22

The crystal shop was little more than a concrete hut with a handful of shelves, loaded with jewelry made from local geodes and onyx, and the candy store next to it wasn’t much bigger. Neither shop had proper doors, just wide archways with wrought-iron gates. It was around the curve beyond the temple—the temple was easily the most prominent structure in this patch of neighborhood—where Street Xaomico forked into two rustic roads, each barely a car-width wide. The candy shop faced out to one fork, the crystal shop to the other. Both shops were run by the two Henáca sisters, Isilla and Anizé.

When Niliza brought Wenthi over—with the three dogs in tow—the sisters spoke with Niliza with a clipped reserve. Wenthi presumed they didn’t like Niliza or him.

Isilla Henáca sat on the lone stool in the crystal shop. She was one of those women whose age was impossible to gauge, somehow both youthful and weathered at once. She had to be around the same age as Niliza, since two of her sons—there were at least four—were about the same age as Lathéi. Those boys had been loitering about, and once Wenthi came over, they wandered over to the carbon shop—Partinez had headed over to the apartment above it with only a few terse words—and loitered in front of it. Instead Anizé, Isilla’s sister, sat on the curb in front of the candy shop. She had that same sun-weathered look that Isilla had, which made her appear nearly baniz. She might have been baniz, though they weren’t supposed to live in the 14th. Maybe she had a family exemption because of Isilla. Or maybe she was caste-jumping.

He could feel Nália growling at him for thinking that.

Wenthi pushed that aside. He had far more important things to do than bother over tethering a caste-jumper in the 14th. If she was, she’d get caught soon enough.

After a quiet exchange with Niliza—all while Anizé glared at him silently—Isilla came over to him.

“You want the room?” she asked coarsely. “It’s a shitty room.”

“It’s fine,” Wenthi said. “Happy for anything.”

She stepped out onto the walkway and pointed up to the door above the shop. Just a door, three meters up. He realized the only way up was to climb up the iron gate.

“The stairs broke a while ago, so it’s a fasai for a young man,” Niliza said.

“It’s shitty,” Isilla added. “But if Niliza says it’s yours, you have it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Should I go up now?”

“If you want. Nenli went up and swept it a few days ago, so it’s ready.”

Wenthi climbed up the gate, and with a bit of a balancing act, was able to get the door open and step inside.

It was a room barely wider than twice his armspan, with a stained straw cot against one wall, and a metal bucket to piss in. There was no window, no other exit, besides the elevated door. Musky, damp odors filled the place, and there were spots on the wall that made it clear the tin roof leaked. A knotted rope was coiled up by the door, so at least getting back down shouldn’t be too hard.

It was, as she said, shitty. But it would do.

He went back to the door, and he saw at least one interesting advantage. From up here, he could see most of the action on Street Xaomico, the zocalo, the carbon shop, and the little plaza next to it, and the window to Partinez’s spot above the carbon shop. That last part might not be something he’d take advantage of any time soon—his gut said Partinez didn’t get attached to repeat lovers—but it was good to know.

But from up here, he could see everyone in this patch, and from what he had already observed, no one would question him loitering about doing nothing. He could keep watch over the whole patch from up here easy.

All he had to do next was find a coinbox to check in with Paulei, and figure out what, exactly, Nália knew that he could use.

“This is fine,” he called down.

“You need anything else right now?” Niliza asked.

“Not at the moment,” he said, kicking the rope out the door. He scurried down to the ground. “I appreciate you all helping me out.”

“Sure,” Anizé said. “You any good in the kitchen?”

“Not very,” Wenthi said. “I mean, I can cut stuff up all right.”

“Then you can come help me make supper,” she said. She pointed to the stairs going above the candy shop to the apartment up there.

“You get settled, get to know all of them,” Niliza said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m probably going to have some delivery work for you in a day or two, so stay sharp.”

“Yes, urka,” he said.

“Good, good, come on girls,” she said, shepherding her dogs back toward her house.

“Hey,” Isilla said, pointing a weathered finger at Wenthi. “I know she really likes to fuck, and she thinks everyone likes to fuck as much as she does. Don’t be expecting that with us, hmm? Or my boys. That’s why you stay up there.”

“I had no expectations,” Wenthi said.

“Good,” Isilla said. “Last one she put up with us was like an alley cat.”

“Exhausting,” Anizé said. “I didn’t cry when the tories took him back.”

“You get a lot of freewalkers staying up here?” he asked. “Partinez seemed to think this street was the place to go.”

Isilla shrugged. “Niliza likes her strays.”

“So does she have a whole gang of them?” he asked.

“You’ll probably find out,” Anizé said. “Come up and help me. Watch both shops, Isilla.”

“Shit yourself,” Isilla snapped back, getting on her stool again. Anizé went up the stairs, giving no impression that she took her sister’s retort as a refusal.

Wenthi’s attention went back to the street, and the two autos that roared up around the curve, and then four patrol on cycles ripping up right behind. They were really buzzing, easily in passing gear, if not racing, but those Ungeke cycles weren’t made to push that hard uphill, not in this heat. As the autos split off on separate routes at the fork, one of the cycles coughed and sputtered with smoke. He lost control and spun into the plaza next to the carbon shop, sparks flying as metal skidded across stone. Two of the cycle officers split off, staying on the racing auto, while the last one came to a screaming stop. He was on his radio, calling in a Seven Code as he ran over to his partner.

Wenthi’s first instinct was to run over, see what they needed. The one who skidded might have snapped a bone, and his partner would probably need help before the wagon came. Where was the nearest hospital, or even wagon bay, in the 14th? There might be a few medics at the ready in the headquarters down in Circle Uilea, but the closest hospital was in the 12th.

He wanted to help. But Renzi Llionorco never would.

The officer got the cycle off his partner, got it kicked up back on its wheels. Smoke kept pouring out of it. The one who had crashed slowly got up. He wasn’t too badly hurt; at least he was able to limp his way over to one of the tables outside the carbon shop. The other one barked a few things at the proprietor.

Then a handful of boys—jifozi kids, no older than twelve—started laughing, pointing at the smoking cycle. Both officers were on their feet, charging at the boys. The one who crashed grabbed the lead kid by the neck and threw him to the ground. The other snarled and snapped at the rest, reading them all that they could be brought into headquarters to get tethered, inked, and plated.

These kids should know better.

[Better than what?]

“Rude little shits,” he muttered. “Just like you.”

Nália didn’t respond. But he could feel her burning with rage—rage at him, at the officers across the street, rage at the whole city. He sent his own rage back at her. He was already very ready to finish this assignment and be done with her.

All that must have been plain on his face, as Isilla looked at him, and then at the two officers slapping the kids. “Yeah, bunch of shitting assholes. Don’t do anything stupid to get tethered all over again.”

“No,” he said. “Thank you, again. I’ll go help your sister.”

Hopefully he wouldn’t be stuck here very long.