Page 5 of A Brighter Yellow
“Dad!” exclaimed Anna, looking horrified.
“What? We don’t owe him anything.”
“I do,” said Anna.
“Why? Because he walked you home?” Baird made a derisive noise. Ochre was amused by Baird’s description of events.
“He saved my life!” snapped Anna. “He’ll be sleeping in the bunkhouse.”
“No, he won’t!” Baird yelled back.
“He is sleeping in the bunkhouse,” Anna said calmly, drawing herself up to her not inconsiderable height. “And that is final. Garett, show our guest where the bunkhouse is. I am going to go put some clothes on.”
She strode off toward the keep, and Baird gaped and then charged after her.
Garett spit onto the ground, and Lucky sniffed some leaves.
“Well, that’s going to take a while,” said Garett when the yelling was muffled by the keep. “So we might as well just show you to the bunkhouse.”
“Any idea why Baird doesn’t like my family?” asked Ochre following behind the sandy-haired Garett.
“Well, with Dad, it could be anything, honestly. He don’t really like people that buck the trend, so to speak. Likes to keep the status quo, you know, real quo.”
“Anna Aurora Aurelia Augusta does not seem to be the kind of person who enjoys that kind of status.” Ochre liked the feeling of all of Anna’s names in his mouth.
“Funny how that works,” said Garett.
The bunkhouse was exactly what it sounded like: a long low building with racks of bunkbeds meant to house hired hands.
“Any of them without gear in it is available,” said Garett. “Jus’ pick one, and then we’ll go on up to the keep to get you some food.”
“Is that a good idea?” asked Ochre. “Isn’t your father just going to yell at me?”
“Yeah. It’ll be hilarious,” said Garett. “Plus, I want to hear what the hell Anna was doing in Montana and how you got there.”
“Mm,” said Ochre but didn’t comment. He also wanted to know what Anna had been doing in Montana. Ochre dropped his bow and gear on a bunk and followed Garett and Lucky up to the keep.
Anna was rummaging in the cupboards of a kitchen that made his grandmother’s look thoroughly modern. She was wearing a simple blue dress, with her feet in sheepskin slipper boots. Baird was standing at a 1920s era stove cooking a very large panful of meat. Ochre tried not to mind.
“I don’t like it,” groused Baird, glaring at Ochre as they entered.
Lucky immediately bolted for a threadbare, sagging couch in the corner. He curled up into a surprisingly small ball and pretended to be a pillow. Only his triangular ears and bright eyes peering above his tail revealed that he wasn’t an inanimate object. Garett followed after him.
“I have questions!” barked Anna, slamming down a plate on a heavy farmhouse table. “I want them answered!” She pointed a water glass at Ochre and then at the chair in front of the plate.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Ochre, trying not to smile. He supposed the Allanach communication style might be considered overly aggressive, but he found it strangely appealing.
“You want some black pudding?” asked Baird, dropping out of belligerence long enough to be hospitable. At least, Ochre thought it wasintendedto be hospitable. Ochre wasn’t sure that he could realistically consider black pudding, which was made of blood, suet, and usually oats, to ever be more than a Scottish joke on outsiders, but he was willing to give Baird the benefit of the doubt.
“He’s a vegetarian,” said Garett with gleeful impudence.
“I ought to throw you out on your ear,” said Baird, looking as if Ochre was an alien.
“Your vegetarian options are green beans, biscuits, and eggs,” said Anna talking over her father.
“Thank you,” said Ochre. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Good. Garett, make eggs.”
