And All the Stars

Epilogue

A perfect autumn day. By ten the streets were already filling, crowds flooding from the train tunnels, walking from the bus drop sites, meandering down the centre of the closed roads, gaping at the crest of white visible above the trees. Most wore dust-catchers: broad-brimmed hats supporting elbow-length veils, reminiscent of beekeeper garb but with a dense, silky weave. A few – the elderly, the very young – were clumsy in Hazmat gear. Bareheaded among them were Blues and Greens, or the foolhardy percentage who gambled that the Conversion would make them heroes, not corpses.

Many crossed the southern portion of Hyde Park on their way to the ceremony, some glancing at the young woman seated on the stair of the Anzac Memorial, none coming close enough to see the deep stain of her hands, or the patch on her face hidden by an unnecessary dust-catcher. She watched them on their way to commemorate a different war, and occasionally glanced at a worn paperback while fielding a stream of text messages. As midday approached, the flow of people tapered off, but by that time the northern half of the park and surrounds were a solid mass, even spilling across the dividing street into the southern park. The mood was celebratory. It was a day to mark a return to some semblance of normalcy, to gather at the point of invasion, no longer a gaping hole leaking toxic dust, or the churned scar which had plugged it, but a park once again, with a functioning train station beneath. To proclaim relief, sorrow, triumph, and a move forward. The dust-catchers silently, unavoidably, underlined that there was no going back.

The white noise of chatter died away to echoing speeches. Then applause, more speeches, more applause. Finally, inevitably, a united chant which thousands of voices turned into a roar, thunder.

"All for one! All For One! ALL FOR ONE!"

By two o’clock the park had nearly emptied, thousands streaming over to The Domain, where food stalls and a sound stage had been set up for an afternoon concert. Music thumped. The performance was in full swing when a curvy young woman wearing a white dress and blue headband crossed into the southern half of Hyde Park, followed the length of the reflecting pool, and climbed the Memorial stair.

"Not sketching?"

"Not stupid."

"I guess it would be a bit of a giveaway."

They hugged, and as ever Madeleine was immediately warmed. It was if a year’s separation had never happened.

"How was the ceremony?"

"Blah blah blah, then a few thousand people in tears. Ready to go down?"

Madeleine glanced at the time on her phone and nodded.

"I should have grown some sense and skipped out too," Noi said, as they headed north. "I’m so jetlagged I can’t think straight."

"Do you want to put off dinner? Change it to tomorrow?"

"Hell no. I’ll nap for an hour or two while everyone’s gabbing, then I’ll be good to go. Besides, I’ve been dying to meet Millie’s girlfriend. What’s she like?"

"Zoe? Clever, a bit of a joker. Tries to be cool, but absolutely hero-worships Millie. Wait till you see them in their uniforms."

"A potential portrait?"

"Maybe. I’ve done a few studies." She caught Noi’s frown and smiled through the veil. "I think the police thing is working out. Millie’s breezing through the training, and she’s so happy even her parents are starting to accept."

"Mm. I still regret talking her into calling them. All that fuss and drama."

They’d been in Mumbai at the time, six months after the fall of the Spires, and the Wrights' discovery their daughter was still alive had led to a stream of accusations and demands. Though it gave Madeleine a headache just to remember, she thought that it had worked out better for Emily in the long run. Her parents so clearly adored her.

"How’s casting going?"

"All the major roles are set. The rest we’ll work through next week, which should be fun and a half. At least now Tyler’s signed Nash can go back to being himself, instead of the Walking Tower of Stress."

Madeleine laughed. "Why was he stressing? Tyler really wants to play Milady." Reshaping the villainess of The Three Musketeers into a loyalty-torn heroine had produced a particularly juicy role, and Tyler was far from the only Big Name who’d been keen to win it.

"Oh, just a small matter of Undying Devotion. Besides, TBM is not exactly a major-league production company, even with Saashi on board."

They crossed Park Street speculating on the chances of Nash winning Tyler, which at least had shifted into the realms of possibility now he was twenty-one instead of sixteen.

"Do you think you’ll finally settle for a while?"

"Hey, you’ve gadded about almost as much as we have – is there a city you two haven’t studied in? But, yeah, we’re thinking of basing TBM in Sydney even after the film’s done. I’m going to have to slow down anyway." She touched her stomach, and nodded at Madeleine’s questioning glance. "Not a hundred per cent planned, but we’d been talking about it. We both like the idea of a big family."

Delighted, Madeleine paused to hug Noi again. "I’m not sure I should congratulate you though – TBM’s going to have it rough without you keeping everyone organised."

"I’ll be keeping my finger in the pie, don’t worry about that. Just not baking them for a crew of fifty for a while."

"So does this mean you’re going to schedule the wedding at long last?" Madeleine asked as they made their way through a mix of towering fig trees and recently-planted saplings.

"Yeah, time to make it official, and devastate Lee’s more rabid fans. I think I might ask Min to do the dress – he’s so wasted as our costume department."

"Wasted as in still loving every minute while pretending the world annoys him?"

"That about covers it. Be warned, I’m ready and able to rope you in to paint the backdrops again, if and when we move to another stage production."

"Good. I learned a lot last time."

