The Hotel Between

by Sean Easley

“Ahhh.” Philippe’s tone changes. “So sorry. And your sister? Does she still have that . . . what was it?”

  “Spina bifida,” I offer.

  He snaps a finger. “That’s it! What a shame the Hotel couldn’t heal her. Reinhart was so shaken when he found out your sister would have to deal with that. Always hard when it’s someone close.” He glances back at the children. “But everyone’s got something hard, no?”

  “They do.” Rahki stares at me like I’m some kind of freak.

  I clench my jaw. How am I going to explain all this to Rahki? I want to drill Philippe more, to find out what he knows, but I can’t. Who knows what Rahki’s relaying back to the Maid Commander via that magic pad? And now she’s got my name.

  “On to business, then?” Philippe pulls a toothpick from his teeth and points to the kids. “Today’s crop got pulled from the conflicts. They’ll need some time before placement.”

  “I’ll let the MC know,” Rahki says.

  “Good, good.” Philippe waves his arms at the children and they all stand, except for the boy with the missing leg, who won’t stop looking at me. “Goodbye, children.”

  Rahki gives Philippe a goodbye wave as she lines the kids up. “Hope you find your destination.”

  “Aye.” Philippe lets out a booming laugh, and points at me. “You watch that one. If he’s anything like his father, he’s gonna be trouble.”

  I can’t get out of Philippe’s hut fast enough. My feet pound the wet earth, fists balled, the weight in my chest growing every second.

  Trouble? Trouble? I’ll show him trouble. If he had anything to do with Mom and Dad . . .

  I stop my pacing and close my eyes. All I know for sure is that Philippe knew them. Knew Dad, specifically. That doesn’t mean he’s the reason I grew up without any parents.

  Ugh. I want to go back in there and ask so many questions. Maybe he knows something that can help me. And he asked about the Greenhouse. Did Dad have something to do with its disappearance? Does Philippe know why? Everything’s just getting more and more complicated. My one goal is branching off into many.

  Rahki comes marching out of the hut, carrying the boy with the missing leg on her hip. The others trail behind her. Her eyes are bulging, nostrils flaring—she’s upset. Probably at me.

  “Hey,” I say, hoping to mitigate some of the damage.

  But she flashes a hand to stop me. “Not now, Mr. Kuhn,” she says, an edge to her voice. “We still have a job to do.”

  • • •

  The rest of the mission goes smoothly, though much too quietly. The elephants carry the little ones on their backs with us. The boy with the bandaged leg rides behind me, squeezing my torso and pressing his face against my back.

  Rahki keeps shooting me suspicious glances as she plays with the girls’ braided hair. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

  She binds a door in a hut on the edge of the forest, and knocks. Almost immediately Elizabeth opens up with a beaming smile and tons of questions before the MC and her maids show up. The MC takes the children to the Elevator Bank while two of the maids ride the stone elephants back the way we came, leaving just Rahki and myself in the African Lobby.

  Rahki rounds on me. Here it comes. “Kuhn?! Your name isn’t Jones? And your parents worked here?”

  “I didn’t know what to say when I came here. I never knew my parents.”

  She throws her hands up. “I’ve been trying to figure out who you are and why you had that coin, and all this time you were someone’s kid.”

  “You’ve been . . . what?”

  “The MC’s had me watching you—evaluating you to make sure you don’t pose a risk—and now it turns out you belonged here all along.” Her tone’s not at all what I expected. She sounds almost amused by it all.

  “So wait,” I say, “you’re not mad at me?”

  She shakes her head. “You’re Melissa’s son. I mean, yeah, it’s annoying that I’ve been keeping tabs on you for no good reason, but at least now we know. If you’d just told them, I’m sure Agapios and the MC would’ve been happy to have you here.” She pauses. “Wait till they find out who you really are.”

  My stomach clenches as she starts toward the curtain to the next lobby. She’s going to tell them what she knows. If they don’t already know, this could be the end of everything.

  “Don’t!” I say.

  Rahki stops at the threshold.

  I search for words that will keep her from telling the MC or Agapios anything else without causing her to reevaluate her trust in me. “Please . . . don’t tell them.”

