"Is that where I'm supposed to go, now?" Beak asked.
"Yes."
"All right. Are you coming with me?"
"No."
"All right. Well, will you let go of my arm, then?"
The hand fell away.
"It is not common," the figure then said.
"What?"
"That I attend to . . . arrivals. In person."
"My name is Beak."
"Yes."