The Mysterious Affair at Gremble Arms

      Kiyoshi and Jeri, who both knew very well how much pride Tyra took in her work, glanced surreptitiously in their friend’s direction, gauging her reaction to the unprompted interrogation. But Tyra, a master of small talk, just smiled politely in response.

      “I’m a communications engineer,” she said. “I design and build portable communicators for adventurers.”

      “But you don’t do any adventuring yourself.”

      “I don’t make a habit of it, no,” Tyra said carefully. “Although I have been lucky enough to work closely with those who do, so I’ve still had a lot of opportunities to see my machines in action.”

      “Virtupets or Moltaran?”

      Tyra blinked. “I’m sorry?”

      “The base for your tech.” Cherry made an impatient gesture with her paw. “I mean, an adventure-ready communicator that'll still work out in the middle of nowhere—that's gotta be miles ahead of the kind of stuff most engineers on the surface are coming up with these days, yeah? So you’ve gotta be working from either a Virtupets or Moltaran foundation. Which one is it?”

      “Virtupets,” Tyra said. Her smile seemed to have been forgotten for the moment, and she was watching the Cybunny very closely. “I came into possession of some salvaged scrap from the space station many years ago. It’s been the core focus of my research ever since.”

      “Huh,” Cherry said, twisting a lock of hot pink hair around her finger. “Veeery eeneresting. And the motes fit into this, how?” Tyra stared at her, lost for words, and Cherry gave a breezy laugh. “Oh man, your face. Relax. Obviously, I already knew who you were; I’ve been following your lectures. From a distance, anyway. My dad talks about them all the time. I just wanted to hear how you would describe it all.”

      “Well then,” Tyra said, with more than a hint of annoyance, “does my description satisfy you? Or should I keep going until it does?”

      “Oh, please do.” Cherry leaned forward. Behind her white lace mask, her eyes were glinting. “I’m serious, Tyra. I want to hear you talk about it. Tell me about the motes.”

      “Oh, hey, it’s the puddin’s!” Jeri said loudly, and the table seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as a Poogle and a Uni in crisp black and white servers’ uniforms swooped in with two silver platters laden with desserts.

      “Finally,” muttered the fancy Bruce at their table, whom they had been instructed to address as Madame Soffleberg. She scowled as the gangly blue Uni slid a plate of chocolate torte in front of her. “I was beginning to think I’d have to set something on fire to get some service around here.”

      However shocked the rest of the table was paled in comparison to the Uni server’s expression as he froze, Jeri’s plate only halfway delivered.

      “Ma’am?” the Uni said nervously, perhaps hoping he had heard wrong.

      “I said the service tonight has been abysmal,” said Madame Soffleberg, a little more loudly. “Nonexistent, really. Making us wait so long between courses that I’ve been half tempted to die of old age right here on the spot. And the food has been uniformly cold and tasteless.”

      “Really? I thought it was nice,” Jeri said, attempting to gently coax his dessert out of the server’s hooves. Kiyoshi, who didn’t have much of a sweet tooth at the best of times, pushed his own plate towards Jeri. The Bori lit up like it was his birthday and immediately lost himself in a fervour of chocolate obliteration.

      “No kidding,” said Aidne. “Beats trail mix and grackle bug jerky any day.” She nodded appreciatively at her forkful of cake, but the servers didn’t seem to notice.

      “My—our deepest apologies for the wait, ma’am,” the Uni stammered. The other server, a serious-looking Pastel Poogle, silently stepped up to help distribute the plates remaining on the Uni’s tray, but Kiyoshi noticed that she kept a watchful eye on her hapless coworker and the Bruce even as she did.

      “We’re a little short-staffed at the moment—“

      “Is it any wonder, the way this place is being run?” The Bruce tutted, interrupting the Uni’s rambling. “It’s an insult to the memory of the original Gremble Arms. Believe me, I’m old enough to remember. Back in those days, guests were treated like royalty. And we repaid in kind when it came time for tipping. But that was then, and this is now. At the rate things are going this evening, I daresay I shan’t have any reason at all to take out my coin purse.”

