…And Child

Galen had always had a warm welcome for visitors to his inn, until this one. It was his nature to be warm and open with his guests. She didn’t feel like a guest, though, more an invader.

She had crashed through the door with a wordless cry like a soldier storming an objective, disturbing the quiet calm of the lobby. The fire still burned cheerily in large stone fireplace, the morning sun still shed its beams of warm light through the windows, yet the atmosphere was shattered by her arrival.

Under her large pack and bulky layers of outerwear, Galen could not make out any details. The only clue he had that she was, in fact, a she, was the slight stature combined with the pitch of her voice as she cried out with a, “Raaahhh,” as she barreled in.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to keep it down, ma’am,” he said as politely as he could. “We have guests still asleep, after all.”

She let out a grunt as crouched down until the base of the pack was on the floor, then released the waist strap and wriggled out of the shoulder straps. The gloves came next, placed on the pack neatly. She removed the heavy parka to reveal a figure that seemed too small for the size of the pack.

After folding the parka and placing it atop the gloves, she unwound the scarf that covered her pale, freckled face and removed the thick stocking cap, releasing a cascade of frizzy flame-colored hair. Her eyes darted side to side, a wildness…possibly panic…driving them.

“I’m Galen,” the stocky innkeeper said, offering a large, work-hardened and sun-darkened hand to the woman. “Welcome to Mountain Springs Inn.” His usual friendly expression was absent; the smile line around his eyes in contrast to the concern his face wore.

She looked at him, starting with straight, black hair cut short, down his bulky frame to his pale, sandal-clad feet, then back to his deep brown eyes. “I—I’m sorry. It’s been a long trip. Are there any…official types staying here?”

Galen cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘official’?” he asked.

“Government types?”

“Nope. Nobody like that around here unless there’s an avalanche or lost climber or something.”

She relaxed visibly, letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Can I get a room for a week? And I may need to extend it later or leave early. I’ll prepay for the whole week, though.”

“Sure,” Galen said, his normal smile returning as he walked behind the registration desk. “Your name?”

“Oh, sorry. Celeste Davies.” She pulled a wad of cash from an oversized pocket on her bulky snow pants. “Does the room come with meals?”

“It can. A room and three meals a day would be—”

She cut him off by dropping the wad of bills on the desk. “Will this cover it for a week? Room service for meals, don’t worry about cleaning the room until I’m gone. Privacy is a must. As such I won’t be leaving the room until it’s time to extend my stay or leave.”

Galen picked up the bills and began counting them. “This is enough for a month in the master suite, would you like—”

“A plain room…just the most basic you have. And keep the change. If I need to extend, I’ll be paying the same again.”

“Well, Ms. Davies, allow me to carry your bag up to your room.”

“You can call me Celeste, and I can carry my own bag. Could you, uh…”

“Yes?”

“Could you not put my real name in the register? I didn’t think about it until just now.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble? Running from the law? I won’t…”

“Nothing like that. Trouble, yes, but it’s not what you think.” She sighed. “I haven’t broken any laws, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Galen handed her a key and put a false name in the ledger. “Second floor, third door on the left. Room 2-H.”

Celeste took the key. “Thank you.”

Galen watched her as she threw her parka back on and sat to strap the pack on again. She rose with some effort, holding her gloves, hat, scarf, and key. “I assume lunch is at noon?” she asked.

“Yes. If you would like, breakfast is in an hour.”

“Not today. Tomorrow, for sure.”

Galen watched her make her way up the stairs. He wondered what was so precious in the pack. Packs were usually dropped to the floor, especially when they were so bulky and heavy as hers seemed.

He counted the bills again and put them in the strongbox beneath the desk. A glance at the tower clock in the corner of the lobby reminded him of what he should be doing. Breakfast would be starting soon, and the lobby would be filled with the quiet murmur of those eating, enjoying a hot drink by the fire before checking out to go up the mountain or return to civilization.

True to her word, Celeste remained in her room, never showing her face. Her meals were left outside her door, and the empty dishes were left in their place an hour later.

The morning of the third day, two men entered shortly after breakfast. They bore no packs and carried no bags. Their parkas were too light for the weather and their shoes were not the sort that the adventurous mountaineers wore.

“How can I help you gentlemen?” he asked.

“We’re looking for Celeste Davies,” one of them said. “She may be using an assumed name. Short, pale skin, red hair, green eyes. Possibly traveling with a tall man with a blonde beard.”

“She was alo—,” he began, realizing too late that he’d let it slip. “Who are you?”

“We’re just looking for Celeste. You were saying?”

“She was alone. Stopped in for breakfast the other day and left. Didn’t say whether she was going up or down, but since I didn’t see her before then I would guess up.” Galen hoped that was good enough for them.

“The other day,” one said. “Which day would that be?”

“Day before yesterday,” he said. As much as he hated lies, the behavior of the two men raised his hackles. If they were officials, they would have identified themselves and shown proof of their identity. Instead, they’d deflected the question.

“Can we see your ledger?” the other asked.

“Can I see your warrant?”

The first man shook his head and whispered to the other. They moved away from the desk and spoke in low tones for a moment.

“We’ll be on our way now, but we’ll be back. If you see her again tell her to stay put.”

Galen leaned on the desk. “I’m not a message service.” The first man began to reach into his parka before the other stopped him. “But,” he said, “I’ll make an exception for you gentlemen.”

They left and Galen watched the door for a long moment before letting out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It only felt right that he should warn Celeste, but he worried that they may be watching him.

He went into the kitchen and put together a snack for her room with a note under the plate explaining what had happened. Galen carried it up to her room himself and set it down outside the door. He gave a quiet knock and began to walk away.

He heard the door open, then a quiet hiss. “Galen! Come quick!”

He rushed to the room and Celeste whisked him inside before grabbing the tray and pulling it in as well. She closed and locked the door behind her. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes rumpled. On the center of the bed the blankets were in a pile.

He told her about the men, and she nodded. “They’ll probably be back. Don’t change your story or add anything to it.”

She opened the pile on the bed and there, in a nest made of blankets, sat the largest egg he’d ever seen.

“What is that?” he asked.

“What I’m protecting,” she said.

Galen moved closer and heard a faint scratching noise from the egg. It rocked on its own. “Hatching?”

Celeste nodded and lay down next to the egg, warming it with her body.

Galen wasn’t sure how long he stood there, transfixed, before the egg began to open at the top. A small egg tooth appeared first, followed by a dark green snout. After the unmistakable head emerged, the hatchling struggled to drag its leathery wings, clawed feet, and serpentine body free before collapsing next to Celeste. It breathed in short, quick breaths. As it warmed and dried out, it opened its eyes and began to chirp at the woman that petted its head.

He watched as she chewed up a small piece of meat and dropped it into the waiting mouth of the hatchling. She made a cooing noise as she chewed the next piece and fed it. She kept this up until the hatchling slept again.

“That’s a…”

“Yes,” she said. She pulled out another wad of bills like the first one. “One more week before it’ll be strong enough to travel. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

“No hurry,” he said.

“We’ve got to get out to the wild where he can hunt and be free,” she said, stroking its head. “Isn’t that right, little Galen?”

“Little…oh, you—you didn’t have to name him after me.”

“He needed a name, yours was close to hand.” She rose, careful not to disturb its sleep. “Now, if you don’t mind, I should return to my privacy.”

“Certainly.” Galen returned to the desk and checked the ledger. He looked at the false name he’d signed into the room, and scribbled in, “and child.”