“It’s full,” Colson retorts. “More than full.”
Ritha shoots him a wearied look. “It’s very small. Cagmar, the way it’s built, it can only house so many people. It can only grow so much. They barely tolerate us, so our space is very small. I share a bed with Tara.” She pats the girl on the shoulder. “That’s why we were so surprised to hear about you!”
I hug myself. “Understandable. I didn’t know they let in children. I had to . . . prove myself, to say the least.”
“They don’t,” Ritha replies. “Tara was born here. We make sure she stays useful, running errands, doing behind-the-scenes work.”
Tara chirps, “I’m going to be a scribe.”
Ritha sets a hand on her shoulder. “Her handwriting is quite good.”
Colson snorts, but I don’t question him. Instead I ask, “Would they really exile a child?”
Ritha and Wiln exchange uncertain looks. A familiar fear cools the base of my belly. None of us is truly safe, then. I can only imagine they came here out of desperation as well. Even in the townships, the drought has made living hard.
I want to change the subject. “What is it you do?”
“I’m an herbalist. And a midwife.” Ritha glances lovingly at Tara.
Wiln smiles, his white mustache stretching. “I’m a horologist.”
I brighten. “A clockmaker?” I haven’t known one since I left Lucarpo.
“A tinker as well. Keep that running.” He gestures to a white-faced clock high on a nearby stone wall, which I hadn’t noticed earlier.
“Do you . . .” I hesitate, trying to choose the best words. “Do you work with sundials at all? Or the stars?”
Wiln shakes his head. “Not for a very long time. Very little sunshine down here.” He gestures toward the market’s high ceiling of unending near-black rock, as if we’re inside an obsidian egg, blocked entirely from the world beyond. “Why do you ask?”
Again, I hesitate. I’ve had little opportunity to talk about those deep desires within me, about the heavens that have molded themselves into a faith all my own. “I . . . I met a Cosmodian once. I thought her work was fascinating.”
His brow tightens, and he rubs his chin with the pad of his thumb. “A worshipper of the stars? I thought they’d all died off. Makes me think . . . Well, I’ll check on something.”
Before I can ask what he means, Wiln looks expectedly at Colson, who says, “I work the mines.”
I’m surprised. “They wouldn’t accept me for labor alone.”
Gaze narrowing, he reels back. “Pardon me for not being a scholar.”
My gut clenches. “I didn’t mean—”
“Colson has been here awhile,” Ritha’s voice soothes. “Even grown he can get into places the trolls can’t.”
“Or pick ore from their pebbles,” he quips.
Wiln peeks at the clock again. “You’d best get on your way, Miss Lark. Work shift ends soon, and if you get caught up in the traffic, you’ll never get where you’re going.”
I glance at the clock. It’s nearly the third hour.
“Thank you. And . . . the enclave?”
“It’s full.” Colson’s tone is even more bitter than before.
“Down,” Ritha answers, pointing to a nearby tunnel. “Past military training, just below the divide on the west.”
“Thank you. Even if I can’t join . . . I would like to visit and know you better, if I might.” I glance at Colson. “All of you.”
He folds his arms and averts his stony gaze.
After taking my leave, I check Azmar’s map before hurrying to get as far as I can before the shift changes. I make it up a lift and past the farming walls before it does, but so high in the city, I only need to duck out of the way for trolls a few times. I reach the apartment and am relieved to find it unlocked. Azmar was the last to leave today; he must either have thought ahead on my behalf or isn’t concerned for security.
In the little corner allotted me, I sort through my packages, finding several floral disks in my foodstuff and a clean set of clothes in beige and white, just as the others wore. The clothes measure too wide but fit lengthwise. They can be adjusted with drawstrings, belts, and the needle and thread I have in my few personal belongings. I leave Azmar’s and Unach’s packages outside their doors. I don’t want to presume I can enter their rooms.
I stretch out for an hour, munching on a floral disk, before Unach comes home. She says nothing about her excursion. “Your shifts will be longer in the future. Don’t expect time to laze around.”