      “Ma’am, I understand that you’re upset, but—“

      “Would you like to speak to the manager about it?” the Poogle cut in, and Madame Soffleberg turned in surprise. Several diners from nearby tables were watching them now. “I’d be happy to direct her to your table so she can hear your concerns personally.”

      “No, that… that won’t be necessary,” Madame Soffleberg said, caught off-guard under the sudden scrutiny. She sighed. “I suppose I’m simply nostalgic for a more elegant past. I won’t keep you any longer.”

      Looking profoundly relieved by the dismissal, the Uni tucked his serving platter under his arm and hurried to follow the Poogle back in the direction of the kitchen. Just before they turned the corner, Kiyoshi managed to overhear the Poogle murmuring to the Uni, “There’s no winning with these people. Don’t let them waste your time…”

      Kiyoshi glanced back at Madame Soffleberg, but he doubted she would care even if she had heard anything. The Bruce had reluctantly selected her dessert fork and now seemed preoccupied with finding a dignified way to eat the food she had just complained so thoroughly about.

      A laugh from one of the seats closer to Kiyoshi pulled him out of his thoughts, and he realised with no small degree of surprise that Tyra and Cherry were still talking about the communicators.

      “So you’re actually building literal mazes for them?” Cherry was saying, her own torte untouched.

      Tyra’s smile was back, and it seemed more relaxed and genuine now. “Mazes and whatever else I can think of. The more fun the motes are having, the longer they stay in the device.”

      “That’s brilliant!” Cherry exclaimed. “You’re like an engineer, a witch, and a zookeeper all at the same time!”

      Kiyoshi was further stunned to notice some extra colour rising to Tyra’s orange and purple cheeks. Was she blushing? Had he ever seen her blush before?! He looked to Jeri for some confirmation that what he was seeing was real, but the Bori was presently engaged in a vigorous debate with Aidne regarding the nature and purpose of the tiny silver ball bearings that decorated their desserts.

      “I mean,” Tyra said. Her voice was a little gruff, maybe to disguise how pleased she really was. “Right now, it mostly feels like mad science. I’m not just finishing a project anymore, I’m kind of laying the foundation for a whole new discipline.”

      “You’re onto something here, Tyra,” said Cherry earnestly, “you really are. Keep talking like that, and I guarantee you’ll find someone here to sponsor you.”

      The Aisha’s brow furrowed momentarily, but she seemed to decide not to question how Cherry had figured out precisely what had brought her here tonight. “Thanks,” said Tyra, but she kept stealing glances at the Cybunny long after they had both turned their attention to their individual plates.

      Shortly after dinner had been cleared away, Jake stepped up to the microphone again and tapped it to get everyone’s attention. “Hi. Hello. Again. I hope you all enjoyed your meals. We’ll be starting the Awards Ceremony in a minute here, once everyone’s had a chance to get back to their seats. In the meantime, uh, feel free to talk amongst yourselves.” He made a gesture like he was trying to tip the brim of his hat, but he wasn’t wearing one, so he just left the stage awkwardly.

      “He’s an odd Nuk, that one,” commented Madame Soffleberg to no one in particular, swirling her glass.

      Aidne snorted. “Don’t I know it. When we were working together, I used to joke that the fedora was all that was holding his disguise together, and if he ever took it off, we’d all see him for the twelve meepits in a safari outfit that he really was.”

      The Bruce didn’t even bother turning towards her, still musing out loud. “I suppose he’s a nice enough young man. And well-liked, evidently. He made an excellent poster boy for the Guild during the Mystery Island campaign. Why, even now, you should see some of my friends from the old days, swooning over him like schoolgirls whenever his name comes up.”

      “He’s a good guy,” Cherry said, rocking her chair backwards. “I like that he actually sounds like a person instead of a textbook when he talks.”

      Aidne nodded. “He’s poured a lotta heart into the Guild over the years. I’m sure he’s pretty much the only reason it hasn’t faded into obscurity by this point.”

