Fast Falls the Eventide (part 2)

Rayne, wearing his uncharacteristically practical clothes – jeans and a sweater and good heavy boots, beneath his wool cloak – was pleased to find that keeping stride with Alyson in the forest was not as much of a struggle as he’d feared. Maybe, he reflected, he still deserved to think of himself as a proper witch after all.

They started up the gentle rise of hillside that led up to the high crest called the Morion, on which The Cottage perched in all its rough-hewn splendor. He’d heard that a lot of those logs had been cut and placed by Alyson’s great-nan herself, though it was awfully hard any more to separate the legendry surrounding Addie Shae from the truth. Which was, when it came down to it, what every great witch aspired to.

“So,” he said as they began to climb, “how are things in Horn Coven these days? It’s been a while for me, obviously.”

“Oh, you know. Full of high ideals, and bogged down with personality clashes and dumb politics and who’s sleeping with whom. You’re not missing much.”

“I suppose not. I get all that at home.” He laughed. “Except it’s not my home, really, is it? It’s getting all too easy to forget that. My little apartment on Prospect doesn’t even feel like mine any more. What a strange year it’s been.”

“Has it been that long? Since you and Her Lordship hooked up?”

“Getting there. We met over New Year’s. I’m still not really used to it, in a way. It always feels like I’m getting away with something I’m not supposed to.”

“It’s hard, being the third of a pair.” Alyson pulled her scarf tighter around her; it was turning out to be a windy night. “Or it can be. There’s a lot of stuff to work out. I think I just got lucky with a really laid-back kind of couple. Of course, I wound up sleeping with both of them, so there’s that going for me too.” She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “So how come you’re not?”

“You must be joking.”

“It’s not such an outrageous idea. You never even brought it up?”

“Being still in possession of all my extremities, obviously not.”

She smiled. “Much weirder things have happened, Rayne. You know it’s not like she doesn’t like boys, right?”

“No, I had an inkling of that. I think it’s more that she doesn’t like boys who are shtupping her wife. Not, I suppose, unreasonably so.”

“Oh, you might be surprised.” Alyson looked ahead, still grinning. “There’s a story or two I could tell you about her, back when we were together. We had a couple of… interesting weekends.”

“Oh, gods, please don’t.”

“Afraid you’ll be tempted?”

“Afraid that there are things my mind’s eye can’t unsee, and I’ll never be able to look her in the eye ever again. If for no other reason, because I’m not sure she can’t pluck those thoughts right out of my head, and that would be the end of me.” He cleared his throat. “And now we will pretend that this conversation never happened. So. How’s the family these days?”

Alyson laughed. “Fine. Everything’s good. They worry about me, which makes me nuts, but I guess it’s how I know I’m where I should be.”

“How’s Hazel?”

“A teenager, gods and Powers help us all. But she’s a good kid. Lot of talent there, too. I kinda miss the days when she was all little and I was Aunt Allie, but she’s gonna be okay.”

They reached the top of the slope, and The Cottage loomed ahead against the stars. “Well, here we are. You still up for this?”

Rayne pulled his cloak in around him. “Not especially. I’m dead tired and my brain stopped working about ten minutes ago. But it seemed like time to get out of the house, and I’m not up to going home. So let’s go have a look at your impenetrable charts and graphs.”

Alyson pulled the door open and clicked a switch, and the generator out back jumped and hummed to life. She turned on a lamp. “Well, to be honest, it can wait till morning when we’re both feeling a little fresher. Give me a hand with the fire, and we’ll settle in. It’s not exactly the luxury suite in here, but there’s an extra bunk in the loft. Are you hungry?”

“Actually, yes, now you mention it.”

“I’ve still got some provisions here from the other night that should probably get used up. I’m glad you came out, Rayne. It’s been too long since I had a sleepover.”

“Yes, well, the last time I had one I didn’t own nearly so much fabulous lingerie. It’s almost a shame I didn’t bring any along.” He shed his cloak and hung it on a peg by the door next to her overcoat. Then he stopped, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just wrapping my head around it is all. How fifteen years ago I was a punk kid in Hartford with a third-rate grimoire, getting beat up for wearing mascara and making plans to run away to Norton because that’s where I heard the magic people were.” He shook his head. “Of course, I thought that would mean my problems were over, too. All those things the world outside knows in their hearts are true but won’t quite let themselves believe. The magic. I knew if I could just touch it, it would make everything okay. And the thing is, in a way, it did.”

