Never had Sorrel flown so fast on her hoverboard. The wind whistled around them as they raced through the city. Never had she seen the streets of Hoffman so empty, either. The few people and vehicles that were out and about were doing the same as Sorrel and Gwynn—hurrying to the safety of home. 

As they turned onto the street where the Marchand Bed and Breakfast stood, the green street lamps turned red. 

“This is an emergency announcement from your Governor.”  A cool, detached female voice emanated from the speaker boxes just under the lanterns. “Please return to all dwellings at once. Curfew begins in fifteen minutes.”

“Curfew?” Sorrel couldn’t help her frown. “Since when have we had one of those?”

“Since now, I guess.” Gwynn set the unconscious boy aside on the board and got on her knees to reach out for the lamp-post in front of the bed-and-breakfast, pulling them to a stop. 

Sorrel leapt off. The snow half-frozen to the cobblestone sidewalks crunched beneath her boots. She turned back to the board and grabbed both bags. “I’ll take the scrap into the back shed, you take him upstairs.”

Gwynn’s pale face turned pink. “What, do you mean in our room?”

“Look, if the Empire of Annwyn is looking for him, then the less our patrons know about him, the better.” Sorrel looked skyward again. The Annwynese ships were omnipresent, visible from nearly everywhere in the city. “There’s nowhere else for him to go.” 

“You’re right, I’ll take him in through the back door.” Gwynn took the edge of the hoverboard and started pulling it around to the kitchen-side door. “See you in a few.”

Sorrel couldn’t help but smile. “See you in a few.”

It didn’t take long to take the scrap the shed in the small garden behind the bed-and-breakfast. Once she’d locked the bags away for future sorting, she headed for the back door, in through the laundry room. 

Only the glow of the circular doors of the washing-and-drying machines lit the hallway, with industrial-sized hampers pushed neatly in-between the units to clear the walkway. At the end of the hallway were two doors—one leading to a spiral staircase up to the second floor of the owners’ quarters. The other went into the kitchen, and then out to the parlor where the patrons would no-doubt be waiting.

“Sorrel! Can you come help serve the last round?” 

Sorrel froze, captured by the warm light coming through the kitchen doorway. “Coming, Maman!”

She rushed into the kitchen to have a tray of mugs smelling of warm spices thrust into her hands. 

“This is the last call, I promise, then we’re closing down the parlor for curfew.” Her mother stopped, pushing a black lock of hair behind her ear, the spitting image of Gwynn. Indeed, if it weren’t for her delicate blue eyes, perhaps Gwynn and Celine would be the ones accused of being twins. “I’m sorry to push this on you when you were just out, but—“

“It’s alright.” Sorrel forced the cheeriest smile that she could manage. “I take it you heard about the curfew and the ships, then?”

“Hard not to, given the announcement from the Governor and whatnot.” Celine turned to a mountain of used cups, silverware, and dishes. “But we can discuss that later—the patrons are upset enough as is, they really could use the pick-me-up of the free warm drinks—“

Ah. So that was what this was about. 

“On it, Maman.” Sorrel headed out the other side, into the large parlor and the main entrance to the bed-and-breakfast. 

By the kitchen door was the front desk, a mammoth slab of finely-carved pine, native to the reserves of Perrault with a tapestry hanging behind it. Behind the desk and curving over the high ceiling of the parlor was the stairway into the guest section of the house. From the rafters were red and violet silk banners draped as an attempt at decoration. 

At the farthest end was the elaborate stone fireplace. Well, it had been a fireplace once, before Celine had replaced it with a more modern heater model and had installed a new-at-the-time holo screen into the mantle. 

Around the fireplace were scattered small tables, armchairs, and sofas with knitted blankets tossed over it at a further attempt of decoration, the needlepointed pillows often thrown to the wayside by the patrons. Rugs from the secondhand market littered the floor, all of it creating an illusion of home away from home. 

There weren’t many patrons tonight, and all were gathered around the screen. There was mainly one type of guest at the Marchand Bed and Breakfast these days anyway: the same sort of washed-up spacer who was just stopping by until their next flight out. Usually they were working cargo for the merchants, loading and unloading wares for the next stop in the trade chain.

They were the gruff, lonesome sorts. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, Sorrel supposed. 