      “He’s very… casual about it,” Madame Soffleberg said. “And I daresay a little un-masculine. But I suppose that’s what’s fashionable these days.” She glanced towards Kiyoshi, who frowned, and Jeri, who was folding napkin cranes and didn’t notice.

      “Times change,” said Tyra lightly. Kiyoshi suspected she would have liked to say more, but was holding back for the sake of civility.

      “So how did you meet Jake?” Cherry asked Aidne, who seemed caught off-guard by the question.

      “Well,” she said slowly, “he recruited me, actually. I had just graduated, and he’d heard about some of the trouble I’d gotten into at school. He believed in my skills as an explorer from the start, and so it was all because of him that I was initiated into the Guild in the first place.” She shrugged. “And let’s be real, this award I’m supposed to get tonight—“Excellence in Orienteering” or whatever they’re calling it—is probably Jake’s doing too. Yeah, yeah, favouritism, I know, but hey. Who am I to turn down free stuff?” She raised her glass, grinning. “He probably still just feels bad about that whole thing up north.”

      “What thing?”

      “It was… a whole thing.” She waved vaguely. “Snowbeasts, buried treasure, political intrigue, jerks trying to shoot me from their airships, the works. Honestly, a fantastic primer for the way this guild operates.” Her rakish grin softened a little. “But Jake had my back through it all. He’s dependable like that.”

      Cherry let her chair settle in place and rested her chin in her palm. “You and him were close, huh?”

      “Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that,” the Zafara said self-consciously. “I mean, I like to think we’re still friends. We just… went very different directions in life.”

      “Yeah, you went back to the ruddy north pole,” Jeri said, still focused on his wilting cranes. “For some reason.”

      “Says the one who was living there,” Aidne said dryly.

      “Was. Very important word there. Was.”

      Another drumming of fingers on the microphone cut them off, and all faces turned back towards the stage, where a velvet-draped podium had been set up. Now standing behind the podium, Jake shuffled a couple of unseen cards and cleared his throat. “Alright. Good evening, one and all—yet again—and welcome to the official start of Year 28’s Annual Guild of Explorers Awards Ceremony.”

      A smattering of courteous applause greeted his words.

      “As you know, the Awards Ceremony was established by the Guild in Year 6 to celebrate the many noteworthy achievements of its members. Generously hosted each year by one of a constantly-rotating selection of Neopia’s finest venues, the Awards Ceremony seeks to foster a spirit of friendly competition that might inspire further excellence among…” Jake flipped through his notes, then sighed. “Look, we’re already running a little behind schedule, and this intro is like three pages long. Most of you heard all of this last year anyway. All in favour of skipping to the first award say aye.”

      At this, a chorus of grateful “aye”s and chuckles rumbled around the ballroom. Madame Soffleberg pursed her lips, no doubt displeased with this additional break from tradition.

      “Brilliant,” said Jake with relief, “then here to present Year 28’s Rising Star Award is renowned adventurer, physicist, pilot, petpet rescuer, and your Rising Star from Year 23: Miss Cherie Madeline Sunday.”

      Amid applause, Cherry smiled and stood, giving a boy-scout salute to their table before she swept her way up to the stage, her glittering champagne gown trailing behind her.

      As Cherry introduced the recipient of the award (a strapping young Island Shoyru that Kiyoshi didn’t recognise), Kiyoshi realised that Tyra was staring at the stage with a look of abject horror on her face.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      Tyra turned to him, pale. “Cherry—that’s Cherie Sunday. That’s Kieran Sunday’s daughter.”

      The Shoyru on stage said something that got a few laughs from the audience, and Aidne suddenly looked agitated as well. “Crud. Were we supposed to do speeches?” She rummaged in her jacket for a pencil, then swiped one of Jeri’s napkin cranes and flattened it, ignoring the Bori’s protests as she began scribbling away.

      It didn’t seem like anyone else at their table shared, or had indeed noticed, Tyra’s shock at the revelation of the Cybunny’s full name. Lost, Kiyoshi asked her in a low voice, “Who’s Kieran Sunday?”

