“I’ve visited.”
Sean sat up straighter and pivoted to me. “When?”
“Before we met, when Klaus and I were looking for our parents. I had questions. I was exhausted and desperate. I spent two weeks there, while Klaus was checking other neighboring Temples.”
A little evil light shone in Sean’s eyes. “Was it everything you thought it would be?”
“It was memorable.”
“Care to elaborate?”
I shook my head. “You still haven’t told me why it’s important to you.”
“The Merchants are some of the Temple’s most generous contributors,” he said.
It made sense. The Merchant clans of the lees, who ran vast financial syndicates, desired things themselves and made their money by catering to the desires of others.
“Clan Nuan?” I asked.
“The second biggest contributor.”
He would know. During his time on Nexus, Sean was part of Nuan Cee’s inner circle. The shrewd little merchant never planned on letting Sean go. I had wrenched Sean free against all odds. He knew the kind of secrets Clan Nuan would kill to keep.
“Do you think Lady Wexyn is backed by Clan Nuan?”
“Let’s say I strongly suspect. I’ll know more when I put eyes on her. If Nuan Cee is involved in this, we need to know what he’s playing for.”
“Does Clan Nuan have business interests in the Dominion?”
“No. It’s Clan Sai territory.” Sean grimaced. “This worries me.”
The trade wars between the Merchant Clans were fought in secret with shocking ferocity. If a war between Clan Nuan and Clan Sai was brewing, we didn’t want any part of it, and we could not let it happen here, on our watch.
“How did it go with Caldenia?” he asked.
I put my fingers into my ears and said in my best imitation of Her Grace’s voice, “I am not listening, I am not listening!”
“What has gotten into her?”
“Somehow this became less about me warning her than about her independence. No matter how comfortable we try to make her, she never forgets that the inn is a prison where she put herself.”
“It keeps her from dying. Well, from being killed.”
“True. But a prison is still a prison. I gave up. It will blow up in our faces or it won’t.”
“Maybe. It all,” he waved his hand to indicate everything around us, “could blow up in our faces. This whole thing could end up being a giant shit show.”
“Regrets?”
He shook his head. “I know why I’m doing it. I just want to tell you how much it means to me that you know all this and you’re still doing it.”
I got up and sat next to him. “I know.”
He put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Of all the places in the galaxy, this was the best one for me.
The inn chimed, announcing an incoming communication. The two of us groaned in unison.
Sean waved a screen into existence. A man stood bathed in the sunshine of Baha-char. He was short, with almost impossibly broad shoulders and the kind of build that promised overwhelming strength. He wore a white shirt with wide sleeves, dark pants, tall boots, and a short cloak hanging at an angle off his broad back. He’d left the collar of the shirt unbuttoned, revealing the segmented white space marine armor underneath. It clung to him like a second skin, climbing up his thick neck. A dark musketeer hat with a huge feather, white at the base and transitioning into yellow, then red, then green, completed the ensemble. He was carrying a huge gun that rested on his shoulder as if it were a toothpick.
The man raised the brim of his hat with his fingers. Silver eyes stared at us from a tan face with the kind of heavy jaw one usually saw on grizzled male vampires. He wagged his jet-black eyebrows and grinned, showing serrated teeth. The effect was slightly terrifying.
“Gaston!”
“In the flesh,” he assured me.
George had two people who watched his back. His brother, Jack, was one, and Gaston was the other. The three of them had been recruited by the Arbitrators from a pocket dimension where an alternative Earth existed with its own magical rules. I had visited it once. George and I snuck back to his homeworld to invite the fourth member of their strike team, Sophie, to join them.
Gaston wasn’t altogether human. I never quite figured out what exactly he was, but he was smart and deadly in a fight. He was also a self-proclaimed expert in “skullduggery.”
“I’ve come to assist in any way I can,” Gaston said.
“Where is George?” Sean asked.
We had both assumed that George would at least be present to observe. If you cut George, he would bleed pure intrigue. This whole affair with high political stakes would be irresistible to him.
“George can’t come. He sends his regrets, however. And me.” Gaston winked.
“I thought he settled things with the Valkkinians,” I said. I had given him a sure path to victory.
“Oh, he has. It’s not the Valkkinians. It’s his wife.”
“His what?” Sean and I said at the same time.
“His spouse. His much better half. Perhaps I could come in and explain in detail? Over a beer and a bite to eat. I have rushed here from across the galaxy without much to sustain me on the way. Still, as eager as I am to get inside, I must warn you that there is a female werewolf watching me from the roof of the building directly behind me. I’m reasonably sure she will pounce the moment you open the door. Forewarned is forearmed. Please come and fetch me at your earliest convenience.”
9
When we last left the inn, its new splendid décor had passed the Dominion’s critical inspection. Helpful assistants are gathering around our heroes in their moment of need.
And someone made an honest man out of George! Large is the Universe, and the wonders within it.
Watching Gaston eat was like witnessing someone have a religious experience.
He cut a small piece off the duck leg, wielding his fork and knife with the elegance of a concert pianist, slipped it into his mouth, and chewed, closing his eyes. Behind Sean, who sat on the left, the entire kitchen staff waited with bated breath, including Orro.
“Divine,” Gaston said finally. “It is a multilayered symphony. The meat melts in your mouth, tender yet with a delightful texture, the skin is crisp yet delicate, an ode to all that is savory. The hint of thyme is sublime, the trace of garlic is almost buttery in its smoothness, and I detect something else, something non-Terrestrial. A touch of storran herb perhaps? Spring harvest, not fall.”
Orro’s quills trembled just a fraction. If he had been a cat, he would’ve purred. “Indeed.”
“This is much more than a dish. It is a memory.” Gaston smiled, displaying serrated teeth. “I shall treasure it, my friend.”
Orro gave a brisk nod and the chefs dispersed.
Some beings viewed food as fuel, some enjoyed it, and yet others were like Gaston. Not simply fans but connoisseurs. Somehow the chefs could identify them by some hidden sixth sense and gave them special treatment. Gaston had been part of George’s retinue during the peace summit that ended the Nexus war and Sean’s contract with the Nuan Clan. He and Orro had formed a symbiotic bond. The moment I told Orro that Sean went to get him, the entire kitchen snapped into the “VIP Imminent” mode. It was just Gaston’s luck that Orro’s prized duck, which he had worked on for three days, had finished cooking.