Love Will Find Out the Way

It’s their first funeral.

Strictly speaking, that isn’t true. They’ve all lost people before, of course, even before they met one another, and then there was Meerk’s funeral in the city of the Ursans. But this is the first time anyone—or at least, anyone who was part of their circle—has died since the world ended, and it’s kind of hard on all of them. Cel out of all of them knows that people die, that it’s a natural part of life, that nothing lasts forever, but even they recognize that they’ve started to kind of think of the little group that saved the world as being…kind of invincible. So this is a hard reality check for them. It must be even worse for the others, who haven’t experienced nearly as much grief and loss as Cel has.

Well, except maybe Hamid and Zolf. Maybe.

The temple is packed full, every seat occupied. Some of the seats in the back are taken up by families with small children, but there are a lot of well-to-do and distinguished-looking people. Cel counts thirty-seven school administrators they’ve shared ideas with, forty-nine politicians or government officials they’ve worked alongside in the rebuilding efforts, and six specific people they’ve lectured about hoarding resources. And, of course, they know the resplendent golden bishop at the front leading the service.

It was kind of Ed, Cel thinks, to reserve the front row for their group, but the temple is a historic site and nobody seems to have been inclined to renovate it, so instead they’ve been relegated to an awkward arrangement of chairs sort of off to one side and the front row has been taken over by mostly academics in full regalia. Cel doesn’t mind either way, but they know several of the people in the crew are more comfortable not being front and center. Ada in particular twists the program nervously as she listens to Ed’s homily, her spine absolutely ramrod straight next to Babbage’s chair. Cel pats her shoulder comfortingly, and she offers them a weak smile.

They look around at the rest of the group. Oscar listens with a faint smile on his lips, either of amusement or nostalgia, his hand resting absently on the arm of Zolf’s chair. Zolf’s hand covers Oscar’s; his expression is hard to read, not that Cel was ever all that great with that sort of thing, but he’s staring very intently at the draped coffin. The only one whose expression is harder to read than Zolf’s is Hamid’s as he sits at the very end of the row, spine ramrod straight, hands folded demurely on his lap, face completely flat, eyes utterly blank. Azu is the most obviously emotional out of all of them, sobbing quietly into a pink lace-edged handkerchief, her other hand clinging tightly to Kiko’s. Most of the rest of the former crew of the Vengeance and people who fought in the Battle of Elizabeth Tower wear solemn but not particularly sad looks. Yara sits between Hamid and Zolf, barely visible; all Cel can make out is the black braid wound in a sort of crown around her head and the soft-bodied doll with the black button eyes and wings made of some crinkly, shiny gold material clutched tightly to her chest. She seems a bit distressed, but then, she’s very young.

Ed finishes the homily, and a lesser priest steps up to give the final prayer. The entire assembly rises as they’re able and watches as, led by an acolyte carrying a censer shaped like the sun, six pallbearers lift the coffin and carry it down the aisle with Ed and the other officials following in a procession that would be a lot more solemn if they weren’t all resplendent in gold and silver, and the service is over.

A murmur starts up among the assembled mourners, who one by one begin gathering their things and trying to get out the door. Cel turns to Barnes. “Well. That was a lot…more than any funeral I’ve ever been to, I’ll tell you that.”

Barnes shrugs eloquently. “Apollo,” he says, which more or less covers everything.

“I didn’t expect it to be so serious,” Carter comments. “He just…he wasn’t, you know?”

“Well, we didn’t know him when he was young,” Cel points out. “Maybe he was more serious when most of these people knew him. And he was very important. And people don’t tend to…want funerals to be lighthearted for some reason.”

The Kobolds all move off to one side, speaking in low voices that Cel can’t quite pick out over the hubbub, but they guess they’re probably trying to avoid the crowd. It’s a prudent move, as quite a few of the other guests at the funeral apparently decide to come out the side where their group is/was sitting to avoid the worst of the crowd. Cel nudges Carter and Barnes and manages to maneuver both of them off to one side, as well.

Azu wipes her eyes with the handkerchief and stows it away. “That was beautiful. It’s a fitting tribute to a good man. And it’s so…so wonderful that so many children came. His toys brought joy to a lot of people.”

Zolf snorts, but he doesn’t actually argue with Azu. Oscar shakes his head with a smile. “Are any of you hungry? I could do with a spot of lunch after that. There’s a restaurant a few blocks away that—oh, excuse me.”

He directs this, along with an exaggerated bow, to a tall, distinguished-looking man in a pristine black suit and wool coat, escorting a Halfling woman about half his height. From the position of the train on the woman’s fashionable black dress, she at the very least dragged it over Oscar’s shoes and possibly stepped on his feet.

