Tony nodded. “You got it.”
“We are raising your rating to 3.5 stars,” Mr. Rodriguez continued.
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. It had to be nerves.
Sean glanced at me.
“They are too embarrassed to let the Sovereign stay at a 2.5 star inn,” Tony told him.
“We hosted a Drifan Liege during a Treaty stay and they did not raise our rating,” I managed between the giggles.
“Yes, but the two of you also allowed a guest and a staff member to make a giant scene at a taping of a TV show and nearly exposed the fact that your chef is a seven-foot-tall alien covered in quills,” Mr. Rodriguez said. “The Assembly takes everything into account.”
I laughed harder.
“The Assembly has two conditions,” Mr. Rodriguez said. “If you stop giggling for a moment, I will explain them to you. First, Tony will stay here in his official capacity to back you up.”
Tony grinned, raised his arm, and flexed.
“And second, if the Sovereign comes to any harm during this event, your inn is forfeit.”
All the laughter went out of me at once.
Mr. Rodriguez leaned forward. “Think about this very carefully. There is no room for negotiation. Every innkeeper loses a guest once in a while, no matter how good they are or how many precautions they take. You cannot lose this one. The two of you don’t even know if Wilmos is still alive.”
I straightened in my chair. Around me the inn creaked, reacting to the change in my mood. The room leaned in slightly, as the entirety of Gertrude Hunt waited like a dog sighting an intruder and waiting for a command.
Tony stopped chewing.
“This isn’t about Wilmos,” I said, each word resonating with magic. “The inn is our domain. If we cannot keep our guests safe, we do not deserve it.”
Mr. Rodriguez smiled. “And that’s exactly the answer I expected.”
8
When we last left the inn, extensive renovations were afoot, permits for banned species obtained, the Assembly （finally!） deigned to increase Gertrude Hunt’s rating and our gracious hosts were preparing for an inspection.
Let’s take a peek inside.
The Seven Star Dominion spread across nine star systems, five of which had more than one habitable planet. The Dominion was a powerful force. Their economy was robust, their scientific research and development was well-funded, and their military was disciplined, trained, and equipped with the latest weaponry. If they ever took over our solar system, within three hundred years Mars would be terraformed, Mercury and Venus would be on the way, and the Moon would sport a massive colony.
The Dominion incorporated four main species, with the human-like sislaf holding a 67% majority. The sislaf ran taller than humans and leaner, with square faces that had wide cheekbones, hollow cheeks, and defined jawlines. Human skin started losing elasticity after we reached our 20s, but that loss was slight. We developed wrinkles and discoloration due to other factors – sun exposure, pollution, tobacco use. The sislaf had long ago conquered that extrinsic damage. They aged more slowly, and they didn’t look anywhere as worn as we did.
The man who strode out of the portal was likely in his eighties, middle aged for a sislaf, but he could’ve passed for a forty-year-old human who had been taking good care of himself. His hooded eyes were too green, the line of his jaw was too sharp, and his features were too symmetrical, but overall, the differences between our two species were minute. If you met him in passing, you’d think he was a celebrity who’d gone a bit overboard with plastic surgery. Except for his skin, which was an even taupe with too much gray undertone to allow him to pass for a local.
He stepped onto the polished floor of the arrival chamber and paused. He was seven feet tall and made even taller by an asymmetric gray headdress that jutted half a foot above his left ear. A gray and white robe hugged his lean frame, cinched at the waist with a wide black belt. His hair was black and cut short.
Chancellor Resven, the Sovereign’s right-hand man for “all affairs involving domicile and family.”
The portal swirled with pale green, and the second person came through. Also seven feet tall, she was broader at the shoulder, with a powerful build and a particularly even skin tone the color Behr Paint Company called campfire gray. I had just tinted the columns in the Sovereign pavilion that exact shade last night. Her platinum-white hair was short and thick, and her cobalt-blue high-tech armor fit her like a glove. No weapons, tall boots, and a layered navy and white cloak, clearly ceremonial rather than functional, that spilled from her left shoulder in tasteful pleats.
That was an excellent fold for curtains. I would have to remember to tag the footage the inn recorded later.
The two visitors started toward me. Resven walked with the trademark sislaf fluidity, but the soldier strode forward. There was something else in her genes besides the sislaf, and I placed my bet on the Holy Anocracy. The sislaf had been treating their own genotype as a template to be redesigned and modified for generations.
Sean rose out of the floor next to me. He wore a dark blue robe and his “business” face. Nothing about his expression looked specifically threatening. You just knew by some sixth sense that aggravating him was a terrible and potentially painful idea.
Resven blinked. The soldier didn’t seem fazed. She must’ve stayed at an inn before.
“Greetings,” I told them.
“Greetings, innkeepers. I’m Capital Prefect Miralitt,” the soldier introduced herself. “This is Chancellor Resven.”
The Sovereign had sent both his chancellor and the head of his personal guard.
“We’ve met,” Resven said dryly.
Technically, we interacted via a communication screen, so we hadn’t actually met, but I didn’t correct him.
“Welcome to Gertrude Hunt,” Sean said.
Resven looked around the arrival chamber. A large domed room inlaid with weathered brown stone, it housed a portal ring grown by Gertrude Hunt from its striated wood and nothing else. Eight arched doorways led to separate hallways branching off into the depths of the inn.
Normally, placing the portal inside the inn wasn’t an option due to security concerns. No innkeeper worth their salt would allow random guests to teleport into the inn. But in this case, we had to make an exception. Having three hundred beings, some of them clearly inhuman, troop across our back yard was out of the question. It would take too long, draw too much attention, and neither Sean nor I wanted to add to our list of many problems. We would get everyone into the inn in a single massive procession and shut the portal off.
“It looks… basic,” Resven said.
Miralitt raised her eyes for a fraction of a second. “It looks strategically sound. No place to hide. One group at a time?”
Sean nodded. It was a simple plan – we would welcome each delegation and channel them down the appropriate hallway into their chambers, sealing it behind them.
“How long do you need between the groups?” she asked.
“Fifteen minutes would be ideal,” I told her.
“We can do better than that,” she said. “I can give you an hour between each party.”
“That would be greatly appreciated. Please follow me,” I told them.
We started across the chamber toward the main door.