Indigo Rain (5 page)

“And tell them I’m destroying their economy,” she said with a wry smile.

“No,
I
am destroying their economy.
You
are tempting them to sin with lewd and lascivious dancing.”

“Please forgive Gregir’s manner,” Tiran said, approaching from Roulette’s left. “He tends toward undue cynicism.”

The wolf looked up as Tiran sat down, clearly about to give a caustic retort, then caught sight of Lisha pulling out the fourth seat at the table to sit down as well. Gregir immediately snapped his jaws shut, his ears folding back.

“Cynics are sometimes right,” Lisha said. Gregir’s ears came up slightly.

“So are optimists,” Tiran retorted.

Lisha ignored him, turning to Gregir. “Excuse us.”

The wolf glowered at her, then said to Roulette, “Maybe I will see you later, yes? I will be back with the chess board.” He ambled out of the room.

Lisha waited until he’d left, then focused her gaze on the raccoon. Receiving the vixen’s undivided attention wasn’t much less discomfiting than being slammed against the wall by her. “There’s no reports I can find of Grayson being taken to the hospital. If his wounds were what you described, he’d have needed medical attention to survive. Either they took him to a doctor who could keep it quiet or he didn’t live. I managed another look at the hotel room to see where they used cleaners—what parts of the carpet and box spring were slightly brighter than the rest. Based on how much blood must have been there, I doubt he made it. You said you just gave him a spray from a perfume bottle?”

“A few…a few sprays,” Roulette said, suddenly feeling sick again. She looked down at the table, then closed her eyes.

Lisha put her hand on the raccoon’s shoulder and squeezed it with a little shake. Roulette snapped her gaze up again, surprised.

“All you did was defend yourself,” the vixen said. “You’re blameless here.”

Roulette bit her lip and nodded.

Lisha looked into her eyes a moment longer, then dropped her hand abruptly, looking away. “What color was the acid?”

“Blue. Dark blue. Almost purple.”

“Herani concentrate,” Tiran rumbled. He’d looked uncomfortable himself through the conversation so far, but now looked thoughtful.

“What’s herani?” Roulette asked.

“An extremely dangerous alchemical solvent. I suppose Grayson could have gotten his hands on some, or even formulated it. But why perfume bottles?”

The vixen leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and sighing. Even slouching she was the tallest at the table. “Because in addition to being a racist bastard, he was a sicker shit than I’d ever imagined.”

He smiled wanly. “It’s hardly the sort of association I want.”

Roulette gave him a quizzical look, but Lisha was the one who explained. “Tiran made his fortune as a perfumer. He volunteers here so he isn’t bored in retirement.”

“It’s a family business now run by my son, but I’m still involved. And if I’d made a fortune, the Aid Society wouldn’t be stuck in this warehouse.” He chuckled.

Silence passed for several seconds. Then Lisha’s gaze sharpened. “Write down everything you remember from last night.”

“I’ve already told you what I remember.”

“Do it in more detail. Think of it as rehearsing for testifying against the Brothers.”

Tiran made a soft irritated grunt. “Testify against them for
what,
Lisha?”

“Come on. Massey’s who Grayson was going to meet with last night. Him or one of his proxies. And if Grayson had the herani for that meeting, he was bringing it to him.”

The cat sighed heavily, shifting in his seat. “There are an awful lot of unsupportable assumptions in that, starting with the notion that the Brothers would be involved with anything like this. They’re a service—”

Lisha’s tone rose. “They’re a violent hate group and they’ve gotten away with murder before.”

“There’s no proof—”

“Because Massey kills his own people if he has to. The man is a psychopath. This is the first time he’s screwed up and we have to take advantage of it. If you weren’t always looking the other way you’d see—”

“Enough,” Tiran said, softly but firmly. “I know what the agenda of the Brothers of Atasos is.”

“No,” Lisha snapped, abruptly standing. “You believe they are what they say they are, and you’re a fool.” She leaned over and put her hand on Roulette’s shoulder again, looking down into the raccoon’s eyes with her uncomfortable intensity. “Try to write those things down like I asked.”

