Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (5 page)

“Perhaps we can test this theory?” Dagorkun offered.

Okay, that’s just enough of that. “I am glad the rooms were to your liking, Under-Khan. Unfortunately, I must ask you to depart so the Marshal of House Krahr can inspect the quarters of his people.”

Dagorkun’s eyes narrowed. “And if I insisted on staying?”

Thin brilliant blue cracks formed in the handle of my broom. The floor in front of Dagorkun shifted, fluid like water. “Then I’ll seal your body in wood so all you can do is blink and use you as a lawn ornament.”

Dagorkun blinked.

“This summit is very important to me,” I explained.

The wall behind me creaked as the inn bent toward Dagorkun, responding to the tone of my voice. The otrokar’s hand went to his knife.

I waved my fingers and the wall snapped back to its normal state. “I won’t let anyone or anything interfere with the peace talks in my domain.”

Arland set his cup on the table. “You should test her, Dagorkun. She couldn’t possibly be that powerful.”

I pointed the handle of my broom at him. The vampire grinned, flashing his fangs, and chuckled.

“I see.” Dagorkun rose. “Thank you for the tea, Innkeeper.”

I solidified the floor and led him to the door. He pulled on his cloak and walked into the night. I waited until the inn announced his departure and turned to Arland.

“Ours is an old rivalry,” he said. “You can’t blame us. They are barbarians. Do you know how one becomes a Khan? One would expect a proper progression – a ruler’s son, learning statecraft at his father’s knee, studying with the best tutors, gaining experience under the guidance of talented generals on the battle field, building alliances, until finally he takes his rightful place, supported by his power base. One would expect this, but no. They elect him. The army gathers and votes.” He spread his arms. “It’s ridiculous.”

Of course, hereditary aristocracy was much better. That never went wrong. How silly of them to try this thing called democracy. I wondered what he would say if I reminded him that the US was a republic. “Shall we see to the rooms?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Arland rose and I led him to the hallway. We turned left this time. The hallway brought us to the formal stairway of pale grey stone. Crimson banners of the Holy Cosmic Anocracy hung on the walls, illuminated by delicate glass ornaments that glowed with gentle pale light. Arland raised his thick eyebrows. “Just like home.”

Perfect. We started up the stairway.

“Six months ago House Krahr was going stale from the lack of war,” I said. “Now suddenly you’re involved in the Nexus Conflict? What happened?”

Arland grimaced. “House Meer happened. What is taking place on Nexus isn’t a war; it’s hell. It’s been going on for over a decade, and it’s too much for any one House. About a year into this war, the Holy Anocracy had divided the Houses into seven Orders to share the burden of the conflict. Each Order takes the responsibility for Nexus for a year. House Krahr is the House of the First Order. We already fought on Nexus half a decade ago.”

Every time he said Nexus, he paused for a tiny second the way one would before saying Hell in the true sense of that word. Five standard years ago he would’ve been a seasoned knight. It must’ve been terrible, because the memories of it still haunted him.

The stairs ended in a stone arch. The walls here rose to a dizzying height and the blood-red banner of the Holy Anocracy hung from the ceiling with the Holy Fangs and the eight point star emblazoned in silver on it. The star commemorating the vampire progress to interstellar flight wasn’t above or below the stylized fangs, but sat between them. The symbolism was clear: the Holy Anocracy would bite the Galaxy with its fangs and swallow it. Without a word, Arland lowered himself on one knee and bowed his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, then rose, as if the heavy armor he wore was light as silk. We stepped through the arch.

“Two months ago the Sixth Order was scheduled to take over, but the two major Houses of the Sixth Order had been decimated, one by a war and the other by a planet-wide natural disaster. They had neither the means nor the power to mount a suitable defense against the otrokar offensive. They were willing, but it was determined that we would lose our hold on Nexus if they bore the sole responsibility for it. The duty should’ve passed to the Seventh Order. The Seventh Order consists of four Houses, with House Meer being by far the most powerful. House Meer dishonored itself and refused to fight. Given as the other three houses in the Order are small, and two of them are also warring with each other at the moment, the responsibility for Nexus passed on to us.”

I frowned. “House Meer can do that?”

“No, they can’t. The Anocracy will excommunicate them and level economic sanctions, but they are willing to risk it. They’ve been eyeing our holdings for years. When we come off the Nexus rotation, our House will be exhausted. It will take us years to recover. House Meer will attack us when we’re at our weakest and the riches they will rip from our corpse will more than offset any economic sanctions. The Anocracy embraces victory and shuns defeat. The Preceptor of Meer may sacrifice his eternal soul on the altar of betrayal, but his descendants will be welcomed into the fold of the Holy Church.”

Yes, they would be too powerful and too rich to remain ostracized. “On Earth we say that history is written by the winners.”

Arland nodded. “I’ve spent the last two months on that cursed planet. I’ve lost men, I’ve lost family, and I don’t intend to lose anyone else. If I have to make peace with the Horde, so be it. It would be infinitely easier if the Khan were coming himself instead of the Khanum. The Khan is a great fighter and a great leader; he understands diplomacy and he is the man the Horde wants to follow into the slaughter. The Khanum is a great general; she plans their wars and their battles, which the Khan then leads. I do not relish dealing with Dagorkun’s mother.”

He stopped. Bright rooms of pale stone spread before us, the lines elegant and powerful. Green vines dropped from the tall ledges, cascading to the floor. The floor was polished stone, the furniture solid dark wood, and the linens crimson and white. Floor to ceiling windows opened onto narrow stone balconies. It was a serene place, elegant and beautiful to behold the way a honed functional blade was beautiful.

Arland turned around, his face puzzled. “This is Zamak, our House’s coastal castle.”

