man stood before me, as unremarkable and ordinary a person as I have ever encountered. He wore a black suit and a bowler hat, and he held out his hand. He said nothing, but he did not have to. I knew who he was, and what he expected me to do. Free from illness, I felt revitalized, elated even, and yet something whispered to me: a voice in the place between life and death. It spoke to me, whereas Death did not; it told me I was special, and that exceptions could be made for any rule. It told me the story of my life, one that did not end with a woman in her sickbed.\n\n\"The forgettable man in the ordinary black suit grew fainter and fainter, retreating down a corridor made of light until he was gone altogether. The voice grew more substantial, until there was a hand, and it took me someplace else . . . to a place for the Things That Do Not Die.\"\n\nI felt a chill run through my body. I was near a window, and the darkness outside seemed to press against it, flexing the glass with an ominous groan.\n\n\"And here you stand,\" I whispered.\n\n\"I do not know why it was different for me. Perhaps I was in the right place at the right time. Regardless of why the opportunity presented itself, I took it. Children need their mothers, little boys most of all.\"\n\nI paused at that turn of phrase. The old nightmare of my mother's death returned, as did the voice of the mysterious woman from my dream, who, it was now so obvious, sounded very much like Mrs. Darrow. My heart fluttered with a mixture of anger and fear. I approached the divan with the sleeping children, clutching the lip of the seat.\n\n\"The children can't stay here. It isn't safe.\"\n\n\"Nothing on the estate would dare hurt the children.\"\n\n\"And their governess?\"\n\nMrs. Darrow, for by that point I could no longer pretend to think of her as anything else, stepped closer and put her hand over my own. She was warm to the touch, more so than any living person I had ever encountered. With the children between us, I relaxed for a moment.\n\n\"I mean no one any harm,\" she said.\n\nI looked her carefully in the eyes, their catlike quality replaced by something more somber and quiet. Suddenly her intrusion into my dream seemed more sad than threatening.\n\n\"I've dreamt of you. You tricked us into coming here.\"\n\n\"I did what I had to do in order to see my children.\"\n\n\"What is it that you want from them?\"\n\n\"More time.\"\n\n\"To what end? You have passed on, and it can't be healthy for them to meet you somewhere in between.\"\n\n\"Is it any worse than allowing them to grow up without me? You must have seen what happens to some children who lose their parents.\"\n\nA barrage of heartless, foulmouthed little boys passed before my mind's eye, hitting and shouting, stealing and spitting, raping scullery maids in the middle of the night.\n\n\"That can be avoided.\"\n\n\"Yes, it can. That's why I came here. They don't have to be without me. I don't have to be gone.\"\n\nThe woman moved her hand up, grasping my wrist. There was a desperation in her grip.\n\n\"You never were.\"\n\nMrs. Darrow dropped her hand away and turned back to the fireplace. The flames licked at the embers, which had stacked themselves into something like a house.\n\n\"I'd like them to visit Darkling, when they can. Time passes differently here, and it would be as if they'd never left Everton. My husband would never know.\"\n\n\"You don't wish to see him?\"\n\n\"He can never know.\"\n\n\"He's lost without you.\" My throat tightened as I said the words.\n\n\"You must not tell him!\" The woman's voice raised in pitch, waking the boys with a start.\n\n\"Mother?\"\n\nMrs. Darrow was back at their sides before they could lift their heads, kissing their faces gently as she lifted them off the divan. I felt that I had touched upon something important, perhaps even powerful. She was afraid, and her feelings for her husband were clearly complicated. Suddenly the situation became very manageable. She was no different from any other person and could be manipulated if necessary. I was surprised at the callousness I had discovered within myself. It was not in my nature to have thoughts so overtly cunning, but then I had never been faced with such a dangerous situation. I wondered if the person one becomes when faced with such things is the person one truly is, or only a temporary mask worn to survive. Again, a shiver ran through me.\n\nThe woman looked from the boys to me, and then smiled sweetly at her children. \"I'm afraid I'm very tired. Our visit must come to an end.\"\n\n\"But, Mother, we just got here!\"\n\n\"Please don't leave us!\"\n\nMrs. Darrow and I stared at each other during this exchange, and I searched myself deeply for a response I would not live to regret. There would be consequences from dabbling with the dead, this I felt most certain of all. But was there also not a wealth of things to learn? The veil of death had been lifted for this regal, beautiful woman, so stoic and frail, broken by the end of her own life in a way that perhaps even the children would be unable to fix. Were there others like her? I attempted to stifle the thought before it became fully formed, but it was too late. It blossomed in my mind, accompanied by images of Jonathan and my parents.\n\nI could not ignore the strength of Mrs. Darrow to overturn the rules of existence, to find a way out of death, and to fight for her children. There was something powerful in such love, such conviction, such devotion, and at the same time such desperation, a weary stubbornness to deny what must occur. I could not refuse her or the children or my own curiosity, despite the danger I sensed in the agreement I was about to make.\n\n\"There will be other visits, and I imagine that we'll be seeing your mother again soon enough,\" I told the boys.\n\n\"She can't come home with us?\" James stuck out his bottom lip. His eyes welled up with tears.\n\n\"Oh, my darling James, I wish that I could. But this is my home now.\"\n\n\"Can we bring Father next time?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid you mustn't, Paul.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"It's almost like a spell that's keeping me from leaving you forever, and if you tell your father, it will be broken. Do you understand?\"\n\nBoth boys nodded and hugged their mother tightly around the neck. She kissed each of them roughly on the lips and turned them back over to my care.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham, it was truly a pleasure meeting you.\"\n\nI took the hands of the children into my own and squeezed them, searching for further conviction.\n\n\"And you, Mrs. Darrow.\"\n\n\"Please, call me Lily.\"\n\nThe woman escorted us out of the parlor and into the main foyer of the House of Darkling. Many stories above, I saw someone leaning against the railing of the grand staircase, watching us and smoking casually in the dark. But before I could look more closely, the doors swung open and the damp, cool air of the orchard swept over us. Lily kissed me affectionately on the cheek, and ushered us out the door.\n\n\"Please come back as soon as you can,\" she said.\n\nThe boys waved at their mother as we set out for the main path between the trees. Something howled in the distance, the sound of it languishing in the chilled air. We continued into the gloom until we came to the familiar wall of mist, and passed through to return to sunshine and the world of the living.\n\nThat evening, I struggled to put the children to bed. James sang and squealed slowly toward exhaustion, jumping up and down on his bed and playing so loudly that I was finally forced to threaten him with an ancient form of Indian torture I had learned as a young girl in Asia. This prompted an inevitable inquiry into my life abroad, and soon the excitement the boys felt over their rediscovered mother was eclipsed by curiosity, and they were able to listen to my tales of the Far East as they drifted off to sleep.\n\nI left the nursery dabbing the perspiration from my forehead with a handkerchief. I was about to return to the schoolroom to organize my lesson plan for the following day when I realized I was not alone in the hallway.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham.\"\n\nI jumped and quickly laughed at myself. I had been so absorbed in the strange events of the day that I had not noticed Mr. Darrow standing behind me, the pale illumination from the gaslights suffused in his golden hair. He was a tall man, with a lithe frame and a distinguished, sharp face that was more beautiful than handsome, and the way his hair glowed in the darkness gave his appearance a quality that bordered on angelic.\n\n\"Mr. Darrow! I apologize, I didn't notice you.\"\n\n\"From the sounds of it, the boys had you on the run this evening.\" He smiled at me and pointed down the corridor. \"Would you mind joining me in the study before turning in for the night?\"\n\nMy stomach twisted into knots. Did he suspect that something was amiss? Or\u2014I could not help but let my mind wander to the strange, romantic thoughts one cannot avoid while traveling through a dark, old house at night\u2014perhaps he had something else in mind? Even in light of meeting his late wife, I could not deny that I found the second possibility rather exciting. Is that not the way most stories go? With the young governess falling in love with her handsome widowed employer and living happily ever after? We both deserved some happiness. Even the dead, it seemed, were entitled to get the things they wanted most.\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\nThe gaslights flickered above us in their cracked glass husks, fighting against the darkness that attempted to envelop the house. I was unpleasantly reminded of the agreement I had made earlier in the day. I wrung the handkerchief in my hands.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Mr. Darrow paused at the door to his study and nearly touched my shoulder, but he seemed to catch himself and placed his hand against the door instead, pushing it open. I stood stupidly in the hallway, rousing myself from the day's events and wondering what his hand would have felt like against my skin.\n\n\"Yes, perfectly fine.\" I followed him inside.\n\nHe sat behind his spotlessly clean desk and folded his hands, framed beneath the portrait of his late wife. At the other side of the room, the door to the office stood open.\n\n\"The children seem very happy,\" he said.\n\n\"They have a wonderful home and a loving father. How could they not be?\"\n\n\"You are doing wonders for them, and I want you to know that I intend to compensate you accordingly.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darrow, I can assure you that my current salary is more than generous.\"\n\n\"A fact of which I'm quite aware, but even so, I think you deserve a raise. It's been a difficult year for our family . . .\" His voice cracked, and for a moment I was unsure if he would be able to continue. \"You were right the other evening, I'm afraid I have been growing distant with the children.\"\n\nIt was true that since Nanny Prum's death, Mr. Darrow had been keeping even stranger hours than usual, having afternoon tea in the middle of the night, taking meals in his study, and on the rare occasions that he did join us he drank too much. He was in mourning again, not just for his late employee, but, I felt sure, for his wife. It was a pain I knew too well.\n\n\"With all due respect, you must not ignore the impact of your loss.\"\n\nMr. Darrow attempted to smile, but instead he looked faraway and sad. \"Quite right. We used to spend every weekend together as a family, but ever since Lily . . . They remind me so much of her.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you could reclaim your time with them on the weekends? We could plan an outing by the lake.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\" He sat back in his chair and sniffed the air. \"Mrs. Markham, have you chosen a new perfume?\"\n\nI felt my chest tighten. I must have gotten too close to Mrs. Darrow during our visit to the House of Darkling.\n\n\"No, why do you ask?\"\n\n\"It's nothing; I suppose I'm just tired. I don't mean to keep you.\"\n\nHe stood from his chair and leaned against the mantel behind his desk, averting his eyes from the portrait of his wife that hung above it, keeping them trained on the fireplace.\n\n\"The lake. Yes, that would be splendid.\"\n\n\"Good night, Mr. Darrow.\"\n\nI crept out of the room and left him to his thoughts.\nCHAPTER 6\n\nA Question of Spirits\n\nThe next morning I woke before sunrise. I had decided in the middle of the night to run a very specific sort of errand to help alleviate some of my concerns about the promise I had made to the children the day before, and so I chose a long black dress from my wardrobe\u2014the kind of severe uniform one would expect a typical governess to wear. I hardly thought of myself as ordinary, and while I much preferred to wear something lighter and more colorful, I had set my mind on this particular mission and knew that it would be best to dress for the occasion. I even wore the brooch I had found in Nanny Prum's room.\n\nThe house was dark and quiet except in the kitchen, where Mrs. Mulbus berated Jenny for failing to adequately clean the soup kettle.\n\n\"There's a ring of filth around the rim!\" As she was a big woman, she lifted the heavy pot without any effort, flailing it in the air above Jenny's head.\n\n\"Yes, Mrs. Mulbus. Of course, Mrs. Mulbus.\"\n\n\"Don't get sharp with me, Jenny Saxon!\"\n\n\"I wouldn't think of it, mum!\" Without turning from the sink, Jenny performed a small curtsy.\n\nMrs. Mulbus slammed the pot down on the counter and clutched her chest. \"You'll be the death of me, I swear it!\"\n\n\"I shall make it my personal duty to put wildflowers on your grave every Sunday morning.\"\n\nThere was a sudden murderous look in Mrs. Mulbus's eyes, and as she motioned to grab for the heavy pan once more, I spoke up to make my presence known.\n\n\"Good morning, Mrs. Mulbus.\"\n\nThe cook turned away from Jenny, who had never turned away from the sink, halfheartedly scrubbing the dishes that always seemed to be there.\n\n\"Good morning to you, Mrs. Markham. I hope we didn't wake you?\"\n\n\"Nonsense. I have an errand to run this morning.\"\n\n\"This early?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid it must be done before the children wake.\"\n\n\"Of course. Might you want something to eat before you leave?\"\n\nThe kitchen was small for such a large house, but it was filled with food. Baskets of fruit and freshly baked breads, smoked meats hanging above the butcher block, stacks of pungent cheeses, rows of spices from India and the Far East (bought by catalog in a very sweet effort to appease my palate), jars of jellies and preserves, and large glass containers filled with caramel toffees. I picked up an apple and tucked it away into the small basket I carried at my side. \"A piece of fruit will do nicely.\"\n\nThe cook was visibly disappointed, and as I left the house through the back of the kitchen, I heard Mrs. Mulbus launching a new tirade at the scullery maid: \"Spots! On the silver!\"\n\nI passed Roland as I crossed the grounds, and we smiled at one another as the shouting continued in the kitchen.\n\n\"Early morning for you, mum?\"\n\n\"I should hope that I'm a little young to be called 'mum'!\"\n\n\"Sorry, Mrs. Markham, just trying to be respectful is all.\"\n\n\"I can't imagine you being anything less.\" The young man had started at Everton a few weeks before my arrival. There wasn't much need for a gardener as the grounds were rather small, but Fredricks was getting older and someday soon would be unable to tend to his duties. When Roland wasn't outside, he followed the butler around attempting to understand the old man's mumbling and increasingly senile instructions. The week before last, Fredricks had asked him to bring Mr. Darrow a box of his favorite cigars, which was alarming since the only member of the Darrow family who had ever enjoyed smoking was Mr. Darrow's father, and he had been dead for over fifteen years.\n\n\"Roland, have you noticed anything strange around the grounds since the night Nanny Prum was attacked?\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure exactly. Everything about what happened was so unusual . . . and with the murderer still at large, I worry for our safety.\"\n\n\"I walk the grounds with the rifle for a bit every night before I turn in, but no trouble yet. Not even that strange smell that was all over the place it happened. No, I think the bastard that did it is long gone. Pardon my language.\"\n\n\"If you see anything suspicious, do let me know. Even the smallest thing could be important.\"\n\n\"Of course. Miss.\"\n\n\"Now that's more like it.\"\n\nRoland winked at me and tugged on his hat, about to set off toward the caretaker's shed, but he stopped and nervously wrung his hands together like a schoolboy.\n\n\"And how is Mrs. Larken?\"\n\n\"Susannah is coping as best she can. She's very grateful to you.\"\n\nHe blushed. \"Good woman, there.\" He looked dazed for a moment, and then continued. \"If you see her, tell her that I'm keeping an eye out, so she has no cause to be scared.\"\n\n\"I'm sure she'll be very pleased to hear that, Roland.\"\n\nHe nodded once more, and I descended the hill toward the village below. Blackfield was just beginning to come to life. Mr. Wallace was in his shop with key in hand, hurriedly winding each clock face to match up with its siblings, but he was too hungover and slow, and the clocks chimed at him sporadically out of spite. Mr. Rookway, the butcher, stood on a ladder behind his shop window hanging the day's offerings of plucked geese, sausage links, and cured beef. I stopped in the dress shop to see Susannah, but Mrs. Willoughby had her busily sorting through containers of buttons for a set with a mother-of-pearl finish she desperately wanted to use for Mrs. Reese's dinner gown but had apparently misplaced. I promised Susannah that I would come back after my errand and continued on my way to the church.\n\nSt. Michael's was a small country church with stone walls and a family of sparrows nesting within the steeple. The vicarage sat behind it, a modest little cottage with a half dozen birdhouses carefully placed in the surrounding trees. Mr. Scott had been trying for the last three weeks to convince the sparrows to move out of his church, but with little success. His sermons had taken on an air of hysteria as he struggled to shout over the annoying but otherwise lovely birdsongs while the faithful attempted to dodge being sanctified by any unwanted sacrament from above. Despite all this, attendance at the Sunday morning service had never been higher.\n\nThe sun was just coming up. I shifted my basket to the other hand and rapped sharply on the door. There was a stumbling, a muffled curse, and the door wrenched open to reveal Mr. Scott.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham?\" His hazel eyes were watery in the young sunlight.\n\n\"Good morning, Vicar. I hope I haven't disturbed you?\"\n\nHis hair was mussed and his collar crooked. He fumbled with them as he replied. \"Of course not! I always have time for the devoted.\" He motioned for me to enter the cottage.\n\nIt was as small on the inside as it appeared from the exterior, sparsely decorated with every surface covered in what appeared to be birdhouses in varying degrees of construction. Mr. Scott moved a birdhouse from one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit beside him. \"Now, what seems to be the trouble?\"\n\n\"What do you make of spirits?\"\n\nHe looked disappointed. \"I wouldn't know. I don't touch the stuff. Man of the cloth, you know.\"\n\n\"Not spirits, spirits. As in apparitions of the formerly living.\"\n\nHe paused and rubbed his chin. \"Well, I can't say that I've ever seen one.\" He looked at me strangely, as if I'd suddenly grown a pair of horns.\n\nI quickly elaborated. \"Neither have I, of course. But I've been reading the children ghost stories, and James asked me if all spirits were evil. I didn't want to answer him until I'd consulted an expert.\"\n\n\"Expert?\" Mr. Scott squinted for a moment, and then blushed. \"Oh, you mean me? Mrs. Markham, you flatter me. I'm afraid I don't know any more about ghosts and spirits than you do.\"\n\n\"But surely the Bible says something on the subject?\"\n\n\"Well\"\u2014he stood from his chair and paced the room\u2014\"I do recall a line from the Gospel of Luke. I believe it says that spirits are not permitted to return to the earth without a valid purpose, such as offering up a warning.\"\n\n\"So not all spirits have malicious intent?\"\n\n\"It's hard to say. The Book of Job mentions that demons have no power that God himself does not allow. So I suppose that spirits must work along the same lines. They might wish a person harm, but only as a test of faith.\"\n\n\"I see. And how would one defend themselves from spirits or demons, if God had decided to test them?\"\n\nMr. Scott opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He narrowed his eyes in amusement. \"James was very specific with his questions. He sounds like a clever young man.\"\n\n\"He does have an excellent governess.\"\n\n\"So I see. Well, if one is being tested by God, then there really is no protection available, but none should be needed. God is a force for good in the world, and he loves each of his children. On the other hand, the demons and spirits you mentioned may be given their power by God, but are more frequently the tools of Lucifer in his quest to lure mankind into damnation. Such creatures use temptation and trickery over physical harm or injury. The best defense against such tactics is good judgment and honorable choices.\"\n\n\"I see.\" I looked around the room and noticed a small crucifix hanging above a doorway. \"And what about holy relics? Crosses, holy water, that sort of thing?\"\n\n\"It couldn't hurt, I suppose, but again, these are complex questions. What good would holy articles do against forces that have their power sanctioned by God, regardless of whether or not they're in the employ of the Devil?\"\n\n\"Such are the mysteries of life, I suppose.\" I said this with sullen annoyance at the complexity of my situation.\n\n\"Indeed.\" The vicar nodded with heavy importance.\n\nI stood and turned for the door.\n\n\"I do apologize, Vicar. I didn't mean to interrupt your morning routine. You've been most helpful.\"\n\n\"No trouble at all, always happy to assist. I suppose I'll see you on Sunday?\"\n\n\"I certainly hope so,\" I said darkly under my breath, thinking of the agreement I had made with the late Mrs. Darrow. I left the vicarage and headed for the path back to the village.\n\nIn the dress shop, Susannah was stacking small paper button boxes, Mrs. Willoughby apparently having found the buttons with the pearl finish for Mrs. Reese's gown. Susannah flinched when I entered the shop, the little bell at the top of the door ringing shrilly to mark my arrival. She dropped the boxes she was holding, scattering lacquered buttons of various sizes across the floor with a small yelp. She closed her eyes and bent down to pick them up.\n\n\"Is everything all right?\" I knelt down to help her, and soon we had the buttons all gathered up and stowed in boxes on the back shelf. I sat Susannah down in a chair behind the counter.\n\n\"No, everything is not all right. Mrs. Willoughby knew that I didn't want to be left alone, and she still went to prepare for tea with Cornelia Reese. I've been a bundle of nerves ever since.\"\n\n\"Whatever for? It's just after sunrise.\"\n\nSusannah narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone. \"There's a strangeness in Blackfield.\"\n\n\"That's no surprise, what with all the strange people.\" I smiled at her playfully, but she maintained her serious demeanor, so I quickly changed my expression to match her sense of gravity.\n\n\"Ever since that night in the woods, I've felt that there's someone watching me.\"\n\n\"You've seen someone?\"\n\n\"That's just it, I'm not sure. I swear I've seen the same figure out of the corner of my eye when I'm walking through town, but it's always gone when I look at it directly.\n\n\"It's only natural to be nervous after what you've been through. Perhaps it's Roland? He seems a bit smitten with you.\"\n\n\"The groundskeeper? No, there are other things. When I'm alone, I can't seem to keep the lights lit, whether it be candle or gas. And I've been noticing a smell, the same one I noticed near Nanny Prum's body. I fear that someone may be following me.\"\n\n\"Have you told Lionel?\"\n\n\"Of course. He's worried sick, the poor thing. He walks me to the shop every morning, and walks me home in the evenings. Won't let me work in the pub at all anymore.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we ought to tell someone?\"\n\n\"Like who, Brickner? He barely believes me as it is.\" Even so, the constable had been proceeding with the investigation in the wake of his conversation with Mr. Darrow, though there was still very little evidence to go on and minimal progress had been made.\n\nI sat with Susannah until Mrs. Willoughby returned from her tea with Cornelia Reese. Susannah gave her employer an icy reception, which melted into a heated discussion on who, exactly, was the owner of the dress shop. This then escalated into which of them was the better seamstress, until eventually each woman became so frustrated with the other that they broke down and began to sob in one another's arms, promising everlasting friendship and, on Mrs. Willoughby's part, a more careful consideration of her apprentice's nervous state of mind. I left them to their reconciliation and returned to Everton, where I spent most of my morning deflecting the boys' requests to visit their mother.\n\n\"But you promised!\" James kicked at the leg of his desk.\n\nI stood in front of the chalkboard, my skin powdered with flecks of white dust. I pointed at two sets of arithmetic problems written neatly on the board, one for each of the boys. \"And you promised that you would finish your lessons for the day. I hardly think your mother would want to be visited by such lazy children.\" I again pointed forcefully at the board. \"Now, would either of you care to solve your equation?\"\n\nJames kicked the leg of his desk again, but raised his hand to attempt a solution. He was wrong, but it was a step in the right direction. By midafternoon the boys had calmed down and I noticed them looking out the window with wistful, silent agony. I steeled myself against their longing, and I would continue to do so until I was confident that I could protect them from whatever lay beyond the veil of mist in the old-growth forest.\n\nWhen it was lunchtime, I took the boys to the dining room. Everton buzzed with the flurry of daily life. Fredricks left Mr. Darrow's study with an air of distinction, carrying the tray of an empty tea set with hands so tremulous that Roland walked carefully beside him, catching stray cups and saucers before they crashed to the floor. Meanwhile, Mrs. Norman circled around the nervous maids like a vulture, the young women frantically dusting and sweeping to avoid her wrath.\n\nI was suddenly reminded of her warning about the mysterious man who was waiting for me and told the boys that I would meet them in the dining room. Paul and James were more than happy to be rid of me, as I had made it perfectly clear that for the time being I would not change my mind. I returned to the landing on the stairs where Mrs. Norman ran her finger along the railing, testing it for dust in the presence of a young maid named Catherine. It was clean, much to Mrs. Norman's dissatisfaction, and she dismissed the maid as I approached.\n\n\"Good afternoon, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"Hello, Mrs. Norman. I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.\"\n\nThe older woman was immediately suspicious. \"How might I be of service?\" she asked with not a small hint of sarcasm.\n\n\"I was wondering if you might be able to tell me about spirits.\"\n\nI could see immediately that it warmed Mrs. Norman's stony heart to know that when it came to the occult, people thought of her, but she maintained her haughty composure and raised a single eyebrow.\n\n\"There is much to say on the subject. What is it that you wish to know?\"\n\n\"Are they predominantly good or evil?\"\n\nMrs. Norman waved her hands impatiently. \"You ask a question that has no answer. Are people predominantly good or evil? I should say that every man, woman, and child has a great capacity for both, but the discipline for only one or the other. I suppose it depends on whose spirit you are seeing.\"\n\n\"I'm asking more for the sake of curiosity than from experience. I can't say that I've been lucky enough to receive any visits from the Other Side.\"\n\nShe observed me carefully. \"I see. In that case, it depends upon the relationship between the spirit and the person it's sought out. Spirits only return when they have unfinished business. I suppose the only way a person would be in danger is if they either caused the death of the person who became the spirit or meant to impede it on the completion of its otherworldly task.\"\n\nI waited for Mrs. Norman to say more, but it seemed that she had finished doling out advice on the supernatural.\n\nShe raised her eyebrow again. \"Is there anything else?\"\n\n\"No, you've been most helpful. Thank you.\"\n\nShe seemed to falter for a moment. \"The other afternoon in the nursery . . . the man who watches. Have you found him yet?\"\n\nI had been trying not to think about the housekeeper's warning. \"No, I have not.\"\n\n\"Find him before he finds you.\" Mrs. Norman went up the stairs and left me alone on the landing. I felt very weary. I had been going round and round with my dilemma, trying to decide if such extraordinary events warranted disregard of the suspicion I felt deep in my heart. There was something wrong with Mrs. Darrow's proposal. There was something wrong with the mysterious house in which she lived. And yet, I could not shake the feeling that there would be something terribly wrong with me if I did not assist the boys in sharing a little more time with their late mother. Had I had such an opportunity with my mother, even at present, I would have risked life and limb for a moment's conversation. There is always so much left unsaid, even when one has the opportunity to say good-bye, and despite my apprehension, I continued to return to the same conclusion: I would take the boys to visit their mother. I would be guarded, and I would bring the appropriate articles of protection, even if I doubted their usefulness, and I would remain alert for the slightest sign of mischief. Heaven and Earth had been moved to accommodate Mrs. Darrow, and I could not find it in my heart to deny what was so obviously a mother's right to demand. As for the woman herself, I believed that she could be managed. She loved her family, and if she wished to have access to them, then she would do so on my terms.\n\nI found the children in the dining room devouring plates of roasted pheasant and slabs of cheese on toast. For all my inner turmoil, I had lost my appetite and was anxious to continue with my plan before I lost my resolve.\n\n\"Would you care to take the remainder of your lessons outside?\"\n\nThe boys looked up at me, their mouths full of food. Before they even swallowed they were dashing away from the table to grab their coats out of their room. I took a heavy shawl and placed it in my favorite basket.\n\nAs I took the children out the back of the house, we could hear Mrs. Mulbus still shrieking at Jenny. \"How could you scrub the fine china?!\"\n\nOnce outside, the boys took my hands and pulled me along toward the forest. I closed my eyes for a moment and let them lead the way as if I were caught on the sharp autumn wind.\n\nThe light dwindled as we entered the woods, and suddenly everything was silent except for the sound of our shoes crunching through the dried leaves and twigs that littered the ground. We came to the tall cage of roots at the base of the large oak tree, and were overcome by the thick, swirling mist that separated the living from the dead.\nPart 2\n\nThe Human Fashion \nCHAPTER 7\n\nThe House of Darkling\n\nThe light from the moon cast pale, sharp silhouettes that danced between the orchard trees. I wondered if there was such a thing as daytime there. The boys tried to race ahead, but I kept hold of their hands and struggled successfully against them. Despite the safety that had been assured to us by Lily Darrow, I did not trust anything about the place. If the former mistress of Everton was strong enough to turn back death, then I was obviously in no position to deny her something she had worked so hard to earn. It's not every day that the natural order of the universe becomes subverted, and if death could be turned back once, then perhaps it could be done again.\n\nIf the woman proved to be malicious in her intent, then I hoped that I would be able to deal with her when the time came. I had put on a silver cross necklace before we left Everton, but even as it pressed against my skin, it did little to soothe my apprehension as the gloom moved around us.\n\nWe walked along the path between the trees. Paul was careful not to stray far from us, and he avoided looking too closely at the bulbous pieces of fruit that twitched on the ends of the branches. Something moved up ahead, more solid than the ominous darkness that swirled languidly around us as we headed for the House of Darkling in the distance. It stepped into the center of the path and knelt down on one knee.\n\nIt was a child, a boy of about nine or ten, smartly dressed in a black waistcoat, the chain of a gold pocket watch hanging from his side. His face was long and thin, fixed with an expression of sly amusement, and yet there was something soft about his features. His face lacked any lines or creases; there was an indistinctness about him that was unsettling. I assumed it was just the light, but his skin had an orange pallor similar to the color of a peach. The boy rose from his bow and placed a finger before his lips, wordlessly silencing the children and me before leading us the rest of the way through the orchard.\n\nThe doors to the great house stood open much as before. Without the pressing anxiety that had accompanied my first visit I was better able to get a sense of the place. The entrance from the orchard was actually at the back of the house. The entryway sprawled out toward the massive oak doors at the front of the foyer, which were taller than half a dozen men standing head to toe, but the entrance was empty save for the grand staircase that spiraled away into the distance many floors above us, and the strange glittering tiles that covered the floor.\n\nThe tiles nearest to the walls were made of stone, and the band after that of rough marble, and then glazed ceramic. The tiles themselves were rather plain, but at the center of the display was a mosaic made from shards of metal and glass, the color of which shifted depending upon where one stood. As we walked over the various strata on the floor, the room changed. In the ring of stone the place was empty just as it had been before, but once we moved over the line of marble, the walls, which were tastefully paneled in wood, began to glow with an inner warmth revealing intricate etchings that seemed to tell a single story, the light burning through the designs, each panel a stained-glass window made from wood. The elegant crystal chandeliers that hung in empty space above the room began to bloom with liquid flame, light erupting out of them like stars to illuminate the corners of the space where gilded curios and antique end tables held glittering, unknowable things: strange pools of water that rippled in place but did not drip or cascade onto the floor; an iridescent apple with skin so glossy and sleek that the light it invited made it appear translucent; a portrait of a crying old woman whose tears smeared the paint; a pair of shears so sharp they seemed to cut the very light that touched their edges. But these baubles were nothing compared to the transformation that occurred at the center of the room in the mosaic. The floor was blazing with a radiant fire, pulsing in time to the silent song of the universe, throbbing with life and energy, searing not the eyes but something secret in the soul.\n\nI gasped and the children paused in wonder, but our young guide kept moving us forward, and in the next band of tiles, the one made of glazed ceramic, the room dimmed. The liquid flame of the chandelier became drawn out and stretched away from where it hung in space, translated through the crystals so that the entryway became a living world of color that shimmered and danced like the northern lights. The inner warmth of the walls gave way to delicate, incandescent fractures in the wood, smoldering and cracking like dying embers. The curios and end tables held different objects in this version of the room: a small silver harp with lines of thin shadow instead of strings, theater masks that shuddered under the weight of the emotion in their expressions, a leathery flower that grew from a pot of diamonds, a trail of black ink in a water-filled glass vase that twisted itself into the shape of a face, staring pensively at us with a gaping mouth as we passed. The mosaic on the floor withdrew into itself, the vibrancy muted in a faint red sunset flecked with blue and gold that inspired a feeling of melancholy I was not unfamiliar with.\n\nAt last we crossed over the center of the room, and as we did the pieces of glass and metal in the mosaic flared with a pale, cool light that cast all else into shadow and reflected off every surface like a million distant stars. We were lost in our own private universe, a singular nocturne that would not end so long as we stayed in the circle at the center of the entryway. For a moment I felt at peace and marveled at the power of true silence, for all sound had been extinguished. But the boy pulled us onward, and we passed across the other half of the room, into dusk, into dawn, and back into the true emptiness of the place.\n\nIt was a strange house. As feeble a thought as this was, I could not find any others to adequately describe my opinion of the House of Darkling. The little silver cross that hung below my throat was even less comforting than before.\n\nThe boy in the black waistcoat continued to guide us through the manor without slowing down. I would have worried about getting lost in a house with so many twisting corridors, but as I was being strung along by two boys who currently had more in common with a pair of excited bloodhounds straining against their leashes than with the polite, refined young men I was striving to create, I remained unconcerned.\n\nWe were led down a tall, mirrored hallway with flickering gaslights, past oval windows covered in silver latticework and a collection of heavy oak doors. The door at the end stood open, a curved wall of coarse stone panels visible beyond the threshold. The boy took us inside.\n\n\"Children?\" Lily Darrow rose from a plush green leather chair at the center of a magnificent library. The room was entirely round and four stories tall, with each subsequent ring of bookshelves smaller than the one beneath it, leading up to a domed glass ceiling, beyond which the moon hung ominously between the clouds. An ornamented footbridge led from the fourth level to a closed door. Lily opened her arms, and the boys were quick to enter her embrace. She squeezed James and kissed Paul on the forehead.\n\n\"You've come back to me . . . it's been so long.\" Her eyes trailed away and stared into space, until Paul put his hand on her shoulder.\n\n\"But, Mother, we were here just yesterday.\"\n\n\"Of course, yes. Time passes differently here. Days and years can become so confusing.\" She shook the thought away. \"I see you've met Duncan?\" She gestured to our young guide. Now that we were inside, I could clearly see that the discoloration of his skin was not simply a trick of light in the orchard. His complexion was indeed a soft shade of orange. The boy bowed out of the room and winked at us as he left. \"He serves the master of the house. Good help is difficult to find, and so Mr. Whatley grows his own.\" I connected Duncan's appearance to the fruit in the orchard, and how it had wandered off during our previous visit.\n\n\"This Mr. Whatley grows people?\"\n\n\"Duncan is not a person. Not yet, at least. Perhaps someday.\" She took a breath and smiled, seeming to become more like herself again. \"We have much to do. I expect you'll be staying the night?\" She glanced in my direction expectantly, and I pressed my lips together in a flat, expressionless smile.\n\n\"I'm afraid we didn't bring any other clothing,\" I replied.\n\n\"Of course you didn't. People would become suspicious.\"\n\n\"Just as they would if we didn't return home in a timely fashion.\"\n\n\"There's no need to worry. An entire day may pass for you here while a minute passes for everyone in Blackfield.\"\n\nI suppose this was meant to alleviate my concern, but it only made me feel very sorry for Lily. If what she said were true, then our last visit must have taken place years ago. She seemed much the same as before\u2014but then the dead could not be expected to age\u2014regal, beautiful, but with a solemn undercurrent of fragility, as if the weight of her own virtues might cause her to collapse.\n\nPaul and James looked in my direction and then back to their mother, sensitive to the subtle power struggle embedded in our exchange. I was again conscious of the silver cross hanging from my neck, completely useless against the decidedly un-supernatural force of Lily Darrow's verbal persuasion.\n\n\"Then I suppose it's not a problem.\"\n\n\"Splendid. Would you care for a tour?\" It wasn't a question. She twirled on the spot and waved her arms at the shelves of books. \"This is the library, naturally. Charlotte, you're more than welcome to use it whenever you'd like, but do be careful. The books here have a reputation for their cunning. Some readers enter for an evening's diversion and are never heard from again.\"\n\n\"Mmm.\" I could not stop myself from delivering a rather patronizing smile, but the other woman failed to notice.\n\n\"At the top of the library is Mr. Whatley's study. As I said, he is the master of the house, and always very busy. Do not disturb him unless you've been invited to do so. I expect you'll be meeting him soon enough.\" Lily looked away from us for a moment and seemed to flinch, but it was a quick movement, and I could not be sure that it wasn't caused by something mundane like a speck of dust caught in her eye. I nearly asked about Mr. Whatley and his connection to our hostess, but I held my tongue. That was a conversation that did not need to take place in front of the children, who looked up at their mother with rapt attention and an almost luminous affection. There was not a moment when one of them wasn't holding her hand or placing his forehead against her. I did not even toy with the idea of discouraging that sort of behavior. If my mother had suddenly returned from the dead, I would most likely do the same, so long as my mother still looked as graceful and alive as the former mistress of Everton.\n\nLily swept out of the library, the boys trailing behind her. I followed suit, and as I struggled to keep up with them, I was overcome by the suspicion that the day was going to feel much longer than it actually was. As we passed the large oval windows in the hallway, I took the opportunity to survey the estate. There were hills in the distance, speckled with thin, barren trees. A light mist roiled close to the ground, and far off a stark, short metal gate marked the edge of the estate.\n\nWe continued down the hallway and turned a corner at a marble sculpture of some amorphous, many-headed creature with knots of tentacles twisting out from both ends of a sleek, tubular body. I was glad when the boys passed it without really seeing it, as it was the sort of thing that would give James nightmares, if I didn't suffer from them first. I suddenly wished that I had brought some holy water from St. Michael's Church. Even if it were useless, it might have improved my appraisal of the situation I had allowed myself and the children to fall into.\n\nLily opened a set of large doors trimmed in gold leaf and took us inside a cavernous ballroom lined with rough stone pillars that could have been plucked from the bowels of the earth. The floor was a smooth black and white marble chessboard. The walls were gilded in silver and set with exotic glittering jewels of every imaginable color. Red velvet curtains clung to the sides of the windows.\n\n\"We don't entertain nearly as much as we'd like.\" Her voice echoed through the massive chamber. I estimated that Everton would fit comfortably within the ballroom twice over. \"But we expect to hold a ball sometime in the near future. Have you learned to dance yet?\" She lifted James into her arms and swung him through the air. He threw back his head and giggled with abandon.\n\nPaul looked at her strangely. \"Father hasn't held any parties.\"\n\nHis mother set James back down on the floor and seemed to notice that both boys were dressed all in black, still mourning the death that hadn't taken.\n\n\"Yes, of course. How callous of me.\"\n\n\"Can't we bring Father with us?\"\n\nShe was quick to respond. \"It's quite out of the question, and any mention of this place will close it off forever.\"\n\nPaul stepped toward me, perhaps taken aback by the unpleasant reminder that mothers could be bossy.\n\n\"Don't worry, Mother,\" James said. \"We can keep a secret. Paul brought a hedgehog into the house and kept it in the wardrobe for a whole week before Mrs. Norman found it and screamed like a girl, but I didn't tell a soul.\"\n\nLily patted her younger son on the head, visibly aware of the emotional divide that had appeared between her two children. \"Thank you, James. Shall we continue?\" She led us out of the ballroom and into a labyrinth of tight, narrow corridors, twisting and turning through the house, past the dining hall and the kitchens, the parlor, the greenhouse, the craft room, the baths, until the children were lagging as far behind as I was, perspiring and out of breath. When she realized she was twenty feet ahead of everyone else, Lily stopped and folded her hands with the graciousness of every great hostess. \"As you can see, the house is rather large. Perhaps we should survey the grounds?