by Sean Easley
“Blizok lokotok, da ne ukusish,” Sev says ruefully. “We are barely holding our own. It would be easier to bite our own elbows than plan another party on top of all this.”
“That’s it! We’ve already planned one,” I say, realizing what she’s suggesting. “Or, you have. The birthday party y’all set up for Cass and me in the garden. It’s perfect. The Kinder Garden is brand new, the topiaries are freshly clipped. . . . It’ll be as if we expected them to arrive when they did. We will give them all a grand Hotel Between welcome.” This might actually work.
Rahki smiles, bolstering my resolve. “Let’s make it happen!”
18
A Grand Hotel Welcome
A couple of hours and a none-too-happy Chef Silva later, the ambassadors are gathered in the Kinder Garden, snacking on a buffet spread of treats like sweet alfajores and savory ceviche, appreciating the perfectly shaped topiaries all decorated with streamers and balloons. Everyone’s laughing and drinking in honor of Admiral Dare’s binding day celebration, which is now just over twenty-four hours away. There’s still the actual gala to look forward to, but those preparations are set. The hard part is over.
“You’ve done well, considering,” the MC says, walking up behind me. It’s not like her to offer a compliment.
“They’re here early,” I say.
“But they are here.” She gives me that rare, knotted smile of hers. “I wasn’t sure you’d accomplish that. It seems they might even be having a good time.”
“I still don’t know how we’ll entertain them before the gala tomorrow. What if they get upset and leave?”
The MC snorts. “Agapios may promise ‘the vacation of their dreams,’ but I think that’s a load of hogwash. What those ambassadors really need is a good kick in the pants to get their heads on straight. They will get what they need.”
I flash her a confused glance.
“Don’t give me that look, boy.” She waves a hand at the crowd admiring the animal-shaped bushes scattered around the garden. “They all say they want to do right by our mission, but here they are drinking cocktails and talking about sports instead. Stripe is out there, and he’s got something planned. Whatever his scheme, it will result in more loss for us all.” She pulls a deep breath. “I suppose it’s our fault for wrapping the mission in trinkets and travel and happy feelings.”
I’m shocked. The MC never shares her personal feelings about the mission, or the Hotel, aside from declaring her unwavering trust and faith in what we’re doing. This doesn’t sound like trust, though. It sounds like she’s bothered by the way the Hotel operates.
“Mr. Nagalla said something about ‘the Château,’ ” I say, recognizing an opportunity to ask her a question that’s been bothering me. “He said he knew the truth about it. What did he mean?”
She closes her eyes, takes a breath. “The Château was my House, just as the Hotel belongs to the Old Man.”
“You had one of the great Houses?”
The MC nods. “It was stolen from me. My greatest defeat.” She scans the crowd as if searching for threats. “I lacked diligence, and our enemies took advantage of that. After it happened, Agapios gave me a home here, and allowed me to continue to pursue the mission in my own way.”
The Maid Service. The way she runs them must be a remnant of how she ran the Château before it was taken, and this must be too why the Fleet Marines saluted her like they did. She was more than just an ambassador, and whatever rank she once held within the Embassy before must have remained when she lost the Château and joined the Hotel. Did all of the members-in-permanent once have Houses like this one?
“I will honor my contract with the Hotel so long as it stands,” she says. “After all it has done for me, that’s all I can do. Ever the Hotel’s servant. That is what I require of the maids, and what I will hold to, myself. I only hope that one day this House will claim the power it was meant to have.” She straightens her jacket. “I guess you have this handled, so I will take my leave. Happy birthday, Mr. Cameron.”
With that, she exits through the nearest pergola—an arch formed by tree roots that have grown up out of the ground—leaving me to wonder if maybe one day she and I might actually get along.
Almost as soon as she’s gone, Admiral Dare enters through the same floral archway, dressed in a gossamer dress with gold accents. At once, she’s surrounded by ambassadors congratulating her on reaching her four hundredth binding day.
When she sees me, she motions to the balloons and mouths, “Thank you.”
