The Children of the Sky

Scrupilo was still too angry to be cautious. He sent two of himself forward, crowding the Ambassador’s personal space. “Fair enough, Mister Ambassador. What have you done with my radio cloaks?” The two snapped their jaws in Godsgift’s direction, and though the adversaries were still three meters apart, the gesture was very much like one human poking a finger into the chest of another.

Godsgift was not impressed. “Ha. I’ve heard of those cloaks. Surely they can find themselves?” It pointed a snout in the direction of Starship Hill. “I haven’t seen your precious cloaks since that amusing demonstration you gave at Springtime’s Last Sunset.” He spread into an aside. “What wonderful holidays you Northerners have. For us, the springtime is just more rain—”

“Be quiet!” Scrupilo turned a head toward his assistants, both human and Tinish. “Bring me some soldiers with long pikes. We’re putting these thieves to the question.”

The Tropicals surged toward Scrupilo, steel glittering on their claws. They would lose any battle, but Scrupilo’s two forward members would likely get their throats slashed.

Ravna stepped forward and raised her arms in the way that most packs seemed to find intimidating. “Wait!” she shouted, as loud as she was able. “No one’s going to be put to the question. We’ll either respect your embassy or boot you out of the Domain.”

Scrupilo settled back, gobbling to himself.

The Ambassador had edged away from the mob, no doubt to keep a clear mind. Now he gave a little warble, and the others relaxed a fraction. Godsgift bobbed heads in Ravna’s direction. “Ah, so blunt and yet—how do I say?—so full of the common sense. I am grateful, Your Highness. I came today expecting a happy and friendly tour. At least it will not become a bloodbath.”

“Don’t count on it,” Scrupilo muttered back.

Ravna lowered her arms and leaned forward so her eyes were more at the level of Godsgift’s. “Our radio cloaks went missing just in the last hour, Mr. Ambassador. So, how interested are you in maintaining your embassy here? Will you and your people submit to a search?” She waved at Godsgift’s mob and their suspiciously numerous panniers.

The Ambassador’s heads flipped up, probably a dismissive gesture. “Perhaps the question should be, how much does your Domain value continued trade with the Tropics?”

In the past, the trade with the Tropics had been an almost unrecognized silent barter, where bid and response were spread across years of occasional shipwrecks. The “Tropical Embassy” had begun as a charity for shipwrecked singletons, a joke of an embassy. Now the joke had a life of its own and—maybe—some influence in the South.

Ravna crossed her arms and gave the ambassador a look. It was amazing the effect the soundless stare of a two-legs could have on some packs.

Whatever the reason, the ambassador gave a shrug. “Oh, very well. We, of course, have nothing to hide.”

Ravna gave an inward sigh of relief. Now to find who really did the thieving. She turned to the crowd behind her. A couple of dozen humans stood nearby, looming tall over the packs. And one at the back—

“Hei, Nevil! How long have you been here?”

Johanna’s fiancé trotted forward, a couple of his friends close behind. “Just got here. I was at the top of the quarry when I saw everybody go berserk.” Nevil stopped beside her. He was still breathing heavily. “I heard the last part though. You want these fellows searched?”

Scrupilo was nodding. “Yes. You humans can get in close without upsetting our delicate guests.” He jabbed sarcastically in the direction of the Tropicals, but his gesture lacked spirit. “I was so sure it was them,” he grumbled to himself.

Nevil squatted down so he could speak more privately. No human could direct sotto voce mutterings as well as a pack. Ravna leaned closer. “Godsgift did give in a bit easily,” said Nevil. “Are you sure you have all his entourage here?”

Scrupilo’s eyes widened. He poked a head up and gave the Tropicals a long look. “They’re so hard to count.” He did a double take. “God’s Choir, Nevil, do you think they split off an extra pack?”

Ravna looked at the visitors. The Tropicals always seemed a bit strange, with their patchy fur, body paint, and mismatched clothing. Now that they weren’t jammed against the airship, they had separated into something like packs, mostly foursomes. If they had come in with extra members, then split to make an additional pack.… It was the sort of playing with souls that would have left Domain packs dazed and disoriented.

Scrupilo looked back and forth at the Tropicals. “I don’t know how many came in, but … look at that body paint. Don’t you think there are gaps within those two fellows at the end? These are Tropicals. There’s no end to their perversions.”

Godsgift might be hearing every word. In any case, it was becoming restive: “I say, Your Highness. We’ve agreed to be searched. Be about the indignity, if you please!”