You didn’t ask as much as commanded,
Roulette thought wryly, but she just nodded. “All right.”

“And don’t leave. I may not know exactly what they’re planning, but if it’s something that involves using the herani, you’re the only witness who can connect it to them. If they find you, they’ll want to finish what Grayson started.”

Roulette swallowed, ears folding back. Lisha walked out of the room.

Tiran watched her go, sighing.

“So what
is
the agenda of the Brothers of Atasos?” Roulette asked.

“If you ask them, it’s to promote Achoren’s pre-Empire heritage and uphold a way of life distinct from Ranea’s. If you ask Lisha, it’s to segregate humans and non-humans by any means necessary.”

“And if I ask you?”

“Mmm.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “They’d be happy if all of us left the country, and there’s been more than a few crimes against non-humans committed by their members. But there’s nothing that’s ever tied the group to those crimes. They’re not the unhinged terrorists of Lisha’s imagination.” He grinned lopsidedly. “And speaking of Lisha, I think she likes you.”

“Like? I think she feels a little sorry for me, and a little sorry for how she scared the hell out of me when we first met.”

The cat laughed. “Maybe. But I’ve never seen her touch someone to reassure them before. She rarely even shakes hands.”

She finished her tea. “I hope you’re not trying to set us up for a date.”

He suddenly looked flustered. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean to imply—that is, I have my suspicions—not that that’s any of my business.” He rose to his feet. “Regardless. She has a good sense for danger, so it might be best if you do stay here for another day or two. Dinner is served between six and seven-thirty,
 
and breakfast is from six-thirty to eight-thirty.”

She nodded, trying not to look amused at his discomfort. “Thank you for all your kindness.”

He smiled, and ambled off.

Roulette had always had
a good head for directions and maps; finding her way back toward her room wasn’t difficult. Nor was finding the storage rooms she’d passed by.

She not only didn’t own a writing pad or journal, she didn’t even own a pen, which made it difficult to fulfill Lisha’s—strongly worded request. Surely
one
of the three supply rooms she recalled seeing would have them, but neither of the first two did. The third one, though: yes. Leather-bound blank notebooks that seemed too nice for her to appropriate, and an array of different-colored pens. She selected a black one, which seemed appropriately somber, and combed through boxes to see if she could find a cheaper paper-bound notebook. Ah, that looked like—

The raccoon paused, looking at the box behind the one she’d just seen. The one in front had the notebooks she’d sought, but the small one behind had two walnut-sized glass balls rolling loose in it.

Biting her lip, she leaned forward and picked one up. Was it…?

Stepping away, she set it down on an empty area on a shelf, then touched her finger-pad to it. “Start,” she said aloud.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she realized Gregir hadn’t shown her how to make the thing record. “Start” might be too general; it could play recordings back, after all. So maybe—

Tap.
“Record.”

The ball started to glow.

Grinning widely, Roulette stepped back, did a pirouette, and then tapped it again. “Stop.”

The ball’s glow stopped.

Tap.
“Show.”

A small image of Roulette appeared above the ball, doing a pirouette, giggling tinnily. After the few seconds of recording hit its end the ball went dark once more.

She clapped her hands in delight, then considered. How could she remove that useless little recording now? She tapped it again. “Remove.”

Nothing happened.

Tap.
“Erase.”

The ball flickered in acknowledgement. She grinned again.

All right, this wouldn’t be
writing
her recollections. But she’d return the ball after she finished using it. If she took a journal, she’d have to make it hers—she’d have written in it permanently.

And these things were
so
amazing!

She slipped the ball into a pocket and headed out of the storage room, then made her way back to her room.

Nothing appeared to have been disturbed—all her clothes were still here. But she missed not having her trunk, and especially not having her strongbox. Even though this room wasn’t lockable, it would be safer here: strangers, not to mention the mysterious “Brothers of Atasos,” would have to get past the reception area and find her room. And she’d
be
here. That wasn’t the case with the boarding house, not now.

But that meant that she’d have to get the trunk here. Somehow. Just because neither Lisha nor Tiran thought she
should
leave didn’t mean she
couldn’t
, but she had to admit she didn’t want to be out somewhere alone right now. But what about Gregir? He seemed to have little love for Lisha, or any authority at all. He seemed to like Roulette, though. And he’d have no trouble with the trunk.