All those blank pages and scribbles in the Ledger—all I can see about her is stuff everyone else already knows. What is she hiding? Is it the Nightvine, or something more? When we first met, she asked about an agent of Stripe’s hiding in the Hotel, but what if she was trying to throw me off? What if—
“Aren’t you going to go say hello?” Sana asks, standing under a giraffe-shaped bush with Sev, who’s picking at the table of hors d’oeuvres. Sana motions toward the admiral. “Or are you just going to lurk?”
“All these people are here to celebrate her,” I say, motioning to the admiral. “She should hang out with them, not me.”
“You’re the host,” Sana adds. “This is what you’re supposed to do, when you’re not too busy doing everyone else’s jobs.”
“You think you’re not important enough to speak with her?” Sev prods, munching on chocolate-stuffed dates as a cat squeezes between his legs and disappears under the table. Sev groans and rolls his eyes, but the presence of cats in the Hotel is starting to become a given ever since Nico’s cat prank.
“It’s not that I’m not important enough,” I reply. But what is it, then? I’d much rather do my job from the sidelines, especially when I mess everything up all the time. But isn’t it my job to keep everyone else from botching things up too? “Everyone’s telling me I did a good job, but it’s not true. Y’all arranged this party, not me. The only thing I did was send out faulty invitations.”
“We prepared this together,” Sev says. “As for the invitations, you said that wasn’t you, so maybe it was Nico. Your blood-brother tends to add chaos to almost everything recently. Besides, it is your birthday! Nothing can be your fault.”
I relax, but just a little. “Thanks, Sev.”
“It is what I am here for. Once we get this evening sorted, I will give you your gift. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Sana motions to the crowd. “You should address your guests. Give them that grand Hotel welcome you promised, yeah?”
“Maybe.” That’s what a good concierge would do, and it’s what the Hotel probably expects. But addressing the Embassy is still Agapios’s role, for now. Which raises the question: Where is he? Maybe this is like the appointment with Admiral Dare, where he expects me to take care of things on my own.
I straighten my suit jacket and steel my nerves. “Wish me luck.”
Sev claps me on the back. “Ni puha, ni pera.”
“What does that one mean?”
He pauses. “I think it roughly translates to . . . ‘No fluff, no feathers’?”
Sev, King of Obscure Idioms. “Ni pooka to you too.”
The hot sun warms my jacket, and if I wasn’t already sweating, I am now. I step up onto the raised stone platform at the center of the garden—my Chucks squeaking on the polished marble—and grab the small wooden microphone. I lick my palm and wrap my fingers around the grip as the crowd takes their seats in the arranged white metal chairs. Everyone stills as my voice is transmitted through the wooden barrels spaced around the garden.
“Ambassadors, guests, and friends,” I say as the shuffling of the sitting guests dies down. “I’m very . . . uh . . . happy, to welcome you to The Hotel Between.” All those eyes, looking at me, judging me. But I’ve got this under control. The Hotel chose me. I can prove that I’m worthy, that I belong.
Admiral Dare smiles at me, and somehow that makes me more uncomfortable. Mr. Stripe smiled like that . . . encouraging me
to trust that he had my best interests at heart, when really he only cared about his own.
“Thank you all for coming. We’ve got some great events planned for the next couple of days in honor of Admiral Dare’s four hundredth binding day.”
As I scan the crowd, my gaze is drawn to one person in particular. At least, I think it’s a person. My eyes can’t quite focus.
My lungs freeze when the image shifts into clarity. It’s him. Nico, standing right in the middle of all these people, a midnight-blue flower pinned to the lapel of his pin-striped suit. He looks straight at me. I cock my head in confusion, and he does the same—just like in the mirror at the Arkade.
Then I blink, and he’s gone. I search the faces in the crowd, but I can’t find him. No one else seemed to notice the boy standing in their midst, who popped out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly.
Sev clears his throat to drag my attention back to the ambassadors, who are all watching me with confused stares. A woman in a colorful wrap coughs.
