Tanner chuckled.
Kaylin didn’t. “The Hawks are politically neutral.”
“Yes, kitling, they are. But none of us exist solely as Hawks. We have duties and responsibilities—and enemies—outside of the Halls. We have history. Some of us have a longer and more complex history simply because we’re older. Moran, clearly, has significance outside of the Halls, and you are somehow stepping in it.”
“I will let Moran decide.”
“Kaylin—” Clint started.
She waited, glaring at him. He didn’t finish the sentence.
“What he’s not saying,” Tanner said, when it was clear that Clint was conceding, “is that you will cause the Hawklord extreme political grief. It’s possible the Hawklord will be waiting to speak to you when you arrive in the office.”
“Fine. At this point, it’s probably moot. Marcus is going to rip out my throat before I can try to convince Moran a room in my house is better than the infirmary.” She exhaled heavily and added, “I don’t want to cause the Hawklord any difficulty. I’d like to make corporal sometime in my life.”
That claim apparently fooled no one.
“Can you explain—later—what or who Moran is to the Aerie?”
“Not easily. There’s more than one Aerie in the Southern Reach. Most of the Hawks come from one of three specific Aeries. Moran does not.”
“Is this something I should have learned in racial integration classes?”
“No. Racial integration classes are meant to be practical, and the only Hawks who are summoned to the Aerie are, by default, the ones who can fly.” He grimaced. “We’re all fond of Moran.” This wasn’t entirely true; it was, however, true of Kaylin. “Go on in.”
* * *
Marcus could be heard long before he could be seen—even by the merely mortal. “I suppose if I quit my job now and ran home, Helen wouldn’t let me starve to death.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it—at least not with my own money,” Teela replied, indulging in her usual encouragement.
“Was your life like this before you joined the Hawks?” Kaylin asked, as they walked toward the growling against all base survival instinct.
“Not nearly as frequently. Before you ask, my life in the Hawks wasn’t this unusual, either. Not until you joined as a mascot. When you joined the actual payroll...”
“Thanks for the support, Teela.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Private, stop dawdling!” Marcus roared.
Kaylin muttered a short Aerian curse under her breath; given the volume of Marcus’s voice, his sharper hearing wasn’t likely to catch it. She hoped. She also sprinted to reach his desk, bypassing the duty roster on the way. He was bristling, and the raised fur added inches in volume on all sides of his head, his visible arms, his face. His lips were a thin, barely visible line over much more prominent teeth, and his eyes were a decidedly unpleasant shade of orange.
His desk would definitely need replacing.
Kaylin lifted her chin, exposing her throat. Teela, standing beside her, did not, but her eyes were a wary blue. “We stopped by Evanton’s on the way back to the office,” Kaylin explained—not that explanations were always welcome unless he demanded them, not when he was in this mood.
“Corporal, where is Bellusdeo?”
He’d asked Teela. When a lowly private was standing beside her.
“Bellusdeo returned to the Palace in the company of Corporals Handred and Korrin. She was unharmed; she was never in any recognizable danger.”
Marcus growled. At the moment, that was what passed for Leontine breathing. “I left orders with Gavin.”
“Evanton, however, let it be known that he had news that he felt would be of interest to Private Neya,” Teela said smoothly. This did not move Marcus; he knew the Barrani had no particular qualms about lying. “He’s the Keeper, Sergeant. When he feels something is of interest, it generally implies an unspoken ‘if you wish the city to survive.’”
Kaylin privately thought that the city was not in the most pressing danger at the moment, but said nothing. It was very seldom that Teela was willing to throw herself between Marcus’s foul mood and Kaylin, and she meant to appreciate it while it lasted. And it did, to Kaylin’s surprise, last. His fur began to settle.
“Verbal report. Now.”
“I’m not even sure where to start,” Teela began. Marcus was now watching them both with more heavily lidded—but still orange—eyes. “Did you review the mirror transmissions we sent from the Winding Path?”
The Sergeant growled.
“We’d like to see the reports sent to you by the Imperial mages.”
“Come back in a week. We might have something then.”
“Gavin implied—”
“How long have you been working for me?”
Technically, Teela was not working directly for Marcus. She didn’t correct him. “Long enough to know that you can light a fire under their beards and they’ll write more quickly.”
“I think Bellusdeo will take care of that,” Kaylin said. “She was heading straight for the Arkon, and Severn and Tain don’t seem to have made it back to the office yet.”
“Your report?”
Kaylin dutifully repeated what she was almost certain was already in Records by this point.
Marcus’s eyes had shaded to a regular bronze by the time she’d finished. “You don’t think the bodies should be moved.”
“No.”
“Corporal?”
“Nothing about the corpses—aside from their arrangement and the lack of obvious cause of death—seemed out of the ordinary to me. None of our investigators would have noticed anything out of the ordinary, had it not been for Private Neya’s companion. Given that the familiar itself is arguably more unusual, I would nonetheless advise against moving the bodies. Send Red in person.”
“You’re not finished there, are you?”
Teela glanced at Kaylin.
Kaylin, thinking of Gilbert, shook her head. “Not yet, no. Though I’m not certain we’re going to understand what happened, or why, no matter how much time we spend there.”
Growl. Squawk.
“Fine. I’ll give you a week. I’ll reassign the Elani beat for the duration.” He started to carve wood chips out of the surface of his desk, clearly already thinking about the next item on his list. His eyes became a deeper orange as he did.
“Have you talked to Moran yet?”
“No, sir,” Kaylin replied, already knowing where the conversation was headed.
“I’m going to ask you not to.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ironjaw’s eyes narrowed. “‘Yes,’ you agree not to speak with Moran, or ‘Yes,’ you know I’m asking you not to?”
“You’re asking me not to, sir. Offering her someplace other than the infirmary as