  She cocks her head. “Why not?”

  I chew my lip. I want to trust her. If she only knew why I’m here, I’m sure she’d want to help. But Nico’s warning about her hangs between us like an ancient stone wall.

  “You didn’t tell the MC that Sev was hiding me outside his window that first night,” I say. “Just . . . do the same for me. Don’t tell anyone about this.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You are hiding something.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Fine,” she says. “But now you know.” She glances up at the cameras. “The Old Man and the Maid Commander are watching you. I’m watching you.”

  She leaves me with a sick feeling in my gut.

  • • •

  Days at the Hotel pass faster than I can count. It’s hard to gauge, since we jump time zones so much. The only way I can keep track is by my sleeps. Five so far, which means five to go before my trial period runs out.

  The nights keep getting more and more tiring with each passing dream, too. Hiking the Alps with supplies strapped to my back. Cutting through overgrown jungles with a machete. Hailing taxis with a two-fingered whistle in towering concrete jungles. And every time I end up back in the Elevator Shaft, staring into that blackness. It feels like I’m running missions and hopping doors twenty-four hours a day. And I still don’t understand how any of these memories will help me.

  Unless they’ve already given me the answer. Nico says he and Sev can’t promise when their distraction to get me onto the fourth floor will come . . . just that it will, soon, and I need to be ready when it does.

  I head to the mailroom after morning errands to send more postcards through the brass-and-glass vacuum chutes. Oma and Cass are probably so worried by now. These postcards might be making me feel better, but they’re probably just upsetting my grandma and sister more.

  Just like Dad did all those years ago, I leave the return address blank. I don’t even know what address I’d give. The Hotel Between, 1001 Everywhere Lane, Somewhere, World?

  I sign the card I bought in Rome this morning and send it through the chute with a whoosh before the mailroom guy points out that I have a message in my mailbox. I can’t believe it—mail? I reach into my cubby and pull out the loose letter.

  If you get this, swing by the Accommodation at the beginning of fourth shift. I want to talk to you.

  —Rahki

  Great. Rahki probably wants to grill me some more about my parents. That’s not even the worst part—she wants to meet aboard the Dining Ship. Ugh.

  All major Hotel meals prepared by Chef Silva’s kitchen crew are served aboard the Dining Ship Accommodation, a cruise ship somewhere near the Antarctic that the Hotel has repurposed as a banquet hall. I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible, because every time I go, I end up seasick. Man was not meant to go from land to water so often.

  I take one of the seasickness patches Elizabeth gave me and stick it behind my ear before heading to the elevators.

  When I step through the turner into the Accommodation, my equilibrium slips. The grand chandeliers sway back and forth, casting shadows across the banquet hall. The dark gray horizon tilts and bobs, up and down.

  The Accommodation is bustling with hosts and kitchen staff preparing for the next meal. L’Maitre—the prim and proper man who runs the dining services—eyes me as I enter. I may or may not have made a scene by blowing chunks all over the fruit b
uffet earlier this week.

  Rahki waves at me from the second level. I skirt past tall, statue-stiff L’Maitre, doing my best not to stare at the curls of his mustache, and climb the stairs.

  “I got your note,” I say, swallowing my breakfast back down as the ocean tries to shake it out of me.

  Rahki motions for me to have a seat as the ship shifts. The gold leaves and jeweled fruit on the enormous tree centerpieces sprouting from the tables shimmer.

  She pushes a bowl of smooth, round stones toward me. “Have you had Chef Silva’s sweet yet?”

  I shake my head. “His sweet what?”

  “It’s just called sweet.” She picks one of the stones out of the bowl and forces it into my hand. “He binds these little river stones to some he keeps in a vat in the kitchens. Changes the recipe every day, and since it’s basically a rock it never loses its flavor. Just don’t bite into it or try to swallow it.” She pops one into her mouth. “Mmm . . . cinnamon, with a hint of fried puff.”

  My stomach gurgles unhappily just thinking about sweets on this boat. “It looks like a choking hazard.”

