Four long tables stood in the main ballroom, arranged into a rough letter m: one table across for the Arbitrator, the heads of the delegations, and special guests which included Caldenia and Sophie, and three longwise, with about twenty-five feet of space between each to make sure nobody happened to trip and accidentally fall into a slaughter. We put the otrokari on the left, the Nuan Clan in the middle, and the Holy Anocracy on the right. I took a position to the left of the main table. I was starving, but food was out of the question. I had asked Orro to save me a plate, because this banquet would require my complete attention. The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife and serve it with honey for dessert.
The three delegations took their places, with the leaders arranged at the main table on both sides of George, who sat in the middle. One seat, next to Nuan Cee, remained empty. Cookie’s seat at the Merchants table was orphaned, too. Nuan Cee had sent him to wait in the field in the back for his guest. I still hadn’t found the emerald. With everything that happened, the search for the blur-thief had been pushed aside. I would get on that tonight.
George rose in the center of the main table. “I was going to make a long inspiring speech, but everyone is clearly hungry. I have visited the kitchen and the chef has outdone himself, and I have very little willpower left after all of these strenuous negotiations.. Thank you for being here. Let’s eat.”
Everyone applauded and stomped in approval. The tables sank into the floor and reappeared, bearing a variety of starters. Orro stepped through the doorway.
“First course,” he announced. “Spicy tuna tartare in a cone of miso encrusted bacon, spring vegetables in a cucumber wrap, and vine-ripened tomatoes with basil and mozzarella.”
He stepped back. I glanced at the table. He had twisted bacon into tiny cornucopias, the cucumber wraps looked like delicate blossoms filled with bright paper-thin slices of something red and green, and the vine ripe tomatoes were sliced into wedges, stuffed with basil and mozzarella and drizzled with something that smelled tangy and delicious. My mouth watered. The delegates fell on the delicate starters like starved wolves onto a lame deer. The food was disappearing at an alarming rate.
The magic tugged on me. Someone had just landed in the back field. Nuan Cee’s guest finally arrived. I reached out with my magic and sensed Cookie and him moving toward the house.
The tables sank down. We were going much faster than expected, but the guests were devouring the food. A moment passed and the dining tables reappeared, filled with more dishes.
“Pasta course,” Orro announced. “Agnolotti with fennel, goat cheese and orange.”
The fennel cost me an arm and a leg and so did the cheese, but Orro refused to compromise on the pasta course. It had to have fennel, it had to have the expensive cheese, and that was that. Well, at least if they filled up on pasta, it would make them full and happy and less prone to casual murder.
At the vampire table, the three new comers with Lord Beneger at the lead, had barely touched the food, wrapped in their hostility like it was a winter cloak. On the otrokari side, Dagorkun, a smaller female on his left, and a huge hulking mountain of an otrokari male on his right, were watching Beneger very carefully, keeping their food intake light.
There would be trouble. I could feel it.
I just had to keep them from attacking until the main course. Orro had made pan-seared chicken. I had no idea what he had done to it, but the smell alone stopped you in your tracks. I had happened to walk into the kitchen to check on things just before the banquet and I couldn’t recall ever having such intense reaction to the cooked chicken before in my entire life. Orro was a wizard. Finding the ingredients that didn’t set off digestive alarms in five different species would’ve driven me crazy. He not only managed that, but turned what he found into culinary masterpieces. Too bad he would leave after the summit. I would miss him and I wasn’t sure what I regretted loosing more, his great food or his dramatic pronouncements.
“Main course! Pan-seared chicken with golden potatoes.”
Beneger surrendered to his fate and attacked the chicken. At the far end of the table Caldenia put an entire drumstick in her mouth and pulled it out, the bones completely clean. Sophie, wearing a lovely seafoam gown, watched her in morbid fascination.
The smell was too much. If I didn’t get some of this chicken, it would be a crime.
Cookie and Nuan Cee’s guest reached the back door. I opened it for them and made sure they had a straight shot to the ballroom. At my feet Beast sat up. Apparently the new intruder smelled odd.
“Easy,” I murmured.
Beast wagged her tail.
