Sweep in Peace by Ilona Andrews
“Would you like a different room?”
“No,” Sophie said quietly. “No, this is perfect.”
The floor parted and her bag surfaced.
“As part of the Arbiter’s personnel, you have access to most of the inn,” I said. “If you would like to join us on the main floor, turn right and go down two flights of stairs. If you would prefer to join Her Grace, turn left, make another left at the next hallway and keep walking until you reach a large grey door.”
“Thank you.”
“If you need any information, just ask the inn. Gertrude Hunt will extend you every possible courtesy.”
Five minutes until summit. I badly needed to go to the bathroom before I got down there.
Sophie brushed the wood of the sword stand with her fingertips. “It all comes full circle, doesn’t it?”
I had no idea what she meant by that, so I listened.
“I shouldn’t have come,” Sophie said. “Do you believe in destiny, Dina?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because six years ago something took my parents. It ripped them out of my life and made them disappear. I can’t believe that after everything they’ve gone through and everything they have done, that would be their destiny. I refuse to let their existence be erased. We make our own choices in life. Our actions shape our lives and we alone are responsible for them.”
“I hope you find them,” Sophie said.
“I will.”
A wallop of magic resonated through the inn and my head. I turned to the wall. “Outer perimeter.”
A container the size of a house sat in the field on the edge of my orchard. A stylized symbol of the Arbitration, the scales with two weights in the balance glowing gently with white, marked it. What now?
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Of course.”
I left Sophie to her own devices and went downstairs.
George met me at the foot of the stairs.
“What are you planning?” I asked, as we turned toward the grand ballroom.
“Just a small demonstration for the public good,” he said. “I am so sorry.”
“You’re apologizing in advance.”
“Yes.”
Never a good sign.
***
We were three hours into the session. The vampires looked mercilessly bored. The merchants gathered in a circle around one of the older foxes, who was explaining something that required waving of paws and twitching of ears. Some of the otrokari abandoned all pretense at politeness and stretched out on the floor. One of the larger older otrokar warriors was snoring. A couple of younger ones watched him, exchanging speculative glances. If they pulled out the interstellar equivalent of a magic marker and started drawing penises on his forehead, I would have to step in.
I should’ve brought a book, except I wouldn’t be able to read it. I had to watch the lot of them. I glanced up to the balcony where Caldenia and Sophie seemed engaged in some entertaining discussion. I wished I could be up there. Anything was better than this boredom.
Magic wailed in my head, emanating from the far side of the orchard. Here we go.
The opaque partition separating the leaders of the factions slid down and George stepped out, his face concerned, the top of his cane glowing. “My sincerest apologies!”
Everyone dropped what they were doing and turned to him.
“Would you care to explain this?” I asked.
“I’m afraid one of our Sentinel guard units is malfunctioning.” George’s face was the definition of apologetic regret.
“You brought a Sentinel unit here?” The Khanum’s eyebrows crept up.
“Only for emergencies, I assure you.” George turned to me. “Could I trouble you for a visual?”
I turned to the left wall. “Visual of the orchard, please.”
The wall glowed, presenting the image of the orchard. The Arbiter’s container lay shattered. A wide strip of plowed earth cut through the field, veering to the brush, where trees lay snapped. The sound of wood snapping echoed through the ballroom. A dark blur dashed behind the trees, dirt flew, and a huge metal contraption shot into the open. It looked like three complex frames of black metal, each a foot thick and bearing armored panels revolving over each other, all anchored by a glowing blue ball in the center about six feet wide. The Sentinel hovered in place for a brief second. Bladed chains shot out of it. The Sentinel spun like a dervish, the blades barely three feet from the nearest apple trees.
No. He wouldn’t dare.
Two feet. George gave me an apologetic smile.
The blade chipped the bark. No, no, no…
The Sentinel veered left. The blade passed cleanly through the apple trunk.
He didn’t.
The tree collapsed with an ear-splitting crack.
He was out of his mind. “Lord Camarine,” I growled.
“This is simply dreadful,” George said. “My deepest, sincerest apologies.”
The second tree fell. I raised my broom. Demonstration or not, he would regret this.
“No, no, please. We’ll take care of it. I insist.” He glanced up to the balcony. “Sophie, would you mind?”
Sophie rose and left the balcony.
He chopped down my apple trees. He would pay for this.
“A human?” Arland asked. “You are sending a human against that?”
Robart pointed at the Sentinel, which had veered away from the orchard, and was spinning in the field. “That is a Class 6 mass casualty guard unit. This thing is designed to be nearly indestructible. It will take concentrated laser fire or KPSM to take it down.”
“KPSM?” I was too mad to keep the fury out of my voice.
“Kinetic Projectile of Significant Mass,” Robart said.
“He means a giant chunk of metal launched from a cannon of a spaceship in orbit,” Lady Isur told me.
Sophie appeared on the screen, walking through the orchard, still wearing her grey gown and carrying a sword in a sheath in her left hand. Her expression was resigned, her eyes sad. The Sentinel was a full twenty feet in diameter, bigger with chains and blades out. She was barely five and a half feet tall. Even if she was the best swordwoman in the history of the universe, it was like trying to stop a semi barreling down the highway with a toothpick.
