Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (10 page)

“No single ingredient is the star of that dish,” Orro said. “It is a whole. I could cook it in a dozen ways, altering amounts of ingredients and spices and creating new variations. How is the stock made? What vintage is the wine? A second year cooking student can make this dish and it would be edible. The very complexity of its preparations makes the recipe flexible. Now consider the humble egg. It is possibly the oldest food known throughout the Universe. The egg is just an egg. Cook it too long, it becomes hard. Cook it too little and it turns into a jellied mess. Break the yolk because of your carelessness and the dish is ruined. Gouge the gentle skin as you peel the shell and no culinary expertise can repair it. The egg allows no room for error. That’s where true mastery shines.”

Jack slipped into the kitchen and walked out onto the porch. “There is a police car parked in the subdivision two houses over. The male cop inside is watching the inn.”

I sighed. “That would be Officer Marais.” Like clockwork.

“Should we be concerned?” George said.

“Officer Marais and I have a history.”

All people had magic. Most of them didn’t know how to use it, because they never tried, but magic still found ways to seep through. For Officer Marais it manifested as intuition. Every gut feeling he had was telling him that there was something not quite right with me and Gertrude Hunt. He couldn’t prove it, but it nagged at him all the same. Officer Marais was both conscientious and hardworking, and tonight a hyper hunch had warned him that something “not quite right” was about to happen, so he must’ve driven to the Avalon subdivision and settled down to watch the inn.

“He has an over-developed sense of intuition,” I explained. “That’s why I’ve made sure everyone knows to enter through the orchard. As long as he doesn’t see anything, we’ll be fine.”

“Did you confirm with the delegates?” George asked.

Jack nodded. “Otrokar at seven, the Merchants at seven thirty, and vampires at eight. I heard something interesting from the home office. They say we’re in for some rough waters with vampires.”

George raised one eyebrow. “House Vorga.”

Jack sighed. “This thing when you know things before I tell them to you is really annoying.”

“So you’ve told me.” George turned to me. “The delegation includes knights from every House immediately engaged in combat on Nexus. There are three major Houses and two minor. All major Houses initially were receptive to the peace talks; however, in the past few days, House Vorga began to lean in favor of continuing the conflict.”

“So what does that mean?” Gaston asked from the kitchen.

“Your guess as good as mine.” George grimaced. “It could mean House Vorga made a secret alliance with House Meer to bring down the other Houses. It could mean someone in the House Vorga has been offended by someone from House Krahr stepping on their shadow, or wearing the wrong color, or not pausing long enough before a sacred altar. It could mean someone saw a bird fly the wrong way over the steeple of the local cathedral. It’s vampire politics. It’s like sticking your hand into a barrel filled with forty cobras and trying to find one garden snake among them by touch.”

The best thing about vampire politics was that they were the Arbiter’s problem. I just had to keep the vampires safe.

George was looking at the orchard, his face distant.

“Say George?” Gaston asked. I glanced at him and he winked at me. “Why forty?”

“Because it’s a sufficiently large number to make the odds of finding a garden snake improbable,” George said, his voice flat.

“Yes, but why not fifty or a hundred? Why such an odd number? Forty? Snakes aren’t commonly measured in forties.”

George pivoted on his foot and looked at Gaston. The big man flashed a grin.

Jack chuckled to himself.

“When he concentrates like that,” Gaston told me, “if you are really quiet, you can hear the gears in his head turning. Sometimes you smell a faint puff of smoke coming out of his ears…”

The air above the grass tore like a transparent plastic curtain, showing a deep purple void for a fraction of a second. The void blinked its purple eye and a group of otrokar appeared on the grass. One, two, three… twelve. As expected.

The otrokar in the front started toward us. Huge, at least six five, and muscular judging by the powerful arms and legs, he was wrapped in the traditional otrokar half-cloak, which was more of a really wide long scarf designed to shield your arms and face from the sun. While worn, it covered their head, shoulder, and torso to mid-thigh. The handle of a giant sword wrapped in leather rose above the otrokar’s shoulder. The second ortokar followed the first’s footsteps. He was slender and shorter than the leader by about four inches. The difference between the two was so pronounced, they almost didn’t look like the belonged to the same species.