“It’s been a . . . challenging day for us, but it’s been a challenging year, too.” Breathe, Cam. Breathe. “The Competition is on the defensive for the first time in ages, so that’s good. But having the Competition on the run doesn’t make our mission any less urgent. If anything, we—”
“Oi!” a girl shouts from one of the root-grown arches at the back of the garden. “Everyone stay still, and no one gets hurt!”
Bee. Nico’s Hopper groupie saunters forward, tweed vest over her white button-down, a flat cap over her braids. She’s not alone either. A dozen other kids stand in the arches at north, south, east, and west, their arms folded.
Some of the ambassadors jump to their feet, sending white plastic chairs toppling onto the grass. Everyone can tell that this is not what we had planned.
One of the ambassadors takes a step into the aisle between the rows to face the intruders. It’s the ambassador with the puppy—Mr. Siripopungul. The pudgy man settles into a stance, ready for a fight.
Bee casually pulls a long, pointed sliver from her belt. “You’ll want to stay right where you are, mister, or you might end up on an unexpected safari.”
The other Hoppers follow her lead, each readying their own slivers. We took all the ambassadors’ weapons when they came to the Hotel—one of Cass’s suggestions, if I remember correctly. If Mr. Siripopungul fights, it’ll be fists versus slivers, and my money’s not on his fists.
He must realize that too, because he stands down.
Rahki and Sev appear beside me on the dais. “That girl,” Rahki snarls, unholstering her duster.
“What happened to those new security measures?” I ask.
“Most weren’t supposed to be implemented until tomorrow. We didn’t expect they would attack before the gala.”
Now all the chaos of the past few hours makes sense. Nico wanted to catch us off guard. The time has come for his grand scheme to unfurl.
“What should we do?” Sev asks.
“Nothing yet,” I say. “One wrong move, and they’ll start scattering ambassadors all over the world with those slivers.” Where’s the Maid Commander when you need her?
The admiral meets my gaze. There’s a question in that look. Is she offering to help? I shake my head. Too risky, and I’m not sure I trust her yet. We’ll just have to see how this plays out.
Near the back, a Kenyan ambassador bolts for an arch on the edge of the garden.
Bee dashes to intercept him and jabs the man with the tip of her sliver just as he reaches the pergola. The ambassador crumples into the tip like a wadded sheet of paper and vanishes with a muffled cry.
A gasp whispers through the crowd.
“This particular sliver is bound to a glacier I visited a while back,” Bee says, addressing the group as if she’s talking to children. “The glacier is about seventy miles from the nearest paved road. Anyone else want to do a little exploring? Maybe two or more will weather the cold better together than that poor bloke will alone.”
“We need help,” I whisper to Rahki. “Do you have a way to call the maids?”
Rahki shakes her head, and motions to the pergola arches that connect the garden to the Hotel. “They can’t get in anyway. The Hoppers took over the bindings on all the arches. We’re cut off.”
She’s right. The arch behind Bee should show the Pyramid Foyer on the other side, but instead it’s a sunny, blue sky. They . . . reshaped the doors, just like Artificer Djhut taught us.
“Ayyyy!” Bee says, noticing Rahki and me on the stage. “Ain’t seen you in a while. How are you going?”
She marches toward the dais, and shoos Rahki and Sev away as she steps up in front of me. When Rahki hesitates, Bee raises her sliver and gives it a playful wiggle between her fingers.
“Don’t kick the hive, missy.” Bee motions to her Hoppers. “I don’t think you can handle this.”
“I can certainly handle you,” Rahki shoots back. “Missy.”
Bee cocks her head. “But can they?” She waves at the men and women around us. “Why don’t you have a seat and let the grown-ups talk.”
Rahki purses her lips, but eventually backs off and steps down from the platform.
“Kinda funny meeting again like this, ain’t it?” Bee says, turning to me. “Last time we were on the same side.”
“I guess that was my mistake,” I say.
“No hard feelings. It’s just business.” She gestures for the mic. “I’ll take that, thank you.”
I reluctantly hand it over.