The man acknowledges Oscar with a curt nod and starts to continue, then seems to stutter his steps slightly. Before Cel can ask if he tripped over something—some of the flags on this floor are a bit uneven, they noticed that when they came in—the woman slows to a stop. “Hamid.”

“Liliana,” Hamid says, his voice rock-steady and even. His eyes flick up to the man. “Gideon.”

Oscar’s expression abruptly shuts down, going cold and hard in a way Cel hasn’t seen since they first met him years ago. The woman—Liliana, Cel guesses—scans Hamid briefly. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I wasn’t aware you knew Professor Einstein.”

“Yes, we met him—shortly before the last time I saw you,” Hamid says with the barest hesitation in the middle of his sentence. “He became a very close friend, to all of us. I’m sure he’d have been pleased you were able to come.”

Cel wonders why Hamid isn’t elaborating on exactly how they met Einstein and what he did to assist them, and also how he—and presumably Oscar, from the way he’s staring at them—knows this couple. Liliana’s lips flatten into a thin line. “Well, at least you were able to make someone’s funeral.”

Hamid flinches at that, but doesn’t respond to it. Yara, who’s sitting slightly back from where Hamid stands, reaches out and touches his hand almost tentatively, and he squeezes hers and gives her a small smile, like he’s maybe trying to reassure her. Cel is even more curious. Liliana arches an eyebrow. “Your…daughter?”

“My niece,” Hamid replies. “This is Yara Gamila al-Tahan…Yara, this is Gideon and Liliana Marsten-Langdon, unless I have missed something.”

“No, you’re right,” Gideon mumbles.

“Hello,” Yara says, obviously a little shy. She clings to Hamid’s hand tightly, but does manage to let go of her doll and hold out her hand to shake Liliana’s. It trembles slightly. Cel can empathize with that, actually, because shaking hands with strangers is still really difficult after all this time and they usually let the other people on the Venge handle that.

Liliana doesn’t shake it, instead giving a slight nod to Yara before returning her gaze to Hamid. “What have you been up to since the last time we saw you? You just sort of dropped contact with everyone. Again.”

If this is a friend of Hamid’s, Cel thinks, she’s behaving very oddly. Hamid’s expression never changes. “That wasn’t exactly my fault. There were…never mind. To answer your question, Liliana, I tutor. What have the two of you been up to?”

“We’ve done well enough for ourselves,” Gideon says. “You know. All things considered. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

Cel has genuinely lost track of this conversation, but they aren’t technically part of it, so they don’t interrupt to ask for clarification. They do, however, glance around at the others to see if anyone else can shed some light on what’s going on here. Azu looks just as confused as Cel feels; Zolf’s mouth is set in a slight frown as he glances back and forth from Hamid to the couple. Oscar seems the most knowledgeable about what’s going on, though, or at least has the most obvious reaction to it, because something in his eyes makes Cel think of the Garden of Yerlik, which they try not to think about too much.

Hamid’s hand tightens on Yara’s briefly before he seems to consciously force himself to relax. “It’s been a difficult time, yes, but we’re all working through it. I’m so glad to hear you’re doing well.” He gestures with his free hand. “Lovely to see you again. Don’t let me detain you.”

Liliana looks like she wants to say something to that, but Gideon pulls at her arm, and the two of them sweep off without another word. Hamid keeps his posture and fixed expression until they pass through the doors at the back of the temple, then sighs heavily and slumps, running a hand over his face for a moment. “Anyway. The restaurant you mentioned, Oscar—were you talking about Le Coeur Rare?”

Oscar blinks as he slowly relaxes, like a bird’s ruffled feathers settling, although he still looks…well, angry. “That’s the one I had in mind, yes.”

Most of the crew elects to head back to the Venge; the Kobolds disappear on something of their own, so it’s just Zolf and Oscar, Azu and Kiko, Cel and Barnes, and Hamid and Yara who traverse the few blocks to a restaurant overlooking the river. Cel manages to keep their mouth shut until they get there, but once the group is seated in a private nook in a bay window—two chairs removed to make room for Zolf and Yara with surprisingly little fanfare—and the waiter has gone to get the drinks, they blurt out, “Were those friends of yours, Hamid?”

Hamid plucks at something on the leg of his trousers. “They were. Once. I don’t think either one of them has considered me a friend for a long time, and…well, frankly, that’s not exactly a bad thing. I’m not particularly proud of the person I was when they did. I was hoping they’d changed since I saw them, at least a little, but…”

The waiter returns then with a tray of various drinks, necessitating a break in the conversation while they all study the menu (Hamid and Oscar have to translate, although Hamid covers for the fact that he’s doing it for all of them by spelling it out for Yara). Once they’ve ordered, Azu leans forward with a slight frown. “Was that the Gideon you told us about…ah, right after I met you?”

