3
Ting. Ting.
A soft, insistent chime fought its way through my sleep. I was so warm and comfy. My pillow was soft, my blanket was like a cloud, and Sean’s strong hot arm was wrapped around my waist.
Ting. Ting.
Mmm. I scooted closer to Sean. So warm…
TING. TING.
I opened my eyes. A small screen hovered about four inches in front of my face. A small indicator blinked in the corner in pale green: 05:00. The back field, all dead grass and weeds; the sky still dark but beginning to lighten; the ripple in the fabric of existence hanging horizontally about three feet from the ground…
I jerked upright in the bed. Sean grabbed me, pulled me back, and vaulted over me to land on the carpet, a wicked green knife in his hand. He scanned the room, poised on his toes, keeping himself between me and the threat.
Wow.
“What is it?” Sean asked, his voice a low growl.
“The koo-ko!” I scrambled off the bed, sprinting for my robe hanging on a hook.
“They aren’t due until tonight.”
I pulled my robe on. “They’re fifteen hours early.”
Thirty seconds later, I tore out of the inn onto the back porch. Cold bit at my bare legs under the robe. I barely had time to pull the robe over my sleeping T-shirt. My nose was freezing. I wore small lavender crocs with fuzzy lining in them, which I used as house slippers, because that was all I could find on short notice. Next to me, Sean stood in his own copper robe.
The ripple had widened, pulsating, as if an invisible bobber was dancing on the air.
“Do you always sleep with a knife?” I murmured.
“Yes.”
Pointing out that he had nothing to fear inside Gertrude Hunt wouldn’t do any good. He knew it already. Another scar from Nexus. It would get better with time. At least I hoped it would.
A yellow light burst in the center of the ripple and a rotund feathered body popped up above it, as if shot out from an underground cannon. The koo-ko spread his russet wings, suspended for a fraction of a second, his big purple eyes opened wide, and landed on the ground with a squawk, his feathers erect, his leather apron slightly askew.
Sean swore.
Another koo-ko shot out, then another, and another, two at a time, as if a koo-ko geyser had sprouted in our backyard. The koo-ko sorted themselves into two roughly equal groups, those with mostly reddish and pink plumage and those with pale lavender and green. Finally, an older, almost completely white koo-ko popped free of the ripple and landed in front of the two groups. Two younger koo-ko’s, with turquoise feathers, flanked him on both sides. The left koo-ko handed him an elaborately carved cane. The right koo-ko held out a complex headdress of twisted metal wire, studded with gems, and plonked it on the elder’s head, buckling the chin strap in place.
The elder drew himself to his full height, which was about three feet, three and a half if you counted the hat, adjusted his headdress before it slid off his head, and strode toward us.
“Greetings, innkeeper. Greetings, tiercel.”
He must have used a term for a male in a military role, but his implant ended up mangling it. If Sean was surprised by being addressed as a male falcon, he didn’t show it.
I nodded. “Greetings, venerable First Scholar. We expected you this evening.”
The koo-ko elder cleared his throat. “Yes, well, ahem, we would have arrived this evening if certain boisterous members didn’t open a debate on the lack of virtue in those who arrive late.”
“If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late,” Sean said.
The elder pointed his wing at Sean. “Exactly! In this discussion of how early is early enough, nobody wanted to be later than their opponent, therefore when the debate reached its sixth hour, the discussion had to be cut short so everyone could transit before feathers started flying. I do apologize on behalf of my brethren. I trust our quarters are in order?”
Thank the galaxy that I had spent a good chunk of yesterday making their coops. “Of course they are. Follow me, please.”
I stepped through the door. The elder and his two assistants followed. The two groups of koo-ko lined up in two columns, two abreast, and tried to enter the inn simultaneously. The two columns bumped into each other. There was outraged glaring and mild shoving, followed by raised feathers. Neither group showed any inclination to let the other go first. Clearly, the zipper merging maneuver wasn’t their strong suit.
I widened the doorway. The koo-ko on the edges stumbled, suddenly unstuck, righted themselves, and marched forward, beaks in the air, ignoring each other. This would be a fun visit.
The inn scanned them as they went through the doorway. I put only one condition on hosting this debate: no weapons. No alarms blared. The koo-ko were clean.
I led them deeper into the inn, past the portrait of my missing parents. None of the koo-ko had any reaction to it. One day someone would recognize my mother and father, and then nothing would stop me from finding them.