Alyson smiled at him. “Wouldn’t trade it all in, would you?”

“Not for all the world. Even with everything I’m caught up in, not for a moment. I think I just need to remind myself of that.” He let out a breath. “And that’s enough of that, before we start sitting around and crying. Let’s get that fire built up, before the night gets any colder.”

*

It was late in the morning when Jenny was at last awakened with a reproachful croak, and the news that Professor Nandana had left Hartshorn.

She listened carefully, then untangled herself with some small difficulty from the net of sheets and blankets their bed had become, and found glasses and clothes and prepared to put them on. She was pulling herself into a sweater when Marcie stirred awake and rolled over, blinking.

“Good morning, beautiful. What’s the rush?”

“Apparently the Professor’s gone. Took off this morning.”

“When?”

“A few hours ago, before anyone was up.”

“Why?”

“He left the message that he has business to take care of that’s supposed to help us out somehow.”

“So you’re planning on catching up to him and stopping him before he can do such a terrible thing, right?”

“No, I…” Jenny sat down. “I don’t know. I just…”

“You felt like you ought to be doing something.”

“Ouch. Yeah. Panic. I think it just sank in that you’re going away and I don’t know what to do with myself.” She leaned back into the covers, and Marcie edged up and put an arm around her. “I hardly even know what I’m thinking anymore. A lifetime of jumping in and taking action whenever something comes up is a hard habit to break, I guess. And in nine years, I’ve never known the Professor to do anything like that. It makes everything that’s going on… real, you know?”

“I know.” Marcie snuggled close and kissed her neck. “But a couple of things you might want to consider before you get yourself all wound up. First off, Nandana is, at the very least, a Master in the Guild. He’s been around a while. I’ve known him since I was little, and I don’t even know how old he is; he’s been at Tower for as long as anyone I know can remember. If nothing else, he’s got to be a skilled magician, and maybe… maybe that’s not all he is.”

Jenny turned herself over. “You think that too, huh?”

“I don’t know. But I know the Folk Under don’t treat him like they do most human beings, and neither do the staff. After years of noticing little things, I can see the difference. So it’s not unreasonable to think he could be a… powerful spirit, or god-blooded, or something.”

“Or…” Jenny propped herself up on one arm. “Or a Covenantus. Fuck me. I mean, it’s not like you can tell one on sight. And I’ve only met a couple of them…”

Marcie waved a hand. “Or whatever. And, look, it’s his business if he doesn’t want to say. But the point is that he can take care of himself. We’re not doing him, or us, any favors by worrying about him. That’s the first thing.”

“Okay. What’s the second?”

“That having friends who want to help us is a sign that we’re doing something right, and not another reason to tie yourself in knots.” She lay back and stretched, letting the sheet fall away from her. At the lower curve of her belly, the puckered line of a scar shone against her pale skin. “And as much as I hate to stand in the way of your brooding and self-torture, I’m going to be going away all too soon, and I intend to be fully stocked on fucking before I do. So get undressed and get your ass back into bed.”

*

Deep in the Marchenwald, far from the impossible spires of the Castaigne and the forces gathered afield there (for the Marchenwald is vast, and wide, and old, and holds many hidden ways and forgotten turnings of the path), a house stood in a glade amid the black and towering trunks of ancient oaks and pines. Here it felt like winter just before the turning of spring, and had for a long, long time.

In the snow-patched brush of the forest, a great dark shape was moving, swift and sure and with effortless energy over the cold earth. It smelled of animal sweat and shit and blood; its back was a tall bristled crest, arched like a hill; its hooves drummed on the frost and its long pale tusks swung back and forth like a reaper’s scythe, and just as sharp. A flock of birds lit from a tree in its path, and a silver-furred fox was almost caught off guard and had to leap out of its way.

The giant boar paid little attention; it was, to be blunt, used to this. Any creature that made its home in the Marchenwald was soon forced to either keep itself from being noticed, or be obviously more dangerous than anything else around it, and a low profile was not in the boar’s nature. This was, indeed, one of the reasons it was haunting this quarter of the Wald in the first place.