Gwynn was already out and had managed to ditch her coveralls, heavy jacket, and work-gloves for the dress she’d worn underneath. She was passing out drinks without a single word, slipping between the chairs as quickly and silently as a shadow. 

Sorrel did a quick scan, and started setting code mugs at the tables next to patrons who didn’t have mugs—or theirs were already empty, discarded. 

One of the older regulars, a Mr. Teach, glanced up at Sorrel disdainfully as she set the mug at the table by his elbow. 

“Couldn’t take the time to change out of those greasy rags, eh?” 

Sorrel bit her lip. It’s not like you’re dressed much better.

He rolled his eyes and raised the mug to his lips. He stopped, frowning a the holo screen. “Seen the news, have you? Apparently Annwyn’s hanging over our skies. Lady on the holos thinks they’re invading.”

“Our skies?” Sorrel couldn’t help herself. “Last I checked, you’re from Malcif, Mr. Teach.” 

He glared up at her. “It’s about to become our skies for a while, girl. The Governor’s got an embargo on ships leaving, too. Something about trying not to aggravate the Annwynese. No one’s coming in or out until they get what they want, and stars knows what that is.”

Sorrel thought of the boy upstairs. 

“Tell the madame that the drinks are fine, as usual,” Mr. Teach continued. “Think I could get another?”

Sorrel shook her head. “Last round, then it’s curfew for all of us.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Curfew is for outside, though, ain’t it?”

“It’s an order from ‘the madame,’ as you put it,” Sorrel shot back as she set a mug down next to another patron. 

“Fine.”

Sorrel continued around the room, taking the time to pick up any discarded or empty mugs and to place them on her tray. All the while, the newscast kept going. A perky young Lemurian woman with blue-green hair and iridescent markings like scales around her deep blue eyes continued on with a dissonant cheer for the subject matter, with a background showing the Annwynese warships in the atmosphere and several languages beyond just Ondrinan scrolling on a bar under her. 

“Governor Rhodopis has told all citizens of Perrault to stay indoors, especially the people of Hoffman, as the fleet is positioned over the city.”

Sorrel stopped and looked to the screen as Gwynn joined her side. “I hadn’t realized we’d made solar news.”

“I mean, Annwyn and their empire are one of our greatest trade partners outside of the Society of Worlds,” Gwynn pointed out. “How could it not?”

An image of the Governor, an older gentleman in a white coat, appeared on the holoscreen in a little box next to the Lemurian reporter’s head. 

“I ask that all citizens of Perrault stay calm, and all operations are halted in the state of emergency until we can get this resolved,” the Governor said. “Be assured, our best negotiators are in communication with the diplomats from Annwyn. We will remain a part of the Society of Worlds and we will get through this.”

As the Governor finished speaking, the screen went black. The patrons started yelling, only for a quiet voice to cut through it all, like the deafening silence of snowfall. 

“I think that’s enough of that.”

Everyone’s head turned to see Celine standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the remote in her hand. 

“They’ve said all they’re going to say about that.” Celine straightened, looking as austere as was required of an innkeeper. “Off to bed, all of you.”

She glanced out the window at the red city lights and the falling snow. “Might as well get some sleep. Only the stars know what’s to come in the next days.”

There was a dull roar of grumbling among the patrons as they abandoned their soft chairs, reluctantly heading up the main staircase for their rooms. It was only once the last stragglers were gone that Celine turned to her daughters. 

“If you wouldn’t mind locking up the doors and shutting the curtains, we can then go and check on what you brought upstairs,’ Celine said. 

“You told her already?” Sorrel turned to Gwynn.

“Didn’t have to—she carried him through the kitchen, remember?” Celine pulled her key-ring off of her belt and handed it to Sorrel. “You did the right thing, by the way.”

Sorrel nodded, not knowing what else to say. 

“Well, I’ll be in the upstairs kitchen if you need me.” With that, Celine headed back through the kitchen door. 

It didn’t take long for Sorrel and Gwynn to finish locking up and securing the bed-and-breakfast. It was routine after all. Completely mundane—even daresay boring. Still, Sorrel was looking forward to getting rid of the coveralls and her work jacket, getting something to eat—and to check in on their mysterious new guest.