\"\n\nI began to sigh, feeling the burn of exhaustion in my legs, but masked it with a carefully timed cough. Lily placed an embroidered silk handkerchief into my hand. \"Are you all right?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, thanks. It must be dusty,\" I answered, and when she looked personally affronted, \"in my room at Everton. With my schedule I'm afraid I've let it become a bit untidy.\"\n\nLily pursed her lips and turned to face the wall behind us. Much like every other room in the house, it was paneled with wooden rectangles of various sizes. She pressed against one the size of a small door, and it swung away to reveal a stable with a gray open carriage. A silver horse was attached to the reins, its sleek body covered not in hair but in flower petals.\n\nThe boys both rushed over to the animal while I fingered the other wall panels in the hallway.\n\nI pressed against a smaller one, and it clicked open to display a stuffed miniature satyr perched in a birdcage. \"You're living in a cabinet of curiosities.\"\n\n\"But in a cabinet of curiosities, things stay in one place. The House of Darkling is always shifting to provide you with the things you want most.\" She said this without any inflection in her voice, her eyes drifting from me to her children. James patted the horse on its flank while Paul ran his fingers gently over the delicate petals that sprouted out of its skin.\n\n\"His name is Specter,\" Lily said softly.\n\nThe name was very appropriate. The animal was like something out of a dream, tall and ethereal, glowing like the perpetual moon that hung low in the sky above. Specter snorted and nodded at the carriage.\n\nThe seats were thickly padded and covered in a soft, smooth material that looked like leather but felt like velvet. James sat snugly against his mother, and across from them Paul, back to his sullen, gloomy self, sat as far away from me as he could manage. The carriage set off through the dark interior of the house, exiting beside the orchard.\n\nAs we rounded the side of Darkling, the fruit trees fell away and a large pond became visible in the distance. A lonely tree jutted out over the water. A rowboat drifted listlessly from a small, battered dock on the length of rope that tied it in place. The water at the center of the pond suddenly began to bulge with the release of air bubbles, but no one emerged from beneath the surface. I warmed myself against the chill night air, and despite himself Paul scooted closer to my end of the carriage.\n\nThe front of the great house was naturally more elaborate than the back. A circular driveway framed a fountain unlike anything I had ever seen before. Metal rods protruded out of a dark hole in the earth, all of them different heights, while pale blue swaths of liquid light bounced from one pole to another, cascading back into the black pit in a shower of electric sparks.\n\n\"That's the Star Fountain,\" Lily explained.\n\n\"It's beautiful. What is it made out of?\" I asked.\n\n\"Stars, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" I could not take my eyes off the fountain. It was like having the creation of the universe in the middle of one's yard. Just who was this Mr. Whatley?\n\nSpecter trotted diligently away from the house, leading us over dark green hills flecked with drops of dew. We passed a squat iron fence that ran the length of the property, barely tall enough to keep out small animals. Lily observed it with narrowed eyes as she addressed her sons. \"Stay back from the fence, and under no circumstances are you to leave the property.\"\n\n\"Why not, Mother?\"\n\n\"The neighbors don't care for humans.\"\n\nA half mile away, the fence became a formidable, ornate gate twined with ivy. It was closed. A thick fog roiled ominously just beyond the property line. James pointed it out to his mother. \"It's just like in the orchard. Does it go all the way back to Everton?\"\n\n\"No.\" She did not elaborate any further, despite a lingering look of curiosity on her younger son's face. But Specter whinnied, and James forgot all about it. Paul did not. He looked toward me with a dark expression.\n\n\"Do you ever leave this place, Lily?\" I asked as carefully as one might speak to a dangerous animal that was at an advantage by having very large, sharp teeth.\n\n\"No. The estate is safe because that is what Mr. Whatley wishes it to be. The place beyond the gates is not quite as predictable.\"\n\n\"And what place might that be?\" I asked.\n\nBefore she could answer, Specter returned us to the front of the house. She looked as if she were about to reply, but then thought better of it and stepped down out of the carriage.\n\n\"I'm sure you must all be exhausted. Let me show you to your rooms.\" Lily entered the house and led us up the grand staircase, crossing over the rings of the floor tile, from sunrise to sunset, into the eastern wing of the mansion.\n\nShe took us into a room adorned in red and gold, with two beds set against separate alcove windows, two wardrobes, and a coffin-size toy chest. \"Boys, you'll be sleeping here.\"\n\nJames jumped onto one of the beds, claiming it as his own.\n\nPaul walked over to one of the windows and peered outside. \"Does the sun ever come up here?\"\n\nLily shut the drapes and turned Paul to the bed. \"There's nothing more beautiful than the night sky.\"\n\nThe boys undressed, and I hung their clothes in the wardrobes for when we would return home. Whenever that might be, I thought cynically.\n\nLily handed the boys fresh sets of pajamas. \"I picked these out myself.\"\n\nJames pulled his over his head immediately, but Paul stared at the clothing with suspicion. \"From where?\" he asked.\n\nLily wore a bewildered expression. \"A catalog. You've grown very curious in the past year.\"\n\n\"I've grown up a lot in the past year.\"\n\nHis mother smiled weakly and kissed him on the forehead. \"Would you like a bedtime story?\"\n\nHowever much Paul had grown up, it was not enough for him to reject being read a bedtime story curled next to his mother. He jumped into bed next to his younger brother and waited for Lily to join them. I immediately felt out of place, but was not sure why. It could not have been that I was jealous. Why should I have been? I wanted the boys to be closer to their mother. That was why I had gone against my better judgment and taken them back to the House of Darkling. That was the point. But suddenly I felt as if I were intruding upon something very private and intimate. I rose to leave the room, but Lily asked me to stay. She ran her fingers through James's hair and did not look up. I sat on the bed opposite the Darrows and waited for her to begin. She reached across the nightstand and grabbed hold of a knob set into the wall. An alcove swung open, and from it she extracted a book entitled Laurel Parker Wolfe's Tales of The Ending. She began to read:\n\nThe Sleeping King\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a castle in the sky and nothing else. From every turret and tower, only darkness could be seen. This suited the king quite well, for while his kingdom consisted of only the castle and the void, he had very few responsibilities. He was very old and tired, being immortal and having been king since before the beginning of Everything, and he had little to do but sleep in his chambers. But this was often easier said than done, for the king had five young sons, who took great pleasure in having noisy brawls in the stairwells.\n\nOne day, after the king had been stirred from an especially good dream, he banished the five princes from the castle and forced them out into the void. The princes found this to be a most unfortunate fate, for there was nothing but blackness and oblivion, and it was certainly very dull. For a long time they amused themselves with more fights and brawls, but after an aeon or two they grew tired of even this diversion and stood around in the dark looking for something to do.\n\nThe oldest of the princes was eager to return to the castle, for there were comfortable beds and large banquets every evening. He tried to enter, but the doors were firmly shut against him, and the servants had been given strict instructions from the king not to allow the princes back inside.\n\n\"We must find a way to appease Father,\" he said, and after he and his brothers had thought long and hard, they decided that the best way to win favor with the king was to flatter him with achievements and gifts. The oldest prince, having come up with the idea, was the first to attempt to win his father's forgiveness.\n\n\"I shall light the void for him, so that he might see his kingdom.\" With that, he began to cry, and every place his tears fell a star was born. He plucked out his eyes and threw them as far as he could, leaving behind a trail of glittering galaxies. When he was finished, he had his brothers place him beneath his father's tower, for he could no longer see, and he called out to the king. \"Father, see what I have done for you!\"\n\nThe old king, who had enjoyed an unbroken sleep much longer than he was used to, came to the balcony and was blinded by the unusual brightness.\n\n\"Bah! Now there is work to be done! Someone must keep the stars in the sky, and take them away when they burn out! Go, my son, and tend to your creation.\"\n\nThe oldest prince was most dismayed, but did as he was told and left to lord over the stars.\n\nThe second oldest prince, being much less intelligent than his older brother, learned nothing from this exchange. As soon as his father went back to sleep, he declared his own ambition to win his father's approval. \"I shall make a ground, so that he may travel his kingdom and have something to do besides sleep!\"\n\nWith that, he tore the bones from his body and ground them to dust, scattering them across the void and creating land. When he was finished, he had his brothers place him beneath his father's tower, for he could no longer walk, and he called out to the king. \"Father, see what I have done for you!\"\n\nThe old king, who had only just managed to get back to sleep, was unpleasantly reminded of how life had been when his sons were allowed to live in the castle, and was hardly in the mood to be impressed. He came to the balcony and was shocked by the vastness of his kingdom.\n\n\"Bah! Now there is work to be done! Someone must scout the land and find out where it ends! Go, my son, and tend to your creation.\"\n\nThe second oldest prince was most dismayed, but did as he was told and crawled across the land.\n\nThe middle brother was a very arrogant creature and, having lived in the shadow of his older brothers for so many years, was eager to succeed where they had failed. As soon as his father went back to sleep, he began preparations for his own creation.\n\n\"I shall make a sea, so that the crashing of the waves might soothe him as he sleeps.\" With that, he took a knife and cut deep into his breast. The blood from his body pooled over a portion of the land, until the castle stood on the shore of an immense ocean. When he was finished, he had his brothers place him beneath his father's tower, for he was very weak, and he called out to the king. \"Father, see what I have done for you!\"\n\nThe old king, who was now growing rather irritable at having been awoken so many times, stomped onto the balcony and was shocked by the appearance of the sea.\n\n\"Bah! Now there is work to be done, for the closeness of the water will only bring storms and flooding! Someone must sail the seas and warn us of bad weather! Go, my son, and tend to your creation.\"\n\nThe middle prince was most dismayed, but did as he was told and traveled across the ocean.\n\nThe second youngest brother was more cunning than all the rest, and while his brothers had failed, he had devised a scheme that would not only please his father but also improve his station in life. As soon as the king went back to sleep, he began to set his plan in motion.\n\n\"I shall give him subjects, so that they might worship him.\" The prince said this with a sly smile, and created the first subjects from his own flesh, until there was nothing left of him but tendon and bone. When he was finished, he had his brother place him beneath his father's tower, for he was but a skeleton, and he called out to the king. \"Father, see what I have done for you!\"\n\nThe old king was growing angry. He threw himself onto the balcony and was shocked to find that he now had actual subjects to govern.\n\n\"Bah! Now there is work to be done!\" he exclaimed. But before he could continue, the second youngest son interrupted his father.\n\n\"Yes, but I am happy to do it, Father! I will govern your subjects while you sleep!\"\n\nThe king said nothing for a moment, and then his face twisted into an expression of bemused spite. \"Ah, but as I am the king, there is no need for you to concern yourself with governance! Although someone will need to look after my subjects. They are ephemeral things, and even now they are dying. Go, my son, and tend to your creation.\"\n\nThe second youngest prince gaped for a moment, and then smiled. \"A Lord of the Dead is a king of all things, and the realm has room for but one ruler. I shall return when the dying is done, and on that day my father may find himself unable to ever sleep again.\" With that, he left to walk among the subjects of the kingdom as Death.\n\nThis left the youngest prince outside the castle, but no longer in emptiness. He was surrounded by land, sea, stars, and the specter of Death, each of which represented the failure of one of his brothers. Being the cleverest of the king's sons, he had learned from their mistakes. He had watched his brothers try and fail to win their father's approval even though none of them had attempted to consider the old king himself. The youngest did not wait for his father to return to his room. As soon as the king had sent away the second youngest prince, he called out to the king from beneath the balcony.\n\n\"Father, I will not offer you the baubles and trifles of my brothers, but the thing you want most.\"\n\nThis caught the king's attention, and his temper abated. \"And what would that be, my son?\"\n\n\"Sleep.\"\n\nThe youngest prince ripped his heart from his chest and opened it. The spark within became the moon in the sky, and the land darkened with moonlight and shadows. Instead of the dusty lands and the sprawling sea that had formerly surrounded the castle, there was now a black-green hill overlooking an empty moor. The subjects of the kingdom were nowhere to be found. The young prince went back to his place beneath the balcony.\n\nThe king was much impressed, but did not fully understand what had happened. \"What have you done?\"\n\n\"I have given you a place to end, my father. Sleep here, for while we are immortal and may never die, you will now know peace until Everything has run its course.\"\n\nThe king said nothing, and the youngest prince was unsure whether he had done something very wise or very foolish, but then his father began to cry. He left his balcony and threw open the doors to the castle. The king embraced his son for a long while, and when he was finished he set the young prince upon his throne. There were banquets and celebrations. The newly created subjects of the kingdom were invited, and the other princes even returned home for a brief while to begrudgingly join in the festivities. But when it was over, the old king returned to his chamber and went to sleep for the rest of eternity. The young prince governed in his stead and remains in his castle at The Ending of All Things, beloved by his people as the wisest and most generous creature in the land.\n\nThe boys were already fast asleep by the time Lily finished the story and set the book back on the nightstand. She kissed them both on the cheek and disentangled herself from between the children.\n\n\"Sleep well, my darlings.\"\n\nShe turned and left the room. I observed the boys one last time and followed her into my own quarters for the evening, which were decorated in muted blues and deep purples. A single four-poster bed sat at the center of the room, adrift in a sea of azure floor coverings.\n\n\"That was quite a story,\" I said.\n\n\"And somewhat strange, even for creation myths. But I thought it prudent to share as you'll be spending more time here. The people of this place have a different view of life and death.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I'm unclear as to which they prefer.\"\n\n\"A perceptive observation. It would most certainly depend upon whom you ask.\" Lily lingered silently for a moment before going back to the doorway. \"Breakfast is at nine.\"\n\n\"How can you tell when it's morning?\"\n\n\"You can't. I\u2014\" She stopped herself. \"I'll fetch you and the children when it's time.\"\n\nLily Darrow left and closed the door behind her, leaving me alone to wonder why someone who purported to be the lady of the house was showing her guests to their rooms.\nCHAPTER 8\n\nInterrupted Moonlight\n\nI dressed for bed, but couldn't sleep. The House of Darkling was flush with ambient noises: creaking floorboards, raspy breathing from down the hall, a scuttling sound just beyond the door to my room. These, combined with the occasional smell of ammonia, were enough to keep anyone awake. I wondered if the children were having any trouble sleeping. At least they had each other.\n\nThe wall opposite my bed was made up of wardrobes from different eras, all of them carpentered together into an oversized curiosity chest with half-moon handles on each of the little doors. I opened them one by one and explored the many novelties of Mr. Whatley's collection. There was a hand mirror that sapped what light there was from my room and used it to illuminate the world beheld in the reflection, a glass eye that rolled in one continuous figure eight, something mysterious in a velvet purse that pulsed like a human heart, a pedestal of crystal phials glittering with liquid light, and a wax dollhouse in a constant state of melting as its tiny wax occupants were crowned in flames instead of hair. I paused at this last compartment and they seemed to notice that I was staring at them, for the largest one, whom I assumed to be the patriarch of the house, leapt down from the opened alcove and onto the floor. Four other candle people followed, and they marched in a single-file line to the door of my room, waiting patiently for me to open it.\n\nI wondered at Lily's comment about the house knowing what its inhabitants wanted most, for I found that the natural urges of the body required me to turn away from the dollhouse and leave my room in search of a lavatory. If there was one thing I had not wanted to do, it was to traipse through the house at night (whenever that might be) without Lily Darrow at my side. She had assured us that it was safe, but the strange noises emanating from every nook and shadow told a different tale altogether. There was an elaborate beauty about the place, but it was so bombastic that I could not shake the suspicion that it hid something more sinister. Lily was not being entirely forthcoming about how she had found her way here, to say nothing of the enigmatic Mr. Whatley, who had yet to introduce himself. I made up my mind to take the children back to Everton as soon as they'd had breakfast, but for the immediate future, I had to find the lavatory. I pulled on a housecoat from the wardrobe and opened the door.\n\nThe wax men stuck their flaming heads around the lip of the door and looked in both directions before jumping out into the corridor. They waved me onward. The hallways were empty but filled with the same noises that had disturbed my sleep. Trailing behind in the shadows of my new acquaintances, I went from one door to another, attempting to recall which of them led into the lavatory. The first one I tried opened into what appeared to be a small earthen burrow, the kind dug out by rabbits and voles. But this room was nearly as large as my own, and I crossed myself, thankful that it had been unoccupied. The next door was the correct one, and when I was finished I found myself to be quite awake.\n\nNormally in such a situation I would read until I fell asleep, but as it was I had not thought to bring along a book. I remembered the large, impressive library at the other end of the mansion. Surely I could find my way there without any trouble? While it was true that the house was eerie and strange, it had so far only proved itself to be odd, rather than dangerous. Besides, what better way to uncover the true nature of the place than to explore it alone? I would simply collect a volume or two from the library and return to my room.\n\n\"Could you please take me to the library?\" I whispered to the lead candle man. He nodded briskly and took off down the grand staircase.\n\nI could not ignore the number of small sounds that seemed to come from all corners of the house. Dripping water, something heavy dragging along uneven floorboards, the clanking of dishware; none of them were very loud, but taken altogether they sounded as if there were a great deal of activity occurring just beyond whatever closed door I happened to stand next to. The sounds followed me down the hallway with the large oval windows looking out over the estate. The metal gate at the entrance was barely visible in the mist, but still closed. I pushed open the doors at the end of the corridor and entered the library. The wax men stayed behind in the hallway, obviously sensitive to the realities of vast quantities of paper.\n\nI wasn't exactly sure what I was looking for. The book titles I had examined in the parlor weren't even in English, but then I supposed that if Lily could read them, then so could I. The first circle of the library was by far the largest, and I started there. Each of the shelves was labeled with a small silver plaque, some of them with familiar subjects, like agriculture, astrology, and astronomy, and others with more abstract areas of interest, such as death, demagogy, and demonology. I stopped at one of the larger sections in the Es, labeled \"Every Place There Is,\" which I interpreted as Travel, and took away a book entitled Balthazar.\n\nI opened the front cover, looking for some sort of description, but found only lines of elaborate calligraphy in a language I could not understand. But that did not seem to matter. The library disappeared completely, and I found myself on a low sea cliff overlooking a smooth, sandy beach, book still in hand. I nearly stumbled over the precipice in shock and wonderment, but quickly caught myself. Lily had warned me about the cunning nature of Darkling's literature. As I regained my composure, I turned around and saw a magnificent scarlet-colored castle, or perhaps a fortress, clinging to the edge of the rock. Women paraded along the walkways with pastel parasols, while the men wore expensive-looking suits and black top hats. There was a breeze coming in from the ocean, and the calls of seagulls overhead. I closed the book, and the scene at the beach disappeared with it. I turned around to observe the library, but it was the same as it had been the moment before. I placed the book under my arm, careful not to open it, and removed another book from the shelf, this one entitled India. The candle men were still waiting for me when I returned to the hallway.\n\n\"Back to my room, please,\" I said. They took me through the House of Darkling a different way than we had come, into an indoor forest with branches made of bone, past a bar whose walls were built out of packing crates, and into a room so dark I began to feel claustrophobic, staying close enough to my guides that I nearly stepped on them when they came to a sudden halt. They huddled together and extinguished themselves, leaving me alone and anxious in the chamber until another light appeared before us.\n\nA candelabra lit with quivering flames hovered in the emptiness, revealing nothing until it crept closer and a small hand appeared wrapped around its brass base, followed by the mischievous face of the boy, Duncan. For a moment I was sure that he had seen me, but he continued forward without a word. A stranger followed behind him. Even in the gloom I could tell that it was a large man, and he held a hat in front of his chest.\n\nI followed them. The candle men grabbed hold of my robe in an effort to stop me, but I shook them off. If I was going to protect the children, then there were secrets here that I had to learn.\n\nDuncan strode slowly through the house and paused before a marble bas-relief sculpture set into the wall, which depicted a litany of faces (human and otherwise) agape in agony.\n\n\"Oh yes, please. Please . . .\" said the man with a hint of desperation. His eyes were small and watery, set too deeply in a fat, chinless face, with a wattle that trembled as his body shook with excitement. Duncan's expression of bemusement never changed as he pressed a finger into the eye socket of one of the smaller characters from the sculpture, pushing it back until it clicked into place. The wall swung open slowly, heavy with the weight of the marble, and the boy stepped aside. He looked back in my direction and brought a finger to his lips before joining the stranger in the secret room, leaving the door open for me to follow. I accepted this rather blatant invitation and trailed behind them.\n\nI entered a circular chamber enveloped in concentric rings of billowing silk veils. They turned slowly in place, so that instead of walls there were only spinning layers of gauzy partitions, with gaps at random intervals in the fabric. To move from one ring to the next I had to step quickly through the openings until I stood just beyond the center of the room, where Duncan was strapping the large man into a metal chair. A wheeled table stood beside them, and on it a silver tray that held a smoky-colored phial with a white label I could not make out, a syringe, a set of forceps, and what looked to be a single lump of sugar.\n\n\"Yes, yes . . . I've been waiting so long.\" The man closed his eyes. Tears streamed down his corpulent cheeks as he relaxed into the chair, and the boy removed the stopper from the phial to extract the contents with the syringe. He injected a black liquid into the center of the sugar cube and set the needle aside, using the forceps to place the modified confection into the open, eager mouth of the stranger.\n\nThe man bit down with a crunch and immediately strained against the chair's straps as his entire body began to convulse. Duncan ignored this and tidied up the tray, sealing the phial and capping the syringe before glancing once again in my direction with a sly, knowing look. The man in the chair had stopped moving. The boy initiated the process of releasing him as I backed out of the room to find the candle men still waiting for me, their flames reignited and beckoning me from the darkness.\n\nI could not be sure of what I had just seen, but it was most certainly sordid and secretive. Why Duncan had allowed me to witness such a thing was even more vexing than the fact that such a room existed within the confines of Darkling. I was being toyed with, and I was not pleased.\n\nWe soon reached the wing where the children and I were to spend the night. Moonlight streamed through the window at the end of the corridor. I had opened the door to my room when a shadow passed over the wall. The flames of the wax men sputtered out, and they ran back to their alcove.\n\nI spun around, but there was nothing behind me. It happened again, and this time I noticed something moving beyond the window, interrupting the moonlight. Curiosity got the better of my fear, and I padded quietly to the end of the hallway to investigate.\n\nBelow the window was the pond, and an elderly man whom I could only assume to be the groundskeeper was shoveling wet, viscous slabs of something that looked like meat from a wheelbarrow into the pond. For a moment nothing happened. The meat plunked into the water and sank immediately. But then something bubbled and bulged beneath the water as it had during our tour of the estate, and a tentacle emerged like a headless snake, and then another, and another, until a half dozen of them swayed in the water, twisting and curling, finally snapping at the hunks of meat already in the pond. The old man wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve and continued emptying the contents of his wheelbarrow. The limbs of the creature submerged in the depths of the water shuddered hungrily.\n\nI backed away from the window, my heart beating against the silver cross I still wore. I did not scream. I did not swoon. But I felt with complete certainty that I had to get the children out of the house as soon as possible.\n\n\"Don't be frightened.\" A voice came from behind me. I whipped around.\n\nLily Darrow stood at the other end of the hallway, staring at me with calm reserve.\n\n\"How could you invite your children to such a terrible place?\"\n\n\"I'll admit that it is strange, but terrible . . . no.\"\n\n\"The thing in the pond\u2014\"\n\n\"Was eating.\" She approached the window and looked out over the estate. \"Just because it does not look or behave as we do is not enough to make it evil. It would never harm you or the children.\" The shadows of the tentacles in the pond passed over us, and she observed the books under my arm. \"I see that you've been to the library.\"\n\n\"Among other places,\" I said with a small measure of disdain, but I would not reveal to her what I had seen. Perhaps Lily herself was unaware of the kind of business that this Mr. Whatley trafficked in. \"I couldn't sleep.\"\n\n\"Neither could I. I've been worried about the children.\"\n\n\"As have I.\"\n\n\"I would never let anything happen to them, you must realize that.\"\n\n\"And how would you protect them from things I can scarcely find the words to describe?\" I gestured to the window.\n\n\"I cannot, but the master of this house is perfectly suited to do so.\"\n\n\"I find myself growing exceedingly suspicious over the arrangement you've made with this Mr. Whatley, who, I might point out, has yet to introduce himself.\"\n\n\"He's a very busy man. But he'll be at breakfast tomorrow. When you meet him, you'll understand why I agreed to stay. Please, if you still don't trust me after tomorrow morning, you can take the children and never bring them back.\" She gently touched my arm and looked into my eyes. She was a cipher of a woman, an odd amalgamation of strength and fragility, and I hoped that would be enough to keep whatever lived in the House of Darkling at bay.\n\n\"Then why do you worry?\"\n\n\"They've grown.\" She softened a little, and I could not keep myself from doing the same.\n\n\"Children have a tendency to do that when you're not looking.\"\n\n\"So much time has passed. Perhaps I should have let them go. I've been terribly selfish.\"\n\n\"Nonsense.\" I put my hand over hers and smiled in sadness. \"Any chance for them to know you is too important to ignore. I wish I had known my mother a little better, before she died.\"\n\nWe stood facing one another in silence, the other woman's head tilted to one side, as if she were deciding something. Then she embraced me softly.\n\n\"Until tomorrow.\"\n\nShe turned and left the hallway. I realized that I had no idea where she slept, and I wondered again what she had been doing up while the rest of us were in bed.\n\nThe noises in the house never subsided, but I was able to escape them with the help of the books from the library. The lines of strange calligraphy in the volumes translated themselves into the sights and smells of India. I wandered through the streets of Lucknow and Bombay, traveled through the courtyards of the Taj Mahal dressed in nothing more than my nightgown, a barefooted ghost unobserved by all. Each page took me to another part of the country, and I explored each of them until my legs were ready to give out from under me. I closed the book and returned to my room at the House of Darkling, where I immediately dropped onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.\n\nI dreamt that my mother walked along a windswept moor in nothing but a nightgown identical to the one that I wore, still dead but walking all the same. I tried to convince her to come back inside, to a house in the distance, but she told me to let her be. The wind continued tearing at her, stripping off her clothes, her hair, and then her flesh as I looked on in horror, helplessly grasping at her against the storm, crying out as she literally ran through my fingers.\n\nI was already dressed when there was a sharp knock at the door to my room.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nA maid entered. She was young, with the same sallow, peach-colored complexion as Duncan. She motioned for me to join her in the hallway. I checked on the boys, but their room was empty. My chest tightened. I swept down the grand staircase, across the segmented foyer of the entryway, lights flashing and dimming with each step, and found the dining hall at the other end of the house.\n\nWhen I entered I felt as if I had stumbled upon some medieval banquet. The massive table was laid out with slabs of meat still on the bone, platters of sliced fruit, tureens filled with egg and cheese, urns of coffee and tea, great heaps of fish, and a number of other delicacies that I could scarcely identify.\n\nJames and Paul were seated next to one another, across from their mother. A pale teenage girl with sleek blond hair sat next to Lily. The heads of the table were occupied by two gentlemen. The first I recognized as the large man from the night before, seemingly recovered from the previous evening's indulgences as he dined on a tray of sausage and ham. The second I could only assume to be the oft-mentioned Mr. Whatley. The two men stood from their chairs.\n\n\"Charlotte, so good of you to join us,\" said Lily. \"May I introduce you to Mr. Samson\"\u2014the heavyset gentleman bowed his head, still chewing\u2014\"and of course, Mr. Whatley.\"\n\nI nodded congenially. Mr. Whatley was imposing, not in terms of weight or girth, but in proportion, not quite a giant, but oversized compared to what one would think of as normal. His substantial hands picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed it at the corners of his mouth, his thin lips framed by a rugged face, the kind that is never completely clean-shaven. He had a windswept look about him, his hair wild and disheveled, his clothing very fine but rumpled, his shirt not entirely tucked in, his collar askew, yet the most interesting thing about him was his eyes\u2014so dark that no light escaped them, giving off no reflection. They were unreadable, and as we looked at one another from across the table I felt a swell of apprehension. He was not a man to trifle with.\n\n\"Welcome, Mrs. Markham.\" His voice was deep and commanded the same power as his eyes, yet there was a swagger to it, as if he couldn't be bothered to take anything seriously. \"Please. Sit.\"\n\nIt sounded less like an invitation and more like a command, and so I hovered for a moment just to see what he would do. Whatley had gone back to his breakfast, and when he noticed that I had not complied with his request, he leaned forward and spoke to me again.\n\n\"So good of you to bring the children.\" He gestured with his hand at the chair Lily had offered me.\n\n\"Children need their mothers, little boys most of all,\" I said. I nodded imperceptibly to Mrs. Darrow and took my seat next to James and Paul. I did not wish to come off as impertinent or as a troublemaker, at least not just then. I wanted to test him, and so I had. He seemed patient, the sort of predator that prefers to lie in wait.\n\n\"Alas, there is not a strong maternal feeling among the people of The Ending, Mrs. Markham,\" said Mr. Samson between bites.\n\n\"Then I am sorry for you.\" I placed my napkin on my lap and began to serve myself.\n\nMr. Whatley smirked at me, his thin lips pulled to the left corner of his mouth. \"Are you now?\"\n\n\"Yes. There is nothing like a mother's love. One must value it while one can.\" I nodded to the boys and to Lily.\n\n\"So long as it benefits the child?\" said Mr. Whatley in a more serious tone.\n\n\"Naturally.\"\n\n\"Then it's for the best that most of ours depart. Some mothers have a hunger for their children that can't be satisfied by love.\" He said this with relish, his face an expression of mock sympathy in everything but his eyes, which observed me without emotion like a reptile's. \"It's not without precedent, even in the world of the living.\"\n\nSamson cleared his throat and brought a napkin to his lips. \"Come now, my friend. Must you use that phrase? 'World of the living,' indeed. We are just as alive, are we not?\"\n\n\"Perhaps even more so, as we do not die. But then again, most of us do not exactly live, either.\"\n\nThe large man chortled at this. \"Conserve some of that wit, Whatley, for when I finally convince you to join us.\"\n\n\"Please, sir. No politics at the table.\" The pale, blond girl seated next to Mr. Whatley spoke up with refined enthusiasm. She was severely beautiful in a cold sort of way, with arched eyebrows and an upturned nose. Her eyes were so pale that they were colorless, and they shone with enough light to compensate for the dark opacity of the man who sat to her right.\n\n\"You have my apologies, my dear.\"\n\n\"Quite all right, Mr. Samson. My father hardly needs the encouragement; he can be ever so boorish as it is. I've tried to train him the best I can, but he's simply hopeless.\"\n\n\"I prefer impertinent,\" said Mr. Whatley.\n\n\"It's all the same to me. It will never do at all if you hope to marry me off.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I don't want you to marry, Olivia.\"\n\n\"Of course you do, Father. Don't patronize me. I simply detest being patronized. You want me married as much as I do or you would never have procured a governess, let alone a human governess.\" She looked at Mrs. Darrow and smiled gratefully before patting her hand. \"Father demands the best for me.\"\n\n\"The best?\" I asked. It felt a strange sort of thing to say, using mankind as an indicator of quality, like the mink in a fur coat, or a particular kind of tea.\n\n\"Humans are the height of fashion.\"\n\n\"For now,\" said Mr. Whatley dismissively.\n\n\"Whatever for?\" I asked. I was most confused.\n\nMr. Samson folded his hands together and placed them beneath his lack of chin. \"We are immortal things, Mrs. Markham, and there is nothing duller than eternity. To pretend for a time that we know what it is like to be mortal is a mercy, however short-lived it might be.\"\n\n\"One must stay current with the trends of society.\" Olivia sipped on her tea, pinkie extended.\n\nMr. Whatley leaned back in his chair with lazy pompousness. \"On the contrary, I could do without society altogether. It's such a tiresome thing.\"\n\n\"All I require of you is that you're mildly agreeable until after my coming-out ball,\" said the girl to her father.\n\n\"I have already agreed to your terms, my love. Am I not wearing this silly thing?\" He plucked at the skin of his face so that it stretched and snapped back into place like a rubber mask. Paul jumped in his chair, while James cackled maniacally at the display. For myself I pushed my plate away, having thoroughly lost my appetite.\n\n\"You wear it, but not well,\" Olivia went on.\n\n\"Then you must be more specific the next time you make a bargain. One must be careful with what one agrees to.\"\n\n\"A valuable lesson,\" said Mr. Samson as he stood from the table.\n\n\"Leaving us so soon?\" asked Mr. Whatley.\n\n\"I'm afraid I must be on my way. Thank you again for your hospitality. You shall not forget what we discussed?\"\n\n\"I shall consider it, nothing more.\"\n\n\"That will be acceptable. Good day to you all.\" The large man departed the dining room, leaving a lull in the conversation that I was eager to break.\n\n\"I'm afraid the children and I must shortly return to Everton. Their father will soon begin to worry.\"\n\nMr. Whatley leaned over the table and sipped at his tea. \"Mr. Darrow, you say? What is he like? Lily has been rather cryptic.\"\n\nMrs. Darrow jumped in immediately with a flash of an innocuous, sociable expression. \"Mr. Whatley, why don't you show them the main collection after breakfast? It is ever so interesting.\"\n\n\"Splendid idea!\" If he noticed Lily's obvious intrusion into the conversation at the mention of her husband, he pretended not to, although his eyes remained darkly mysterious.\n\n\"What do you collect, exactly?\" I asked out of politeness more than curiosity, and in an effort to divert attention from the apparently uncomfortable topic of Mr. Darrow.\n\n\"It's better to show than to tell.\" Mr. Whatley winked at me without any regard to propriety, and I looked down at my plate as I blushed, completely unprepared to deal with such a person. I had expected some cold, hard miser, the sort who would flourish in an eternal night like the one present at the House of Darkling, stifling all beauty and withering all life. But Mr. Whatley was strangely playful and in control of a quiet power that, when taken with his disheveled appearance, was quite striking and a contrast to the beautiful melancholy of the master of Everton.\n\nWhen everyone else was finished eating, Mr. Whatley stood from the table. \"Well then, by now you must have seen some of the eccentricities of the house?\" He didn't wait for a response. \"A cabinet of curiosities is enough for some. A small wardrobe with antiquities and keepsakes from the places one has been. But a true collector lives and breathes his collection.\" He began to leave the dining hall, continuing to talk as he went and expecting us to follow close behind, which we did. At the end of one hallway, beneath a portrait of an austere-looking woman with tentacles instead of hands, he pointed out a stone dais that held a statue of a man, the shadow of which passed over a circle of markings with various labels, like CHILDHOOD, YOUTH, and MIDDLE AGE. In another room there was a spinning wheel that spun water, and a vase that, when held and turned clockwise, changed its pattern so that it was always different.\n\n\"The House of Darkling is my life's work, full of oddities and marvels, some of them trinkets and some of them more . . . useful.\" He led us into the library and up the spiral staircase. When we reached the top level of the library, he went across the bridge and, after turning back to us with a dramatic pause, opened the door to his collection.\n\n\"This way, if you please.\"\n\nThe room was like a mausoleum, starkly furnished in ivory, opal, and alabaster, with a tall ceiling that opened up into a glass dome identical to the one found in the library. The natural light of the evening sky was enough to illuminate the gargantuan room, which extended along the entire length of the house, branching off every now and then into corridors with similar items on display, galleries within galleries, like chapels in a cathedral.\n\n\"A collector is only as good as his collection, they say. This place holds all of my more valuable items. These are my Emotions.\" Mr. Whatley pointed to the first section. Both sides of the hallway were lined with alabaster statues lit from behind in small pools of light. They were ancient things, reminiscent of the golden ages of Greece or Rome, naked, handsome figures, over four dozen of them, each one in a different pose. I approached one labeled Envy. The statue was of a man, his arms folded and his eyes looking sideways at something with an expression of distaste. As I looked at it I began to feel very insignificant. Mr. Whatley had certainly accomplished quite a lot if he had the luxury to work on such an expansive personal compilation of relics and antiquities, whereas what had I done but lose every person I had ever loved? I folded my arms and began to watch Mr. Whatley from the corner of my eye, before Lily pulled me away from the statue. The sensation left me as quickly as it came, and I was myself again.\n\n\"It's best not to get too close to some of them,\" she said.\n\nWe continued down the corridor, and I kept an eye on the boys so they did not linger too long before any of the statues, especially the ones like Lust that were too obscene to warrant a description. Beyond the display of emotions were landscapes painted on panes of glass. They seemed to provide their own illumination, pulsing faintly in the gloom.\n\n\"These are perhaps some of my favorite pieces,\" said Mr. Whatley.\n\n\"What are they?\" Paul spoke up as he peered at a painting of a sprawling metropolis.\n\n\"Places. Or doorways to places.\"\n\nPaul reached out to touch the glass picture of the landscape, but Mr. Whatley grabbed his hand away with gentle control. \"They're not to be touched, unless you wish to become stranded there without any hope of returning. Besides that, they're incredibly fragile and easily ruined. If you find one that piques your interest, simply ask and I can create a doorway in the orchard, like the one to Everton.\"\n\n\"Are you familiar with Everton, Mr. Whatley?\" I asked.\n\n\"Only from Lily's stories. I have not yet had the pleasure. Perhaps someday soon you would be good enough to give me a guided tour?\"\n\nI was so taken aback by this that all I could do was nod tersely in agreement.\n\nOlivia gave a dramatic sigh. \"Father, must you show them everything? My lesson with Mrs. Darrow was supposed to begin twenty minutes ago.\"\n\n\"Whatever love wants. There will be plenty of time to see the rest, and there is still much more to see.\" He led everyone out of his collection and locked the door behind us. As we went down the staircase to the bottom of the library, Lily pulled me aside and spoke to me as we walked.\n\n\"Duncan can escort you back through the orchard, but I hope you'll be able to visit us again soon? Perhaps the day after next?\" There it was, laid bare before us\u2014the moment of truth. Would we return? Darkling was certainly a very interesting place, and the Whatleys were odd but not obviously threatening. This did not release them from my suspicions, but I softened toward them. Mr. Whatley appeared to be a man of knowledge, and there was much that could be learned at the House of Darkling, things that would prove impossible at Everton. This alone was worth exploring, and considering it in conjunction with Lily's desire to continue her relationship with her children, I saw little reason to decline the invitation. I could not ignore what I had seen of the creature in the pond, or Mr. Samson's interlude with Duncan, but if there was one thing I had learned as a girl in India it was not to presume to understand a thing before one had all the requisite facts.