It crossed the open glade to the house, steam lifting from its back and flanks. The door was open, as it often was. This was not a house that had to expend much effort in keeping people out. On the contrary, it was the kind of house that looked as if it might be willing to find a host of ways to keep one from leaving.

The boar crossed over the threshhold and into a wide front hall, where a fire was guttering on the hearth. The floor was stone, with a huge fur rug thrown in front of the fireplace, and little in the way of furniture save a few hard, heavy wooden chairs and a couple of rough-hewn benches. The boar stopped in front of one of these, which had a small bundle placed neatly on top of it.

It shook itself, causing all its bristles to dance, and then the lines of its shape flowed and stretched. Tusks and hooves and snout withdrew, the humped back straightened, and some of the great mass of it seemed to dissolve away into the air. In a moment, the small, fine-featured man who stood naked beside the hearth had very little boarish about him, except that he moved with some of the same casual and primal power.

He bent to the bench and tucked the parcel there under his arm, removing first from it a pair of wire-framed spectacles that were folded on top and putting them on. That done, he ran a hand through the unruly fall of his hair and strode, otherwise still undressed, into the room just beyond.

It was lined with shelves, on which every bit of space had been used to house either crumbling books, or murky jars containing indistinct shapes, or paraphernalia that looked like navigational instruments, or other odds and ends and objects of uncertain purpose. There were also a few low tables, mostly filled with similar stuff, but also laid out with a number of maps and charts, and on one there rested a curious model something like an orrery, all spinning globes and curved arms moving in slow but precise cycles. And there were two other things of note in that room: a wide stone bowl, set in the center of a raised altar and filled with clear water; and the room’s only other occupant.

It was the size of a lion, and had as well some of the lines of a great cat, including a black bristling mane falling over its shoulders. But the tail that curled from its haunches was muscular and prehensile, and instead of paws all four of its limbs ended in long-fingered, grasping simian hands. It was brown-black all over, except for pale tigerish stripes on its flanks. And its head, which swiveled around to the doorway when the man entered, suggested both wolf and bat, with its leaf nose and long snout full of needle teeth. Dark eyes as large and round as a lemur’s regarded the arrival.

“Good morrow, cousin,” it said. “Wander far today?”

“Far enough,” said Rafe Urantica. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders, letting the lingering tension roll out of them. “Old Saffron’s still keeping his distance, it seems. He’s not an idiot, whatever else he is. There was a scout in his livery poking around the outlying reaches, but he seemed to be staying more or less on his side of the line.”

The beast, whose name was Omari, nodded its head. “If he saw you, I imagine he’ll have quite a report to give.”

“Only if he’s quite a bit tougher than he looked. I disembowelled him and ate his liver. No use passing up the opportunity to make a point.”

Omari made a sound deep in its throat that might have passed for laughter. “No one will ever accuse you of subtlety, cousin mine.”

“Moon and water, I hope not.” Rafe took the bundle out from beneath his arm, and undid the knots holding it together. It unfolded into clothing, corduroy trousers and a loose muslin shirt. He pulled on the shirt and began to step into the pants. “So, what’s in that big goldfish bowl of yours today?”

“Something that might be of interest to you. Come have a look.” Omari stood up and paced around the other side of the stone altar, where it settled again. Rafe buttoned his trousers and walked over, looking down into the clear water.

“Hmm. Obviously, I’ve been out of practice. I can’t see… wait.” He bent and peered closer. Something dark and sinuous writhed across the bottom, as if on the other side of a lens. “I’ve seen one of those before, Omari. If you’re about to spring on me one of your unbearable natural history lessons, we’re going to have words.”

Omari grinned. “Not today. Look again. Look where it is.”

Rafe scowled, but turned his gaze back into the bowl. Again the shape, the movement; but that wasn’t what caught his eye this time. “Well, fuck me lying down. That’s one of ours got out into the poor unsuspecting world, isn’t it? My, I hope none of the fragile little creatures were hurt.” He giggled, then stopped, and leaned close in and sniffed at the water. “Great black bending heavens. Did you catch that too?”

“Yes, if you mean what I think you do.”

“That’s the scent of my sweet little sister all over there. Which can only mean…”

Omari growled. “Say it. Say it for both of us.”

Rafe licked his lips. “Otherwood.” It was almost a sigh. “Oh, it seems someone has got a wee little rabbit-hole in their fence.”

