The Continent (The Continent #1)(46)

I can’t help but notice that the room now smells like manure. And possibly cows.

Teku smiles warmly. “Shoshi is the overseer of beef production for Hayato. It is he who cares for the animals that provide us with meat. You will receive your wage—two oka per week—by working with Shoshi to clear the fields of waste, tend the animals, and, when summer comes, collect and bale hay for winter.”

Shoshi goes rigid in his chair. “Now, Teku Ana,” he says in that oily, insipid voice of his, “surely there’s a better place for the girl than my farm.”

“Yes,” I say at once. “I’d be willing to consider another vocation if Mr. Kaken here has no need for me.”

Teku looks at me quizzically. “You prefer an assignment in sanitation, then?”

I almost say yes. Almost. Because I can’t decide which is worse: cleaning outhouses, or working with Shoshi. But the idea of human excrement…my stomach rolls, and I swallow.

“No,” I say, sealing my own fate. “I would prefer to work with the animals.”

Shoshi is not deterred. “I have use only for skilled workers, Teku Ana. This girl is of the Spire—pampered and privileged, not fit for hard labor. How can she tend a farm?”

“She’ll be shoveling shit,” Teku says. “I’m sure she’ll catch on without too much trouble.”

Shoshi shrinks back into his chair, a crusty old warrior in the face of defeat, and none too pleased about it. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Good,” Teku says. “When should the girl begin?”

“No sense wasting time. I’ll come at daybreak and show her the way.”

Teku smiles broadly. “Wonderful. I’m sure it will be beneficial for you both.”

*

Noro bursts into laughter as we exit the War Room. “Oh… your face, girl, when Shoshi said he didn’t want you. So much…so much hope.”

“Yes, it’s very funny, isn’t it? Well. You shan’t hear me complain. If I’m to collect cow droppings for a living, I’m sure I can find some way to enjoy it.”

He crosses his arms. “You will enjoy working with manure?”

“Well,” I say, “I’ll be out in the fresh air, working with the animals. Every day will be like a sort of adventure.”

“You’ll be working with Shoshi,” Noro points out. “The most miserable man I’ve ever met.”

“I have a way with people,” I say, my chin lifted ever so slightly. “I made a friend of you, didn’t I? And you scarcely have ten words to say in an hour.”

He smiles. “I will look forward to what you have to say at the end of the week.”

“If you think you’ll hear one word that doesn’t sing of grateful service, I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“All right,” he says, but I can see that he is unconvinced. He nods toward the far end of the street.

“Shall we go to the town center? You might want to do some shopping now that you have a bit of coin.”

“I think I’d like to look around on my own,” I say. “But could you show me the way?”

He smiles—a small thing, a thing that makes me feel proud, and gestures for me to follow.

We pass through a short maze of winding streets—an odd mixture of residential and industrial construction, houses next to leather tanners and the like—to the village square. It’s a wide-open area, with wagons full of goods—vegetables, jewelry, chickens, clothing—parked in long rows. Men and women alike are hawking merchandise, calling attention to those in the marketplace. Children run underfoot, a man spits on what seems to be an eggplant and throws it to the ground, and somewhere, a baby cries, somehow louder than all else. I am assaulted by a thousand aromas: spiced meat and body odor are the most prevalent, but there is also the tang of incense, the earthy scent of animal feed, and the freshness of the damp morning air.

“This,” Noro says, “is the heart of Hayato. Here, you will find all the goods you need, and a few luxuries as well.”

“What sort of luxuries?”

“Scented soaps, fine clothes…that sort of thing. Waste of oka if you ask me.”

“Right,” I say, secretly yearning for a luxury of any kind. “Well. I’ll just have a look around then. I might find something…practical.”

“Remember what I told you about the coins, girl. These vendors will not hesitate to take a little extra money if they can get away with it.”

I smile. “I remember.”

He pauses for a moment. “You know how to get home from here?”

I tap my forehead. “Always. I’ve got the streets mapped in my mind.”

“Ah. Cartography.”

“Exactly.”

“All right then. Good luck, and I will see you soon.”

“Goodbye,” I say, but he has already turned away, melting almost at once into the throng of market-goers.

I head down the first row of wooden carts, inspecting the goods and deciding that I need neither pig blankets nor tiny baskets of silver-green frogs (I only hope the frogs aren’t meant to be eaten).

A haggard old woman behind a rickety wagon grins at me, her lips sucking inward where her bottom teeth used to be. “Hello,” I say politely, trying not to look at her puckered mouth.