“What about retirement?” Mama asked anxiously. “I know you are young to be thinking of such things,
Mateo, but it will be important sooner than you think!”
“Retirement benefits are spectacular.” After all, Matt expected to die before Alisande, and as long as she was queen, he certainly wouldn’t have to worry about room and board. He braced himself for the worst.
“There’s one real drawback, though.”
“Which is?” Papa braced himself, too, and Mama’s knuckles whitened.
“I can’t visit home very much. Maybe once a year, for half a day.”
Mama keened.
“That is hard indeed.” Papa scowled again. “Perhaps we could come visit you.”
“I’m afraid not,” Matt said slowly. “It’s in a, um, secret location.” At least, in this universe, Alisande’s castle wasn’t very well known.
“That will be… unpleasant,” Mama said. “But if it is so fine a job in every other way… “
“It is, Mama,” Matt said, with feeling.
“Well, if it is what you wish, you must do it,” Papa said briskly.
Mama nodded, tears in her eyes, and took Matt’s hand. “Yes, you must. But write far more often than you have, Mateo.”
“I will, Mama.” It was a safe promise, considering that Matt had averaged maybe one letter a month. He ought to be able to figure out some way to transport a letter to their house. He reminded himself to take a souvenir home… maybe a spell of contagion would work. He wondered if he could manage a telephone call.
“But if this place is so secret we cannot even visit, how shall we write you?” Papa asked.
“I’ll send you an address that will get your letters to me.” Inspiration struck, and Matt suddenly knew how he was going to manage it.
“He must go his own way, after all,” Mama reminded Papa.
“He must,” Papa agreed heavily. “May it bring you success, son.” He smiled with irony. “After all, the academic life hasn’t done all that well for me.”
“If you say so,” Matt said slowly, “but that was because you were more interested in teaching your students than in doing research.”
“Yes, or playing academic politics,” Papa said wryly. “If your chosen field doesn’t require those, my son,
I cannot complain against it. Well, I know you cannot tell me any details about your work, but surely you can tell me what you have learned about the nature of language.”
With that, talk shifted to safe topics… poetry and mythology. Poetry was really Papa’s field, mythology was Mama’s, and both were fascinated by the tales Matt brought them with the verse forms of Merovence, or as closely as he could manage in translation. All too soon, the clock on the mantel chimed three times.
“Three o’clock!” Matt leaped out of his chair. “My gosh! I’m late!”
“I didn’t know you had a time limit.” Papa rose with him.
“I’ve got to, um, make my travel connections.” Matt had arrived about noon. He’d already been gone from Merovence for a month and a half. “Sorry. The time just slipped away.”
“Well, I’m glad you still enjoy our company,” Papa said.
“Of course!” Matt embraced his father. “Too much… I can’t keep track of time around you.” He turned to give his mother a hug. “Uh… Mama…could I have a lock of your hair?”
“To remember me?” Mama took the scissors from her sewing box and clipped off a few dark inches with a tearful smile. She pressed it into Matt’s hand. “Take it and keep us in your prayers, my son.”
“He doesn’t ask for a lock of my hair?” Papa said, pretending to be huffy.
“You’re not as pretty as she is,” Matt said with a grin.
“He most certainly is!” Mama said, with asperity.
“As long as you think so, all is well with me.” Papa gathered her into his arm with a broad smile.
Matt hesitated on the threshold. “You sure about that?”
“That all is well with us? Yes, of course!” Papa said heartily. “That does not excuse us from working, of course. But don’t worry about us. Go with God, my son, and conquer your new world!”
As he closed the door behind him, Matt reflected that his father had, as usual, said more than he realized.
At the corner, he turned back to wave. Mama and Papa waved, too, arm in arm on the stoop, watching after him. Matt turned away, turned the corner…
“Took ya long enough, Matty boy,” Liam said, and swung a roundhouse punch.
Chapter Three
Matt ducked and came up with his fists triphammering. Three punches in the belly, one in the chin, and Liam fell back. Luco caught him, and Matt saw the other three toughs Liam and Luco had called in for backup. Matt only recognized Herm; he guessed the rest of the old neighborhood gang had grown up and moved away. These six were obviously still trying to be juvenile delinquents.
Then one of the strangers shot a flat-knuckled punch fast, too fast for Matt to duck. He tried to lean aside, but it caught him on the side of the head, a glancing blow, and he staggered backward, seeing stars, shaking his head to try to clear it, because he heard the roar of the mini-mob as they piled in. Matt felt something hard and rough behind his back… a tree trunk!… set himself against it, and called,
Choy, and one of the strangers, shouted as they tripped over something invisible. Matt heard something boom not far away, like a truck backfiring, and the tree branches suddenly dipped above him. He felt a slight vibration in his legs, and a dead branch came clattering out of the tree, but that was all. Well, he was surprised the verse had worked at all, here. Liam, Luco, and the other two strangers came at him, shouting.
Matt knew what to do when there were too many to fight. He turned and ran.
The boys yelled and came pelting after.
The sidewalk tilted crazily where tree roots had bulged it, but Matt knew every crack in the concrete… he ran as surely footed as a mountain goat. He glanced back and realized he was in better shape than the gang… they were far behind, though Liam was five yards out in front, yelling, red in the face. Matt swerved right down the Gussenhoven’s driveway and ducked between their garage and their house.
There he flattened himself against the wall, breathing deeply. He heard Liam yelling, pelting closer and closer…
Matt stuck out a foot. Liam tripped and went sprawling. He scrambled to his feet and turned on Matt, saying, “Bad idea, stupid “
Matt ducked as he swung, grunted as a fist struck his chest. He gripped and turned, then let go. Liam flew ten feet and landed hard, howling with the pain.
Baby. He’d landed on dirt, not concrete. But the gang was catching up, yelling and puffing. Matt took off again, past the garage and up old Mrs. Matelot’s driveway. He glanced back, saw Choy out in front, and took a chance. He whirled back just as Choy came up, ducked a high kick… Choy had been watching too many ninja movies and listening to too few senseis… caught the leg, and twisted. Choy yelped in pain and surprise as he spun to the ground.
Matt took off running again with the pack behind him, still yelling, still furious. He swung around the corner and sprinted. The others howled, angrier than ever as they realized Matt had only led them back to his father’s store.
He kept going till he was past the plate-glass windows and on the all-brick side of the store, then skidded to a halt, back to the tree again. The four remaining punks came huffing up and charged him, throwing punches. Matt ducked and shoved, caught a fist in the ribs and held his breath, kicked someone else’s feet out from under him, then turned to face the last two.