\n\n\"I suppose we could.\"\n\n\"Excellent. I'm planning a surprise for the boys.\"\n\n\"There's no need to go to any trouble. Having their mother back from the dead is more than enough excitement for one week.\"\n\nLily lowered her voice and slowed our pace to put some distance between our conversation and the others. \"As you can see, my position here is a professional one, just as yours is at Everton.\"\n\nI gulped down a knot of guilt that rose in my throat, remembering the way I felt when seated next to Mr. Darrow in the music room, alone in the middle of the night . . .\n\n\"Can I count on you to return?\"\n\n\"I said I would return with the children and I meant it. I don't entirely trust this place, but I understand that you do. For now, that's enough.\"\n\n\"Good.\" She squeezed my wrist. At the bottom of the library we bade the Whatleys good-bye. Olivia went to prepare for her lesson, and Mr. Whatley, after taking my hand into his own large fingers and kissing it, nodded to Lily and began wandering aimlessly through the house, stopping every so often to admire the pieces of his collection that decorated each interior. Lily escorted us across the foyer of the entryway, a kaleidoscope of rooms within rooms, to the back entrance into the orchard, where Duncan was waiting for us. She kissed the children good-bye and watched from the steps of the great house as we disappeared through the trees.\nCHAPTER 9\n\nBazaar and Bizarre\n\nI had never been to a village bazaar before the one in Blackfield. Mrs. Mulbus spent the whole week leading up to it baking mincemeat pies, spice cakes, and chocolate biscuits, too busy to even bother shouting at Jenny, who sulked from the lack of attention and loudly broke a number of dishes with more than a little dramatic flair, all the while looking over her shoulder at her tormentor with something like desperation in her eyes. When she could be bothered, Mrs. Mulbus would tut quietly to herself, and Jenny would happily scowl back at her with affectionate venom.\n\nWhen I passed by Mrs. Mulbus's table with the boys and Mr. Darrow, she snuck some biscuits into the hands of the children, thinking I hadn't noticed. I was too struck by the normality of it to say anything. Following the discovery of Darkling, it seemed a long while since I had been plagued by something as simple as the children spoiling their appetites. The boys ran ahead of us and crammed the biscuits into their mouths, gulping down crumbs and wiping the bits of chocolate from their faces onto their gloves, as pleased with their own cunning as they were with their secret snack.\n\nAutumn was ending. There was very little green left in all of Blackfield. The surrounding forests shook in the breeze like dying embers, brilliant patches of gold and red erupting from the trees as showers of sparks into the ashen sky. James kicked through the piles of parchment-colored leaves that littered the grounds of St. Michael's Church. Mr. Scott walked arm in arm with Cornelia Reese, who was not only the richest woman in the village but also the catalyst for the bazaar itself. Having come from the city, she made no effort to hide her displeasure with the quaint nature of our little church, and she told anyone who would listen\u2014Mr. Scott most of all\u2014how she intended to see to it that St. Michael's be cultivated into a proper place of worship befitting the level of patronage she could offer. And so, every Sunday for the past few months, poor Mr. Scott had reminded everyone who could hear him over the din of birdsong wafting down from the rafters to do their part. The turnout at the bazaar spoke very highly of his place in the esteem of the villagers, for although many people could not stand to see Cornelia Reese succeed, it was apparent that this sentiment had been overcome by those who wished to see the vicar prosper.\n\nThere were other tables from Everton in addition to the cook's. Ellen and some of the other maids had a display of handmade dolls with simple button eyes but exquisitely detailed dresses. Mrs. Norman sat enclosed in a small tent, looking haughty and mysterious in a cloth turban that was woefully inaccurate if she intended to conjure the image of an Indian swami. Some of the villagers, Cornelia Reese in particular, seemed mortified by the idea of having a fortune-teller on the grounds of the church. They glared at Mrs. Norman as they passed by her booth, some of them more than once to make their opinions known, and all of them crossed themselves with exaggerated devotion. If Mrs. Norman noticed, she neglected to give them the benefit of a reaction, for hers was the busiest of all the tables, and by the end of the day no one had contributed more to the proliferation of St. Michael's Church than the housekeeper from Everton.\n\nThe bazaar was a boisterous affair, despite the occasional social posturing. Mr. Watersalt, the carpenter, had built a small puppet theater next to Ellen's table and was demonstrating the usefulness of her handmade dolls with a bit of theatrical flair and a vast assortment of tiny, high-pitched dolls' voices. Mildred Wallace, who was usually too concerned with the lives of others to enjoy her own, tried to show anyone who would listen the ornate clock her husband had constructed that, on the hour, displayed a whole array of carved, lifelike figures that very much resembled herself. Even Mr. Darrow seemed to forget his melancholy. He greeted everyone he passed with a dashing smile and carried James on his shoulders until the boy was persuaded to join a group of children in a complicated game of tag that mostly involved running in circles around the church and screaming as loudly as possible.\n\n\"It occasionally astounds me that he can be so happy,\" Mr. Darrow observed.\n\n\"Children are more resilient than we are, but they do still need us to set an example,\" I said, obliquely referencing Mr. Darrow's unfulfilled promise to spend more time with his sons.\n\n\"You are a wise woman, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"You flatter me, Mr. Darrow.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I should do so more often.\"\n\nWe gazed at one another, lost in the moment until Constable Brickner cut between us. Mr. Darrow shook his hand with enthusiasm, much to the other man's surprise, for he was immediately suspicious of such goodwill. Together they went to the Larken brothers' table, which was copiously populated by both many kinds of ale and the majority of the men of the village. I asked after Susannah, since I hadn't yet seen her at the bazaar, but Lionel had lost track of her the hour before last. Mr. Darrow found Fredricks, who was well ahead of everyone else in his enjoyment of the festivities. It was then that Mr. Darrow took his leave of us to purchase a pint for his old friend and confidant.\n\nThat left Paul and me to wander the grounds of the church alone. We drifted away from the noise and the laughter and the scent of food, into the graveyard. The tombstone of Lily Darrow was unchanged from our last visit, and yet it meant so many other things than it had before. Paul touched the chiseled numbers that marked the date of her death.\n\n\"It's still here.\"\n\n\"What did you expect to find?\"\n\n\"I don't know . . . maybe a crack running through it? Just something different.\"\n\nWe stood beside one another in silence. I didn't know what to say. I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he continued.\n\n\"I wanted to see her again so badly. I dreamt of her every night, and every morning I would wake up and remember that she was gone. It made me sad, but it was worth it just to pretend for a while that everything was all right. But somehow this is worse, because it's real, and I still have to leave her. I can hug her, but she's still dead and Father is alone. We can't take her back with us, and everything is still broken.\"\n\n\"Would you rather that she never came back?\"\n\n\"No. I don't know. I wish nothing ever had to change.\"\n\n\"That's all life is. It must change, or else we never would.\"\n\nPaul looked so sullen, his bright blue eyes dull with a sadness that resembled his father's more and more every day. I ran my fingers through his soft black hair. \"We don't have to go back, you know, not if you don't want to.\"\n\n\"Yes, we do. I'm not ready to say good-bye, and neither is she.\" Paul stood from his mother's grave and returned to the bazaar without any pretense of enjoyment. I followed behind him, until Roland caught my gaze with a friendly, nervous wave. He was dressed in his best Sunday clothes, and he had attempted to slick down his dark hair with copious amounts of pomade, but instead of refining his appearance the waxy substance sharpened the strands into asymmetrical spikes that lent him a feral, yet also innocent look.\n\n\"Good bazaar, eh?\"\n\n\"I can see that you've dressed for the occasion.\"\n\n\"A fellow's got to look nice once in a while, or he's not much of a fellow at all. Is Mrs. Larken all right?\"\n\n\"I suppose so. I haven't seen her in a day or two\u2014\" He ran past me, toward a disheveled young woman with wild red hair. He slid an arm beneath her and sat her on the ground. Her hands were bleeding.\n\n\"Susannah?\"\n\n\"Charlotte!\" She smiled at me with relief, and patted Roland's arm. \"I've so much to tell you!\"\n\n\"What on earth has happened to you?\"\n\n\"You're going to think I'm insane.\" She put her head in her hands, smearing blood onto her forehead. It was difficult to get the groundskeeper to leave her side, but eventually he relented and agreed to fetch Lionel, occasionally glancing back at us with a dark expression. I took Susannah into the church and sat her down in a pew before the altar.\n\n\"I could never think you mad,\" I told her.\n\n\"At least that makes one of us.\"\n\n\"Let's start at the beginning. What happened to you?\"\n\nShe sat back in the pew and smoothed down her hair before taking a deep breath. She told me her story.\n\n\"I'd brought along a special cask of ale for the reverend. Lionel forgets himself sometimes when he starts drinking with the boys, and I didn't trust him to keep it set aside, so I hid it in the cellar of the church for safekeeping. But when I went down to retrieve it, the room had changed, Charlotte. There was a door where there had never been one before. For a moment I thought I had gotten turned around and discovered some new chamber beneath the parish, but no . . . it was the same old stone walls, and the cask of ale was on the table right where I had left it.\n\n\"There was nothing special about the door aside from the fact that it hadn't existed just a few hours before. It was made of cherrywood, with no special markings and a plain brass doorknob to match. I was about to leave, but then it opened inward by itself. I didn't want to know what was inside, you must believe me. I tried to go back up the stairs, but there was a darkness on the other side of that door that spilled into the cellar. The entire room went black, and soon I couldn't tell which way was up. I felt along the walls trying to find my way out, and then I saw a light.\n\n\"I went toward it, desperate to get out of that accursed place, but was disappointed to find myself staring into a mirror. I spun around in an attempt to locate the source of the light, but the rest of the room was still awash in gloom. I pressed my forehead against the glass, starting to feel exasperated, when a pair of black hands slid around my throat. Gloved hands. His hands. I tried to scream, but he was already choking the life out of me. I tried to thrash against him, but I could find no one behind me, just the hands closing tighter around my throat, and yet, I wasn't dying. In fact the light before my eyes multiplied, and I was surrounded by a half dozen similar mirrors. My reflection was different in each of them. In the closest one, I was drowning underwater. In the next, I was burning alive. There were scenes of me with my throat slit, being mauled by a wolf, shot in the head\u2014every terrible way that I've ever been afraid to die, forced upon me. I felt myself growing faint. The hands were tightening their grip around my throat, and the mirror images multiplied again.\n\n\"I saw a vision of myself the same way I had seen Nanny Prum . . . coming apart from the inside. In that moment, even as I began to lose consciousness, I felt something rise up out of me, from some deep place I didn't know I had. I stopped trying to pry the fingers from around my throat, and with all my might, I punched my fist through the looking glass.\n\n\"Every mirror shattered at once. I grabbed ahold of a glass shard and cut at the hands still clutching my neck. They shuddered and fumbled against me, trying to regain their grip, but then stopped altogether. We were no longer alone in the darkness. There were other women with us, visions of myself flayed, burned, bleeding . . . all of them stepping through the broken glass to lunge at the man in black with a fury I could never have dreamt I was capable of. I turned away and ran into the gloom that surrounded us, until the world felt solid beneath my feet once more and I could feel the cool stone walls of the church cellar. I turned around to close the door, but in its place was nothing but a pile of soot and cinders.\"\n\nShe stared at me when she was done and waited for me to say something. I didn't know what to believe until she unclenched her bloodied hands to reveal a small shard of mirror glass.\n\n\"I didn't dream it, Charlotte. It happened. What do I do?\"\n\nMy mouth tasted like ash. My mother, my father, Jonathan, Nanny Prum, and now Susannah . . . all of them set upon by a mysterious man in black.\n\n\"Be careful. Be watchful.\" Mrs. Norman's warning became my own. \"It's time for you to find your husband and to tell him what's happened.\"\n\nA man waits for you. He watches you.\n\nBut why? What did he want from me? The specter of Death had hung over my life since I was a girl, taking everyone I had ever loved. But then, with a wave of triumph, I remembered: Death is not an absolute. I knew someone who had fought against it and won, and I realized that with her help, I would be able to put an end to this horror once and for all.\nCHAPTER 10\n\nA Dangerous Game\n\nThe next afternoon, I took the children back to the House of Darkling. A young man of sixteen or seventeen years was already waiting for our party on the other side of the swirling mist. He bowed before us in greeting, and I nearly introduced myself to him. But Paul touched my arm.\n\n\"Is that Duncan?\" he asked.\n\nI observed the young man's face as he rose back to full height. There were certainly traces of the impish, mute little boy in the appearance of the stranger, as they both wore the same frozen, knowing smiles, but we had only been gone a matter of days and the pigmentation of this young man's skin was more like that of a human, whereas Duncan had retained a distinctive shade of orange. I could not believe that the two were the same until the young man brought a finger to his lips.\n\n\"Have we really been gone that long?\" I said softly, my mind wandering to thoughts of Lily Darrow, alone in Darkling for what must have felt like years, though it was probable that the Whatleys kept her busy with Olivia's education, and there was certainly enough mischief to keep her occupied were she not otherwise indisposed. I wondered how she passed the time, and then I remembered the room with the gauzy silk veils, and Mr. Samson strapped to the chair. I shivered against the coolness of the air and warmed myself by keeping pace with Duncan.\n\n\"How do you know when we're coming through?\" I asked.\n\nHe gestured to the trees with long, spindle-like fingers, and as he did, the branches twitched and swayed. The hanging pieces of fruit turned to face us, drawn to Duncan's presence. He escorted us the rest of the way out of the orchard and into the house, leading us past a room filled with the softest, most beautiful music I had ever heard, though there were no obvious musical instruments visible in the space. We found another room whose windows looked out onto a sunlit mountaintop that was, as far as I could tell, nowhere near Mr. Whatley's estate. Another room was shaped like the inside of a gazebo and made entirely of glass, and as we passed through it, I was certain that I could see the town of Blackfield in its reflection. I had no time to dwell on this, for Duncan guided us briskly through the house, the slow, languid pacing of his youth replaced by the urgent certainty of adulthood.\n\nWe found Lily and Olivia in a small parlor, both of them seated before easels with panes of painted glass identical to the ones in Mr. Whatley's collection. Lily was helping the girl mix a particular shade of green for a rolling hillside when we entered, and as she saw us, she dropped her palette in a splatter of paint. She could say nothing for a moment as she extricated herself from behind her canvas, kneeling down to hug both of the children with an audible sigh of relief. When she rose she greeted me with a polite peck on the cheek.\n\n\"You've returned,\" she said, slowly recovering from her daze.\n\n\"Of course, Mother. We missed you!\" James buried his head in her skirts.\n\nShe smiled weakly and stroked his cheek before turning to her pupil. \"Olivia, will you excuse me for a moment? There's something I want to show the children.\"\n\nThe girl nodded with her typical cool indifference, too involved in the creation of her landscape, which seemed to move even as she refined the details.\n\nLily led us from the parlor, across a drawbridge set between two cascading, lavender-scented waterfalls, through a room where it was snowing and I had to pull the boys apart as they pelted one another with balls of ice, and finally into an empty banquet hall that could have been lifted from some medieval castle, the ceiling supported by roughly hewn wood beams, and the walls made of crumbling, porous stone. There was a door at one end, a ghastly thing forged from black wrought iron that snaked around the frame like ivy, with a silver knocker set in the center.\n\nLily stood before it. \"Now, tell me what you see.\"\n\n\"It's a door,\" said James.\n\n\"Yes, but what kind of door?\"\n\n\"A heavy one, made from oak,\" answered Paul. \"With metal rivets set in the wood.\" His little brother shot him a look unique to siblings, a combination of disbelief and pity that he could possibly be related to someone so dim.\n\n\"That's not it at all. What about the gargoyles?\" James pointed to the top of the door, where I could see nothing but black metal loops like vines.\n\nLily stepped between them. \"The door is different for everyone. To some it might show the thing you need most, to others, a version of your life that you did not live. Some say it can even tell the future. Shall we find out what it has in store for us?\" I was about to object, for there are some things that children are not prepared to know, but she had already opened the door. There was darkness on the other side of the threshold, and it descended upon the stone hall to surround us in a singular void. I could still make out the Darrows as a dozen points of light circled around them, taking the shapes of framed paintings.\n\nThe first depicted Lily in a sickbed at Everton, one hand to her forehead, the satin sheets rumpled and positioned like something out of a romanticist's studio as a doctor took her pulse. Suddenly the picture came to life, startling the four of us as the doctor's voice echoed through the abyss, hollow and distant.\n\n\"Madam, I do believe you shall recover!\"\n\nThe scene ended, and the trio proceeded to the next moving frame, where it was Christmastime at Everton. The house was decorated with an attention to detail that I could never hope to match. Lily sat by the fireplace observing her family. An older version of Paul carried a little boy in his arms, and the woman who might have been his wife held a little girl by the hand as they helped the children choose their toys from the magnificent Christmas tree. A teenage James was on the other side of the room, trapping a giggling young woman beneath the mistletoe and kissing her scandalously on the cheek. Mr. Darrow joined his wife by the fire and took her hand in his. I blushed. These were private moments, and yet they would never, could never happen.\n\nMy discomfort was readily visible and threatened to change into something else altogether. I could not put into words the anger I felt in that moment. I had been betrayed. The children were supposed to say good-bye to their mother. That was what I had brought them for, but instead Lily allowed them to wallow in their loss, to obsess over the things that could never be, the lives that could not be lived. And yet, was I so very different? Did I not dream of Jonathan or my mother or father every night? My anger shifted to myself. There was a danger in what we were doing.\n\nI backed away from them and sought my way out of the room. There was another point of light in the distance, and I moved toward it, hoping for some sort of exit, but unfortunately it was another of the floating frames. Then I realized that was wrong. I could see myself in its surface, fractured a million different ways. These were not paintings; they were mirrors, and a piece of this one was missing. Even in the splintered looking glass I could see the look of understanding as it crossed my face, curdling into revulsion, and then anger.\n\nI remembered the blood on Susannah's hands, and the sound of Nanny Prum's scream as it cut through the night all those weeks ago. But most of all I remembered the man in black; the phantom from my youth who had followed me into adulthood, striking down everyone I had ever loved.\n\nA man waits for you. He watches you.\n\nWere the specters from my past and present one and the same? How had a relic from the House of Darkling found its way into the basement of St. Michael's Church, and why had it been used against Susannah?\n\nI willed myself out of the darkness, groping about for solid walls until I felt the edges of the door and slid back into the empty stone room. Duncan was waiting with a small piece of parchment that declared Mr. Whatley's desire to speak to me in private.\n\nThe young man led me deep into the great house, down many flights of stairs to a room that resembled a Turkish bath. Despite the copious veils of steam wafting through the air, I could see Mr. Whatley at the other end of the chamber, half-submerged in a murky mineral bath. He tilted his head back until the ends of his hair trailed through the water. The pool was large, and ripples formed where it was impossible for him to make them. I noticed something gliding beneath the water very much like an eel or a snake, and then I realized that it was a tentacle. There were at least a half dozen of them traveling away from Mr. Whatley's body, dipping in and out of the water in a languid, thoughtful sort of way. Yet his face was still human, as rough and wild as it had been upon our first meeting.\n\n\"Ah, Mrs. Markham.\" He smirked at my discomfort in seeing him in such casual repose.\n\n\"Mr. Whatley,\" I said sharply. I took a breath in an effort to calm myself, and he pointed for me to sit on a marble bench at the edge of the water with a hand that still resembled a man's. I knew I should have been horrified to see such a creature, especially on so intimate a level, but I felt nothing like terror, as I was too angry to have any fear. It had burned away the moment I found the shattered looking glass and connected the specter of the man in black to the House of Darkling. Who else but a collector such as Mr. Whatley would have possession of an oddity like the mysterious, ever-changing door?\n\n\"I know I should apologize for calling on you in what I'm told are improper conditions in your culture, but I won't.\"\n\n\"Should I be impressed by your rudeness?\"\n\n\"Perhaps. I only share my daughter's interest in the human fashion where it suits me. Otherwise I am only ever myself.\"\n\n\"How lucky for you. May I ask the purpose of this meeting?\"\n\n\"It's rare that both Lily and the children are preoccupied. What did you think of their little game?\"\n\n\"I found it somewhat less interesting than the one you're playing.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" He splashed at the water, playfully distracted as I narrowed my eyes at him.\n\n\"I think it unlikely a collector such as yourself would let any of his antiquities be put to work without some notion of how they were to be utilized.\"\n\n\"It sounds as though you believe part of my collection has been put to ill use,\" he said with his sideways smirk.\n\n\"There are things happening in Blackfield that defy explanation, unless the answer lies in our recent excursions to the House of Darkling. The timing is rather suspicious.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the two are merely a coincidence?\"\n\n\"Or it is as I've said, and a game is being played.\"\n\nThe master of Darkling tilted his head to one side in a brief moment of contemplation. \"On that point I must disagree with you, for a game cannot be played alone. There must be two players.\" He stared at me from across the water, something hungry in his gaze that weighted the statement, twisting it into a kind of invitation that hung in the air with the currents of steam, chilling the heat of my anger and confidence until I began to shake. I folded my arms in an effort to mask my nerves. I had not been entirely prepared for his boldness, but I refused to be intimidated by him. I thought of Susannah, and straightened myself as I replied.\n\n\"I would imagine there to be stakes involved?\"\n\n\"Naturally. If you are able to prove a connection between Darkling and Blackfield, then I can promise you that whatever is happening will come to an end.\"\n\n\"And if I fail?\" I kept my voice even.\n\n\"I do not enjoy being accused of treachery in my own home.\" His expression suddenly grew dark, and the water became still as if in response to the change in his temperament. \"If you fail, I will take something from you of my own choosing to add to my collection. Are you sure enough of yourself to take such a risk?\"\n\nI stood from the marble bench and knelt down to the lip of the pool, lowering myself over it to look into the black pits of his eyes. \"That would depend on the rules.\"\n\n\"The only rule is to win.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" I rose and flicked the condensation from my hands. \"Then how do we begin?\"\n\n\"With a question: Do you think you'll continue to bring the children here?\"\n\n\"After today I'm not inclined to.\"\n\n\"They'll come to hate you for it.\"\n\n\"That is a sacrifice I'm willing to make.\"\n\n\"How brave of you. I doubt that would please Mr. Darrow.\"\n\n\"I was under the impression that you've never had the pleasure of his acquaintance?\"\n\n\"I feel that I know him already. It is a very familiar story, is it not? The widower who hires a beautiful young governess to tend to his children. The secret romance, social barriers broken, a spectacular wedding at the end. They all live happily ever after.\"\n\nI tried to read his face to gauge the intent of his words, but the steam was too thick and his eyes retained their vacant, unreadable blackness. I folded my hands and walked along the edge of the shallow pool.\n\n\"It may be a familiar story, but it is not one that I've had the privilege to live out. I know very little of happiness.\"\n\n\"And you won't if you do not let Lily and the children end on their own terms. They must be the ones to finish it.\"\n\n\"You insult my integrity. My only interest is in the well-being of the children.\"\n\nMr. Whatley dipped beneath the surface of the water and swam to the other end of the pool. Duncan stood near the stairs with a robe. Whatley stepped out of the pool, his entire body unabashedly visible to me, completely human, completely male, muscular and imposing. I felt myself blush and was glad for the darkness. He stepped into his robe, and Duncan handed him a cigar.\n\n\"Do not insult my intelligence. You would be a fool not to hope for such a union. Besides, what the children need is a mother. Preferably one who is of the living.\"\n\nI could not argue against that. I thought of Mr. Darrow and our conversations in the music room, and our midnight tea parties. With a shock of revulsion I wondered if our relationship was genuine, or if it was something I had, on some subconscious level, planned from the start as a game of my own. The gentleman bit off the end of the cigar but did not seem to spit it out. Duncan lit the tip of it, and Whatley deeply inhaled the smoke.\n\n\"And what of Lily?\" I asked. \"Will she live happily ever after as well?\"\n\nMr. Whatley pulled the cigar out of his mouth and smiled again. \"Perhaps. But ever after is a very long time. Good luck to you, Mrs. Markham. It's your move.\"\n\nDuncan was suddenly at my side. Mr. Whatley disappeared into a tunnel that continued on deeper into the baths, the glowing end of his cigar sliding away with him into the gloom.\nCHAPTER 11\n\nThe Stolen Sun\n\nDuncan led me to the entrance of the baths and watched as I walked up the stairs to the rest of the house. I passed by the library, rising four floors into the air, perpetual moonlight bathing the books in a soft blue glow. I could not hope to match Mr. Whatley unless I knew more about what I was involving myself with. I ran my fingers along the leather spines, and noticed a small stack of books next to the plush leather chair that Lily had been sitting in the first time we found her in the room. One of them was entitled Dreams of Blackfield. I closed the door to the library, took to her chair, and opened the book.\n\nMy eyes trailed over the lines of unintelligible calligraphy, and suddenly I was in Mr. Darrow's study. The man himself was slumped in his chair, quietly taking an impromptu afternoon nap. I found myself pushed toward him, nearly against my will, gliding across the room until I was at his side. He opened his eyes.\n\n\"Charlotte?\"\n\n\"You can see me?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\" He rose from his chair and stood very close to me. I could feel his breath on my face. \"I always see you here.\" He touched my cheek with trembling fingers, and I sighed with relief.\n\n\"Mr. Darrow\u2014\"\n\n\"Henry. My name is Henry.\"\n\n\"Henry.\"\n\nHe pulled me against his body and kissed me deeply on the lips. I returned the gesture and ran my fingers through his golden hair. He pushed me against the wall and jolted me out of the reverie. I was back in the library.\n\n\"Oh dear.\" I set the book on top of the pile, thought better of it, and set it back in my lap. Flushed with excitement, I had no idea how real my experience inside the book had been. What would happen the next time that we saw one another? It was difficult not to be attracted to Henry Darrow. He was very handsome, sensitive, and financially secure. Yet the attraction felt wrong, and it could not be blamed on the fact that Mr. Whatley had pointed it out. The dream of becoming the next Mrs. Darrow had begun the moment I met him, as had the loathsome idea of coming off like some sort of temptress, some fortune-seeking harpy who was using her position with the children to secure the good favor of her employer. I was not that woman; I refused to be, and so long as I could not be sure of my own intentions, I would refuse myself any happiness just to ensure that my actions were entirely pure and unquestionable.\n\nI went through the other titles in Lily's collection: Ode to the Balthazar, Eternal Death, Human Fashions, and Mysteries of The Ending. I took this last one with the other I had just read and carried them upstairs to add to my growing collection. As I passed the boys' room, the door was open and I saw the children settling in beside their mother for another bedtime story. I was about to return to my own room, but Lily saw me standing in the hallway and gestured for me to sit down with them. She began to read:\n\nThe Stolen Sun\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a caravan of gypsies traveling through the countryside. The youngest member of the clan was a girl named Spada. She was as inquisitive as she was beautiful, and each time the caravan stopped to set up camp, she would start out into the surrounding woodlands to see what sorts of interesting things she could find. As the forests could be dangerous, her mother and father would have to go after her before she got lost and left behind, for winter was coming and the caravan had to make it over the mountains before the first frost.\n\nOne day, the gypsies set up camp after an especially long trip and Spada went into the forest in search of something to eat. Her parents were busy tending the horses, as they had briars caught in their hooves, and in no time at all she was as lost as she could be, wandering through the woods as the sun began to set. There was a chill in the air, and Spada, who was usually fearless in the face of everything, grew worried that she would be unable to find shelter for the night. No sooner had she almost given up than she found a magnificent house in a clearing.\n\nIt was ancient, made of rough, large stones and timber, but the windows were full of light and the smoke coming from the chimney was sweet with the smell of baking. She approached the house with little hesitation and pulled the rope next to the entryway. A short, squat man with curling whiskers answered the door and was more than happy to take in the lost gypsy girl.\n\n\"You may stay the night,\" he said. \"But you must stay the entire night, for the forest is dangerous and I'm certain your family would rather have you lost than dead.\"\n\nSpada found the sense in this, and agreed to spend the entire night in the strange little man's home. He led her through the house to a large dining room, where they dined on many succulent dishes, and to a room with high ceilings where she was given a comfortable bed. She quickly fell asleep beneath a pile of soft blankets.\n\nThe girl slept for quite some time, so long in fact that she was surprised upon waking to see that the sun had still not risen. Spada found this to be very strange, and she left her room to learn how much time had passed. She located the little man in a parlor with a great black fireplace and told him of her concern.\n\n\"But my dear,\" he said, \"you've been here but an hour. I suppose you've enjoyed it so much that it must have seemed longer.\"\n\nSpada found the sense in this and was about to return to her room when the little man invited her to a game of cards. No longer tired, the girl played with him for quite some time until they were both feeling hungry again, and the little man called for his servants to prepare the dining room once more. Spada and her new friend ate many succulent dishes, and when she asked to retire for the remainder of the evening, she was led to another bedroom altogether, with an even larger bed and pillows so delicate she felt as if her head were resting on air.\n\nWhen she awoke Spada was certain she must have slept at least half the day away, but when she looked out the window she was dismayed to find that the sun had still failed to rise. She rushed through the great house and found the little man seated in a study filled with books and paintings. She told him of her concern.\n\n\"I agree that the night seems very long indeed,\" he said. \"But that is only because we have done so much in such a short time.\"\n\nSpada found the sense in this and was about to return to her room when the little man suggested that she join him in playing music. Coming from a family of musicians, the girl found this to be a very practical way to pass the time, and together they played and sang until their fingers hurt and their voices were raw. The little man called to his servants to prepare the dining room, and for the third time that evening Spada feasted on many delicious dishes. When they were finished the little man excused himself for a moment and left the girl alone in the company of his butler.\n\nThe servant, who always observed his master with a small measure of disdain, began speaking to the girl in a hushed whisper as soon as the little man had left. He warned her that she had been tricked, and that the little man had stolen the sun from the sky and hidden it somewhere in the house to keep her with him for one long, eternal night. Spada thanked the butler for telling her, but found that this information neither frightened nor upset her. In fact, all she could feel for the master of the house was sympathy and a little pity.\n\n\"He must be very lonely if he is willing to go to such lengths to keep me here,\" she said. \"If the sun is in the house, then I shall find it and prove to him that he does not need to use such tricks to make us friends.\"\n\nThe little man returned to the dining room and escorted Spada to another fantastic bedroom, this one with a bed lined in lullabies. She slept very soundly, but when she awoke she did not go in search of the little man. Instead, she went through the house and examined every reflective surface in search of the sun. She peered into mirrors and silver goblets, golden doorknobs, and gilded cages, looking carefully for anything that contained the sparkle of daylight. When she had satisfied herself that every reflection in the house was natural, she found the little man waiting for her in the kitchen wearing a ridiculous chef's hat. Neither of them brought up the unending night. Instead they baked all of Spada's favorite pies and cakes and ate everything that they made until their stomachs were ready to burst.\n\nIn due time, the little man escorted her to a new bedroom with a plush, delicate bed lined with dreams. This time, before he left her he paused at the door and wished her a pleasant evening. She drifted off to sleep.\n\nWhen she awoke, Spada set off into the house in search of every candle flame and burning fireplace that might contain the stolen sun. She peered into every gaslight that lined the hallways, and into every room with a blazing hearth, and when she was satisfied that she had examined every available source of firelight, she found the little man in an empty ballroom. He wore his best dancing shoes and seemed eager to teach her his favorite steps, but the look of defeat on Spada's face was enough for him to ask her what was wrong.\n\n\"I know that you have stolen the sun,\" she said without any anger or accusation, much to the little man's surprise, \"and I've been looking for it in every place I could think of. I was certain that if I could find and return it, you would see how you did not need to trick me to win over my friendship. I would have given it freely, and do still.\"\n\nThe little man was very clever and usually good at anticipating every possible outcome of a situation, but Spada's declaration caught him off guard. His eyes glistened with tears more brightly than was possible, and Spada discovered that he had hidden the sun not in his house, but in his heart. So great was his affection for the gypsy girl that he could no longer keep it to himself. His chest welled with emotion, and as it did the ballroom filled with sunlight, which streamed out through the windows of the house and into the sky above the forest, calling to the gypsies still searching for the lost Spada.\n\nWhen the girl's family arrived at the great house, they were invited into the ballroom, where everyone played music and danced and sang, and Spada never left the little man's side, not even when the sun had set and the first frost of winter licked across the earth. The mountains would wait until spring, for a true friendship was as rare as the sun in the sky.\n\n\"Was that a true story?\" James yawned and lifted his head from his mother's shoulder as she finished. Lily closed the book and set it on the nightstand. Paul, who was wide awake, kept his head in her lap and stared quietly into space.\n\n\"Every story starts with a bit of truth, no matter how small,\" she said.\n\n\"Then they probably changed the ending to make it happy,\" said the boy as he stretched his arms over his head. \"Her family wouldn't have been glad at all. The little man tried to steal her away.\"\n\nTheir mother was becoming visibly uncomfortable. Children were supposed to fall asleep with a bedtime story.\n\n\"I suppose he must have been very lonely,\" said Lily.\n\n\"Lots of people are lonely,\" said Paul without moving. He blinked and sighed. \"That doesn't make it all right to do something wrong.\"\n\nJames sat up and reached over his mother to pick up the book of fairy tales. \"Do you think they were all dead? Did the little man kill them?\"\n\n\"Why would you say such a thing?\" Lily asked with surprise that bordered on horror. \"Winter was coming. They might have died if they went into the mountains. Perhaps he saved them.\" She kissed him on the forehead and began to extricate herself from her sons. \"Although that's a very interesting interpretation.\"\n\nShe brushed the side of Paul's face, but stopped when he said: \"Perhaps he was collecting the gypsies.\" Her eyes flashed and revealed something secret, but it happened so fast that it was difficult to read. She kissed him on the cheek, and together we closed the door to the bedroom. We stood facing one another in the hallway, and Lily observed the books clutched under my arm.\n\n\"You returned to the library.\"\n\n\"Yes, the books here are quite fascinating, as was the fairy tale.\"\n\n\"Some stories are truer than we realize, and others less than we might wish,\" she said.\n\nA silence passed between us, unbroken until I lifted the books to keep them from slipping, minutely aware that I had tactfully placed my arm to hide the title of Dreams of Blackfield.\n\n\"I hope you don't mind that I've taken them?\"\n\n\"Not at all. In fact I encourage your curiosity. The more you know about this place, the more comfortable you'll feel bringing the children.\"\n\nMoonlight came in through the window at the end of the hallway, broken up only by the shadows of the languid tentacles rising from the pond outside.\n\n\"Mr. Whatley asked to speak with me today.\"\n\n\"Did he?\" Lily's voice was unreadable. \"Whatever for?\"\n\n\"He wanted to know if I would continue to bring the children,\" I said, leaving out the bargain I had struck with the master of Darkling. Lily waited for me to go on as I struggled to find the right words. \"I said that I would, for now.\"\n\n\"Splendid!\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure that it is.\" I tightened my grip on the books. \"How much do you know about Mr. Whatley?\"\n\n\"I believe that he's some kind of politician.\"\n\n\"But what sort of man is he?\"\n\n\"I should think you'd be aware by now that he's no man at all.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, but has he ever given you any reason to fear him?\"\n\n\"We made a bargain, and whatever he might be, he keeps his promises.\"\n\nThat did not answer my question. I attempted a different tactic.\n\n\"I worry that Darkling could be harmful to the children.\"\n\nLily narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. \"I'm not sure I understand.\"\n\n\"Mourning is difficult enough by itself, but to extend it indefinitely . . . they might never recover.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Her voice was a piercing whisper. \"Then why bring them at all?\"\n\n\"Because I understand what it means to lose a loved one. You can all heal together, but at some point it will have to end.\"\n\nShe held my gaze for a long while, until I began to feel uncomfortable and looked away. Lily's ire deflated, and suddenly she looked small and weak. \"What do you propose?\"\n\n\"An end to it. Three additional visits. No more than that.\"\n\nEven in the dark I could see that she went pale. \"I'm tired, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"I did not mean to overstep myself\u2014\"\n\n\"You've made your point. I shall consider it carefully.\"\n\nLily left the corridor for her room, a place I realized I had still not seen. I hoped she would think on my proposal. To protect the Darrows, I had to sever the ties between Darkling and the world of the living, but I could not do so until I more fully understood the connection.\n\nI continued down the hallway and found my own room, too tired to explore the mysteries of the books from the library.\n\nI dreamt of Sundays with my father. In the years after we returned from India with my mother's body, we had started to spend time together on the Sabbath day locked away in the conservatory, reading books, playing chess, and telling each other stories both fictional and true, no small number of which pertained to my late mother.\n\n\"The end is nigh, my peppercorn.\" That was his my father's pet name for me, his peppercorn, for he felt that I was very beautiful, but rather fiery if not handled with care.\n\nHe lit his pipe and began to smoke, which meant he was growing tired and that we would soon be off to bed. But the smoke did not disperse into the air to attach itself to his hair and clothing. It circled around his head before gathering beside him, a cloud of noxious fumes taking the shape of a man. My father grew weary the more he smoked, and the cloud became more substantial. Black. It watched him sit back in his chair as he dropped his pipe and stopped breathing, eyes open, mouth slack.\n\nIt lingered for a moment beside his lifeless body before scattering through the air to attach itself to everything in the room, a memory extinguished and remade.\nCHAPTER 12\n\nMysteries of The Ending\n\nThe next morning Lily did not come down for breakfast. Instead, she gave Duncan a note for the children, which mentioned something about an upset stomach and resting for their next visit (which she hoped would be soon). I held my tongue, while Mr. Whatley tipped his glass in my direction and stared at me from across the table with the devilish smirk that seemed a permanent fixture on his rugged, impish face. We did not linger after our meal.