We marched down the long hallway to a door. It swung open at my approach and we walked into a large, well-lit chamber. In the center, rows of benches faced each other, three on each side, arranged like bleachers with the furthest bench from the center being the highest. Between the benches lay an open space with a single podium. A large, throne-like chair faced the podium, edged by two smaller chairs, one for each of the elder’s assistants.
At the opposite ends of the chamber, two large koo-ko coops waited, raised off the ground the traditional five feet, with a bathroom section on the far end and two baths, one water, the other fine heated sand, in front. A thirty-foot-wide indoor channel filled with water separated each coop from the amphitheater, spanned by an arched bridge.
Like many sentient winged species, the koo-ko lost the power of flight when their brains and dexterity became more important. Wings didn’t help one manipulate tools or perform mathematical calculations. But the koo-ko could still glide and leap great distances. A typical leap for a koo-ko was about twenty feet and they hated swimming. The prospect of landing in the water would make even the most reckless koo-ko think twice.
I pointed my broom at a luxurious coop directly behind the amphitheater. “Your personal accommodations, First Scholar. The two bridges retract. The inn will listen only to you, and if you wish, you can withdraw the bridges as the need arises. Simply say ‘fold’ and you can keep the two groups separated. Say ‘unfold’ to extend the bridges again. Please try it now.”
The First Scholar cleared his throat and waved his right wing. “Fold.”
The bridges retracted.
“Unfold. Fold. Unfold. Very good.”
The elder surveyed the channels and coops. “They are exactly the same?”
“Identical.”
“Good, good, good. Separate but equal. Thank you, innkeeper.”
“Breakfast and all of your meals will be served here. We ask that you remain in this chamber at all times for your safety. We are expecting a Drífan liege.”
The elder whipped his head around to look at me and his headdress nearly fell. One of his assistants jumped up and slid it back into place.
“Understood,” the elder said. “I shall keep my flock contained.”
“Should you need anything, call my name and the inn will put you in contact with me. I’m called Dina.”
“Very well, Dina. I’m called…well, it’s really too long. Please call me First Scholar Thek.” He raised his voice. “Come, students of thought. Let us find our comfort.”
The koo-kos streamed around me, heading straight for the amphitheater.
I bowed my head and escaped.
From the hallway, Sean watched me beat a strategic retreat. The door slid shut behind me and I leaned against the hallway wall.
“Got them settled?”
“Sort of. We won’t know if the coops are adequate until this evening.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“It will take them that long to debate who takes which identical coop.” I started down the hallway. There was no sleeping now. I’d get a strong cup of tea and work on the Drífan palace quarters.
“When do you want to call the evil millionaire?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s an east coast number. Around ten?”
“I want to be there.”
“Okay,” I promised and kissed him.
The first batch of ten Grand Burgers arrived at 6:15 a.m., as soon as we could get them. Unlike most fast-food chains that delayed burger grills until 10:00 a.m. or so because they served breakfast items, Burger Feast would give you a hamburger any time, day or night.
Orro had studied the collection of burgers the way a hunter studied prey. His long sensitive nose had twitched. He’d unwrapped one, moving his scary claws with surgical precision to peel off the trademark orange and purple wrapper, raised the burger to his eye level, evaluated the meat, took off the bun, looked at the patty smothered in the special sauce, put the bun back on, and finally took a bite.
Silence.
Orro chewed.
More silence.
He’d turned around and spat the burger into the garbage disposal. “She wants this?”
“Apparently.”
“This isn’t food. This is a crime against the art of cooking.”
It was 9:50 a.m. now, and Orro had produced his seventh burger, the first he deemed good enough for me to try. It rested on a plate now, waiting for my verdict.
I took a bite. Oh my galaxy.
Orro hovered over me. “Well?”
“Mmmhghpph.” I swallowed. “It’s the best hamburger I’ve ever had.”
“But does it taste like the Grand Burger?”
“No. It tastes better.”
He snatched the hamburger back.
“Orro!”
The hamburger hurtled through the room into the garbage bin. I almost cried.
“I do not understand how they achieve this unnatural texture,” he murmured. “Or why anyone would eat it.”
“It’s a fast, cheap meal. It tastes delicious when you’re hungry.”
“Callowinian spider squids also taste delicious when one is hungry, but that doesn’t mean one should bring oneself to cook them.”