The Seventh Kit (a Narnia fanfic) - Chapter 1, The Riverbus

Mr Tumnus grinned as he waved his hand over his head at Lucy, Queen Lucy. It had seemed only yesterday that he was stumbling into her outside his old home in the woods. She was a young woman now, of seventeen. In her fine hunting gear, perched on her faithful horse, Ralio, she was a picture of elegance and strength. She was everything he'd known she'd grow up to be. She was alone on the embankment. The other three Pevensie children - the other three monarchs of Narnia - had decided to remain at home as he set out on his voyage home for the summer. He would be back in a few weeks - he was only going to lend a babysitting hand to Mr Beaver while he and Mrs Beaver welcomed their seventh kit into the world - so his departure had not seemed monumental enough to merit a state visit.

"I'll be back before you know it, Miss Lucy!" Mr Tumnus called.

"Take your time, Mr Tumnus. You work hard," Lucy assured him with a smile. She cupped her hands around her mouth to project her voice over to the middle of the river, where he was leaning against the railing of a water-bus's prow.

"Glad to know I'll be missed!" Mr Tumnus chuckled, "Goodbye for now, Miss Lucy."

"Goodbye, Mr Tumnus." She shook her hand beside her head in an energetic wave, using the hand to flap some straggly, windswept hair out of her face.

Mr Tumnus ambled inside the cabin of the bus. The walls were lined with glass windows like a train and the frames were of a shiny oak that looked sturdy. They extended into the ceilings, where they merged into a convex ceiling with ruts that resembled the keels of a boat. At each window a table circular table was gently nudging at the wall just below the sill, with a few orange-cushioned benches scattered around each one. There were dozens of passengers - the boat's capacity was eighty. Some were the children of Adam and Eve - or 'humans', as Lucy had referred to her race as. Others were fauns, like himself, a few dwarves, some elves and even a centaur crammed along the the length of one of the benches. The noise of their conversations swarmed around Mr Tumnus' ears and the humidity threatened to snow him under, like the days of the White Witch.

Mr Tumnus shook his head to expel these thoughts and took a seat on one of the benches across from a middle-aged couple that he'd just seen wave farewell to their daughter. They appeared to be humans but there was an odd horn protruding from the back of the man's left hand and one on the woman's right. The man's hair was greying and his face was pinkish, which Mr Tumnus suspected was related to his rather obtuse plumpness. The woman was slightly slimmer and still had shoulder-length vibrant blonde hair.

"That was the Queen, right?" the man asked with a hint of excitement, "I'm Ollen, by the way, but you can call me Olly. This is my wife, Ciler."

"I'm Tumnus," Mr Tumnus had forgotten what it sounded like without the 'Mr' before his name, "And yes, that was her Majesty."

"Well, if you're Mr Tumnus, of course it was Queen Lucy!" Ollen burst, "You're the royal adviser. You're her best friend!"

Mr Tumnus felt himself beam with pride and shrugged with as much modesty as he could muster. "Yes, I suppose you're right. So where are the two of you going?"

Ciler smiled wickedly at Ollen. She said, "We're going on a sort of, second honeymoon."

Ollen slid an arm around his wife and added, "Yeah, time to rekindle our romance. And you? Where are you heading a week before the Summer Solstice Festival, if you don't mind me asking, sir?"

Mr Tumnus waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you can drop the 'sir'. My name isn't even 'Mr' Tumnus. Lucy just calls - Queen Lucy just calls me that. She's very respectful for a member of royalty. Anyway, I'm going to visit my friend from back on the Narnian outskirts, Mr Beaver. Mrs Beaver is about to give birth to her seventh kit. Guess how many older siblings she has."

Mr Tumnus leant back and grinned. Ollen's and Ciler's eyes lit with a question and Mr Tumnus nodded in conformation. Six. Mrs Beaver had six older siblings. This new kit would in fact be the seventh kit of a seventh kit.

"I take it you've heard of the special powers this kit is said to be graced with?" Mr Tumnus asked, although the awed looks on their faces answered his question louder than any words.

"I've heard seventh young of a seventh young can have incredible tracking powers," Ollen whispered, "depending on the species."

"And that they grow in mental age at quadruple the age of any other young," Ciler added, "And of course the psionic - they can read your thoughts, move things with their minds and move instantaneously across thousands of miles."

Mr Tumnus nodded eagerly but inside, he was shrugging with indifference. He'd heard all the rumours, of course. Seventh young of seventh young were fabled to have a variety of powers. There was evidence of the advanced maturity and the tracking powers but many had also been rumoured. He had once heard a murmuring - roughly when the Beavers had first conceived - that some could shrink to the size of a pea and wriggle through the tiniest gaps in anything.

"Where exactly do the Beavers live?" Ollen asked inquisitively. He had leaned forward and seemed to be dangling off of Mr Tumnus' every word.

"Just a little south-east of the lamp post that marks the edge of Narnia," Mr Tumnus replied, wondering what he could possibly be saying that was so interesting.

Ollen seemed satisfied with the answer and began to tell Mr Tumnus of all the wonderful sights that could be found in Glasswater Creek, which was the location of their second honeymoon. Mr Tumnus leant back into the backrest of the bench and sank into Ollen's words of crystal views and glittering light on the water's surface. By the time his companions departed for their transfer and Mr Tumnus was left alone for a nap, he had formed a picturesque mirage of the Creek in his mind. He let his senses smell the crisp air and hear the wind hurtle through his ears and drifted into a flitting sleep of semi-consciousness.