\n\nAs we approached Everton, I was so lost in thought that I did not notice Mr. Darrow standing at the door of the house waiting for us, and I had no time to prepare myself for our first encounter since I had inadvertently invaded his dream.\n\n\"Hello, boys!\" Mr. Darrow lifted James into the air and tussled Paul's hair with his free hand. \"Having fun with Charlotte?\"\n\n\"It's a lovely day, so I thought we'd go for a walk.\" I spoke up before the boys could respond to their father's question. Adults are much better liars than children.\n\n\"Splendid idea! I wish you'd thought to invite me along. I ended up falling asleep at my desk.\" He looked at me and blushed when he noticed that I was looking back at him. He turned his attention to the boys. \"Are you finished with your lessons yet?\"\n\nMy stomach tightened. Our lessons seemed such distant things. What kind of governess had I become? I chastised myself, but not too severely. The boys were young and would recover from whatever lapses these interludes with their mother had caused in their education. Some things were more important than arithmetic, such as being available to their reclusive father.\n\n\"Yes, I believe we are for the day.\" The boys turned to one another, beaming at their good fortune.\n\nHenry clapped his hands together. \"Excellent! I believe we have an appointment by the lake?\"\n\nThe boys rode their bicycles ahead, flicking the bells on their handlebars with gusto at every passing pedestrian as I rode next to Mr. Darrow. We traveled past the bakeshop and the butcher, the blacksmith, and the sweets shop that sold the caramel toffees the boys loved so much, past St. Michael's Church and the vicarage. We continued on until the barren autumn spokes of the forest obscured the village of Blackfield, and we found a grassy clearing overlooking the lake. Everton was visible across the water.\n\nIt was unseasonably warm, as if summer had decided to make one last appearance before the onset of winter. I removed a picnic basket from its perch on the back of my bicycle and began to set out our lunch, but while my back was turned the boys stripped down to their underwear and jumped into the lake.\n\n\"You'll catch your death!\" I said anxiously, but Mr. Darrow laughed and sat down on the blanket.\n\n\"More for us, then,\" he said.\n\nI looked up and smiled uncomfortably.\n\n\"Is everything all right?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, I'm just afraid I haven't gotten much sleep lately.\"\n\n\"You're working too hard, and that's not good for anyone. Especially the children.\"\n\n\"They are very energetic.\"\n\n\"Which is why I want to be more involved, just like this. Spending time with them and getting to know them better. Being a father instead of a distant figure locked away in his office, snoring.\" He smiled again, and I tried to stop myself from thinking him rather dashing, but failed.\n\n\"That's why I so enjoy working for you, Mr. Darrow. You have a true interest in the well-being of your children.\"\n\n\"My name is Henry.\"\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"You can call me Henry, if you like. We're outside. There aren't as many rules out here.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darrow, I am still your employee.\"\n\n\"Nonsense. You're part of the family. Since I can call you Charlotte, it's only fair.\"\n\n\"All right then, Henry.\"\n\n\"Charlotte.\"\n\nWe stared at one another comfortably, wordlessly, at complete ease in each other's company. Then the boys plopped down on the blanket, wet as dogs.\n\n\"We're hungry!\"\n\n\"What have I told you about toweling yourselves off?\" I said with a bemused expression.\n\n\"But I'm wet like a fish!\" James sucked his cheeks between his teeth and puckered his lips. \"Phfee?\"\n\nI grabbed the nearest towel and locked the boys' heads in the crooks of my arms. Henry watched in amazement as I wrestled them dry.\n\n\"There! Almost passable. At least it'll do for now.\" I released them and turned around to serve tea from a sealed flask when I heard a pair of giggles followed by the appropriate splashes.\n\nI turned to Henry. \"You couldn't have stopped them?\"\n\n\"I wanted to see you dry them off again. It was quite impressive.\" He smiled playfully and dashed off to the edge of the lake, calling, \"Lunchtime!\"\n\nWhen he finally succeeded in getting them out of the water and dried off on his own (I refused to help him), he walked back with the boys, his gaze carefully fixed in my direction. I suddenly felt my heart very acutely, beating against the confines of my chest, and I was glad that he happened to be out of reach lest I might have re-created the scene from his dream and made a fool of myself in front of the children.\n\nIt was a relief to bask in the sunlight again after so much time at the House of Darkling. I spread my dress over the blanket on the ground and took in the mild air of the lakeshore. Henry removed his hat and sat down with a pleasant sigh and a half smile, seeming to lose his perpetually tortured expression.\n\nHe spoke without opening his eyes. \"Would you care to take the boat across the lake?\"\n\n\"What a lovely idea. You prepare the vessel, and I shall untangle the children.\"\n\nThey had started fighting after they left the water, and it was no small task to separate them. Paul had already directed a few choice blows into his brother's shoulder and thigh, and James was insistent that there be retribution. But when I threatened to drown them both like unwanted kittens, they believed me and sat quietly on opposite sides of the boat. Henry pushed us off, and we began to glide through the water.\n\nThe lake was surrounded by great hills and a smattering of trees. The steeple of St. Michael's Church was visible in the distance, and trails of smoke from the cottages in the village laced the air with the smell of freshly baked pies and roasted nuts. The boat rocked gently against the tepid current.\n\n\"So tell me, boys, what have you been learning from Charlotte?\"\n\n\"If we don't do our lessons, she's going to skin us like a pair of Indian tigers!\" James said excitedly, thrilled to be compared to anything as vicious as a tiger.\n\nHenry smiled broadly and began to chuckle.\n\n\"One must be firm with children, Mr. Darrow.\"\n\n\"Oh absolutely!\" He had to stop to catch his breath. \"Boys, I was unaware that I had unleashed such a force of nature upon you. Your mother would be very pleased.\"\n\nJames spoke up before Paul or I could think to stop him. \"But she is, Father!\"\n\nPaul immediately stood up and lunged at his brother. The boat leaned precipitously to one side, and then turned over completely. I took Henry's arm instinctively as we fell into the water, a plume of spray ascending into the air when we splashed into the cold lake. We were still near the shore, but I grabbed James anyway and lifted him to my side, scrambling out of the water like a drowned rat, our clothes sticking to us uncomfortably and releasing pockets of water with each sloshing step. The four of us collapsed at the edge of the lake. Henry took out his handkerchief, but saw that it too had been completely soaked and threw it on the ground.\n\n\"Paul, what on earth has gotten into you?\"\n\nThe boy looked at me nervously, and then to his father.\n\n\"I'm afraid it's my fault, Mr. Darrow. James has been telling fibs, recently\u2014\" James opened his mouth to speak, but I gave him a forceful look, willing him to be quiet. He was. \"\u2014and I've been trying to break him of the habit. Paul was simply a little overzealous with my instructions.\"\n\nHenry scratched his wet head, and pushed a strand of sopping dark blond hair away from his face. I thought he suddenly looked very boyish.\n\n\"I see. Well then, I suppose we had better get back to the house and change before any of us catch cold.\" He extended his arm and pulled me up from the ground, but when I stood, I neglected to release it.\n\nI felt an unpleasant combination of euphoria and dread. I could not deny that it pleased me to be walking arm in arm with Henry Darrow. I would never be able to forget my late husband, but Henry made the loss of Jonathan bearable somehow. When I was around him, the pain I always felt transformed itself into something else. He gave me hope that I could be happy again.\n\nBut then there was the other part of it, the echo of the conversation I had had with Mr. Whatley. What kind of person was I that I presumed to take an interest in a man whose wife had not been\u2014and was still not quite\u2014dead for much more than a year? I never thought of myself as a schemer or a seductress, but it was difficult to avoid the comparison. A match with Mr. Darrow would be advantageous to say the least. The only thing I could rely upon was the strong arm that looped through my own, and I held on to it more tightly than perhaps I should have. I wondered if this was not lost on the boys, who trailed behind us in silence.\n\nLionel Larken was waiting for me in the kitchen when we arrived back at Everton, trying not to come between the cook and the scullery maid, for Mrs. Mulbus held a large paring knife in her hand and was pointing it severely in Jenny's direction while muttering something about a nick in the stew kettle. He looked haggard and tired. After I had dried off and changed, I sat with him in the parlor.\n\n\"It's Susannah.\"\n\n\"What's happened? Not another attack?\" I felt the color draining from my face.\n\n\"That's just it, I don't quite know. I'm not sure that she's been sleeping. I woke up the night before last and found her wide awake, pacing around the cottage. She was staring out the windows with this funny look in her eyes, but she wouldn't tell me what it was all about. I finally got her back into the bedroom, but she insisted upon touching every shadow in the room to make sure there wasn't anything hiding in them.\n\n\"But that's not the worst of it. Mrs. Willoughby called on me last night. She said that Susannah had an episode in the shop yesterday. She left her alone again in the afternoon to make some deliveries, and when she came back, the store was in ruins. Susannah said that she thought she saw something like a rat in a pile of scrap fabric. She went to see what it was to get it out of the store, but there was nothing there. Instead, and these are her words, the pieces of fabric started knitting themselves together around her throat, strangling her, covering her nose and mouth, binding her hands so she couldn't struggle. She was able to free one of her hands and took a hot iron to her throat. Whatever was happening to her stopped, and she burned all of the fabric scraps behind the store. My God, Charlotte, you should see her throat. Dr. Barberry said she'll be fine and all healed in a few weeks, but I'm worried for her.\"\n\n\"Do you believe her story?\"\n\n\"I believe that she believes it, and my wife is no fool. Never was very superstitious. If she said she saw something unnatural, then I believe her. But what do you do for someone chasing ghosts in the night?\"\n\n\"These things are only happening when she is alone. You must watch her. Never let her out of your sight.\"\n\n\"There must be something else we can do.\"\n\n\"Leave it to me.\"\n\nThat night as I was preparing for bed, I removed Mysteries of The Ending from my basket. I remembered Lily's warning, and how the books had affected me back in the library, but my anger and suspicion overpowered any sense of caution. Nanny Prum had died an unnatural death, and so would Susannah unless I could better comprehend Whatley's intentions. To work against him, I first had to understand him. I sat on the bed and opened the book.\n\nAs I read over the strange, otherworldly characters, an icy wind plucked at my nightdress. I looked up to close the window, but instead of being in my bedroom at Everton I stood before a crumbling castle with toppled-over towers and a drawbridge that looked as if a very large bite had been taken out of its side. Across it stood a ruinous doorway with a knocker made of chains as thick as my neck.\n\nThe book was still open in my hands, and I closed it around my index finger to keep my connection to the place open but tenuous in case it proved to be dangerous. The door was thrown backward before I could even knock, answered by a vile, mad-looking thing shaped like a little girl. Her hair was falling out in clumps, and where her eyes should have been there were two tiny black keyholes set in the gray flesh of her face, both of them oozing a dark, foul liquid I did not care to identify. I gasped with a sharp intake of breath, and she snapped at me with black, broken teeth, almost catching my arm until she was yanked backward by a loop of chain around her throat.\n\nThe little girl lay sprawled. The chain that encircled her neck extended across the coarse stone floor and halfway up a staircase, where it was wrapped around the gloved wrist of a woman dressed in an aging ball gown, ratty and frayed around the edges, with holes worn down to the petticoats beneath, and a ring of skeleton keys that clattered at her side. But even so the woman held herself with a composure that bordered on the majestic, and when she spoke it was with a voice as rich as velvet, deeply commanding and aware of its power to instruct and control.\n\n\"You do not belong here,\" she said softly. In her other hand she held a battered candelabra whose candlesticks were lit with tiny blue flames. I stood upon the threshold, still shaking from my encounter with the unpleasant little girl, my insides knotted together with fear.\n\nThis was a mistake. I contemplated closing the book and turning back to Everton, to slide back beneath my covers and allow Whatley to do as he would, but what of Susannah and the Darrows? I inhaled deeply, the air stale with decay, and entered the castle.\n\nThe blue light from the candles was reflected in the chain held in the woman's hands. It not only bound the strange girl who had greeted me so poorly but trailed away behind her to every corner of the room, lashed to an infinite line of creatures hiding in the shadows, all of them thin and emaciated, some crawling along the floor while others were strung up the walls by their shackles. The lady of the castle noticed my wandering gaze and spoke again.\n\n\"You do not belong, and yet still you enter.\"\n\n\"There are things I must know.\"\n\n\"Your questions will have a price.\"\n\n\"I have no money.\"\n\nShe smiled coldly. \"I trade in a different sort of currency.\"\n\n\"What sort?\"\n\n\"Answers for questions. Mr. Whatley is not the only collector in The Ending.\"\n\n\"How do you\u2014?\"\n\n\"The stench of Darkling clings to you. This way.\" She descended the staircase and beckoned me into a room hidden behind a tattered curtain, the loop of keys at her waist chiming as she moved. I kept myself away from the walls as I followed, afraid to brush against the rest of her children, who slumped from their chains in a living death, staring into space with their empty keyhole eyes.\n\nI found the woman in a small salon, seated at a table before a window that looked over a nocturnal landscape of mountains pressing into the pale flesh of the moon. She pulled the chain that encircled her wrist, and a serving boy with dirty fingernails set two crystal goblets in front of us, filling them with the scarlet contents of a dusty cask. The scent of blackberry and rye rose from the liquid, though I did not dare to taste it.\n\n\"I will give you three answers and three answers only.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to argue, but glanced again at the chain around the woman's wrist and thought the better of it. She lifted the circle of skeleton keys from her side, unhooked the catch, and placed three of them on the table. The boy with the cask still stood before us, lock-shaped eye sockets staring out the window.\n\n\"Your first answer.\" The woman picked up the nearest key, all rusted brass and crooked teeth, and stuck it into the small, dark keyhole where the child's right eye should have been. I cringed and looked away as she turned it with a click of bone and metal. The boy began to speak with a thin, androgynous voice.\n\n\"You cannot hope to stop the master of Darkling. The games he invents are centuries in the making and will end only when they are played out. The most you can hope to do is twist the outcome to your own devices.\"\n\nWhen the boy was done speaking, I turned to the woman. \"I never asked my question.\"\n\n\"These are the answers you need, not the ones you want. The next answer.\" She lifted the second key and inserted it into the child's left eye socket. This time he spoke with the voice of an old man, high and reedy.\n\n\"We are the things that do not die, born to end with the world, but not before. We are your gods and your monsters, indifferent and unsated, waiting for a close that might never come. 'The Ending, The Ending, full of nighttime portending, the place for the Things Above Death. In great houses they wait for the Season to abate, and for time to give up its last breath.' \"\n\nThe woman touched the boy's neck and pushed down the stained collar that crowded against his chains, revealing a third keyhole at the base of his throat. She used the last key. The boy spoke with a voice more appropriate for his appearance, small and quiet, with a singsong melancholy.\n\n\"There are only the dead and the damned. Remember that when the man in black comes for you. He is coming soon, Charlotte.\" With that, the woman collected her keys and placed them back upon the metal circle at her waist.\n\nI felt as if I were going to be sick. He is coming soon, but the boy had not said when, and would not. Three answers only. I stared ahead as dumbly as the dirty children, not seeing the lady of the castle until she placed a length of cold metal chain into my hands, the end of it looped around the neck of the boy with dirty fingernails.\n\n\"My payment,\" she said.\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\nShe ignored me and returned to the entry hall, her children screaming as she dragged them off the floor and down from the rafters, up the length of the staircase into the hidden depths of the castle, illuminated only by the blue glow of the candelabra.\n\n\"Answers for questions. You will take him back with you, to watch, to listen. To remember.\"\n\nThat was simply too much. I threw down the fetters she had given me. \"I will do no such thing!\"\n\nShe never heard me, for the world turned over on itself and I was back in my room at Everton. Head spinning, I regained my balance in time to see the end of the chain slip around the corner of my open bedroom door as the boy with the keyhole eyes escaped into the hallway, the rattle of metal muffled by the carpet.\n\nThe children.\n\nI dropped the book and bolted out of my chambers. The creature was moving in the opposite direction of the nursery, dashing through the corridor on all fours with such speed I could never hope to keep up. He disappeared down the stairwell, chains slapping against the banister in a dull echo I was sure had awoken the entire manor.\n\nI cornered the creature in the kitchen and grabbed hold of his shackles. \"Stop this at once!\" I hissed at him, and he responded by pressing his body against the wall, sinking into it as if he were stepping into a bath. He leered at me with a mouthful of rotten teeth as his face disappeared into the skin of the house. I wrenched and twisted the chains around my arms, but still they followed the boy into the walls of Everton. Link by link they slipped away from me until at last the final loop remained, a thin brass key dangling from its end. The teeth caught on the skin of my hands, friction burning as I lost hold of it. Then I was alone in the kitchen, sobbing despite myself.\n\nNumb with exhaustion, I did the only thing I could think of: I made a cup of tea. I sipped it quietly in the dark as I glared at the wall, at yet another problem I had not the faintest idea how to solve. The woman had said that he would only observe us, but that could hardly be trusted. What have I done? I was as bad as Lily, stubborn beyond reason and steadfast in a belief that my own abilities were unmatched; a belief that was apparently misguided as I had released something wicked into Everton.\n\nI wondered if Lily felt the same.\n\nThrough the window, the grounds of the estate were bathed in moonlight, just like the House of Darkling. With the thought of the place, I set my cup onto its saucer so severely that it fell off the table and cracked into a dozen pieces. I cursed myself under my breath and knelt down to collect the ceramic fragments, so absorbed in my own melancholy and frustration that I didn't notice Henry standing over me.\n\n\"Are you all right?\"\n\nI stood, holding the sharp pieces too tightly in my hand.\n\n\"Yes, I hope I didn't wake you?\" I glanced again at the place in the wall where the dirty little boy had escaped, and then into Henry's soft sapphire eyes. Every anxiety, doubt, and fear that had been building within me melted into the ether.\n\n\"No, I've been awake. I had tea prepared, but no one else came down.\"\n\n\"How thoughtful.\"\n\n\"I had hoped you would join me.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, I didn't realize.\"\n\n\"How could you have known? I should have made my intentions clear.\"\n\nHe gently took the pieces of the broken cup out of my hands, his fingers lingering against my own. Even after he moved away, I could feel the echo of his touch singing through my body. I gasped softly and backed away, but he held my arm, pulling me against his chest and pressing his lips to my own. The song I felt at his touch erupted into a chorus of emotion, the darkened space around us blazing with invisible light. We parted, and I rested my head against his shoulder to catch my breath.\n\n\"Henry.\"\n\nHe stiffened at the sound of his own name, releasing me and beginning to stammer. \"I'm so sorry\u2014don't know what I'm doing\u2014if I've offended you\u2014\"\n\n\"You haven't.\" I tried to take his hand, but he pulled away.\n\n\"I've taken advantage. You're in my employ. The children\u2014\" He backed away, shaking his head. \"Forgive me, but I've made a terrible mistake.\" Mr. Darrow spun around and nearly ran from the room, leaving me alone with the broken pieces of the cup in the sink, which were not nearly as sharp or painful as the ones I felt inside.\nCHAPTER 13\n\nDeath Revisited\n\nAfter a fitful night of straining to listen for the rattle of chains or the scraping of dirty fingernails against the walls, I rose for breakfast. Mr. Darrow was nowhere to be found, nor was he at lunch, yet his presence weighed heavily on me. The dread I felt at the prospect of our next meeting was so suffocating that when the boys asked to go on their late afternoon walk, I was outside waiting for them before they could even find their coats. We left under the pretense of visiting the cemetery, and found the cloud of mist just beyond the cage of roots in the forest.\n\nI did not know what I would say to Lily. How could I look her in the face?\n\nWhy should you be ashamed to take what is yours?\n\nI tried unsuccessfully to silence the voice in my mind that had grown steadily louder since my conversation with Mr. Whatley. The tone was selfish and callous, but also powerful and assured, threatening to overrule the well-mannered woman I had always prided myself (perhaps foolishly) on being. I remained undecided about whether or not this was something to resist.\n\nDuncan was waiting for us in the orchard, even taller than before and ever closer to my own age. His skin had lost all of its discoloration, leaving him nearly human in every way but for the impish smile that was imprinted upon his face like a mask.\n\nThere were two crisp suits waiting for the boys in their room.\n\n\"It would appear that we are expected to dress for dinner,\" I observed. I attempted to help James change, but he became jealous over his older brother's silver cuff links, and Paul did not take kindly to having his little brother attempt to strangle him from behind. I split them apart as best I could, each brother taking something from the other\u2014like hair and skin\u2014during the course of the separation, and I threatened them both with a form of Indian torture so terrible that I couldn't describe it to them for fear that it would scar their delicate, youthful psyches.\n\nI left them alone and returned to my own quarters. A dark green gown had been placed over the blank fabric body of the dressing mannequin next to the wardrobe. I slid it off the dressmaker's dummy and held it against my body. It was exquisite and sleek, much more extravagant a thing than I could ever have afforded, let alone purchased from Mrs. Willoughby's dress shop. I thought about Susannah and the promise I had made to her husband. Leave it to me. Yet what progress had I made? I still only half understood the game I was playing. I refused to dwell on what would happen to my friend if I failed.\n\nI began to undress, and when I was down to my underthings, Lily entered the room dressed in a slender silver gown encrusted with glittering jewels. She closed the door. I was startled and tried to hide my nakedness by pressing the dress against my body, and I snapped at her. \"Lily!\"\n\nShe did not avert her eyes or apologize for intruding. She wordlessly walked toward me and took hold of the dress. She helped me into it without a word, her hands moving along my body, finally lacing up the back. When she was finished we turned to one another, our faces mere inches apart. I wondered if she could see in me what had happened the night before with her husband, what I felt for him.\n\n\"I wanted to apologize for the way things were left,\" she said. \"You were right to question me.\"\n\nShe tightened the corset of the dress, and I could only muster a reply half above a whisper.\n\n\"I only want what's best for the children.\"\n\nLily brushed a strand of hair away from my face. \"Let me fix your hair,\" she said. She sat me down in front of the vanity mirror and undid the tightly wound bun at the back of my head, releasing blond hair over my shoulders and combing through it gently, our faces in stark contrast to one another: Lily's, ethereal with her sharp green eyes and midnight-black tresses that took on a blue sheen beneath the gaslights; the pointed features of my own softened by the light flush of my complexion, now even richer in contrast with her paleness. I looked beneath my reflection for any trace of my mother, gathering strength from it. I wondered what Lily saw when she looked at herself.\n\n\"We're not so different, you and I,\" she said. \"Either in our current occupations or in the things that we want.\" Our eyes met in the mirror. She knows. I smiled weakly and closed my eyes as the comb ran through my hair, massaging my scalp.\n\n\"If you know what I want, then I hope you'll enlighten me, because I'm not so sure that I do.\"\n\nLily placed her hands on my shoulders and set down the comb. \"We have lost too much. Life has been cruel. But we must not lose our capacity to love. We must soldier on, for life is short and death is long. We must try to love, to move on, to embrace the opportunities presented to us.\"\n\nI opened my mouth but then closed it again. I couldn't respond, at least not right away. She knew what had transpired between Mr. Darrow and me. I didn't know how, but she was aware and she approved. I doubted whether I would have been as lenient with Jonathan had our places been reversed, but then I could not begin to fathom the things that Lily Darrow had been through.\n\nThere was a charged silence between us, long enough for me to wonder if I was mistaken. Perhaps she was speaking more about her own situation than mine. Lily ran her fingers through my hair, gathering it up in her hands and pinning it into place.\n\n\"One must make sacrifices to get the things one wants most,\" she said.\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"I know so.\"\n\n\"And what's your sacrifice?\"\n\n\"Don't you remember? I died.\" She held a hand mirror to the back of my head, showing how she had styled my hair high onto the top of my head. I didn't fully believe her. There was something else in the mirror's reflection, an expression of anguish highlighted by the glistening of her eyes, as if she were on the verge of tears. \"I'm hosting a dinner party this evening. It will give me a chance to introduce the children to the society here. Most of the guests have never seen a human child before. In fact they fear them.\"\n\n\"It seems a strange thing to fear two young boys.\"\n\n\"Humans are not permitted in The Ending, and Mr. Whatley has put himself at great risk to fulfill our bargain. Allowing mortals into a place without Death has caused something of a sensation among the people here.\"\n\n\"And what sort of people are they, exactly?\"\n\n\"Surely you must know by now. You've read some of the books. 'The remains of the day forged from shadows and clay, endless and moribund in twain. As the worlds flicker out and Death flits about, the Old Ones sip tea and champagne.' \"\n\n\"How dreadful.\"\n\n\"But beautiful in its way.\"\n\n\"Where do they come from?\"\n\n\"I don't think they're from anywhere. They always were and always will be. 'The Ending, The Ending, full of nighttime portending, the place for the Things Above Death. In great houses they wait for the Season to abate, and for time to give up its last breath.' \"\n\nI stood from the chair in front of the vanity mirror, and once again turned to face Lily.\n\n\"Such a long wait, I would imagine. It sounds very lonely,\" I said.\n\n\"I suppose that's why they've become so interested in the ways of mankind. To them, we're an amusing distraction, like animals in a cage. A pleasant diversion from their own complicated society.\"\n\n\"What will you do when they grow tired of this 'pleasant diversion'?\"\n\n\"I expect humanity will be entirely extinguished before that could ever happen.\"\n\n\"And what will happen when the boys grow into men and stop visiting?\"\n\nWe stood up and moved toward the door of the bedroom.\n\n\"I believe that we agreed upon two more visits after this one, did we not?\" She opened the door and held it for me. \"What will you do when they no longer need a governess?\"\n\n\"Move on.\" With that, I turned in to the hallway.\n\nWe found that the boys had mostly dressed, despite the fact that James's head seemed to have been intentionally wedged into the sleeve of his jacket, and Paul was missing a rather sizable patch of hair. Together and wordlessly, Lily and I smoothed out their rumpled clothing, combed over the places where Paul's scalp was visible, and did our best to make the boys look presentable. When we were finished, we left for the drawing room. James skipped ahead of us while Paul shuffled morosely behind him, leaving Lily and me to walk side by side in silence.\n\nThe other dinner guests had already started to arrive and stood around the drawing room with drinks in hand, making small talk and gossiping whenever they were out of earshot to do so comfortably.\n\nThey were an eclectic group to say the least. There was a kindly-looking older couple doing their best to resemble humans, but their skin bulged uncomfortably in the wrong places, as if it had been put on very hastily or at least without much understanding of how it was supposed to fit. The couple excitedly greeted Lily, who introduced them to the children and me as Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Puddle.\n\n\"SO PLEASED TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE!\" said Mrs. Puddle as if she were speaking to a very slow child.\n\nLily cut in before I could reply. \"There's no need to shout, Mrs. Puddle. Most humans have ears.\"\n\n\"Is that what you call them? How odd.\" She felt the sides of her head and found her own ears. They shifted uneasily, as if they had been pinned to her skull. James stifled a giggle just as Mr. Whatley joined us with a younger couple who seemed to more closely follow his philosophy of individuality.\n\nThe woman, if she could be called a woman, wore a sheath of netting over the entire surface of her body instead of skin. Her innards pushed uncomfortably through the gaps in the fabric, red and glistening. Still, she was roughly shaped like a person, and she had features resembling eyes and lips that were fixed in a perpetual expression of haughty disdain. Mr. Whatley introduced her as Miss Yarborough, and she nodded to me without a word of greeting. The children gazed upon her with rapt fascination rather than disgust, for she was very much a living, breathing variation on some of the anatomical diagrams we had studied in class. I had to swat James's hand away before he could poke a finger into the wet flesh beneath her netting.\n\nThe gentleman, on the other hand, was most talkative. He had no body at all, as he was made of some thick, gaseous substance that coiled itself into a humanoid figure, but this did nothing to prohibit him from being the liveliest person in the room. He had no facial features, and as Mr. Whatley introduced him, he changed from the color of silver mist to a deep blue.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham, this is Mr. Snit,\" said Mr. Whatley.\n\nThe gentleman bowed deeply, so deeply in fact that it seemed he was mocking the very custom of bowing. He took my hand into his cool, misty tendrils and kissed it. \"The pleasure is mine a thousand times over, my dear lady.\"\n\nI blushed politely, and Miss Yarborough rolled her eyes. \"Do sober up, Snitty, or you shan't make it through dinner.\"\n\nMr. Snit turned an indignant shade of red. \"One must have a certain level of intoxication, my dear Miss Yarborough, to put up with you for an entire evening.\"\n\nLily pulled me away to the other side of the room for further introductions. There was a blond boy a few years younger than Olivia who was more beautiful than Miss Whatley could ever hope to be; his mother, a formidable but pleasant-looking woman; and a pair of tall, gangly creatures that resembled oversized centipedes, both of them with twelve different limbs along dappled undersides that curved into the air as they held themselves to conversation level, bulbous eyes blinking sideways.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Aldrich and her son, Dabney,\" said Lily, referring to the woman and her son.\n\nMrs. Aldrich nodded. \"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"Good evening,\" said the boy. When he spoke, everyone in the room seemed to stop to stare at him, watching his perfect lips shape themselves around the words. If he noticed the attention, he pretended not to.\n\n\"And this is the Professor and Mrs. Baxter.\"\n\n\"How do you do?\" I greeted both of the centipede creatures, but as I blinked I noticed something odd about them. In the moment just before my eyes closed, and again just after they opened, the Baxters seemed to disappear. It was an odd sensation, and so I tried not to blink as I faced them.\n\n\"Hello,\" the Baxters said in unison, smiling together.\n\nFortunately I was rescued by the sudden incursion of Mr. Samson. He took my arm and steered me to the other side of the drawing room.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham! Pleasure to see you again, my dear.\" I could smell the bourbon on his breath.\n\n\"And you, Mr. Samson,\" I said primly, releasing myself from his grip.\n\n\"What do you think of the party?\"\n\n\"An interesting collection of guests to say the least.\"\n\n\"I don't much care for them myself. Present company excluded, of course.\" He glared at the only guest I had not yet met, a gentleman with a squat, flat face, tendrils of graying hair obscuring the place where one might typically find a mouth and chin. His body was sheathed in plates of calcified, translucent skin, and in place of arms or legs he had boneless, trunk-like appendages that protruded through cracks in the dried-out husk of his flesh.\n\n\"It's impolite to stare,\" said Mr. Whatley, approaching us from behind.\n\nMr. Samson turned and poked his host in the chest. \"Do you insult me, sir? By inviting that . . . creature?\"\n\n\"Mr. Cornelius is a valued member of society, just as you are. As I have told you in the past, I play no favorites. Your disagreements are your own.\"\n\n\"You're playing a dangerous game, Whatley.\"\n\n\"They are the only kind worth playing. Wouldn't you agree, Mrs. Markham?\" He gave me a knowing look and smiled with his lopsided smirk.\n\nMr. Samson huffed away, leaving me alone with the master of Darkling.\n\n\"A fair game is more interesting than a dangerous one,\" I replied, the edge in my voice unmasked.\n\nTo my surprise, Mr. Whatley nodded. \"It can be difficult to distinguish between the two, especially when an opponent does not realize the advantages she possesses.\" To this I had no retort, and I glared at him more from confusion than from dislike. He nodded at me and announced to the group that dinner was to begin. We slowly wandered into the dining hall.\n\nThe room looked nothing like it had during our previous meals, as it was now exquisitely decorated for the occasion. Bolts of lightning had been captured and mounted on black metallic pedestals along the sides of the room. The walls were adorned with the glass paintings from Mr. Whatley's private collection, each depicting a different landscape: a bleak, cratered wasteland in one; a rocky seashore with a familiar-looking scarlet fortress in the distance of another; a massive, decaying metropolis in one of the grander pieces; and even a representation of the woods just beyond Everton. Upon closer inspection, I became aware that these were not merely pictures but actual windows into the places they showed. In the portrait of Everton, I could see the trees swaying and coils of fog drifting in the breeze.\n\nMr. Whatley sat at one end of the table and his daughter at the other. I found my name written on a dainty placard and took my seat between Paul and Mr. Puddle, who was next to his wife, while Mr. Cornelius sat beside the Baxters. Miss Yarborough was between Mr. Whatley and Mr. Samson, while Lily and James were between Mr. Snit and Mrs. Aldrich, whose son, Dabney, was next to Olivia and across from Paul. Once everyone was seated, the usual dinner conversation began as we waited for the first course.\n\n\"How do you find The Ending?\" Mrs. Aldrich addressed me from across the table.\n\n\"I'm not sure that I have found it, as of yet,\" I responded coyly. \"It is rather mysterious.\"\n\nMrs. Aldrich nodded in agreement. \"We are a mysterious people, Mrs. Markham. All of us in our own little fiefdoms, our own great houses, separated by worlds upon worlds. But that is as it should be. Eternity is a very long time, and any society, no matter how enlightened it may be, is bound to tear itself apart just to prove that it can.\"\n\n\"Like the Romans.\" Paul jumped in and, to my surprise, smiled across the table at Dabney Aldrich.\n\nThe other boy spoke up, and once again, everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to whatever it was he had to say.\n\n\"I'm afraid I must disagree with my mother, for if we truly lived in an enlightened society, a difference of opinion would not be enough to set the worlds onto a path of madness.\"\n\nMiss Yarborough was about to respond when a servant wheeled a cart into the dining hall. On top of it sat a saut\u00e9 pan and a small burner with a blue flame. Mr. Whatley rose from his chair and addressed his guests.\n\n\"The universe is a very large place, but not as vast as one might imagine. There are some commonalities that bind us all together, and here, even in The Ending, it is a custom to formally welcome newcomers with a gathering of friends. Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening in welcoming our guests.\" He gestured to the Darrows, and there was polite applause as Mr. Whatley picked up a knife from the table. He held it out in front of him.\n\n\"It is our tradition that the host of any gathering make an offer of friendship, and the best thing that anyone can hope to give is a piece of themselves. With that being said\u2014\" Mr. Whatley's human hand unraveled into a conjoined grouping of tentacles. He sliced off one of the smaller limbs with the knife, and the hand re-formed no worse for wear. The foot-long piece of flesh fell into the saut\u00e9 pan, and the servant quickly divided it into sixteen equal portions, tossing them in the air to brown them on all sides. When he was finished, he rolled the cart around the table and served each of the guests a cooked piece of Mr. Whatley.\n\nPaul stared at his plate in horror, and then gave me a pleading look. Across the table Lily nodded at us to consume what we had been given, then scolded James for eating his before everyone else had been served. Paul and I looked at one another, picked up our forks, and placed our slices of tentacle into our mouths. It tasted as if a piece of squid had been stuffed with venison. The thought of where it came from was more revolting than the actual flavor, but it was certainly nothing that I was eager to try again. Paul choked it down and quickly guzzled copious amounts of ice water.\n\nEager to pick up their conversation where it had been left off, Miss Yarborough spoke up in a crisp, intelligent voice. \"There is a difference between simple disagreement and outright rebellion. There are rules that make the universe what it is. Some of those can be broken, but to ignore others is to forget ourselves; we can only be the things that we are, and to pretend otherwise is an act of ignorance.\"\n\nMr. Samson jumped in. \"A culture that never changes grows stagnant. If we cannot change, then we have nothing to lose and even less to learn, which is why humankind has overtaken our own.\"\n\n\"The essence of our culture is not something to be slouched off to appease some insufferable fad,\" answered the bearded creature Mr. Whatley had referred to as Mr. Cornelius. \"And a dangerous one at that. With all due respect to our distinguished guests, humans do not belong in The Ending.\"\n\n\"A fad would imply a lack of social relevance,\" said Dabney. \"Look around this table, and you will see the beginnings of a movement. We wear the skins of men to remind our brethren of how far we have fallen. If we refuse to evolve, then we might as well be human.\"\n\nMiss Yarborough scoffed. \"That is only a half-truth. You wear them to play at mortality, to pretend for a moment that your time is at an end. You wear them as a sign of solidarity, but it is only a badge of weakness.\"\n\n\"Hear, hear,\" said Mr. and Mrs. Baxter in complete synchronization.\n\nOlivia sighed and shook her head. \"Why must the way one dresses mean anything beyond simple aesthetic appeal? I for one am perfectly happy when I look as I truly am, but even more so when I am dressed as a human girl because it is something I choose to be. It makes me even more like myself.\"\n\n\"My darling daughter, if that is true then you have had more selves than all the guests seated at this table.\"\n\n\"Father is rather old-fashioned, I'm afraid.\"\n\nWhatley nodded and continued. \"A person may be fashionable, but one can only bend so far before one snaps and forgets oneself altogether.\"\n\nMr. Samson glared at him, but said nothing as servants returned carrying tureens of steaming soup.\n\nI lifted the lid off of mine and found the bowl filled with a light blue sky. Dollops of cloud drifted across the surface of the broth, and as it cooled they turned to steam and wafted into the air. I dipped my spoon into the soup and brought it to my lips. It tasted of the cool wind that descends upon the land between winter and spring. It was very refreshing.\n\n\"At least you were good enough to invite Mrs. Darrow to stay on as my governess,\" said Olivia to her father. \"I've been learning ever so much.\"\n\n\"A young woman must be prepared in this day and age to understand both sides of an argument. We live in dangerous times,\" said Mr. Whatley in his ironic way, his eyes flickering from me to Lily, and then down to his daughter. I was unsure if he had been talking about himself or about the brewing discontent within The Ending.\n\n\"Indeed.\" The Professor and Mrs. Baxter finished their bowls of soup at the exact same time and pushed them away. \"We are quite afraid that civil war will soon be upon us.\"\n\n\"It will never come to that,\" said Miss Yarborough.\n\nDabney nodded in agreement. \"Cooler heads will surely prevail.\"\n\nMr. Puddle leaned back in his chair. \"Speck and Ashby are capable politicians. Surely some agreement can be reached.\"\n\nI was transfixed by this entire exchange, but Mrs. Puddle shook her head with an exasperated sigh. \"I do apologize, but I simply can't listen to any more talk of politics.\" With that, she pulled her ears off of her head and put them into her purse.\n\n\"Quite right,\" said a rose-colored Mr. Snit. \"Why dwell on such depressing matters after a fourth glass of wine? Someone say something cheerful or I shall be forced to sing a filthy drinking song.\"\n\nMiss Yarborough passed her hand through his body to grab hold of something solid at the center of his misty form. He squeaked and remained seated in his chair.\n\nMr. Samson ignored this and seemed to rise out of his state of agitation. \"Young Mr. Aldrich is up for a very important apprenticeship,\" he said.\n\nDabney blushed, and Mrs. Aldrich smiled modestly. \"One must not become overconfident, Mr. Samson,\" she said.\n\nThe chef entered the dining hall. He was an older, rotund gentleman with pasty skin and the curling mustache traditional for someone in his profession. The dinner guests applauded politely. The other servants raced around the room and gave each of the diners a small hollow pastry. The chef extracted a knife from his belt and held it in the air like it was part of some magician's trick.\n\nNot again, I thought. But he took the knife and cut into his wrist. For any other occurrence of bodily mutilation at the dinner table I would have covered my eyes, but this was such a strange sight that it transcended revulsion. At first, nothing happened. There was no blood. He put the knife back into his belt, took out a medium-size mallet, and stood behind Mr. Whatley. He held his wrist over the plate, and after a moment, something bulged down his sleeve. There was something literally under his skin, crawling down his arm between layers of flesh and muscle, searching for the slit in his wrist. The incision bulged unpleasantly, and a small lizard slithered wetly out of his wound and into the hollow pastry. With his other hand the chef smacked the pastry smartly with the mallet, crushing both it and the lizard in a single blow. He moved to Miss Yarborough and did the same for her. When he got to Olivia, he had to put the mallet under his arm and hold the incision in his wrist closed, for there were more lizard creatures trying to escape than there were guests in the dining hall. James clapped excitedly and couldn't wait to taste his very own lizard, but Paul gagged and I stomped on his foot with the heel of my shoe.