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The Hanging City(31)

Author:Charlie N. Holmberg

Water heats over a dying fire. I cross the apartment to my pallet and kneel down, rubbing my back. After setting my bag aside, I roll up the blanket, then find one of my shirts hanging in the little laundering closet. Blanket under my arm, bag over my shoulder, I stir the fire with a poker, coercing the flames.

When I turn around, Unach and Azmar are staring at me. For lumbering giants, they’re certainly light on their feet.

Unach grumbles. “You’re not ready. Go back to bed.”

Realizing I’m hunched like an old woman, I straighten. “I really am fine.” It warms me that she notices. That she cares.

Bristling, she snaps, “I said go to—”

“I need to be useful, don’t I?” I keep my voice calm, but it’s the truth. “I know about the task force. I’ll manage.”

Unach’s green lips pinch together.

“She can help me in Engineering today.”

Both Unach and I turn toward Azmar.

He offers a half-hearted shrug. “She’s good with math, and we’re struggling with designing the council’s extension. She can sit on a stool.”

Unach guffaws. “And you’ll, what, carry her over your shoulder the whole way down? I’d love to see that.”

Despite my embarrassment, I pinch down a smile. I envy the way Unach and Azmar speak to each other. So candidly. There’s a depth behind every remark, gesture, and glance. A depth that makes me wish I’d tried harder with my own siblings, though my parents kept us separated.

I could have tried harder.

“I-I can walk.” I’m fairly certain I can, if I use the lifts and not the stairs or ladders. “Thank you.” Admittedly, I’ve been curious about Engineering. This may be a silver lining to my predicament.

Azmar gives his sister a look I can’t identify and heads into the small kitchen nook.

Frowning, Unach looks over the mess of the floor. “At least eat something so you’re not a burden.”

I smile, but it fades. “Unach, how do I get water? And cook?”

“You’ll have to get water from the market. And your food has to be precooked.” She must notice my down-turned face, for she groans. “Ugh. If only to prevent me from having to carry it for you while you’re being delicate, you can use the pump up here. And the fire, but only if you cook for us, too.” Then, as an afterthought, “And clean.”

Relief cools me. “Thank you. I don’t mind at all.”

She fishes around in her pocket and slaps a key onto the table.

I dare say the gruff Montra is starting to like me.

I don’t say a word about it.

With Azmar as my escort, I don’t have to defer to most other trolls in the corridors or on the lifts—it seems the higher castes have fewer members, while the lower have many. If not for my slowness, we would have made good time to the market. Azmar doesn’t complain, though. He walks beside me, which signals to the other trolls that I’m with him and don’t need to move aside. I’m grateful for it.

While waiting for a lift, I see my distorted reflection in a metal plate supporting the shaft. Two bruises on my face have merged into one, resembling the body of a spider, which ironically recalls Iter, the fifth planet. The larger one on my cheek, deep purple where it passes over my cheekbone, overshadows the smaller one next to my mouth, which isn’t quite so discolored. In my father’s house, I could use powder to hide the marks, but here I just use my hair. Thus far, I haven’t seen anything in the way of troll cosmetics.

We take the lift down, Azmar working the rope, and cut through the corner of the marketplace. We’re halfway across when I notice Perg pulling a small wagon. Excitement blooms in my chest.

“Azmar.” I grasp his forearm to stop him, then immediately release it, unsure if such an action breaks protocol. When I have his attention, I gesture to Perg. “Could I speak with him a few minutes? Please? He’s the one who found me.”

Azmar’s topaz eyes look toward Perg before lifting to the clock. “I know. Can you find your way?”

I pull the map from my pocket. “Always do.”

His lip makes the slightest quirk, though for how serious he is, I might have imagined it. “Be careful.”

I nod. He hesitates, glances to Perg, then continues down to Engineering.

Crossing the road, I call out, “Perg!”

He stops and looks to either side, and I chuckle at his confusion. I hurry, gritting my teeth each time I step with my left foot. He must catch the movement from his periphery, for he turns abruptly toward me. To my delight, he grins.

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