  “Try it,” she insists. “They’re softer than they look.”

  I stick the small rock on my tongue, and recognize the flavor right away. “Oh wow, that’s sopapilla. We get them at the Tex-Mex restaurant back home all the time. I love these.” I pull the sweet out of my mouth and examine it. “That’s so weird.”

  “It’s good, right?” Rahki agrees. “Make sure you try it every day, so you don’t miss a flavor.”

  I set the candy aside. “So, you wanted to talk to me about flavored rocks?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you about the children.”

  Children? “You mean, like the kids we pick up on missions?”

  She nods. Finally, someone wants to give me answers! Though, if the staff are as deceived as Stripe says, I’m not sure I can believe everything she tells me. Maybe I can pick out the truth hidden beneath what she thinks she knows.

  Rahki puts her sweet on the table and cups her mug. “I was one of them, you know.”

  “You were one of the kids we pick up?”

  “In Syria,” she says. “I was the oldest from our group. That mission was longer and more dangerous than our recent trips. The Maid Commander kept us safe all the way to the Damascus Door. That was the first time I saw her fight—that sword she carries isn’t just for decoration. I helped out as much as I could, and when we got here she asked if I wanted to keep helping. I said yes.”

  I’m supposed to say something here, some encouragement maybe? Cass is so much better at this whole “people” thing. I’m struggling just to keep my breakfast down.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I say finally. “The Hotel shouldn’t take kids like that.”

  She looks me straight in the eye, and for a moment my sloshing brain stills. “You’re not hearing me, Cam. The Hotel saved me. I’m here because I want to be.”

  Perhaps I’m wrong about the Hotel.

  I bite my lip. I can see why Stripe told me not to get lured in by the Hotel’s sheen. I’m sure Rahki believes she’s doing something good by staying here, but there’s stuff she doesn’t know. That no one knows. Secrets. I’m certain Dad uncovered something, and once I figure out what it was, I’ll prove it to her. She’ll help us. I know she will.

  “That’s not the only reason I asked you here,” she says. “I wanted to discuss what happened yesterday, too.”

  I put a hand to my head, trying to focus. “Okay, listen, that wasn’t—”

  She stops me. “You don’t want to tell me why you’re here. Fine. I can let that slide for now. But I did some digging.”

  “Digging?”

  “Found some stuff in the Maid Service files. Did you know your mom and dad were both working here when the Greenhouse disappeared?”

  “Is that important?”

  She gives me a very big nod. “Oh yeah. Your dad disappeared and your mom died on the same night, right here in the Hotel. The night the Greenhouse was taken.”

  Rahki passes me a leather-bound folio with the tree symbol on the front. I scan the yellowed pages. Logs, notes, photographs of locations they went to in their search for Dad . . .

  This is what led to Dad leaving us with Oma. Something terrible happened here in the Hotel, and Mom died. Was it him or someone else who took the Greenhouse? Maybe he’s still searching for it? Or is he keeping it out of the Hotel’s hands?

  I flip the page and land on a picture of Mom. I keep seeing her in my dreams, but it’s different looking at her now, in the Maid Commander’s files.

  I’ve never thought about Mom in the same way I did about Dad. She died when we were so young; I never had the chance to even consider looking for her. Oma said it was better to accept that she passed and move on. Passed. As if she decided she didn’t want the green beans. Life? Nah, I’ll pass. But Mom didn’t “pass.” She was taken from us too.

  “The Maid Service allocated a lot of resources to finding your dad after he vanished,” Rahki continues. “The MC thought your dad knew what happened to the Greenhouse, and how to get it back.”

  I turn the page to find a picture of Dad working in a sunny garden. His gloves and face are dirty, but he’s smiling as brightly as Philippe was. “So they don’t know what happened to him after she . . . ?”

  “I don’t think so. But they definitely know who you are.” Rahki reaches across and flips to a page near the back, clean and white and newer than the rest, marked with the name “Cameron Kuhn.”

  I snatch the picture from the folio. “That’s me.” My scraggly hair, my awkward school-photo smile. A sticky note next to my face has the words “What does he know?” written in curling script.