The others followed.

The leader reached the porch and pulled the cloak off in a single fluid move. An enormous otrokar woman stood before me, clad in leather and wearing the traditional half-kilt. Her skin was a deep, rich bronze with a hint of orange. Muscles corded her frame. Her hair was French-braided on her temples, the braids running toward the back of her head. The remaining wealth of hair was brushed back into a long mane. At the root, the hair was so dark, it seemed black, but it gradually lightened and at the tips, the color turned to deep ruby, as if her hair had been carefully dipped in fresh blood. Her dark violet eyes under black eyebrows examined us, assessing. Her posture shifted slightly. In the split second she glanced at us, she had seen everything: Jack, George, me, Gaston in the doorway and Orro in the kitchen, and she formulated a battle plan.

George bowed. “Greetings, Khanum. I’m sorry we have to keep our voices down. Local law enforcement is nearby. I trust the trip went well?”

“We survived.” Her voice was deep for a woman. The kind of voice that could roar. “I hate void travel. It feels like my stomach is turned inside out.” Khanum grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to do the formal entrance once everyone is here.”

“That is the custom,” George said.

The otrokar at her side pulled off his cloak. He didn’t wear armor, only the kilt, and his torso was exposed. He was lean and hard, his muscles light but crisply defined under the bronze skin tinted with green, as if life had chiseled all softness off him. If he was human, I would put him in his thirties, but with the otrokar age was difficult to tell. His hair, long and so black, it shone with purple highlights, fell on his back. Thin leather belts and chains wrapped his waist and dozens of charms, pouches, and bottles hung from them. The Khanum looked like a powerful predatory cat. Next to her he looked like a weathered tree, or perhaps a serpent: nothing but dry muscle. His face matched him: harsh, chiseled with rough strokes, with green eyes so light they seemed to glow with some eerie radiance. If he wasn’t a shaman, I’d eat my broom.

He surveyed the inn. “Is there a fire pit?”

“There is a room set out specifically for spirits,” I told him. “With the fire ring.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “Good. I will ask the spirits to show me the omens for these peace talks.”

“The omens better be good,” Khanum said quietly, her voice laced with steel.

The shaman didn’t even blink. “The omens will be what the omens will be.”

The Khanum took a deep breath. “I suppose I have to get on with it.” She raised her voice slightly. “Greetings, Arbiter. Greetings, Innkeeper.”

“Gertrude Hunt welcomes you, Khanum,” I bowed my head. “Winter sun to you and your warriors. My water is your water. My fire is your fire. My beds are soft and my knives are sharp. Spit on my hospitality and I’ll slit your throat.” There. Nice and traditional.

Next to me Jack became very still. He didn’t tense; he just became utterly at peace.

Khanum smiled. “I feel at home already. Winter sun to you. We will honor this house and those who own it. Our knives are sharp and our sleep is light. Betray the honor of your fire, and I’ll carve out your heart.”

The door swung open, obeying the push of my magic. I stepped through. “Please follow me, Khanum.”

Ten minutes later I was back at my post on the porch. The inn had sealed the entrance behind the last otrokar. The only way they could exit would be through the main dining room.

At seven thirty the area above the field shimmered, as if a ring of hot air suddenly rose above the grass. The shimmer solidified into a giant ship, with sleek curving lines that made you think of a manta ray gliding through the water. The elegant craft sank to the ground, landing like a feather, a hatch opened, and Nuan Cee stepped out. Four feet tall, he resembled a fox with the eyes of a cat and ears of a lynx. Soft luxurious fur, silver-blue and perfectly combed, sheathed him from head to toe, turning white on his stomach and darkening to an almost turquoise dappled with golden rosettes on his back He wore a beautiful silky apron and a necklace studded with blue jewels.