“Not just one, from the look of it.” Omari leaned in and passed a hand over the surface of the bowl. The image shimmered and resolved anew. “See, there. That’s the very edge. See what it’s doing?”

“It’s… flickering. Like a candle flame about to go out.” Rafe looked up and grinned. “Oh, you lovely, lovely beastie. See, I always knew those gifts of yours weren’t a complete waste.”

“There is one more thing.” Omari looked over its shoulder, and its tail snaked around a glass jar, sealed and filled with a translucent, silvery liquid. It passed the jar from tail to hand, and held it up to the light, where a single ruby drop could be seen suspended in it. “It’s stirring. Hard to see very clearly just yet, but it would look as if she’s preparing to move. Which would mean the house is…”

“Vulnerable. And so’s she.” Rafe’s eyes were alight with glee. “Ha. I knew that little prize was going to be more than worth the taking. Well, well, well.” He ran both hands through his hair. “So. Who knows?”

“Only you, so far.”

Rafe nodded. “Good. So, then. Garm and Septima, I think. And the fiddler. Not granddad, though. And not any of my grandmother’s broodmates, either – not even your parents. But that ought to be enough to go with you, those three.”

Omari replaced the jar on its shelf and cocked its head sideways. “You’re not coming yourself?”

“Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to walk in and see that my prodigal sibling gets her proper birthright. But I intend to see that the other business is done with once and for all.”

Omari stood and stretched, tail curling and uncurling. “Dearest coz, do you really think that’s a necessary measure? We’re going to get the prize we wanted out of this. We’ve no need to be… bloodthirsty.”

“O, reason not the need, my ferocious Babu. But this is for my own peace of mind, to tie off a loose end left dangling too long.” He sighed. “And with that, I do believe I feel a second wind coming on. Get the others together; be discreet. Let me know if anything else comes up. Meanwhile, I’m finding I’ve a great lust upon me, and I’m off to find a couple of unsuspecting peasants to help me slake it.”

*

Midmorning came on unseasonably warm to Hartshorn, and found a late breakfast being taken by Marcie and Jenny in the Hermopolis Room with the windows open. The Lord of Otherwood, over her coffee and toast, was doing her best to pitch the Quest to the as-yet unconvinced second member of her party.

“Me?” said Sagacious Fan. “Oh, my Lord, I don’t know. I’m sure there’s better folk to have at your back than me on a thing like this.”

“It’s not my back I’m worried about. I can take care of myself, whatever my better half here thinks. But I’m going off to cut a branch from the World Tree, Fan. I want the expertise of my gardener there.”

His wide brow creased. “Well, I can see that. But even if I were to go, d’you think it’s… allowed? By the rules?”

Marcie rolled her eyes. “The damn rules. I’m telling you, if I get through the Domanda, I’m going to see what I can do about some of those. But, yes, from what I can tell, it’s absolutely allowed if I say so. You’re bound to the house, but the House is also me. If I understand it alright, that’s all the loophole you need to have everything in order as far as the Heavencourt’s concerned.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I suppose you’re right, there. And I know you could command me to go, my Lord, even though you won’t. But I’m still afraid I’d just be in the way all the while we’re getting there and all the while home.”

“Well, first of all, I know damn well that’s not true. I know you weren’t always a gardener, Fan Xiaoshan.”

“That was… a long time ago.”

“Nonetheless. But second, and more important: it’s full-on autumn, Fan. Winter’s a couple of months away, and it’s going to feel like it before then. You could spend the next few weeks puttering around and fretting at what the frost’s doing to the ground cover, or you could be away doing something useful and exciting with me. What do you say?”

He frowned. “You drive a hard bargain, my Lord. Well, alright. I guess it won’t hurt me to get out and about for a little while and see the sights.”

Marcie smiled at him. “Thank you. And, no, it won’t. But more than that, I’m going to be glad you’re there.”

“Be my pleasure, my Lord.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, you’ve got the better part of two days to get all your fussing in. I’d get to it, if I were you.”

That got a smile out of him. He bowed low. “Yes, my Lord.” And he shouldered his bag of implements and walked off.

Jenny, watching him go, lifted her coffee cup with both hands and said, “You know, after all this time, I still can’t picture him with anything sharp in his hands unless he’s pruning a rosebush with it.”

