Chapter 140: 140: The New Path XVII
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They heard Fizz before they saw him: a thin, happy song that made no sense and did not need to. He flew in with crumbs in his fur and sugar on his mouth. Edda came behind him, hair a little loose now, hood folded back, face calm but with a curve at the corner of the mouth that had not been there in the morning.
"What did you buy," John asked fizz, standing in the yard with his arms folded. "Did you spend all the money?"
Fizz put one paw behind his back and looked very innocent. "Snacks," he said. "Food. As I promised. I am a man of my word. No money left."
John’s eyes slipped to Edda.
She spread her hands, empty palms. "Lord Fizz ate well," she said. "He also argued with a man about the correct way to fry dough. He made a new friend with a stall that sells tiny sculptures of birds. He tried on a small hat. He did not buy the hat. The hat did not deserve him."
Fizz scowled at her. "We had agreed this would be our secret."
"I did not tell the big thing," she said, straight-faced. "Only the small ones."
Fizz harrumphed and floated past John into the common room. "Inside," he ordered. "My fans are hungry for my stories."
"You have fans," Pim said, delighted.
"Of course," Fizz said. "Line up."
Edda stopped at the door, lowered her head slightly. "Master, I should leave."
John’s voice was calm. "Okay. Remember the work I told you."
Edda nodded and touched the door frame with two fingers before she left, the way men do when they are not sure if they are welcome and hope they are. "Goodbye for now," she said to John. "The stone will find me. If it does not, I will be where the trouble is and the guards aren’t."
John gave one short nod. "We will speak soon."
She went down the lane and was gone, the way good shadows go.
John, Fizz, and Pim walked into the Bent Penny. The room smelled like stew that had made up its mind and bread that thought highly of itself. Penny stood behind the counter with her arms folded and her mouth trying to hide a smile.
"Sit," she said. "Dinner’s on me today. For hinge and floor and barrel and keeping my boy from turning into a candle."
Pim sniffed his one singed eyebrow and tried to look wounded. "I am very safe," he lied.
They sat. Penny brought bowls and bread and two small pickles for Fizz because he said pickles complete a life. He ate them like a king who had conquered a cucumber empire.
The table warmed quickly. The stew was thick and red-brown, meat slow-cooked until it gave up easily, beans and carrots softened into it like they had signed a treaty. The bread had a golden skin, still warm enough to sting fingers. Fizz dunked his pickle into his stew and declared it genius. Pim copied him and declared it gross, then tried again just to be sure.
Pim leaned forward, spoon clutched in his fist like a sword. "Lord Fizz," he said, serious as a priest, "if you eat lightning, do you burp thunder?"
Fizz chewed a pickle with solemn care, then dabbed his whiskers. "Only on Tuesdays," he said. "Wednesdays are for gentle humming. Thursdays are for small explosions that smell like cinnamon."
Pim gasped. "Really? You are so amazing, Lord Fizz."
"No," John said.
Fizz threw up his paws. "Let the boy have magic in his life, John. Do not crush his cinnamon dreams."
Pim giggled so hard he nearly dropped his spoon. He recovered and tried another: "Lord Fizz, if you drink milk, do you turn into cheese?"
"I improve into yogurt first," Fizz said. "It is a noble process."
Pim nodded with great seriousness. "Makes sense."
Fizz leaned close to him. "Also, if you sneeze near me, you risk turning into porridge. Very embarrassing at family gatherings."
Pim’s eyes went huge. "Really?"
"Only if the porridge is salted," Fizz said gravely.
John sighed. Penny shook her head and muttered something about "two naughty children instead of one."
The laughter carried them for a while. Stew steamed, bread tore, the table was a small island against the noise of the world. Pim went through a series of ridiculous questions — could Lord Fizz out-sing a rooster, could he set fire to soup with his tail, did he once arm-wrestle a thundercloud. Each time, Fizz answered with equal seriousness. Each time, Pim’s shoulders shook with delight.
But then, after too much laughing, Pim’s voice shifted. He looked down at his bowl, voice softer.
