Page 53 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
“How did you know I’m Amaranthine?”
His confusion couldn’t have been more obvious. Kip actuallychecked his hands to see if his illusion was still in place.
“Not sure. Sorry.” Joe cast a longing look at the door. “Iwon’t say anything.”
“Thanks for that. And it’s okay if you don’t knowwhyyou know. You’re new to this, right?”
Joe’s hand wavered over the bowl of nuts. “Me?”
Kip hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. Tami’s twinlooked as if his worst fears had been confirmed. “Let’s go back to yourquestion,” he offered gently. “Asking about someone’s name is the commonest ofcommon courtesies. It’s how most conversations start if you’re meeting someonefrom the clans for the first time. When two people trade names, it shows awillingness to explore the possibility of friendship. It’s the beginning.”
“Are you … are you my sister’s Kip?”
“Yes.” He traced a sigil on the underside of the table,wanting a bit more privacy.
“Does she know?”
“She knows I’m her friend. I’m hoping that’s enough to getus past the little awkwardness my species might cause.”
Joe calmed noticeably. With a guilty glance in his mother’sdirection, he went back to cracking nuts.
“To answer, Kip is a nickname. I’m registered in all theusual places as Alder Kipling, but my true name is Alder Woodacre. My familyhas lived in Fletching since forever, so I’m a local boy, same as you.”
“Woodacre is a clan name?”
“Yep.” It was nice to see worry giving way to a spark ofinterest. Kip fanned the flame with more information than he probably should besharing. “Woodacre is one of the smaller clans. Red squirrels, to be exact.Which means I’m nothing more than a cute rodent with a big appetite and afondness for tall trees and acrobatic games of tag.”
“And an elementary school janitor.”
Kip kept his voice low, soothing. “That’s right, and I’d doanything to protect those kids.”
Joe toyed with a pecan. “Even human children are importantto Rivven?”
Didn’t that go without saying? Kip supposed there was noharm in offering some context. “Back when my grandparents were being born, ourpeople were prolific. That was our be-fruitful-and-multiply phase, so twinbirths were standard, and families had to spread out to make room. Wescattered, following the migratory paths of the animals under our protectioninto new territories and habitats. But during my parents’ generation,everything tapered off. My mother has five siblings; my grandmother has twenty-eight.”
“What happened?”
“No one knows for sure, but there’s been plenty ofspeculation. Most say that our birth rate is tied directly to our function.Since we’re long-lived, there are enough of us. But maybe that will change, nowthat you know we’re here.” With a small smile, Kip suggested, “Maybe humanityneeds us.”
Joe smiled a little.
“So … kids. Amaranthine children are precious to the clans,but why stop there? As far as I’m concerned, every life is precious. I’vealways watched out for the kids at Landmark.”
“I went there, you know. When I was little.”
Kip lay his hands on the table, palm up. “All the morereason to try to get along, Joe.”
He set his things aside and reached forward until theirfingertips touched. “Jiro,” he said. “Since we’re being honest, my real name isJiro Matthew Reaverson.”
“Jiro.” Kip slid his hands forward so that their palmstouched properly. “Do you think we can be friends?”
“Oh. I don’t really … umm … I’m not good at friends stuff.”
“What do you considerfriends stuff?”
“Going places. Doing things.” Color was rising in Jiro’sface, as if he were confessing some terrible failing.
“Friends don’t have to go far or do much of anything, not ifthey enjoy one another’s company.”