Cookie appeared in the doorway and scampered in, adorably fluffy. The creature behind him was anything but. Seven feet tall, he wore armor, but not the rigid high-tech metal of the holy knights. No, this armor was made with maximum flexibility in mind. Obsidian black, it coated him, mirroring the muscles of his body, thickening slightly to reinforce the neck and shield the outside of the arms and the chest. At first glance it looked woven, like high-tech fabric, but when he moved, the light rippled on it, fracturing into thousands of tiny scales shimmering with green. It sheathed him completely, flowing seamlessly into clawed gauntlets on his huge hands and angling into semblance of boots on his feet. A charcoal-grey half-tabard half-robe draped the armor, embroidered with a rich green pattern. The tabard left his arms free, narrowed at the waist, where it was caught by a decorative cloth belt, and flowed down, split over his legs, so a single long piece hung down in front while the rest of the fabric obscured his sides and back, falling to above his ankles, its hem tattered and frayed. The tabard came with a hood that rested on the newcomer’s head. I looked into it.
He had no face.
Darkness filled the hood, an impenetrable, ink-black darkness that hovered there like a living thing. It was as if the creature himself had no muscle or bone, but was formed from jet-black cosmos and held together by his armor alone.
Everyone froze.
“Turan Adin,” Lord Robart whispered to my right.
A torturous moment of silence stretched.
“Of for the love of all holy,” Lord Beneger roared. “He is but one man! You sniveling cowards, I’ll do it myself!”
He leapt over the table, as if he weighed nothing. Turan Adin halted, waiting.
Oh no, I don’t think so. The walls of the inn erupted with its smooth roots.
“No!” George barked at me. “Let it happen!”
Damn it, I was getting sick of being yelled at in my own inn.
Beneger’s two knights charged after him. The huge vampire lord got there first. His blood axe whined, primed, and came down in a devastating blow, so fast, I barely saw it. Turan Adin sidestepped. It shouldn’t have been possible but somehow he dodged the axe that should’ve annihilated him and struck out with his right hand. His claws punched straight through the reinforced neck collar of Lord Beneger’s ornate armor. The vampire lord froze, all of his powerful kinetic momentum checked, broken on the slimmer form of Turan Adin like the rage of an ocean shattering on a wave breaker. A faint gurgle broke free of the huge vampire’s mouth. Turan Adin tore his hand free, a clump of Lord Beneger’s esophagus and flesh caught in his claws, opened his hand, and let the bloody chunk fall to the floor. The vampire lord took a step forward and collapsed onto the floor, face down. Blood spread on the mosaic image of Gertrude Hunt.
With a vicious roar, the two remaining vampires of House Meer fell onto Turan Adin. He danced between them, as if he were vapor. A short black blade appeared in his hand. He hammered it into the back of the left vampire’s head, right where the neck joined the skull, let go, spun around his victim to avoid the other knight’s blow, pulled the blade free as the injured vampire crumbled to his knees, and sank it into the remaining vampire’s left side, slicing through the armor between the ribs and up.
Ruah, the otrokari swordsman, jumped onto the table and dashed along it toward Turan Adin. Sophie sprinted across the floor towar
d him, her gown split apart on one side as the secret seam had come open. The swordsman saw her. His eyes narrowed. He changed the angle of his charge, running straight for her. His blade flashed with orange and Ruah shot past Sophie, his sword a blur, and halted five steps behind her. If Sophie had moved, I missed it.
Ruah took another step. The top half of him slid off and landed on the floor.
The banquet hall erupted as the vampires and otrokari charged at each other. The Nuan clansmen pulled out razor sharp daggers and formed a protective circle around the grandmother.
I tapped my broom to the floor.
Suddenly the grand ballroom was calm and quiet. Everyone who had managed to jump over their table and land had sunken into the floor up to their noses. Everyone who had been in mid-air was stuck to the wall, held there by inn’s roots. Only the leaders, Turan Adin, and Sophie remained standing.
“This is good,” I said. “I like this. Nice and quiet.” I turned to George. “Tell me no again and you will join them.”
It took me twenty minutes to sort the guests into their respective quarters and confine them there until everyone calmed down. That left me with leaders and corpses.