\n\n\"We must be polite, Paul,\" I said under my breath. The chef bowed out of the room when he was finished, and I nibbled at the edge of the pastry shell but was hesitant to dig into the meaty center of the thing. Paul drank more water and refused to touch his lizard pastry. He looked up eagerly to Dabney and asked, \"What sort of apprenticeship?\"\n\nThe other boy looked down and smiled humbly. \"Mr. Samson is too kind. I will soon be competing for a position with Mr. Speck.\"\n\n\"It's one of the most prestigious apprenticeships in all the worlds,\" said Mrs. Aldrich with more than a little hint of pride.\n\n\"What does this Mr. Speck do, exactly?\" I asked, for I could no longer suppress my natural curiosity.\n\nMr. Whatley, who had been sipping a glass of wine while the other guests finished their lizard pastries, set down his goblet. \"Whatever needs to be done; Speck and Ashby are the leaders of our political parties.\"\n\nThe servants returned to clear away the plates and set out a small dish of green salad in front of each guest. After the last course I was relieved to eat something that had not previously been sentient. In no time at all the servants took away the salad plates and gave everyone an eggcup filled with what appeared to be a multicolored egg. I picked up my spoon and was about to dig into it, but then I saw the clouds hovering around the surface of the thing. Upon closer inspection I could see tiny continents and mountains, rivers and valleys. There was a whole world sitting in my eggcup.\n\nOlivia whispered to me, \"Don't worry, it's uninhabited.\"\n\n\"Thank heavens,\" I said. I scooped off the top of the tiny world with my spoon, revealing a warm red-orange center within, and ate it. It was crispy and smooth at the same time, with a hint of peppermint. At first it was cool on my tongue, but when I tasted the core of it I burned my mouth. Even before it slid down the entire length of my throat, I began to feel very full and could barely think of taking another bite. The other diners finished with their eggcups, and the servants cleared the table and brought out the final course. It was a small bowl filled with something dark but insubstantial. Olivia informed me that it was Sweetened Shadows, and after tasting it I had to agree that the name was appropriate. It had a hint of sweetness to it, but no distinct flavor. It was a pleasant way to end a very strange meal.\n\nMr. Whatley stood from the table, smiling congenially at his guests. \"Shall we retire to the drawing room?\"\n\nThe evening ended the way it began, with everyone engaged in polite conversation until Duncan entered carrying a tray of cordials. Mr. Whatley made another toast to good health, and slowly the other guests began to take their leave of the affair.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Puddle, who each shook my hand before their departure, were transfixed by the fact that my fingers could only bend in one direction and would not release me until Lily intervened and saw them out the door, leaving me to be approached by the bearded creature with the flat face.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham. We have yet to be formally introduced. I am called Cornelius.\" He bowed before me, which was for the best as I did not relish the thought of shaking one of his trunk-like limbs. \"I hope we did not offend you with all the talk of politics.\" As he spoke, I could see appendages moving themselves to form words behind the curtain of his beard. The effect was deeply off-putting, but I kept my gaze focused on his dark onyx eyes.\n\n\"On the contrary, I found it most intriguing, though I confess I still do not understand the reason for the disagreement.\"\n\n\"As with most arguments, it is an old one hardly worth discussing.\" He ushered me to a far corner of the room where we could sit beside one another on a chaise longue beneath the window. \"I do hope you'll forgive me for saying so, but I could not help overhearing your exchange with our host earlier this evening.\"\n\nI stiffened. \"That was a private conversation.\"\n\n\"Which is why I beg for your forgiveness. But you and I are of a similar mind. A game should only be played when both sides are evenly matched. Our host would do well to remember that.\"\n\n\"Then we are in agreement.\"\n\n\"I observed you listening intently to our dinner conversation. What did you make of our host?\"\n\n\"His words appease one faction of The Ending, while his appearance pacifies another.\"\n\n\"Precisely. And yet, Mr. Whatley has a reputation for decisiveness. It is perplexing that he should be uncertain of where his loyalties lie, and a situation I am eager to end.\"\n\nI peered at him carefully, absorbing his words and searching his black eyes for some hint of his character. \"That is a most vexing problem, but why should you bring it to my attention?\"\n\n\"There have never before been living humans in The Ending. For some, that alone could be viewed as an act of treason, but others are not so sure. I only wish to find some token of Mr. Whatley's allegiance to Ashby's cause, so that we might put away our suspicions.\"\n\n\"And what cause might that be?\"\n\n\"To preserve our traditions, and, if I may be frank, some sense of stability. Speck and his compatriots are dabbling in things that could upset the balance of your world in addition to our own. You are here more than I; there are many rooms in the House of Darkling, and I am unable to explore them all. You can see my dilemma. It is for his own good, wouldn't you agree?\"\n\n\"Why should I wish to do anything for the good of Mr. Whatley?\"\n\n\"Because I can offer a token of protection against whatever game he has you playing.\" Mr. Cornelius reached into his beard and extracted a small iron key. He handed it to me before any of the other guests noticed. \"Provide me with evidence of Whatley's allegiance, and I will protect you from him.\" He gestured to the key. \"One turn in any lock will send for me.\"\n\nI took the key and slid it into the folds of my dress. \"How can I trust you?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid, my dear, that you do not have much of a choice.\"\n\nMr. Cornelius and the Baxters left without saying good-bye to anyone, but none of the other guests seemed very offended. Mrs. Aldrich went to collect her son, who was seated next to Paul in a far corner of the room. They were deep in conversation and very cross when they had to part. More strange than anything during the evening was the abrupt disappearance of Paul's perpetual gloom. He began to smile and continued to do so even after Dabney left the house.\n\nMiss Yarborough and Mr. Snit were the last to depart. The gentleman was so intoxicated by the end of the evening that he turned a nasty shade of green and had to be gathered into a milk jar to be carried out by his proud, haughty companion.\n\nLily and I said good night to the Whatleys and took the children to their room. As before, Lily took Laurel Parker Wolfe's book of fairy tales from the compartment beside the bed. The children wrapped themselves against her as she began to read.\n\nThe Seamless Children\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a village in the forest. The people were happy and prosperous for a long while until a sickness spread throughout the land and took the lives of many small children. The villagers were distraught, for the local doctor could not cure them, and with the coming of winter they would certainly not survive. It was quickly decided that the only thing to do would be to seek the help of the mysterious old wizard who lived in a cave deep in the wood.\n\nThe wizard, who was lonely and did not receive many visitors, was glad to help the villagers, but he cautioned them on the dangers of what they asked him to do. \"The young ones will not survive the winter as they are. Bring them to me if you will, but I warn you that the task you present me with is a difficult one. I may not be able to undo it.\"\n\nThe villagers thanked the wizard for his warning but were so desperate to save their children that they bundled them in heavy fur blankets and carried them to the cave in the wood without a second thought. The wizard spread a large cloth sheet over the ground and asked that the children be laid in a circle on top of it. When this was done, he moved his hands through the air in an intricate pattern of unseen glyphs, all the while reciting some secret spell under his breath. The children grew smaller, down to the size of babes, and the wizard gathered the ends of the cloth sheet, shaping it into a sack. He twisted the ends together until they were closed, and kept turning them against the bulk of the shrunken children until their little faces pressed roughly against the fabric. The wizard continued the motion until the fabric came apart in many places, but the children were no longer inside. Instead, the pieces of cloth had been split and sewn together to form a family of rag dolls, one in the place of each child.\n\nThe villagers, who were not sure what to make of this change, had very little time to dwell on it, for as soon as the wizard finished he fell to his knees and died. The strain of the spell had been too great, and even as the doll children rose to their little cloth feet and stretched their little cloth arms, their parents backed out of the cave, unable to deal with what had been done to them and choosing instead to imagine that they had died along with the wizard.\n\nIt was a long, lonely winter for the dolls who had once been children. They buried the wizard as best they could, some of them ruining the threading of their delicate hands as they dug into the cold, hard earth. Most of them chose to live in the wizard's cave, but others tried to return home to the families that had abandoned them. These reunions never ended well, for even at their best, the parents still looked upon the dolls as little ghosts in cloth skin. The lucky ones were able to return to the cave, but more often than not they were burned and buried or torn apart in hopes of releasing whatever remnant of the child remained hidden within the body of the rag doll.\n\nThe single winter they had been made to survive came and went. Years passed, and the doll children slowly began to fall apart; threading unraveled, cloth skin split, and the stuffing that kept them whole fell out in clumps. It was decided among them that they could not go on for much longer. Some of them had heard during their unhappy trips to the village that there was a fairy in a nearby forest, and if the stories were true, she would be able to undo what the wizard had done.\n\nTogether the dolls traveled across the land, avoiding hawks and wolves by sleeping in hollowed-out logs, crossing large brooks so that their bodies became waterlogged, until finally they came to a small house made of colored glass at the edge of the forest. The company of dolls collapsed before the door, summoning just enough strength to rap their cloth fists against the smooth entrance. The fairy found them in a sad state of disrepair and gathered them into her arms, setting them before a comfortable fireplace to rest and dry. When they were well enough to speak, she sat with them on the ground to listen to their plea.\n\n\"Good fairy,\" they said, \"we who were once children wish to go back to what we were.\"\n\nThe fairy petted their soft cloth heads and nodded in understanding.\n\n\"Are you sure that is what you truly wish?\" she asked them. \"Instead, I could fix up your holes and strengthen your threading. You could go on forever, if you wish. The life of a child is hard and sometimes short.\"\n\nBut the doll children had come for one reason only and could not be dissuaded from their wish. The fairy placed them all into a large cauldron and cooked them for seven days and seven nights in boiling water until their cloth became skin and their stuffing turned to flesh, until their little bodies swelled and grew to their original sizes. They slept for the entire day when she was done. She found clothing for them, and a wagon with a horse, so that when they awoke they were ready to return to their families.\n\nIt was a bittersweet reunion. The families were very guilty about what they had done to their young ones, but the children who had once been dolls could not be bothered with anger or grief, for when the good fairy had returned them to their original forms, she had also brought back the incurable sickness that had driven their parents to seek the old wizard's help. They were put to bed, and surrounded by the families that had left them alone for so many years, they died as they should have done years before.\n\nLily closed the book and set it down in her lap. During the story James had squirmed away from her and moved to his own bed. Paul stayed by her side, his eyes closed and his arm around his mother.\n\n\"I don't think I like bedtime stories anymore,\" said James.\n\n\"I must admit that this one is a bit sad, but it has a very good moral.\"\n\n\"Accept your fate or suffer the consequences?\" Paul yawned and stretched, releasing her from his embrace and settling into his own bed.\n\n\"No, not at all.\" Lily gaped for a moment, put off by his comment. \"Enjoy the time you have with the ones you love. No matter what the situation.\"\n\nJames pulled his covers up to his chin as his mother tucked him in. \"Do you think they were happy to die?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Not to die, but to be with their families again, yes.\" She kissed him on the forehead and turned to do the same for Paul, but he was already under the blankets with his head on his pillow and his eyes closed.\n\n\"How could they be?\" said the older boy. \"They were abandoned for years and years. You can't forget something like that.\"\n\n\"But they did. When you only have so much time together, you must move on.\" Lily knelt beside him and kissed him on the cheek.\n\nHe squinted when she did so and turned away from her. \"I'm tired.\"\n\nLily looked as if she'd been struck across the face. She left the room before I could and leaned against the wall outside. I closed the door and joined her in the hallway.\n\n\"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm fine. That story . . . I was trying to prepare them. You were right that these visits cannot go on for much longer. We have to move on. I have to let them go. Good night, Charlotte.\" She kissed me on the forehead the same as she had done to the boys and walked alone down the dark hallway to wherever it was that she went during our slumber. I did not have time to dwell on this.\n\nI entered my room and found the curio set in the wall, opening the panel that held the tiny candle men. They were playing a game of keep-away with the smallest of their group, tossing his wax head back and forth between them when I cleared my throat in disapproval.\n\n\"Could you please take me to the dark room? You know the one I mean.\" They ended their game and hopped down to the floor, and together we paraded through the House of Darkling to the bas-relief sculpture of marble faces twisted in suffering. I pressed my finger into the eye socket of one of the characters, just as Duncan had done, and the wall behind the sculpture clicked open.\n\nIt was empty save for the frightening metal chair with its restraints and the wheeled table that stood beside it. I passed through the gauzy veiled partitions to the center of the chamber as the candle people waited for me outside, refusing to enter.\n\nI knelt down and opened a compartment beneath the table, revealing a dozen rows of the smoky-colored phials, each of them featuring a white label with a concise description written in a refined, elegant hand. There were phials labeled STRANGLED, INFIRMED, IMPALED, DROWNED, BURNED, SHOT, EATEN, FROZEN, and so on and so forth, each classified by some form of misfortune. I placed one marked DISMEMBERED into my pocket and paused at BURNED. I pulled out the stopper and sniffed at the contents. It smelled of charcoal. Not exactly appetizing, but to deliver Cornelius something useful, I had to know what I had found. I dipped a finger into the black fluid so that a small trace of it was left clinging to my skin, and placed it into my mouth, ingesting it as I had seen Mr. Samson do.\n\nSuddenly I was not myself. The air was burning around me, enveloped by wreaths of flame and smoke. I was carrying something important bundled in cloth, running from room to room, my skin blistering and cracking, hair crisping against a blackened scalp. When I burst through the door into the cool night air, it pressed against the searing of my flesh, only intensifying the pain until I collapsed to the ground.\n\nThe parcel I clutched unraveled to reveal the scorched face of a woman with blond hair and a short, pointed nose, a face I beheld in the mirror whenever attempting to conjure the image of my late mother, a habit that always lent me strength, though at that moment the sight of it stripped away every shred of energy and composure I had left. I screamed, and as I screamed, the world slipped away into the blackness of oblivion, where I remained for what felt like an eternity, frozen in terror at the sight of my own body sprawled on the floor as I realized that the person running through the burning house had been Jonathan, and that, for a moment, I had felt what he had as he died.\n\nSomeone grabbed my shoulder. I spun around, nearly dropping the phial, only to find Duncan standing behind me, a finger pressed to the wry smile on his lips.\n\n\"Now you know.\"\n\nFor a moment I thought the mute had spoken, but then Mr. Samson appeared behind him, his eyes bloodshot, the lines in his face more visible than even at dinner.\n\n\"Death. All of them.\" I motioned to the smoke-colored phials with an exhausted wave of my hand.\n\n\"Many different kinds of death.\" Mr. Samson sat his large body on the metal chair and allowed Duncan to strap him in. \"We dress as humans for many reasons, but for most of us, we simply wish for peace. Endless peace. This is as close as we are likely to ever get. Ashby, Cornelius, and the others . . . they fear us. Death has never been allowed into The Ending. If that were to change, then death for some would mean death for all.\" He pointed to one of the phials, and Duncan began to make his preparations.\n\n\"The death I saw. It was my husband's.\" I could scarcely get the words out.\n\n\"Is that so? A most peculiar coincidence. But then again, few things are coincidental with Mr. Whatley. He does enjoy his games. Despite what you think, or what he might wish you to think, he is a great man. He gives us peace, if only for a few moments.\"\n\nI gestured to the phials, hands shaking. \"Where does he find them?\"\n\n\"He collects them. Observes them as they are happening, or so I'm told. Though I wouldn't put it past him to cause a few deaths in order to expand his collection.\"\n\nMy stomach lurched, and I had to concentrate very intently in order to stop myself from being sick. The man in black from my past had never been the specter of Death. It was Whatley who had plagued my life since I was a girl. But was he simply an observer of my misfortune, or had he taken my family from me to set in motion the series of events that would slowly steer me toward Everton, to Darkling, and into the diabolical game I now played with him? I had learned something important, for while I still did not fully comprehend the scope of his intentions, I now at least knew how to solve the puzzle of our game. The strongest connection between Darkling and Blackfield was not Susannah or Nanny Prum or even Lily Darrow. It was me.\n\n\"He must be stopped,\" I said through gritted teeth.\n\n\"On the contrary, Mrs. Markham. You have your own death. Leave us with ours.\"\n\nDuncan held a darkened sugar cube before Mr. Samson's lips, and the gentleman bit down on it with a satisfied crunch. As his body began to convulse, I backed out of the room and retreated to what comfort could be provided by a strange bed in the strange house of the man in black.\nCHAPTER 14\n\nLock and Key\n\nThe children and I ate breakfast alone, and when we were finished Duncan escorted us back through the orchard. We arrived at Everton, and I took the children up to the schoolroom to continue their lessons. It would be difficult to say which of us was more subdued. The boys answered questions without complaint and barely looked up when Ellen entered to inform me that Mr. Darrow required my presence in his study.\n\nI meandered through the halls of Everton, and though I failed to find any trace of the boy with the keyhole eyes, I was unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched. The sensation only intensified when I entered Mr. Darrow's study. The master of Everton stood from his desk when I found him.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darrow. I didn't see you at breakfast.\" I took my seat across from him, and something cool brushed against my leg. I looked down in time to catch sight of a length of chain disappearing around the side of the desk. I felt the color drain from my face, but Mr. Darrow appeared oblivious and remained where he was, leaning forward on the palms of his hands, apprehensive and clearly anxious. I resisted the urge to cry out or leap after the shackles, focusing myself entirely on his gaze.\n\n\"I've had a lot to think about,\" he said.\n\n\"As have I.\"\n\nMr. Darrow opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out as he looked into my eyes, searching for something to say. Behind him, the boy with the keyhole eyes crept noiselessly up the wall beside Lily's portrait, sniffing at it, his head twisted in an unnatural position so that his abominable face never left our direction, broken teeth poking out from between pale gray lips.\n\n\"What happened last night . . . I'm afraid I put you in a very bad position.\"\n\n\"You mustn't think that,\" I replied, nervous that my voice might betray the growing horror I felt at the sight of the creature perching itself in the corner of the ceiling. I tentatively placed my hand over Mr. Darrow's. He pulled away.\n\n\"But I do, and there's only one thing to be done about it.\" He sat down roughly in his chair and looked away from me. \"I must send you away.\"\n\nThe anxiety I felt over Darkling and the terrible childlike creature faded beneath the weight of his words as they hung in the air between us, stinging. \"You can't possibly mean that.\"\n\n\"I took advantage of your kindness and friendship, I see that now. It's for your own good.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to leave. Doesn't that amount to anything?\" I felt it all slipping away\u2014the storybook ending, my future with the children, Henry's happiness, Lily's redemption, my victory over Whatley\u2014the pieces were sliding out of place.\n\n\"It can't. We have to think of the children. Your reputation.\"\n\n\"My reputation is perfectly intact.\"\n\n\"And I'd like to keep it that way. The servants will start to talk.\"\n\nThen I began to understand. The anger I felt won out, and the mask made of rules and restraint that had been threatening to slip from my grasp finally did.\n\n\"I see. Of course, how silly of me, it's not my reputation that concerns you.\"\n\n\"That is not what I meant.\"\n\n\"Did you ever stop to think that perhaps it was I who took advantage of you?\"\n\n\"No, never!\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps you should have. Perhaps you are simply stronger than me, because I'll never be strong enough to deny the way I feel about you.\" He stared at me dumbly, mouth agape.\n\n\"Will you tell the children or should I?\" I carried on. \"I can't imagine what it will do to them to have another woman taken from their lives.\"\n\n\"I should be the one to tell them.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go and collect my things.\"\n\n\"Please don't be angry,\" he pleaded.\n\n\"I'm not angry, you fool. I'm heartbroken.\"\n\nHe moved his mouth in a mechanical sort of way, but no sound came out. I turned away from him and stormed out of his study, throwing the door shut with a satisfying crack that echoed down the hallway. I leaned against the wall to steady myself, fighting the urge to break down and cry.\n\nContrary to what I'd told Henry, I was angry. Not just with him, but at myself for becoming vulnerable to an illusion. I had overreached, placing my hopes into a fairy tale that was not real, that hardly ever happened. Men like Henry Darrow did not fall in love with their servants. They raped them and sent them away to raise their bastard children in poverty. I stopped myself. I was becoming dramatic. Mr. Darrow had taken no liberties with me save for our kiss in the kitchen, and again, I felt my loss. Men like Henry Darrow did not come along very often, and that made it all the worse.\n\nI contemplated the different ways I could attempt to keep him until my mind drifted into dark places. There is always blackmail. I pushed the voice out of my head, but it returned again as quickly as it came. Lily could help you. She wants you together. You have not lost. At this I shuddered, for I did not wish to win or lose Henry Darrow. I wanted him to love me.\n\nTears welled in the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision to the point that I almost dismissed the shape of a head materializing through the closed oak door to Mr. Darrow's study. I lunged for it without thinking, grasping the boy with the keyhole eyes by the scruff of his neck and pulling him all the way out into the hall.\n\nI looped his chains around my wrist and lifted him beneath the crook of my arm, trapping him as I ran down the corridor to my room. I passed by a single maid dusting the draperies, but I moved so quickly that she did not give me a second glance as the creature was roughly the same size as James. He squirmed beneath my grip while I struggled with the door, but I won out and slammed it closed, dropping onto my bed with the childlike thing in my lap.\n\n\"Now, what to do with you?\" Mysteries of The Ending was locked away in a trunk at the foot of my bed, and even if I were able to get it open while keeping hold of the boy, I had no idea what his mistress might do if I showed up with him in hand. He writhed against me, and the chain jangled on the floor where the brass skeleton key connected to the last link caught on the fabric of my dress. I reached for it as he slipped away, grabbing hold of the key as the creature bolted toward the door. I yanked on the chain with all my might, and the boy jerked backward to the floor. I stepped over him to straddle his chest as I inserted the key into his right eye socket with the familiar click of metal against bone. He immediately went still and began to speak in a hushed, androgynous whisper.\n\n\"They meet in the night.\" I almost asked him to elaborate, but he continued without pausing for breath in a second, more familiar voice.\n\n\"For what purpose?\"\n\n\"A sharing of affections. And it would appear that they drink tea.\"\n\n\"Most curious. Either way it shouldn't be much longer. You should prepare yourself.\"\n\n\"Am I still permitted to take the seamstress?\"\n\n\"To what end?\"\n\n\"I wear many skins for you, and I've always wanted to have someone to repair them.\"\n\n\"As you will, so long as you do as we discussed.\"\n\n\"Of course, Mr. Whatley.\"\n\nWith that, the boy with the keyhole eyes stopped speaking and began to melt into the floor. Refusing to lose him again, I looped the length of chain around my bedpost and watched as it was stretched taut, the other end of the shackles trailing away into the solid wood flooring as the boy struggled to free himself.\n\nDespite all of my other failures, I took some solace in the fact that I had managed to detain him, and could make my way back to the dilapidated castle in order to return him to his master. Still, there was much left undone. Who would help the boys say good-bye to their mother? Who would protect them from the House of Darkling? The answer was simple, really. If I was to be dismissed, then I would tell Mr. Darrow of his wife's bargain. If what Lily said were true, then the doorway between Everton and The Ending would be closed, and while the boys might hate me for it, I would at least get the satisfaction of knowing that they were safe from things I could neither fully explain nor understand.\n\nThe conversation I'd just overheard with the help of the boy with the keyhole eyes confirmed that Whatley's intentions were at least malicious toward Susannah. Considering how transparent he had been in his plotting, I found this hardly surprising. In fact, it was mildly comforting to know that I had at least discovered a part of his methodology. With a servant of Whatley's living at Everton, there was little choice but to send Susannah away to escape whatever designs had been fixed on her. If I was indeed the link between Darkling and Blackfield, then I hoped my departure and the removal of the door between the two worlds would be enough to divert Whatley's attention away from the remaining members of the Darrow family.\n\nI felt sorry for Lily. She would never know what had happened, and I appeared unable to save her from whatever Mr. Whatley had in store. But I could not allow her relationship to continue without my supervision. It was too unpredictable.\n\nI dug my valise out of the wardrobe and began to assemble my belongings. I couldn't bring myself to pack them away, so I laid everything into piles on the bed, carefully arranging and rearranging them until well after nightfall, when there was a knock at my door. I draped a blanket over the chain that disappeared into the floor and opened the door.\n\nEllen looked tired. \"It's Mr. Darrow. He didn't come down for dinner, and when Roland went to bring him his plate, he was gone. We've searched the whole house, but he's nowhere to be found, and no one knows where he's run off to. What are we to do?\"\n\nI turned back to the spread of clothes I had assembled and braced myself from feeling too acutely the pain of my impending departure.\n\n\"Perhaps he's gone to the village?\"\n\n\"Mr. Darrow never leaves the grounds of Everton if he doesn't have to, and never without telling anyone. It's not like him at all.\"\n\n\"Are the horses accounted for?\"\n\n\"Yes. And the carriages and the bicycles. He couldn't have gone far, wherever he went, but with the weather getting on the way it is, he might catch his death.\" It was not so cold as to be freezing, but it was cool enough to signal the start of winter. Soon the lakes would turn to ice, and snow would begin to fall, and the house would prepare for the holidays. I had so wanted to spend Christmas at Everton. I snapped myself back to the matter at hand before I trailed off into self-pity.\n\nEllen and I went down to the kitchen and were joined by Roland, Fredricks, Mrs. Norman, and Mrs. Mulbus, the group of us deciding what to do and whether or not a search party should be sent out. Before we had made much progress in our pursuit of the master of the house, the doorbell rang and we found Mr. Scott on our doorstep with Mr. Darrow clinging to his side.\n\n\"Found him in the graveyard. Must have been there for hours.\"\n\nIndeed, he looked very pale. I took him from the vicar and put his arm over my shoulder. He could walk, but only just. I helped carry him up to his bedroom, while Ellen kindled a fire in the hearth.\n\n\"What have you done to yourself?\" I whispered as I tucked him into bed.\n\n\"She's gone\" was all he said before slipping off to sleep. His forehead began to burn, and I summoned Dr. Barberry, who prescribed lots of fluids and plenty of rest.\n\nHenry remained bedridden for a number of days, and I attended to his every need without regard to propriety. The children flitted in and out at will, monitored by Ellen and content with the fact that their father continued to be alive and well. The servants could talk all that they wanted, but I would tend to Henry until he was recovered and then I would leave.\n\nA week after he became ill, I found his bed empty when I went to bring him his breakfast. I went downstairs, where he was in the dining room with the children. I tried to leave before he saw me, but I was too late. He invited me to eat with them. Color had returned to his cheeks, and even some of the dourness that had lingered in him for so long seemed to have abated.\n\n\"I take it you're feeling better, Mr. Darrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, thanks to your diligence.\"\n\n\"In the future I hope that you will do everyone a courtesy and refrain from sitting out in the cold until you become ill.\"\n\n\"I was careless. About many things.\" He smiled at me weakly, not out of exhaustion or illness, but as a matter of apology.\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"More than that. I was wrong. I hope you'll ignore what I said.\"\n\n\"I could never do that. But we can speak later. The boys and I have a schedule to maintain.\"\n\n\"Of course. Some other time.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\nAnd with that, everything was back to the way it had always been. I maintained my position and Henry kept his detachment, staring into the bottom of his teacup as I ushered the children up to the schoolroom. It was difficult to begin our lessons again after a weeklong absence, and progress was slow, but after four hours of reviewing everything from the fall of ancient Rome to the Pythagorean theorem, the boys were well primed and in need of a break. I didn't have to ask them what they wished to do. I could see the longing in their eyes radiating out of them.\n\nIt was the longest gap we'd had between our visits to Darkling, and no sooner had Duncan brought us to the steps of the house than Lily Darrow appeared at the door, red-faced and breathless as if she had run the length of the manor to meet us.\n\n\"You've come back!\" Her eyes were wide and glistening, though whether it was from fear or joy I could not be certain. She hugged the children for a long while in a simple, moving gesture until James pulled away.\n\n\"Father was sick so Charlotte took care of him.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to hear that. Thank you for looking after my husband.\" She did not look at me as she said the words. \"Come. I'm afraid I'm in the middle of my lessons with Olivia, but you may join us.\" Lily took us to the ballroom, where Olivia was dancing languidly before Mrs. Aldrich and her son, Dabney. The woman stopped Olivia and placed her manicured hands beneath the girl's arms, moving them into a more rigid position above her head.\n\n\"The Dance of Infinite Sorrow requires the arms to be kept over the head at all times, as if you're holding the moon against the sky. Do you understand?\"\n\nOlivia bit the inside of her cheek and nodded politely but broke form when she saw that she had an audience. \"Lily, you brought the children! How delightful!\"\n\nPaul became indignant at being referred to as a child. \"I'm not a child! I'm thirteen.\" He said this a little more loudly than he needed to and quickly greeted his friend Dabney with a hearty handshake. The eerily handsome young man laughed and embraced Paul with a hug instead.\n\n\"Olivia is to have a coming-out ball,\" explained Lily. \"And now I must insist that we continue with our lessons. Dabney?\"\n\nThe boy left Paul's side and took Miss Whatley's hands into his own. They swept across the ballroom as Lily counted time, a graceful blur of golden hair and pale-skinned beauty. When Lily was satisfied with their progress, and only after Mrs. Aldrich approved, we sat for dinner.\n\nDabney's mother chatted with Miss Whatley at one end of the table while her son conversed quietly with Paul at the other, leaving Lily and me to catch up. James sat silently eating his meal, an uncharacteristic gloominess seemingly borrowed from his older brother, but other than that it was a perfectly delightful evening. I looked over to Paul halfway through the meal. He was smiling and laughing, as children should. He seemed completely transformed in the company of the older boy, and it dawned on me that perhaps there was some good in the House of Darkling after all.\n\nThe Aldriches left after the meal, and as always, Lily escorted us up to our rooms. But this time she kissed the boys good night without tucking them in, and the book of fairy tales was not taken out. No one mentioned this change, and so neither did I, but it was obvious that something had shifted, or was shifting, even in a place where such a thing was never supposed to happen.\n\nI waited in the hallway for Lily as I always did, not expecting her to look so tired and worn down when she turned away from the door to face me.\n\n\"Is everything all right?\" I asked. She seemed on the verge of tears.\n\n\"Life is never what one expects, and death is only worse.\"\n\n\"What's happened?\"\n\n\"Nothing I can't manage.\" Her eyes darted around the hallway, and she led me into my room, closing the door behind us.\n\n\"Please . . . when you leave tomorrow, don't come back.\"\n\n\"I don't understand. I promised you one last visit after this one. What's happened?\"\n\n\"I wanted to say good-bye. Now it's done.\" She clutched the knob of the door, uncertain about something.\n\n\"But is it done for the children?\" I asked.\n\n\"It must be. For their own good.\"\n\n\"What shall I tell them?\"\n\n\"Something that will make it better.\"\n\n\"There's no such thing.\"\n\nLily nodded glumly and then left me alone to consider how I might tell the boys that their mother had left them again, only this time of her own free will. It consumed me, most of all because I did not understand why someone with such love and determination would give up everything she had fought so hard to earn. More important, I was not done with Darkling myself.\n\nWhen I dressed for bed I removed the smoke-colored phial labeled DISMEMBERED and placed it beside the iron key given to me by Mr. Cornelius. I had still not sent him proof of Whatley's loyalty to Ashby's adversaries. Despite the murder of Nanny Prum and the continued harassment of Susannah, he was helping his people. What kind of murderer did such a thing? I wondered if I had something wrong, or if things would only get worse if I involved myself in a larger game than the one I was playing with Mr. Whatley.\n\nI could not sleep, and so I returned to the library to collect my thoughts. I did not know what I was looking for, exactly. Perhaps I sought something to take my mind off the plight of the Darrows, or maybe it was something more substantial, to fix what could not be mended. I read through the various titles on the shelves until my eyes drifted up to the door on the fourth floor that led to Mr. Whatley's study. I walked up the spiral staircase with slow uncertainty, not sure what it was I intended to do, until I was in front of the door, about to try the handle, when it opened.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham.\" He wore a robe and nothing else, his muscled chest visible between the conveniently placed folds of the fabric.\n\n\"Mr. Whatley.\"\n\n\"Trouble sleeping?\" He smirked at me with his usual indolent, boyish grin, so self-satisfied that it made me question my sanity for ever thinking that there could be something good and decent about him.\n\n\"Something like that.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know. I don't sleep.\"\n\n\"How sad for you.\"\n\n\"Come in, if you'd like.\"\n\nI considered his offer. I pictured him all in black, standing over the corpses of my mother, my father, Jonathan, and Nanny Prum. I had no evidence that he had actually killed them; just that he had somehow taken their memories of death, and that a piece from his collection had been used against Susannah and presumably Nanny Prum. But I still lacked the most important part of the puzzle: why me? I pushed past him without a word.\n\nThe room was much the same as it had been before. Mr. Whatley's chest glowed nearly as luminously as the alabaster statues that lined the walls of the first part of his collection. He continued on, past the glass portraits that led to real places, a room of trees that changed seasons every few seconds, fountains built out of water that flowed with streams of liquid marble, until we reached the end and turned in to a high alcove that resembled a cathedral, with vaulted ceilings and a bed at the far end that was like an altar. It was quite grandiose and ridiculous, but at the same time perfectly appropriate for someone of his character.\n\n\"Would you care to see my true collection?\"\n\n\"That wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Of course not. A true collector keeps the rarest items private.\" He walked to the wall behind the bed and found a hidden panel that opened a secret door. He slid inside, his features disappearing into shadow. I followed him, for I knew that he would not harm me. He would not end our game without a grander confrontation; of that much I was certain.\n\nThe secret room was a miniature version of the library, but instead of books it held a wide variety of people, each of them standing motionless on a labeled pedestal, their eyes closed as if they were sleeping, waiting to be stirred from a long, sad dream. There were men and women, old and young, beautiful and plain, of various colors and sizes, something different for every occasion. It did not take me long to find Lily, positioned at the center of the display like a living doll, her chin resting on her chest. At the sight of her my face grew flushed with anger.\n\nThis is where she sleeps. I had imagined her in another wing of the house, perhaps in a room adjacent to Olivia's or, as I already had a sense of Mr. Whatley's true character, one that was convenient to his own.\n\n\"What do you think?\" Mr. Whatley's eyes, normally black and soulless, shimmered an inhuman silver-green in the dark of the room.\n\n\"It's disgusting.\" I spoke between clenched teeth.\n\n\"Perhaps a little. But all completely voluntary.\"\n\n\"That's even worse.\"\n\n\"They're all people of exceptional character. They did what they had to do in order to get what they wanted most.\"\n\n\"Which was what?\"\n\n\"That depends. They all had different desires. What is it that you want most, Mrs. Markham?\"\n\n\"To free her.\" I gestured to Lily. \"And to beat you.\"\n\nMr. Whatley chuckled, the sound of it reverberating through the room. \"You are hardly alone with the latter sentiment. Living humans in The Ending have begun to make Mr. Ashby's friends uncomfortable.\"\n\n\"I do not intend to stay after I've stopped you.\"\n\nHe raised an eyebrow, and the perpetual smirk stuck on his face twisted into one of greed. \"Are you so certain of yourself?\"\n\n\"You don't frighten me.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I should.\" He came closer to me, close enough to brush a strand of hair away from my face, which he did with his large hand. His touch was different from Henry's\u2014rougher and empty of any emotion, but possessed with a power, like his voice and his eyes, that made me want to fall into him and pull away at the same time. I did not dare to move.\n\n\"Everything I've ever loved has been taken from me, piece by piece, year by year, to place me where I now stand. I have nothing left to fear.\"\n\n\"You think yourself very clever, yet I am older than you could imagine and that much more powerful. The only thing you have that I do not is a death, which some might consider a disadvantage. Do you think this will end well?\"\n\n\"Not for you.\"\n\n\"I'm not afraid to lose so long as everyone else does. You'd do well to remember that, Mrs. Markham\"\n\n\"But that's not how the story goes. Someone has to win.\"\n\n\"Indeed. But whose story is it? Yours or mine?\"\n\n\"I suppose we'll have to wait and see.\" I turned away from him, confident that he would not do me any physical harm while my back was turned, and moved toward the door.\n\n\"Best of luck to you, Mrs. Markham. I can't wait to see what will happen next.\"\n\nI walked the entire length of the long room feeling his gaze at my back, unwilling to turn around to see if he was following me. I reached the door to the library and closed it behind me. The place had lost all the comfort that it once offered. I returned to my room, but not before checking once on the boys to make sure they were still comfortably asleep in their beds, unthinking and unworried about what their mother might have done in order to see them again.\n\nI lifted the smoke-colored phial and the iron key from where I had left them on my bed and stood before my bedroom door. I recalled the words of Mr. Cornelius.\n\nOne turn in any lock will send for me.\n\nI inserted the key into the lock and turned. The door opened into a dank, chilly room with walls covered in a hard, emerald film. A shape appeared on the ceiling, and Mr. Cornelius scuttled down the wall to greet me, the feelers behind his beard formed into a smile.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"There is a room in the House of Darkling where those who so desire might taste a human death. Is that the proof you require?\" I handed him the phial labeled DISMEMBERED.\n\n\"It should do nicely.\" He tucked it into his beard and turned, pressing his flat face against the wall, pincers emerging from the graying tendrils of his facial hair to work into the glossy green surface, cutting and slicing at it until a chunk broke away into the stout trunk-like appendages he used as hands. He held it out to me. \"A token of protection.\"\n\nIt was a clear disk of petrified green amber, with a single glyph scratched into it.\n\n\"What do I do with it?\"\n\n\"Keep it close. Do be careful, Mrs. Markham. He won't like this, not one bit.\" He escorted me back to the door.\n\n\"Let it never be said that I'm an unworthy opponent.