acknowledgement. She grinned again.
All right, this wouldn’t be writing her recollections. But she’d return the ball after she finished using it. If she took a journal, she’d have to make it hers—she’d have written in it permanently.
And these things were so amazing!
She slipped the ball into a pocket and headed out of the storage room, then made her way back to her room.
Nothing appeared to have been disturbed—all her clothes were still here. But she missed not having her trunk, and especially not having her strongbox. Even though this room wasn’t lockable, it would be safer here: strangers, not to mention the mysterious “Brothers of Atasos,” would have to get past the reception area and find her room. And she’d be here. That wasn’t the case with the boarding house, not now.
But that meant that she’d have to get the trunk here. Somehow. Just because neither Lisha nor Tiran thought she should leave didn’t mean she couldn’t , but she had to admit she didn’t want to be out somewhere alone right now. But what about Gregir? He seemed to have little love for Lisha, or any authority at all. He seemed to like Roulette, though. And he’d have no trouble with the trunk.
She debated for a few moments, then set out toward the reading room Gregir said he’d be in.
Her path back to the reading room took her past the reception area, and as she approached she heard voices—the receptionist’s, and a man whose voice she didn’t recognize.
“—waited long as I can, I’m afraid. You’ll tell him I called?”
“I will, and I apologize. There’s a lot going on right now.”
Something made the raccoon stop and make sure she wasn’t visible through the opening behind where the two were speaking.
“Of course. You have your rally in two days.”
“Yes.”
The man’s voice became somewhat mournful. “I still don’t quite understand the objection you all have to the referendum. Some of the talk I’ve heard around these quarters has bordered on the violent.”
“I assure you violence is against our principles, Mr. Massey.”
“I’m sure it’s against yours, my dear, as it is against mine. But I’m not sure whether all those who see us as racist hold themselves to the same standards.”
“I’m not sure whether all of those who give you that reputation hold themselves to those standards, either,” the mouse replied, her tone aggressively cheerful.
“Of course,” Massey said, tone not quite hiding his irritation. “Even so, I find it…unfortunate that Mr. Tharp has put himself so much in front of this issue. He and I have some funding issues to discuss, I believe.”
“Very well.” Her tone dropped several degrees at his implied threat. “Do have a wonderful day, Mr. Massey.”
“Thank you.” Roulette heard his footsteps toward the door, then a pause. “Oh. Have you had any new clients this week? I like to meet them when I’m here, if I can.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that information.”
There was a long pause before he said, “Good day, then,” and walked off. Roulette leaned forward far enough to see the front door, but caught only a glimpse of a well-tailored white suit.
The mouse behind the desk looked between her and the doorway Massey had left through. “He was asking about you, wasn’t he?” she asked, nose twitching.
“I don’t know,” Roulette said, although she felt certain he was.
“Always an adventure around here,” the receptionist said dryly, and turned her attention to a filing cabinet.
“ I am not sure that doing this thing would be a good idea,” Gregir rumbled, glancing across the chess board at Roulette.
She had played against him—very poorly—for an hour, succeeding in getting him to laugh twice and wag his tail once, before slipping her request into conversation. “Oh, now. You’re sounding like Lisha.”
He grunted. “No. If I was sounding like Lisha, I would say it like this. ‘If you try to do this thing,