“Cool,” Sean said.
I threw him a warning glance. “We are honored.”
“You are blessed, for she has chosen this humble inn for her visit to this realm. I’m here to show you the inner sights of her lodge so she may be comfortable in her time of hardship. Look well, innkeeper, for your eyes will see a sight not witnessed by one of your kind in hundreds of years.”
Zedas spun the staff and drew it in a wide circle. A ripple followed it as if the air had become liquid. The space between us shimmered and a holographic projection of startling clarity appeared in the sitting room. A throne room with a raised dais supported a crude throne chipped out of soft, translucent white stone saturated with veins of crimson, so dense in places, they had turned it blood red. The carving was so primitive, it looked almost prehistoric. I would have guessed a very high-quality chicken blood jade, but that stone’s red color came from cinnabar. Cinnabar darkened to brown with exposure to light. The ancient throne sat bathed in the light from the window, and the veins were vivid and bright.
Everything else around the throne spoke of artisan craftsmanship and restrained opulence. The floor resembled a river, with alternating ribbons of malachite and onyx the color of warm honey flowing from the dais toward the walls. Wooden columns, square and elaborately carved, rose from the floor. The wood was unstained but heavily patterned, reminiscent of acacia sealed with a clear coat of resin. The walls matched the columns, interrupted by ornate stone reliefs, delicate metal screens depicting strange birds and animals with jeweled eyes, and paintings almost ethereal in their simplicity.
The view moved, as the carrier of the camera walked through a tall doorway to an outside balcony that wrapped all the way around the building under a protruding roof. Here the floor was polished grey stone, bordered by a matching stone balustrade. Stone columns supported a high eave. Beyond the balcony was an ocean of air. Far below, small mountains rose, cushioned with trees that from this height resembled emerald green moss. A huge bird soared on the air currents, a hybrid of an eagle and a condor, its plumage a dark shade of sapphire. It looked large enough to carry off a human.
The projection vanished.
“I trust this is sufficient,” the herald said.
So many little details that had to be perfect. No two panels or columns matched, and the patterns were meticulous. This would be a ton of work, and we didn’t get to see a bedroom either. For all we knew, they slept in nests.
“It is,” I said. “How many beings will accompany your liege?”
“Myself and four others.”
Crap. I had to make extra rooms. “What are the dietary preferences of your mistress?”
“She prefers vegetables and fruit, cooked lightly or not at all, cold-water fish cooked well, and red meat served rare. For her first meal, she has a special request. There are no equivalent words in our language, and my mouth is old and set in its ways, so I cannot shape the sounds. I have brought this small one to speak it for me.”
He nodded at the furry thing. It shrunk back, but Zedas looked at it. The furry creature stepped forward, clutching its hands into a single fist. The pinkie finger on its left hand was missing, the stump ragged, as if it had been sawed off. It caught me looking and curled its hands into fists.
“Go on,” Zedas said.
The furry beast opened its mouth and a clear voice that should have belonged to some cute Muppet issued forth. “A double Grand Burger with cheese, large fries, and a Coke.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
“Was the pronunciation satisfactory?” Zedas asked.
“It was,” I managed.
Zedas motioned with his hand. The furry beast scampered forward and held out a scrap of paper to me with trembling hands.
“Thank you.” I took the paper. On it written in ink in beautiful calligraphy were the words “Rudolph Peterson” along with a sequence of numbers that had to belong to a US phone.
The little creature dashed back and hid behind Zedas, clutching the cloak and holding the fabric like a shield between itself and us. He ignored it.
“My mistress is gracing your inn with her presence and is willing to endure the adversity of travel so she can meet this person. He has requested this meeting and in her infinite grace, she condescended to grant it. You will inform this person tomorrow that his presence is required here on the last day of the Treaty Stay, 5:00 p.m., and you will provide my mistress with a secure location for this meeting. Should he be late, she will not wait for him. Should he be early, she will not see him before the appointed time.” Zedas looked at the beast again. “Time for your second message.”
The creature lowered the cloak so only its face was visible, looking at us with huge freaked out eyes. Clear English words spilled out. “Rudolph Peterson is an evil man and he’s not to be trusted.”
“Did you understand?” Zedas asked.
