THE BEAST ─ five hargreeves

[ 058 ] reggie is as poetic as . . . like, a poetic person

LVIII.

r e g g i e i s
a s p o e t i c a s . . .
l i k e , a p o e t i c
p e r s o n

—THREE PEOPLE SAT at the bar.

Sir Reginald offered Zara a cup of cognac, but she shook her head. Her stomach was still sudsing. He poured Five one, and they went back to talking about this madman's journey. Kiki sat atop an open fruit tin, beak sticky with pineapple juice. Reginald sat down with a creak of his old bones. He looked a little less drawn and a little more relaxed.

"So," he said, talking only to Five. "You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch."

"That's because I'm the oldest," Five replied. "You know, technically I'm older than you right now."

"The other night you quoted Homer at me. Why?"

"You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original Greek, no less."

Sir Reginald looked interested, but not surprised. Zara sat quietly, tapping out the tune of The Star-Spangled Banner out on the tabletop, and beginning to feel a little left out. She didn't like Reginald Hargreeves and she definitely didn't like how easily Five was getting along with this strange, unnerving man.

Five took a sip of his whiskey. "This world ends in five days if we don't get out of the timeline," he said.

"Worlds end," returned Sir Reginald grimly. "Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on."

"That's what I said!" exclaimed Zara.

They both looked at her, listening but uninterested. Like how one might listen to a salesman, politely but wanting to get on with the real conversation. She didn't normally mind Five's air of superiority—it never bothered her before—but now it was annoying.

"Never mind," she said, turning away crossly. "I get it. I'll just be quiet and let the grown-ups do the talking. Pretend I'm not here."

Much to her chagrin, the "grown-ups" did, in fact, pretend she was not there.

Five said to Reginald: "We can do something about this world. We can save it."

"Man's greatest flaw," drawled Sir Reginald. "The illusion of control."

"I need your help," the boy insisted. "You're my last sane option. Otherwise, I gotta make a deal I really don't wanna make." Then, as an afterthought: "By the way—Zara?"

She looked up eagerly. "Yeah?"

"Your mother's alive. She has a metal plate in her head and she's pretty pissed off at you. I forgot to mention I saw her today. Showed up after I kicked your sister's ass, jabbering something about jazz."

"Wha—"

He turned back to Sir Reginald. "What do you know about time travel?"

"In theory?"

"In practice."

"I know it's akin to descending blindly into the depths of of freezing waters and reappearing as—as . . ."