Coldmaker(10)

The moustached vendor at the nearest watercart passed out flavoured water to Nobles in exchange for small goods. Most traded food or make-up for the water, but I saw one Nobleman trade away a wooden doll. Fine pieces of woodwork were rare, but some Nobles liked to overpay traders to show off their wealth.

Another Noble habit I’d never understood.

The second bell of the day rang, and then the third, and still no one had chosen me for any errands. I was usually happy keeping to my corner, relaxing in the shade my little overhang offered, but today, idle time allowed my thoughts to wander to the Idea.

I began to sweat, straining towards safer topics.

I’d had the Idea for some time now, but I’d never had the Cold needed to make the particular invention work. Now that I had the three Wisps, my main excuse was gone, and I needed to come up with something else that might dissuade me.

The Crier might turn a blind eye to me having the Cold, but using it for my own benefit would surely be my downfall.

Just then something in the alley across from my corner caught my attention. Most Jadans used the alleyways to get around for errands, and I usually ignored the shadowy movements perforating the lively bustle of Arch Road, but this dark outline was different, as it was keeping completely still. Jadans on errands could get lashes for dawdling, so I tried ignoring the stationary figure at first, but something about the stance resonated with me louder than the morning bells. My curiosity grew stronger than my caution and my eyes began to rise.

A gasp nearly exploded from my chest.

It was the girl. The Upright Girl.

Her posture was like the beginning of a cautionary tale about obeying the Crier’s rules. If any taskmasters caught her standing that still and that straight they’d have the Vicaress break her back in a hundred places and string her crooked body from our road’s namesake Arch.

The girl’s face was perched out of my view, and I had to get a better look, so I chanced raising my head just a nudge.

Long hair flowed down her shoulder in a single braid, knotty yet still nicely sheened. Usually only Domestics wore their hair long, considering it would be torturous out in the streets, catching the heat and bundling it against your head. I couldn’t make out the details of her face, but the sun shed light on her feet, highlighting fresh wounds staining her ankles.

Had she followed me all night and morning? How else could she have found me?

The shout of a passing Noble startled me, and I slammed my eyes back to the ground. When I looked again the girl was retreating, her rigid back slicing into shadow.





Chapter Four


The hand fan on the shelf was the exact shade of pink I needed.

I held up the smeared parchment the High Noblewoman had given me, just to make sure, and found the stain of lip grease to be a perfect match.

She was going to squeal with delight.

The handle of the fan was made of ornate pearl, engraved with curling song words. The blade looked to be both sturdy and wonderfully frayed. This had to be one of the nicest pieces in Paphos, and I had visions of Jadanmaster Geb earning commendations for my wonderful find.

I breathed in the air in Mama Jana’s shop, warmer than I remembered.

Most shopkeepers didn’t let us in if the room was chilled, claiming the crushed Cold was wasted on Jadan lungs, but Mama Jana was a good-natured woman who treated me as if I was more than a pair of dirty feet, and I brought her business whenever I could. She was a lowborn Noble – meaning she got the minimal Cold rations delivered from the Pyramid weekly, unlike the bounty bestowed on the Khat’s immediate relatives – and she could use all the trade I could muster.

The shop was unassuming, its entrance deep in the alleyway off Mirza Street, but this modest fa?ade hid a feast for the eyes and the purse, and was the first stop for many Street Jadans. Its walls were concealed by stacks of goods, overlapped in disarray, jumbling together cheap headdresses, thin sandals, fine beadwork and leather waterskins. Often I imagined combing through these mounds with my Claw Staff, its orb sounding to alert me to items pre-dating the Great Drought. In this fantasy, I’d then smuggle the treasures back to my barracks, and take them apart, examining their craftsmanship for hours.

At the front of the shop was an entire area dedicated to the Closed Eye: racks of Closed Eye necklaces, Closed Eye candles, Closed Eye paintings, Closed Eye parasols, Closed Eye robes, and even a full suit of armour with the Closed Eye branded into the chest. There was a giant Closed Eye Khatclock, but its hands were broken and it was kept in the back of the shop. Most Nobles sported the holy symbol somewhere on their bodies, a reminder of the Jadan fate from which they were saved, and a symbol of their closeness to the Crier. I’d never seen Mama Jana wear one, but there was plenty of Cold to be made in religious tradition, so the shop was kept well stocked.

Mama Jana removed the pink fan from the shelf and set it on the glass counter, stretching out her aged back.

‘For this beauty? One Shiver, four Drafts, four Wisps,’ she said, tapping out the different Cold amounts with her brightly painted fingernails as was her habit. I noticed, however, that a few of them were chipped, and that her voice sounded more annoyed than usual. I checked under my feet to make sure I hadn’t dragged in too much sand.

She clucked her tongue, noticing my dismay. ‘How much did the Wisp-Pincher give you?’

‘Sadly the High Noblewoman didn’t give me enough,’ I said, knowing that I had to keep my tone fully respectful for my masters, even in the privacy of Mama Jana’s shop. I let my head sag, holding the lips of the velvet bag open for her to see.