      “Chairman of the board,” Tyra said hollowly, and when Kiyoshi didn’t react, she clarified, “The leader of the Guild of Explorers.”

      “Wait. I thought that was Jake?”

      “Jake’s not the leader, he’s more like… a figurehead. He’s like the public face of the Guild.” She seemed to be speaking very quickly. “Big guilds like this one have all these different hierarchies of people in charge of making decisions, you know? Different departments, too. But at the very top, there’s a board of directors, and at the top of that is Kieran Sunday.”

      “That’s just… needlessly complicated,” Kiyoshi said. “I mean, I worked at Guild HQ for months without even hearing about this guy.”

      “You were cataloguing scrolls from a closet. You probably weren’t with the Guild long enough to see more than the very tip of the iceberg that is Guild politics.” Tyra leaned back heavily without looking at him. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognise her. She’s been at the Mystery Island Training School for the last several months, I think, but before that her face was all over the Neopian Times. All these articles about her doing all kinds of incredible things. Maybe if the pictures had been in colour, the pink hair could’ve clued me in…”

      “You seemed to be getting along,” said Kiyoshi. “Maybe this'll be a good thing for you?”

      “She’s a prodigy,” Tyra said. “And her dad is one of the most powerful people in Neopia Central. Maybe all of Neopia. If I make one wrong move, either one of them could end my career with a single word.” She slumped, staring miserably up at the stage. “And I just spent the last twenty minutes infodumping about more playgrounds to her.”

      Kiyoshi didn’t think she was being fair to herself, but he also knew he would have no luck convincing her otherwise right now, so he reluctantly left her to her angst while they watched the rest of the Awards Ceremony.

      Luckily for Aidne, it quickly became clear that she was far from the only award recipient who was underprepared for public speaking this evening. Between curmudgeonly ship captains who mumbled their way incoherently through their thank-yous to overly familiar tour guides whose bawdy tales from distant taverns had to be cut off in the interests of both time and good taste, Aidne’s own perfunctory, last-minute speech was relatively quite well-received—even when she misread her notes and accidentally thanked the Guild for “the horror of being here tonight”.

      “Good grief,” Madame Soffleberg said under her breath after one especially rough-edged speech, but did not elaborate.

      Kiyoshi found himself paying closer attention to the names of the various guild officials who stepped up to present and receive awards, waiting to see if Kieran Sunday himself would make an appearance. But by the end of the formal proceedings, Kiyoshi was beginning to suspect that the chairman wasn’t in attendance at all, a hypothesis that was incidentally confirmed a while later by Cherry.

      “I always make fun of my dad when he makes up excuses just to sit these things out, but sometimes I wonder if he’s got the right idea,” Cherry groaned, standing around with the rest of the displaced guests while the hotel staff cleared away the tables and chairs. She stretched, and her back cracked audibly. “They really do just drag oooooooon…”

      “Yeah, but now all the boring stuff’s over!” Jeri beamed. “Now it’s a party!”

      “It’s just dancing,” Aidne said. “Slow dancing.” She glanced over at the rather morose little 3-piece band that was setting up again on the stage. “Potentially very slow dancing.”

      “I can’t dance,” said Jeri happily.

      “Well, I’d love to teach you, but that would require having any skills to pass on.”

      The cellist scraped a single long, doleful note across the strings of their instrument, and the band began to play an especially dour waltz. Or, Kiyoshi wondered, maybe this passes for relatively cheerful in Neovia? Despite the gloomy atmosphere, the attendees took the cue and slowly began to partner up and move to the middle of the floor. A few slipped into the flow of the dance with minimal effort, but a good number of guests seemed rather out of their element: clutching at each other awkwardly, arms rigid while they teetered gracelessly around; or else staring at their shoes, brows furrowed, as if willing the rhythm to move their feet for them. A Faerie Kougra whose field of vision was mostly blocked by an elaborate Juma mask somehow managed to trip over an extremely short Meerca and went careening into a nearby snack table.

