“Buddy, I don’t know who your wife is.”
Tom squinted at the spy. “I know you can deny being a cop if you’re undercover. Listen, if you are building a case against my wife, I’ve got her on film. I have all of her visitors on video. And you may want to tell your buddies in narcotics that they might be doing meth in there. It’s sex and drugs. The more charges the better.”
The spy stared at him.
“I’ll testify, I’ll wear a wire.”
“Sir, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m fighting for custody here. Throw me a bone.”
Officer Marais chose this moment to pull up behind the spy in his cruiser. The spy took off and Tom proceeded to tell Marais his tale of woe. Marais listened to him for about five minutes and informed him that who his wife chose to let into her home and how that affected her rights to custody was a matter for family court. If he suspected drug use, he was welcome to file a report online. Tom moved on and after a while Marais did too.
At six p.m. I served the dinner Orro had prepped and texted Sean to see if he was okay. He texted back OMW and nothing else.
I tried to read, then I tried to watch TV, then I walked back and forth through the inn, and by the time his car pulled into the driveway, I had worried myself into being a basket case.
I watched the three of them get out of the car. Everyone still had the right number of appendages. They were fine. Of course they were fine. I’d worried for nothing. I met them as they entered the front room. Sean’s face radiated controlled fury.
Uh oh.
Sean pointed down the hall. The humanizer illusion collapsed and Orro took off at an alarming speed. Qoros patted Sean’s shoulder and went to his rooms. Sean collapsed into a chair.
“So, how did it go?” I was almost afraid to ask.
Sean made a fart noise.
“Did Qoros make a scene at the Alamo?”
Sean shook his head.
“You’re killing me. What is it? What happened?”
He passed a tiny data card to me. I tossed at the nearest wall. It swallowed it and a huge screen appeared, playing a recording. Sean, Qoros, and Orro sat in chairs. The angle of the recording suggested a camera hovering high above them from the side. Sean must have launched a surveillance unit. It was about the size of a walnut and it was programed to hide, a fly on the proverbial wall.
The show started. I had no idea how they even managed to get in on such short notice.
On stage Garry Keys chopped vegetables like his life depended on it, lecturing about the benefits of organic produce and purple carrots. The show was filmed in spurts, allowing for commercial breaks. At times a stagehand stopped Garry to tell him something or to adjust something in the shot. Orro fidgeted in his seat, leaning forward, fascinated, making chopping motions with his hands. The sight of Sean bookended by two giant, somewhat freaky-looking humans was slightly comical.
Garry Keys finished sautéing his vegetables, placed the duck in the oven, and a commercial break was called. An assistant blotted Garry’s forehead. Another assistant took the raw duck out of the oven and replaced it with a perfectly roasted bird. Garry waived at him. The assistant brought the cooked duck over. Garry examined it critically and made a comment. The assistant produced a bottle of soy sauce and a brush. He strategically painted the bird, darkening the skin. Garry examined it again, gave it two thumbs up, and it went back into the oven. Meanwhile, another assistant replaced the pot with vegetables.
Orro stared at the stage. The humanizer did its best to mimic emotions, but I couldn’t tell what Orro was feeling. He looked like a deer in headlights.
The break ended and taping resumed. Garry made a great show of pulling the duck out of the oven. “And here we are. Would you look at that? Fire and lightning!”
A stagehand held up a cue card with “Applause” on it. The studio audience oohed and clapped enthusiastically.
Orro surged to his feet and roared, “You are a fraud!”
Oh my God.
Sean grabbed him, trying to pull him back into his seat, but Orro threw him off.
“You are no chef! That poultry is a lie!”
Garry spun around, looking for the offender, saw an outraged giant, and started backing up.
“You dare!” Orro sputtered, jabbing his shovel hand in Garry’s direction.
Security converged on the row, moving in.
“You’re not fit to cook dog food, you vile pretender!” Orro roared.
Sean smashed his hand against Orro’s temple, too high to do any real damage if Orro was a human, but right where a Quillonian’s left ear would be. Orro crumpled. Qoros heaved him over his shoulder like Orro weighed nothing. Sean took off, the Medamoth right behind him. Sean and the security team collided at the end of the row. There was a scuffle, legs and arms flew as bodies were knocked to the ground, and Sean and Qoros fled the studio, carrying Orro like a sack of potatoes. The camera streaked after them and the feed ended.
I rubbed my face. “Did they call the cops?”
“No,” Sean said. “I was very careful. I just tripped a couple of them. Nobody was hurt.”
Except Orro.
“Did you talk to him?”
“We tried. He won’t respond. He didn’t say a word on the ride back.”
“I’ll go talk to him.”
Sean nodded. “You were right. It was a bad idea.”
“You did the best you could. And … it might be for the best. I keep telling him not to trust everything on TV and he never listens. Did Qoros get what he wanted, at least?”
Sean nodded. “He wanted to know how to prevent a war with the Hope-Crushing Horde.”
“What did you tell him?”
Sean sighed. “The truth. They will fight their enemy to the bitter end, but they will give the shirt off their back to their friend. The only way to avoid a war with the Otrokars is to earn their friendship.”
