“I’ll stick to needs, thank you.” The dust-wife tapped the moth. It flicked its wings, startling Marra. It was white, but there were broken black lines all over, like writing.
“Ugh. Six weeks of your life.”
“Six days.”
“One month.”
“One week.”
“A fortnight, and that’s my final offer. And don’t blame me when it lands on a bucket because what you need is to drink more water.”
“A fortnight’s fair.” The dust-wife beckoned Marra. “Two weeks of your life, child.”
“Uh,” said Marra. “What?”
“That’s the price in this place, unless you’ve something to barter.”
“What if I’m going to die in a week?”
“Doesn’t work like that. It’s off the time you could live. If you get hit by a beer wagon tomorrow, everyone still gets paid.”
Marra felt a shiver crawl down her spine and fought it back. You wouldn’t give up two weeks of your life for your sister? To save her from losing all the weeks of hers? “All right.”
“Half a moment,” said the snake-tongued woman. She pulled out a silver abacus and moved the beads back and forth. “There. Fortnight.” The dust-wife looked over and nodded approval.
The abacus had a little dish at the bottom filled with what looked like plant stems. The woman picked one up and Marra saw that it was a caterpillar. “Hold out your hand.”
Marra held her hand out worriedly. Would it hurt? What did losing two weeks of your life feel like?
The snake-tongued woman dropped the caterpillar into her palm. It unrolled itself and crawled over the side of her hand. Marra noticed, unsurprised, that her hand was trembling.
The caterpillar attached a thread of silk to her thumbnail and let itself down. It curled itself up and began a rapid wiggle, spinning silk across itself. Marra stood frozen, watching it build a cocoon far faster than any normal caterpillar she had ever seen.
In less than a minute, it was wrapped up and had turned a bright shade of green. “Ah … I … What am I supposed to do?” she whispered to the dust-wife.
“Won’t be long,” said the dust-wife, watching the caterpillar. Bonedog realized that Marra wasn’t moving and sat on her foot, pelvis digging into her ankle.
The cocoon split open. A crumple-winged moth emerged, velvety brown in color, stretching wet wings. “There we go,” said the snake-tongued woman. She caught Marra’s wrist and pulled it toward her, plucking both moth and spent cocoon from her hand. The moth went into one of the little wooden boxes, and then she popped the empty cocoon into her mouth. Marra caught a glimpse of the snake tongue opening, and she turned away, feeling vaguely queasy.
“Take your moth,” said the dust-wife, pointing to the white one still in the tray. Marra reached out and fumbled the white moth free. “Now, blow on it and tell it to find you what you need.”
Marra had an increasing sense that she was in a dream, even more so than she had in the blistered lands. Only Bonedog’s solid, uncomfortable weight convinced her that it was all really happening.
She lifted the moth level with her face. It was very fuzzy and had big black eyes. Don’t think of it like an insect. Think of it like a … a mouse. A mouse with feathers for ears.
She blew across the moth’s back. “Please,” she whispered to the moth, “find me what I need to help my sister.”
Its wings shivered. For a moment the black lines seemed to rearrange themselves, forming letters, words, sentences. Then it spread its wings and flew.
The brown hen took a snap as the moth went by but missed as the dust-wife flicked the staff aside. “Shame!” she said to the hen. The hen looked unrepentant.
“Now what?” asked Marra.
“Now follow that moth!”
* * *
They threaded their way through the goblin market, through the strange sea of people. The moth stayed fluttering a little way overhead, swooping to avoid antlers or banners or wings.
They had moved across two aisles and turned down the third when the crowd shifted around them. The people of the goblin market drew back, leaving a long avenue open between them. Conversation hushed, not in awe but in annoyance. Marra was reminded of the way that crowds moved to avoid a leper with a bell.
The woman who came down the center of the aisle moved as stately as a queen. Marra’s impression was that she was very tall, and yet when the woman drew near, Marra could have met her eyes without looking up. Perhaps her apparent height was because of the light.