“It’s a duplicate,” I said. “Unfortunately I couldn’t reproduce the sea, but I was told the view of the orchard is soothing. Does it meet with your approval?”

“It’s perfect,” he said.

Yes. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.

“How will the meal orders be handled?”

My stomach tried to pirouette out of me. Somehow I made my lips move. “Should any of your party have special dietary needs, please list them for me and I will do my best to meet them.”

“Absolutely.”

Ten minutes later I watched Arland step into a bright red glow, turn into a star, and shoot up to the night sky. The inn chimed in my head, informing me of his departure and I sagged against the door frame.

The food. I had forgotten about the food.

What was I going to do?

Most successful inns had a staff. Some jobs required a dedicated person: usually there was a chef, a bookkeeper, sometimes a kennel master, if the inn catered to guests with animal companions. Typically the innkeeper’s family handled many of these tasks. In my parents’ inn, I worked as a gardener. It was my responsibility to keep the vast flower gardens, service the ponds, and maintain the fruits trees. I loved the gardens. They were full of this small secret places that were just mine. My memory served the delicate scent of apricots in bloom, their dark crooked branches bearing small white flowers, rows of strawberries, the two yellow cherry trees I used to climb… All of it was gone now, disappeared without the proverbial trace, together with the inn and my parents within it.

A familiar pang pierced me, worry mixed with anxiety and a dash of mourning. I missed them so much. So much. It’s been years and still sometimes I woke up and in those drowsy, half-asleep moments I thought I heard mom’s voice calling me down for breakfast.

I was in a different inn now, my own inn. Up until this moment, Gertrude Hunt didn’t need a staff. I cooked for Caldenia and me and whatever rare guest happened to stop by. Cooking for two people and cooking for a party of at least twenty, with at least four different species in attendance was completely different. Not only that, but with otrokars and vampires in the same building, all of my attention would be occupied with keeping them from killing each other. And they would expect a banquet. Of course, they would. We didn’t even have a definite date for the end of the summit. I might end up feeding them for weeks.

I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t feasible. I had to hire a cook, except a cook good enough to prepare a banquet for four different species would cost a fortune, because he wouldn’t be a cook, he would be a chef. I had set funds aside for the food but somehow in all of my preparations it never occurred to me that someone would have to be cooking it. I didn’t budget for a chef. Where could I even find one on a short notice? It took weeks to hire one.

Hi, my name is Dina. I run a small inn on Earth, two and a half stars, and I need you to drop everything and prepare meals for a party of otrokars, vampires, and spoiled merchants. I have a shoe string budget and your pay would be a pittance.

I groaned. Beast barked at me, puzzled.

I looked at the tiny Shih-Tzu. “What am I going to do?”

My dog furiously wagged her tail.

I blew the air out. Panicking never solved anything. I had to go about it in a logical fashion. First hurdle, money. Where could I get some money to hire a chef?

The only money I had, besides the food fund, was in the inn’s six-month budget. Guests came and went, and an innkeeper’s income was usually somewhat erratic. My parents taught me to always budget six months ahead and to never touch that money. If I dipped into that budget, I wouldn’t be able to cover utilities in the upcoming months, and nobody would visit an inn without running water or electricity. We had backup generators, but they were an emergency measure. If I used that money, I’d be breaking one of my parents’ most fundamental rules.

Was there any way around it? Any way at all?

No.

No, there wasn’t. I couldn’t take a business loan, because my business didn’t generate enough income to qualify me for one and because business loans and lines of credit took several days to process. Personal loans were out of the question, too. Asking other innkeepers wasn’t an option. It simply wasn’t done. Besides, without a solid track record and the inn rated at only two and a half stars, I was a bad business risk. All things considered, I wouldn’t lend myself money.

There was simply no other money to be had. I had to feed the guests. Vampires required meat with fresh herbs, otrokars had to have spices and citrus with everything, and Nuan Cee’s clan had a taste for poultry and they were particular about how it was prepared. I had to hire someone whatever it cost.

Realizing that was like dipping my head into a bucket of ice water. If there was no other way, then there was nothing I could do about it. I had to use that money and pray it would be enough to entice someone to work through the summit.

“One problem solved,” I told Beast.

Now hurdle number two. The chef.

My parents knew many innkeepers, but were friends with only a few. Our kind were a solitary lot. Innkeepers operated in secrecy. Deals were done on a handshake, meetings usually took place face to face, and each inn was its own little island of strange in a sea of normal. When my parents’ inn had vanished, even our former friends distanced themselves. What happened was odd and unexpected; nobody had ever heard of the entire inn simply blinking out of existence. Odd and unexpected was dangerous, and for people who dealt with Universe’s weirdness on daily basis, most innkeepers were surprisingly risk-averse.

I was on my own, but I did know one man who could help. His name was Brian Rodriguez. An innkeeper like me, he ran Casa Feliz in Dallas, one of the largest, busiest inns in the South-West. Like others, he had been a friend of my parents. A few months ago when I had gone to ask him for advice out of pure desperation, he helped me. Since then we corresponded a few times and he had given me his cell phone number, a huge sign of trust in our world. Begging him for money was out of the question, but asking for a loan of staff wasn’t unheard of.

I dialed the number on my cell. He answered on the second ring. “Dina, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “How are you?”

“Surviving. What can I do for you?”

“I’m so sorry to ask this, but I need a cook on short notice.” I really didn’t want to say what I had to say next. The words stuck in my mouth and I forced them out. “Could you lend me one?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “What grade?”

“The highest I can get.”

Mr. Rodriguez paused. “Are you hosting the Nexus summit?”

“Yes.” News traveled fast.

“They’d asked me and I declined. The risk to my other guests would be too great.”