She debated for a few moments, then set out toward the reading room Gregir said he’d be in.

Her path back to the reading room took her past the reception area, and as she approached she heard voices—the receptionist’s, and a man whose voice she didn’t recognize.

“—waited long as I can, I’m afraid. You’ll tell him I called?”

“I will, and I apologize. There’s a lot going on right now.”

Something made the raccoon stop and make sure she wasn’t visible through the opening behind where the two were speaking.

“Of course. You have your rally in two days.”

“Yes.”

The man’s voice became somewhat mournful. “I still don’t quite understand the objection you all have to the referendum. Some of the talk I’ve heard around these quarters has bordered on the violent.”

“I assure you violence is against our principles, Mr. Massey.”

“I’m sure it’s against
yours,
my dear, as it is against mine. But I’m not sure whether all those who see us as racist hold themselves to the same standards.”

“I’m not sure whether all of those who give you that reputation hold themselves to those standards, either,” the mouse replied, her tone aggressively cheerful.

“Of course,” Massey said, tone not quite hiding his irritation. “Even so, I find it…unfortunate that Mr. Tharp has put himself so much in front of this issue. He and I have some funding issues to discuss, I believe.”

“Very well.” Her tone dropped several degrees at his implied threat. “Do have a wonderful day, Mr. Massey.”

“Thank you.” Roulette heard his footsteps toward the door, then a pause. “Oh. Have you had any new clients this week? I like to meet them when I’m here, if I can.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information.”

There was a long pause before he said, “Good day, then,” and walked off. Roulette leaned forward far enough to see the front door, but caught only a glimpse of a well-tailored white suit.

The mouse behind the desk looked between her and the doorway Massey had left through. “He was asking about you, wasn’t he?” she asked, nose twitching.

“I don’t know,” Roulette said, although she felt certain he was.

“Always an adventure around here,” the receptionist said dryly, and turned her attention to a filing cabinet.

“
I am not sure that doing this thing
would be a good idea,” Gregir rumbled, glancing across the chess board at Roulette.

She had played against him—very poorly—for an hour, succeeding in getting him to laugh twice and wag his tail once, before slipping her request into conversation. “Oh, now. You’re sounding like Lisha.”

He grunted. “No. If I was sounding like Lisha, I would say it like this. ‘If you try to do this thing, I will bite out your spleen.’”

Roulette laughed. “We’ll be in and out quickly, I promise.”

“We will
not
be out quickly. We will be carrying a big trunk,” Gregir sighed.

“I can’t leave it there.” She didn’t try to hide the worry in her voice. “At least
here
it’s in a place I can watch.”

“And a place you cannot lock.”

“Not just any stranger can walk in to this building, though.”

“No, just desperate homeless people.”

She didn’t turn on the tears—she just made sure she looked like she might at any moment. “Please, Gregir.”

The wolf gritted his teeth, pointedly looking away from her face. “I do not think we should do this when it is dark out. After breakfast tomorrow, we shall see what we see, yes?”

She wanted to say
then let’s go right now,
but decided not to push her luck; the sun was already setting. “Thank you.” She beamed, stepping forward and giving him a hug. His body tensed up so much she thought he might shatter.

He patted her on the back awkwardly and disengaged himself from the hug. “It is time to head to dinner, yes?” The wag of his tail didn’t help the stoic look he was clearly trying to maintain.

“They just started serving.”

“Then everything is fresh and it is the best time to go.” He held the door open for her with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. She laughed and headed out with him.

This time people were already sitting down with plates, and a short line was ahead of them. Again, the meal was two entrees—vegetarian and meat—but this time with a choice of sauces rather than just the table-side condiments for spices. Roulette chose a chicken plate with a sour orange chile sauce.

“That smells of nothing but pepper,” Gregir said, wrinkling his nose at Roulette’s plate as he sat down beside a gray fox. The Vraini nodded to him without quite looking up or raising his ears from a low, wary angle. “This is Tylee. Tylee, meet Roulette.”