"Lord Fizz... I played with John today. But today with John, I missed my father. Mom, you never told me anything about where my father is. I even forgot his face."
The words were small but heavy. The spoon in Penny’s hand paused. John’s head turned toward her, slow. Even Fizz blinked and went still, ears tipping forward.
John swallowed, then looked up at Penny. His voice was low. "I wanted to ask you this too. Where is your husband, Penny?"
Penny set the spoon down. She looked at her son first. Then she looked past him, through him almost, at something only she could see. Her voice was even. "He is no longer with us."
Pim’s mouth worked. He tried to make a joke of it, but the weight was different. John frowned.
Penny went on, softer now, each word measured. "That is what most will tell you, Pim. That he is gone. But I tell you this — he is not dead. He is somewhere I cannot tell you. Very far. We moved here seven years ago, when you were only a baby. And two years ago, he was taken by people from the palace. Taken, not lost."
The table went quiet. The crackle of the hearth filled the silence. John’s jaw clenched. "Why?" he asked, low.
Penny shook her head. "I cannot tell you the reason. I am sorry. But he will return. I believe that. As much as I believe in this bread on the table. He will come back to us."
Her eyes glistened for a moment, but she blinked the shine away. She tore her bread into smaller and smaller pieces without eating them.
Pim swallowed hard. His eyes were watering but he stared into his stew so no one could see them. His hand curled in his lap, then uncurled. "Will he know me?" he whispered.
Penny reached across, brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Yes. He will know you. A father always knows."
John reached across the table, laid two fingers lightly against Pim’s wrist. "Then we wait strong," he said. "And when he returns, he will find his son taller and sharper than he ever dreamed."
Fizz, who hated silence that was heavy, lifted both paws. "And if he does not return on time, we will send Pim’s eyebrow to fetch him," he said. "No man can resist such heroic hair. It will march right into the palace and demand answers."
Pim’s mode changed and he laughed through his nose, sudden and helpless. Penny’s mouth twitched into a smile she could not stop. The air lightened.
Still, John asked gently, "What kind of man was he?"
Penny hesitated, as if weighing what to give away. Then she said, "The kind who listened before he spoke. The kind who carried more weight than he needed to but never let you see him strain. He was clever without pride, brave without noise. Pim has his eyes."
Fizz put his paws on his cheeks. "So Pim is half hero already! Excellent investment. I approve."
"Lord Fizz," Pim whispered, "when my father comes back, will you roast him too?"
"Only gently," Fizz said. "A light browning. Very dignified."
The laughter tugged the table back into joy. They ate again, stew disappearing, bread becoming crumbs. Fizz balanced a pickle on his nose. Pim tried to copy him with bread and failed, the bread sticking to his cheek. John let the moment run because moments like this must be let run.
The hearth snapped, sparks spiraling up the chimney. Outside, the night deepened. Penny rose and poured more water into their cups, her movements calm but her eyes thoughtful.
She added one last note, softer than the rest: "Your father told me once that if he ever vanished, it would not be because he chose to leave us. Remember that, Pim. Remember it every day."
Pim nodded, lips pressed tight. He tried to look strong, but his hand crept over to John’s arm without him meaning to. John let it rest there.
Fizz leaned in. "Do not worry, boy. If the palace tries to keep him, I will march in and dazzle them with my charm. They will surrender instantly. I am irresistible."
John rolled his eyes. Penny let out a laugh she had not planned.
The dinner ended with warmth stitched back into the seams of the evening.
And then the door opened. Boots on wood. A shadow in the frame. The room turned its head as one.
Elara stepped in.
She wore the same plain armor as before, cleaned and oiled. Her face was the same: firm, fair, wary. Her eyes found John and Fizz at once. For a moment nothing moved — just the small slide of breath in and out, the lamp flame tipping, the cat deciding whether to stay on the chair or go under it.
"Evening," she said, voice level.
John set his spoon down. Fizz sat up straighter without meaning to. Pim whispered, very loud, "Uh-oh."