House of Reeds

There was work to be done, and – if she could manage to placate the gods of the Fleet – save the careers of her junior officers. Those who lived, at least.

The dead will keep their honor. They will be remembered at the Feast of Spirits as heroes.

The Sobipurй Bus Terminal, Parus

Near the Court of Yellow Flagstones

Clouds of exhaust fogged Gretchen's view of the city as the Tikikit bus slowed to a crawl. A huge crowd of Jehanan townspeople blocked the street, voices raising a huge, frightened murmur, claws scraping alongside the vehicle and clattering against the windows. Anderssen stared out in alarm, barely able to make out the stone awnings over the bus stands through the moisture on the windows. Torrential rain poured down, turning the street into a muddy river.

'Hoooo… Taste the fear in the air!' Malakar leaned at her shoulder, long snout pressed against the glass. 'Such a crowded city this is!'

'This is much worse than last time,' Gretchen said, feeling the bus shake from side to side as the crowd surged against the vehicle. A clamor of hooting and warbling made it hard for her to hear. 'Everyone is trying to flee -'

'Should we leave the bus?' The gardener folded one claw over the other, eyes wide. 'Where will we go? How will we pass through such a throng?'

'Our hotel isn't far,' Gretchen said, wondering if they could manage to move through such an enormous press of people. A wild face appeared momentarily at the glass, a young Jehanan trying to scramble up onto the roof of the bus. The window made a splintery sound as his clawed feet scrabbled on the sill. 'What else can we try? If we stay here, they'll push the bus over.'

Anderssen took a breath, readied herself to plunge into the fray and patted Malakar on the shoulder. 'Come on.'

Chuffing exhaust, the Tikikit bus inched into one of the quays in the station. Hundreds of Jehanan, nearly every one of them laden with baggage, pots and pans, bedding, and wicker baskets filled with personal effects, overflowed from the waiting ramps into the road and packed the open floor of the station itself. Gretchen pushed down the stairs from the bus, shoving aside a Jehanan matron trying to claw her away aboard while shrilling wildly in an unknown tongue. Malakar tried to apologize, but had to stiff-arm a frantic male to keep from being thrown to the ground.

A stifling blanket of heat and humidity started to choke Anderssen before she'd taken two steps into the surging, agitated crowd. Her medband squeaked an alarm before being drowned out by the booming roar of thousands of panicky townsmen. She reached back, seized hold of Malakar's harness and started plowing forward, head down, shouldering natives out of the way on either side.

Claws scraped her face, clutched at her shirt and pants, then fell away behind. Malakar hooted mournfully, hands tight on the back of Gretchen's field jacket. Intermittent blasts of some kind of alarm horn shook the air. A sea of noise rolled back and forth over them, echoing from the vaulting roof and the awnings over the buses. The stench of the crowd faded, replaced by the smell of smoke and burning plastic.

Anderssen stumbled through a wood-and-glass door at the front of the bus station. Broad flights of steps littered with discarded goods – potted plants, shoes, smashed sun-hats, broken bottles and fallen, ripped paperbacks, sections of sod, torn clothing, harness buckles and straps – led down to the curving road. The huge crowd inside petered away to a few mournful souls sitting on the sidewalk, huddled in blankets or staring sightlessly at the sky, rain sluicing from their scales.

Despite the rain, a thick pall of smoke hung over the city, hiding the upper reaches of the ancient Khus.

Gretchen shifted her pack, checked her jacket and pockets. Malakar was still clinging to her back, panting, snout down. Water streamed from her long head.

'You all right?' Anderssen put her arm under the old Jehanan's shoulder. The human was soaked already, shirt clinging to clammy flesh, hair plastered to her forehead. 'It's not far.'

'This…this old walnut has never seen so many people in one place in all her life.'

The avenue was empty. The usual throng of runner-carts and wagons and trucks was gone. A long, low building across the street was on fire, belching smoke into the rain. The gutters were already full, flowing sluggishly and spreading into huge ponds where debris blocked the drains. Gretchen searched for a landmark, realized the burning edifice was the train station and turned right. 'This way.'

They hurried down the sidewalk, feet splashing through oily pools, past abandoned stands advertising sweets, grilled meat, newspapers, religious votives and icons, all the paraphernalia of a living city. The kiosks were abandoned and empty, shutters banging against empty stalls, garbage heaped in drifts across the sidewalks.

The doors of the hotel were locked, drapes drawn tight behind barred windows. Gretchen banged on the wooden panel, her shoulder pinched with the effort of keeping Malakar upright. The gardener was staring curiously back down the lane, rain spattering on her long snout.

'Hello!' Anderssen called through the mail slot. 'I'm a guest here! I have a room!'

'I think,' Malakar whispered in amazement, 'those were actual Araks who passed us! I've heard they're bloody handed savages from beyond the vale of Acare! They eat the flesh of their own kind – or whatever live prey they can catch. Did you see the necklaces of teeth?'

'No. Can you ask these people to open the door?'

After Malakar had hooted and trilled and generally sounded like a reasonable, polite lizard, someone peered out at them through the drapes and then, grudgingly, opened the door to let them in out of the rain.

'Very dangerous,' the desk clerk declared, shaking his stumpy triangular head in dismay. 'You do not know what kind of horrific creatures have lately been here! They threatened to chop down my door and eat the yolks of my eggs raw! While I watched!'

Gretchen nodded politely and dragged the gardener away and up the stairs before Malakar fell to discussing the proclivities of the mysterious Araks. Anderssen really only wanted to lie down in a real bed. Her stomach was growling with hunger.

'Hello?' The door to the room swung open and Gretchen winkled her nose, smelling burning tabac. She held Malakar back out of caution. 'Is someone here?'

'Hrrr!' A rumbling growl answered and a disheveled black shape appeared out of the bedroom. Anderssen felt a tight band around her heart ease and sagged against the wall, so vastly relieved she could barely comprehend the pressure which had been dragging at her. 'Maggie. You're alive.'

'Hunt-sister!' the Hesht yelped in delight, seizing Gretchen in an enormous, bone-crushing hug. Then Maggie held the human out at arm's length, paws gripping Anderssen's shoulders. 'You are whole and undamaged? We thought a ghost was whispering to us on the comm…'

'I know, I know.' Anderssen hugged the Hesht back, sagging into her soft, plushy fur. Magdalena felt wonderfully warm and dry. 'We tried to reach the khus, but there were troops everywhere… I'm glad you ran when you did.'

'Hoooo!' Malakar made a pleased sound, long snout snuffling at Magdalena. 'Your friend is not a human at all. Such strange, soft scales she has!'

'No,' Gretchen stepped aside, wiping her eyes. 'Malakar, this is Magdalena. She is a Hesht – another asuchau race – they live in great clan-arks which travel between the stars, but she works with me for the Company. Maggie, this is Malakar, she was a gardener at the House of Reeds; which is to say, she was a teacher-of-kits.'

'Well met,' Magdalena said, ears twitching forward. She bowed politely. 'If you are a friend of the hunt-sister, then you are welcome to our pack.'

'Hoooo…' The gardener seemed pensive, covering the tip of her snout in embarrassment. 'I do not know if clever-thoughts counts me as friend or not.'

Gretchen smiled crookedly. 'We've chased each other over enough rooftops, I think we can say we are friends. You didn't turn me in to the Master of the Garden, though I haven't given you any answers to your questions.'

Malakar nodded, emulating the Hesht's bow. Magdalena twitched her whiskers at Anderssen and winkled her plushy nose. 'Parker is here too – but he has been hurt.'