The World Without Flags

Pest doesn’t respond, but goes to the table himself, and lifts a piece of delicious, brown, crispy, salty bacon in his hand like a scepter. He marvels at it like a scientist who’s just found the cure for death. I can tell that he didn’t know about this table before he came for me. Someone set it up for us while Pest went down to get me. My mouth is full of bacon before I even sit. There’s a jar of sweet and smoky maple syrup, warm to the touch. I can’t help but to take a drink of it before I even get a pancake. Pest laughs at me as some of it spills down my chin, but I don’t care. I laugh too. There’s a whole pitcher of milk too, and I pour out a whole glass and drink half of it. Then there’s plates full of eggs and pancakes and crispy fried potatoes with onions. The both of us eat until it hurts and then a little more. Finally breathing with difficulty, we sit back, smiling and chuckling. I am filled with gratitude and love and if the Good Prince appeared just then, I’d’ve probably got down on my knees and kissed her feet.

But there’s so much food in our stomachs that the both of us can’t help but collapse on the floor of the church where there’s a pile of blankets. Pest lays down beside me. We’re smiling and still half-laughing when I feel a wet tongue against my cheek. An instant later, Queen curls up next to me and puts her head on my hip. I close my eyes in contentment and fall into a deep sleep almost immediately.

122

Over the next few days, Pest and I fall into a routine. First I take care of Eric. I strip down into a gown and make him drink more salt water. After he vomits up his dark balls of dead and dying worms, I feed him as best I can with a wet mixture of oatmeal, ground venison, and maple sugar. After that, I clean myself of whatever disgusting stuff I got from Eric, put on my clothes and go up to the church to meet Pest for breakfast.

For our own safety, the Good Prince tells us, we’re not allowed to leave the church, which doesn’t surprise me. We’re not very popular with the people of Cairo. They’re not exactly thrilled to welcome the Worm into their community. I don’t blame them. There are no visitors except for the Good Prince, who comes at least once a day to see how we’re getting along. Pest and I are both tired anyway, and we spend a lot of time sleeping, so I don’t think of it too much. When we’re not sleeping, we’re eating whatever they give to us. The Good Prince also gave us a deck of cards, my drawing materials, and an old board game with so many missing pieces, Pest and I have to make up our own rules to play the game.

At night, Pest and I go down into the basement to play cards and keep Eric company. We try to get Queen to come down with us, but the smell is too much for her, and she won’t come. Pest looks great in new clothes and combed hair, and his arm is freshly bandaged with bleach white gauze. He looks better every day, and I imagine that I do too. Even though we can’t leave the church and we’re basically in prison, I feel fine. I feel safe and stronger every day. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe, but I’m not stupid.

I know it can’t last.

123

We are dealing out another hand of cards when we hear the slow, careful steps of the Good Prince as she comes down to the basement. I want to get up and help her, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t like that. She has that kind of untouchable dignity about her that I don’t dare challenge. Pest must feel the same because he doesn’t move to help her either, but he does stand up when she approaches us. Not knowing exactly why, I do too.

“Sit down, sit down,” the Good Prince says, waving her cane at us. “I’m not the damn queen.” She gives out a coughing laugh as we sit down. She stands at the table and then pokes Pest gently in the leg with her cane. “Go fetch a chair upstairs,” she says gently.

“Yes, ma’am,” Pest says and the chair screeches out from under him as he jumps to his feet. I’ve never seen Pest act like that. As soon as I see him disappear up the stairs, I laugh a little. Then the Good Prince settles into his chair with a groan. She takes a deep breath, and then leans forward, both hands resting palm down on her cane. She seems to be looking at Eric, but I don’t think she can see through those cloudy eyes.

“You’ve done a good job with him,” she says to me without turning away from Eric. “It’s funny how these things work. Last time Eric was here, he came to help you.”

“Help me?” Eric and I never talked much about how we got to the Homestead, and I don’t remember too much anymore.

The Good Prince turns toward me. Her face is serious, reflective. “Last time, he was looking for you.” She takes a deep breath. “I told him he could stay, he and his friends. I tried to talk him into staying, but he left. He couldn’t give up on you.”

I don’t know what to say. I haven’t heard this story.

The Good Prince sighs and then looks toward me. “When Lucia died, he wrote to me. I was sorry to hear it.”