———

There was a man in the kitchen. Well, there were still several of those, and some of them were even trying to have breakfast, but this one was backed up into a corner, holding a bowl of cereal and staring into it with desperate avidity.

He had round rimless glasses, suspenders and a white shirt.

“Milo!” cried Hyacinth. “What are you doing in here?”

He startled, lost a wave of cornflakes from his bowl, tried to catch it with his hand, failed, and looked miserable.

“Do you have a shift today?” she demanded of him.

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you… Why didn’t Ann…”

It was pointless asking Milo “why” anything.

“I’ll make you coffee!” she declared, making for the pantry.

“...I can’t make you coffee,” she remembered, stopping in the middle of the room. The coffee pot was glass, but it had a little metal strainer thing in the bottom, and that had gone weeks ago. If she made Milo coffee, he’d have to eat it with a spoon.

Her purse was stuffed in a drawer by the back door. She opened the drawer, she opened the purse, and she drew out a two sinq note. She had no change. “I’ll buy you coffee. Here!”

He backed up into the corner and his feet kept going as if he’d like to push through it. After brief confusion juggling his bowl of cereal, he left his spoon in it, put his milk-stained hand in his back pocket and drew out a wallet. He was able to get it open and show that he also had a two sinq note. He had money! He could buy coffee!

She crammed her note into the pocket beside his, flipped the wallet shut, and closed his hand around it. “Good. Now, I’ll write it down for you. Barnaby won’t miss some of these papers. He’s made of papers. I just need a pencil…”

He shook his head rapidly. There was space on the counter for his bowl, and he left it there. He also left the wallet.

He put two fingers in his shirt pocket, drew out a little white card and handed it to Hyacinth.

My Name is Milo Rose

I live at 217 Violena St.

I can hear you, but I cannot speak.

Please do not take me home, I am allowed out.

(Disregard previous if found unconscious.)

Hyacinth put up her hand and refused it. “Yes, Milo, you have excellent penmanship when you’re in your room by yourself, but you won’t be, will you?”

There was a pencil in the drawer where she kept her purse. She seized it triumphantly and went to work on the back of one of Barnaby’s missives — Rain previous Woden’s Day, cloudsigns ominous — C-O-F-F-E-E. “Milo, do you take sugar?”

He was still shaking his head with his mouth open.

“I suppose they have cream and sugar out in those places,” she muttered. B-L-A-C-K COFFEE. As a concession to his temperament, she added, P-L-E-A-S-E. She ripped off the piece from the unintelligible whole and handed it to him.

He put both his hands up and backed away from it. He could buy coffee! He knew he could! If he walked into a coffee shop and pointed at coffee, why wouldn’t they…

Give him the most expensive thing on the menu.

He sighed.

…And sometimes two of it.

And he would take it and pay for it, because he was stupid that way.

He took the note, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

“Thank you, Milo. That puts my mind at rest.”

He looked at the wall. There was nothing too bothersome on the wall. Yellow chequered wallpaper. Some scars where they’d pulled out the pipes. A chalkboard that said METAL EGGS BREAD on it. Everything the same.

When she put his wallet back in his hand, he looked at that, then he put it away.

“Milo, do you really think you can do cornflakes in here?”

She meant all the people. He thought he could do cornflakes, as long as nobody wanted to talk to him, and he’d been trying, but… He shook his head.

It wasn’t just all the people now, it was her.

But he couldn’t tell her that.

“Eat when you get coffee,” she said. “Oh! Do you want me to put it in the note?”

He shook his head and put his hand over his pocket protectively. He stumbled backwards and thumped into the wall, which breathed plaster on him.

“Okay. Okay.” She backed off from him, but it was too little and too late. “Look, you can go out the front. There aren’t any people right now. You can get yourself together.”

He nodded. He left.

Hyacinth wondered if she hadn’t been a bit rough with him, but it was hard to handle Milo at the best of times, and he was tired. And she was tired. It was a shame about the cornflakes. Cousin Violet might have them, but gods only ever seemed to eat the ideas of things.

She decided she’d have them herself.

They were a bit soggy.

Three bites in, she found Milo’s spoon.

———

He was going to sit down, but he found Barnaby in one of the chairs and reacted with horror. Hyacinth said there were no people!

He strode quickly away and decided he’d rather stand facing the wall. He adjusted his shirt cuffs and his buttons.

He sorted his cards. He had three, hand-printed and all alike, which was as much talking as he ever managed in one day. When he needed more, he’d make more. He did them in hard pencil to minimize the smudging. Hyacinth ate pens. He felt around for her folded note and made certain it was in the front.

He breathed on his glasses and cleaned them with a shirttail.

It was a little bit better.

He’d have to be with people again, people and lots of noise, but none of it was directed at him. He had a small space and one thing that needed doing and that was boring, but that was okay.

They might say “Good morning” when he punched in. He’d be ready for that.