I walked down the hallway, past the atrium filled with Orro’s prized herbs, to a green door. I knocked. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” a dull voice answered.
I opened the door and entered the room. Orro’s suite was made by him. He showed me what he wanted, and I reproduced it as faithfully as I could. It was the room of a sentient creature, but it felt like the cozy den of some small animal. The rooms had no sharp angles. The soft eggshell walls met the floor and the ceiling with a curve, as if the space had been hollowed out of a log or dug out of forest soil. The doorways were arched, the large window slightly misshapen, neither a circle nor a square. African violets in cute pots lived on the windowsill. The furniture was large, plush, and curved. A huge TV took up most of one wall, and bookshelves filled with books, scrolls, tablets, and other media in a dozen galactic languages, lined the other.
In the middle of all of this Orro curled on the blue rug, a sagging heap of quills. I couldn’t even see his head.
I sat next to him and patted his back.
“He was a fraud,” Orro whispered.
“I’m so sorry.”
“He lied.”
“Maybe. He probably is a good chef, and his recipes are sound. But it’s a TV show. It’s made to entertain. It would have taken him at least two and a half hours to roast that duck.”
“He should have done it. Instead he brought a duck he didn’t cook and tried to pass it off as his own. He painted it with soy sauce.”
“I’m so sorry. Why do you think he did that?”
Orro bit off his words. “So it would look better.”
“Exactly. It’s TV. It can’t convey to you how things smell or how they taste. It can only show you how good they look. It has to be entertaining. Not many people would sit there and watch him roast a duck for two hours.”
“I would.”
He was heartbroken and I didn’t know what to do.
“You didn’t go there to be entertained. You went there for the food, because you are a great chef, Orro.”
“Do you want m
e to pack?” he asked softly.
“Why would you have to pack?”
“I broke my word. I dishonored my combat friends. I made a scene.”
I hugged him. Quills poked me. “No, I don’t want you to pack. You’re my friend, Orro. You’re always welcome here. This is your home for as long as you want it.”
He sniffled.
“Besides, you’re a great chef. All the other inns envy me. Where else would I find a chef this amazing?”
He sniffled again. “I’m a better chef than Garry Keys.”
“That was never in doubt.”
8
Early the next morning, I knocked on the frame of Adira’s window. She stood with her back to me, reading a long scroll, but the sound hadn’t startled her. She turned slowly, smiled at me, and said, “Come in.”
I moved the glass and walked in. Adira looked at the plain grey robe in my hands.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Have you ever been to Baha-char?”
Adira frowned. “No.”
“Then I propose that you and I go shopping, and then go have brunch at Baha-char.”
Adira looked at me, looked at the robe, and then looked at me again. “What kind of shopping is available at Baha-char?”
“Every kind.”
Adira took the robe and called out, “Imur, if Zedas asks, I am resting and am not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, my liege,” A female voice answered from the main bedroom.
Adira pulled the robe on and followed me out the window. We slid to the first floor, went inside, down the hallway, and to a door.
“What’s in the satchel?” Adira nodded at a large tattered bag on my shoulder.
“I have to run an errand to help a friend. It won’t take long.”
“Will the inn be alright without you?”
“My boyfriend will take care of it. He’s installing extra weapons for your meeting.”
Adira smiled as if I had said something amusing.
The door swung open and sunshine flooded the hallway.
“What is this?” Adira asked.
“Come with me and find out.”
We walked the sunlit streets of Baha-char under the purple sky, while the broken planet rose slowly above us. We gawked at strange creatures, ducked into little shops, and bargained with the shop keepers. I took her to the Fiber Row, where all things thread, fabric, and yarn were sold. She walked into a store the size of Wal-Mart filled with skeins of yarn in every color and didn’t leave for two hours. She bought yarn, or rather I bought it for her and she promised to reimburse me. I bought a short sword for Sean at a small stall a few streets over. It seemed very old, made of a strange dark blue metal, but razor sharp.
Afterward, tired, we sat at a small café, guarding the big sack of yarn and my sword with our legs, while a waitress with four arms brought us tall drinks filled with green liquid and bubbles. The bubbles would break free and burst with a loud pop, making the air smell like persimmons.
Somewhere between the first table of yarn and my sword purchase, Adira turned human. She smiled, and talked, and there was life in her face.
“What made you want to invite me?” she asked, sipping her drink.
“You seemed sad.”
“I was sad.”
“You can open a portal to Baha-char from your system,” I told her. “Baha-char is much easier to reach than Earth, and I know that other Dryhten visit it for trade. You can come here whenever you want.” I reached into my satchel and pulled out a small wooden amulet, a branch of striated wood braided into a circle. I handed it to her. “The entrance for Gertrude Hunt is in the alley by the Saurian merchant. He sells underwater lights. It’s the only shop of its kind at Baha-char. If you go down the alley to its end with this amulet in hand, Gertrude Hunt will let me know. You can visit whenever you want.”
“It’s a shortcut?”
“Yes, it is.” I smiled at her. “You promised Zedas that you wouldn’t open a portal to Earth. You didn’t say anything about Baha-char. He is an Akeraat. He will appreciate your cleverness.”
