Chapter 8

“Two rooms, with working air-conditioning and windows. Preferably ones that close,” Drakeforth explained to the long-haired youth behind the stone block that served as a counter. Two cats lounged in the only chairs available in the guest side of the reception area, their expressions suggesting the faded cushions would only be pried from their cold, dead paws.

“How many nights?” The youth sounded male. It surprised me: in the gloom I had assumed he was a girl.

“Let’s not make assumptions,” Drakeforth replied.

“We have one room available, it’s the honeymoon suite.”

“Oh, we’re not—” I said quickly.

Drakeforth took a pencil and scrap of paper from his pocket. He wrote something on it and slid it over the counter.

“Here’s an idea,” he said. The young man glanced down and took the paper, leaving the key unattended as he swept the note out of sight.

“Bring the bags,” Drakeforth said, as he started up a flight of stone steps.

The youth and I cycled through an eternity of not making eye contact, then glancing at each other questioningly, then feeling awkward until I grabbed one of my suitcases and headed it up the stairs.

“It’s all right,” I said to Drakeforth when I found him on the third floor. “I’ll get the bags.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to ask twice,” Drakeforth replied.

I put the case down and went back downstairs to collect the others. In the lobby, a discussion was warming rapidly. I stopped just out of sight and listened.

“He always stays here.” A woman’s voice.

“No one chooses to stay here,” the boy behind the stone counter replied.

“Vole Drakeforth is a creature of habit. Many of them quite inexplicable, but it does make him predictable.”

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I stepped down and picked up two more suitcases.

“Cacolet-leather,” the woman said.

I mentally sighed. “Yes.”

“Are you here with Vole?”

“That would depend on who wants to know.”

She wore a loose robe of pale green cloth that draped and twisted, giving her the appearance of being woven into the centre of some archaic knot. Her skin was tanned, but her eyes and hair were as light as the sand. However, unlike the sand, her eyes were blue.

“I told him to come,” she said.

“Ah.” I lifted the suitcases and started up the stairs.

“You don’t believe me?” she said to my back.

“Quite right.”

I heard the scuff of her feet on the stone steps behind me as I stepped around a cat escorting me up the stairs.

“Drakeforth never does anything anyone tells him,” I explained.

“Well, he listens to me,” she said as we climbed past the second floor.

“You must have something serious to blackmail him with,” I replied.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’m his wife.”