“This is suicide.” Dagorkun glanced at his mother. “I can take a squad right now. Give us twenty minutes, we’ll turn it into scrap metal.”
The Khanum’s eyes narrowed. She raised her hand and Dagorkun fell silent.
“We are in a residential neighborhood,” I ground out. “There is a limit to how long I can hide this. I’m going to take care of it.”
George shot me a warning glance. “Please. It’s my mess. Let me clean it up.”
Sophie bend down, picked up the hem of her gown and ripped the fabric to mid-thigh.
The Sentinel sighted her. Its metal frames slid against each other. Spikes sprung up, shielding the panels. The blue glow pulsed and the Sentinel shot toward Sophie, an enormous, furious multi-ton tornado of razor sharp metal.
Sophie leaned forward slightly on her toes.
She was going to get run over. The Sentinel would splatter her on my apple trees. I squeezed my broom.
George was watching Sophie with an odd look on his face.
The Sentinel barreled at her. A chain shot out with a foot-wide black blade on the end.
Sophie moved.
It happened so fast, I didn’t actually see it. One moment she was standing still and the next the chain and the blade hurtled to the side, severed, and crashed into the brush, while Sophie was running at the Sentinel. Her sword sparked with pure white, as if someone had taken a hair-thin lightning bolt and bound it to the metal edge.
The Sentinel whirled, swinging to the side, its colossal frames rotating as the machine feverishly tried to process new data. Chains, spikes, and spears shot at Sophie. She dodged them, barely moving out of the way, graceful, beautiful, an
The Sentinel’s blue light pulsed. The colossal machine charged Sophie. It was a no holds barred, direct assault. It meant to crush her.
She smiled. The melancholy in her eyes vanished. They shone with pure, unbridled joy. These eyes, they belonged to someone else, someone merciless and cruel and predatory. Someone who lived for a chance to take another being’s life and revel in doing it.
The Sentinel rolled straight at her.
She struck. Her sword flashed with white, so bright it was blinding.
The machine kept rolling. Sophie had vanished. Oh no, it must’ve rolled over her…
The Sentinel fell apart. The armored frames slid apart from each other, carved into pieces, the edges of the cuts perfectly smooth. The blue sphere turned dull and drained down in a heap of loose blue powder, revealing Sophie. She grinned at the remnants of the machine, and the expression on her face sent cold shivers down my spine. Sophie had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed every moment of it.
George, who did you bring into my inn…
Sophie sheathed her sword.
“As I said, we will make all necessary reparations…” George started.
“This is enough diplomacy for today,” the Khanum said, her voice snapping like a whip. She turned and marched out of the ballroom, her otrokari at her heels.
I watched the vampires file out of the grand ballroom. The merchants followed.
Someone tugged on my robe. I turned. Cookie stood next to me, his big blue eyes filled with sadness. The corners of his fox ears drooped. He looked so pitiful, I almost reached out to pet his fluffy head.
“Mistress Innkeeper?” Even his voice was tiny.
“Yes?” He was so fluffy.
“You didn’t find the emerald, did you?”
“Not yet.”
His ears drooped more. He was killing me with cuteness. “Oh.”
“Is Nuan Cee giving you trouble?” I asked.
“It is a very expensive emerald. I am responsible to my family.”
Since the otrokari took their ball, no doubt made of skulls and wrapped in the skin of their enemies, and stomped off in a huff to their quarters, the peace summit effectively ground to a halt. That meant my afternoon was free.
“I tell you what, I’ll look for it today.”
Cookie’s eyes brightened. “Thank you!”
He scampered off, caught up with the merchant procession, and followed them out.
Nuan Cee lingered in the ballroom and approached me. “What did Nuan Couki want?”
I raised my eyebrows. “That is between me and Cookie.”
“Hmpph.” Nuan Cee peered at the retreating form of his thrice removed cousin’s seventh son.
“Rough day?” I asked.
“I do not hold much hope for these negotiations,” he said.
“It’s only day two.”
Nuan Cee glanced at me. “Trade is the oldest and most noble profession in the Galaxy and making deals is its currency. It is a rite as ancient as the cosmos and the very foundation of mathematics. Something is always equal to something else and an exchange can be made. You desire something and so you surrender something to obtain the desired result. Life is trade; we trade our labor for its fruit, we trade hours of study for knowledge, we trade pleasure for pleasure or sometimes for wealth, security, or offspring. I have made thousands of deals. I cannot deal with these people. I have nothing they want. I offer them peace, but they don’t want it. They only want war.”
He shook his head.
“Give them a chance,” I said.
“I will. But I will take steps.”
He sounded ominous.
“Also, we have some requests. I shall send my people to you with them.”
Oh goodie. “I look forward to it.”
I sealed everyone’s doors and went into the orchard. Beast ran ahead of me and sniffed at the mangled trees.