“Thank you.” Adira slipped the amulet into her robe. Her face turned grave. “Tonight, my uncle comes.”
“We will be ready. I’ll make sure you will have privacy.”
Adira’s expression turned sharper. “I don’t want privacy.”
“You don’t?” I thought this was a family matter and an awkward one at that.
“I want to meet him outside. I want everyone to see it, so every word is witnessed. I’ll be making a statement.”
“Very well.” I’d planned to make a special room, but I could move it outside, behind the inn.
“When the time comes,” Adira said, “I don’t want you to worry about my safety. Concentrate on protecting the inn and the other guests instead.”
“You don’t want me to interfere.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to you. I regret involving you in this. I hope your power will be enough to contain what is to come.”
“And that doesn’t sound ominous, not at all.” I sipped my drink.
“Dina, it can’t all be sunshine, shopping trips, and bubbly drinks.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice if it was?”
We left the café and walked down a winding street to a large restaurant. A line of beings stretched out the door. I approached the creature by the door, a big beefy beast with a ferocious face and fangs as big as fingers.
“I have a parcel for Chef Adri.”
The beast glared at me. “Chef Adri doesn’t cook here.”
“I didn’t say he did.”
I opened my satchel and took out a clear plastic container. Inside the container, secured by tiny prongs, sat a lemon muffin. A folded piece of paper waited next to the muffin. I handed it to the door beast, and we left.
“I had fun,” Adira said when we reached the alley. “Is there anything I can do for you in return?”
“It’s not necessary,” I told her. “I didn’t do it for a favor. I did it because it made me happy.”
Rudolph Peterson arrived at four thirty. He exited the car, flanked by two bodyguards in suits, and attempted to make his way up the driveway. He got two feet in before I turned the air toxic. After the three of them got done coughing their lungs out, they retreated to the car to wait.
I visited the koo-ko, informed them that the debate had to stop until the end of Adira’s meeting, relayed Adira’s request, and bribed them with an extra hour to finish their debate and a giant TV screen so they could watch the meeting. I created a gallery on the back wall of the inn, an armored room shielded by three feet of clear crystasteel, and invited Caldenia, Orro, and Qoros into it. When I left it, Caldenia and Qoros were chatting like old friends and complimenting Orro on the hors d'oeuvres he’d whipped up.
Sean had gone to the war room. My original plan was to join him there, but Adira asked me to sit with her. I had the absurd feeling that a duel was coming, and I would be her second.
I moved a table and three chairs out of storage and set them a hundred feet from the kitchen door. Gertrude Hunt had been spreading its roots, claiming the land I’d purchased, and my power extended over the three acres directly behind the inn. I hoped it would be enough.
At four fifty my cell phone rang. Mr. Rodriguez, Tony’s father. I answered.
“I called to wish you good luck,” he told me.
“How did you know?”
“She’s broadcasting it.”
What? “How?”
“I don’t know. But it’s on the main screen across every inn.”
I groaned.
“Do your best,” Mr. Rodriguez said.
“You don’t understand.” The nervous doubt that had been curling inside me broke free. “Ever since I came back from the death of the seed, there is this distance between me and the inn. It’s like the inn is holding back.”
“Dina, you have no time. Listen to me, I don’t kno
w what you’re feeling, but the inns are like dogs. They give themselves completely. They don’t know how to hold back. You will do fine. You have my full confidence.”
He hung up.
He was right. The inns didn’t know how to hold back.
It was me.
The Drífen were coming down the staircase. I had only three minutes to spare.
I closed my eyes and opened my soul. The doubt, the guilt, the fear, I let it go, and Gertrude Hunt’s magic flooded into me, clean and strong. The past already happened; the future was now. I was an innkeeper, this was my inn, and everything and everyone within it was in my care.
I opened my eyes, folded space, and let the Drífen exit onto the back lawn.
The five retainers took positions on the back porch. Adira walked to the table alone and sat. She still wore her old cloak. Still ordinary.
I walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside in my robe. Rudolph Peterson saw me and charged up the driveway. He was halfway to the door before he realized his bodyguards hadn’t made it. He glanced over his shoulder at two men suddenly confronted with a wall of boiling hot air.
“Just you,” I told him.
He waved them off and they got back into the car.
I led him around the back, through the gate in the fence, to the table. He sat across from Adira. I took the chair between them.
There was a pitcher of iced tea on the table and three glasses. Adira drank from hers. Her uncle grabbed the pitcher and poured himself a glass.
An electric tension vibrated through me, not really nervousness, but anticipation. Something was going to happen.
“You look good,” Rudolph said. “You look like your mother.”
Adira drank some more of her tea.
“I tried to help her. I really did, but you know how she was.”
“My mother died five years ago. She suffered for a long time. I was there when she called you for help and you said no.”
Rudolph ‘s hands curled into fists. “I asked her for a simple thing. Just one thing, the only favor I ever asked. I would have given her everything for that.”
“Did you summon me here to alleviate your guilt?” Adira asked. “I can do no more than my mother could to grant your wish.”
Sweep with Me (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 5) Page 9
