It was Thursday and we were back in the grand ballroom, watching the negotiations stall. Three days had passed since I discovered tampering with the inn’s recordings. I was no closer to finding the culprit. I still didn’t know who took the emerald. The cat still hid. Once or twice, while half-asleep, I felthim on the edge of the bed, but when I woke up, he was always gone. I made sure he had water and food and I cleaned his litter box, but that was the extent of our interaction. I clearly failed at making friends. The otrokari and the vampires were still bored and irritable, despite the distractions I provided. And most importantly, the peace summit still made no progress.
The only thing I managed to accomplish was to ensure that Orro’s banquet was scheduled and ready to go tonight.
At the far end of the grand ballroom, a large otrokar rose, his gaze fixed on a point behind me. I’d been reading up on the otrokari war classes and he looked like a basher to me. During war, his kind wore the heaviest armor the Horde could provide and were fitted with arm guns that fit over their shoulders and limbs and weighed over a hundred pounds each. Bashers were huge mobile guns. They punched through the enemy ranks, while lighter war classes hid behind them, and rained death on their opponents. This particular specimen was over seven and a half feet tall with shoulders that were probably too big for my front door. If he ever had to negotiate it, he’d have to turn sideways.
I turned so I could see the summit meeting taking place behind the transparent partition and the basher at the same time. At the negotiations table, the Marshall of House Vorga leaned forward, his fists on the table. When vampires confronted danger, they unconsciously tried to make themselves larger, like cats before a fight. Lord Robart positively loomed over the table, his face contorted by fury. The soundproof barrier robbed him of his voice, but he looked like he was screaming. Well, at least his fangs weren’t bared.
The male otrokar started forward, moving deliberately, his head lowered slightly, his eyes unblinking, their gaze focused on Lord Robart with terrible intensity. Oh-oh.
Jack peeled himself from the wall by the partition and casually strolled down on an intercept course.
The Khanum said something, her face projecting derision.
And here go the fangs.
A slim, hard looking otrokar female smoothly moved into the big soldier’s path. “Where are you going, Kolto?”
“I’m going to wring his neck,” the large otrokar growled.
“First, you won’t get through.”
“Watch me.”
“And if you did manage it, the Khanum would rip off your balls and make you eat them. She’s got it. If she needs our help, she’ll call for it.”
Behind the partition, Dagorkun said something, his pose relaxed, his arms crossed on his chest. The other two otrokari guffawed. The Khanum cracked a smile. Lord Robart did his best to propel himself and his high tech armor into a massive leap, but Arland, Lady Isur, and the Battle Chaplain grabbed him and pulled him back. Nuan Cee put his furry head on the table, face down. Lord Robart snarled, his fangs out, trying to break free.
This wouldn’t end well, I just knew it.
“See, she has it,” the female otrokar said. “And you’re still in one piece.”
The male otrokar frowned at her. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know.” The female otrokar arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I have an interest in you staying intact.”
She turned and walked away, joining a group of three other otrokari.
The male otrokar frowned again, his brain obviously trying to figure out why the female otrokar would be interested in continued safety of his genitals. Then his eyes lit up. His expression turned speculative. Yes, she likes you, big dummy.
George made some sort of placating gesture and squeezed the top of his cane. The partition drained down, and Lord Robart marched out, his face still contorted with rage. Lady Isur and the Battle Chaplain chased him. Arland bore down on me. “Lady Dina. We need privacy. He doesn’t need to be around his people right now.”
I unsealed the main entrance. “The front room and the kitchen are yours.”
“My thanks.” Arland raced after Robart.
I opened the side entrances and watched everyone pile out. Once everyone was secured, I went into the kitchen.
Lord Robart sat at the table, his face murderous. Arland leaned on the wall next to him. The Battle Chaplain hovered nearby, his crimson vestments framing his big body like tattered wings. At the island, Orro chopped celery and carrots into small pieces, grimly ignoring the presence of the vampires.
I got out three mugs, dropped a bag of mint tea into each, and ran hot water from the Keurig into each one. “We’ll never make progress this way,” Arland said quietly.