      Aidne sighed. “Well, at least we’re in good company. C’mon, let’s go embarrass ourselves together.” And she led an enthusiastic Jeri onto the dance floor, where they proceeded to be very bad at dancing and not care even slightly.

      Kiyoshi hung back with Tyra, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. He hadn’t thought about this part. She didn’t expect him to dance, did she? He would definitely ruin her career….

      “Yikes. Yeah, I can’t do this,” Cherry said from behind them. “I just spent six months pushing boulders up the side of a volcano, barefoot, and this looks infinitely more painful. I’m gonna go crash the lounge. Smell ya later.”

      “There’s a lounge?” Kiyoshi asked, a little too quickly.

      Cherry, already wandering away, turned back to him. “Yeah, just off the ballroom over here. There’s a fireplace and some pretty comfy chairs. Usually some snacks too. Want me to show you?”

      “Lounge sounds cool,” said Kiyoshi, glancing at Tyra. Please say lounge sounds cool.

      Tyra hesitated, glancing back at the dance floor. “I guess we could take a little break…”

      “Swag,” said Cherry, and picked a path for them through the crowd.

      The lounge was a cosy, modestly-sized room with rich wood panelling and a merrily crackling fire in the hearth, above which a carved mantelpiece displayed framed sepia-toned photos, a black marble bust of a Lupe with droopy muttonchops, and a small collection of other Neovian knick-knacks. A polished sideboard was well-stocked with dainty bites and pastries, and a small table held a pyramid of crystal glassware next to a chilled bottle in a bucket of ice while a dedicated server hovered nearby. Kiyoshi recognised her as the Pastel Poogle who had brought their table’s dessert. Apart from the server, a small handful of well-dressed guests, perhaps also dance floor refugees, were already relaxing in the space when the three newcomers wandered in.

      A Spotted Gelert in a sleek black suit and purple waistcoat was leaning on one side of the fireplace. “You’re tellin’ me that this thing”—he was saying, thumping a fist on the front of the mantel—“isn’t actually the original?”

      “It’s a very good copy of the original,” said his conversational partner, an older Red Tuskaninny. He was wearing a boxy grey business suit and a sequinned green mask that clashed terribly with both the suit and his fur, but he still managed to affect an air of worldly scepticism as he swished around the beverage in his crystal flute. He made a somewhat exaggerated show of scrutinising the mantel as he continued, “But of course, it could only be a copy. The original Gremble Arms burned down, you know. Nearly forty years ago. All the original furnishings were lost, down to the last few shards of glass. Really, the place barely had enough of a skeleton left to rebuild on. But the villagers were determined, and significant funds were raised for the effort.”

      “Yes, I think I read that somewhere,” said the Gelert, pondering one of the photos. “Still, they did a good job recreatin’ everything.”

      “It’s alright,” said the Tuskaninny. “But the Devilpuss is in the details, isn’t it?”

      Cherry swooped by the snack counter and grabbed an entire tray of chocolate truffles, ignoring the Poogle server’s attempt to stop her. She popped one in her mouth as she sauntered over to the fireplace.

      “Are we swapping stories?” she interrupted the Gelert and the Tuskaninny, offering them her plate of truffles.

      “Ooh, don’t mind if I do,” said the Gelert, wiggling his fingers above the tray as the Tuskaninny chuckled.

      “Miss Sunday. Always a delight,” he said. “And I wouldn’t say that. Just a couple of stuffy academics musing on ancient history.”

      “Then don’t let me stop you. Muse away,” said Cherry, but the Tuskaninny had at that moment noticed who she walked in with.

      “You,” he said bluntly, staring at Tyra.

      “Me,” said Tyra.

      “Oh. You two know each other,” Cherry said with her mouth full.

      “After sitting through months of back-to-back advertisement campaigns for her infernal gizmos dressed up as a series of academic lectures, I’d go so far as to say I know Magena better than she knows herself,” said the Tuskaninny, his mouth twisting with disdain. “I suppose it was too much to hope that we’d seen the last of your smug countenance just because you’d gotten what you wanted.”