They would also, he realized, speak to him at the coffee shop. That… He wouldn’t like that.

He’d best get it over with as quickly as possible, while he still had some resolve. He squared his shoulders and exited the door. (This was not done simply. He had to pick it up and move it and put it down and pick it up again.)

When he got the door back into place and fairly secure, he looked out and the yard was on fire.

It was a lively blaze in the far-right corner, up against the wall. One single word had been scrawled above, in bright red paint that dribbled like blood: MAGICIANS. And a helpful arrow pointing at the house.

The fire was spreading.

Milo opened his mouth and cried nothing. He turned and began to bang on the closed door with both hands, with frequent glances back over his shoulder and panting breath. Utterly silent. Absolutely incoherent.

———

“It’s open, come in!” called Hyacinth, from the kitchen.

“It’s open, come in!” called Hyacinth, impatiently approaching the door.

“I said it’s ope…” She blinked. “Milo, you live here. What…”

The yard was on fire.

“Oh, okay!” said Hyacinth, scrambling, wide-eyed. She made a wide, inexact turn on the tile floor with her cheap shoes and skidded up the stairs. Milo fell past the open door and curled up in a ball.

Hyacinth was already muttering to herself, “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” as she thumped down the hallway. When she reached the door, she knocked and said it loudly: “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

A woman’s voice answered, “Have you a genuine emergency at this ungodly hour?”

“Yard’s on fire!” Hyacinth said.

“Is there some reason the fire department won’t come?”

“Yes, actually! Half the city’s on fire! Mordecai blew up Canburry Square! Also, we live in a slum!”

A brief pause. “That will do,” came the reply.

Magnificent opened the door. “The yard’s on fire?”

Behind her, the General was opening the window.

There were not many windows in the house that opened. Hinges and slides were metal and valuable and had been removed ages ago. Barnaby had a window that opened, to facilitate chamber pot disposal, and the General had a window that opened, so that she could jump out of it.

The kludge was no more complicated than a pot lid or manhole cover. A wooden frame sat inside a larger wooden frame, with handles attached so that you could pull it out and set it aside.

They leaked rather badly. Sometimes the General merged hers solid in winter. She had little trouble undoing the bonds when she needed, she just didn’t like to take the time.

“Cin?” said Maggie.

Hyacinth stepped out of the way. “Yes. All right. Go look at it. Be careful… And be careful of Milo!” she called after her.

After a moment’s consideration, Hyacinth decided against going into the General’s room to observe via the window. Such an intrusion would not be allowed without comment. She followed Magnificent down the stairs.

The General had already jumped. She turned into an eagle on the way down. This was accomplished without much fanfare and accompanied by a blinding white light, so Hyacinth was not too disappointed to have missed it. She did not leave out even a scrap of her nightgown, she was fastidious about keeping her clothing, but she did lose a couple of feathers.

They were wafting down. She was winging up.

There was a rumble and a flash. The sky was already streaked with smoke and clouds, so the gathering storm was also not very dramatic. There was some wind. It got a little darker. It began to rain. First it was a little bit, then, after a distant cry, a lot.

The fire hissed and rallied briefly, but the downpour was too intense. It began to go out.

Hyacinth peered up into the clouds, shielding her eyes with a hand. “Is there any reason she needs to be a bird when she does that?”

“She told me how come,” Maggie said, frowning. It wasn’t very impressive now that there wasn’t any more fire. She’d seen rain. “I think it was… ‘Psychological warfare.’”

“Oh. Of course,” said Hyacinth.

That makes zero sense, thought Hyacinth. Psychological warfare against who? She just likes being a bird.

As if in confirmation, an enormous golden eagle (somewhat sodden, but no less majestic) landed on the roof near the open window. It had a pigeon. It began eating the pigeon, tearing with both beak and claws. The pigeon became a red mess with clinging strands.

Well, that’s her breakfast sorted, thought Hyacinth.

“Why did they write that, Miss Hyacinth?” said Maggie. She pointed to the wall. “It’s not like people don’t know.”

“I think we’re supposed to be very afraid that they know,” Hyacinth replied. “The arrow is a bit much, though. I mean, the house is right here.”

There was a chalkboard in the kitchen. She wrote things that she needed on it. Not shopping lists, but suggested payment. METAL held a permanent space at the top. She was going to have to add PAINT.

Well, the house could stand painting, anyway.

She collected Milo on her way in. “All right, Milo, I think we’ll leave the coffee. What about liquor?”

He shook his head.

“Can I offer you a tranquilizer?”

No, not that either.

“Can I send Maggie to walk you to the bus stop so that she can buy you a coffee and keep everyone from talking to you?”

That got a nod. That got a lot of nodding.

“Just so,” said Hyacinth.

Barnaby put his head out the broken front window and shrieked affront, “It’s not supposed to rain!” He snatched up a pencil and returned urgently to his charts.