“He says he was more of a bookkeeper than anything else. Apparently he has a head for it.” Marcie buttered toast, reached for the preserves jar. “Though, honestly, from the way I’ve seen him go at a rosebush, I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of a pair of his shears.”

“That’s true. So how the hell did he wind up with this job, anyway?”

“I never told you that? Apparently he got drunk at the palace of the Blue Crane Prefect and got busted taking a piss in the flower bed.” She shook her head. “The bureaucracy of the Heavencourt is cruel, but not without a sense of humor.”

“Yeah, well, it seems every vicious bastard from here to Briah has one of those. I still think it should be me going with you.”

“I know, babe. But I’m standing firm on this. I need you here to hold it all together while I’m gone. You’re my named regent, and if anything… well, we have to account for unforseen complications.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Marcie sat back. “I have to assume, with the state of things being as they are, that we’re up for more chaos in the time to come, and that things are going to get weirder before it’s all over. More unexpected guests showing up in the backyard aren’t exactly out of the question. And I’m going to be traveling easier knowing that my house is in the hands of the person I can trust the most to handle them.”

*

Deep in the forest, the remnants of a long-crumbled settlement were the only thing that marked the easternmost opening of the grottoes. It had at one point been a mining town populated by weary immigrants from Cornwall, and the remains of their tools could sometimes be found scattered around where the wood had done its business of reclaiming. Few seekers of such treasures, however, dared to come out into the shadowed wild places to seek them, and they were in many ways wise not to.

Below ground, Professor Nandana was being led along a passage by one of the reasons why this was so, a great loping thing that had horse’s hooves and a torso crowned with a waving mass of tendril fronds. It had been summoned by Anemone, who was posted as a sentry at the upper gate, and instructed to bring him without let where he wanted to go. His destination was now directly ahead, behind tall arched double doors set all around with scrollwork in a wave motif.

His guide stopped and turned as they reached the doors, its several eyes upon him, its tentacles all in motion. He nodded and struck with the knocker, a worked iron ring fashioned to look like a nautilus shell. The door creaked in for him, and the creature, seeing him safe arrived, loped back along the passage they’d arrived from, its work done.

The room beyond was narrow but tall, lined on all sides with massive shelves reaching almost to the ceiling, and lit with a number of small, round lamps set in sconces along its length. The shelves were heavy with books, many of them falling apart or clearly incomplete, as well as a variety of scrollcases, metal fileboxes, leather folios, and other receptacles of paper and parchment. Some of the shelves’ contents were spread over the long table that dominated the floor of the room, amid the clusters of candles that threw additional uncertain light upon them. A high chair behind the table was pulled back and empty, but movement in one corner of the shelves showed its occupant was still present.

He straightened as Nandana entered, a book grasped in one slender, webbed hand. His skin was pale and tinged with green, almost agleam against the dark brocade of his long robes. His head, smooth-featured and curtained by a fall of kelpy hair past his shoulders, was dominated by a wide, full mouth and a pair of enormous round eyes. He strode swiftly to the table and set down the folio, and came straight at the Professor and threw his arms around him.

“My friend!” said Ranaman XVIII, grinning wide as only he could. “The Captain told me you were going to be by. I could hardly believe it. It’s been far too long. To what do I owe this rare pleasure?”

“Attending to some less than pleasant business, I’m afraid, Your Majesty. I confess I have little hope that even the hall of the Scholar-King has the answers I seek, but my errand must hang on even a little hope if it is to succeed at all. But thank you, indeed, for your most warm welcome.”

“As if I’d ever turn you away, Sarvasiddhanta. Come, sit. Tell me what help a poor scion of a lost line can be to you.”

They sat, Nandana declining the offered high-backed chair in favor of one of the simpler ones. Ranaman took another, just opposite. He cleared away a stack of books and unbound parchment and moved a heavy candelabra closer, and leaned in, pressing the tips of his spindly fingers together.

“I’ve come to you,” said the Professor, “knowing that your vaults and galleries hold many things lost elsewhere in the worlds. It’s my great hope that something long vanished to all other Lore may have been hoarded here.”

“What sort of thing?”

“A name.”

“Whose?”

Nandana told him. Ranaman’s eyes widened – an impressive feat – and he blinked.

