As Umbo, Rigg, and Loaf ate, Olivenko took his supper over to Param. A few moments later, Umbo heard distant weeping. He looked over to the edge of the woods where, sure enough, Param was sobbing into Olivenko’s shoulder.

She despises you, Umbo, he told himself. You’ll never be anything but a peasant boy to her. And what do you care? You stopped being in love with her months ago.

But seeing her holding on to Olivenko that way stabbed Umbo with jealousy all the same.

In the morning, Param ate breakfast with them, and formally apologized for her “petulant actions” the day before. Just as formally, Rigg and Umbo apologized in return. “I don’t know what we came back to prevent,” said Rigg, “but I have a feeling I behaved very badly.”

“Not in this version of history,” said Param.

But Umbo noticed that she hardly looked at him. Was it shame for having pushed him off the flyer ramp? Or contempt because he was just a peasant boy?

For your information, princess, I can make you a pair of shoes out of grass and rose thorns. I have a skill; I’m a cobbler’s son. Sort of.

It was the first time Umbo could recall ever being proud of something he acquired from his reputed father, the master cobbler Tegay. And it’s not as if Tegay ever praised Umbo for his prentice work.

Breakfast done, they went back to pushing mice into the past. They were done well before noon.

“Eleven thousand, one hundred ninety-one mice,” said Loaf.

“You’re joking,” said Umbo. “Why that number?”

“It’s a holy number here, too,” said Loaf.

“But they don’t believe in holiness,” said Umbo.

“No, you don’t believe in it,” said Loaf. “The mice are very devout. I don’t think the number has any practical value. They just think of it as a sacred number and they expect their new colony will prosper if they start with that many settlers.”

Thinking of mice as “settlers” jarred, but that’s how it would always be, Umbo knew. Mice were hard to see as human, or of equal value. There were so many of them.

“What can they even do?” asked Umbo. “It’s not like they can pull a plow.”

“They don’t have to farm,” said Loaf. “They scavenge beautifully. They would never have developed civilization on their own, but because they inherited the human culture and knowledge of the Odinfolders, they could leap forward vastly. And they’re designed to require less food than ordinary mice. So they can live as scavengers and still have leisure to create.”

“Create what?” asked Umbo. “Can they wield a hammer? Iron doesn’t get any softer just because the blacksmith is very tiny. What can they actually make?”

“They seem content about their ability to establish a very high level of civilization in a very short time,” said Loaf. “But now it’s time for us to go.”

Umbo turned to Param. “Are you coming with us?”

She turned away from him.

“Of course she is,” said Olivenko.

“Oh,” said Umbo. “She’ll allow the peasant boy to push her into the past?”

“She apologized for that,” said Olivenko.

“Not enough for me to forget it,” said Umbo. “Or to believe she meant it.”

“Then leave me behind,” said Param spitefully. “I can watch the world get destroyed from here as well as from anywhere else.”

“We need you,” said Umbo.

Param turned her face away. But Umbo could tell she was pleased.

They all held whatever bags and extra clothing they meant to take with them. It wasn’t much.

And this time, Umbo didn’t have to push. He and Rigg instead pulled together, shifting themselves and their friends all at once, leaving no anchor in the future they had just left.

The hill was teeming with mice, except in the spot where they arrived. Mice were so thick on the ground in every direction that it was easy to see the edge of the Wall, because mice were arrayed right up against the spot where the Wall’s despair was first clearly noticeable.

“I’m letting the Wall down now,” said Rigg.

The mice seemed to sense at once that it was gone, and they surged forward, down and across the little vale. It took hours for the mice all to go through the Wall. Umbo sat and watched the undulating sea of mice until they were gone. We are servants of the mice. We have opened a door for them. Does it even matter now whether we cross into Larfold?

It matters to Rigg and Param—their father died here. And to Olivenko, because Knosso was his mentor and his king. Maybe Loaf cares. But I’m just a tool of the mice, or the tool of the Sessamids, or Loaf’s surrogate son.

No, I can’t think that way anymore. These are my friends. It’s my choice to go with them, to help them do the things that matter to them.

“Please come with us,” said Rigg.

Umbo looked at him, startled. Did he know what Umbo was thinking?

“Of course I will,” said Umbo.

“You’re free to do whatever you want,” said Rigg. “I couldn’t have done this without you, so I’m glad you were with me. But now it’s done. You never asked to be in the business of saving the world.”

Umbo was moved. “You think it’s a monopoly of the royal family?” The words could have sounded harsh, but Umbo said them with a grin.

“The Sessamids?” Rigg chuckled. “From what I know of family history, we don’t save worlds, we take over what other people have built and slowly wreck it.”

“Pretty much describes my old dad,” said Umbo. “Except when he worked with shoes.”

“We Sessamids make no shoes,” said Rigg. “I want you with me, Umbo. I need your help. But if you choose not to come, I won’t resent it. How many times do people have to die because they came with me?”

“So far death hasn’t interfered with my life as much as you’d think,” said Umbo. “I’m in.”

“Let’s go, then,” said Rigg, and he held out a hand.

Umbo took it, bounded to his feet, and side by side they walked briskly toward the Wall, with Param, Loaf, and Olivenko following at a slower pace.

CHAPTER 19

Royal

“I’ve been trying to figure out why everyone was so angry with me,” said Param as they walked through the Wall. Umbo and Rigg were far out of earshot ahead of them.

Loaf grunted.

“Any progress?” asked Olivenko. “Have you thought that pushing Umbo out the door might have been part of it? Not to make any suggestions.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me,” said Param.

“I think he was being delicate and respectful,” said Loaf. “If I had said that, it would have been sarcastic.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed him,” said Param.

“We’re making progress,” said Loaf.

“Someone else should have done it,” said Param. “I shouldn’t be reduced to protecting the name of the royal family myself.”

“The royal family that tried to kill us all back in Ramfold?” asked Loaf. “The royal family in which the queen tried to murder her own children while she bedded General Citizen?”

“Leadership comes naturally to some people. Look at Rigg and Umbo. Raised in the same village. But Rigg is a natural leader, and Umbo is . . .”

“A peasant boy,” said Loaf. “I think that’s what you called him, when you accused him of being a liar.”

“I never accused him of—”

“I have perfect recall now,” said Loaf. And when he quoted her own words back to her—“And we’re supposed to take the word of a peasant boy?”—his voice sounded astonishingly similar to her own. All the intonations were exactly right.

“I didn’t suggest that he was lying,” said Param. “I merely said that it was unreasonable to expect someone like me or Rigg to take the word of a peasant boy as if it were indistinguishable from fact.”

“So you studied the history of the wallfolds for nearly a year and you’re still as ignorant as ever,” said Loaf.

Instead of time-slicing to get away from Loaf, Param slowed down and let him move on ahead. But Olivenko stayed with her, walking at her slower pace.

Param could feel the hideous music of the Wall playing with the back of her mind, making her angry, sad, despairing, lonely, anguished; but not the way it was the first time she had experienced the Wall, not overwhelming, not terrifying. “Are you going to criticize me, too?”