  The bobbing of the ocean presses in again, making me want to vomit.

  “The Old Man is . . . interested in you,” Rahki says. “He and the MC are—”

  She looks like she’s going to say more—and I want her to, desperately—but before she can, a porter bursts through the turners, red-faced and sweating.

  “Maid Commander’s calling all hands!” he shouts. “Everyone to the Mezz. It’s a pin-failure!”

  “Great,” says one of the caterers stocking the buffet. “Another drill.”

  “This is not a drill!” the boy yells.

  This is it. Nico and Sev’s distraction. I have to get to the elevators and down to the Concierge Retreat to take that topscrew.

  But Rahki grabs my arm. “Do you have a pin?”

  “What?”

  “A pin! Do you have a hinge-pin?”

  I slide the pin Sev gave me out of its special sleeve on my shirt.

  “Good,” she says. “We’ve got to get ahead of this.”

  She drags me up from my seat and through the turners.

  15

  Failure in the Pins

  In the event of a failed hinge-pin, Hotel staff must evacuate all guests to the Mezzanine. Locate your nearest map-board and follow the instructions.

  Rahki’s fast. Too fast for me to keep up. Then again, she knows all the things I don’t, like why we’re running in the first place, and why this pin-failure is such a big deal.

  I have to get away to get that topscrew, but Rahki keeps urging me onward. I don’t know how long Nico and Sev’s distraction will last, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t break away soon I’m going to miss my chance.

  She rounds the next corner and I slow, hoping she’ll forget I was following so I can return to the business of figuring out what happened to my family.

  Ten seconds. Fifteen. This could work. Now I’ll just head to the elevators and—

  “Cam!” She comes back around the corner, huffing. “What are you doing? We’ve got to get to the Mezz.”

  “Go without me. I’ll just slow you down.” Please, oh please don’t let her see the guilt written all over my face.

  She grabs my arm and drags me down a spiral staircase. “We need every pin we’ve got.”

  Ugh! This isn�
��t working. She’s not going to let me out of her sight.

  I shout, pretending to trip on the stairs. “Ah! My foot!”

  But Rahki sees through my excuses. She hoists her duster in one hand, and fans the gloved fingers of the other. “Get up, or I’m going to bind your foot to your forehead.”

  She drags me to my feet and through the door.

  The open-air Mezzanine never goes dark. At least, that’s what Nico said when he first showed it to me. The Mezz grounds form a donut about the size of two football fields between the Elevator Bank that makes up the outer ring and the Courtyard, which serves as the hole in the donut. Ornate fountains and landscaped river features wind through carpeted groves of potted trees and decorative boulders.

  But what always impresses me the most about the Mezz is the sun-windows. The rock cliffs that separate the Mezzanine from the outside world are topped with giant, wood-framed portals that hang at an angle over the grounds. Each is bound to a time zone that matches the Sundial Courtyard at the Mezz’s center, and provides a view of the sky from a different corner of the globe. Whenever one frame shows night, the open window across from it shines with daylight, creating a weird kind of perpetual twilight over the Mezz. Even now, though it’s nighttime in the sky overhead, more than half the frames shine like stadium lights across the carpeted floor.

  “Good,” Rahki says, “they’ve started.”

  Across the Mezz, staff frantically roll in tables and kiosks, transforming the grounds into a kind of check-in center. Elizabeth and the clerks stand at semicircular desks, speaking in hushed voices to calm the panicking guests. Off-duty porters direct the crowd pouring through the doors on all sides.

  And at the center of it all stands Agapios—the man who’s “interested” in me. Tall, bony shoulders, skeletal fingers pointing this way and that, his croaking accent calling out orders. Whatever the distraction is, it worked. The Old Man’s out of his office. Now I just have to get down to his Retreat before this whole thing turns into a WWTD list entry.

  “Do you see the Maid Commander?” Rahki asks.

  I scan the grounds. Nico and some staffers I haven’t met yet direct guests out of the potted grove on the far side. Sana’s setting up a kiosk next to a waterfall that glistens with reflections of the sun- and star-lit skies overhead.