I turned to the Khanum first and pointed at Ruah’s pieces. “You’ve spat on my hospitality,” I said quietly. She could’ve ordered Ruah to stop and didn’t.
The Khanum’s face took on a dark red tint, as blood rushed to her skin.
“Under normal circumstances I would force you to leave this house, but I’m bound by my agreement with the Office of Arbitration.”
“Think of a boon,” the Khanum said. “We will atone.”
“I will,” I promised her and turned to Robart. “Are you satisfied?”
He drew back. “I didn’t…”
“You invited them here. They came like bandits, without their standard, without declaring the honor of their House. They came with one purpose: to do violence and cripple the negotiations beyond repair. You knew this and you did nothing to stop them.”
Robart winced.
“Now four people are dead. Elderly and children have been put in danger.”
Robart took a step back. I was so angry, my voice cut like a knife. I should’ve stopped – this was beyond the limit of my duties, but I was furious.
“Congratulations. You did it. You let House Meer pull your strings like a puppet. Now your people will keep dying on Nexus, while House Meer attacks House Krahr. Every vampire who is killed there, every spouse who weeps alone, every child who is robbed of their parent, all of that is on your soul. Enjoy.”
Robart opened his mouth.
“We will make amends,” Lady Isur promised.
I ignored her. I was going to let everyone have a piece of my mind. “Mr. Camarine.”
George snapped into a coldly regal stance. A few days ago I would’ve cared. Right now, not so much.
“People died in my inn because you stopped me. The reputation of Gertrude Hunt is irrevocably damaged.”
George opened his mouth.
“Guests are dead on the floor!” I snapped. “In my inn! Everything I worked for, everything I stand for, is ruined. No amount of money will make this right. My professional integrity is compromised. I allowed this to happen because you wanted to play games.”
George opened his mouth.
“Do not speak to me,” I told him. “You may be the Arbiter, but I am still the Innkeeper.”
I pivoted to the shaman and the Battle Chaplain. “You will conduct the rights to appease the spirits of the fallen and to shepherd their souls into the afterlife. Cleanse this main hall of the stain of their deaths. Then you will take the bodies of your dead. Bury them, set them on fire, deliver them to their families, do whatever it is that must be done. You have tonight.”
The shaman and the battle chaplain looked at each other.
“At the same time?” Odalon asked.
“Yes. No special provisions will be made. I’m done tiptoeing around your customs. I have honored your people’s wishes and they spat in my face. Deal with it.”
I turned to Turan Adin. “My apologies for the poor reception. Please follow me. I have quarters prepared for you.”
I led him out of the hall. My future was in shambles. It would be really difficult to come back from this disaster.
We passed the kitchen and through the doorway I saw Orro curled into a ball on the floor. Oh no.
I rushed into the kitchen and dropped by him. I couldn’t see head or feet. He was just a ball of spikes.
“Are you injured? Orro?”
No response.
“Orro?”
A muffled voice came from somewhere within the ball. “What is the point of my existence?”
Not wounded. At least not physically. I breathed a sigh of relief, sat on the floor, and gently patted the dark fur between his spikes. “Don’t talk like that.”
“This was to be my comeback.”
“It still is. That chicken smelled like nirvana. I never saw so many beings eat so fast. Caldenia was licking her fork. You even got sworn enemies to forget their revenge for a few moments.”
“I didn’t even get to the dessert. I had a whole cavalcade of desserts. I didn’t even serve the palate cleanser after the main course. I am a failure.” His voice quivered with real despair.
I glanced at Turan Adin. He waited by the wall, a silent shadow.
“No, you’re not. You’re the best chef I’ve ever met. Years from now nobody will remember that some people got killed, but they will remember that chicken.”
“You think so?” he asked softly.
“I know so. People push aside unpleasant memories and remember the good things. Your food makes people happy, Orro.” I held out my hand. “I need the gift now.”
The wall parted and spat a gift bag at me. I caught it and rustled the gold foil decorated with a bright red ribbon bow. Here is hoping the curiosity would get the better of him. I had bought this gift during my grocery trip and had the inn hide it. I planned to give it to him after the banquet.
