Finally, the end of the working day. I sat on the pub’s terrace with my cup of peanut ale. From there, I could watch the communication relay and the updraft pit. For as long as I remember, I’ve always loved watching the elegant busyness of Condori Coursiers taking off and landing there. There’s something fascinating, surreal almost, in the way the birds use the rising warm air to reach their preferred height. I mean, condors have wings twice as large as I’m tall, and yet they can float motionless in the sky like that. Sometimes, I’d love to fly.
There she was again. As it harnessed itself for yet another flight, Clic the Condor noticed the detective sitting in the pub. It had seen her earlier at Kraka’s rooftop , interrogating fellow condors while they ate. Apparently, she didn’t need to work as much as Kraka did: Clic probably had half a dozen cargos to deliver all around the town before it could get some sleep. For a city bird, Clic was fairly lucky. It had a decently paid job, a home, and it spent most of its time in the air. Its patrons were respectful towards it. But to be frank, when it was looking at this idle human, it was almost envious. It'd have liked not to fly.