Sweep of the Heart (Innkeeper Chronicles #5)(16)

Orro blinked. “How many species?”

“At least fourteen. Probably more.”

He blinked again.

“Screen please,” I told the inn.

Gertrude Hunt sprouted a small screen on a tendril and held it up to Orro. He scrolled through the guest list.

“They are due to arrive in two days if we say yes,” I said.

“Of course, you must say yes.” Caldenia clapped her hands. “This will be marvelous.”

I had to do it now. “Your Grace, there is one tiny issue. The ruler is…”

“Don’t tell me!” She jumped up. “I want to be surprised.”

“Letere Olivione…” Sean started.

“Not another word! You will not ruin this for me.”

She swept out of the kitchen, the sleeves of her long green gown flaring from the wind of her passage.

“Well, shit,” Sean said.

I slumped onto the back of my chair.

“I take it there is a problem,” Marais said.

“Not yet,” Sean said. “But there will be one.”

I groaned. This was exactly what I was afraid of.

“I can get her. We can have the inn hold her and tell her,” Sean offered.

“She would be mortally offended.” I sighed. “Do you want to deal with her carrying a grudge for the next six months? Because I don’t.”

Orro had stopped scrolling and was staring at the screen, his eyes distant.

“Orro?” I asked gently. “Are three hundred guests too many?”

He raised his head. His eyes focused. “What are you implying? Are you implying my skills are not sufficient?”

Oh no, no, no, we’re not taking that scary road into Orro’s Offended Woods.

“She is asking if you need some assistance,” Sean said.

The chef frowned, pondered it for a second, and his eyes brightened. “Two!”

“What?” I asked.

“I will need two assistants! Maybe three. I need the species list. I need to go shopping. I need to go to Baha-char! I need things and money!”

He jumped up and ran at the pantry door. The inn helpfully slid it out of the way before Orro could collide with it head-on, and the chef vanished into the storage room.

Sean turned to Marais. “We would like to hire you for security to watch the place from the street. Just in case.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll help you anyway.”

“We absolutely have to pay you,” I told him. “It would be time away from your family.”

Marais thought about it. “I have to check regulations. There might be something in there that prevents me from taking a part-time job. Let me figure this out.”

“Thank you,” I told him.

He got up and left. It was just me and Sean now.

“Do you have any contacts who deal in bioweapons?” I asked.

“Wilmos has some nasty stuff in his shop. I can take it, I’m sure he won’t mind. Why?”

“One of the candidates is backed by the Dushegubs.”

Sean frowned. “I’ve read about those. They are sentient trees. Are they problematic?”

“They are not sentient. They are sapient, but unable to feel emotions. Dushegubs are calculating, homicidal, moving trees that feed on animal life. They know that other creatures have emotions and what those emotions are, and they don’t care. Their first option is murder, their second option is murder, and if that fails, they go straight to murder.”

“Well, at least they have their priorities straight.”

“They are banned as a species from the inns. I will have to apply for special permission to host them, and if we get it, we might have to kill one as an example.”

Sean stared at me.

“Trust me on this,” I told him. “Every time Dushegubs stay at the inn, someone dies. If we are lucky, it’s one of them.”

“Won’t it cause an issue with our bachelor?”

“I told them up front about it. They don’t care if we burn the entire Dushegub delegation to the ground. Apparently, their presence is so oppressively bloodthirsty, they give the Holy Ecclesiarch migraines.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sean said.

That was one way to put it.





7





George knows a way to the inhospitable planet Wilmos is trapped in, and he knows how to trade a favor to get access to it. Color none of us surprised.





Will the latest caper he gets Gertrude Hunt involved in be too dangerous for even our beloved innkeepers to host?





Cue the Intergalactic Bachelor show!





The inn chimed, announcing visitors. I groaned softly and opened my eyes, abandoning the Dushegub containment unit in mid-renovation. The tangle of Gertrude Hunt’s branches cradling my body hummed with energy. I had cocooned myself to speed things up.

We had managed to convince the Seven Star Dominion that 48 hours was an unrealistic timeline. I used the Assembly as a shield and told them that we needed to file for the necessary permits, which was only a half-lie. Being a Republican Monarchy with a developed bureaucracy, the Dominion agreed that the need for proper procedure had to be followed. It bought us five days to prepare. Today was day three. Tomorrow the Sovereign’s chancellor would be stopping by to inspect the premises so we could make adjustments.