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25

The back room at The Porthole had only one table.

A card table.

Not the fancy kind either, like you’d see in a poker room. No, this was a square aluminum job, with a vinyl top, and skinny, fold-out legs that locked into position.

I used to use a table like this one as my kitchen table. Before Katy made me get rid of it. Said mine was too cheap, and she hated the cigarette burn in the vinyl, leftover from my old roommate, Bruce.

The Porthole must have bought this card table the same place I got mine. Even had the same kind of unpadded folding chairs my butt knew so well.

Had to admit though. Table suited the back room, here at The Porthole.

No fancy tiling or fanciful seafaring decorations back here. The floor was rough, gray moonrock. Just like the walls and ceiling. One of the walls had a little slide-up aluminum window shade. Same wall had a cheap, unpainted wooden door, with a tarnished brass handle.

The back room didn’t smell like rich coffee either. More like stale cigarettes.

Soon as I closed the big red door behind me, I wanted to rip it back open, for the ventilation. I knew Vasco would never go for it though.

Privacy was the point. Not comfort.

Speaking of privacy…

I looked the room over one more time. Just the one other entrance or exit, apart from possible portals.

Not exactly the kind of back room I’d expect in a restaurant, either. I mean, no way this was set up for private parties.

Had to be a break room, didn’t it? What were the odds that a restaurant would keep an interrogation room?

Vasco went right up to what I’d thought was a window shade. Opened it, and I could hear now that it went straight into the kitchen.

Sounded like a dozen workers back there, prepping and cooking.

Vasco reached inside and slid out an aluminum shelf that locked into place as though it were part of the windowsill.

“Cup of black coffee, please,” Vasco called inside. “And a bowl of Magellan’s favorite, if you would.”

He turned to Brikatika, who was frowning at the accommodations.

“Want anything?” Vasco asked the dorach.

“A dorach seat would be nice.”

“Not in the back room.” Sounded like a woman’s voice. The kind of voice that suggested this woman had been waiting tables since the Industrial Revolution, and had been chain-smoking the entire time. “Can pass you a mat.”

“Fine,” Brikatika said, and started pulling a chair back, using his teeth.

The mat came through first. Blue. Looked like something I’d expect to see kids lying on in a pool. Vasco handed it to me, and I brought it to Brikatika, who twitched his whiskers in disdain, but unrolled it and sat down on it.

“Get some food,” Vasco said to me, then called through the window. “All of this on my tab, all right?”

“All right,” the voice called back. Honestly, this woman’s voice sounded as though speaking hurt her.

I tried to smile as I stepped up to the window. Inside there were only about a half-dozen people working, but fast and efficient.

Four of the workers were vomvos, humanoid bees. More or less. I mean, they stood like humans, and their buzzing could mimic any number of languages.

But they had wings on their backs, and six thin, black limbs. Two of the limbs were used like legs, and the other four were all busy, either dealing with dishware, washing, or food prep.

I think I considered vomvos humanoid because all six of their limbs ended in appendages like fingers and thumbs. They were naked, though, except for their aprons and white hats.

The other two people back there were humans. One, an old Asian woman in a white chef’s outfit. Which meant she was probably Profundia, the famous cook who was said to be able to make any dish from any world, and make it better than the natives.

The other person was a woman in a rainbow-colored waitress uniform. Younger than I expected. Maybe about my age. She had dark caramel skin, long, black hair, and sleek, lupine good looks. Geri, I presumed.

“Please,” I said, not sure whom I should be addressing, “I’d like a burger, medium rare, with swiss cheese. Side of curly fries. And a Diet Eruption Cola, easy on the ice.”

Nobody responded.

“Um, thank you,” I said, and turned away.

Vasco was already seated on one chair. Magellan perched on another, his paws up on the folding table and head high enough that he could see. Brikatika sat on his mat in the place of the third seat, leaving the last for me.

“Coffee up, and a bowl of mixed chicken.”

The voice that said those words sounded as nondescript as any Midwest newscaster.

The chime of a bell followed the words. By the time I turned around, no one was standing there.

I grabbed the bowl and coffee cup, and brought them over to the table. Magellan started eating happily. Vasco didn’t even look at his coffee.

“Who were you trying to contact?” Vasco asked Brikatika, as I sat.

“Look,” Brikatika said. “What you need to understand is that I’m out. I’m not involved anymore. I thought they were willing to let me go, but—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” I said, assuming the role of the good cop. Wasn’t something covered in Locksmith training, but hey, I’d seen my share of movies and TV shows. “You know I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. I’ve saved your life twice already. But—”

“Is he serious?” Brikatika said to Vasco, pointing one paw at me.

“This isn’t game time,” Vasco said, grimacing at me. He turned back to Brikatika. “You know how bad this can go for you. We need to know who you were trying to contact, and we need to know who ‘they’ are.”

“I need assurances,” Brikatika said. “The clock is running on this.”

“Why?” I asked. “What do you mean the clock is running?”

“Yeah,” Vasco said. “You could have mentioned that before.”

“Burger up,” said that disturbingly nondescript voice that had to be one of the vomvos. “Medium rare, with a side of curly fries and Diet Eruption Cola.”

I ran to grab my food while Brikatika and Vasco argued briefly.

