I dashed through the streets, veering left and right. Here’s hoping he hadn’t left yet.
The side street spat me out onto one of the main thruways. I crossed it and climbed the stone stairs on the side of a building leading up to a terrace above. The Tooth of Shver, a massive ivory fang twelve stories tall and carved into a terraced palace, rose to my left, and the sapphire glass tower was straight across. Okay, I knew where I was.
I jogged along the terraces, crisscrossing the streets on narrow bridges, turned right, jogged for another four blocks, turned right again, and finally emerged onto a wide street.
A towering tree rose in front of me to a hundred and fifty feet, its bark hard and smooth, more stone than wood and swirling with deep red, gold, black, and creamy white as if it were made of brecciated jasper. Its thicker limbs were a full twenty feet in diameter, its thinner branches were about five feet across, and most of them were hollowed, punctured with windows and ornate doors. Balconies curved around the entrances, cushioned in the tree’s foliage.
I headed to the entrance, a ten-foot-tall door in the thick trunk, and knocked.
Twin cameras swiveled toward me from above, looking like two dandelions on thin stalks. A high-pitched voice emanated from a hidden speaker.
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to see the First Scholar.”
“The supplicant hours are not now. Come back tomorrow.”
“I must see him. It’s an emergency.”
“The First Scholar is busy. He has no time for you now. Come back tomorrow.”
Oy. “The First Scholar knows me.”
The voice let out an exasperated chirp. “Human! The First Scholar is very important. Very busy. You are a not-important stupid human. Go away!”
If making a good impression wasn’t crucial, I’d have been hopping up and down from sheer frustration. “Tell him Dina of Earth is here to see him.”
“Dina?” A voice asked from above.
I backed away from the door. Far above me, the First Scholar emerged onto the balcony of one of the higher branches. He was about three feet tall, plump, and old, with feathers that had gone completely white except for the touch of scarlet on his bushy tail and the tips of his wings. Two dinosaurian arms thrust out from under his wings and gripped the balcony rail with clawed hands. His beak was yellow, and his eyes were round and bright like two brilliant zircon jewels.
The official name of the species was koo-ko. Sean called them space chickens and refused to keep to the proper name. They had held a philosophical debate at Gertrude Hunt during last Treaty Stay, an innkeeper holiday, and since nobody died, it was considered a resounding success.
The First Scholar spread his wings. “Dina!”
“First Scholar!”
“We meet again!”
A smaller, younger male koo-ko with turquoise tips on his wings emerged from the doorway behind the First Scholar and plopped an elaborate headdress of golden wire and jewels onto his head.
“Your tree has many branches,” I told them. Flattery never hurt.
The First Scholar preened. “Yes, it is splendid, isn’t it? It can house all our students, faculty, and staff. What brings you here?”
“I need your wisdom, Great Scholar.”
The First Scholar’s eyes sparkled. “What may I do for you?”
“Someone I know has been trapped by a sphinx.”
The First Scholar’s feathers stood on end. “Here? At Baha-char? They are banned from the Great Bazaar!”
“It’s a juvenile male. The riddle has been asked, and by the time the authorities catch on, it might be too late. Please help me, First Scholar. I will be in your debt.”
The First Scholar drew himself to his full height. His headdress listed to the left, threatening to fall off his head. “Not another word. I will take care of this.”
The koo-ko assistant pointed at the doorway and murmured something.
“It will be a teachable moment,” the First Scholar declared and waved his wing at the doorway. “Come!”
A flood of koo-ko of all sizes and colors erupted onto the balcony. They spilled over the rail, spread their wings, and glided to the ground around me. One, two, five…ten…I lost count. Their belts and harnesses differed but every single one came with a holder containing a fat scroll. It looked like they were carrying a personal roll of toilet paper with them. Normally it made me giggle in my head, because somewhere deep inside I was seven years old and potty humor was still funny, but right now any humor was in short supply.
The First Scholar pushed his headdress back onto his head. “Pay attention, young ones. This will be an experience you must commit to memory. Form a flock and bring me my teaching stick!”
I rushed through the streets. The koo-ko had no trouble keeping up with me despite being about half my height. If needed, all of them could outrun me and then some. Including the First Scholar and two of his helpers, one carrying his hat and the other dragging a long stick of polished blue wood with a bright red tassel attached to its tip.
“Tell me the riddle,” the First Scholar asked.
“ ‘Say my name, and I will disappear. What am I?’ ” I was pretty sure I knew the answer but "pretty sure" didn't count when a life hung in the balance.
“You’re right. The sphinx is very young. No matter. Youth isn’t an excuse for willful flouting of the rules, although it is certainly the right time for it.”
We turned into the dark alleys. The shaggy sloth creature saw us and waved a little piece of bright red cloth like a flag as we passed. The other vendors stared. They had now seen Sean run into the Old Arena, then run out, then come back with me, then I ran out, and now I was back leading a flock of koo-ko. It was more excitement than they probably had seen the entire month.
We spilled into the Old Arena. Everything was as I had left it: the sphinx, Sean, and the female werewolf, still locked in the glowing golden helix of the sphinx’s power.
“Why don’t you answer?” the sphinx purred, power vibrating in every vowel. “Go on. Take a chance. You cannot wait forever. Soon you will soil yourself. Then will come thirst, then hunger. You are a brave warrior. Is that how you want to die? Alone, wasting away in your filth because you are too scared to answer a simple riddle?”
“Keep quiet,” Sean told her.
“She has answered you,” the First Scholar declared.
The sphinx turned its massive head and looked at us.
The First Scholar’s assistant on his left deposited the headdress onto the elder’s head. The assistant on his right thrust the stick into his clawed hand. The three dozen koo-ko arranged themselves into a crescent behind the First Scholar.
A violet sheen rolled over sphinx’s eyes. “And who are you, small bird?”
His voice was back to normal. The power-saturated sound only occurred when he spoke to the one bound by his riddle.
The First Scholar raised his stick, sending the tassel flying. “Do not change the subject. By the very act of remaining quiet, she has answered your riddle, for the answer to your question is silence.”
The sphinx frowned.
“The right answer has been given. Release this creature as per your bargain,” the First Scholar demanded.
The sphinx pondered it, clearly stumped.