“That’s the one. I told you I wasn’t particularly proud of who I was.” Hamid sighs and turns to the table at large. “For…the benefit of the rest of you, since…well. Gideon was always a bully. I met him right after I first came to England, and, well, I didn’t exactly fit in.” He gestures to himself. “I thought the best way to not be everyone’s target was to be like them, so I became a bully, too. I tried to get away from him when I went to Cambridge, which is where I met Liliana, but…I fell back into old habits more easily than I’d like to admit. Between Gideon and Bertie…” He shakes his head.

Zolf makes a noise that might be a laugh and might be an angry snort. “He can’t be as bad as Bertie.”

“He was worse, if you can believe it,” Hamid says softly. “Bertie just didn’t consider other people’s feelings. Gideon did, and he actively went for what would hurt the most. He was just better at hiding it.” He pauses. “Still is, apparently.” He glances at Yara, whose trusting gaze is still fixed on him, then admits, “He’s the reason I got kicked out of Cambridge in the first place. He wanted to play a prank, or he said it was a prank anyway, on a professor he hated, and asked me to write down an alchemist formula for him to…essentially it was supposed to be a stink bomb. I wrote the formula down wrong, and then he doubled it and…eight people died, in the end. I-including the professor. I ended up getting all the blame for it, and I got expelled.”

Cel is momentarily distracted by trying to work out in their head which formula Hamid could have written down and how it could have gone wrong. Barnes takes a swig of his drink and leans forward. “What about the other one? Liliana? Seems like a right piece of work. Was she a bully too?”

“Not…really? Just very focused on her work.” Hamid hesitates and looks at Oscar. Even Cel can see he’s somewhere between nervous and guilty.

Oscar spreads his hands. “You don’t have to say anything more if you don’t want to. I certainly won’t say anything other than that I think both of them should have faced more consequences than they did.”

“I’m guessing they had something to do with magic,” Zolf says.

“Yes…Gideon was actually Einstein’s assistant, when we met him.” Hamid swallows, then looks Zolf in the eye. “Liliana did some of the work that went into Mr. Ceiling.”

Zolf’s face clouds over. “Ah.”

Cel suddenly understands a lot of things, including Oscar’s expression. “Did she…know that was what was being done with it? Or did she just do the research? Sometimes you study things and work out how to do them and you don’t think about what other people will use it for, and it never occurs to you that it could go wrong, and then when you find out you, hah, you feel really responsible and guilty because it’s your work even if it’s not what you meant to happen to it…”

Barnes squeezes Cel’s hand, and they subside. Hamid shakes his head. “She said she didn’t know, but she didn’t seem to care when I told her about it. Or maybe she didn’t believe me. I’m not sure it matters, honestly. Gideon had told her I led him astray and she believed him, so I could have told her two and two was four and she’d have told me to stop being an idiot.”

Yara wrinkles her nose. “Is that who Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is supposed to be?”

Hamid immediately looks embarrassed. “Well, not on purpose, but now that you mention it…”

Zolf jerks his head back in shock and stares at Hamid with wide eyes, jaw dropping open slightly. “Wait, wait, wait. You—that was you?”

“It…yeah.” Hamid ducks his head, looking rather like Cel felt when Hamid complimented them to Babbage the first time.

“Sorry, what are we talking about?” Azu asks with a frown.

Oscar blinks, then smiles slowly. “Hamid wrote a book.”

“You wrote a book?” Azu sounds surprised and delighted. “How did I not know this?”

“Well, I didn’t use my own name,” Hamid mumbles. “It was just…i-it was just a story I made up for Yara, while she was…recovering.” He glances at her and manages a smile; she beams back at him. “I told it in stages, and I kept forgetting where I’d left off or having to correct myself when details didn’t add up, so when I did finally have to go back to university I started writing it all down so I wouldn’t forget and I could figure out where it was going. One of my professors saw it and asked if he could read it, then wanted to know how it ended. I promised I’d show him after the next break—I wanted Yara to hear the ending first—”

“Obviously,” Oscar says, still smiling.

“—but I wrote it down and sort of…read it to her,” Hamid continues. “The professor was the one to suggest I send it to a publisher he knew and…I-I didn’t expect it to go anywhere. I just thought it would be nice to have a hard-bound copy for Yara. They sent me three copies, so…well, I thought you might enjoy it, too.” This he directs at Zolf.

