"No time for that," said Petra in Armenian. "But thanks for offering."
The Arkanian family now lived in a nice apartment building--all balconies and glass, yet upscale enough that there was no hanging laundry visible from the street. Petra had told her family she was coming, but asked them not to meet her at the airport. They had gotten so used to the extraordinary security during the days when Petra and Bean were in hiding from Achilles Flandres that they accepted this unquestioningly.
The doorman recognized Petra from her pictures, which appeared in the Armenian papers whenever there was a story about Bean. He not only let them go up unannounced, but also insisted on carrying their bags.
"You two, and three babies, this all the luggage you have?"
"We hardly ever wear clothes," said Petra, as if this were the most sensible thing in the world.
They were halfway up in the elevator before the doorman laughed and said, "You joking!"
Bean smiled and tipped him a hundred-dollar coin. The doorman flipped it in the air and pocketed it with a smile. "Good thing he give me! If Petra Arkanian give, my wife never let me spend!"
After the elevator doors closed, Bean said, "From now on, in Armenia you tip."
"They'd keep the tip either way, Bean. It's not like they give it back to us."
"Oh, eh."
Petra's mother could have been standing at the door, she opened it so quickly. Maybe she was.
There were hugs and kisses and a torrent of words in Armenian and Common. Unlike the cabdriver and doorman, Petra's parents were fluent in Common. So was Stefan, who had cut his high school classes today. And young David was obviously being raised with Common as his first language, since that's what he was chattering in almost continuously from the moment Petra entered the flat.
There was a meal, of course, and neighbors invited in, because it might be the big city, but it was still Armenia. But in only a couple of hours, it was just the nine of them.
"Nine of us," said Petra. "Our five and the four of you. I've missed you."
"Already you have as many children as we did," said Father.
"The laws have changed," said Bean. "Also, we didn't exactly plan to have ours all at once."
"Sometimes I think," said Mother to Petra, "that you're still in Battle School. I have to remind myself, no, she came home, she got married, she has babies. Now we finally get to see the babies. But so small!"
"They have a genetic condition," said Bean.
"Of course, we know that," said Father. "But it's still a surprise, how small they are. And yet so...mature."
"The really little ones take after their father," said Petra, with a wry smile.
"And the normal one takes after his mother," said Bean.
"Thank you for letting us use your flat for the unofficial meeting tonight," said Bean.
"It's not a secure site," said Father.
"The meeting is unofficial, not secret. We expect Turkish and Azerbaijani observers to make their reports."
"Are you sure they won't try to assassinate you?" asked Stefan.
"Actually, Stefan, they brainwashed you at an early age," said Bean. "When the trigger word is said, you spring into action and kill everybody at the meeting."
"No, I'm going to a movie," said Stefan.
"That's a terrible thing to say," said Petra. "Even as a joke."
"Alai isn't Achilles," said Bean to Stefan. "We're friends, and he won't let Muslim agents assassinate us."
"You're friends with your enemy," said Stefan, as if it were too incredible.