Written in Red

“Is there any kind of map or list that would tell me who goes with what?” Meg asked.

Jester’s face went blank for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll inquire. Now come meet your helpers.” He walked over to the panel in the wall and unlocked the sorting room’s outside door.

Meg thought about dashing into the back room to grab her coat. Then she saw her helpers and forgot about the coat.

“This is Thunder, Lightning, Tornado, Earthshaker, and Fog,” Jester said. “They were the only ponies willing to make deliveries today.”

They were tall enough to look her in the eyes. Meg wasn’t sure if that meant they were typical pony size in terms of height, but what she saw were furry barrels with chubby legs and grumpy faces. Thunder was black, Lightning was white, Tornado and Earthshaker were brown, and Fog was a spotted gray.

“Hello,” Meg said.

No change on the grumpy faces.

“Each of them has delivery baskets,” Jester said, going back to the table for two handfuls of mail. “The baskets have the Courtyard sections written on them—see? So, for instance, the mail going to Corvine or anyone named Crowgard would go in Thunder’s baskets.” He put smaller mail in four compartments of one basket and then added the larger envelopes and catalogs to the basket on the other side. He looked at Thunder. “You go to the Crows today.”

The pony bobbed his head and moved out of the way.

Lightning was given the mail for the Wolfgard complex, Tornado went to the Hawks, Earthshaker to the Owls and the Pony Barn, and Fog to the Sanguinati.

“What happens when they get to the complexes?” Meg asked.

“Oh, there is always someone about who will empty the baskets and distribute the mail to the individuals,” Jester replied as he closed and locked the outer door. “Hmm. No one to take the mail to the Green Complex or the lake. Guess those will have to wait until tomorrow.” He tipped his head and smiled at her. “Did Simon give you your pass?”

She shook her head.

The smile gained a sharp amusement. “Well, he’s been a bit preoccupied today. Basically, once you step out the back door of this office, you need a pass to visit the Market Square or the Green Complex, which is the only residential area that isn’t completely off-limits to human visitors. The pass is something you should always carry with you to avoid misunderstandings.”

“Where do I get one?”

“From the consul’s office, which is the other building that uses the same street entrance as this office. I’ll pick that up for you and drop it off.”

“What do I do with the handcarts in the front room that are full of packages?”

Jester opened the interior delivery door and pulled the handcarts into the sorting room. “That depends,” he said as he secured the door. “If a package can fit in the basket, a pony can take it with the rest of the mail. Or you can deliver it in the BOW. We haven’t encouraged our previous Liaisons to make deliveries in the Courtyard, but it is loosely within the parameters of your job if you choose to include it.”

Was making deliveries really part of her job, or was Jester trying to get her into trouble for some reason? “Bow?” she asked.

“Box on Wheels. A small vehicle we use within the Courtyard. It runs on electricity, so remember to charge your BOW if you don’t want to be stranded. The one for the Liaison is in the garage directly behind the office. Can’t miss it.”

“I have a car,” Meg said, pleased.

“You have a Box on Wheels,” Jester corrected. “Not a vehicle you want to take out on the city streets.”

Leaving the Courtyard wasn’t something she planned to do.

“Do you want to take a break?” he asked.

She looked at the clock on the wall and shook her head. “I’m supposed to be available for deliveries until noon, so I’ll keep sorting the mail.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll get that pass for you.” Jester went out the Private door and vaulted over the counter. He returned a few minutes later. He didn’t have her pass, but he laid something else on the sorting-room table.

“This is a map of the Courtyard,” Jester said quietly. “It shows the driving roads and where each gard lives.”

My Controller would have paid a fortune for this, Meg thought as she studied the map. He would have killed without a second thought to get this much information about the interior of a Courtyard.

Wolfgard. Crowgard. Hawkgard. Owlgard. Sanguinati. Green Complex. Girls’ Lake. Ash Grove. Utilities Complex. Lakes. Creek. Water reservoir.

“I suggest you tuck this in a drawer when you’re not using it,” Jester said. “The last two Liaisons weren’t trusted with this at all and, like I said, we didn’t encourage them to explore. You should be careful about who knows you have this, Meg Corbyn.”

“Does Mr. Wolfgard know I have a map of the Courtyard?”

“Simon gave it to me to give to you.”

A test, Meg thought. Simon Wolfgard was giving her a test to see if he could trust her. Which meant she shouldn’t count on the map being accurate. If he thought she was some kind of spy trying to gain access to the Courtyard, providing an enemy with false information was almost as good as providing no information at all.

Then Jester grinned, an expression that was at odds with his sober tone of a moment ago. “I’ll get you that pass now.” And he was gone again.

When a half hour went by without a delivery or any sign of Jester, Meg checked out the music disc player. No discs, which was a disappointment, but as she fiddled with the buttons, she found the one that changed the player from discs to radio and connected her with Lakeside’s radio stations. She spent a few minutes turning the dial as she tried to tune in a station that had approved music. Then it struck her. She didn’t need anyone’s permission or approval. She could try a different kind of music every day and decide for herself what she liked.

Excited, she tuned in a station and got back to work.

“Run and Thump?” Monty asked as he read the sign over one of the terra indigene storefronts.

“Fitness center,” Kowalski replied. He turned into the parking lot that had a third less space for cars because the slots near the lot’s back wall were taken up by mountains of snow on either side of a wooden door. “Treadmills for running, and the thumpy sound of weight machines. Not sure what they do on the second floor. Not sure why the Others would want such a place when they can run around in more than three hundred acres.”

Maybe even they were bothered by the smell of wet fur and preferred to run indoors in inclement weather. “What about the storefront that doesn’t have a sign?”

“Social center. This Courtyard does employ some humans and occasionally lets some of them live in the apartments above the seamstress/tailor’s shop. But entertaining outsiders in an apartment that can access the Courtyard?” Kowalski shook his head. “You gather with friends at the social center. And you gather there if you want to socialize with an acquaintance who is terra indigene.”

“And if you want a more private kind of date?” Monty studied the younger man.

“The rooms above the social center can be used for that kind of date.”

“Is this street talk or personal knowledge?”

“Am I ever going to introduce you to my mother?”

Monty hid a smile, but it took effort. “Probably.”

Kowalski blew out a breath. “I really don’t have that much personal knowledge. I’ve heard that if you use one of those rooms, you’re responsible for putting fresh linen on the bed and tossing the used sheets in the laundry cart that’s left at the end of the hall. There’s a jar next to the laundry cart. Five dollars for the use of the sheets and the room.”

“And if the money in the jar doesn’t match the number of sheets that were used?”

“The next time there aren’t any clean sheets—and girls get pretty insulted if they’re asked to cuddle on