The prolonged stay in India had been due to a combination of circumstance and choice. Attempting to leave Sydney, they’d been co-opted by the Australian Army, which at least had solved transport problems. Particularly when they’d decided on Tokyo as the next stop after Melbourne, joining the effort to weed out the most powerful of the Moth clans. From there they’d been shuttled to Mumbai, just in time for the local forces to declare victory. With most cities well on the same path, they’d been able to cut loose from the military so Nash could meet up with Saashi. But that had effectively stranded the Musketeers, since civilian air travel wasn’t exactly happening. They’d turned the situation into a hands-on apprenticeship in film-making, as Nash’s powerhouse sister put them all to work helping her document some of the thousands of stories of the invasion. The combination of interviews and mini-play dramatisations had won Saashi a great deal of notice, and kept the company which had been her parents' ticking along while the world tried to sort out if it had an economy.

TBM – The Blue Musketeer Production Company – had evolved from this experience, and Nash, Pan, Min and Noi had worked steadily toward gaining the reputation and knowledge to film The Blue Musketeers to the standard it deserved. Of course, it helped immensely that the Musketeers were world-famous, and even more that Saashi had agreed to direct and provide experienced crew members.

"Do you think they regret asking you to submit a design?" Noi asked, as they emerged from the screening trees and stopped, gazing up at the replacement for the Archibald Fountain.

"Maybe. I did sometimes, during the fuss. But there were a lot of other submissions, and they decided by public vote."

"Beautiful and terrible," Noi murmured. "I can almost look at it without cringing."

The statue rose twenty metres, a graceful curve of white shot with central veins of blue clustered into a semblance of a human figure. The base was suspended in a clear block, giving it some necessary stability, and beneath was a patterned non-slip grid to drain the water which fell in a single sheet from the outstretched, kite-like wings. On hot days children would be able to play in the near-mist of the fall.

"He liked water," Madeleine said.

They walked on in silence, ignoring the small scatter of people who recognised Noi and looked closely at her companion. In the mist, tiny rainbows were visible, shimmering in the fine liquid sheet.

Arms slid around Madeleine’s waist, warm and familiar, and Fisher rested his forehead wearily on her shoulder. "What mad impulse made me agree to be a speaker?"

Madeleine leaned back, knowing perfectly well he’d done it to make it easier for her to refuse. "When are they bringing them?" she asked instead.

"Just after dawn."

"What’s this?" Noi asked. "Bringing who? Oh, wait – do you mean the Goat Island crowd? Seriously?"

"It seems to be important to them." Fisher tightened his arms briefly, then shifted to Madeleine’s side, catching hold of her hand. "And kept absolutely quiet for obvious reasons."

In Australia twenty-seven Moths had survived a choice to surrender. After interminable debate the Government had recognised Pan’s offer of amnesty and collected them all on Goat Island. Not every country followed suit – some were still struggling to form a stable enough government to make a ruling – but there were still several hundred En-Mott around the world. And, of course, endless rumours that this or that prominent Blue was really an undiscovered Moth.

Fisher didn’t work directly with the team which had spent years creating a way to communicate with the remaining Moths, but occasionally he was drawn into issues surrounding them, just as he had been all through the months immediately following the fall of the Spires. The En-Mott would ask for him, because Théoden had become as much a hero to them as he was to the Blues he’d saved. Every time, the discussions gave Fisher nightmares, and he would seek Madeleine out and start talking – about art, about whatever he was studying at the moment, or the latest book he’d read. Talking until the knots relaxed, and the tension flowed out of him.

A shout summoned attention, and it was time to greet long-absent friends, be introduced to new, and ignore the people taking photos of the rare sight of the original Blue Musketeers all in one place. After the initial excitement had eased, Madeleine broke away from the crowd and drifted with Fisher to a simple plaque set in the paving right on the edge of the mist.

His profile as he gazed at the curve of blue and white above took all her attention, and she was immediately distracted into planning a canvas. "Will you sit for another portrait?"

The expression he wore when he looked down at her became another that she urgently wanted to capture, stealing her breath with its intensity. "Do you remember what I said the first time you asked me that?"

"I’m not likely to forget." He’d said Always, voice shaking, and kissed her immediately afterward.

"It meant you’d started seeing me. You asked that question and I –" He paused, glancing at the audience behind them, and offered her a faint, wry smile. "For you to see me, ME, was everything."

"Now I feel bad because I was simply glad that I’d finally figured out how to paint you."

His smile became sardonic. "By that point I’d noticed you draw a great many people, but only seem to urgently want to paint those who matter to you."

She’d not thought of it that way, but it was true enough, making another similarity between them, since he spared time from his studies only for people he considered important. There had been times, even after Tokyo, when she’d struggled not to give in to divided feelings, but she’d never regretted choosing to go to Melbourne. And had been rewarded by a slow return of the total confidence she’d felt when she first held her hand out to a boy more complicated than anyone guessed.

"I wonder if Noi and Lee would be interested in a double wedding?" she asked, standing beneath mist and rainbows.

Fisher’s hand tightened on hers. "Are you proposing to me?"

"I think I must be." The dust-catcher was a mercy, her face surely crimson. "I can’t imagine ever not wanting to paint you."

Fisher gave her his response silently and completely, turning to take her free hand, every line of him shouting joy as the mist-fine fall drifted around him. She was glad this had happened here, the place where it had begun and ended, and wasn’t even annoyed by the faint awareness of camera shutters whirring. The Musketeers had helped her along by maintaining to a very interested world that "Fisher and Maddie got together in Tokyo", but she wasn’t ashamed of what she’d felt for Théoden. He had given her many gifts, and it felt right to share this with him.

Keeping a firm clasp of Fisher’s hands, she looked up at rainbows, then down at the stone plaque they stood before.

"Théoden," it read.

Beneath the name, three words:

ONE FOR ALL