\"\n\nWe parted company, and when I attempted to retrieve the iron key from the lock of my door, I was not surprised to find it missing. Our bargain had been completed, and I was once again on my own. I crawled into bed clutching the green amber disk to my breast, and for the first time in all our visits to Darkling, I slept peacefully.\nCHAPTER 15\n\nThe Christmas Guest\n\nWinter finally descended upon Blackfield a few days later. The barren branches of the forest became gloved in white snow, stretched out beneath the pale gray sky and arranged around the glass shores of the lake in a frozen ballet bereft of movement or song, dormant until spring, when the ice would melt and stream off of them, their forms glistening from the extended concentration of holding a single pose all season long.\n\nBut the villagers themselves would not be forced into hibernation. Indeed, the winter months were some of the busiest of the year. After the bazaar there were dinner parties and special church services, winter markets and quilting circles, not to mention the grandest event of all: the Blackfield Christmas Ball.\n\nIt was not really a ball so much as it was a local dance festival, but since it was held in the home of Cornelia Reese it could not be called anything else, nor discussed without the highest reverence, at least not within the presence of Mrs. Reese. The Reeses lived in the largest house in the village, and although it was only slightly bigger than Everton, that was enough for Mrs. Reese to declare it the only proper place to hold such an event, for it could accommodate the entire population of Blackfield. There was nothing the woman liked more than to take pity upon the poor dregs of society, the common folk who were not so well off as she, so that they might know, for at least one evening, some happiness in their sad and dreary lives. Despite this fact, or perhaps because of it, the people of Blackfield had no problem converging upon the Reese estate, which was called Arkham Hall, and conversing very loudly among themselves about how dreary the interiors had become since the previous year, all the while piling copious amounts of food into their mouths and purses, completely willing to play along with Cornelia so long as they could take advantage of her generosity. After all, a party was a party.\n\nThat afternoon I cornered James after our lessons and threw him over my shoulder. He giggled and kicked his legs, always a willing participant in any sort of violence, but he did not pass up the opportunity to make a scene.\n\n\"Help! I'm being murdered!\"\n\nThis was in very bad taste, considering what had happened to Nanny Prum. Fortunately Paul was old enough to be aware of such sensitivities and swatted his brother on the back of the head as we left the schoolroom. James, like many little boys of similar temperament, did not care for the idea of a bath. There were too many mud puddles to splash through, too many frogs to capture, too many trees to climb to bother with such provincial chores as bathing. However, once submerged in water, after the thrashing of arms and legs subsided, he was quite at home being naked and wet, imagining himself to be a fish and slipping through my hands as I struggled to soap him up.\n\nWhen we finished I carried him back to his room, careful not to let him out of my sight before we left the house. Paul was nearly finished getting dressed, meticulously combing his dark hair. I was glad that Lily could not see him then. It wouldn't be long before he would be a young man, no longer requiring the services of a governess or a nanny. I placed James into his brother's care as I began my own preparations for the evening, and threatened him with Indian curses if he did anything to undo my work with his brother's appearance.\n\nFor myself I sat before the mirror and released my hair from the top of my head, smoothing it out with a brush and pinning it back into place with small jeweled pins that were once my mother's. That evening she did not appear in my reflection. I put aside my governess's uniform and stepped into an evening gown the color of deep midnight, the corset flecked with silver beads that gave the impression of stars in the night sky.\n\nJust before dusk the children and I met Mr. Darrow in the foyer of Everton. His mood was unreadable, as he did not meet my gaze, but he had done a reasonable job of dressing himself for the occasion. His blond hair had been slicked back so that it did not hide his handsome blue eyes, and he wore a dark suit with a cream-colored vest and a deep blue tie that coincidentally matched the color of my gown. I doubted that he noticed, but I would not be the one to make mention of it. I was merely the governess.\n\nMrs. Mulbus and Jenny had already departed to prepare for the evening's festivities, and the other servants left the house in packs, wearing heavy coats over their finest dresses and suits. Even Mrs. Norman looked mildly less dreary than normal, wearing a feathered hat that made her resemble something like a peacock. She was escorted out of the house by old Fredricks, who secreted away a small silver flask in the folds of his jacket with the hand that was not holding Mrs. Norman's.\n\nRoland brought a covered carriage around to the door and helped us inside. The boys immediately sat on the same side of the vehicle, forcing Mr. Darrow and me to sit uncomfortably beside one another. Fortunately the trip was a short one, and soon we were pulling into the modest driveway of Arkham Hall.\n\nWhile the house might have been only slightly larger than Everton, it was better kept and much more ornate. Cornelia Reese still traveled to the city with some regularity to maintain her social calendar, and she always returned with a small caravan of antique dealers and artists to fortify the appearance of whatever room had lost her good favor.\n\nOur carriage pulled around a marble fountain meant to emulate the antiquities of ancient Rome. It was a ghastly thing, with streams of water pouring out of eye sockets and battle wounds, but very appropriate for the home of Cornelia Reese. One of the footmen helped me out of the carriage, and with James's hand secured into my own, I entered the foyer of the house.\n\nThe festivities had already begun to pour out of the ballroom, with red-faced guests standing in the hallways, glasses of wine in hand, all of them talking much too loudly over one another. Backs were patted, hands were placed in front of peals of laughter as one party made a wry observation about another, and certain gentlemen made untoward advances that their wives would not soon forget. There were also plenty of children threading through the throngs of adults, and it took James very little time to find a playmate suitable to warrant his escape from my supervision. He ran off into the crowd, but not before turning back to deliver a devilish sort of grin. I knew then that it was going to be a trying evening.\n\nThe ballroom was tall and narrow, with a promenade along the second floor that allowed those not inclined to dance to observe and enjoy those who were. I looked out over the crowd, and a feeling of hopelessness descended upon me. The villagers seemed so happy to be together, and I dreaded the thought of something happening to disrupt that. If I could not stop Mr. Whatley, which of them might be next?\n\nI found Mr. Scott; he had done his best to tame his hair for the occasion, but it still floated over his head with wispy abandon.\n\n\"I hope you've sorted out your problem with spirits?\" he said with some difficulty over the volume of the music, for there was a small orchestra playing beneath us.\n\n\"I am sad to say that I have not.\"\n\n\"Ah, so James remains curious?\"\n\n\"Belligerently so.\"\n\nThe vicar nodded knowingly.\n\n\"The boy reminds me of myself. I too have always been curious about such affairs, which prompted my entrance into the servitude of the Lord.\" He smiled, impressed by his own piety, but then faltered at his pride. He went on. \"I have continued to think on the matter, and I've come to the conclusion that spirits must not have malicious intent.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\n\"They mustn't. They may act with some cruelty, but only to bring about some change in the world in the name of God.\"\n\n\"How can you be sure?\"\n\n\"My dear, I cannot be sure of anything. I am a man of faith. But then this is all hypothetical, is it not?\"\n\nI thanked him for his advice and carefully maneuvered down to the first floor, where I spotted Susannah and Lionel dancing together. They were radiant, staring fixedly into each other's eyes despite the speed of the song, turning with one another around and around, all the while laughing with abandon until the music stopped and Susannah met my gaze. She appeared much healthier than the last time I had seen her. The wild look in her eyes was gone, and there was a comforting peace about her. Lionel went to fetch his wife a drink, and Susannah kissed my cheek in greeting. She could not seem to stop fingering the clear green disk of amber that hung at her throat.\n\n\"It suits your coloring,\" I said.\n\n\"It does, doesn't it?\" She ran a hand through her wild red hair. \"Wherever did you find it?\"\n\n\"Ancient Indian talisman to ward off evil spirits,\" I lied.\n\n\"Whatever it is, it's working. Nothing has happened since you gave it to me.\" I began to wonder what was happening back in The Ending between Cornelius and Whatley, but then I shook myself. The evening was supposed to be a celebration, and Darkling would have no part in it. For the first time in weeks I felt a shred of relief and vindication. While I still had not solved the puzzle of Mr. Whatley's intentions, I had been able to circumvent at least one of them, though with my friend safe the rest of the village remained vulnerable. It was for this reason that I had kept the boy with the keyhole eyes chained to the bedpost in my room. The promise of further snippets of secret conversations was worth the rattling and scraping sounds that persisted throughout the later hours of the evening as he attempted and failed to free himself from my control. Luckily, he seemed disinterested in the boys, preferring instead to collect the secrets of adults.\n\nRoland tapped Susannah on the shoulder and cleared his throat. \"Excuse me, ma'am, but might I have this dance?\" He had exchanged his dusty workman's clothes for a brown tweed suit, though his hair was still an unkempt tangle, ironic given his position as groundskeeper of Everton.\n\nSusannah took his hand. \"Roland, I would dance with you all night if you asked,\" she said to the man who had saved her life. They spun off onto the dance floor as her husband returned with their drinks, watching them with sullen jealousy. I tried to join him to keep him company but was cut off by the sudden appearance of Mr. Darrow.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"Mr. Darrow.\"\n\nThat seemed to be the end of our conversation until the music began to play again and Mr. Darrow nervously offered me his hand. \"Would you care to dance?\"\n\n\"Are you sure that's wise? People will begin to talk.\"\n\n\"Let them.\"\n\n\"That is quite a change of heart.\"\n\n\"Life is too brief a thing to dwell on the opinions of others, especially when there is dancing to be done. Shall we?\"\n\nI took his hand and we joined the other villagers on the ballroom floor. The song was very fast, and we spent more time being thrown from one partner to the next than actually dancing with one another, and so it was a relief when the music slowed and each dancer was allowed to return to his or her original partner. Henry took my hands into his and looked at me, perhaps really seeing me for the first time since that evening in the kitchen, looking into me as we swirled and spun to the music, the hem of my dress floating as we turned, grazing his legs. We were not so very close together, but the interlacing of our hands channeled a friction through the empty space between us that dimmed the rest of the room, changing the music into something that could only be for us. I did not want it to end, and for a long while it seemed that it never would. We danced and danced until I could no longer feel my legs, just his touch against my own and the deep, primal thumping in my chest.\n\nBut it did end, and when it was over our hands stayed connected. We wove through the house, past a happily scandalized Cornelia Reese, who would have something dreadful to talk about with her friends and confidants for at least a whole month; past Mrs. Norman in her peacock hat, whose tight, severe lips broke into a faint smile of approval, until we were outside in the frosted gardens of Arkham Hall. Beneath the black and empty sky, behind a hedge dusted with ice, Henry pulled me against his chest and kissed me, passionately, deeply, with nothing like reserve or anxiety, our lips moving in tandem with one another, all fear falling away, unraveling as something new knit itself together, something good and pure and strong, full of promise and hope. I was losing myself in the moment until a stark and frenzied shriek broke through the chilled air.\n\nIt was a woman's scream, and I already knew who it must have been. I pulled away from Henry and ran through the gardens, following the echo of it, bounding off stone statues and empty bird fountains, a shadow of a sound frozen in the ice. I sprinted as fast as I could, the ends of my dress in my hands, the wind ripping against my skin as I darted around a lattice strung with withered vines, and found Susannah sprawled on the cold ground, her hands before her face as something unfurled above her, a shadow untwisting itself from the dark, separating itself, becoming tangible and textured, wet and glistening, the surface of it freezing from the cold and cracking as it slid a tendril around Susannah's neck and lifted her into the air, her feet scraping at the ground for some purchase but finding none.\n\nThe moment the creature touched her, the small, clear disk of amber that hung about her throat began to glow. A dull green light pulsed through the air, folding itself around Susannah, searing the flesh of the creature until it dropped her out of shock and anguish.\n\nImmediately all the people I had ever lost swam before me, and the pain congealed into anger, into hate, and into action as I launched myself at the thing while it was caught off guard, kicking, biting, tearing at it with my fingernails, until it lashed me across the face with a dark, unknowable appendage. I fell to the ground, and the horror hovered over me, blocking out what little light there was from behind the luminous clouds, the smell of it overpowering, equal parts ammonia and brimstone. I did not fear death, for I knew that my loved ones were waiting for me, but as the creature crept toward me, a shot rang out and I felt a damp spray across my face. The thing winced and quivered, seeming to retreat into itself and pausing at the inevitable opening of doors and stirring of voices from the house, contracting into something man-shaped before fleeing ever more deeply into the frozen gardens.\n\nI touched the side of my face, unsure if the wetness I felt was my own blood or the property of the thing that had attacked me. Susannah was sitting up, holding her knees in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. Henry was next to her, a smoking pistol in hand.\n\nHe helped me to my feet. \"Are you all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, I\u2014I'm fine.\" That was not the man in black, I wanted to say, that was something else altogether. There were parts of Whatley's game that I still did not understand, and that worried me.\n\nI did not let go of Henry's hand when I was standing again. I went over to my friend. Her eyes were unfocused and she was muttering to herself.\n\n\"You must keep them closed. Never open. When they're open it all comes out, all apart in the darkness . . .\"\n\nI knelt down beside her and kissed her on the forehead. \"Who was it, Susannah? Who attacked you?\"\n\n\"Wolf in sheep's clothing. Monster under the bed.\"\n\nHenry shook his head and put his hand on my shoulder. \"We'll get Dr. Barberry.\"\n\n\"Someone will have to find Lionel first.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nThe voices from the house were growing more distinct. I pointed to the pistol still tightly clutched in Henry's hand. \"You had a gun.\"\n\n\"I still do.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"There's a madman on the loose.\"\n\n\"Do you really think it was a man?\"\n\nHe looked at me strangely but had no time to dwell on it, for we were quickly surrounded by the other party guests, clasping at the throats of gowns and jackets, gasping at the macabre scene in the garden\u2014the three of us standing over a frozen pool of black blood.\n\nLionel was summoned to take his wife back to their cottage, but not before the doctor looked her over with a dour expression. He mentioned to the barkeep that there were places for people who suffered extreme trauma, comfortable places where they could be made well again, but Lionel would have none of it.\n\nHenry and I collected the children and rode home in silent reflection. When we arrived at Everton I ushered the children to their rooms, feeling Henry's gaze on me as we traveled up the stairs, unable to stop myself from looking back to meet his eyes.\n\nThe boy with the keyhole eyes was cowering in the corner when I returned to my room, holding his knees against his chest as he pointed with a broken, blackened fingernail in the direction of my bed. Waiting on my pillow was a parchment envelope with a blue wax seal. I slit it open with a penknife and read:\n\nYou are cordially invited\n\nTo the coming-out ball of\n\nMiss Olivia Whatley\n\nTomorrow evening, dusk\n\nI reread the invitation a dozen times over and set it on my nightstand while I dressed for bed. Someone had placed the letter in my room, someone from the House of Darkling. This wasn't a simple admission of guilt; this was an outright declaration of war, though perhaps not enough to prove a connection between Whatley and Everton, effectively ending our game.\n\nI wrestled with the implications of this well into the night, and when I finally found sleep I dreamt that I danced with Mr. Whatley on the brink of an abyss, turning and turning until neither of us could be certain which was about to slip off the edge.\nCHAPTER 16\n\nMrs. Whatley\n\nThere was no way I could avoid bringing the children back to Darkling. If I went alone Mr. Whatley might realize that something was amiss. And what if the children came in search of me, alone in The Ending, vulnerable to whatever machinations the master of Darkling had set in motion? I could not allow it, as I believed Whatley to be responsible for everything that had happened in Blackfield in addition to the sad, doll-like imprisonment of Lily Darrow.\n\nWhen we crossed the threshold from the forest into the House of Darkling, it was immediately apparent that something was different, for the fruit children in the trees had been unraveled from their leathery rinds, each of them holding tiny candles in their pygmy hands, the orchard transformed into a flickering sea of teardrop stars. Even Duncan was different, dressed in black coattails and bowing low in greeting before he escorted us to the great house, which glowed with a preternatural sheen from the inside out. It was actually welcoming.\n\nWe could hear the distant sounds of the party\u2014laughter, shouting, the clinking of glasses, an echo of music. Thanks to the arrival of the invitation I'd had enough forethought to dress the children for the evening's festivities, though neither one was happy to wear formal attire again so soon after the Christmas Ball. For myself, I had chosen a high-collared gown with an opal brooch at the throat.\n\nWhen we arrived, the ballroom seemed to be in the middle of some sort of decorative metamorphosis, for the skin of the stone pillars that lined the massive room cracked and fell away, revealing tree trunks of nearly the same girth. The jewels set in the brushed metal of the walls dropped off, exploding on the ground with pops of colored light to the delight and annoyance of some of the party guests attempting to converse and enjoy their cocktails. Out of these fresh alcoves grew sinewy vines, creeping up the walls, which themselves became less opaque and more like mirrors, until the ballroom began to resemble a never-ending forest with flowers growing up through the grout between the black and white marble tiles of the floor.\n\n\"You shouldn't have come back.\" Lily appeared at my side and whispered into my ear, her voice earnest and desperate, but then the boys saw her and she was transformed into the mother they knew and loved, never sad or upset, always pristine and composed. She would have kissed them both if the lights hadn't gone out. A spotlight appeared at the front of the ballroom as Olivia Whatley entered wearing an ice blue evening gown, holding the arm of her father. There was a polite smattering of applause as they circled the room, and then he left her with Dabney in a wide, empty circle as the guests stepped backward to give her space. The handsome young man wore an expensively tailored plum-colored suit that contrasted strangely with the mysterious way he held himself: his arms out, head tilted skyward, almost in a trancelike state. Olivia stood before him, and he placed his hands around her neck.\n\nIt was then that I felt growing warmth in the pit of my stomach, traveling up my chest, into my throat, and I thought I was going to be sick until my lips parted and erupted into a sound that was like a song, or at least a part of one. I thought that I had gone insane, or that Mr. Whatley had done something to me in retaliation for my impertinent threat the last time we spoke, but then I looked around and realized that every other guest sang a different part of the same song, a five-hundred-part harmony blending together in the echoing cavern of the ballroom.\n\nDabney had disappeared from the room, and Olivia moved as we sang, swaying gently to the Dance of Infinite Sorrow. The five ice sculptures that stood over the tables of food at the back of the room creaked to life and stepped down from their perches to join her on the dance floor. She moved from one to another, slowly at first in a languid, dreamlike fashion, until one of them struck her across the face.\n\nI felt my own cheek in horror, unable to forget the night before, but Olivia immediately fought back, pushing the dance partner who had struck her hard enough to tip him over, and he shattered into a million shards of ice over the ground. This seemed to upset the others, for they surrounded her, tearing at her dress so that it fell away from her body, leaving her naked and vulnerable. The sculptures clung to her, her nudity never completely visible, and as they did our chanting grew faster and the temperature of the room started to rise. The wooden pillars scattered throughout the room burst into flames; the ice dancers melted as Olivia's skin blistered over. It was an awful, terrible sight, and while I despised her father I wanted to help the poor girl, but Lily kept me firmly in place.\n\nThe pillars stopped burning and turned back to stone. Olivia, although severely burned, did not appear to be in any pain. She reached to the back of her head and peeled away large strips of her charred flesh, revealing the beautiful, healthy girl who had entered the room with her father mere moments before. The liquid remains of the ice sculptures collected themselves together of their own accord and slid toward her, up her legs and torso, freezing so that they took the shape of the same ice-colored ball gown that had been torn asunder.\n\nWe stopped singing as abruptly as we had started, and Olivia bowed deeply. Dabney appeared out of nowhere behind her, taking her hand. All I could think to do was applaud. I had no idea what had happened, or what it signified, but it had been most extraordinary. The other guests joined in while the chef from the dinner party many nights before pushed through the throngs of people with a wheeled cart and collected the scraps of viscera and skin left over from the finale of Miss Whatley's performance. He placed them into a crystal bowl, and Dabney performed a quick blessing over the mess while Olivia began to greet her guests. I decided then that I would not be tasting the hors d'oeuvres.\n\nMore traditional music began to play and the mingling turned into dancing. Olivia moved from one partner to the next, men and women alike, sometimes dancing with creatures that had no easily identifiable sex. Lily danced with James, free for a moment from any anxiety or fear, and I saw Paul accept an invitation from Dabney to join him in a rather slow waltz.\n\nI was content to be by myself for a moment, and I spent the time observing the other guests. There were the Baxters, flickering in and out of sight as I stared at them; Mrs. Aldrich, at the center of a group of well-dressed women, doubtless bragging about her son; the Puddles, standing beside the large frame of Mr. Samson, already red-faced and laughing too loudly at one of Mr. Puddle's jokes; Mr. Snit, drifting from one cluster of people to the next, changing color as he did so and covertly absorbing the cocktails of whoever happened to be standing closest to him. Miss Yarborough stood at an opposite corner of the room in the same sheath of netting as the last time we crossed paths, her disdainful expression visible and well honed despite the skinless nature of her face. I spotted Mr. Cornelius standing off to the side of the room with a circle of strange-looking creatures, hunched over things with amphibious faces and spiny backs covered in quills of bone, all of them speaking to one another in strained whispers. He saw me as I approached and excused himself from his friends with some discomfort. The others peered at me with suspicion.\n\n\"Mr. Cornelius.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Markham. I had not expected to find you here this evening.\" His onyx eyes shifted from side to side.\n\n\"We were invited.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"I must again thank you for your help. Your token of appreciation was most effective.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it.\"\n\nI could see that my presence was making him visibly uncomfortable. His trunk-like appendages folded over one another, as if he were wringing them together.\n\nI pressed on, undeterred. \"I do wish that we could continue our arrangement. I fear that the game is not yet over, and I am nearly out of moves.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, Mrs. Markham. You have more control in this game than you know\u2014\" He pulled me close, the pincers behind his beard clicking together. \"You should not stay long this evening.\" My lips parted to form the start of a question, but then Mr. Cornelius looked behind me and smiled. \"Ah, Mr. Whatley.\"\n\nThe master of Darkling observed us through the crowd with his sideways smirk. Whatley greeted the other gentleman and took my hands into his large ones, leading me into throngs of dancers without asking for my permission.\n\n\"You look quite ravishing this evening, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"And you appear as if you've just come in from a storm.\" His dark hair was a wild, windswept tangle, and his suit, fine as always, was unkempt and disheveled.\n\n\"I try to be consistent.\"\n\n\"Ah, the success of lowered expectations.\"\n\n\"The only expectations that matter are my own, and I always seem to meet them.\"\n\n\"How lucky for you.\"\n\n\"Luck has nothing to do with it. I play to win.\"\n\n\"And when you fail?\"\n\n\"I'll let you know when that happens.\"\n\n\"It might be quite soon.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\"\n\nThe music reached a crescendo, and Whatley pulled me against his body. I blushed furiously. I tried to break away from him, but he held me firmly in place, refusing to let me go until he was good and ready. Finally he winked at me and retreated into the crowd. I looked around for Lily, but Whatley was already moving toward her. He said something in her ear, and she nodded unhappily while he waved at the musicians to stop playing. Mr. Whatley addressed the party guests.\n\n\"My friends, thank you for joining us on this most special occasion, as my daughter, Olivia, reaches maturity and sets off to make her mark upon the worlds. It is often difficult for a parent to let go of his children, but I am happy to say that I have found some solace, for soon I will be remarried. May I introduce you all to the future Mrs. Whatley.\" He took Lily's hand into his own as a smattering of applause moved through the crowd, accompanied by some uncomfortable murmuring, not the least of which was a short, angry squeak from James, who stood beside his brother and me, looking terribly confused. \"But what about Father?\" he stammered.\n\nMr. Whatley did his best to look sympathetic, but ended up only appearing to be condescending. \"My dear boy, he is living and your mother is dead. There can be no hope for such a pairing.\"\n\nBut James would hear none of it. He ran out of the ballroom in tears.\n\n\"James!\" Lily went after him, and suddenly I heard the familiar clicking of Mr. Cornelius's pincers close to my ear.\n\n\"Take them and do not return. Now. Run.\"\n\nA chair crashed against the wall. A glass shattered to the tiled floor. Silence filled the room as the partygoers looked around in confusion.\n\nAnd then someone screamed.\n\nA woman pointed to the body of Dabney Aldrich, slumped on the floor, holding a gash that had appeared in his throat as he pinched the bloodless folds of skin together. The slimy interior of his true body, the one within the angelic human slip he wore, began to spill out down the front of his chest. One of the amphibian-faced creatures stood over him, spat out a hunk of Dabney's flesh, and roared.\n\nThe ballroom erupted into madness. Paul stared agape at his friend, unable to speak in the wake of such shock. He reached out to help pick him up off the floor, but I grabbed Paul's hand and ran, sprinting away from Whatley's guests as they ripped each other apart, bodies falling, never dead or dying, simply in pieces, the crowd pushing for the door all at once, blocking it until Mr. Cornelius tore them aside to make room for us.\n\n\"Remember what I've said.\" He nodded to me, and then launched himself into the brawl, his beard parting to reveal a hideous cluster of sharp, dangerous-looking appendages that sank themselves into the corpulent neck of Mr. Samson.\n\nPaul and I spun through the house, from one room to the next, corridor after corridor, until we were in the entryway and outside, down the steps to the orchard, where we found Lily and James. The boy would have nothing to do with his mother, but we had no time to sort out any recent emotional baggage.\n\n\"I want to go home,\" he said. I grabbed his hand as I ran past.\n\nPaul tightened his grip, breathless from our escape. \"What about Mother?\"\n\n\"Lily, you are coming with us,\" I called out behind me, but Mrs. Darrow shook her head in earnest.\n\n\"I can't. You know I can't.\" But then the chaos of the ballroom erupted into the orchard. A body was thrown from a second-story window, and the attacker leapt out after its victim, continuing to claw at it in midair before they had even hit the ground.\n\n\"Oh, I think you can.\" The four of us dashed between the trees.\n\nLily was on the verge of tears. \"But I'm not ready,\" she said desperately.\n\nJames seemed to soften, seeing her in such a pathetic state, unable to defend himself against his mother's misery. We found the wall of coiling fog.\n\n\"Mr. Whatley is doomed, you cannot stay. But we can say good-bye, here and now,\" I said to her.\n\n\"I'm so frightened.\"\n\n\"The boys will be with you to the end. Isn't that what you always wanted?\"\n\n\"What I wanted was more time. There are so many things I wanted to teach you,\" she said, taking the hands of her sons into her own. \"Marry for love. See the world.\" We approached the veil of mist that separated the living from the dead. \"Cherish every day with your children. Don't let your father become lonely. Treasure every single moment.\" Lily kissed both of her sons, the three of them in tears.\n\n\"We will, Mother,\" Paul replied, red-faced from the dual exhaustion of running and crying.\n\n\"I don't know what will become of me, but know that I love you both so very much,\" said Lily, her words breaking apart before they even left her lips. Still, she nodded to me, and together the four of us crossed over the threshold from Darkling into Everton.\n\nBut this time, there was a figure in the mist.\n\n\"I'm afraid I cannot allow any of you to leave.\" Mr. Samson was not himself. His human body had been completely torn apart save for his face, revealing a puckered mass of red flesh and many-jointed tendrils.\n\n\"We are returning home, sir,\" I said to him. \"We are done with The Ending.\"\n\n\"But we are not done with you. We must have humans in The Ending. There must be retribution for what has transpired this evening.\" His body shuddered, and four boneless limbs slithered along the ground to grab hold of us. I kicked them away, and Lily launched herself at Mr. Samson. He flung her to the ground like a rag doll. I leapt behind him and jumped onto his back, pushing my fingers into what I hoped were his eyes, digging at them with all my might, but I could not keep my grip. He tossed me aside, my head bouncing against something solid. My vision filled with stars and I drifted out of consciousness, the names of the Darrows on my lips as the mist swirled above me until I heard someone calling my name, softly at first, then gathering substance like an echo in reverse.\n\n\"Charlotte?\"\n\nI opened my eyes. The sky blazed with the pink and purple bruising of twilight.\n\n\"Charlotte? What on earth are you wearing?\" Henry leaned over me, and I realized that we must have looked very foolish wearing evening clothes in the middle of a winter afternoon. I was glad to have such a high-collared dress, and the opal brooch to hold it tightly closed against my throat. But then I remembered . . .\n\nI sat up and whipped around. Paul and James were nowhere to be found, and behind the cage of roots, a path led into the heart of the forest. The mist was gone. I spun in place three times, my heart sinking.\n\n\"We came looking for you. You've been gone for hours,\" said Henry with growing concern. \"We started to worry that\u2014\" He grabbed me by the arms. \"Where are the children?\"\n\n\"They were just with me!\" I said in a voice hoarse with horror. I collapsed against him, unable to process what had happened, let alone speak it aloud. But still he asked me the question I dreaded:\n\n\"Charlotte, where are my children? What's happened?\"\n\nWords came out of my mouth, but I did not hear them. My voice cracked, and with it my entire world fell to pieces.\n\n\"They're gone.\"\nPart 3\n\nThe Ending\nCHAPTER 17\n\nAn Interrupted S\u00e9ance\n\n\"I believe you.\"\n\nI had spent the better part of an hour seated on the frozen floor of the forest trying to explain to Mr. Darrow all that had happened during the past few weeks, and nothing surprised me more than those three simple words he uttered when I had reached the end of my tale.\n\n\"Completely? Without any question?\"\n\n\"After what was done to Nanny Prum, and after seeing the thing that attacked Susannah Larken . . . yes, I believe you.\"\n\nI threw my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder.\n\n\"We will find them.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say. In a way I was grateful that the game of secrets had ended and that Mr. Darrow believed me, but in that moment I hated myself. In my vanity and arrogance I had used the children as pawns in a larger game between Mr. Whatley and myself, and that I had lost them was no one's fault but my own. It did not matter that my intentions were pure, I had put them in danger and now they were gone, to be used as collateral in the civil war of The Ending. Or just as likely, to be stored away next to their mother in Mr. Whatley's secret chamber.\n\nIf Whatley survived. But I knew that was foolish. Creatures like Whatley always survived. It was the innocent who suffered.\n\nOnce I realized that we were all in danger, I should have severed our connection to Darkling and accepted the consequences. But I knew that wouldn't have been enough. There was still Susannah to consider, and Nanny Prum.\n\n\"We should get you back to the house,\" Mr. Darrow said to me. We stood together in the forest as the other men from the search party joined us. Roland looked on me with sympathy as I shivered in my evening gown against the cold midwinter's day. Mr. Darrow took off his jacket and placed it over my shoulders. I was too tired to argue. I wanted to throw off his kindness and race to find the children, but I had no idea where to begin. We walked out of the forest and into the sunlight. The warmth against my skin did nothing to alleviate the dread I felt growing in my chest, which swelled as my mind wandered to the night before, when Susannah was attacked by the mysterious, otherworldly assailant.\n\n\"Susannah, is she well?\"\n\nMr. Darrow's eyes swept over me with pity, as if I could be foolish enough to believe that she had indeed recovered from nearly being killed by some nameless, shapeless monstrosity only days before Christmas.\n\n\"The last time I saw her I was with you. But it is difficult to forget her condition, since it is all the servants have been talking about. I understand that she continues to rave about impossible things, and that she screams whenever her husband leaves her side. Dr. Barberry attempted to take her away this morning, but Lionel would not hear of it. He is certain that she will recover on her own.\"\n\n\"And she will. I've never met anyone as strong as Susannah Larken.\"\n\nMr. Darrow said nothing more until we were halfway back to Everton. \"We must talk to Lily.\"\n\n\"I have no idea how to contact her.\"\n\n\"She's dead,\" he replied as if he had lost her a second time. His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. \"There are ways, are there not?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Markham, after everything that's happened, I don't think it's out of the question for us to contact my wife through a medium.\" He said this in what I hoped was a tone a little more harsh than he intended, even though I knew I deserved it.\n\n\"You're perfectly right, Mr. Darrow.\" I was aware that we had not addressed each other by our first names in quite some time. \"But where do we find one?\"\n\nEven as I said it, it sounded like the most ridiculous question in the world. We turned to one another at the same time and sprinted the rest of the way to Everton.\n\nWe found Mrs. Norman on the second floor of the house, busy reducing Jessica the chambermaid to tears.\n\n\"You call this dusted?\"\n\nThe girl winced at the infliction of each word. \"Sorry, Mrs. Norman, I thought\u2014\"\n\n\"No. You did not think. Not even to a degree that would be halfway acceptable.\"\n\nMr. Darrow intervened. \"Erm, Mrs. Norman?\"\n\nThe housekeeper turned to her employer, and her icy demeanor melted into something that was nearly pleasant.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Darrow?\" She spoke in a clipped, mannered rhythm that only highlighted the woman's predilection for structure and rules.\n\n\"Could I have a word for a moment?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\" She backed away from the girl, who scampered off like a wounded animal.\n\n\"Mrs. Norman, it's no secret that you have a great interest in the supernatural.\"\n\n\"It is true, the Other World does hold a great deal of fascination for me, especially ever since dear Mr. Norman passed on.\" She crossed herself and kissed the cross that hung at her throat.\n\n\"Have you tried to contact him in spirit form?\"\n\n\"A number of times, yes. And I was successful, once.\" She began to talk in an excited, confidential tone. She lowered her voice and looked around to make sure that we weren't being overheard. \"He helped me find a shawl I had misplaced.\"\n\n\"Ah. Well. We would like to hold a s\u00e9ance. To contact Mrs. Darrow.\"\n\n\"A s\u00e9ance?\" The housekeeper looked at me as if she had not noticed me standing there in such close proximity to Mr. Darrow. She rubbed her chin. \"I've never performed one before; I typically use the cards, you see, but yes, I suppose it could be done. I would need time to consult my books\u2014\"\n\nI interrupted her. \"I'm afraid it's rather urgent.\"\n\n\"The dead can usually wait,\" said Mrs. Norman in a sharp tone that was much closer to her usual voice. But Mr. Darrow began to lose patience.\n\n\"I'm afraid that this time they can't.\" He spoke to her in the same tone he had used toward me, that of a master instructing a servant.\n\nMrs. Norman and I flinched at the same time, but she nodded in acquiescence.\n\n\"Let me collect my things upstairs, and I'll meet you in your study, Mr. Darrow.\" She lowered her voice to a whisper. \"The servants are skittish when it comes to the supernatural.\" She went down to the servants' quarters while Mr. Darrow went to his study and I to my room, where the chains looped around the bedpost disappeared into the floorboards, the creature held by them off in some lower part of the house scrounging for private conversations.\n\nI quickly changed out of the dress I'd worn to Darkling. I almost put on the black, somber governess's uniform that made me look and feel much older than I was, like an elderly spinster, the sort of woman I might still have become, alone and bitter, raising other people's children in a vicarious, unfulfilling life. But it seemed too much like a death shroud. I could not bear to imagine what was happening to the children. I found a casual blue cotton dress with white pinstripes and made my way to Mr. Darrow's study. Mrs. Norman had still not arrived, and the master of Everton stood gazing at his wife's portrait with not a small hint of dejection. He turned away from it when he noticed that I was standing in the doorway.\n\n\"We will find them, Henry,\" I said, regressing to our intimacy with more confidence than I felt. He smiled at me weakly and was about to reply when Mrs. Norman barreled into the room carrying a heavy-looking carpetbag in her arms. She dropped it onto Henry's desk with some relief and began unloading various pieces of occult paraphernalia.\n\n\"Mrs. Markham, set the candles in a circle around the desk. Mr. Darrow, pull those chairs here.\" She pointed to the sides of the desk and removed an old, heavy book with leather binding from the bottom of the bag, sending decks of tarot cards and phials of powders and liquids to the floor. She did not seem to notice the mess and opened the book.\n\n\"Sit and join hands.\" We formed an uncomfortable circle in the middle of Henry's study. \"Relax, breathe in and out.\"\n\nWe did this for some time, until the room was heavy with silence and the smell of incense burning with the candles.\n\nShe continued. \"Now, our beloved Lily Darrow, we ask that you commune with us and move among us.\" We sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Mrs. Norman repeated the phrase a dozen times. Nothing happened. The room grew stuffy, and my fingers felt clammy in the hands of the others. I became very conscious of Henry's touch. I tightened my grip on his hand without thinking and was surprised when he returned the gesture. Then, the air in the room suddenly grew colder.\n\n\"If you are with us, please rap once,\" said Mrs. Norman in the dreamy sort of way one would expect a medium to sound, as if she had been practicing for this moment for some time. A knock sounded everywhere and nowhere, echoing and distant, perhaps upon some tabletop in another plane of existence.\n\n\"If we are communing with Lily Darrow, please rap once more.\" The ethereal rap sounded again. \"I would like to invite the spirit of Lily Darrow to use my body as vessel to speak with us directly.\" The temperature continued to drop. The candles went out, and Mrs. Norman leaned forward in her chair until her head was hanging over the top of the desk. She snapped back up as the candles reignited themselves, but kept her eyes firmly closed. Henry and I looked at one another.\n\n\"Lily?\"\n\nMrs. Norman spoke with her own voice, but it was higher and more melodic, with none of the cold authority that so characterized her.\n\n\"Henry?\"\n\n\"Yes, love! I'm here with Charlotte.\"\n\n\"Oh, Charlotte!\" Mrs. Norman let out a small sob. \"I'm so sorry, I didn't want any of this to happen, you must believe me!\"\n\nI did not answer her directly. \"Are the children all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, but Mr. Samson refuses to let us leave, and he has forced Mr. Whatley to close the portal. The war has begun.\"\n\n\"But why are the children important?\"\n\n\"He means to use them to destroy The Ending.\"\n\nHenry looked at me in confusion, but I pressed on.\n\n\"There must be some way to bring them back?\" I asked.\n\n\"I still know so little of The Ending, but there are different doorways, different methods of entry. The books in the library\u2014\"\n\n\"Oh!\" I gasped, and my lips formed into a perfect circle of surprise. Lily\/Mrs. Norman looked around the room blindly.\n\n\"Did something happen?\" they asked.\n\n\"No, I just remembered, there are books from Darkling in my room!\" I thought it best not to mention the eyeless, childlike thing chained to my bed.\n\n\"I'm afraid I'm terribly confused,\" said Henry. We both ignored him.\n\n\"Which ones did you take?\" asked Lily through Mrs. Norman.\n\n\"I believe there's one called Mysteries of The Ending.\"\n\nThe medium and the spirit within her became visibly troubled. \"You can use the book, but you must be careful. You will have to travel a great distance through The Ending to reach Darkling, but even then, what would you do when you got here?\"\n\n\"Humans are a threat to The Ending, and I think I know why.\"\n\nBefore I could explain any further, there was a knock at the door and Roland entered the room carrying a clattering tray of tea and biscuits. Fredricks had taken ill when he returned from the ball, and the young gardener had been fulfilling his duties as he had been training to do. Lily stopped speaking through Mrs. Norman, the connection severed by the intrusion as the housekeeper recovered and became herself again.