After introductions were made and rules were established, Hansel led us out and gave a short tour. Showed us the small area meant for visitors like us, with a kitchen-like area and a number of private rooms connected to it. Apparently there were a few areas like this all over the ship, so if we didn’t like this one we could choose another. None of us really complained and he left, sliding the door behind him.
“So,” I grunted, pacing the kitchen and sniffing around, “this is quite the shit-bucket you booked us on.”
Rod snorted and plopped down into one of the chairs. “You realize Miles can hear and see everything you’re doing, right?!”
“If she didn’t want people to call her ship a shit-bucket she wouldn’t let it look like a shit-bucket.” I continued trotting around, sniffing at the fridge and the tall bookshelf with bread and pastries stuffed into it. The fridge smelled like it had some meats, and the rest of the food happened to be things that wouldn’t spoil until after the sun expanded. Everything had slight evidence of rust on the edges – or in the case of the table and chairs, on almost the entire surface – and the metal grating over the kitchen was full of holes. You could feel the heat as much as see the pipes that pumped electricity and steam underneath. The doors were all sliding ones set into a track, and looked like they had been stolen from various submarines from various centuries.
Layla was still on my back, now nearly laying on her stomach with her arms reaching to the front of my shoulders, the sacks of buttons and bits nestled between her stomach and my back, with her knees still squeezing around the bottom of my ribcage. I bent my wings for a second and wrestled the sacks from between us, allowing for an easier time for us both. “So…” she shuffled a little to adjust. “...what now?”
“Now?” Rod leaned back on his chair and put his feet up. “Now we strategize.”
“Under surveillance,” I snorted.
“Oh shush,” Rod said, waving a hand. “Miles has an ear to the ground in almost every way possible. You think if she thought she’d get a better deal from Jake she’d hesitate to drop us off there?”
I tilted my head. “Speaking of, what did you bargain with?”
“The same thing Miles always bargains with. Stories. I promised her a good one.”
I snorted. “Please don’t tell me it’s the one where you stole from three Keeper Sanctuaries at once.”
He shook his head and stuck out his tongue. “No, everyone knows that one. Miles likes them fresh and real. I’ve got one I don’t think anybody’s heard before.” I tiled my head at him again, one ear flicking. Then again, I suppose if anyone could pull a story out of their ass, it’d be Rod.
I shook my head and poked at Layla for a moment with a wing-thumb. She pushed back against the arm slightly, wiggling to get away, so I began poking her with the other one up and down her back and torso until she sat up and slid off.
“I don’t get what we need to strategize about,” she said with a pout. “Aren’t we just going to keep running?”
I stared at her. “Is that what you want?”
She hesitated, stared at the table. Shook her head. I nodded.
Rod put his hands behind his head with a groan. “We need to strategize because no matter what we do, Jake is going to be hunting us down. He hates us all for different reasons and needs to reign us all in. So we could run. We could fight. We could hide. But eventually the past will do what it does. It’ll catch up. And I prefer to be ready when it does.”
I nodded. “Which means strategy.” Rod nodded and looked at me. I snorted. “Which means information. My planning is hampered when I don’t know the facts.”
“I told you. He’s after the Keystones.”
“Right, but does he have any himself? What magic is he using? What was his primary mode of hunting, direct or distract? I know he adjusts to his target, given what you said about Glidon, but if he was only after the sword why wait until he could grab Layla? Why not just fund a break-in to get the sword and claim ignorance?”
Rod stared at me for a moment. Glanced at Layla. Back at me. “You don’t know who her family is, do you…?”
I shook my head. “Been busy the last thousand years hiding in a sand pit. Because someone refused to dig me out.”
“I offered. You said no.”
“Trying to hand me a rake is not helping me when I’m drowning in –” I took a breath. Heaved out a sigh. Shook my head and neck. “Nevermind. Point is, no. I don’t know who her family is. Should I?”
Layla curled up in her chair for a moment. Glanced at Rod. Pensive. Withdrawn. Again.
She was doing her best to fight that habit, and had been doing well so far. But the mention of her family had her curling up again. I glanced at Rod once before sitting on the ground and looking directly at Layla.
“You know you’re not them, right?”
Layla looked at me. I flicked an ear.
“I don’t know the particulars. But you are you, not your blood. Don’t let their reputation rule over you.”
Rod tilted his head. “Well…I mean…”
I snapped my jaws at him, ears flicking back a little. “I’m not about to debate this. Heredity doesn’t equal validity. Not to me.” I glanced back at Layla. “If you don’t want us to talk about it, we won’t. Although it would greatly help me to understand.”
Layla stared at me. Really stared. I don’t think anyone had ever quite put it to her like that. Then she nodded.
“My…” She swallowed. “My family…I mean…I know I told you my father and the family knew about the portals. The stories I’ve heard is that they were the engineers. Found the magic buried on the homeworld.” My ear twitched. I’d heard about the engineers of the portals; all the planets had their hidden portal magic. Back home the clans guarded the openings and tried their best to guide visitors back to their own worlds before anything could happen to them. Our world wasn’t one for what they called ‘single-skins’, wasn’t kind to those used to hotter temperatures, and could be all-around deadly for species that needed a thicker atmosphere. It wasn’t until the portals began to open through willpower instead of accident that the planets began to work on surviving on the other worlds.
Layla buried her head into her knees for a moment. “But I think…I think what Rod’s referring to is their reputation. Specifically…my uncle.” She glanced at him, but he continued to keep an even stare over the whole conversation. She looked back at me. “My uncle is known as the Makdaw by outsiders. The family just calls him Wolf.”
