“The highest I can get.”

Mr. Rodriguez paused. “Are you hosting the Nexus summit?”

“Yes.” News traveled fast.

“They’d asked me and I declined. The risk to my other guests would be too great.”

I was well aware of the risks, but I had no choice.

“Unfortunately…”

My heart sank.

“…all of my kitchen staff is really busy. We’re short-handed at the moment.”

I fought hard to keep despair out of my voice. “Thank you anyway.”

“So happens I know someone who might help,” he said. “If you’re desperate enough.”

What? My hopes soared. “I’m very desperate.”

“He was ranked as a Red Cleaver a few years ago.”

My hopes plunged to the ground, hit hard, and exploded. “I can’t afford a Red Cleaver chef.”

Mr. Rodriguez probably couldn’t afford a Red Cleaver. That was the second highest ranking. I couldn’t even afford a Grey Cleaver, which was the lowest rung. The Cleaver ranking meant certification by the Galactic Gastronomy Board, a diploma from the best cooking school in the Galaxy, and a long apprenticeship in one of the prestigious restaurants. Cleaver chefs were worth their weight in gold, literally.

“He was stripped of his certification.”

I’ve never heard of someone losing their Cleaver. “Why?”

Mr. Rodriguez hesitated. “He might have poisoned someone.”

I put my hand over my face. This was just getting better and better. A poisoner chef. What could possibly go wrong?

“Dina, are you there?” Mr. Rodriguez asked.

“Yes. I’m just wrestling with it.”

“I warned you that you would have to be desperate. I don’t believe he was ever convicted of the crime but somehow he was involved in a death of a diplomat. You would have to talk to him to get the whole story.”

With my back against the wall, I didn’t have options. The least I could was talk to him. “Where can I find him?”

“He lives in a small hole-in-the wall hovel at Baha-char. Just past the Gorivian gun merchant.”

“I know where that it is. Thank you.”

“Oh, and Dina, he is a Quillonian. They can be touchy.”

That was the understatement of the year. Quillonians were notoriously difficult.

“I hope it works out.”

He hung up. I slumped against the wall. Tired or not, I needed to go and see this touchy dishonored Quillonian chef who may or may not have poisoned someone, because the Arbiter was due to arrive tomorrow evening.

I had quite possibly bitten off more than I could chew. No, thinking like that would only get me into trouble. It was the fatigue talking. I would host this summit and it would be successful. Gertrude Hunt needed the guests.

I got my boots out of the closet, put them on, and buckled a belt with a knife on it around my waist under my robe. Baha-char was the place where you went to find things. Sometimes things found you instead and tried to take your money. On the inn grounds, I ruled supreme. Outside of it, my powers dropped off sharply. I could still take care of myself, but it never hurt to expect the worst and be prepared.

Beast barked once, excited. I took my broom, pulled the hood of my robe over my head, and headed down the hallway. The inn creaked in alarm.

“I’ll be back soon,” I murmured. “Don’t worry.”

The door at the end of the hallway swung open. Bright light spilled through the rectangular opening and dry, overbearing heat washed over me. I blinked, as my eyes adjusted to the light, and stepped into the heat and sunshine of Baha-char.

I strode through the heat-baked streets of Baha-char, the hem of my robe sweeping the large yellow tiles of its roads. Around me the marketplace of the Galaxy breathed and glittered, its heart beating fast, pulsing with life. Tall buildings of pale sand-colored stone lined the streets, decorated with bright banners streaming from its balconies. Plants, some green, some blue, others red and magenta, spread their branches on the textured terraces, offering cascades of flowers to the sun in the light purple sky. Above me narrow stone arches of bridges spanned the space between the buildings. Merchant booths offering a bounty of goods from across the universe lined the through-way. Open doors marked by bright signs invited customers. Barkers hawked their wares, waving holographic projections of their merchandise at the crowd flowing past them.

Around me the bright, multicolored crocodile of shoppers crawled through the streets. Beings from dozens of planets and dimensions, clothed in leather, fabric, metal or plastic, tall and short, huge and small, each with their own odd scent, made their way searching for their particular goods. A constant hum hung in the air, a cacophony of hundreds of voices mixing together into the kind of noise that could only be heard at Baha-char.

The last time I had come here, Sean was with me. I didn’t even know if he was dead or alive. It was so fun to watch him here. He had travelled while in the military and he thought he was worldly, then I opened the door to the sun-drenched streets and Sean turned into a child entering Disneyworld for the first time. Everything was new, strange, and wondrous.

Six months and no word. Either I imagined things and he wasn’t at all interested or something happened to him. Thinking about Sean being dead somewhere out there, among the stars, made me angry. First my parents vanish. Now Sean was gone.

I caught myself. Yes, clearly this was all about me. Not exactly my proudest moment. As soon as I straightened out the chef situation, I needed to go back to bed before the lack of sleep made me weepy.

Ahead the traffic slowed. I stood on my toes and glanced over the spindly shoulder of some insectoid being. A creature that resembled a Penske truck-sized maggot slowly crawled up the street. It was wearing a plastic harness along its back. Bright burgundy and gold umbrellas protruded from the harness at even intervals, shielding its wrinkled pallid flesh from the sun. Several shopping bags hung from the hooks on the sides of the harness. One of the bags had Hello Kitty on it.

We were moving about half a mile an hour. I sighed and looked around. I’d been coming to Baha-char since I was a child and most of the time I walked through on autopilot.

A familiar dark archway loomed to the right. I strained and heard a quiet, haunting melody playing. I stopped.

That shop belonged to Wilmos Gervar, an old werewolf. Last time we were at Baha-char, Sean had stopped here. Wilmos had a nano-armor on display, made especially for the alpha strain werewolves such as Sean. Sean saw the armor and became obsessed with it, as if it had called to him. Wilmos offered him a deal: he would give Sean the armor, but Sean would owe him a favor. I thought it was a terrible idea and told him so, but Sean took the armor, and once we’ve dealt with assassin threatening the inn, he went to Baha-char to replay the favor. That was the last time I saw him.