\n\nRoland closed the door and set the tray onto the middle of the desk. \"Tea, sir?\"\n\nHenry became very cross. \"I am indisposed, Roland. Please take this away and make sure that we are not interrupted again.\"\n\nBut the young man ignored him. He placed a saucer and a cup before each of us and began to pour the tea, his hands shaking as he did so that the liquid spilled over the table.\n\n\"Roland!\" Mrs. Norman lunged for her book, knocking over a candlestick onto a pile of Henry's papers, which ignited immediately into a small fire. The gardener suddenly grabbed her arm and lifted her into the air until her feet scraped at the carpeting. He threw her across the room so that she collapsed against a shelf of books.\n\nHenry stood from his chair indignantly. \"What is the meaning of this?\"\n\nRoland struck him across the face, sending him roughly to the ground. The room was burning now. I backed away, not from the flames but from the young man as he began to shake uncontrollably, his face contorting in pain, wrinkling in strange ways as if it were not a face at all. I realized that it wasn't when his throat bulged oddly, as if something were pushing its way out of his chest. I pulled Henry away from him and then ran to lift Mrs. Norman to her feet just as the boy hunched over the table and made a terrible retching sound. A tentacle slid out of his mouth, protruding from between his lips until the girth of the thing was so great it tested the very limits of his mouth. His throat continued to expand, and his cheeks split in a spatter of blood as the tentacle continued rolling out of his throat until it was two feet in length. It coiled into the air above the remains of his head and made a slashing motion at his throat. A nest of tendrils and feelers spilled out of the gash in his esophagus, over his chest, each one tearing at his flesh and undoing him, releasing him so that he expanded, a writhing mass of movement and gore, to his full stature, many feet taller than any human being could ever be. Roland opened like a flower, a blossom of black, wet, slithering appendages curling from the pulp of human mess, and was no more.\n\nWe did not stand around to wait for the end of his metamorphosis. The room was nearly engulfed in flames, and the three of us crept toward the door until Henry wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and pulled Mrs. Norman and me over the threshold into the hallway, slamming the door closed behind him. The creature shrieked from within the room, a fluttering, high-pitched buzzing sound that left me nauseated and oddly half asleep, as if it were all a dream that I could wake up from if only I concentrated a little harder. But then the door shook as the thing that had been Roland threw itself against it, tearing me from my reverie.\n\n\"We must get to my room,\" I said to Henry.\n\n\"Are you certain?\"\n\n\"Trust me.\" I took his hand and we escaped down the hallway, but not before the door gave way and the creature slid out of the study, contracting to fit through the doorframe, a nightmare born into Everton, silhouetted by the blazing of the fire that had started to lick at the ceiling. The monstrosity filled the corridor, became a pulsating wall of tendon and viscera, churning and twisting toward us with a shapeless appendage that reached for my ankle but failed, moving on instead to Mrs. Norman, who was not as fast, and finding purchase around her leg. The housekeeper fell to the ground but grabbed hold of a cabinet against the wall, pulling it over and knocking a marble bust of some dead and forgotten member of the Darrow family to the floor, where it cracked into two sharp pieces. She seized a piece even as the creature slithered over her, hungry and unstoppable, and brought it sharply into the body of the thing.\n\nThe beast quivered, perhaps more in shock than in pain, for it did not release her from the struggle. Instead it parted Mrs. Norman's flesh as easily as it might have dipped into a pool of water. She briefly cried out in pain, but then the thing entered her mouth through the back of her head, severing the top of her skull and sending it to the floor.\n\nHenry and I did not wait to see what would happen next. We took off through the house, warning away every servant we saw, telling them to run for their lives even as we went ever deeper, the creature still behind us and the fire ripping through the innards of the mansion, nearly stopping us at the stairwell as a wall curled away in a sheet of flames. But with the deadly alternative behind us, we pushed on, mostly unharmed save for a singed strand of my hair, the scent of which cut me more deeply than Roland ever could.\n\nJonathan.\n\nHistory would not repeat itself. I refused to allow it, to allow anyone else to die. Everton might burn, but we would not be inside when it did.\n\nWe found my room at the end of the hallway and barricaded ourselves inside, the fire already smoking around us as I searched desperately for the books from Darkling. I had packed them away after Mr. Darrow sacked me, and I hadn't found the time to unpack since he'd changed his mind. I frantically dug through my valise, came up empty-handed, and then went through my steamer trunk, finally locating the volumes beneath a heavy thesaurus. They were tied shut with ribbon as a precaution against any further unwanted visits from the strange eyeless children, and try as I might, I could not get the small knot undone.\n\n\"I can't get it open.\" I handed the books to Henry, and as I went back to my trunk in search of a pair of scissors, the door to my room cracked completely in half and was thrown inward against him. The thing that had been Roland stood in the doorway. It hissed at us again, but before it could enter the room a length of blue chain looped around one of the ceiling beams exposed by the fire and was stretched taut. The ceiling collapsed in a hail of sparks and heavy timbers, piercing through the creature and pinning it to the floor, where it withered and blistered in the flames. The dirty little boy with the keyhole eyes appeared beside Henry and helped him to his feet.\n\n\"What is that?\" Henry gestured to the strange little child.\n\n\"A friend, it would seem.\" I picked up the largest wooden splinter that I could find and turned to the creature trapped beneath the debris.\n\n\"You killed them both\u2014Roland and Nanny Prum,\" I said to it. Something bubbled to the surface of the creature's viscous skin and broke open, revealing a small mouth with needle-sharp teeth.\n\n\"And Mrs. Norman,\" it said with sick pleasure. \"But there never was a Roland. Only me.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"To set the game into motion.\" It squirmed in an effort to escape, but failed and resigned itself to its inevitable fate. \"Nanny Prum had to die to place the children under your complete care. And you delivered them, just as he knew you would.\"\n\nHenry turned to me for a moment as if to say something, but hesitated and began again with his attempt to untie the knot of ribbon around the books.\n\nI went on with my interrogation. \"Why did Whatley take the children?\"\n\n\"Whatley?\" The creature seemed confused by the question, but then its mouth, even without the benefit of any other facial expression, spread wide into a condescending smile. \"How little you understand what you are meddling with. It was Samson who kidnapped the children. Whatley has only ever tried to protect them.\" The monster began to laugh at us, sounding somewhere between its human and inhuman vocal register.\n\nI felt the swatch of wood in my hands and stabbed it into the beast's throat until I felt the wet crush of its flesh between the makeshift spear and the floor. The laughter went on uninterrupted.\n\nSmoke was pouring into the room, and the heat was unbearable. I could scarcely catch my breath. I took the stack of books from Henry, procured the shears from the bottom of my trunk, and cut the ribbon that held them all closed.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" I asked.\n\nHenry looked at the creature still cackling to itself on the floor. \"We have no choice, do we?\"\n\nI had nearly opened the book when I realized that all of my belongings would burn in the fire even if I did not. I went to my nightstand and quickly collected my old wedding ring, my mother's lock of hair, and my father's pipe, which I kept in my memory box. They were the last relics of my family, the only pieces of my past. I would not leave them behind.\n\nThe boy with the keyhole eyes had fastened his chain around Roland's neck like a leash, and he held out his hand to me. I took it and went back to Henry, now choking, and together the three of us opened the front cover to Mysteries of The Ending.\nCHAPTER 18\n\nCharlotte Underground\n\nAt the entrance to the castle the book grew hot in my hands and turned to ash without igniting, the connection to Everton dying in the flames of the house. There was nothing to do but move forward. Henry watched as the ashes scattered to the wind. \"Our home . . .\"\n\nI put my hand on his shoulder. \"Houses can be rebuilt, better than they ever were before.\" He nodded glumly, and the grimy little boy showed us inside the crumbling stone fortress, dragging with him the bloodied, muttering remains of the creature who had been Roland the groundskeeper. The lady of the castle, still resplendent in her decaying elegance, greeted us from halfway up the collapsed staircase. The boy handed her the length of chain, and she patted him on the head as she brought her face close to the creature bound in shackles.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, my lady.\" The thing could not meet her hard, steely gaze.\n\n\"And you agree to willingly serve me?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady,\" it said with a whimper.\n\n\"Then it is done.\" She handed his chains to her other children, and they took Roland away, deeper into the unseen parts of the castle. The little boy with the dirty fingernails stayed behind with his mistress. The woman beckoned for us to follow her into the room at the top of the stairs. Henry put his arm around me, shaking, though it was unclear which of us he meant to comfort.\n\nThe chamber was made of glass and windows, like a solarium, if such a place could exist in The Ending. The oppressive moon hung low in the sky, and we were so high up in the castle that the horizon was lost in a dark sea of stars. The woman seated herself in a high-backed silver throne and observed us without expression.\n\n\"You wish for safe passage into The Ending,\" she said.\n\nThis seemed to rouse Henry from his dejection. \"My children are being held against their will.\"\n\n\"Of this I am aware. Hostages. Their continued presence in our world has set us on the brink of war. Would it not be careless of me to escalate the situation with two more humans?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" I replied, \"their rescue would only serve to mollify the tensions.\"\n\nThe woman was silent for a moment. She stroked the chains that circled her wrists. \"You assume that you could get to Darkling untouched. Not even I could promise such a thing.\"\n\n\"That is a risk we are willing to take.\"\n\n\"There is also the matter of payment.\" She smiled, her teeth glittering like the metal of her fetters.\n\nI stepped forward. \"You trade in answers to unasked questions. Yet you haven't asked us what we will do once we get to Darkling. If you agree to send us on our way, I'll tell you.\"\n\nThe lady of the castle leaned back in her silver throne and motioned me forward with a slender index finger. I whispered my plan to her. At first she said nothing, and then a clicking sound escaped her throat, growing louder until it echoed off the glass walls of the solarium. She threw her head back and laughed: a dry, broken, thousand-year shriek of mirth that sent the dirty, eyeless boy scampering off into the dark corridors of the castle. I backed away from her, perplexed.\n\n\"You think I'm foolish?\" I asked when she was done.\n\n\"I will allow you to pass. Is that not enough?\" She lifted herself from her throne and took us onto an adjoining terrace that looked over a forest of black, jagged trees, a dirt path winding between them. A solitary crow stood on the ledge. The lady of the castle whispered softly to it, words that we could not hear, and the bird flew off into the night sky. The woman herself led us down stone steps etched into the side of a cliff, into the mouth of the wood.\n\n\"Follow the trail to the temple on the other side of the forest. Tell the cleric that the Blue Lady has sent you. You will travel along Mr. Samson's own rebel underground. Ironic, is it not?\"\n\n\"Why would Samson's people help us?\"\n\n\"He has kidnapped two children, a crime even in our land. His actions do not help the cause.\" The echo of the wind sounded around us without the benefit of a breeze, and the limbs of the trees creaked overhead. The only other sound was the clinking of the chains that trailed behind the Blue Lady, up the stairs, and around the throats of her grimy, blind children.\n\n\"Thank you for your help,\" I said.\n\n\"Do not thank me yet.\" She started to cackle again as she walked back up along the cliff, to the terrace of her castle. Henry stared anxiously into the woods and stepped in front of me before I could start along the path.\n\n\"What did you tell her?\" he asked, looking into my eyes.\n\n\"The answer she wanted to hear.\" I moved around him and would say nothing more on the subject.\n\nThe trees were tall and lean, and as we went on the forest dwindled, plant life shifting in color from dark green to ash gray. The bark appeared to be chipped and dusty, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Many trees had been pushed over and broken, the remaining stumps jutting sharply into the air. Then the forest stopped completely, and I stared out at a vast gray wasteland.\n\nIt was a dreary, oppressive place, an infinite desert pocked with craters, without stones on the ground or stars in the sky. There was only ash and the glow of the moon, rendered sallow and pale on the desolate landscape. We walked for what felt like miles until we stood on a ledge above an even greater expanse of gray nothingness. There was a building in the distance below.\n\nWe navigated down the slope of the rock with relative ease, and when we arrived at the bottom I finally heard it: a collective, raspy breathing coming from everywhere and nowhere. I felt surrounded, but then the little temple was still a mile off and there was no one around for as far as I could see. The path wove through the craters and the sound continued, rising and falling, a thousand different mouthfuls of air, as we walked to the lone building in the distance. I finally found the source of the sound just before we entered the temple.\n\nIt was coming from one of the pits, from a sad-eyed creature clawing at the sides of the cavity with a dozen bloodied appendages worn away from unsuccessful attempts at escape. I heard the gasping sound again, and the cavity in the earth closed in on the emaciated thing that still clung to the wall. Its eyes widened as it saw me, and remained open even as the pit closed around it.\n\nHenry pulled me away, and we approached the entrance to the temple. It was not a Christian building. The image of a serpent devouring itself was etched above the door. I knocked, and a small hunchbacked man answered.\n\n\"Are you the cleric?\" I asked.\n\nThe man nodded.\n\n\"The Blue Lady sent us,\" said Henry.\n\nThe cleric observed us with watery eyes and moved away from the door. A narrow stairwell curled deep into the earth. We followed him down to the bottom, into an amphitheater with a glowing pool of water at the center instead of a stage. There were many tunnels leading off the room into other parts of the earth, more dark places with shadowy things that I had had quite enough of.\n\nOur host stopped at the edge of the pool. \"If you seek sanctuary, you must bathe in the pool.\"\n\n\"Must we?\" I said under my breath. I considered myself a very open-minded person, but I was growing quite tired of the endless customs and traditions of the people of The Ending. Still, as there wasn't anyplace else for us to go, we had little choice but to comply. I unbuttoned my blue pin-striped dress as Henry took off the pieces of his suit. Truth be told, our clothes were becoming increasingly tattered, and it felt good to step out of them and even better to enter the gleaming pool of water.\n\nWe turned to one another after we were submerged, our nudity hidden by the opacity of the water. We kept our distance to maintain what little propriety remained to us, and we peered at each other across the pool.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" I asked. I had never seen Henry look so haggard.\n\n\"You were very brave.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid bravery had very little to do with it. I'm rather fond of my life and quite willing to run in order to preserve it. If I had been brave I would have done something to save Mrs. Norman.\"\n\nOnce I said this, I realized it sounded like an attack on his masculinity and courage, which I didn't mean for it to be. I could not get the image of Mrs. Norman out of my head. She was the courageous one, with her final, rebellious act of violence. She had been a deeply unpleasant woman but did not deserve the fate she had been handed, which we had inadvertently dealt her. It had not been her fight or her mistake. It was mine, and I had failed her. I said as much out loud, but Henry shook his head.\n\n\"You couldn't have known.\"\n\n\"I could have. I should have. But\"\u2014I scooped a handful of clean water over my face to soothe my singed skin and lips\u2014\"there will be plenty of time for self-loathing after we've found the children.\"\n\nWhen the hunchbacked cleric was satisfied with our informal baptism in the pool, he handed us robes and took us down a corridor lit by phosphorescent motes of dust that floated through the air, occasionally catching at my hair and skin, and causing me to glow the way that people do when light shines through their fingertips, pink and translucent. Henry brushed away one that had stuck to my forehead. The touch of his skin energized me despite my exhaustion.\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said.\n\n\"No trouble at all.\" Light cracked through his fatigue, perhaps the beginning of a smile before it faded again into weariness.\n\nWe were brought to a low, small room with no furniture save for a recess in the center that had been filled with furs and blankets. The luminous specks of dust had settled into the fibers of the sheets, and as we stepped into the alcove we quickly became covered in the stuff, our skin brought to life, our flesh an incandescent hearth at the center of the room. Our host left us, and we attempted to sleep, but I could not leave my hands alone, hypnotized by the trails of light they left behind. Henry was equally fascinated, and together we made as many shapes as we could think of, writing our names in the air, brushing ourselves off so that the flecks of dust became floating stars above our berth, until we settled in beside one another.\n\n\"Charlotte?\"\n\n\"Yes, Henry?\"\n\n\"What would you say to Jonathan, if you saw him again after all these years?\"\n\nI closed my eyes and summoned my husband's face, even as I could feel the warmth of Henry's body beside me. It surprised me to find that my feelings for both men were not mutually exclusive.\n\n\"I would tell him I loved him, that I will always love him. No matter what the future might hold.\"\n\nHenry inhaled deeply, lost in thought for a long while. And then: \"When Lily became ill, I stayed by her side day and night, wasting away as she did. I thought that if I could be there for her in every way possible, she might draw some small shred of strength from me. But she didn't. There was nothing to be done but watch her slip away. She died in my arms. I felt it happen, the breath leaving her body one last time. I kissed her then. Part of me hoped that I could draw her back from the Other Side, while she was still warm.\"\n\nI took his hand into mine.\n\n\"I don't know if I can face her,\" he said.\n\n\"You can. You will.\"\n\n\"But what do I say?\"\n\nI did not know how to respond. We remained in the dark, our fingers entwined, and soon I drifted off into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.\n\nIn the morning, the hunchbacked cleric collected us and provided a change of clothing from the singed rags we had been wearing upon our arrival. We bathed quickly one last time in the pool, washing the glowing motes of dust from our skin and hair, before we dressed in what appeared to be servants' uniforms and were escorted back up the stairwell to the entrance of the underground temple.\n\nOutside, I could still hear the gasping sounds from the pits in the ground. I turned to the cleric. \"Those pits around the temple . . .\"\n\n\"A political prison.\"\n\nI stopped, disgusted.\n\n\"Is that what the rebellion is working against?\" asked Henry.\n\n\"That is the rebellion at work. In times such as these the question of right and wrong becomes a complicated one.\" The cleric led us down the side of a hill behind the building, to an empty seashore of tepid waves, with a rickety boathouse perched at the end of a dock. He went inside and came out pulling a small rowboat through the water by a dirty cord.\n\n\"In you go,\" he said. Henry got into the boat first and then helped me off the dock. The hunchback cast us off and lumbered through the vessel, nearly capsizing it, to sit at the front. He looked back at Henry. \"Oars,\" he said.\n\nThe former master of Everton took the oars and cut across the dark water, through a sea of green-black islands with rolling hills and barren trees that scratched into the air with clawed branches. I sat back and looked up at the stars in the velvet sky. Nothing moved among the trees and hills of the empty coastline, whose barrenness could not match the unease I felt watching Henry push us across the surface of the water, our destinies entwined as we moved blindly beyond the confines of our story, away from master of the house and governess, simply two people searching in the night for two lost children, and perhaps for themselves.\n\nThere was land on the horizon, black and cold in the moonlight with a thin spire of smoke climbing above its charcoal shores. The lamp of a crumbling lighthouse turned atop a precarious heap of rubble and cracked walls.\n\nAs we neared, the rocky coast gave way to a deserted shoreline of squalid cottages, a sad little town of molding walls and broken-toothed windows, huddled together against the lip of a demolished harbor. Nonetheless, it was not unoccupied. The smoke we had seen from the sea was coming from the chimney of a hut at the end of the lane, its windows glowing with the promise of fire.\n\nThe hull of the boat scraped against the shoreline, and Henry hopped into the water to drag the dinghy onto the beach. He extended his hand and helped me over the side. The hunchbacked cleric followed, leading us from the beach onto a path of ruined, uneven cobblestones. We walked silently down the narrow road to the house and knocked on the door.\n\nA woman answered. She was shapely and round, with buttermilk skin and red ringlets of hair. The hunchback whispered something to her, and she opened her arms in greeting.\n\n\"Welcome. Please, come in.\" She led us to sit in front of the hearth.\n\nThe hut was small and decorated for Christmas. The frail tree in the corner of the room was gray, even by firelight, and clung to the sparse ornamentation perched on its branches. There were other guests seated next to us, old, broken, and decayed, staring deeply into the flames.\n\nA cauldron hung above the embers, its bubbling contents hidden by brown, sticky foam. The woman brought us three coarse wooden bowls. She took a ladle from the wall and dipped it into the kettle. The head of the brew dissolved, and we could see something moving beneath the surface.\n\n\"No thank you, we've already eaten,\" I lied, starving, though the cleric heartily devoured his bowl of brown. The eyes of the other guests never left the flames. The woman sat at a table by the door to peel carrots. She placed one into a small cage that swung above her head, the animal inside gnawing at the stick as white, gelatinous foam dripped from its maw. It might have been a ferret, but the slaver had smeared its fur so that it was an indistinguishable mass of pelt and teeth. I slipped my hand through the crook of Henry's arm.\n\n\"There is trouble tonight,\" said the woman without looking up from her task.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Henry.\n\n\"The one who will take you is late. He is never late.\" She smiled as she fed the caged creature another sliver of carrot. We moved closer to the hearth, joining the others as they lost themselves in the fire. I imagined that the flames formed the walls of a house, and inside a small family of embers burned away their bright little lives to keep it intact.\n\nHenry broke into my reverie. \"I still haven't the faintest idea what we plan to do.\"\n\n\"You escape with the children, and I will sort out Mr. Whatley.\"\n\n\"Alone?\"\n\n\"Hardly.\" I turned to him, widening my eyes in an effort to end the conversation. I was unsuccessful.\n\n\"Why must you be so cryptic?\"\n\nAnnoyed, I put my lips to his ear and whispered sharply. \"I have little experience traveling through rebel undergrounds, but I would imagine that they are not safe for private conversation.\" I motioned to the others seated beside us, all of them nearly catatonic save for one man who stood suddenly, kicking over his chair.\n\nThe woman with the red hair shouted at him. \"Pipe down there.\"\n\nBut instead of reseating himself, the stranger leaned his head back, the surface of his skin gathering like beads of melted wax traveling up his face, a strand of it pulling away from his body, a thread of flesh rising into the air to attach itself to the ceiling.\n\nOur hostess gasped a single word: \"No . . .\"\n\nHis body blasted apart with a wet tearing sound, sinewy tendrils erupting out of a husk of red meat to embed themselves in the walls and ceiling, scrambling around the room in search of prey. Where it touched the other guests, their flesh became its flesh, merged together and absorbed into an ever-expanding mass, none of the victims dead or dying, simply devoured whole.\n\nAs one of the tendrils made to slide around my leg, the hunchbacked cleric threw himself in its path, the thing entering his back and swelling around him. I did not have time to cry out, for Henry pulled me through the door, and together we ran into the night, looking back just long enough to see the hut crack and collapse, the plaster and rock consumed into the growing girth of the beast.\n\nThe town came to life, screaming. Doors opened all around us, voices calling out for their loved ones as they ran into the streets; creatures and creatures in human skins, sobbing and shouting, pushed into each other. A young man ran past us carrying a glass bottle of jet-black liquid, a swatch of cloth sticking out of the opening. He lit it and chucked it at the monster in the demolished hut, but it fell short and landed at the base of the structure. At first I thought he had failed, but then the ground split open with a bone-chilling crack and began to fall away, creating an abyss where there had not been one mere seconds before. The creature scuttled for purchase at the edges of the chasm, but it had already grown too heavy for its own good and descended into the darkness below. The crowd of onlookers cheered momentarily, but then the rift continued to expand. Houses and whole streets succumbed to the schism, the edges of the earth flaking away into the void below.\n\nHenry and I followed the crowd into a forest on the outskirts of town, winding between the trees until the chaos was behind us. When we were far enough from the townspeople that we would not draw unwanted attention, we collapsed against one another.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" he asked.\n\n\"He saved me,\" I said incredulously.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The cleric. Why would he do such a thing? He barely knew me.\"\n\nHenry put my hand into his. \"We should keep going.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\nHe pointed behind me to a wide road. It had once been paved over, for the edges of the thoroughfare were crusted with pieces of crushed red brick, but the center of the highway had been worn to dirt from good use. It was the largest road that I had ever seen. It went on for as far as my eyes could see, and it was wide enough to accommodate twenty carriages riding beside one another.\n\nHenry helped me to my feet, and we scampered down the side of a hill to reach the large expanse of road, but before we could leave the forest a person stepped into our path. He had a flat, open gash of a face, and a body that would have been snakelike had it not been for the heavy, muscular appendages that trailed along both sides of his torso. The person called out to us. \"Hello, my friends!\"\n\nWe stared at the man wordlessly.\n\n\"My companion and I are faced with a bit of an imposition. We're travelers like yourselves, you see.\" Another person appeared behind him. He was taller than any man, with arms and legs like very strong sticks, and half a mouth, with no bottom jaw but many long, sharp teeth. \"We've lost the third member of our party.\"\n\n\"I wish we could help you, but we must be on our way,\" I replied.\n\n\"But you can help us,\" said the man who was almost, but not quite, like a snake. \"Our friend was with you, the large gentleman in the hut. You were ever so quick to part with him.\" The two highwaymen leered at one another. I tried to run, but the stick man grabbed ahold of me and threw me to the ground, my head throbbing in pain though I refused to let him see it by meeting his gaze.\n\n\"Eager to leave us as well?\" said the snake. \"We should be insulted. It's a good thing Mr. Ashby is asking for you alive.\"\n\n\"A good thing indeed.\" The stick man's breath was dry and sour.\n\n\"But still . . . he would be ever so cross with us if we grabbed the wrong person. Best make sure you're human, after all. Blood will tell, as they say.\" He removed a long, thin knife from his jacket and cut away my cloak. He was about to do the same to the rest of my clothes when Henry leapt onto his back and began to strangle him with his arms. The snake man shrieked and dropped his knife to the ground, while the other swatted Henry through the air and into the forest.\n\nThe highwaymen congratulated themselves and hovered over me, unaware of a shadow moving behind them, black and dangerous, shifting along the ground, alive. As it passed over the stick man, his limbs shattered into thousands of bloodless little pieces and the back of his head was knocked through his mouth.\n\nThe snake man shrieked at the sight of his fallen companion, and he took off down the road. But the moon was high, and the shadow stretched after him as well. It embraced him so tightly that he stopped moving and fell to the earth, his skin peeled away in one swift motion. His flesh followed with a moist rip. But as this was The Ending, neither of the highwaymen could die even if he so desired. The stick man quivered in a fetal position on the ground and attempted to slurp the contents of his head back into his mouth. His partner, all bloody pulp and bone, pulled himself up the road, gathering his flesh and skin.\n\nThe shadow subsided as it lifted Henry from the floor of the forest and set him into a wagon near the side of the great road. As it approached me, it took the shape of a middle-aged man, impish and dark-featured, with a slender finger pressed against his sly lips.\n\n\"Duncan!\"\n\nWhatley's manservant brought me to my feet and climbed into the driver's seat. He did not wait for me to join him before whipping the side of the animal that pulled the wagon. The squat, headless thing with hundreds of fleshy flaps of skin squirmed forward like so many caterpillars, but it proved very fast as it took off. I quickly retrieved the knife that had been dropped by one of the highwaymen and barely had enough time to jump into the back of the vehicle as it started forward. I tucked the weapon into the folds of my dress.\n\n\"Why did you come for us?\" I hardly expected an answer, but Duncan reached into his coat pocket and extracted a parchment envelope with a blue wax seal. I tore it open and read the two words written in Lily Darrow's handwriting: Trust him. I handed it to Henry.\n\n\"He did save our lives,\" he said. That was hardly sufficient, but given what few options we had, I reluctantly turned to face the back end of the wagon. We twisted down through the dark hills of The Ending, the wagon lumbering along the hard, beaten earth between patches of broken brick.\n\nWe passed by great houses and manors with candlelit windows and oddly shaped figures scuttling about behind them. I wondered if the boys would remain unchanged after having lived among such strangeness. There were other orchards, and a lone clock tower on a small island at the center of a lake. Henry and I soon settled into the quiet rhythms of the wagon. We took turns sleeping while the other remained alert, but no one passed us by. We were completely alone.\n\nThe hills grew taller as we continued, and the road sloped upward along the side of a mountain. There was movement in the valley below. Shapes in the darkness bounded after one another, their ridged backs glistening with sweat in the moonlight. Barbed tentacles lashed cruelly at tender undersides, and talons tore through flesh and fat and bone. Blood was thick on the ground, black as midnight.\n\nDuncan did not bother looking down at the carnage below, and the creatures seemed to be paying us little if any attention, for we went down the other side of the mountain without trouble.\n\nI realized Henry and I had started holding hands, but I could not recall when it happened, or why. I felt so many things all at once\u2014fear, anger, exhilaration, doubt\u2014each of them vying for my attention, surging through my body in alternating waves of anxiety and relief, to the point that I shut them all out and focused instead on the fact that I was glad to have Henry by my side at that moment. With my other hand I felt for the last relics of my former life, which I had rescued from the burning cinder of Everton.\n\nJonathan. I fell asleep despite my anxieties. My body demanded rest, and I dreamt that I went to a traveling carnival with my family.\n\nWe drifted from tent to tent, from the jugglers to the fortune-teller and finally to the magic man. He stood on his collapsible stage, a man in black making doves appear from his throat and fire dance at his fingertips. He called my mother from the audience and placed a sheet over her body. With a clap of his hands she disappeared. Then he took Jonathan, who vanished in a flash of light. My father was the last person chosen from the audience. The magic man placed him in a chair and levitated him into the air and out of sight. I clapped and clapped when the show was over. I waited at the entrance for my family to return, but then the gypsies packed up their tents and drove away in their caravans, leaving me alone on an empty hill.\n\n\"Charlotte.\" My eyes fluttered open. Henry's face hovered above me. I sat up and realized that I recognized the landscape. There was the orchard and beyond it, the House of Darkling alight with activity. There were other carriages on the road now, all of them in a long caravan to the front entrance by the Star Fountain. Duncan avoided this, steering us through the tall black iron gates, past human-shaped guards who waved us through without a second glance, and around the back to a servants' entrance, where arm in arm, Henry and I entered into the House of Darkling.\nCHAPTER 19\n\nThe Man in Black\n\nThe lower floors of the manor were characterized by crooked hallways and room upon room of sweating, anxious servants, all of them frantic to respond to the panels of angry, chiming bells that heralded the needs of the hundreds of guests upstairs. Duncan did not allow us to linger, urging us onward until we were expelled from the inner workings of the house into the wing where the children and I had slept during our visits. To my surprise, he opened the door to my own quarters and pushed us inside.\n\nA woman stood in the center of the room, her back to the entrance. She was dressed in a white gown that flowed from an ivory bodice of lace down the curves of her body into a pool of silk on the floor. A veil hid her face, but Henry knew her all the same.\n\n\"Lily . . .\" he said breathlessly.\n\n\"Henry?\" She sounded weary and sad, but her voice left her entirely when her eyes turned to meet her husband's. He took a single step forward, then another, and another, as if approaching a dream, careful to hold it for as long as possible before it slipped away. When he reached her he pushed back the veil to stroke the side of her face. She trembled, closing her fingers around his wrist. They stayed in the same pose, a silent conversation playing out in their mutual gaze, which remained uninterrupted by any further physicality. They simply looked into one another.\n\nI could not help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy at the sight of them together, even as I reminded myself that they were still husband and wife. A shadow passed over Lily's face, and she became very melancholy.\n\n\"I'm afraid you might be too late.\" She motioned to her wedding gown.\n\nHenry seemed to see it for the first time and backed away in confusion. \"You can't be. You mustn't.\"\n\nShe ignored him. \"I sent Duncan to fetch you after we last spoke, so that you could see the children safely home. They do not belong here.\"\n\n\"Neither do you. Come with us,\" I said.\n\n\"We tried that once before, don't you remember? They'll never release me. I'm the only one in The Ending who has ever died. They worship me, and Whatley will marry me.\"\n\n\"You deserve peace, my love,\" Henry interjected.\n\n\"This is exactly what I deserve,\" she said bitterly. \"I am glad you came, Henry. I had so wanted to see you one last time.\"\n\n\"I don't understand. Why didn't you summon me here with the boys? Your death broke something inside of me, Lily. I would have been here in an instant.\"\n\n\"That's exactly why I tried to keep you away. I went so far as to tell the children there was a spell keeping this place connected to Blackfield, and if they spoke to you of their time here, it would be forever broken. I was afraid, Henry. To say good-bye to the children was my duty as their mother. Their hearts will mend. I couldn't bear to see yours break all over again.\"\n\nI felt a pang of foolishness at my own gullibility, but it was washed away by all the other emotions that swept over me during this exchange.\n\nLily must have seen this, for she closed her eyes and summoned the strength to turn her husband away. \"They'll be coming for me soon. I think you had better leave.\"\n\n\"We can help, Lily,\" I said.\n\n\"How? What could you possibly do?\" When I did not respond, she turned away from us once more. \"Take the children back.\" Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she nodded to Duncan. He went to the wardrobe and extracted two black cloaks, draping them over us. The hoods hung low before our faces, like shrouds.\n\nLily handed me a silver skeleton key without looking in my direction. \"You may find passage back to Everton in Mr. Whatley's study. But for myself there is no other choice.\"\n\n\"That is where you're wrong.\" I tucked the key away into the folds of my dress. \"There is an alternative to The Ending.\"\n\n\"Death offers his gift but once, if at all. Now, please leave me. The ceremony will begin soon and you had better find the children.\"\n\nWe pleaded with her, but she ignored us and continued to prepare for her wedding. I pulled Henry grudgingly out of the room, but as we left he spoke to her one last time.\n\n\"I love you.\"\n\nShe observed us in the reflection of her vanity mirror but remained silent as she watched us leave. I thought I noticed tears in her eyes, but Duncan was already weaving us through the house, carefully out of sight of the other guests, who lingered on the periphery of Darkling, voices raised, cutlery scraping together, heels clacking against tile; ghosts who lived just beyond the edge of sight.\n\nWhen Duncan entered the dark room, I stopped and touched his arm. \"We need to find the children,\" I whispered. He observed me drily, the smile on his face slipping for a moment as he pushed his finger into the eye socket of one of the marble faces, opening the door to the circular chamber enveloped in concentric rings of silk veils. A boy sat on the metal chair, his feet dangling just above the floor.\n\n\"There you are,\" he said. \"I was worried you weren't\"\u2014his face fell as we pushed back our hoods, the words dying on his lips\u2014\"coming.\"\n\n\"What on earth are you doing here?\" I asked him. James hopped down from the chair and approached us with caution and very adult suspicion. He was dressed in a black suit with a gray vest, a red cummerbund circling his waist. Yet even disregarding the finely tailored clothing, he held himself differently than the last time I'd seen him. He did not look any older despite the years that had doubtlessly passed for him since our separation, but nevertheless there was something changed in him.\n\n\"You came back,\" he said to me.\n\n\"I never meant to leave.\"\n\n\"But you did.\" He hugged his father in a mechanical gesture without any emotion.\n\nHenry did not seem to notice. \"My boy,\" he said. He smoothed out the curls of his son's blond hair with unguarded sentimentality, but James pulled away, his face contorted in confusion.\n\n\"I'm not a child.\" He shuffled back to the metal chair in the center of the room, where he removed a smoke-colored phial from his pocket. It was labeled INFIRMED.\n\n\"James, put that down!\"\n\n\"Do you even know what it is?\" Though he appeared to be only five, he spoke with all the stoic assurance of an adolescent.\n\n\"Someone's death.\"\n\n\"Not just anyone's.\" He held it to the dim light, picking at the stopper in a distracted way. \"I remember the night she died.\" He looked to his father. \"You don't think that I do, but you're wrong. You left me alone with her to talk to the doctor, and she started to make a sound. There were noises coming out of her; she was gasping, and her eyes were wet, like she was drowning from the inside out. I think she was crying.\n\n\"I tried to give her a hug, but she jerked away from me, like I had hurt her. So I just stood by her side. I heard the doctor say that she was blind by then, but I felt like she could see me because she grabbed my hand. She pulled me close and tried to whisper something, but she couldn't speak right. The words were all broken. But then she said it again and again, and I realized that what she said was 'I want to die.'\n\n\"One night I asked her about it, if she remembered me there and if I helped make it easier. I wanted her to know that I cried when she was gone, but it only upset her and she ran from the room before she could answer. I haven't asked her since.\"\n\n\"And that's her death?\" I gestured to the phial still in his hands.\n\n\"I think so. I found it hidden in her room. I was waiting to open it, and tonight seemed appropriate. Duncan was going to help me.\" He held it out to his father. \"Would you like to try it instead?\"\n\nHenry went very pale, and a bead of sweat dripped from his brow. Yet he did not reach out to accept the phial. \"No, thank you, James. I think we both experienced enough of your mother's death firsthand.\"\n\nThe boy nodded and handed the glass container to Duncan, who secreted it away in the folds of his jacket.\n\n\"Are you taking us home?\" James's green eyes found my own, and I could barely hold back tears of guilt.\n\n\"Yes, of course we are. I'm so sorry, James. It's my fault you were trapped here alone.\"\n\nFrom the expression on his face I was certain that he felt pity for me. \"We weren't alone. Mother was here, and Mr. Whatley.\" I noticed he hadn't corrected me, but then he had no reason to. It was my fault that the door between Everton and Darkling had been closed, but that he had confirmed it made the changes wrought in him since the last time we had been together all the more clear. He had grown up.\n\n\"Did Mr. Whatley hurt you?\" I asked, looking over his face for any signs of abuse.\n\n\"No, not at all. He protects us.\"\n\n\"From what?\"\n\n\"His friends.\"\n\nI found myself in the strange position of feeling gratitude to the master of Darkling. Fortunately Duncan chose that moment to usher us all out of the chamber and back into the claustrophobic darkness of the other room. We pulled our hoods over our faces and followed him in silence, James taking his father's hand as we began to encounter the other wedding guests, mysterious figures garbed in cloaks identical to ours, human-shaped creatures much like Whatley, Samson, and all the rest of their circle.\n\nDuncan escorted us into the medieval banquet hall that Lily had shown us on one of our prior visits, but instead of containing the mysterious ever-changing door that had tormented Susannah, it was now filled with row upon row of hospital beds, all of them occupied by poor creatures in varying states of decline.\n\nThe patient nearest to us might have once resembled an oversized earthworm, but it had been torn into pieces, its stumps bound in white gauze and placed along the length of the bed, struggling to squirm together in sequential rhythm despite the fact that they were no longer part of the same whole. Another victim was riddled with perforations in its head and torso, and thick metal spokes had been placed into the gaps of its flesh to brace the body against complete collapse. There were no doctors or nurses to tend to the wounded, only a dark-haired boy who stood at the other end of the room, struggling to help place what was left of Dabney Aldrich into a human-shaped suit.