Nuan Cee saw me, waved, and called over his shoulder. “This is the right place. Bring all the things.”

He started toward me. Four foxes emerged, carrying a palanquin with rose curtains. Behind them five other foxes, their fur ranging from white to deepest blue, walked, hopping lightly over the grass, all five adorned with silks and jewelry. A low braying sound came out of the belly of the ship. A moment and a small fox emerged, tugging on the reins of what looked like a furry cross between a camel and a donkey. A precarious stack of bags, packs, and chests sat on top of the beast, piled almost twice as tall as the creature itself. The fox tugged on reins again and the donkey-camel stepped into the grass. Behind him another beast appeared, led by a different fox.

“So let me get this straight,” Jack murmured. “They fly around on spaceships, but they load donkeys in them?”

“They like donkeys,” George told him.

The fifth donkey made its way out of the ship, loaded like all the others. My parents had hosted Nuan Cee before. I mentally patted myself on the back for assigning them enough rooms to house a party three times their number.

“How long do they expect this to last?” Gaston whistled. “A year?”

“They love their luxuries,” I explained. “The worst thing you can do to one of them is to force them to go without. Once we get them all inside would you mind showing them to their rooms?” I would follow behind to make sure nobody wandered off the beaten path and then I’d settle all of the donkeys into the stables.

“No problem,” Gaston said.

Nuan Cee finally reached us, flanked by a grey skinned woman dressed in high tech armor. Her long hair fell to below her waist in long thin dreads. Her eyes were gold and her teeth were sharp. She served as Nuan Cee’s saar ah and fighting her was a very dangerous idea.

“Diiina!” Nuan Cee stretched the word.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “Honorable Nuan Cee, we have a policeman watching the house outside.”

“Oh.” Nuan Cee lowered his voice. “Right. I am so happy to visit your inn, so happy. Allow me to present to you my family.” He waves his hand-paw, and foxes lined up, with palanquin in the lead. “My grandmother, Nuan Re.” The palanquin passed by us. “My sister Nuan Kuo. My sisters’ cousin by marriage Nuan Oler. My second brother in law…”

Five minutes later the final fox finally stepped onto my porch. “Nuan Couki, my thrice removed cousin’s seventh son!” Nuan Cee triumphantly announced. “This is his first trip.”

The seventh son looked at us. He was barely three and a half feet tall, with pale sandy fur and huge blue eyes. He waved his paw at us, squeaked “Hi!” in a tiny voice, and dashed after the procession of Nuan Cee’s relatives into the inn.

“Phew.” Nuan Cee wiped imaginary sweat off his brow. “I work too hard. Let us see our rooms.”

He disappeared into the inn and I followed him.

“Cookie?” Jack said behind me.

“Just go with it,” George told him.

I made it back to the porch right at eight o’clock. Dealing with Nuan Cee’s clan took longer than expected. I barely had a minute to spare. At least they didn’t make that much noise. If all went well with the vampires, we’d dodge the bullet.

We waited in silence.

A minute passed.

“It’s very unusual for them to be late.” George frowned.

My magic chimed in my mind. Oh no.

“In front!” I dashed through the house. The men chased me. “They’re coming through the front!”

I burst out of the front door.

“Get down on the ground!” a male voice barked.

In the middle of the street twelve knights of the Holy Cosmic Anocracy in full blood armor brandished their weapons. Officer Marais stood by his vehicle, pointing a taser at the leading knight.

“I said get down on the ground!” Officer Marais roared.

The vampire nearest to him gripped his enormous axe. Streaks of bright red shot through the weapon. He’d just primed it.

“No!” I sprinted into the street.

Officer Marais fired the taser. The electrode darts snapped at the vampire’s blood armor, sparking with blue.

The vampire roared. The huge axe swung in an arc and sliced the hood of the police cruiser in a half like it was an empty coke can. For a second Officer Marais stared at it in stunned silence. His hand went to his gun.