“We understand perfectly,” Sean said.
“Then my mission here is complete,” Zedas announced. “I shall return with my mistress in one day and night cycle. Prepare well, innkeeper.”
I watched the herald and the small creature disappear at the edge of the inn’s boundary. One moment they were there and the next they simply vanished.
“Interesting,” Caldenia raised her cup to her lips and sipped her tea. “That was an Akeraat, my dear. An old one, too.”
She’d pronounced all three a’s the way u was pronounced in cup. I rummaged through my memory and came up with a blank. “I’m not familiar with that one.”
“They are very rare. They occupy a single planet on the proximal end of the galaxy’s central bar. The place looks like a ball of crumpled paper—mountains and valleys with narrow seas in between. Predictably, the geography nudged their culture toward the formation of numerous city-states that exist in continuous conflict.”
“No larger countries?” Sean asked.
“No. Sometimes several cities are conquered and bound into a single realm, but it doesn’t last. Their resources are relatively equally distributed, and they don’t trust each other. Akeraats plot. It’s their national pastime, sport, and merit competition. They spy on each other, form alliances then stab their allies in the back, poison rival leaders and their own, and engineer the rise and fall of dynasties.” Caldenia smiled like a shark. “They are great fun.”
I shuddered.
“They’re very sought out as counselors and advisors, but they’re extremely reluctant to leave their planet. Luring one away is a huge boon.” Caldenia lowered her eyelashes. “Naturally, I had one.”
“What happened?” Sean asked.
“He was marvelous until the rebels assassinated him.”
Of course.
Sean was looking at his phone. His face told me that he didn’t like what he saw.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“Rudolph Peterson. He has his own Wikipedia entry.”
“What does it say?”
“’Rudolph Peterson is the chairman and chief executive officer of the Peterson group, a diversified holding company with assets in oil, shipping, real estate development, and private equity.’ Wikipedia puts his worth between 50 and 100 million.”
“So a Drífan liege is coming here to meet a multi-millionaire who is an evil man and is not to be trusted and she wants a quarter pounder for dinner.” I exhaled, blowing the air out slowly.
“That sums it up.” Sean looked at me. “How secure are you in the real world, Dina?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you own the land the inn sits on?”
“I own the land and the twenty-three acres behind it. Everything behind the inn is mine.”
“Is it a mortgage?”
“No, Sean. The original six-acre parcel was an Assembly grant. It’s ironclad. I bought the eight acres directly behind us after Caldenia moved in, and the other nine acres, to the side and behind the inn after the peace summit. I own it outright; there is no mortgage.”
“Good.” His face didn’t seem any brighter. “I’m going to call Marais.”
He walked outside.
I drummed my fingers on the armrest of the chair. “The little creature spoke English like an American. Specifically, like a Southern American. Burgeh. Trahsted.”
“So you feel his liege also speaks that way.” Caldenia frowned. “How could an American end up as a Drífan liege?”
“I don’t know.” There were so many facets to this puzzle.
“What is this Grand Burger?” Orro demanded from the doorway.
I almost jumped. He’d been so quiet, I forgot he was there.
“It’s a hamburger from Burger Feast, a fast-food chain,” Sean told him, coming back inside. That was fast. He must’ve gotten voicemail.
“I have seen it on your TV. Bring it to me and I will make it.”
I sighed. “Orro, if this person comes from Earth, from our country, the Grand Burger likely has a sentimental value to her. She will want the entire experience, the burger, the fries, the Coke. It’s a cheap meal, unworthy of your talent. It’s best to just buy it for her.”
Orro drew himself to his full height. “You want to bring outside food into my kitchen?”
Oh no.
“Am I not a Red Cleaver chef?”
And here we go.
“Have I not cooked delicacies from a thousand planets?”
His quills stood straight up. He raised his right hand, his talons spread wide, appealing to heavens. “Am I not a master of my craft?”
He paused, glaring at me.
“Of course you are,” I said, trying to keep my voice soothing. This would end in disaster.
“Then you will bring this Grand Burger to me and I shall make it. You will taste it and you will weep, for it will be the best Grand Burger to ever grace a human mouth.”
He spun around dramatically and stalked off into the kitchen.
“We should get him a cape,” Sean said.