Moon could think of at least one bad reason. If someone had wanted to find a Raksuran colony tree, they might have decided to steal Delin and force him to show them the way. “Let’s ask him.”
Jade nodded for him to go ahead, and Moon tapped a claw on the crystal.
Delin looked up, startled, then waved enthusiastically. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the window, turned the catch on the inside and swung it open. Voice low, he said, “I was hoping you would find me. I have much to tell you.”
Jade drew back and motioned for Moon to go ahead. “I’ll stay out here.”
Moon climbed in through the window and dropped to the floor. He shifted to groundling; though Delin had never been afraid of Raksuran scales and claws, it seemed more polite in this confined space. In soft-skinned groundling form, Moon was tall and slender, with bronze skin, dark hair, and green eyes. His clothes were simple brown pants and shirt, dirty now that the mud and moss that had been on his scales had transferred to the cloth, and the only jewelry he wore was his red-gold consort’s bracelet. The ability to make the shift and take objects with you from one form to the other was something fledglings learned very young; Moon had been lucky his foster mother Sorrow had taught him before she died.
The other reason for shifting was the number of groundling species who resembled some version of this form, though with varying colors, shapes, and textures. If someone else stepped into the cabin unexpectedly, Moon would pass for an ordinary groundling, and cause a moment of confusion that might buy him time to escape, rather than immediate terror and screams for help. Moon said, “Delin, did these people steal you?”
“Not exactly.” Delin patted his arm. “But I am happy to see a friendly face.”
The cabin was small but high-ceilinged, and the heavy rafters that supported the deck above crossed it lengthwise. They looked like the stems or stalks of a large plant. There was a bed space built into one wall and a basin for water, and various shelves for belongings, though Delin didn’t seem to have brought many. There was only a small pack and a basket, and not much in the way of paper and writing materials. Knowing how many books Delin normally traveled with on his own wind-ship, that in itself was suspicious. The door was fan-folded, light enough that Delin could probably have battered through it. But this was a flying boat and there was nowhere for a groundling to escape to.
“How do you mean ‘not exactly?’” Moon asked. Delin looked the same, though it had been more than two turns since Moon had seen him. He was elderly for a Yellow Sea groundling and his gold skin was weathered by turns of wind-ship travel, but he smelled like he was in good health. He wore the kind of clothes Golden Islanders usually wore on their ships or for outdoor work: a loose shirt and pants cut off at the knee, of a light fabric.
“The story is long and somewhat fraught.” Delin sat down on the bed and Moon crouched on the floor. “The thing you must know immediately is that these people are of Kish-Jandera, one of the coastal territories of the Imperial Kish. They wish to find the Indigo Cloud court. I have said I would tell them the way, but after we entered the Reaches, I have willfully misremembered the route for these past few days, in the hope that I could warn you first.”
“All right.” If this was anybody but Delin, it would have been alarming and suspicious. It still was, but Moon had seen Delin navigate his way through some tricky situations. “Why do they want to talk to Raksura?”
“Not just Raksura, but you in particular.” Delin leaned forward, his expression intent. “Moon, they have found an ancient city. I fear it may have been built by the forerunners, like the city you discovered on the northwestern coast.”
Moon stared, and felt his back teeth start to itch from pure nervous reaction. “Where?”
A faint sound outside the door warned him, a footstep on the cork floor. Moon shifted and leapt for the ceiling, sinking his claws into the moss, curling his body up along one of the big stems that supported the structure. The door rattled and a voice said, “Delin?”
Delin stood and faced the door. “Yes?”
The folding door was pushed open and a groundling stepped through, passed under Moon as it crossed the cabin toward Delin.
The groundling was about Moon’s height, with a dark cap of short, tightly curled hair and reddish brown skin that was rough and almost pebbly; it wasn’t scaled, but it looked thick and tough. He was probably male. He wore a loose jacket of red-brown with figured designs in dull gold, open at the chest, and tight pants that went to the knees, with knee-high sandals with elaborately wrapped straps. The materials looked rich and carefully worked.
Moon dropped lightly to the deck, and shifted back to his groundling form by the time his bare feet touched the floorboards. He pushed the door shut.
The figure turned and fell back a startled step. His dark eyes opened wide, revealing a second lower eyelid.
Behind him, Delin said, “He is Moon of Indigo Cloud, a consort of the Raksura. So be very careful what you say and do.” He added to Moon, “This is Callumkal, Master Scholar of the Conclave of the Janderan.”
Callumkal eyed Moon. Moon knew he didn’t look terribly impressive at the moment, standing barefoot on the deck in mud- and moss-stained work clothes. Callumkal glanced back at Delin and said, “I thought you might be delaying intentionally.” He spoke Altanic, one of the more common eastern trade languages. He didn’t sound angry, but it was always hard to read emotions accurately off strange groundlings. He was wearing a leather harness under his open jacket, the straps hanging down below it. The dark leather was almost the same color as Callumkal’s skin, and Moon hadn’t noticed it at first, and had thought the buckles were jewelry. It looked utilitarian, and was worn in spots as if it had been used for hard work. Moon just couldn’t figure out what sort of work. For riding some kind of grasseater, maybe. Except these groundlings had a flying boat; why would they need to bring riding grasseaters?
“It is better to speak here, away from the colony.” Delin was undisturbed at being caught with a Raksura in his room. “Everyone will be more comfortable.”
Callumkal inclined his head. “You could have explained that.”
“Could I?” Delin shrugged. “Probably.”
That Delin, one of the most straightforward groundlings of any race that Moon had ever met, felt the need to dissemble didn’t bode well. Moon said in Raksuran, “And you said these people didn’t steal you.”
“They did not,” Delin answered in the same language. He must have been practicing since the last time they met, though his accent was still terrible. “But they were determined on this course. It was better to let them think they were in command while I navigated from the stern.”
Callumkal waited patiently for Delin to finish speaking. Then he looked at Moon. “You understand Altanic?”
“Yes.” Moon stepped away from the door. If there was going to be a fight, he didn’t want to start it. And moving put him closer to the window, where he knew Jade must be listening.
“Delin told us about your experience in the ancient underwater city. We only wish to speak to you about it.” Callumkal glanced at Delin again, and his voice was tinged with what might be irony. “I’m sure he has told you by now, that we have located a place we believe to be similar, perhaps constructed by the same species, perhaps not. We intend to try to enter it, and wish to be as forearmed as possible.”
“It might not matter how forearmed you are,” Moon said. “There are some things you can’t prepare for.”
When some groundlings spoke with a Raksura for the first time, they seemed surprised. Moon could usually tell if it was surprise that Raksura could speak a civilized language, or surprise that they could talk at all. It was ironic that the Fell rulers, the most dangerous and deadly predators of groundlings, were fluent in any number of languages, and that friendly races like the Kek had difficulty with everything but their own speech because of the structure of their vocal apparatus.