When Ishmael dived through the archway into the courtyard, he nearly ran into a tall boy with tightly curled hair—wiry, springy coils that stuck out all over his head. The boy swallowed nervously, and the lump in his throat bobbed up and down. “The naked man insists that a belt is not useful without pants,” he said. “I hope that I’ll be as useful as pants while I’m here. Or a belt.”
Ishmael wasn’t sure how to respond to this boy’s strange words. “Um … I hope so, too?” He looked over his shoulder to see if Luc had followed him out of the posticum, but of course, he hadn’t. Luc was more concerned with catching the bird than catching Ishmael.
The boy tugged at his left sleeve, trying to cover a bony wrist. “Sorry, that wasn’t the right one. I’d practiced two—in fact, I had decided to use the other one, The new lamb is always welcomed to the fold, especially by predators, but then at the last moment, I didn’t like the bit about the predators, so I decided to use the belt and pants one, but that one didn’t come out right, either.” The boy let out a heavy sigh. “Better to stumble than make a slip of the tongue. I’m Thomas. I collect proverbs.”
Ishmael really looked at the boy now. There was something different about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He wore well-made clothes, though they were somewhat threadbare and a little short at wrist and ankle. Thomas stood still while Ishmael scrutinized him.
“I hope I haven’t ruined your first impression of me,” Thomas said. He really looked nervous now. “You’re not Color Master, are you?”
“No, I am.” And there was Color Master, her red robes blazing through the Great Courtyard archway. “This is Ishmael,” she said to the newcomer.
Ishmael tried to smile, but he failed to produce more than a nervous grimace.
“Why aren’t you in Luc’s posticum?” Color Master asked.
“Um.” Ishmael didn’t know what to say. Because he accidentally let one of the animals loose? Because Luc was really angry? Because he had no business being at the Commons to begin with? All were appropriate answers, though none were suitable to tell Color Master.
Luckily Color Master didn’t have the patience to wait for an answer. “If Luc has no use for you,” she said, “stay here and wait for the other Hue novices to arrive. I need to test each of them individually. Matthew, Jacob, and Rebekah are already here, so we just need Hannah and Lilith.” With that, she led Thomas out of the courtyard toward the Hall of Hue.
Ishmael sank down onto the stone bench opposite Luc’s posticum. From here he could see the large gate at the entrance to the Commons and the archway to the posticum. One entry led to home. The other led to Luc. Should he go straight home? Should he go to Luc first and then go home? But how would he make amends to Luc? And how could he go home when he promised Mam that he wouldn’t return without Luc?
Ishmael pulled his legs up to his chest and hugged them, resting his chin on his knees. Glancing down, he was surprised to see part of the green splotch on his boot crumbling off. He picked at it a bit, and a large section disintegrated in his hand, turning into a colorless dust. How could he have wreaked so much havoc in a mere day?
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he berated himself.
“What’s stupid?” a voice asked.
Ishmael looked up. Standing before him was a girl with kind eyes, a broad nose, and thick hair. And suddenly he knew what had made Thomas different, because this girl was different in the same way. He had gotten used to the gleaming light of the apprentices inside the Commons. Thomas and this girl looked like him: drab and dull in comparison to the others here, but their eyes shone brightly, as if they held all of the brightness that their bodies lacked.
“What’s stupid?” she repeated.
“Me. I’m stupid.”
She sat down next to him. “I doubt that,” she said, looping a twist of hair around a finger. “You look rather intelligent to me. Here’s what I see. You’re much too young to be a laborer, which means you must be here as an apprentice, and if you’re here as an apprentice, you must be gifted—because you’re young. Therefore, you can’t be stupid.”
When Ishmael finally untangled her logic, he ducked his head, a little bit embarrassed by her deductions and a little bit pleased, but mostly astonished at how perceptive she was.
“So, are you an apprentice?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
She shifted her whole body to face him. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I came here mostly to fetch my brother and bring him back home. Our father died, and my mam needs help running the farm.”
“You came here mostly to fetch your brother? But not entirely?”
Ishmael began to think she might be too perceptive. “Well, I had some questions, too.”
She smiled. “Me too. So it sounds like you could be an apprentice, if you wanted to.”
Ishmael tipped his head. “What do you think I should do?”
“I couldn’t say. It’s not like one choice is right and the other is wrong. You just need to decide which path you want to take: stay here or go home.”
If only it were as simple as she made it seem. He tried to smile. “Thanks. I’m Ishmael, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Ishmael. I’m Hannah. I hope you decide to stay here.”
Ishmael saw a flash of red through the archway. “Color Master’s on her way to come collect you.”
Hannah threw a worried look over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry—the testing’s easy.”
The two stood as Color Master walked toward them.
“And you are?” Color Master asked, gazing down her long nose at Hannah.
“Hannah.”
“Very good. Let’s go.”
Hannah waved and said, “See you later, Ishmael.”
Color Master continued talking. “We’ll test first, then …” Her voice trailed off as she and Hannah went through the archway.
Color Master came back fifteen minutes later. “Lilith hasn’t arrived?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Keep waiting, then. If she comes, bring her to my office. If she’s not here by supper, go to the refectory.”
Ishmael waited an hour. Then another. No one else came.
MANUFACTORY
The late afternoon light loved to swim over chimney and rooftop, flowing through the windows of workrooms, settling like a blanket of comfort on all surfaces. It brushed by one particular Manufactory apprentice, Michael, who had paused in his motion only long enough to wet his sharpening stone and push his chisel against the rough surface.
Though his hands were busy, his mind was even busier, dashing through twists and turns of possibilities. When his assigned projects from Manufactory Master were done for the day, Michael unleashed his imagination, letting it dart through the land of invention, pushing the carving and chiseling and sanding he did each day further. He wanted to create something far greater than the sum of its parts. He wanted to make something grand.
When Michael first arrived at the Commons two years ago, he brought samples of things he had built—joinings, carvings, gears, gadgets—along with page after page of detailed designs he had drawn while planning their construction. Manufactory Master had tossed the plans onto his desk without a glance, and instead, twisted the gadgets, turned the gears, ran a finger along the carvings, studied the joinings.
What Michael hadn’t known then was that design work was the sole responsibility of the Hall of Shape. Members of the Hall of Manufactory were meant only to build things. After a few weeks, Michael saw why. The designs from the Hall of Shape were complex compared to the simple plans he had made. But, oh, how he would like to join forces with the Shape apprentices!
He thought his chance had come earlier that day when a set of plans arrived from the Hall of Shape that appeared incomplete. He brought them to Manufactory Master expecting him to be full of gratitude for his perception and willingness to collaborate with Shape. Instead, Manufactory Master waved his plump hand, saying, “They’re always like that, giving us their inferior plans. Now at least I’ve got fair warning they’ll come complaining.”
“But—” Michael started to say.
Manufactory Master had turned away, dismissing him.
So Michael honed the surface of the metal chisel, drawing it one last time against the grit of the stone, making sure he and his tools would be prepared for tomorrow. He wiped the chisel on a sturdy leather strop and placed it into its slot in the wooden block. Then he began gathering the materials he would need. He would complete that set of plans himself.