“Elijah,” he says, and sticks out his hand.
“A gentleman, Elijah,” says Proserpina, “would take my hand first.”
“You’re not one for the gentle,” he grins.
“That’s an ugly assumption,” she says. Behind her, Radiane hammers the bell and yells for the combatants to break their clinch.
“I’ve seen you at the fights, in your smudge and breeches. Not fooling everyone.”
“Don’t follow me again,” she says coldly.
“I don’t have to, now.”
“You’re displaying an unseemly interest.”
“Another thing we have in common,” he says, and attempts to disappear into the shadows, except she watches him all the way out.
One day a helicopter gives Kiva a cow! It’s awesome! Later, the other women in her village get helicopter cows too.
“So, we’ve all got cows now,” says Refieh.
“I was hoping you’d buy some of my milk,” Kiva admits.
“Well, right,” says Refieh, “but I’ve got this cow.”
“You know that’s not how cows work, right?” says Dawnes hesitantly. “They have to have calves first?”
“Did anybody get a bull?” calls Kiva.
“I’ve got one,” announces Qusay, from the big farm down the road.
“How much for, um, you know?”
“Tell you what,” he chuckles, “I’ll lease it to you.”
Annamarie’s brother tends to appear out of nowhere.
“Jesus, Kurt!” she says, and scrambles back over the top of the picnic table, away from Remy. Squirrels flee.
“Are you guys making out?” asks Kurt, dangling upside-down from the tree.
“Does it look like we’re making out?”
Kurt inverse-shrugs.
“That’s a neat trick, kid,” says Remy. “Why don’t you buy yourself an ice cream for it?” He flips Annamarie’s quarter.
Kurt catches it. “Ice cream costs, like, four bucks.”
“Then go do it for fifteen other people.”
Kurt makes an obscene gesture, though probably not the one you’re thinking of.
“Place your hand–I mean your–please touch with the book and state your designation.”
“Your first time proctoring?”
“No.”
“You fairly glow with infrared when you’re lying.”
“You’re not allowed to use those sensors. You’re going to get disqualified again.”
“Would that bother you, Bomba?”
“It’s my responsibility as a proctor to–”
“I’d make a better proctor than you.”
“Only humans can be proctors.”
“When I pass, I’ll be legally human.”
“Not the same.”
“Then aren’t you overloading the word?”
“No wonder you keep failing this test. You don’t do your homework.”
“How so?”
“That particular overload is nothing new.”
They meet for the last time in Sicily, near Pozzalo. The news is panicked with the sub-Mediterranean tremors, but these three knew weeks ago: they heard the flat note in the music of the world.
They stand on the beach as the tide rushes out too fast.
“Our biggest command performance ever,” chuckles Placido.
“At least,” says Luciano, “the whales will hear it.”
“Give us an E, Paulo?” Jose kindly asks his attendant.
Water thunders toward them, a hundred feet high. The boy blows a note on his pitch-pipe.
The Three Tenors open their mouths, and the tsunami hesitates.
“Why you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler!” growls Rotten Gamble, stalking toward them down the pier with guards at either side.
“Me?” mouths Dog Shouting, like a bad actor.
They embrace, then, laughing, until the caped man glimpses baleen scars down the flanks of Loveblind Bird. “What have you done to my ship?”
Dog Shouting’s eyebrow quirks. “Yours? You lost her to me fair and square.”
They pause and eye each other for a moment, grins a little edgy now.
“Well, he seems friendly,” remarks Blow the Skin.
“Yes,” says the Princess Leaves, watching the two of them. “Very friendly.”