EPILOGUE

And they all lived...

Seated on the balcony at the Schloss Raubgerig, looking across at the waterfall tumbling into spray rainbows, Squigs found it difficult to come to terms with the happenings of the last few days. He sat silent, deep in thought. He thought back to planting the first crystal-plant seed, in the crunchy "snow" crystallized out from the sulphur compound clouds above.

The dragon-tooth tipped spade had been handed to him by a one-time sentry, who was now a suitably bemedalled old codger. Still wearing braces. The old man, with the cheerful disrespect that age has for even the most sacred of heroes, had told him to stop peeing about, and dig a decent hole. Then Gramps, exasperated at Squigs' efforts, had taken the spade away from him and done it for him.

Already trails of weak but warm sunlight were leaking down from the breaks in the clouds. If it had not been ingrained in the very nature of the Fifth Field Kitchen Unit to work, none of them would ever have needed to do so again. But as they stood to attention proudly by their cooking pots, ready for the first greens and purples from the fields, Squigs knew that calling these imps "a bunch of no-hopers" had been one of Strate's greatest mistakes. It was from this sort of resistance, this sort of courage, that change came.

Then there was the Overlord—Or as it proved—Samur. Part of these shadowy agencies and societies that Squigs had instinctively distrusted. Squigs had accused him and Ziklevieson of being despots.

Samur had laughed at him. "I'm not a despot. I'm an anarchist. The purpose of the agencies and secret societies is to keep the sort of people who join them off the streets. They do the business of governance for us . . . which, in my book, is to allow anarchy. Controlled anarchy . . . where the powerful believe that big brother is possibly watching them, so they never get totally out of hand." He'd smiled, showing her Sylvan ancestry in the teeth. "Sadie just intervened in ecological disaster areas. And Earth was next."

Even Squigs had been unable to deny that Earth needed her intervention.

He allowed his attention to wander across to Korg and Venus. It made him smile. The scene from yesterday was still fresh in his mind . . .

The two hadn't been able to part with each other, but both had plainly been unhappy about something. Korg had been telling them about the pursuit of the kidnap victims. " . . . and I said to myself 'Churches lar fum.'"

"What does that mean, Korg?" Venus had asked, restraining her smile.

Korg had looked at her, longingly. "I think it means 'You'll have to marry the girl.' I wish I could," he sighed, "but I'm just a short little fellow. Not right for a fine, tall, noble lady."

"I won't have any one calling you a short little fellow. Not even yourself!" Venus said fiercely. "And you don't have to marry me . . . if you don't want to?"

"It's the wish o' all my heart, lass. But I'm too short . . ."

"Listen, you . . ." She sighed. "Look, there comes a time when even tall, fine noble ladies have to get down to basics. Lying down . . . we're the same height. And anyone who calls you short will have to answer to me." She'd taken a firm hold of him, and turned to her father. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I thought I'd find some rich fellow to bail out Long Ash. But I'm going to live with Korg. Whether he marries me or not."

Baron Ashill smiled complacently. "Yes, m'dear. Marrying money was your idea anyway, not mine." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, you'd have to go a devil of a long way to find someone wealthier than Korg Maccabeus."

Venus looked at him, plainly recognizing the name. "Korg . . . Maccabeus?"

"It's a fine old Scots-Lebanese name," said Korg defensively.

"I recognized the kilt," said the Baron. "There aren't any other tartans that don't have stripes going vertically and horizontally. Why aren't you running the richest iron-mine in the mountains?"

Korg looked faintly embarrassed. "Actually . . . I'm afraid of small closed-in spaces."

The baron twitched his mustachios. Smiled again. "You'll love Long Ash then, m'boy. The rooms are huge, and a lot of 'em don't even have roofs. Why don't you ask me for my daughter's hand?"

Venus put her hands on her hips and raised her chin. "Daddy, this isn't the dark ages. And anyway I've already told him!"

Korg reached up and squeezed her arm. "But, my Raisin dart, let's make him happy." Korg bowed to the baron. "Lord Marmaduke Ambrosius St. John Ashill."

The baron started. "Yes, sir," Korg grinned, "I do even know the names you keep such a dark and deadly secret. May I have your permission to put the weight of all my Kares on your daughter's shoulders?"

Remembering that made Squigs feel more cheerful. But then there was Kate. The more he saw of her, the more puzzled he became. And wary. Squigs had never been pursued by a female who wasn't only interested in killing him. That was why he was hiding out here now.

"There he is, Pa." It was Kate, clinging to her father's arm. The large Mungo was flexing his muscles thoughtfully, making even the super-strong dragon-leather creak. Kate wasn't wearing her leathers. She'd borrowed a frock from the much taller Imogene. But it wasn't too big for her, because she'd stuffed the front with pillows. Lots of pillows. It looked like she would be having sextuplets any minute.

"He promised me marriage, Pa," she said with a very artistic sob. "You heard him. And now that I'm in this condition," she touched her bulging belly, "he's avoiding me."

Mungo pushed back the sleeves of his leathers. They weren't intended to be push-backable, but they were pushed back all the same. He cleared his throat. "You can't run away from the responsibilities you've created, boyo. You'll have to marry her now and make an honest woman of her."

Squigs wildly started to say that he thought he was several million years too late in the evolution of the species to create female honesty, and then wisely decided on looking for a way out instead.

But for James "Squigs" 'nKosi Harkness-Smythe, sphere-skipper, hero and reluctant savior of several worlds, there was no place to run, this time.

Then the front of Kate's borrowed and overstuffed dress split. An involuntary caesarian delivery of six pillows followed rapidly. Squigs looked at the view, and then at the smile in her eyes. He decided that being caught wouldn't be all bad.

Samur looked at Isaac, thoughtfully. "I agree. He'll make a good Grand Chorisso for earth."

The old man smiled. "He has a very devious mind. Which is why he will maybe make a suitable candidate for the next Overlord. Oy Vey. It is very sad about Sadie. But if the denizens of Hell all believe her to be alive . . . "

Samur smiled back. "Isn't that the best kind of ruler?"

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