      “It’s cool that you’ve already met,” said Cherry. “I hate introductions.”

      “I haven’t met him,” said Kiyoshi.

      “I haven’t met any of you,” said the Gelert, a little put out.

      “Mr. Blom here is one of my biggest fans,” Tyra said sweetly, smiling at the Tuskaninny. “Never missed a single one of my lectures, did you, Mr. Blom? When the Guild agreed to officially endorse the development of my communicators, I was thinking of you. About how heartbroken you would be now that our friendly debates would have to conclude.”

      The Tuskaninny flushed a darker shade of red. “It seems you will continue to dream up new reasons to torment us regardless,” Mr. Blom sneered. “So with that peace of mind, I’ll be taking my leave. Gentlemen. Miss Sunday.”

      He turned, but Cherry caught his arm, visibly surprising him. “That’s a little rude,” she said mildly. “Since we just got here, wouldn’t the more gallant move be to stay and set an example for all of us young people? After all, I’m sure you have a lot more stories to tell.”

      Mr. Blom looked like he desperately wanted to refuse. And yet, slowly, he turned back to the group, allowing Cherry to smoothly release his elbow.

      “I will stay for now,” he grumbled, adjusting the glasses sandwiched behind his mask. “But only for you, Miss Sunday. I’m afraid Miss Magena and I will never be friends. And then I must disappoint you again, for when it comes to stories, there are none I have to tell that could hold even a single sputtering candle to your own adventures.”

      The Cybunny shrugged. “Fine. Then I’ll tell one.” She plopped herself down in a green velvet armchair near the fire, the casual motion at odds with her elegant appearance. She gestured to the others to join her, which they did with varying degrees of hesitancy.

      “It’s a story that takes place here. At Gremble Arms,” Cherry said, kicking up her feet. “About something that sleeps deep within the walls of this very building, something that should have died a long time ago but didn’t. Or maybe something that did die, but death couldn’t stop.”

      “A ghost story, eh?” Mr. Blom made a harumphing sound, but couldn’t hide his obvious interest.

      “Love a good ghost story,” the Gelert said, rubbing his paws together. “They’re always hidin’ some interesting nugget of truth or another.”

      “What’s your name?” Cherry asked.

      “You can call me Baxter.” The Gelert seemed relieved that someone had finally asked.

      “Well, Baxter, funny you should mention that,” Cherry said. “Because this story starts with a truth no one can deny: The Gremble Arms fire.”

      “You must have heard what Baxter and I were talking about earlier,” Mr. Blom said. “Yes, it was a terrible disaster. A fitting start for a ghost story.”

      “Everyone said it was a faulty gas lamp somewhere, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but that didn’t change the fact that a lot of people never made it out of the hotel that night. Franklin O. Burke, the hotel’s owner,“—Cherry nodded her head towards the bust on the mantelpiece—“came by the next morning to take in what was left of the building and declared on the spot that the wreck should be fully cleared and not restored. He was adamant that he would not rebuild, no matter how much the villagers pleaded. He was done with the place. But as you said, Neovians were proud of the business that had put their little village on Neopian maps for the first time. They got the money and the craftspeople together, and they rebuilt it themselves, even salvaging some of the original materials to use in the new building. People were sentimental, I guess.”

      Kiyoshi, who was uncomfortably perched on an ottoman furthest from the fireplace, was the only one who managed to hear the faint trace of a scoff behind them. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the Poogle server determinedly facing away, a grimace threatening to force its way through her professional stoicism.