“Allow me to introduce ourselves,” she says, voice projecting through the barrels. “We’re the Hoppers, and we’re here to collect our Hotel tax, if you don’t mind. Or even if you do. We don’t judge.”
The scattered Hoppers aim their slivers at nearby guests.
“I’m the busy Bee, by the way.” She performs an awkward curtsy. “My associates and I would appreciate it if you would go ahead and take your valuables out of your pockets, wallets, et cetera, et cetera, so that we can relieve you of them with as little fuss as possible.”
“What are you doing?” I expected some kind of grand scheme, not . . . this. I thought Nico was above petty thievery.
“What’s it look like, boy-o? You said it. I’m a thief. Thieves steal. So here I am. Thieving.” She raises the microphone. “Go ahead and remove all those pretty jewels from your necks, too. Oh, and pocketbooks—can’t forget the pocketbooks.”
“You can’t steal from us,” one of the ambassadors shouts. “Don’t you realize who we are?”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are. A room full of money.”
“This isn’t the way to get what you want, Bee,” I say. “Did Nico put you up to this?”
Before she can answer, another one of the ambassadors makes a dash for the nearest pergola, but the closest Hopper slivers her before she can reach it. I wince at the scream as she vanishes.
“I’d say that no one else should try stepping up like that,” Bee crows, “but I do love a good game of Whac-A-Mole.”
The audience shifts anxiously as they hand over their necklaces, watches, earrings, and phones to the Hoppers, who shove each item unceremoniously into their bottomless pocks. I could try to get Bee’s sliver away from her. If I can manage to sliver her, we might be able to reclaim control. But using slivers is absolutely forbidden for Hotel staff. I’d lose my position quicker than you can say “Have a nice stay.”
Bee hops down from the dais and heads straight for Admiral Dare.
“You know why I’m here, Fleet-lady?” Bee asks.
The admiral pulls the chain from her neck, revealing the key I saw aboard the Roanoke. The ornate key sparkles like a perfectly cut emerald in the sunlight.
“It seems you found what you were looking for,” the admiral says to Bee, just loudly enough for me to hear as she hands the key over. “I hope it helps you in your search.”
“I’ll take that.” Bee snatches the key and tips her hat. “Pleasure to make your acquaint
ance. And a happy binding day to you, as well.”
Why would the admiral give up her key so easily? That key is one of a kind.
Bee turns back to me. “We do what we gotta do, Mr. Cam. Nico did warn you,” she says, and gives a wink. “Your donation is much appreciated. Hoppers, grab what you can and let’s go!”
They exit through the arches with a resounding crack.
19
Garden Variety Disaster
Stillness hangs over the garden like a pin ready to snap. The ambassadors stand like statues scattered across the lawn. Rahki and Sev, even Orban—they’re all blank-faced and slack-jawed, staring . . .
. . . at me.
I’ve failed them. Just when I thought I might be able to pull this whole gala thing off, it goes up in flames. Nico was playing me. All those times I defended him, chose to believe that all these problems were nothing more than petty pranks, and it turns out he really is our enemy. And this . . . this was his declaration of war.
“The arches!” someone yells.
The ambassadors back away from the pergola exits.
“Cam!” Rahki shouts.
“I see it!” The flowers. The black-tipped buds in the lattices over the pergolas are blooming, sprouting shriveled midnight-blue blossoms. The tree roots that frame the arches are growing too, crawling across the grounds, toward the partygoers.
But they’re not roots, are they? Roots don’t flower like that. Something else is growing up around the roots. Are they . . . vines?
A lady in a scarlet linen gown steps up onto her chair to get away from the tendrils working their way across the grass. The rest of the ambassadors scatter, but there’s nowhere for them to go—the garden is surrounded by a high hedgerow, a safety precaution to protect when we bring the mission kids here. Only now, those hedges have us trapped.
As the vines reach that wall of shrubs, they start grabbing at any ambassadors who come close. So much for making the Kinder Garden safer. Thank the binding that we moved the mission kids back to the Monastery before the party.
