“Will you be moving in?” Wiln asks, picking up the monocle and wiping it on his shirt.
“Not yet.” I haven’t heard anything from Housing. Unach, too, grows impatient with it. “Soon, I hope.” I don’t care where they fit me. I’ll sleep under someone’s bed, or standing in the corner. The idea makes me grin.
“Where is Ritha?” I ask.
Wiln shrugs. “Likely either distributing in the market or collecting off the walls. Cave walls, that is. Sometimes they let her venture to the surface to look for the plants she needs.”
I run my finger over the sharp edges of a gear on the table. “Sometimes?”
“We’re not slaves here. But they don’t want us leaving once we come in. Darkness, monsters, and trolls aside, Cagmar flourishes where our townships do not.” Wiln slides the monocle into a trouser pocket. “They don’t want us sharing what we know with others. Could invoke war.”
I can’t think of a single township that could hold its own against the warrior-driven trolls of Cagmar, but then again, if they were to bind together . . .
My father would find a way to best them, if he set his mind to it. He is not a man who accepts failure.
Wiln snaps his fingers, the sound muffled by his gloves. “That’s right, I wanted to lend you something.” He turns to a shelf behind him, only as high as his knee. There are a few books and several sheaves of papers on it. He pulls out a particularly worn volume. Its front cover has been torn free, and water damage has crinkled and yellowed the pages.
He extends it to me, and I take it gingerly in both hands. “What is this?”
“An almanac.”
My breath catches. My father had almanacs. I already know what lies within—
“It’s old, but it dates the seasons, sunrise and sunset, the like,” Wiln explains, unable to hear the whirring of my speeding thoughts. “Also includes the night, of course. Star charts and comets, if you’re interested.”
“Yes. Yes!” I hug the book to my chest. “Oh, yes, thank you! I’ll copy everything I can out of it and return it to you.” A passing human glances at me—I hadn’t realized how loud I’d been speaking. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Wiln is about the same age my father would be, and when I realize that, a sudden image comes to me. Not of sitting, invisible and quiet, in a shadowy corner of the immaculate office of my father, Ottius Thellele, waiting for his gesture to shrivel a man, but of sitting on that little stool in front of me, handing Wiln the tools he needs to build or fix or invent, sharing quiet jokes and warm smiles. Hearing his advice and talking about almanacs. The very idea raises gooseflesh on my arms.
Wiln chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll be kinder to it than I have.” He spies someone over my shoulder. “Is it working?”
I step aside to see a man of about forty approaching with a pocket watch. “It was until I dropped it.”
“Let me take a look.” Wiln extends his hand, and I retreat, allowing him to work. I thumb through the almanac, finding a cluster of information on the heavens near the back. Anything I can learn from this, anything at all, I will cherish forever.
I should probably make my way back; there’s little to explore here. But I don’t get far before I hear my name.
“Lark.”
It’s cool and calm as autumn wind. I turn and see Colson leaning against one of the piles supporting the roof. A boy stands near him, likely in his later teens, though he’s small in stature.
“Hello.” Colson’s chilly disposition douses my enthusiasm, and I hug the almanac a little closer.
He dips his head toward his companion. “This is Etewen. How are you finding Cagmar?”
Colson’s question gives me hope that he’s warming up to me. Not everyone accepts strangers as easily as Ritha and Wiln have. “Well enough. I still use a map to find my way around. And I’m getting the timing of the shift changes as well.”
“Good.” Colson folds his arms across his chest. “You’ll need to know how to rearrange your tasks to avoid a whipping.”
My spine turns cold. “Whipping?” I think of his bruised face days before, though the markings have nearly faded.
“I heard what Wiln said,” he goes on. “We’re not slaves, sure. But they have a task force ’specially for monitoring us. Keeping us in line. Make sure we’re contributing. If we’re not contributing to their liking, we’re reminded of our place. They have prison cells here for a reason, though some trolls just like to remind you they’re bigger than you.”