“I did,” Zolf says. “A lot. I just—it’s been two years, how did I not know that was you?”

Yara suddenly looks a little nervous. “Was I not supposed to tell anyone?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hamid says quickly. “I just…really didn’t expect it to be popular. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. I didn’t think it would mean anything to anyone other than…well, Yara and me.”

“Hamid,” Oscar says. “You wrote a story about magic, and dragons, and an adventure, and someone who comes home to find home just the way he left it. And you let it loose in a world where people, well, miss a lot of those things. Especially since the hero who goes on the adventure doesn’t have any magic, but he’s still important to the adventure. Of course that was going to resonate with a lot of people.”

“I—I suppose that makes sense,” Hamid admits. “Still, I wasn’t expecting it. And I—I wasn’t sure how you’d all react. Especially if you’d read it.”

“What’s it called?” Azu asks.

Zolf reaches into the satchel at his side and pulls out a book bound in dyed-green leather, which he hands to Azu. Cel looks over her shoulder; the title doesn’t mean anything to them, but Kiko immediately brightens. “Oh, I loved that book! You remember, Azu, when we were in Innsbruck a few months ago, that school we were helping out with? That’s the book I read them. I was trying to find a copy for you, but the bookstore was completely sold out. I was going to check out some of the stores around here to see if I could find it.”

“I don’t…have any copies with me, but if you don’t mind waiting a month, I can give you one,” Hamid offers.

“No, don’t be ridiculous. I’m more than happy to support my friends.” Kiko flashes him a grin. He ducks his head in embarrassment. “Besides, I’m anxious to reread it.”

Cel takes the book from Azu and studies it, then opens it to a random page and begins reading. They don’t quite understand the story, since they’ve come into the middle of a scene and don’t know who any of the characters, but it’s written in such a way that they immediately care about them and want them to be safe, and they’re very relieved when the party manages to haul the one who almost drowned out of the water, even if it means they lost their boat. The line at the very bottom catches their attention, an exhortation from a member of the group: Come, my friends, let us not lament the loss of the boat; for Bombur is safe, after all, and a boat is but an object; therefore let us remember that each of us is worth infinitely more than any object, no matter how dear or how expensive; no thing can be said to be worth a life.

“I might borrow it from you when you’re done,” they tell Kiko, passing the book back to Zolf. “I’d like to know who all these characters are, and where they get their wisdom from, because that was a very profound statement there, and I’d like to see what other philosophy is in it.”

Hamid looks up with an expression of utter relief as the waiter returns with their meals, and for a few minutes, there’s silence except for the scraping of forks against plates. After a while, though, Yara leans forward to ask Cel, “Which line were you talking about?”

Cel repeats the line back, and Yara’s face brightens, but before she can say anything, Azu sets her fork down very hard. “Well. If I’d read that, I’d have known it was you, Hamid.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

Hamid sighs. “It’s…it’s something Grizzop said to Sasha once. When we were investigating under the Crank factory in Damascus. We’d used one of her daggers to try to keep a door open, and a trap triggered…we pulled her out, but she kept trying to go back for the dagger. Grizzop got kind of angry at her about it and told her she was more important than a thing.”

Several emotions play over Zolf’s face, but all he says is, “She was.”

Hamid manages a smile. “I don’t think she ever really let herself believe that. If you throwing your trident and armor away to save her didn’t make her believe it, nothing would.”

Zolf suddenly looks as embarrassed as Hamid did a moment ago; Oscar, on the other hand, looks delighted, which Cel can understand, actually. They would probably have a similar reaction if someone informed them Barnes had done something like that. Azu, on the other hand, looks confused. “Your trident?”

“Used to be a Cleric of Poseidon, remember?” Zolf mumbles.

“I don’t think you ever told me this story,” Oscar says, grinning ear to ear.

Yara dabs at her mouth with a napkin, looking thoughtful, before turning to Hamid. “I don’t think you’ve told me that story, either. And I thought you told me all the stories about Aunt Sasha there were.”

Zolf closes his eyes briefly. Hamid smiles, a little. “I’ve told you some of it, but you wanted to hear more about the kraken then.”

“Will you tell us now?” Yara begs. “Or you, Uncle Zolf?”

Cel has to hide a grin at the look on Zolf’s face at being addressed as Uncle Zolf. Oscar doesn’t bother; he looks like his birthday has come early. Zolf tries to recover, but his voice is a little cracked as he says, “Hamid tells it better than I do.”