      Cherry continued. “The entire time, Burke moaned and complained about the whole thing to anyone who would listen, insisting that the same catastrophe that befell him would find the villagers next. Eventually, the local press published his story in full, and the villagers found out what had gotten him so spooked about rebuilding. The hotel was cursed, he said. ‘Cause in his mind, the fire hadn’t been an accident at all. It had been the will of an evil that once lurked inside. He revealed that there had been a young girl, a maid, who had worked there and presumably perished on that night. She was said to have been deceitful and greedy in life, and although there were rumours that she had been stealing from the guests, nobody was ever able to prove anything. Apparently the other staff had been covering up her crimes for some time, until one day Burke himself caught her in the act. She was given one night to pack her bags before they kicked her out for good. ‘You’ll be sorry,’ the maid shrieked in Burke’s face. ‘You’ll be sorry for what you did to me.’ The hotel burned to the ground that very night.”

      The shocked silence that followed this part of Cherry’s tale seemed to please her, and she took a moment to indulge in it, tossing another truffle into her mouth.

      “But. You said she died in the fire.”

      Everyone turned towards Kiyoshi. Even Cherry had a slight look of surprise on her face, like she’d momentarily forgotten he was there.

      “Yeah,” she said. “She did.”

      “So she burned it down while she was still inside?” Kiyoshi shook his head. “Why would she do that?”

      “Maybe she got caught up in it by accident?” suggested Baxter.

      “She might have thought revenge was worth the price,” said Mr. Blom.

      Cherry pointed at the Tuskaninny. “Exactly. Only her thirst for revenge didn’t stop there. After they opened the new hotel, they noticed that things would go missing sometimes. Little things. Jewellery, trinkets. The stuff rich guests would bring with them. People began to whisper that she was still there, that the spirit of the wicked maid had lingered within the ashes they built the new hotel over top of, and now she was roaming the halls once more.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Kiyoshi. Tyra flashed him a look. “Stealing trinkets from rich people? How would that be revenge? It doesn’t sound like Burke even had anything to do with the new hotel.”

      “It’s just a story,” said Tyra.

      “Maybe it wasn’t just revenge against Burke that she was after,” said Cherry. “Maids don’t make a lot of money, you know. Maybe she was mad at everyone who’d ever looked down on her, and she wanted to come back and teach them all a lesson.”

      “That’s not how ghosts work,” Kiyoshi said. Tyra’s eyes were boring holes into the side of his head, but he pressed on. “You can’t just decide to stick around after you die. Ghosts only materialise when there’s serious unfinished business. They have specific goals. And it’s traumatic. You have to want something badly enough that it tears your soul away from the physical reality of your body’s death. That’s the only way a ghost can exist.”

      “There’s also a ghost paint brush,” said Baxter.

      “Do not talk to me about ghost paint brushes.”

      “You never even let me finish the story,” Cherry said, a little sullen. “I was going to tell you about some of the more recent encounters. Because it’s still happening, you know. To this very day. Sometimes people even catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of their eye, in rooms they thought they were alone in.” She turned to the source of the shadow now looming over her armchair. “Isn’t that right?”

      The Poogle server had stepped directly in front of Cherry’s seat, and for a single ridiculous second, Kiyoshi thought she might actually attack the Cybunny. But the Poogle just turned brusquely away. “We don’t believe in that story here,” she said. Her expression was perfectly neutral, her voice devoid of emotion or character. “Gremble Arms is not haunted.” The Poogle removed the nearly-empty truffle platter from Cherry’s armrest with a curt nod and swiftly retreated from the room.

      Cherry, though a little put out by the loss of the remaining truffles, didn’t seem particularly deterred by the server’s dismissal. “Well, of course they’d say that,” she said. “It’s their rep on the line, right? No one wants to stay or work at a haunted hotel. And the disappearances have happened infrequently enough that it’s always been chalked up to carelessness on the part of the guests. People lose stuff all the time when they’re travelling, after all. But these things are never found. It’s a neat little mystery.”

      “I don’t think it’s a mystery,” said Kiyoshi.

      Cherry’s expression was curious, but there was a hint of a challenge in her voice as she asked, “Then what is it?”

      “It’s a bad ghost story.”

      The Cybunny watched him for a moment while the rest of the room held its breath. Slowly, she said, “What did you say your name was, again?”