\n\nPaul wiped a streak of sweat from his brow and scowled at his little brother. \"I told you not to visit me here, James.\"\n\n\"Come along, Paul,\" I said.\n\nHe gaped at us, not understanding until we came close enough for him to see beneath the shrouds of our cloaks. He gently laid Dabney back onto the bed. The other boy's face was just as angelic and beautiful as it had been before, but beneath his neck his human body was matted with the pieces of his actual one, bound together in bandages in a hopeless effort to give him something of a human shape.\n\nPaul ushered us to a far corner of the room, away from his patients. \"You've been gone for so long. I didn't think we'd ever leave,\" he stammered, rubbing the back of his head with his hands as if he were trying to decide something.\n\n\"What on earth are you doing here?\" asked his father.\n\n\"The night of the engagement marked the start of the war. Someone had to tend to the victims, the ones damaged beyond repair. Their families either are in worse shape or have disowned them.\" He gestured to Dabney, and I recalled the haughty dignity of Mrs. Aldrich. I could not imagine her having the compassion or the patience for long-term care. \"I've stayed by their sides and helped as best I could.\"\n\n\"That's very brave of you,\" I said to him.\n\n\"No, they're the brave ones. They endure without the hope and mercy of death. I only manage to find strength in their resolve.\" His eyes shifted to me for a moment, wordlessly referencing our conversation by his mother's gravestone all those months before.\n\nDabney stirred on his bed. \"Paul.\" His voice was a weak shadow of what it used to be. Still, the elder Darrow boy lifted him upright and helped dress the remains of his body for the wedding as we looked on in discomfort. When he was done, Paul placed his friend in a wheelchair. The other boy reached out and took his hand. \"Are you leaving us?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm taking you to the wedding, just as you wanted, my friend.\"\n\nDabney smiled and stared off into space as Paul wheeled him out of the makeshift infirmary.\n\n\"Is Mother coming with us?\" Paul whispered. Henry and I exchanged glances. \"We can't leave her here.\"\n\n\"And we won't. Leave everything to me,\" I said with a note of finality. I replaced the hood of my cloak as Duncan led us to the dining hall, where the guests had been informed that the wedding was about to begin.\n\nA thousand wedding guests in hooded shrouds began to file into the ballroom, lavishly decorated for the event. Silver cages filled with firebirds hung from the ceiling. Sad, languid music was being orchestrated on a twenty-foot-long harp that took a dozen people to play it, some of them standing on ladders.\n\nThe Darrows and I sat down with Dabney while Duncan bowed to us and retreated to the far end of the hall. Across the aisle Olivia chattered flirtatiously with some of the younger guests, throwing her head back gently in a demure scoff, pleasantly scandalized by some rude observation. Her eyes flittered over us but did not stop. She gazed at her father with an expression carefully guarded by a well-practiced blank smile that did not show in her eyes as he took his place at the front of the aisle, smirking victoriously.\n\nThe music died out and the room became hushed in silence. The harp players began to strum their instrument until the notes resembled a wedding march. Lily Darrow stood at the entrance to the ballroom, dressed in her elaborate white wedding gown. She strode down the aisle. When she reached the section we were sitting in, she turned to us with a weak smile.\n\n\"Don't do it, Mother,\" James whispered to her loudly enough for everyone to hear. Lily looked from the children to Henry. Mr. Whatley grew increasingly impatient at the end of the aisle. She turned back to the task at hand, and Mr. Whatley glowered at the boys triumphantly. I removed the small, thin knife that I had taken from the highwayman and hidden in the folds of my dress.\n\n\"Do you trust me?\" I asked Henry.\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Then stay by my side and help me with the children.\"\n\n\"What are you\u2014?\"\n\nI took a deep breath and, hands shaking with conviction, plunged the knife into my chest. It did not feel as I thought it would. I had imagined more pain, more terror, but it was all very numb. The world slowed down, and I collapsed into Henry's arms in slow motion. Lily turned to see what had happened, her veil fluttering before her eyes, one step behind the progress of time. She ran back down the aisle to my side. I pushed the hood of the cloak away from my face, and the crowd stood up to observe the chaos, blurry figures at the edge of my vision that I felt I recognized, but could not quite make out.\n\nThey were elated.\n\nI heard Mr. Whatley above the crowd, demanding to know what had happened, for he could not see over the throngs of wedding guests despite his unnatural height. Henry cradled me in his arms, unsure what to do and trying to calm the children, who were beside themselves in shock and horror.\n\n\"It's all right,\" I choked, trying to comfort them even as my teeth became slick with blood. \"Look!\"\n\nA storm had gathered outside, the moon obscured by a writhing tempest of black clouds that spilled down from the sky and into the horizon, churning over the bleak pine-colored hills of The Ending in a frigid, swirling vortex that pressed against the windows until they shattered inward. The firebirds extinguished themselves, and the lights in the room went out. A doorway made of night opened to meet us where we stood, and from within it there appeared the shape of a man clad all in black.\n\nI had summoned Death to The Ending.\n\nSome of the wedding guests began to cry with tears of joy, while others knelt in reverence.\n\n\"Really, there's no need for that,\" said the man as he stepped forward. Mr. Samson appeared beside him.\n\n\"We bid you welcome to The Ending, my lord.\"\n\n\"While that's very kind of you, I am no one's lord, and I'm afraid I have more pressing matters to attend to.\" He observed me on the floor with Lily, a pool of blood spreading before us, staining the hem of her white dress. The man bent over me and looked at my injury. He gestured to the knife. \"Shall we remove this?\"\n\nI nodded to Lily, and she pulled the knife from my torso. I winced, gasping for air, the pain of it nearly causing me to black out, but I gritted my teeth together and bore through it.\n\n\"There, all better,\" he said drily. If I hadn't been in so much pain I would have laughed aloud. \"Now, to the matter at hand. One of you has been dead for some time, and the other is dying in a place where death has never before occurred. What am I to do with the two of you?\"\n\nI sat up, and a gout of blood spilled down the front of my chest. \"If I may, sir, there is only one reasonable course of action.\"\n\n\"And what is that, Mrs. Markham?\" asked the man. At the utterance of my name, the crowd fell away, and Mr. Whatley finally saw me with his fianc\u00e9e. His eyes went very wide, and for what I assumed was the first time in a very long time, he was speechless.\n\n\"A soul must be taken,\" I continued. \"Lily passed on, but not completely, and I cannot die in a place where death does not exist. Reason would follow that you should take her into the light, and let me keep my life.\"\n\n\"A reasonable point, but wrong all the same. Death did not exist here, until now. Hello.\" He turned and waved to the crowd of onlookers with good cheer. \"But this is still The Ending. I am, if anything, a man of the people, and the people of The Ending are different. New rules are needed.\"\n\n\"Please, sir, take us with you,\" Samson blubbered at his side.\n\n\"Yes, some of you would like that very much, but others would prefer to persist, even though they might say otherwise. I can sense it throughout this room. Normally it doesn't matter, I would take each and every one of you all the same, but you don't die. If I left, you would simply keep ticking away until the end of time. That is where you're different, and that's why I will give you the chance to decide. Come or stay, live or die.\" He spun around again to face Lily and me. \"The same goes for each of you. Which will it be?\"\n\nLily Darrow looked at her children, and at her husband. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. \"I think I've kept this gentleman waiting long enough.\"\n\n\"This is outrageous!\" bellowed Whatley, taking several steps forward until the man in black raised his hand with unveiled antipathy toward the master of Darkling.\n\n\"Do not interrupt us again, sir, or I shall be encouraged to take you instead. Do I make myself clear?\"\n\nMr. Whatley fumed and glared, but remained silent.\n\nJames clung to his mother's side, the adolescent confidence he had earned temporarily forgotten in the wake of his mother's decision. \"No, Mother, you can't!\" he cried.\n\n\"I must accept my own death if any of you is to ever live your own lives. I'm sorry if I've been selfish, but I love you so much I couldn't bear leaving you behind.\" She hugged the boys. Henry caressed the side of his wife's face.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Henry.\"\n\n\"Never be sorry.\"\n\n\"Do you still love me?\"\n\n\"Until the end of time.\"\n\nHe kissed her softly on the cheek. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, but then it could have been due to the loss of blood. As they parted, she wiped her eyes. \"Charlotte, you will see to it that they get home to Everton?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\" The pain was settling into my body now, not softened but endured.\n\n\"Thank you . . . for everything,\" she said as she took her place beside the gentleman who was Death.\n\n\"I'll return in a moment,\" said the man. \"I imagine that you wish to be next?\" He gestured to Mr. Samson, who nodded excitedly, nearly beside himself with joy.\n\nSuddenly Paul stepped forward, pushing Dabney's wheelchair in front of him. \"If you please, sir. The injured should be taken first.\" Paul placed a hand on Dabney's ruined shoulders, and the other boy nestled his head against Paul's arm with unspoken intimacy.\n\nThe man in black nodded in agreement. \"An admirable observation.\" He spun around and gestured to the broader crowd. \"Would all interested parties please line up? I do love a good queue.\"\n\nPaul wheeled Dabney toward the door made of night and knelt beside him. I could not hear what they said, but by the end of it they were both crying, and Dabney watched Paul return to us as his mother accepted the hand of Death.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" he asked Lily.\n\n\"No, but I imagine few people ever are,\" she replied.\n\nTogether they passed through the door made of night and were engulfed by it, their forms obscured and faded in a dim burst of light even as the door persisted.\n\nMr. Whatley shrieked and collapsed to the floor in visible pain. Olivia ran to his side and took his arm to help him to his feet as the crowd began to murmur with excitement, some of the guests lining up beside Dabney and Mr. Samson, hand in hand, to follow the man in black into the afterlife.\n\nI could see Mr. Whatley staggering up, somehow diminished in Lily's absence. He met my gaze and cackled with manic abandon, his body shaking with the timbre of his voice. \"You warned me, but I didn't believe you. You threatened, and I ignored you. You've stolen my wife from me, Mrs. Markham!\"\n\n\"Father, please!\" Olivia had not released his arm. She held on to him very tightly, her fingers digging sharply into the fabric of his suit jacket.\n\n\"Boys, it's time to go. Help me up.\" I put my arms around Henry's shoulders and fastened a piece of cloth around my side to lessen the bleeding.\n\n\"You're simply leaving, just like that?\" spat Mr. Whatley at his guests as they stood waiting for Death to return. \"What do you think Ashby and Cornelius will do when they find out what's happened?\"\n\n\"I don't suppose I'll be inclined to care by that point,\" said Mr. Samson. \"There needn't be a war at all. We could simply die.\"\n\nWhatley tried to escape from Olivia's grasp, but she held herself tight against him until he reached down with both hands and released her fingers from his arm, then pushed through the crowd as Henry, the children, and I left the ballroom, a thin trail of blood marking our path.\n\n\"Markham!\" he bellowed after us.\n\nJames looked up in fear. \"Where are we going?\"\n\n\"Quickly, to the library!\" I said. We turned down a corridor, but I stopped in shock. Before us was one of the blurry figures that had been standing over me in the ballroom, made all the more clear as I continued to hemorrhage. It was my mother, wrapped in bedclothes, with dried, bloodied mucus crusted beneath her chin.\n\n\"Mother?\"\n\n\"It's time to rest, my darling.\" She smiled and held her arms apart to embrace me. But I don't believe that anyone else saw her, for Henry half carried me away as the boys led us into the library.\n\n\"Stay with us, Charlotte!\" he cried. We threw ourselves into the room and bolted the door shut. I wanted to go back to my mother, but I was becoming more and more confused. I tried to focus on the task at hand\u2014I had to save the Darrows. I had to save myself.\n\n\"The end is nigh, my peppercorn.\" I saw my father in the green leather armchair that had been Lily's favorite. He had his pipe in his hand and a halo of smoke encircling his head. I wanted to run to him, to drop into his lap, to cry into his shoulder, to have him kiss away the pain in my chest, but instead Henry drove us onward.\n\n\"Up the stairs, into the study!\" I could barely speak, focusing all my energy on each step as I leaned against Paul and Henry. The pain in my side throbbed with each beat of my heart. I wondered briefly what would happen when I had no more blood to spill.\n\nAs we rounded the third floor of the library, Mr. Whatley banged roughly on the door, then ripped it off its hinges.\n\n\"More games? How delightful! Shall I come after you then?\" His body shuddered and strained against his suit, shredding it and the fa\u00e7ade of human skin beneath it as his voluminous tendrils and appendages released themselves from the confines of human clothing. He stretched and threw himself against the wall, using his many limbs to climb each bookshelf as if it were a step.\n\nI urged the Darrows to quicken their pace. \"Hurry, we're almost there!\"\n\nAs we reached the door to Whatley's study, I extracted the silver skeleton key Lily had given to us and inserted it into the keyhole. It clicked as I turned it, and the door opened just as Whatley reached the footbridge. The Darrows and I entered the room and slammed the door shut before Mr. Whatley could reach us.\n\nThe room was the same as ever, quiet and gloomy, like a mausoleum. We lurched past Mr. Whatley's emotions and to his collection of faintly glowing glass paintings. I directed the boys to the glass prominently displaying the smoking remains of Everton and kissed them both on the cheek.\n\n\"Be strong for me,\" I said to them. James touched the glass with his hand and passed through the other side as if he'd fallen over a short wall. Paul followed after him.\n\n\"After you,\" said Henry.\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"Of course you can.\"\n\n\"Someone has to stay behind to destroy the painting.\"\n\nHenry's eyes went wide, and he ran his hands through his blond hair. \"I can't allow it, Charlotte. I've already lost Lily.\"\n\n\"Your children need you, Henry.\"\n\n\"And I need you!\"\n\n\"But you can't have me.\" I moved my hand away from my chest. The bleeding had stopped, and I no longer felt as weak as I had before.\n\n\"I can't do this again, Charlotte.\"\n\n\"You can and you will.\"\n\n\"We can have a life together!\"\n\n\"If there's a way for me to come back, I will,\" I promised.\n\nWhatley broke through the door. \"Markham!\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Henry.\" I pushed him hard, and he fell backward through the painting. I could see the children pick him up on the other side as he stood, bewildered and heartbroken, crying. I tore the thing from the wall and smashed it into hundreds of glittering pieces, severing the connection between Everton and The Ending.\n\n\"I could always create another painting to Blackfield, you know.\" Mr. Whatley observed me from the other side of the room. He had reverted to his human form, but his clothing hung in tatters over his muscular body.\n\n\"But you won't.\"\n\n\"Why's that?\"\n\n\"Because I'm the one that you want.\"\n\n\"You've done well.\" His hair was as wild and untamed as ever, but in his eyes I could see that there was something subdued in him as he walked toward me.\n\n\"Stay where you are.\"\n\nHe stopped. \"And what will you do if I refuse?\"\n\n\"You've seen what I can do,\" I spat.\n\n\"You changed the outcome of the story.\"\n\n\"It's not finished yet.\"\n\n\"True, but there are pieces missing. Or have you put them together? Even as a little girl, you were very clever.\"\n\n\"You know nothing about me.\"\n\n\"That's where you're wrong. I know everything about you. I've watched you for years. You've sensed it, I know you have.\" I thought back to the figure who stood over the bodies of everyone I had ever lost.\n\n\"The man in black . . .\"\n\n\"It became dangerous for me to travel between the worlds myself, and so eventually I had to begin sending Roland. But the deaths of humans were my favorite things to collect. Mortals cling to their endings without even realizing it. They are simple to see, and even easier to predict. Your mother was one of many, but you were the first who tried to attack me, and after I met you I realized that I could not see your death. You are an enigma, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"Do not attempt to justify your failure.\"\n\n\"This is not a justification, it's an explanation. I feel that I owe one to you.\"\n\n\"Do you admit to killing them then?\"\n\n\"Your mother, no. It was a twist of fate that we should meet, but once I had found you I couldn't let you be. I will take responsibility for the deaths of the others. I needed you in the right place for a new game . . . my final game. You and I are more similar than you know. How many of our actions are the results of the things people expect of us rather than the things we want?\"\n\n\"Murderer!\" I tore another picture away from the wall and threw it against the floor as hard as I could. It cracked in half, and Mr. Whatley doubled over in pain.\n\n\"I'm practical,\" he continued after he had composed himself. \"You had to engage with me over the fate of Lily Darrow so that, when you defeated me, no one would doubt that I got what I deserved.\"\n\nI was about to destroy another of the paintings but froze when he said this. \"Why should you want to lose?\"\n\n\"There's a war coming. It's already started, but the two sides are filled with fanatics. One side wants to live forever and subjugate all the worlds, while the other wants to bring about the end of all things. I tried to placate them for as long as I could, but I refuse to commit myself to causes that have no center. I mean to provide a third alternative to Ashby and Speck, but I could never do so publicly. When they both began to suspect my intentions, something had to be done to remove me from the board. It's much easier to start an underground movement when everyone assumes that you're as good as dead.\"\n\n\"My father and husband, Nanny Prum and Mrs. Norman . . . Did you kill Lily as well?\"\n\n\"I might have helped her illness along, yes.\"\n\n\"Over politics?\"\n\n\"This is not simply politics. The existence of the universe hangs in the balance. If either party should win this war, it would mean the end of your world in addition to ours. What are a few people when the alternative is so grave?\"\n\n\"And now you expect me to simply help you disappear.\"\n\n\"You have no choice.\"\n\n\"There is always a choice!\"\n\n\"There is now. So much of your life was decided for you, but the game is ending; you will be free after this one last thing.\"\n\n\"And if I refuse?\"\n\n\"Then they will come for me, lock me away, and everything that's happened will have been for nothing.\"\n\nI screamed in anger and ran into the gallery, using my emotions and the accompanying burst of adrenaline to tear the paintings away from the walls one by one with bloody hands, dropping them to the floor so they shattered against him, cutting into him as he withered and shrank with each act of destruction. I tightened my fingers into fists and realized that they felt different than they had before my brush with Death. They were cold, harder somehow. The pain that had racked my body continued to abate as I settled into this new state of living death.\n\nWhatley cowered on the floor, clutching his face in pain. The human features it had once contained were starting to fade. His hand uncoiled into a grouping of tentacles.\n\n\"Yes, just like that.\" He cackled through his agony. \"What is a collector without his collection?\"\n\nI was torn. I wanted to inflict on him as much anguish as possible, but at the same time that was exactly what he was begging of me. \"Every day, every feeling, each bit of joy or sadness or fear I've ever felt, none of them are anything compared to the hatred I hold for you, that I will wield against you. You may not choose to die today, but someday I will come for you, and I will make you suffer as you made us suffer.\"\n\n\"Give me the time to overthrow Ashby and Speck, and I will willingly put myself before you.\"\n\n\"The Darrows are never to be bothered again.\"\n\n\"You have my word.\"\n\n\"Is that worth anything?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know. I've never given it before.\" He smiled at me with his crooked smirk.\n\nI could not bear to look at him. I destroyed more of his collection, raining down fragments of colored glass and shards of alabaster until the floor was covered in the stuff and a cloud of destruction hung in the air. Mr. Whatley disappeared piece by piece until he was a shrunken stump of a thing cowering on the floor.\n\nI wondered what to do about the remainder of his collection. There were still the lifeless, doll-like figures trapped in the compartment behind his bedroom. I lurched down to the private alcove where he slept and found the panel he had pressed to open the secret room. All of them were where they had been before, save for Lily. I picked up the one closest to the floor, a young man with ivy instead of hair, and set him on his feet. He immediately came to life and looked at me with confusion. \"Where is Mr. Whatley?\"\n\n\"He's indisposed. You're free,\" I told him.\n\nThe boy became suddenly anxious but then saw my wound and proceeded to help me extricate his brothers and sisters from their perches against the wall. The more dolls we freed, the quicker the process became, until all of them were milling about in Mr. Whatley's room trying to understand what had happened to them and what they would do next. I slipped out in the confusion, averting my eyes from the pathetic state Mr. Whatley found himself in, a wriggling thing on the floor amid shards of alabaster and glass. He looked up at me, his black, reptilian eyes suddenly desperate.\n\n\"I am sorry for what I've wrought upon you,\" he said in a small voice. \"People like us, we are stronger. We must do the things that others cannot.\"\n\n\"No matter the cost?\"\n\n\"In spite of it.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Mr. Whatley.\"\n\n\"You can't leave me here. There is work to be done! Markham!\"\n\nI left him alone in his study with the former pieces of his collection and made my way slowly and steadily through the house. The wedding guests that had not been taken by Death were still milling about in the ballroom. They had apparently decided to hold the reception regardless of the presence of the bride or the groom. Dabney's wheelchair lay empty in the corner. The pain in my chest began to throb again, and I steadied myself against a wall, nearly toppling over when someone put an arm beneath me and carefully lifted me into the air.\n\nI blacked out from exhaustion, and when I came to I found myself stretched on a metal chair, back in the room with the turning veils. Duncan stood nearby, fussing with a tray of tools on the wheeled table. I cried out in anguish, my wound still smarting. He turned to me, and rather than putting a finger to his lips, he opened his mouth and spoke.\n\n\"You're awake.\" His voice was soft and musical.\n\n\"You can talk?\"\n\n\"A recent development. The servants of Darkling grow into the needs of the house. With Whatley in decline, someone must speak for the estate. My brother was much the same, or so I'm told. I think you knew him.\"\n\n\"Roland.\"\n\n\"I believe he caused you great sorrow, though he was only following Mr. Whatley's instructions. I cannot make right what has already passed, but I can at least give you something for the pain.\"\n\n\"That would be worth more than you know.\"\n\nHe nodded and held a smoking cup to my lips. \"Drink this. It will help.\" It tasted of citrus, and as it passed through my body, it brought with it a cool, soothing sensation.\n\n\"I need one more thing. I won't be but a moment.\" He left me in the room, the veils spinning gently across the walls, hypnotic and serene. I had nearly slipped off to sleep when I felt the presence of someone else in the room. I sat up as best I could, and a man stepped forward.\n\n\"Charlotte?\" His voice was familiar, but the room was so dimly lit I could not make him out until his face was close to my own.\n\n\"Jonathan?\" His body was still blackened from the fire.\n\n\"I'm afraid you've seen better days, my love.\"\n\nI touched his cheek and felt his blistered skin. \"How are you here? You're dead.\"\n\n\"What do you think you are?\" he asked.\n\n\"Nothing can die in The Ending unless it wants to.\"\n\n\"You can't live as you are.\"\n\n\"I miss you.\"\n\n\"Don't change the subject.\"\n\n\"Do you want me to be dead?\"\n\n\"I want you to be comfortable.\"\n\n\"Who are you talking to?\" Duncan had returned, a small velvet jewelry box in his hand.\n\n\"My husband is here,\" I said, looking from one to the other.\n\n\"I've been under the impression that he was deceased.\" Duncan did not or could not see Jonathan, who shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"That doesn't seem to be stopping him.\"\n\n\"You do not look well.\" Duncan peered at the gash in my chest and placed his hand over it. \"We must tend to your wound immediately.\"\n\n\"Where will that leave me?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he asked.\n\n\"Will I be alive or dead?\"\n\n\"I do not know. I suppose that it cannot be good for you as long as you can see your late husband.\"\n\nJonathan brought his ears close to my lips. \"You must let him, Charlotte. It's not your time. Not yet.\"\n\n\"I miss you so much.\"\n\n\"I'm always with you. Can't you feel me?\"\n\n\"It's not the same.\"\n\n\"We will meet again, at the end.\"\n\n\"You'll be waiting for me?\"\n\n\"Forever and always.\"\n\n\"This will feel peculiar,\" said Duncan, interrupting my good-bye. He opened the jewelry box and extracted a small hooked needle attached to a golden spool of thread. He placed the needle into my wound and backed away, the thing moving of its own accord, tugging at the severed strands of muscle and artery in my torso, stopping the tepid flow of blood and leaving me with a mildly sore sensation where there had once been excruciating pain. When it was done he plucked the needle from my skin and set it back on the table.\n\n\"How do you feel?\"\n\n\"Like the living dead.\"\n\n\"At least you are living.\"\n\nI looked around the room. Jonathan was gone, but I felt the loss of him less than I would have in a dream, for he had truly been with me and I had chosen to make him go away. The pain of it was softer because of this.\n\n\"That was quite a wedding,\" said Duncan. \"Or at least it would have been.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid that Mr. Whatley may be indisposed for some time.\"\n\n\"It wouldn't be wise for you to stay here,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, I know.\"\n\n\"Where will you go?\"\n\n\"Back to Everton, of course.\"\n\n\"But how? It seems as though you've destroyed every way back, and Mr. Whatley is in no position to help you.\"\n\n\"Perhaps someone in the underground will know the way.\"\n\n\"You should be careful. You've brought Death to The Ending. Ashby will come for you.\" Duncan pulled a fresh cloak and a plain dress similar to the kind I had seen worn by the servants of Darkling from beneath the table. He helped me change into them.\n\n\"What will happen here?\" I asked.\n\n\"Mr. Whatley will gather his strength for the time being. After that, I do not know. Are you able to walk?\" He helped me out of the chair. It was much easier to stand than before. He led me out of the chamber to the back of the house, where the orchard stood waiting, now empty of the carriages and wedding guests.\n\n\"I wish you the best of luck, Mrs. Markham.\"\n\n\"And I you, Duncan.\"\n\nWe shook hands, and I stepped out into the night air. My body must have been nearly drained of blood, and I had no responsibilities, no companions, and no idea of where to begin my journey home. Yet something else was wrong, something that sat heavily against my breast.\n\nI reached into the dress and extracted my father's pipe, my mother's lock of hair, and Jonathan's wedding ring. I had brought them all this way with me from Everton to The Ending, but I could not recall why I needed them. I knew who they were, what they smelled like, how their laughter sounded, how they smiled. I saw them every night in my dreams, reliving old memories and making new ones that could never have happened. I had seen them, and I would see them again someday. I knelt down to the ground and pushed aside a handful of soil, burying the three articles I had saved from the fire. When I was done, the weight I had felt was lifted.\n\nWith the moon hanging low in the sky, I followed the winding path away from the House of Darkling to the large gate at the edge of the property. There was a man waiting for me, a man dressed all in black.\n\n\"Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Markham.\" The gentleman who was Death tipped his black bowler hat to me.\n\nA man waits for you. He watches you.\n\n\"You've come back,\" I said.\n\n\"I've never been to The Ending. Much to do and see, I'd imagine. And people in need of my services.\"\n\n\"Some of them might not be so glad to see you.\"\n\n\"Few are. And where will you go?\"\n\n\"Home.\"\n\n\"What kind of gentleman would I be if I did not offer to escort a lady home on a dark moonlit night? Perhaps we should walk together. We both seem to make friends wherever we go,\" he said with a measure of playful sarcasm, extending me the crook of his arm.\n\nI accepted it. \"Am I dead?\" I asked him.\n\n\"I'm not quite sure. This is new for me as well. A road untraveled. Shall we make it up as we go along?\" He pushed the gate open.\n\nI thought of Henry and the children, and oddly enough, of Mr. Whatley. The game had ended, and my life was now my own. There were no more rules to adhere to, no shadowy figures taking the lives of my loved ones; the things that defined me had been stripped away, leaving behind not the person I was but the one I could become.\n\nI took a deep breath and crossed the threshold into The Ending arm in arm with Death, the one constant of my past and my future; for whatever came next, all roads would only, could only lead back to him.\nAcknowledgments\n\nI find myself growing sentimental as I prepare to send Charlotte out into the world, and this morning I went back to read through a bit of the first completed draft of the novel, dated February 9, 2009. To say that it was a different book is an understatement, and I am indebted to a number of people for helping me discover the right voice (both mine and Charlotte's) over the course of the past three years.\n\nDanielle Taylor was the first person to ever read the manuscript, and gave me the confidence that I had some idea of what I was getting myself into, along with Laura Stephenson, Sara Stephenson, William Couch, Katherine McKee, and my stepmother and father, who all provided me with invaluable feedback and asked the right questions.\n\nRakesh Satyal, my proverbial fairy godfather, brought the book to HarperCollins. Without him this novel would not exist in its current form.\n\nThe fearless editing duo of Maya Ziv and Chelsey Emmelhainz coaxed Charlotte out of her shell, and helped me see the light so many times.\n\nAmanda Goldman and Reece Runnells brought my website to life so flawlessly that they made everything look easy.\n\nAnd finally, there is my agent, Sandy Lu, who said \"yes\" and loves this novel just as much as I do. Her enthusiasm and guidance have been more important to me than anything throughout this entire process. I am lucky and grateful to have her by my side.\n\nI will happily ply any of the above individuals with free alcohol whenever they so desire.\n[P.S.  \nInsights, Interviews & More . . .](Contents.xhtml#pspart_01)\nAbout the author\n\nMeet Michael Boccacino\n\nBORN IN UPSTATE NEW YORK and raised in central Florida, Michael blames his love of books on his father, who began reading him the Lord of the Rings trilogy when he was six, but stopped when he found out his son had snuck a VHS copy of the animated adaptation because he couldn't wait to see how it ended. Eventually Michael learned enough patience to earn his BA in Creative Writing from the University of Central Florida and his MBA from Rollins College. In addition to writing, Michael likes to travel to far-off places and pretend that he's Indiana Jones, or experiment in the kitchen and convince others that he might not do so terribly on Iron Chef. He was quite possibly British in a past life, but he lives in and loves New York City.\n\nVisit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.\nAbout the book\n\nBehind the Book\n\nCHARLOTTE MARKHAM began life, quite literally, as a dream. The setup itself was fairly simple: an English governess stood on the side of a dirt road with her two young charges as they consulted a homemade map. They were debating whether or not to enter a forest up ahead and I knew, as dreamers often do, that something terrible awaited them in the woods. I remember being fascinated by where they were going, and the next morning I wrote the first draft of what would become Chapter 4. I filed the scene away, but it didn't really crystallize until my mother died of cancer at the age of forty-four.\n\nI was the only member of my family not at her side when she passed away, mainly for the reasons given by Paul over the course of my novel. Her body was cremated before I could get back home, and so one day she was alive, and the next she was simply gone. I'm not sure I ever completely came to terms with her death, and a lack of closure can play tricks on the mind.\n\nI dreamt of her nearly every night for the next few years, and though we both acknowledged in those dreams that she was supposed to be dead, we continued to have some semblance of a relationship. Sometimes she told me she had eluded Death, that her illness was a mistake, a simple misunderstanding. Or we would fight about old arguments with such ferocity that I would wake up shaking. Occasionally we just sat in a room and talked about our problems. Reconnecting with her in this way fascinated me, and I realized that the children from my previous dream were looking for a way to reunite with the mother they had lost.\n\nThough it seems hard to believe now, it took me a few drafts to realize that I was writing about myself every time I mentioned the Darrows. I knew that I was writing in response to my mother's death, but the deeper I got into my revisions, the more I came to understand that I didn't know why I was writing. I was searching for something: a reason why I continued to haunt myself with with my mother's memory.\n\nTwo months before her death, she wrote letters to each member of our family to say the things she couldn't verbalize without bursting into tears. I read my letter exactly once in the weeks leading up to her death, when she was too sick to see or speak and the disease peeled away the last pieces that made up the woman we loved. I didn't think about her writings again until this past December, as I struggled to complete my final revisions to the novel.\n\nI was having trouble finding the emotional center of the story, and as I sat in my dad's house during the Christmas holiday, staring at the manuscript on my laptop, I asked him about the letters. He looked far away for a moment, but nodded and said he would figure out where he had put them. A few days went by, and I asked him again. He promised that he would get around to it before I left to go back to New York. He just had to dig them out of his closet, where they sat in a lockbox, untouched and unread since before their author had died. The day I left, he woke me up and handed me a small, nondescript black notebook.\n\nAfter years of dreaming up imaginary conversations, I held her words in my hands. To say that I was excited sounds morbid, but it would also be an understatement. I'd read my letter once, years before, but I was so distraught at the time that I could hardly remember what she'd written to me. It could have been anything and everything: my relationship with my mother, boiled down, isolated, extracted, and scrawled in her own hand over the course of less than three hundred words; a reason for the dreams; an explanation for the book. I read what she had written:\n\nTo my son Michael,\n\nI just want to let you know how much I love you and how proud I am of you. You are my little boy, the apple of my eye, always smiling. I remember you teething and drooling on my shoulder. I just loved it until you bit me hard . . .\n\nYou are such a creative person. All the leads in plays, etc. Your writing, even though you haven't let me read anything. Your teachers always said how creative you are.\n\nI think you will go very far. You are handsome (beautiful), talented, smart, and very motivated. You are such a joy and the best little boy. You loved to cuddle up with me to watch TV. You loved to read with your dad at night. When you went to college it was the hardest. I couldn't even say your name without crying. Now you are 22 and I know you won't be living at home again and that's ok. I still get sad when you leave.\n\nDad and I wish we could of helped you more with school. That upsets me. But we didn't have the money; we just didn't plan well. I'm sorry. But having you work and go to school has made you independent and that's a good thing. That's what my parents did for me. I think you are a very well adjusted person.\n\nI love you with all my heart and always will. Think of me with happy thoughts. Be happy in your life. Think of all the fun things we have done with our family. You are my Bud. You are my son and I love you.\n\n\u2014Mom\n\nI surprised myself by smiling instead of crying. It was her voice, real in a way my dreams had never been able to capture, and yet in her last memories I am forever twenty-two, still angry about not getting to go to the expensive private university that would have crushed me beneath a ridiculous amount of debt. People often say that loved ones stay with you after they die, but in a way, reading my mother's letter made me realize that while the departed might stay with you, there's no way for you to stay with them.\n\nA month later I saw my dad again at a cousin's wedding. We were having some wine, and I thanked him for finding the letters. I knew it was painful for him, just as he knew it was important for me to find some way to reconnect with her. He sighed and became visibly uncomfortable before admitting that there was something he had kept from me and my sisters. My mother had a tape recorder with her in the weeks before she died. The doctors thought it would be good for her to record her thoughts. No one else knew about it and he was never able to bring himself to listen to it. It might have been blank, or she might have talked for hours. He was sorry he had never told me, and I put my arm around his shoulder. We said nothing more about the tapes.\n\nTwo weeks later, a package arrived at my apartment containing a silver handheld tape recorder. I wrenched it out of the box, popped in some batteries, and placed it gingerly on the table in my living room. I sat cross-legged on my couch and pressed the play button.\n\n\"Hi family. It's on Thursday around eleven, and I want to tell you about my day . . . I'm much better,\" her voice cracked, and the next few words were unintelligible as she fought back tears. She sounded groggy, and her voice was higher than I remembered. She talked about the people who had visited her, what she had to eat that day, and where she was going, before she settled on addressing each member of our family individually, as she had done in her letters.\n\n\"Michael, you do well at anything you touch. You're a very brilliant boy. You're a procrastinator, which you shouldn't be, but you're really a very talented boy; man, I should say. Keep it up and not be such a procrastinator, Bud. You need to get things done and not wait. Like with summer school now, you're struggling, 'cause I'm sick and you have to go to school and work. It's tough for you and I know that. I'm sorry we couldn't help you with school, but . . . that's how it goes sometimes. And we apologize for that. We weren't financially able to. But, anyway. You'll do well in your business degree. I hope you get accepted to Columbia, that'd be awesome.\"\n\nI'd forgotten that I was even going to apply to Columbia; another reminder that this was an echo, both of her and the person I was. She went on.\n\n\"My lunch just came in, so I'm going to take a few bites, and I'll be back. I love you Michael, Stephanie, Lauren, and my honey. Hopefully I'll be coming home tomorrow, and I think I'll feel a lot better being home. Bye.\"\n\nSilence. I let the tape play on, trying to will her voice back into existence, but that was where it ended. She spoke for just over eight minutes. I listened to it again, and again. These were the sad, frightened recollections of a person faced with her own mortality; she didn't offer any revelations about herself. I know no more about my mother today than I did the day she died, and perhaps I never will. But that, I came to realize, is beside the point.\n\nI didn't so much write the novel to her, but in response to what happened to her and our family. Now that it's finished, the book will never change, just as the voice on the tape will always apologize for the things that upset her in the weeks leading up to her death. Like the letter and her recording, Charlotte Markham is a portrait of a moment in time; the ghost of an emotion to match the one she leaves in my dreams. The two have each other now, and nothing can ever take that away. Not even death.\n\n\u2014Michael Boccacino  \nMarch 14, 2012\nRead on\n\nHave You Read?\n\nTHE FOLLOWING BOOKS were helpful and\/or inspirational in the writing of this book.\n\nFor Gothic angst: Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bront\u00eb, and Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bront\u00eb\n\nFor other problematic governesses: The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James\n\nFor an examination of mortality: Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro\n\nFor repressed, unrequited love: The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro\n\nFor mommy issues and creepiness: Coraline, by Neil Gaiman\n\nFor one of the best Victorian\/ fantasy mash-ups ever written: Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke\n\nFor the Old Ones: Black Seas of Infinity, by H. P. Lovecraft, selected by Andrew Wheeler\n\nFor the best in new \"weird fiction\": Perdido Street Station, by China Mi\u00e9ville\n\nFor luck: The Harry Potter series, by J. K. Rowling\nAdvance Praise for Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling\n\n\"Thanks to Michael Boccacino the Gothic is reborn! Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling is an elegant, intelligent, and compelling debut novel. Bravo!\"\n\n\u2014Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling  \nauthor of Assassin's Code and Dust & Decay\n\n\"In Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling, Michael Boccacino has delivered a studied, enchanting, and most welcome contribution to the Gothic literary landscape rolling back to Bront\u00eb and du Maurier. A convincing portrait of a woman enveloped in slow-mounting terror, rich in atmosphere and carried by writing that soars above that of most debut novels, this is not one to miss.\"\n\n\u2014Christopher Ransom, internationally bestselling  \nauthor of The Birthing House and The Fading\n\n\"With Charlotte Markham and the House of Darkling, Boccacino has created a new vision of the Afterlife, at one moment stunningly beautiful and full of wonder, the next, darkly sinister and without pity. A remarkable book. Michael Boccacino is a writer to watch.\"\n\n\u2014Susie Moloney, author of The Dwelling and The Thirteen\nCredits\n\nCover design by Mumtaz Mustafa\n\nCover photograph \u00a9 by Marcus Appelt\/Arcangel Images\nCopyright\n\nThis book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.\n\nP.S.\u2122 is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers.\n\nCHARLOTTE MARKHAM AND THE HOUSE OF DARKLING. Copyright \u00a9 2012 by Michael Boccacino. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.\n\nFIRST EDITION\n\nISBN 978-0-06-212261-2\n\nEpub Edition \u00a9 AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780062122629\n\n12 13 14 15 16 OV\/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1\nAbout the Publisher\n\nAustralia\n\nHarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.\n\nLevel 13, 201 Elizabeth Street\n\nSydney, NSW 2000, Australia\n\nhttp:\/\/www.harpercollins.com.au\n\nCanada\n\nHarperCollins Canada\n\n2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor\n\nToronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada\n\n<http:\/\/www.harpercollins.ca>\n\nNew Zealand\n\nHarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited\n\nP.O. 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