Koen emerged from the flap in the floor, a look of concentration on his face as he attempted to pull a small cauldron up the ladder without either spilling its contents or falling.

Graa hopped along his perch, ornaments jangling. "There you are. I am impatient."

"I hope," gasped Koen, "that the plates are already up here."

"Yes, yes. Staff! I order that my guests be served first."

Laura got an exact replica of the porcelain tableware of the Embassy. Fling got a football-sized wooden bowl. Graa commanded Koen to lug the serving-cauldron into the center of the gathering.

"Now pick me up."

Laura realized that was an order aimed at Koen. The chef straightened from the cauldron, stood next to Graa's perch, and took the raven in his hands.

Laura thought of her friends with children. Their toddlers demanded rides in the same impersonal way. "I don't care what you think," they seemed to say. "I'm just glad you're available as a means of getting around."

Koen hefted the weight of the jewelry-laden general.

"Now place me on the rim of the cauldron."

It should have been humiliating, but Koen found he liked being useful. And he was grateful that Graa didn't want to ride on his shoulder all night.

With some attempt at formality, Koen turned, bent, and set the general down. Secretary and the other Pick took up position around them, facing outward as Graa dipped his gold-sheathed beak into the serving cauldron. He pulled out a clam, whole and steaming.

"Koen," he somehow said, mouth quite full. "Convey this morsel of my hospitality to my honored guest in a grand gesture."

Koen took the clam out of Graa's mouth and turned to Promise's fishbowl.

"Grander!"

Koen blinked at the bird and set his jaw. He did a pirouette, with the clam raised over his head. Bowing deeply, he swept out his arms, lost his balance, and just managed to toss the clam into the fishbowl before he hit the floor.

Laura covered her smile with a hand. She wondered how well Mr. Grumbles would perform.

"Is that the best you can do?" Promise's arms snaked toward the slowly sinking food. "Back on your feet, Ruis, and try again."

Koen did.

"Not bad." The morsel disappeared between Promise's arms. Pale bits diffused into the water. "I generally don't approve of boiling, but I can't argue with the results."

"I like boiling," said Graa."At least for large carcasses. Heat ensures that none of the food can fight back."

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"As you say, General. Young Ruis, you have talent, but talent is nothing without practice. What will you do next time?"

"Rehearse the service more," said Koen. "And hire a waiter."

"Cheek! Hold still, you chattering monkey." A tentacle thrust up from the water, a clam shell wrapped in its tip. The tentacle flipped onto its side and whipped around, flicking the shell like a frisbee at Koen's head.

"Ow!"

"Ha ha! Three-time victor of the aerial hurling competition. Don't think you can escape discipline just because you're standing on dry land, young Ruis. Now, serve me the rest of my meal."

Koen did so.

"Now," said Graa. "I command conversation! Mammals, answer! Was it very hard on you when you were weaned?"

Laura did the best she could. It got easier when Koen came and stood at the table beside her. He occasionally offered insights into the evolutionary psychology of their companions. Graa thinks food is dangerous. Promise tastes through the suckers on her arms. Fling has an urge to gnaw.

Mostly, though, Laura just felt safer with Koen there. She didn't have to be on guard all the time. She could take a break and allow herself to notice how his smile warmed her. His easy-going gentleness. Those big, skilled hands.

Laura poked her own food with the fork thoughtfully copied from the Embassy. Her first thought was of an American seafood place in Beijing. It hadn't been her favorite: she'd thought it was crude. You just picked up crabs or whatever in your hands and ripped them apart. Probably some customers thought of that as a catharsis. But she'd been to Brussels a few times, where eating mussels was mandatory. They'd been in a butter and white wine sauce.

Laura dug the meat out of a clam and placed it in her mouth with a berry for company. Then some of that red, fatty meat, rather like turtle.

She sighed, and a knot of tension loosened inside her. She shuddered.

"Oh!" said Fling. "Very good!"

"I'm glad you like it," said Koen.

"A passable meal, Graa," said Promise.

Laura caught Koen's frown. Passable?

Graa hopped along the rim of the cauldron, neck stretched, kekking softly. "Yes? I'm impatient."

"Haha! I thought you were, you flappy rascal. Let me see, now, what I have to teach you about your future."

The octopus jetted herself higher in her bowl, twisting her eyes downward to examine the shells and bones that had fallen during her meal. Her silken sleeves rolled up, exposing the suckered tips of her tentacles.

"What is this? My G arm has found the other half of the clams I threw at young Ruis, and my D arm is very interested in this coelacanth vertebra. Do you spread those ribs in an arc, my arms? But see, they give up before the job is completed. Unexpected. Oh, the H arm is pulling up a lobster shell. And taste, there's still meat in it!"

Laura watched as the garbage on the bottom of Promise's fishbowl was transformed into art. Sweeping curves and bold lines appeared in the bones, shapes emerged as if by chance as the psychic stirred and prodded.

Her skin flashed white and red. "There it is!"

"What is it?" asked Graa. "What is your advice?"

"My advice is this, Pick Graa: practice trust. Trust is what will return your loved one to you."

General Graa ducked his head. "I am disappointed. Give me a specific direction in which I can fly."

A tentacle followed the line of a plesiosaur rib up the curve of the aquarium wall until it pointed at Koen.