Anoor nodded, clearly scolded.
“Don’t move from this spot. If you hear a patrol coming, keep your eyes downcast, and whatever you do, don’t greet them or talk to them. Okay?”
Another head bob; it looked odd without her hair bouncing around her.
Two of the villas on either side of the maiden house had recently crumbled in the tidewind. Sylah was shocked to see the decimation the winds brought in such a short space of time. She walked over the rubble that leaked onto the street, toward the door.
She had no idea what was waiting inside. She’d brought her basket, but if it was as illegal as she imagined, the package would have to travel somewhere a bit more intimate.
The door opened before Sylah could knock.
“Hello, Sylah.” Turin’s radish leaf cigar was down to the tip, the red ash fluttering to the ground by her bare feet.
“Hello, Turin.”
“Haven’t seen you at the Ring for a while.” She looked at Sylah from the corners of her amber eyes.
“No, I followed other prospects.”
“I can see, you’re looking well, I can no longer count your ribs through your tunic. And are those breasts?”
Turin surveyed her with prying eyes. Taking stock. Sylah ignored her embarrassment and pressed on.
“I’m here to collect the package for Loot.”
Turin opened the door wider, and Sylah felt the temperature rise as she walked into the maiden’s house.
Turin waved her onto the sofa and perched opposite on a chair. “Marigold! That wretched nightworker is always disappearing. Marigold, can you get the letter on the dresser in my room?” She stubbed her cigar butt into the side of the eru leather chair. The burned hole joined other freckles that marred the leather. She smiled slightly as it sizzled.
A letter? That was worse than anything she’d imagined. If an officer stopped her with a handwritten letter, she would be put on the rack. No. No, they couldn’t because she wasn’t a Duster. She was an Ember, she reminded herself.
“Want one?” Turin offered Sylah a cigar from a carved bone box.
She shook her head.
“Ah, Marigold, there you are, did you hear me? Get the letter from my dresser.”
Sylah took the opportunity to address Marigold. Though they had rarely spoken to each other, Sylah knew Marigold was the one to raise Hassa since she was a babe.
“Marigold, have you seen Hassa?”
Turin sighed, and it was clear she didn’t like Sylah talking to her nightworkers. Marigold’s shrewd eyes flickered between her master and Sylah before answering.
Yes,they signed, their face expressionless.
“Can you tell me where she is?”
Marigold hesitated, and Sylah got the distinct sense that the musawa didn’t approve of Hassa’s relationship with her. It was rare, maybe unique, that a Ghosting and an Ember were friends. Marigold was within their right to be wary; Ghostings suffered at the hands of everyone, and Sylah couldn’t promise that she hadn’t contributed to that.
She is due to meet me here soon.Marigold signed so quickly that Sylah nearly missed their meaning.
“Okay, thank you.” Sylah pushed all the gratitude she could into those three words.
“Marigold, the letter, now please.” Turin was still smiling, but her words had bite. The Ghosting left the room sharply.
Sylah looked at the burn mark on the chair in silence. She could hear the soft thump, thump, thump of someone taking their pleasure in the room behind her.
“It always baffled me why you decided to learn the Ghosting language,” Turin asked.