One, the phantom was definitely alive. It wasn’t a machine. I managed to isolate a six second video where I could see it move through the crowd based on a slight shimmer. The phantom moved to avoid people in its way and it clearly stepped over other gems and gold on the floor, choosing to move through stretches of empty floor. If the phantom had been a machine, it would have to have reasoning abilities and it would have a complicated mechanism of locomotion. If it had simply rolled on wheels, I’d see things nudged out of the way.
When each delegation entered the Grand Ballroom, I had the inn scan them for weapons. I knew the otrokari brought in a gun, although I didn’t expect them to actually fire it. The inn didn’t register anything with advanced robotics or artificial intelligence or anything that had artificial legs.
Two, since the phantom was alive, he or she had entered the inn with one of the delegations. I would’ve felt an intruder.
Three, since the intruder was one of the guests, he or she would be missing from the crowd in the Grand Ballroom when the emerald was being pilfered. Problem was, Gertrude Hunt recorded a wide angle video which gave me a nice panoramic view of the crowd, but they bunched up too much in those crucial five seconds.
I checked the clock. We scheduled the banquet at nine. It was too late for me, a little late for the merchants and the vampires and a little early for the otrokari. The clock said sixteen minutes past three. Plenty of time. I groped with my hand for my tea cup on the side table next to the sofa and touched something soft.
The cat sat on the side table.
We looked at each other.
Beast barked once, quietly.
The cat walked over the sofa’s arm, stomped over my lap – he was surprisingly heavy – and rubbed against me. I stroked his head. He rubbed again, purring, walked over to the other end of the sofa, and arranged himself on the blanket. He stretched, let out all of the claws on his front paws, and began kneading the blanket.
I looked at Beast. She stared at me, her big round eyes puzzled.
The cat bit the blanket and made purring noises.
Okaaay. And that wasn’t weird.
Caldenia strolled into the front room and took a seat on the chair across from me. Her Grace wore a dark purple gown with a severe high neck. Elaborate embroidery in pale lavender and gold decorated the length of the gown, spilling in beautiful rivulets over the expanse of the skirt.
Caldenia frowned at the cat. “Why is he doing that?”
I had no idea. “He’s a freak.”
The freak continued kneading the blanket and sucking on it.
My screen beeped. Dagorkun’s portrait appeared in the left bottom corner.
“What may I do for you, Under-Khan?”
“The Khanum wishes to share a tea. Will you be available in ten minutes?”
Being invited to share a tea was an honor and a privilege. Still, if it was up to me, I would’ve stayed on my nice comfortable couch.
“Please inform Khanum that I’m honored and will see her in ten minutes.”
Dagorkun’s image vanished.
“I will come as well,” Caldenia said.
“If you wish, Your Grace.”
“Oh I do not wish. They’re barbarians. A woefully unrefined culture.” Caldenia rose. “However, I do not trust that brute of a woman to not poison you.”
I dismissed the screen and it retracted itself into a wall. “Poison wouldn’t be in the otrokar character. They favor direct violence.”
“And that’s precisely why I am coming. In matters of diplomacy and love one must strive for spontaneity. Doing the unexpected often gets you what you want. It wouldn’t be typical for the Horde to resort to poison, so we must assume they will.”
We walked to the staircase, the doors opening as we approached the walls. “What possible reasons would they have to poison me?”
“I can think of several. The most obvious one would be to gain access to the rest of the inn. With you out of the way, they could ambush and slaughter the vampires.”
“That would bar them from Earth forever.” Not to mention that the inn would murder them.
Caldenia smiled. “And the hope for the peace between the Horde and the Holy Anocracy would perish with them. Of all the types of beings one finds herself dealing with, the true believers are the worst. A typical sentient’s psyche is a spiderweb. Pull on the right thread and you will get the desired result. Praise them, and they will like you. Ridicule them and they’ll hate you. Greedy can be bought, timid can be frightened, smart can be persuaded but the zealots are immune to money, fear, or reason. A zealot’s psyche is a tight rope. They have severed everything else in favor of their goal. They will pay any price for their victory, and that makes them infinitely more dangerous.”
Caldenia’s mind wasn’t just a spider web, it was a whole constellation of spider nests. “So is there no way to subvert a true believer?”