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“Bad news?”
Lila swallowed and jammed her palm back into her pockets. “No, everything’s fine,” she answered as a man in brown pants and a black t-shirt rowed a little boat to the dock. A long scar ran from his eyebrow to his chin, barely missing his eye.
The group gingerly climbed inside, careful not to rock the boat and overturn it.
The scarred man rowed toward a building floating in the middle of the lake. It appeared like Lila’s security office, all steel and glass and curves, except that it was shaped like a tear, peeking out of the water and coming to a point at the top. Four docks jutted out like compass points around it. Several empty rowboats bobbled in the rolling waves, the vessels tied off and abandoned.
Lila helped Chef from the boat when they finally reached the dock, tipping a bit of cash to the oarsman. Chef pulled out a loaf of bread from one of the bags. “For your service to the oracles.”
The man bowed his head. “Thank you, Chef Ana,” he said as they stepped toward the tear-shaped building.
“He knows your name? How often do you come here?”
“Enough.”
The two lovers from the shore followed behind them, unconcerned with darting ahead and stealing their place in line. There was no such thing as a queue with the oracles. They saw you when they wished, and perhaps they wouldn’t see you at all.
There was no sense in hurrying.
The building opened into a reception area and lobby filled with plush lilac couches, matching rugs, sturdy wooden tables, and the smell of incense. A few women in white robes and lilac lace trim wandered among the small crowd, shushing anyone who talked too loudly, passing out paper cups filled with water to the adults. Many pilgrims sat on the floor, legs crossed, vainly trying to clear their minds.
No such silence was required in the children’s room. An occasional squeal broke through the quiet as a few excited children played with the toys inside. The children also got juice instead of water, and weren’t asked to meditate.
Lucky them.
“Your mind must be clearer if you wish to see the oracle,” one of the women whispered to a man in a green shirt. It likely wasn’t the first time he’d been told. The man gritted his teeth and closed his eyes more tightly.
It was a neat trick, making people believe it was their own fault they hadn’t been seen.
If only that worked in the real world.
One of the robed women smiled at Chef and pulled the pair into a separate room, styled like the lobby, only much smaller. “Chef Ana, it’s so good to see you,” she said, embracing Chef and kissing her on the cheek.
“I made some sweets and bread for everyone.” Chef placed her bags on the little table near the couch. Lila did the same.
The woman’s face lit up as she peeked into the bags. “You didn’t have to do this, Chef Ana. Bringing Chief Randolph for the oracle was quite enough.”
“Bringing me?”
Chef refused to look up while she unloaded the food onto the table. “The oracle called me this morning, Lila. She called me personally. You know when the gods speak—”
“You lose all common sense. I’ll be going now. If the oracle wishes to see me, she can make an appointment like everyone else. I have a council meeting to get back for, and I haven’t the time, the energy, or the desire to wait around.”
Plus, she hadn’t had time to review anything about the oracles.
“I’ll start making pancakes twice a week,” Chef promised quickly.
Lila paused, considering the proposal.
A palm beeped. The attendant pulled hers from her pocket and skimmed the message. “The oracle will see you now, Chief Randolph.”
“Go with it,” Chef said, tugging Lila’s sleeve. “It might be fun.”
“That’s what Thomas Baskins said when I was thirteen. He was wrong too. I want pancakes or waffles twice a week from now on. You gave your word.”
Chef inclined her head.
Lila followed the attendant back into the lobby. They passed through the waiting crowd and entered a room that held nothing but a staircase, leading into darkness.
