September looked down and felt sick for a moment—she could see all of Fairyland racing by, every beach and mountain and long desert. And down by one particular sea and one particular shore lay Pandemonium, its bright woolen towers so achingly familiar and beloved, the green spike of the Briary gleaming in the sun. The two of them drifted slowly down past the clouds and the torches and the towers. The Leopard of Little Breezes took extra care not to jostle the landing. A handsome young man with a neat golden mustache and golden hair met them at the Ghostloom Gate. He wore a plain but very handsome maroon shirt and trousers.
“Mabry Muscat,” he said, kissing her hand. “At your service.”
And then he seized September up in his arms and spun her around so that her green carriage-driver’s cloak and her green dress fanned out like sails. “Everyone’s been waiting for you,” he said. “I told them what happened—I couldn’t let your mother worry like that! Seeing you sprawled out on the ground like a crime scene! My stars!”
“My mother?” September gawped. “What are you talking about?”
But Mabry Muscat only laid his finger aside his nose. “Wait.”
“How long has it been?”
“Two days,” answered the old Green Wind. “Enough for us to sort what needed sorting and you to get a new pair of boots, you clever cat. It takes time for … it takes time for a new Wind to stir up in the east and get herself huffing.” He stopped and touched her long green hair. “Thank you, my daring darling. For saving my life. Such a funny tawdry thing to say. But it must be said or your father would never forgive me. And I shudder to think what your aunt Margaret would do.”
“My father? Aunt Margaret?”
*
Let us say the world is a house.
We have said so many times. We have gone up to the roof together and watched the moonrise among lost baseballs and kites. We have gone down to the cellar with our lanterns and we were not afraid. We have gone rummaging through all the rooms and out into the garden. We have eaten well together and not washed up our dishes nor made our bed, for we had ever so much more important things to do.
A house shines its best when it is full. When all the people who are wanted have come bustling through the door, laughing and talking over one another and checking to see who has brought pie and who has brought fresh bread and who has forgotten the apple cider.
It is quiet now, in our house. You and I have tidied our bed and our dishes and opened the windows in every room. It has been so lovely, making a house with you. We have done everything just so. And in any long year to come, we may always come back to this little house and see each other again, just as eager, just as glad as we ever were to clasp hands and sing songs and light all the lamps at once. This is my last magic trick, the curious wizardry of narrators. Come close, and I will whisper it, and then we shall have cocoa.
Endings are rubbish. No such thing. Never has been, never will be. There is only the place where you choose to stop talking. Everything else goes on forever.
I will always be here, in my old chair by the door, waiting for you, whenever you are lonesome. Our little house will always look just the same as when we first blew the dust off the bookshelves, and the kettle will always be just about to boil. Sometimes I will be young, and sometimes I will be old, and sometimes you will be young, and sometimes you will be old. But for as long as forever, I will keep a room for you. I swear by the sparkle in my eye and the spring in your step.
It is time to start the feast. We have lit a fire in the hearth and put the kettle on. Company is coming, after all, and we have waited so long to see them smile.
*
In the most splendid room of the Briary, the Queen sat on her throne.