Koen stood in the kitchen before Mark and Laura. "Thanks for helping," he said. "We have one day."

He'd spent the previous day receiving orders, prepping, and trying not to think about going back to Earth. He'd fly to the Quotidians' version of Asia, take the accelerator to western China, check into a hotel, and—

It was like running into a closed door. It was plain and wooden, and he could not go through. He could not go back to living alone.

So Koen did not think about it. He retrieved the bundles of onion-like allium leaves and the package of not-quite-ginger from the refrigerator. "Laura, you chop these as fine as you can get them."

Laura ducked her head. On one level, she was glad she had thrown Koen under the bus. On another, she knew the sacrifice wasn't worth it. Unexamined modules of her mind were on the alert, looking for ways to sabotage her greater goals.

Koen gestured toward a pair of colanders full of glistening dark objects. "Mark, you're shelling chestnuts and water caltrops. Just get the shells off any way you can."

"Yes, chef!"

"Don't do that."

"What's this?" Looking for alcohol, Laura had opened a cabinet and found what looked like a bundle of crusty, irregular objects. They were, in fact, the shed mating-armor of a species of land-shark, but to her, they looked like giant toenail clippings.

"Oh, I'm curious about those too," said Koen. "I got these from the Greaves, but they got them from somebody else." He held out his hand for the bundle and Laura gave it to him. "There's more dentine in here than we want to eat, but the pulp inside should be mostly cartilage. Let's rehydrate it and see what we get."

"Something edible?" said Mark.

Koen raised an eyebrow at him. "If I prepared it, you'd eat a pine cone."

Both of the other humans reacted with surprise. They hadn't seen Koen in the kitchen in weeks, and they'd forgotten his easy arrogance in his natural habitat. Laura liked it. Mark didn't. It would make his goals harder to achieve.

"Speaking of substitutions…" Koen walked into the refrigerator and returned, lugging a large plastic container. He opened it to reveal neatly arrayed chunks of blubbery meat. Laura thought she recognized it.

"Plesiosaur?"

Koen nodded. "There are probably food animals more closely related to Suidae," he said, "but they'll be uncomfortably close cousins of the Monumentals."

Mark pointed. "Well, what was that thing related to?"

Koen's expression lit up. "An interesting question! Some analyses have placed them with turtles—"

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"I mean, how many of our guests are we going to offend by serving it?"

"We don't have any testudine guests." Koen scratched his chin. "You know, I've been assuming it was an issue, but all the time I've been in the Zogreion, I haven't actually noticed anyone worrying about eating anyone else's relatives. I should ask Proprietress the Neurospastic for a professional opinion."

"What's that sauce you put them in?" asked Laura.

"It's just milk to remove the fishy smell. Mark, how are those nuts coming along?"

Mark tensed. "I haven't started yet."

"I know!"

Laura turned away, still looking for wine. She didn't know where the impulse came from, but that was because she was trying hard not to look. Aha, that was where Koen had put the crates. She opened one.

"Laura, what about that chopping?"

"Have some of this first," she told him.

Koen took the clay jar, even though he'd been working for Ambassador Li for years and knew cassia wine when he saw it. He was working, and he didn't really like the taste of the stuff, but he opened it anyway.

"I know you're working now," Laura said, "but you'll be working tomorrow, too, and you'll be too busy to enjoy the meal." And then he would be gone. She held her jar out to him.

Koen held his out to her, raised it.

The wine tasted like cinnamon and apricots, too sweet for Koen. He wanted to get a glass of water to wash down the clinging taste, but he found himself reluctant to turn away from Laura. Not because she was so beautiful with her head tilted up and her throat working, but because Koen was worried. Something felt off.

What was off was that the greater, deeper part of Laura was at war with her hard outer surface. The part of Laura's brain responsible for strategic planning wanted to ship Koen off so she could bury the guilt and longing she felt for him and get on with her career. The rest of her brain felt miserable and blamed all these strategic plans. You slap your own arms, the octopus had told her. But once you stop, the world will be your oyster.

She lowered her jar to find Koen looking at her. She knew he would be. Don't think about what you're doing or why. Just play the game of seeing how long you can keep his eyes on yours.

"And what's your job, Koen?" Mark asked. He had his own games to play.

Jolted out of their courtship ritual, the two other humans turned away from each other and toward him, reddening.

"I'm…doing the roots," Koen reminded himself while Laura got a jug of wine for Mark. He didn't like it much, but the important thing was that he wasn't excluded.

Mark put down the jug of wine and picked up a little knife and a nut that looked like something designed by H. R. Giger. Here was something that could easily come from some other universe, wet and black, with two horns that gave them the shape of a buffalo's head or a bat with wings.

"Water caltrops are supposed to make you smarter," Laura informed him.

"I'd better take two, then." Mark wedged the point of the knife into one of the nut's many weird little wrinkles. He twisted and a tiny, useless sliver of shell peeled away. Maybe he could chop off the horns, or start at the top and cut the nut in half.

Mark didn't usually think about what he was doing. Notice the feel of the tool in his hands. Usually, it was enough to just issue commands to his body and switch attention to the next thing. There was always so much to do. But now, he found himself wondering whether he was enjoying himself. Was it pleasant to shell these buffalo-shaped nuts? Was it fun? Or was it yet another price to pay? Dues until he finally got what he wanted?

Severo was right. Mark should at least have fun. Here he was, working in the kitchen of his enemy. He was a spy. Mark smiled, because he was happy.