“My lord, I don’t know…”

“I know full well what I’m asking. As I said, it’s a slender chance that led me here. But I needed, at the very least, to ask.”

The Scholar-King nodded gravely. “Yes, I understand. We’ll look, but I don’t think we’ll find it here. But if not – I think I know where you might.”

*

Night brought the return of Rayne to Hartshorn, and with him ill tidings.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s Fra Myron. He’s dying. And Jenny, he’s asking for you.”

They elected, under the circumstances, to drive. Jenny’s car, christened the Rotting Barge almost since she’d first had it, should by all rights have dissolved into rust and scrap years ago, save that Jenny (whose relationship with any complicated but useful machine runs from grudging caution to outright mistrust and resentment) had had a very serious talking-to with her vehicle’s resident spirit until a certain understanding had been reached, and it thereafter held the thing together out of sheer will and terror. Jenny, Marcie and Rayne all strapped themselves in, and the Barge pulled rattling out of Hartshorn’s drive and sped over the hill to St Masbeth’s, with the inky shadow of Gregor flapping along overhead.

Alyson and the Abbess were waiting in the little cell with him when they arrived, pressing through the assembly of dark-robed monks with anxious faces in the corridor outside. He’d been made as comfortable as could be managed, but he was drawn and pale and looking even gaunter than usual. He lifted his head as they came in.

“Well, thank the gracious Mystery. Thought I’d have to wait around here till the morning for you.” He coughed, loud and wet. “Damn. So much for a clean, quiet passing. Suppose it’s best for the record if I go down fighting, though, isn’t it? And past time I got on with it, too.”

Jenny shed her coat and rolled up her sleeves. “Where’s Fra Betzalel?”

Myron chuckled. “Off in a sulk, I don’t doubt. Sent him away. Doing his stubborn damnedest to keep me lingering long past my due. I’m not getting any better, I’m not getting any more at ease, and I’m surely not getting any more bloody ready. So let’s get on with it, here.”

Jenny sighed. “All right, Fra Myron.” She looked around. “Okay. I’m going to need the room here, everyone. Please.” The others looked at each other, and filed out.

When they were alone, Jenny let out a long breath. “Are you sure about this, Myron? I’m not having you change your mind at the last moment.”

He shook his head. “I won’t, Magus. It’s time. And time you showed me them tricks Crowner taught you. I’ve earned the special attention, haven’t I?”

She nodded. “You have, Brother. You more than have. Okay, then. You know the drill.”

He closed his eyes and lay back in the cushions. He was still for a long moment. Then he said, quietly, “I was born Thomas Herthlowe, in the village of Frickham, in Yorkshire, in the year of our lord fifteen hundred and fifty-seven.” He cracked one eye. “Is that enough?”

Jenny nodded again. “Yes, that’s sufficient. Alright, Thomas. Are you in pain?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to take my hand. Good, like that. Now, I want you to give that pain to me. Do you trust me to take it?”

“I do.” He nodded.

His hand tightened on hers, for a moment. “Like that. Good, good. I’ve got it. You can let it all go now.”

“Thank you.” This almost a whisper.

“I’m holding open the door now, Thomas Herthlowe. It’s there for you to pass through when you’re ready.”

“Alright. Yes.” He let out a breath. “Giannina?”

“Yes, Fra Myron?”

“I’m frightened.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be, though. It’s just one more step. Let everything go and trust me to see you over.”

He said nothing, but grasped her hand and sighed. She drew in breath of her own.

“Thomas Herthlowe, I commend you into the Mystery and give you safe passage through the veil. Go your way in grace, Fra Myron, and may the journey find you home again in bright halls. Rest, rest.”

Amid his cushions and blankets, his breath grew steadily lighter and shallower, and in a few minutes had stilled altogether.

*

“I need to stay here a little while and see to the rites. You and Rayne go home, okay?”

“You’re going to be alright here?”

“This is what I do, Mar. You two should… you should get some time alone.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

“No, it’s okay. Really. I’ll be in later. Take the chance to not think about any of this stuff for a while. You’re not going to do him any honor by hanging around here feeling sad.”

“I know, I just…”

“He’s gone. Go, be alive. For me, please. Open some wine and call it a wake if you want. I love you. Now go home, while you’ve still got the chance to be there.”