Titan Song Dan Stout (top 20 books to read txt) 📖

number of unfiltered interviews. Klare had managed to talk her superiors into letting her and me go and confront her partner’s killer. Weylan had refused that, but agreed to meet with us himself. All the better for the PR moves. And me? I was simply working off-duty security, like a lot of cops. I’d been invited in along with Klare and Jihan, no warrant required. The power of the press at work.

We were led through the circles of tents and shelters. One tent was set aside from the rest, and a particularly broad-shouldered Barekusu crouched in front of it, massive show hands splayed in front of him, as if he were ready to spring forward. The tent flap was open, and I caught a glimpse of a familiar shape. Even if I hadn’t noticed, the sudden stiffness in Klare’s walk would have told me—that was where Serrow was confined for the time being.

Past the scandalized sorcerer’s prison, we came to a larger-than-average tent and were left to perch uncomfortably on furniture built for Barekusu anatomy. There were a trio of low-slung, backless couches that looked like a cross section of an egg on a single pedestal. A side table held a pair of white rocks, each the size of my head and seated on sturdy wooden holders. The woodwork and upholstery on all the furniture was highly crafted, and would likely have cost far more than I could afford on a cop’s salary. The reputation of the Barekusu as master traders was apparently well deserved.

In the center of the tent a small electric grill warmed a kettle of tea paste and a selection of dipping leaves. Shops in town had tried to capitalize on the caravan by selling Barekusu cuisine, but this particular snack’s odor was pungently acidic, and I did my best to breathe through my mouth as we waited. Jihan flipped through the set of notes on a clipboard, while Klare took establishing shots. They both had a job to do, no matter what strings and pressure Klare had exerted to get them into this interview. Whereas I just had to sit back and prepare to throw a wrench in the works.

Eventually, the entry flaps pulled back, and Weylan’s swaying bulk pressed into the tent. It was a larger space than most of the other tents we’d seen, and could easily hold several Barekusu at once, but it still felt tight with the larger being in such close proximity. Weylan moved over to the grill and scooped out a mug of tea paste, perhaps watching us or perhaps ignoring us completely—it was hard to say with the eye plates drawn tight.

He was medium-sized compared to the other Barekusu, though he moved perhaps a step less nimbly. It wasn’t until he turned that I recognized the greenish fur, the fish stripes of black that ran along his back. This was the Barekusu who’d made eye contact with me during their parade into the city. And he was staring at me now, the bisected irises swirling and darting and refocusing on me. I reminded myself that I was there as a security guard, and was fully justified in studying his movements. So I did my best to give no thought to looking away. And when I did drop my eyes, I told myself that it was to make me seem less of a threat.

Both Klare and Jihan seemed to have a similar reaction. I wasn’t familiar enough with Barekusu to read their body language, so maybe it was a pheromone or pure charisma, but Weylan had a presence that Serrow simply didn’t match.

“I believe I am honored by your visit,” he announced. “You may begin when you are ready to begin.”

Jihan cleared his throat and glanced down at his notes. I stayed focused on Weylan. I’d met Serrow in tight quarters, and the smell had been strong, but here in the Barekusu guide’s own tent it was far more intense. It wasn’t quite hay, but it reminded me of a smell I’d encountered on a school field trip to a Therreau farm. Sweet, but undercut by something fetid. Weylan smelled like a perfumed beast of burden, bearing all our moral complications along the Path.

Finding his place in his notes, Jihan asked, “What are you looking forward to sharing with the citizens of Titanshade?” His first question was such a laughable softball that I almost thought it was self-parody.

“And what you do make of Guide Serrow’s murderous rampage?” Klare asked her question from behind her camera, the lens no doubt providing a comforting barrier, as if Weylan couldn’t reach out and crush it in the grip of his show hands, just like Serrow had crushed Glouchester’s bones.

Weylan swiveled his neck, looking from one to the other. “Which is your question?”

Jihan was stone-faced. “I have a list of preapproved questions. Those are the only ones I can ask. What anyone else says, well,” he shrugged, “that can be listed in the article or not, but it certainly may make for a more interesting conversation.”

My estimation of the young reporter increased dramatically.

“Ah.” Weylan rolled his neck, and sniffed the air. “I can smell the ambition on you, young man. And on your partner, rage.”

“No one asked how we smell,” said Klare. “And how evasive you are will be reflected in this write-up.”

Weylan looked at her, and the shutter clicked, accompanied by a blinding flash. It was dark in the tent, and my eyes swam with the afterimages of Weylan and Klare. I blinked rapidly. Was she trying to use the camera as a weapon?

For his part, Weylan simply lowered his eye plates, and would no doubt be unfazed by another flash photo.

Jihan rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Well, okay. Next official question. Guide Weylan, what would you say are your three favorite places to visit in Titanshade?”

The Barekusu ignored him, his sly hands drumming a pattern on his mug of tea paste.

“And you, Officer? I believe that your reasons are your own.”

“He’s here to