The break ended and taping resumed. Garry made a great show of pulling the duck out of the oven. “And here we are. Would you look at that? Fire and lightning!”
A stagehand held up a cue card with “Applause” on it. The studio audience oohed and clapped enthusiastically.
Orro surged to his feet and roared, “You are a fraud!”
Oh my God.
Sean grabbed him, trying to pull him back into his seat, but Orro threw him off.
“You are no chef! That poultry is a lie!”
Garry spun around, looking for the offender, saw an outraged giant, and started backing up.
“You dare!” Orro sputtered, jabbing his shovel hand in Garry’s direction.
Security converged on the row, moving in.
“You’re not fit to cook dog food, you vile pretender!” Orro roared.
Sean smashed his hand against Orro’s temple, too high to do any real damage if Orro was a human, but right where a Quillonian’s left ear would be. Orro crumpled. Qoros heaved him over his shoulder like Orro weighed nothing. Sean took off, the Medamoth right behind him. Sean and the security team collided at the end of the row. There was a scuffle, legs and arms flew as bodies were knocked to the ground, and Sean and Qoros fled the studio, carrying Orro like a sack of potatoes. The camera streaked after them and the feed ended.
I rubbed my face. “Did they call the cops?”
“No,” Sean said. “I was very careful. I just tripped a couple of them. Nobody was hurt.”
Except Orro.
“Did you talk to him?”
“We tried. He won’t respond. He didn’t say a word on the ride back.”
“I’ll go talk to him.”
Sean nodded. “You were right. It was a bad idea.”
“You did the best you could. And … it might be for the best. I keep telling him not to trust everything on TV and he never listens. Did Qoros get what he wanted, at least?”
Sean nodded. “He wanted to know how to prevent a war with the Hope-Crushing Horde.”
“What did you tell him?”
Sean sighed. “The truth. They will fight their enemy to the bitter end, but they will give the shirt off their back to their friend. The only way to avoid a war with the Otrokars is to earn their friendship.”
I walked down the hallway, past the atrium filled with Orro’s prized herbs, to a green door. I knocked. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” a dull voice answered.
I opened the door and entered the room. Orro’s suite was made by him. He showed me what he wanted, and I reproduced it as faithfully as I could. It was the room of a sentient creature, but it felt like the cozy den of some small animal. The rooms had no sharp angles. The soft eggshell walls met the floor and the ceiling with a curve, as if the space had been hollowed out of a log or dug out of forest soil. The doorways were arched, the large window slightly misshapen, neither a circle nor a square. African violets in cute pots lived on the windowsill. The furniture was large, plush, and curved. A huge TV took up most of one wall, and bookshelves filled with books, scrolls, tablets, and other media in a dozen galactic languages, lined the other.
In the middle of all of this Orro curled on the blue rug, a sagging heap of quills. I couldn’t even see his head.
I sat next to him and patted his back.
“He was a fraud,” Orro whispered.
“I’m so sorry.”
“He lied.”
“Maybe. He probably is a good chef, and his recipes are sound. But it’s a TV show. It’s made to entertain. It would have taken him at least two and a half hours to roast that duck.”
“He should have done it. Instead he brought a duck he didn’t cook and tried to pass it off as his own. He painted it with soy sauce.”
“I’m so sorry. Why do you think he did that?”
Orro bit off his words. “So it would look better.”
“Exactly. It’s TV. It can’t convey to you how things smell or how they taste. It can only show you how good they look. It has to be entertaining. Not many people would sit there and watch him roast a duck for two hours.”
“I would.”
He was heartbroken and I didn’t know what to do.
“You didn’t go there to be entertained. You went there for the food, because you are a great chef, Orro.”
“Do you want me to pack?” he asked softly.
“Why would you have to pack?”
“I broke my word. I dishonored my combat friends. I made a scene.”
I hugged him. Quills poked me. “No, I don’t want you to pack. You’re my friend, Orro. You’re always welcome here. This is your home for as long as you want it.”
He sniffled.
“Besides, you’re a great chef. All the other inns envy me. Where else would I find a chef this amazing?”
He sniffled again. “I’m a better chef than Garry Keys.”
“That was never in doubt.”
8
Early the next morning, I knocked on the frame of Adira’s window. She stood with her back to me, reading a long scroll, but the sound hadn’t startled her. She turned slowly, smiled at me, and said, “Come in.”
I moved the glass and walked in. Adira looked at the plain grey robe in my hands.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Have you ever been to Baha-char?”
Adira frowned. “No.”
“Then I propose that you and I go shopping, and then go have brunch at Baha-char.”
Adira looked at me, looked at the robe, and then looked at me again. “What kind of shopping is available at Baha-char?”
“Every kind.”
Adira took the robe and called out, “Imur, if Zedas asks, I am resting and am not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, my liege,” A female voice answered from the main bedroom.
Adira pulled the robe on and followed me out the window. We slid to the first floor, went inside, down the hallway, and to a door.
“What’s in the satchel?” Adira nodded at a large tattered bag on my shoulder.
“I have to run an errand to help a friend. It won’t take long.”
“Will the inn be alright without you?”
“My boyfriend will take care of it. He’s installing extra weapons for your meeting.”
Adira smiled as if I had said something amusing.
The door swung open and sunshine flooded the hallway.
“What is this?” Adira asked.
“Come with me and find out.”
We walked the sunlit streets of Baha-char under the purple sky, while the broken planet rose slowly above us. We gawked at strange creatures, ducked into little shops, and bargained with the shop keepers. I took her to the Fiber Row, where all things thread, fabric, and yarn were sold. She walked into a store the size of Wal-Mart filled with skeins of yarn in every color and didn’t leave for two hours. She bought yarn, or rather I bought it for her and she promised to reimburse me. I bought a short sword for Sean at a small stall a few streets over. It seemed very old, made of a strange dark blue metal, but razor sharp.
Afterward, tired, we sat at a small café, guarding the big sack of yarn and my sword with our legs, while a waitress with four arms brought us tall drinks filled with green liquid and bubbles. The bubbles would break free and burst with a loud pop, making the air smell like persimmons.