“I bought these for you. They will help.”
“Nothing can help.”
I carefully plucked the tape holding the edges of the bag together. I had sealed it, hoping the contents would be a surprise. The tape came off on one side and I pried the edges of the bag open.
The sound of sniffing emanated from the ball. “What is that scent?”
“It’s a gift for you.” I held the bag up to him and waved it around, letting the smell drift. “Delicious fruit.”
“I don’t want it.”
“I bought it special for you. I’ve been through so much today already. You don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?”
The ball shifted and unrolled into Orro sitting on the floor. I handed him the gift bag. He looked at it cautiously, sniffed the gap between the bag’s edges, pulled it apart, and extracted one mango. The red and green fruit lay on his palm. He pricked the mango with his claw, peeled back a thin ribbon of the fruit’s skin, and licked the bright yellow inside.
His needles stood on end with a quiet rustling.
“What is this?” he whispered.
“Mangoes.” My father always said that mangoes with a Quillonian were a sure bet. I hadn’t realized how much of a sure bet.
Orro licked the fruit again, looked at it, and suddenly bit into it, shredding the yellow pulp. He’d wolfed down half a mango before he realized I was still there and froze, pieces of mango on his whiskers. “Don’t see me.”
“I won’t,” I promised. I reached out and gently patted his furry cheek. “You are the best chef in the Galaxy.”
He blinked.
I got up and left the kitchen, motioning to Turan Adin to follow.
I climbed the staircase, aware of Turan Adin walking silently behind me. His presence prickled the skin on my neck, as if he were woven together of high-voltage wires humming with live current. I had screwed up his room. It didn’t fit him at all.
“I apologize
for the delay,” I murmured.
“It’s fine.”
I almost jumped. His voice was low-pitched, more of a deep snarl than any kind of voice a human throat could make.
“I’m sorry I had to kill within your inn.”
“It’s fine.” Wait, what? It wasn’t fine. Why did I say that? “It’s been a long day for all of us. You must be tired. Our accommodations are probably more modest than what you have been used to.”
Oh yes, that was so subtle. Here, let me insult my own inn, because I can’t figure out any other way to get you to tell me your room preferences.
“I’m used to war,” he said quietly. “Anything you offer me is better than what I have now.”
Said in a different tone of voice it might have sounded like grandstanding or an attempt at sympathy, but coming from him it was a simple factual statement. I heard so much in those words: weariness, regret, grief, acceptance of inevitable violence, and an urgent need for distance. He was tired, bone-weary, and he wanted to be far away from the death he caused. The need to step away from it rolled off him. No innkeeper worth her salt would’ve missed it. He needed a retreat and I would make one for him. That’s why I was the Innkeeper..
He was definitely male. He was also Nuan Cee’s employee and a vital one, so he would be used to luxury, but more than that he wanted to be at peace. To be clean.
I feverishly moved things around in his room. We were almost to the door.
“Is the reputation of your inn irreparably damaged?” he asked.
“How much do you know of Earth’s inns?”
“I have been a guest before.”
“Then you know that our first priority is to keep the guests safe. I have allowed the Arbiter’s orders to direct my actions, because I believed that his goal was peace between these people. Now some guests are dead. I don’t trust him anymore and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
The door to his room swung open. I stepped aside.
Panels of rough fabric the color of beech wood sheathed the walls, framed by narrow polished wooden planks. The top of the wall was painted a soothing sage, the same color as the vaulted ceiling, with the kind of finish that put one in mind of parchment. A polished bamboo floor echoed the wooden accents on the walls, its boards the color of amber honey. A large platform bed stood against the left wall, simple and modern, yet retaining strong square lines. The bedspread was grey, the slew of pillows white edged with sage and gold. The fabric panels ended on both sides of the bed, letting the sage finish of the ceiling flow down to the floor, and an elaborate square Celtic knot, formed from varnished bamboo decorated the wall. Two bedside tables flanked the bed, simple rectangles of nine square drawers, stained nearly black, then distressed so the pale golden grain of acacia wood showed through. The door to a private balcony stood wide open, offering a hot tub and a view of the orchard.
Sweep in Peace Page 19