Hamid nods slightly, like he was waiting for Zolf’s permission to tell, and then launches into the story. It’s an interesting story in and of itself, and it gives Cel a lot of insight into both Hamid and Zolf and why their relationship was so fraught when they first met them. On top of that, Hamid tells it well, drawing his listeners into the peril of the moment. Cel having been to Dover and even crossed the Channel a couple of times, they know the point Hamid is talking about. They had enough trouble with it in the Venge on relatively calm seas; they can’t imagine doing it in a driftwood raft in the middle of a hurricane. And with two completely inexperienced crew members, no less? It gives them a new respect for Zolf’s courage—and for Hamid’s.

The delighted look on Oscar’s face fades the more Hamid talks, until he reaches over and covers Zolf’s hand with his own. Zolf laces their fingers together almost absently, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Cel notices him running his finger along the back of the knife in front of him, but he doesn’t say anything, and Cel lets it go.

When Hamid finishes, Barnes lets out a low whistle and salutes him and Zolf with his glass. “I knew Sir Bertrand was the only one who got on the train after that, but I had no idea the rest of you went over in something that small. Didn’t think you and Sasha believed in Poseidon, Hamid, at least not enough to do something like that.”

“We didn’t,” Hamid says simply. “But we weren’t going to abandon Zolf, either. Family doesn’t give up on one another.”

“Hear, hear.” Cel raises their glass.

Oscar smiles and lifts his own glass. “To family.”

“To family,” the others echo, even Zolf, whose face is bright red.

The conversation shifts after that to a discussion of what everyone has been up to since they last met in person. Ever since that man from Italy discovered a way to send communications through the air in the same way that the message spell once worked, it’s been easier to keep in touch (although they’re still working out the kinks of doing it over long distances), so they at least know the basics. Cel, Azu, Barnes, and Kiko take turns telling the others about their rebuilding efforts. Oscar has managed to obtain a position as what he calls a “dispatcher” at an embassy, collecting information and sending diplomats and ambassadors to various locations to smooth over disagreements, correct power imbalances, and talk down hotheads. Zolf, rather to his surprise and slight disgruntlement, has somehow become an advisor to one of the major players trying to create a unified world government, and now that Cel knows that, they can see his influence in several of the places they’ve visited where the “leader” is simply the person who deals directly with whatever problem needs to be dealt with. When he’s not doing that, he says, he works at one of the clinics in Dover, healing as best he can and reminding people who’ve been severely hurt that their life isn’t over if they can’t do something they used to be able to do.

“What about you, Hamid?” Azu asks. “You told Liliana you were tutoring. Is that true?”

“Mostly, yes,” Hamid answers. “The local school hired me to work with students who can’t keep up, to help figure out where the problem is and get them to understand their studies a little better. I do some private tutoring, too, with some of the older students looking into some more advanced coursework who aren’t quite ready for college and university. The rest of the time…well, I’ve been working on another book.”

“More about…?” Kiko gestures at Zolf’s satchel.

“Well, more or less. It’s the same world, and some of the same characters are in it, but…I-I suppose it’s sort of the consequences of what happened in that book, and how they have to fix those.” Hamid winces. “It’s getting quite a lot longer than I expected it to, but I’m enjoying it.”

“Oh, Hamid.” The delight in Azu’s voice is palpable. “And you weren’t going to tell us?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Some of the characters…I mean, I didn’t base any one character on anybody on purpose, but, well, things crept in without me noticing until later. I was afraid you’d think I was mocking you.” Hamid looks up at all of them, and there’s something almost desperate in his eyes. “I’m not. I swear. It’s just…I was making up this story about an adventure, and now I’m writing about heroes and tragedies and people doing their very best against the very worst the world has to offer. Of course the greatest people I’ve ever known were going to wind up a very big part of that.”

Cel sputters incoherently, not sure how to take that. Yara beams at all of them, her eyes shining with true hero-worship, and as her eyes lock with Cel’s, Cel suddenly realizes why Hamid made up a story for her. It’s because she’s heard all the stories—or most of the stories, anyway—about the rest of them and the things they did together. This tiny girl, who’s met Cel all of twice, thinks of them as a hero, and it’s because Hamid made sure to tell her that. And now they’re all in a book, at least in some small way, and that means that no matter what happens to them, for years and years in the future, a part of them will still be alive, because Hamid put the best parts of them into the people he created to save another world.

“I’d like to hear more about it,” Zolf says, his voice unusually rough. “This new book you’re writing, I mean.”

Hamid smiles, in a way Cel doesn’t think they’ve ever seen—his whole face scrunching up, eyes twinkling with something like mischief. “I’ll let you take a look at some of my drafts when you come next month.”