[https://64.media.tumblr.com/7687ef661fdb334930bed68a0280119d/2ba4f1b747a39e37-61/s640x960/587b5ff1984ed59ca84d24f5f772491356c61b6b.pnj]

Picture by Timothy Morris

The Pick did not care much about vertical walls. They'd divided their building into stories with horizontal barriers and sealed off their kitchen-foundry for reasons of safety. Otherwise, their animals were allowed to sleep wherever they wanted.

Where they wanted, Koen found, was a corner on the far side of the building from the door. There, between the wrought-iron trunks of the artificial forest, someone had wedged a stack of soft tubes, about the size and shape of pool noodles. On top of the noodle-pile lay a puffy thing very much like a duvet, and on the duvet lay Baroness Smoke Detector. She huffed as Koen approached and wagged her tail.

It's a nest, thought Koen as he pulled his way in. He felt like he'd been struck with a hammer right above the left eye. Reaching out of the nest to place his glasses on the floor, he thought, This is weird. Should I be doing this?

Or should Koen be back at the Embassy? There was so much he had to do. So much he had to worry about. But now the dog was lying on top of him and he couldn't get up. Was this how early humans had slept? The smell wasn't great, but Koen was comfortable and warm and very, very tired.

He dreamed about his father again.

Koen knew it was a dream, not because he was walking with a dead man — walking their long dead dog — but because he was back in Rotterdam. Koen never went to Rotterdam. He never went home, because the place kept changing, and it was too painful.

Koen had noticed the problem all the way back in university, when he'd been working at the museum. Buildings would go down, new ones up. Shops where he'd once bought doughnuts now sold screen protectors for cell phones. Strangers filled the streets.

Buenos Aires and Brasília weren't so bad. The loss of normalcy didn't hurt because those foreign cities had started out strange. They mutated, grew and died and grew again, but they weren't home. Rotterdam, though. Rotterdam shouldn't betray him like this. The sparrows and pigeons had started talking and demanding public assistance. His dog wore a suit. Now, she was walking Koen. The hand resting on his shoulder grew hairier.

He jerked awake, pushing the dog off him, gasping. Birds flickered in the curlicue branches above him.

"You are awake," said one. "Go back to sleep! I am dominant."

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"No, I have to —" Feathers filled his face.

"Close your eyes and shut your mouth," gurgled the Pick ambassador, breast pressed to Koen's nose. "I have nothing left to stuff into you. The ground is cruel. The air is merciless. Blue eyes inevitably turn black, but the nest is kind."

It's a lullaby, Koen thought but didn't say. He kept his mouth shut, lest something be stuffed into it.

General Graa stropped his beak on Koen's hair. He didn't nibble, just pressed and pulled awkwardly downward.

Does he think that's comforting? Strangely, it almost was.

"Tomorrow we will hunt. Now, we arrange the sticks and hope."

Koen wanted to do as the raven commanded, but it was the middle of day. His body wasn't used to lying around at this time and doing nothing. He only managed to doze for another hour or so until the balance of cortisol to adenosine finally tipped so far that he couldn't help himself.

Koen shoved the dog off him and rose, disturbing the bird.

"I am annoyed."

"Sorry," said Koen, "but I can't sleep anymore. Uh. Thank you for your hospitality, Your Excellency, but I have to go back to the Embassy."

Graa stood on Koen's knee and stretched his wings. "No. If you have regained condition to the extent that you can attempt escape, you are capable of helping me resolve the problem that you created."

Koen sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What?"

"Kek kek. I am frustrated. Is your brain working? I'm testing you: ask a more intelligent question."

Koen worked his mouth, trying to summon saliva. "What do you want me to do?"

"Good question," growled the Pick. "I am pleased! I have decided upon the next angle of attack on the problem of the missing Mr. Grumbles. I have searched personally and recruited others. I have attracted the attention of the authorities. Now, I have invited the intervention of a psychic."

Koen looked up. "What? I mean, clarify? You hired someone to find your pet with supernatural mind-powers?"

"Correct."

Koen tried to think about whether that was a good or bad thing. Was there really a species of telepaths? "I don't know anything about psychics."

"That is not a requirement of you, but of her."

Koen was afraid to ask for further clarification, for fear Graa would want to administer further intelligence tests. He wished Mark were here. He'd know what to make of this.

"Can I have a coffee and a shower? And I'd like to call the Embassy."

"Those are treats that you may earn after performing your trick."

"What," asked Koen, "do you want me to do?"

Graa raised his shoulders. "Cook for my guest, of course. I am dominant."