The remnants of the Sentinel were still scattered on the ground. Four of my twenty trees lay broken. I clenched my teeth. The trees were an extension of the inn, as much as everything on the inn’s grounds was a part of Gertrude Hunt. Seeing them broken like this physically hurt. I wanted to hug them and put them back together.
George would pay for this. One way or another.
I kicked a chunk of the Sentinel’s frame. Ow.
“I’m so sorry.”
The remaining trees rustled.
I nodded at the Sentinel. “Take this thing. Absorb what you can.” The inn could use all of that metal and advanced circuitry. George wasn’t getting any of it back.
The Sentinel sunk into the ground. The severed trunks of apple trees melted into the grass as well. I went back inside, got a cup of tea, and sat down in the living room in my favorite chair. Beast hopped into her dog bed, turned around three times, and flopped.
The inn recorded every minute of the summit. It should be easy enough to find out who took Cookie’s emerald. I just had to watch the some five hours of recordings and figured out where it went.
“I need a screen and the recording of the first night of the summit.”
A screen descended from the ceiling, growing on a thin stalk. The recording began. I flicked through it, fast forwarding to Cookie’s entrance… The problem was, he was throwing gems by the paw-full. It was hard to say which specific emerald he was referring to.
I became aware of someone looming at my side and paused the recording.
“Yes?”
“Mint.” Orro shook a sprig of mint at me.
“Okay?”
He stuck the sprig under my nose. “It’s wilted! I cannot be expected to cook with wilted mint.”
“I’ll go out later today and buy more mint.”
“Good!” He thrust a piece of paper in front of me. Pictures of herbs, meat, rice, milk, and eggs filled it in two neat columns with the prices in big black numbers next to them.
“What is this?”
“Other things I need.”
“Where did you get this?”
“Your markets send out lists of groceries printed on this obsolete paper.”
“You took these from an HEB flyer?”
Orro waved his claws at me. “I don’t know what it’s called. Of all the grocery market lists, that one was best. I need these things. We have to serve a banquet.”
I opened my mouth to argue and clamped it shut. He had a point. We hadn’t served a formal, sit down meal.
“Things!” Orro shook the paper at me.
“I will buy them.” I took the paper. “Thank you.”
He dropped a thin slice of lemon into my tea and disappeared into the kitchen.
I restarted the recording. Handfuls of gems scattering on the floor…
A soft chime announced an incoming request from a guest. I paused the recording and flicked the screen. It split, showing one of the members of Clan Nuan standing by the door leading to the ballroom. The demands Nuan Cee mentioned. I opened the door, sealed it again behind the guest, and rose when he walked into the living room. A grey fox flecked with spots of beautiful blue, he wore an apron and two gold hoops in his left ear. He was older than Cookire, but younger than Nuan Cee.”
“I’m Nuan Ara, Nuan Cee’s blood sister’s youngest son.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” I invited him to sit in a chair across from me and moved the screen to the left, out of the way. “What can I do to make your stay more comfortable?”
Nuan Ara folded his paws on his lap. “It is Nuan Re, the esteemed grandmother, she of great wisdom, the root from which we grow.”
“May her feet never touch the ground.” It wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew the customs. The merchant clans revered their elders. If grandmother wanted something, the entire clan would turn themselves inside out to get it. I had to honor this r
“She wishes to obtain a small predator.”
“A small predator?”
“Yes.” Nuan Ara nodded. “The silent, stealthy, vicious killer that prowls by night and mercilessly murders its victims for food and pleasure.”
Um… What? “And she believes she can find this predator here?”
Nuan Ara nodded. “She has seen the images. They have glowing eyes and razor claws and are renowned for their cruelty.”
“Aha.” What was she talking about?
“She is in particular interested in the Ennui predator. She very much likes its demeanor and coloring in the images. She understand she may not get that particular one, but perhaps one that resembles it? A young one?”
The Ennui predator. “Where did she find these images?”
“On your planet’s holonet,” Nuan Ara said helpfully.
We didn’t have holonet. We had internet… Oh. “So, the esteemed grandmother would like a kitten that looks like Grumpy Cat?” I picked up my laptop, typed in the image search for Grumpy Cat, and showed him the picture.
“Yes!”
“I will see what I can do.”
“Wonderful!” Nuan Ara rose. “Many thanks. You have the promise of our generosity.”
I waited until he returned to his quarters and shut the door behind him. I would have to stop at a local shelter and possibly PetSmart. They had cats for adoption. Interesting how a sweet old grandmother would describe kittens as murderous beasts.
Sophie walked down the stairs and came to sit across from me. She wore soft black pants that flared at the bottom and a bright green tunic that was a cross between a hooded sweatshirt and a blouse. Her feet were bare. She was carrying her sword and her dark hair, previously arranged into a complicated knot, was pulled back into a pony tail.
“I like your floors,” she said, making small fists with her toes on the wooden boards.
“Thank you. Would you care for some tea?”
“Certainly.”
I went into the kitchen and fetched her a cup of green tea.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I restarted the recording. “Stop. Zoom.” Here it was, an emerald the size of a strawberry, the most beautiful intense green you could imagine. If Spring could cry, this would be its tear. That had to be the right emerald. “One quarter speed.”