They stood alone with the alien at the bottom. "Hmf." Besides the chamberlain and the doctor,
mbt staka chocolate, there were already five other packs in the room. More showed up as they watched. Most were dressed like nobles of the Republic, all jewels and furs. A few wore the plain jackets he remembered from his last trip. Sigh. Woodcarver's little settlement had grown into a city and now a nation-state. Peregrine wondered if he -- she -- had any real power now. He trained one head precisely on Scriber and Hightalked at him. "Don't say anything about the picture box just yet." Jaqueramaphan looked puzzled and conspiratorial all at once. He High Talked back, "Yes ... yes. A bargaining card?" "Something like that." Peregrine's eyes swept back and forth across the balconies. Most packs entered with an air of harried self-importance. He smiled to himself. One glance into the pit was enough to shatter their smugness. The air above him was filled with buzzing talk. None of the packs looked like Woodcarver. But then, she'd have few of her members from before; he could only recognize her by manner and bearing. It shouldn't matter. He had carried some friendships far longer than any member's lifespan. But with others the friend had changed in a decade, its viewpoints altering, affection turning to animosity. He'd been counting on Woodcarver being the same. Now.... There was a brief sound of trumpets, almost like a call to order. The pubic doors of a lower balcony slid open and a fivesome entered. Peregrine felt a twitchy thrill of horror. This was Woodcarver, but so ... misarranged. One member was so old it had to be helped by the rest. Two were scarcely more than puppies, and one of those a constant drooler. The largest member was white-eyed blind. It was the sort of thing you might see in a waterfront slum,
monster beats,
mbt fora blue, or in the last generation of incest. She looked down at Peregrine, and smiled almost as if she recognized him. When she spoke, it was with the blind one. The voice was clear and firm. "Please carry on,
mbt women, Vendacious." The chamberlain nodded. "As you wish,
mbt professional, Your Majesty." He pointed into the pit, at the alien. "That is the reason for this hasty meeting." "We can see monsters at the circus, Vendacious." The voice came from an overdressed pack on the top balcony. To judge from the shouting that came from all sides, this was a minority view. One pack on a lower balcony jumped over the railing and tried to shoo the doctor away from the alien's litter. The chamberlain raised a head for silence, and glared down at the fellow who had jumped into the pit. "If you please, Scrupilo, be patient. Everyone will get a chance to look." "Scrupilo" made some grumbling hisses, but backed off. "Good." Vendacious turned all his attention on Peregrine and Scriber. "Your boat has outrun any news from the north,
BEATS TURBINE, my friends. No one but I knows anything of your story -- and what I have is guard codes hooted across the bay. You say this creature flew down from the sky?" An invitation to speechify. Peregrine let Scriber Jaqueramaphan do the talking. Scriber loved it. He told the story of the flying house, of the ambush and the murders, and the rescue. He showed them his eye-tools and announced himself as a secret agent of the Long Lakes Republic. Now what real spy would do that? Every pack on the council had eyes on the alien, some fearful, some -- like Scrupilo -- crazily curious. Woodcarver watched with only a couple of heads.
monster beats
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