I tossed a couple of fries into my mouth on my way back to the table.

They were so good I had to catch myself from stumbling.

Fries were one of those fast food stables that were just … filler. They could be crispy and good, or they could be spicy and good, but even at their best I knew they were just a way of using potatoes to fill my belly.

The curly fries at The Porthole were something more than that.

They were light. So light I could probably have stuffed them into my mouth all day without stopping and not been the least bit sorry.

They were the perfect blend of crispy outside and textured inside, so that their initial taste popped, but then their secondary taste filled my mouth.

And that taste. A blend of spices I couldn’t quite parse, though I could taste garlic, basil and paprika all blending together well around some kind of marvelous base.

I missed the next few things Vasco and Brikatika said as I sat and popped more fries into my mouth.

“Burger!” Magellan barked at me. “Taste better with the burger.”

Vasco whistled, sharp and sudden. Brought my focus, and Magellan’s, from the food and back to the conversation.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No,” Vasco said. “Forgot this was your first visit. I shouldn’t have brought you here for the first time when I need your attention. Drink your soda. Save some of those fries for later.” He raised his voice. “Need a to-go box for that burger.”

Turned his attention back to Brikatika.

“No more bullshit. You need to lay it all out now or—”

“If you banish my family from earth, they’ll find us. There’s nowhere for us to run now.”

“Look,” I said, trying to keep from looking longingly back at my plate, while my stomach rumbled forlornly. “Obviously you violated the Va-a-naska Treaty, or you wouldn’t be working so hard for a deal. Helping us now will work in your favor, but we still have to consider what you’ve done.”

“So your best hope,” Vasco said, “is helping us stop the people you’re worried about.”

“That means,” I said, picking up the thread, “the sooner you give us everything, the more we can do to help you.”

“Make us wait too long,” Vasco continued as though we’d rehearsed this, “and you’ll miss your window. Because if we don’t stop whatever’s coming, you’re an accessory.”

“I’d say accomplice.” I frowned at Vasco.

“That’s Janna’s call.”

“Still,” I said, “he’s holding back knowledge of treaty violations, and—”

“All right,” Brikatika said, shaking his head slowly. “All right.”

A ripple of exhaustion ran down his fur.

“There are more rocks like the one I took you guys to. A half-dozen I know of, but there might be more. The ones I know are scattered along the Willamette and Columbia Rivers. Using the Portland area as a testing ground.”

“Smuggling?” Vasco said.

Brikatika nodded.

“Gossaks bring the contraband through at a murder site. Hand it off to nychtera who get the contraband overland to a holding rock by the river. I would pick it up at the river and bring it downtown to the distribution site.”

Nychtera. Those were the large bats I saw during my first trip to Locksmith Central — aka the great prismatic cavern.

Did that mean Chiron was…

Brikatika sat back and waved his paws. “But I’m out. I swear.”

“Why?” I asked.

“My oldest just — how would you say it? — formal mating… Got married.”

Of course. Generations were a factor in the Va-a-naska Treaty. Banishment was a common form of punishment, for any treaty violations, and could be extended to immediate family, but not extended family.

Once Brikatika’s oldest child got married, then hris would become extended family, as defined in the Va-a-naska Treaty. If Brikatika got banished, his wife and unmarried children might be banished with him — depending on the violation — but any married progeny and their offspring?

He might never see or hear from them again.

“Who were you running to?” Vasco said.

“Quelan,” Brikatika said, shaking his head. “She made the holding zones. But she told me she didn’t trust the Network. Told me she’d help me if I needed to get out. Told me—”

“Quelan lies,” Vasco said, his voice as gentle as I’d ever heard it. “I’d like to say Quelan only follows the money, but she’s never that simple. Still. The only thing you can rely on about Quelan, is that you can’t rely on her.”

Brikatika nodded, whiskers sad and sagging.

“What about your family?” Vasco asked.

“Mated doracha can always find each other. She would have followed this evening, once I’d established it was safe.”

“Is Quelan behind the Network?” I asked, getting us back to the topic at hand.

“No,” Brikatika and Vasco said at the same time.

Brikatika’s whiskers shivered in surprise, but Vasco said, “Not her style. I don’t doubt she contracted for the holding rocks, and at least one so-called safe house. But gigs she runs herself are simpler than that Network sounds. Simpler and more dangerous. She might be using the Network to test something for herself though.”

“So who is behind the Network then?” I asked. “Chi—”

I never got to finish that question though.

The red door burst open.

A bluebird flew into the room.

Janna’s voice came out of the bluebird, as it approached the card table.

“Brikatika’s family is reported missing.”

“No!” Brikatika moaned. “They wouldn’t!”

The bluebird faded away as soon as its message was heard.

“We have to go,” Vasco said to me. “Pack your burger.”

“Take me with you,” Brikatika said.

“Forget it,” Vasco said, coming to his feet. “They already want to kill you. I’ll grab one of the other ‘Smiths to get you to Janna for a full debriefing while Scott and I go after your family.”

“This is a trap,” I said, standing now myself. “Has to be. They’ll know we—”

“You need me,” Brikatika said. “I can find my mate faster than you ever could.”

Vasco sighed, but he knew the dorach was right.

“Fine,” Vasco said, then turned to me. “Hurry up with that burger. We need to move.”

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