Levi glanced at the clock in Oberon’s workshop; it read 11:09 p.m. Anytime now, he thought, bringing his cart to a halt. He reached for his mop, which stood upside down in its holder like a pale palm tree, and drew it out. Then he walked over to the big round viewport behind Oberon’s desk—the shop was the only room besides the lab which looked in on Napoleon’s habitat—and peered through the glass.
The animal was nowhere in sight. Levi could see the large log it used as a scratching post, resting on the island of soft earth they’d trucked in from Chief Joseph, and the shredded burlap bags strewn around it—the T liked to lay on his back, holding a bag in his forelimbs, and shred it with his hind-claws—but no Napoleon. A little shy, tonight, he thought.
He looked at his omnibus, and smiled.
