Page 91 of Tamiko and the Two Janitors
Linden waved the whole matter aside. “See here, Rook. Isn’tMelissa due for a break? She’s looking a bit frayed at the edges.”
Rook hummed his agreement.
Were they talking about her appearance or her endurance? Shepushed uneasily at her hair and wondered if she should grab another coffee.
“Jiminy hasn’t come down yet,” said Rook. “Melissa, wouldyou mind rousting him from his den? He’s supposed take the next shift.”
“His den,” she echoed cautiously. “Couldn’t you call him?Text him?”
“Deep sleeper,” Rook said dismissively.
Linden nodded solemnly. “Might require manhandling.”
“Or more sleep. He’s been pushing his limits lately.”
“Eager for his attainment.” The squirrel clansman’s eyebrowswaggled.
Rook elbowed him and said, “Rest and regard cannot berushed.”
Melissa knew that saying. Magda used it often, quoting oneof her former teachers. “Isn’t that a feline proverb?”
The colluders exchanged a glance, and Linden cleared histhroat. “Dragon, I believe.”
“And it’s incomplete,” she said.
“True enough.” Rook seemed entirely thrown off. “They dofavor fours. An homage to the four winds.”
Melissa could almost hear Magda’s rolling inflection.Smiling at the memory, she quoted the full proverb. “Rest, regard, and revengecannot be rushed.”
A convoluted set of directions led Melissa into thevery heart of the enclave, up three floors and along a maze of narrow halls. Thedoor to her destination was plain, yet it seemed to shimmer and dance.Countless sigils decorated its surface.
Jiminy’s room. No, Rook had called it his den. And he’dobviously wanted her to see it. Why else send her up here?
Reaching up to knock, Melissa snatched back her hand whenthe sigils moved. Was she about to trigger some kind of alarm? But theintricate figures only drifted back into their former positions. She extendedher hand, and once again, the sigils seemed to scatter before her touch,clearing the way. And when she rested her fingertips on the door, sheexperienced the same happy burst she’d first experienced at the warded entranceto the enclave.
She was welcome. Here, of all places.
Had Jiminy tuned his personal wards to accept her?
Maybe she was reading too much into it. Melissa tappedlightly. Then rapped. Then tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.
Her first thought upon entering Jiminy’s private domain wasconfusion. She’d expected a bedroom, but the space looked like it belonged oncampus—part library, part workshop. Tidy bookshelves lined one of the long walls,and judging by the number of ribbon markers, book flags, and sticky notesdecorating the tomes, Jiminy was conversant with their contents.
At the far end of the room, opposite the door, cubbies anddrawers of all sizes overflowed with crystals. Jiminy’s collection wouldprobably be the envy of any ward and every museum in the world. She’d neverseen the like. Unless you flipped classifications, because in a way, this was alot like her mother’s armory. Tools of the trade.
A computer stood on the desk that jutted out from theremaining long wall, which seemed to have been lined with cork. Sigil designs,scribbled notes, tables and graphs, star charts, photographs of cloudformations, and annotated maps had been tacked across the entire surface. Sherecognized a handful of national parks, the crests of a dozen miningcooperatives, and a snapshot of Jiminy as a toddler, cuddled against the broadshoulder of an adolescent Nightspangle. In another, he looked eight or nine,and he was cheesing for the camera with three grinning packmates.
The substantial worktable that took up most of thefloorspace held tools and gadgets and chunks of stone. Some of it looked likejewelry-making supplies, which made some sense, since ward stones were usuallyplaced in settings or strung together.
No windows to speak of, since this was an interiorroom—hushed and secure. Clear, white light filled the space, emanating from aseries of crystals suspended at regular intervals. It was bright enough to readby and didn’t suggest a sleeping chamber. Which brought Melissa back to herpurpose.
Where was Jiminy?
Putting her training to good use, she tracked him to hislair. His den included an inner room, which wasn’t obvious since it could onlybe accessed by a crawl-through hidden behind his desk. Melissa pushed pastdraping furs, softly calling, “Jiminy?”
He was here. She could hear his slow breathing. As her eyesadjusted to the faint light given off by constellations of tiny crystalsembedded in the ceiling, she matched his breathing to calm her jitters. Thiswas a private place. She felt like an intruder.
Fur surrounded her, a deep plush that gave off the same wildscent as a wolf. There were no furnishings, only cushions and folded furs.Clearly, the inner room was intended for sleep, and in true wolf fashion, itwas large enough to accommodate a group. Jiminy’s lone lump in the far cornerlooked small.
