For some reason, I find myself flushing again. “Not all trollis dismiss us.”
The expression on her face cautions that she doesn’t believe me.
“We should go,” Colson interjects, moving to the front of the cart to pull it. Etewen gets behind to push. “Thank you again, Lark. And . . . sorry.”
It’s an uncomplicated apology, but it gives me hope.
They take off toward the enclave. As I watch them go, I spy a large wagon pulled by a familiar shape, Grodd, and the hope Colson planted immediately shrivels.
As though he senses me, Grodd’s hard glare finds me. I feel it like knife points against my skin, pressing just to the point of breaking through. His wagon is loaded with iron ore, and Unach’s earlier words ring in my mind. How easily the iron bar bends.
Grodd’s nose wrinkles, like he’s smelled something bad. His wagon veers toward me. Does he need to come this way, or does he mean to confront me?
Unsure of myself, I hurry in the direction of the others and catch them near the middle of the tunnel, near a lift. I didn’t think I’d moved very quickly, but I’m out of breath when I arrive.
“Lark?” Colson asks.
Smoothing back my hair, I ask, “Do the trollis believe in witchcraft?”
Ritha’s eyes narrow. “No, why?”
I shake my head. There will be no accusations of witchery against me here, at least.
And yet that does little to reassure me.
My shift overlaps with Unach’s the next day, and I get to take a rope bridge farther down the canyon to another station. Monsters called cretons have been spotted recently, so the slayers stay on alert. After a couple of hours, we see one a ways off, and I learn exactly where the council got its floor rug. Hanging back, I let Unach load a large crossbow and take a shot at it. She doesn’t hit it, but the creature scurries away, out of sight. If we monitor them for a few days, they’ll lose interest and move on. Most monsters do, or so I’ve heard.
When we climb back inside the dock and start sloughing off our harnesses, Kub remarks, “A lecker is one thing. I’d like to see how she fares against a creton.”
I drop my harness wordlessly into the chest.
“I’d like to see how you fare against me,” Unach says offhandedly, but there’s a hardness to her tone. “Leave her be. She has ears, you know.”
I bite my lip to hide a smile, because I don’t think Unach would react well to my pleasure at her defense of me. I hand her my weapons and a few pitons, and she returns them to the closet.
Afterward, I pick my way back through the city, considering what to do with my few hours of free time. I could visit Perg again, but not a day has passed yet, and he needs his rest. That, and I’d like to have that soup when I see him again.
I wonder if I could barter some writing supplies from someone, just to draw or tell a story, not that I’m talented with either. Thoughts of writing make me think of Azmar, so I turn up toward Engineering. Surely he will have some use for me there, even if it’s just teaching me a new concept and letting me sit in the corner while I work it out.
The uphill climb is tiring. Sleet is on duty, the same guard as the first time I visited. He scrutinizes me but says nothing. I scan the tables but don’t see Azmar’s familiar knot of hair.
“Is Azmar in today?” I ask the guard.
He frowns at me, and I suspect it’s at my boldness, asking him a question when I am without rank. Or perhaps he finds me curious, like so many trollis do. “No.”
I frown and scan the room one more time. Surely it can’t be that hard to entertain myself. Yet I find myself wishing Azmar were here, even if he didn’t need my help or have time to teach me mathematics.
I thank the guard and head up toward the market, stepping aside to let a group of trollis through. The last two notice me and put their heads together, whispering. I wonder what they’re saying, but think it might be better that I don’t find out.
In a little while, they’ll forget, I tell myself, though I’m not sure how true it is. I’ve never stayed anywhere after others “found out.” But surely some other spectacle will happen in Cagmar, and I’ll be forgotten.
The noise of the market filters down the tunnel. I look at Wiln’s clock on the wall. Nearly a quarter past five. I wonder if I could go up to the Empyrean Bridge and watch the sunset, but I imagine I’d need an escort. Might as well head to Unach and Azmar’s apartment and cook dinner. If they’re both out, I can use their bath.
I keep to the side of the tunnel out of habit. Here the trollis are busy, focused on their own tasks, uncaring about a human, even a novel one, in their midst.