      At that moment, a new figure appeared in the doorway, who laughed when he saw the grim expressions on the lounge’s occupants. Kiyoshi recognised him as the Island Shoyru they’d watched receive an award earlier. His suit was deep green and well-tailored, Kiyoshi noted with a small but shameful pang of jealousy. He found his eyes also drawn to a series of intricate gold patterns on the other Shoyru’s mask that looked a little familiar now that he was up close, but he couldn’t place them at the moment.

      “Wow. Is this a gala or a funeral?” the Island Shoyru asked lightly, stepping into the lounge and plucking a glass from the top of the now-unsupervised crystal pyramid.

      Mr. Blom let out a weary sigh and clumsily removed his glasses from behind his mask, rubbing them on his sleeve. “Would it truly be a Neovian function if it weren’t a little of both?” The Tuskaninny replaced his glasses and pushed himself to his feet (such as they were). “Well, that was certainly a most entertaining tale, Miss Sunday. You have my thanks for sharing it. But I’m afraid nature calls. Enjoy your evenings, everyone.”

      As Mr. Blom took his leave of the room, Baxter also stood. “I guess I’d best do the same. Schmooze, I mean,” he added quickly. “Not the part about the call of nature or whatever. That was, uh. That was weird.” The Gelert ducked his head politely and scuttled away.

      The Island Shoyru watched them both leave with amusement, playing with his glass more than he was drinking from it. “So this is where the Guild’s intellectuals hide away once the dancing starts, huh?”

      “That’s Dalton Oritz,” Cherry said to Kiyoshi and Tyra. “But you know that already, of course.” They both nodded, neither one having known that.

      “You should probably go out there,” Dalton said to the three of them. “It’s good for you. It probably won’t even kill you,”

      “I’m over it,” said Cherry simply.

      Dalton shrugged, then turned to Tyra. “What about you? If you don’t mind me saying, you at least look like you don’t want to be here.” He placed his barely-touched drink back on the table, then turned his hand towards the ballroom. “What do you say? Might I have this next dance, assuming the band doesn’t fall asleep before it happens?”

      “You might,” said Tyra, and Kiyoshi looked at her in disbelief. She leaned over and made a pretence of fussing over his necktie while she murmured in his ear: “He’s got connections—I have to try. Stay here and make up with Cherry. Please. For me.” She squeezed his shoulder lightly as she straightened, then walked over to accept Dalton’s proffered arm with a smile.

      Not really feeling like he had been given any choice in the matter at all, Kiyoshi just sat there dumbly on the ottoman while his friend was swept away on the arm of Dalton, leaving the blue Shoyru behind in a lounge that was now almost—but not entirely—empty.

      Cherry wasted no time hopping into the chair Tyra had just vacated, clearly identifying the next target to set her laser-like attention upon.

      “So you like ghosts, huh?” she said, leaning forward so much she was nearly hanging off the chair.

      It wasn’t really a question, but Kiyoshi guessed that he was expected to answer anyway. “Yep,” he said. “Love ‘em.”

      “For real though. What’s your name? I don’t think you gave yours back at dinner. You some kind of undercover celebrity or something?”

      Kiyoshi summoned every scrap of willpower he had to prevent his knee from bouncing, his eyes from darting towards the door. He could lie, but it would only get Tyra in trouble. There was really no way out of it.

      He took a deep breath. “Kiyoshi. Kiyoshi Paco.”

      Cherry nodded, then tilted her head back, thinking. After what felt like a lifetime but realistically couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, she laughed. “Yeah,” she said, relaxing into the chair. “I have no idea who you are. Still, the ghost facts were fun. You’re not boring, anyway, and that means a lot to me. I hate being bored.”

      Kiyoshi almost said something, something that probably would have highlighted the sheer novelty of such a sentiment being applied to him of all people—but before he could find the words, someone in the adjoining ballroom rudely chose that moment to scream.

      “My diamonds!” came the frantic cry, so shrill it cut through all conversation and terminated the band’s song with a single wretched squeak of bow on string.

      “My precious diamonds are gone!”

To be continued…