The ore wagon sent up puffs of dust as it rolled into the distance. Many of the townsfolk stayed outside to watch it – it was the first they had been outside since Grandmother had left me in charge. Amaz and Lira had retreated from them in their own self-enforced quarantine, Lira bundled in so many blankets I couldn't even tell if she was still pregnant. Grandmother picked at the wagon, lifting items here and there.
I poured a bucket of water over my head. It was shockingly cold, fresh from the well, and it soaked my camise and ran off my hair. I'd already discarded my mask and cloak. Any particles of oracle ore (or palsy) on them would stay outside. The lack of palsy would benefit everyone. The lack of ore, only Thesil.
By the time I'd soaked every bit of myself and washed away the aura of visions that hung around me, piles had formed on the ground around the wagon. No obvious logic separated them. But Grandmother directed the unloading as if everything had come pre-labeled.
I dripped my way to her side, and Grandmother targeted me for education as soon as I was in arms reach. She was sorting junk from good, then sorting the good further. She signed, "We survey and catalog everything. Anything that might be contaminated I get final say on. If we can, we sterilize it with fire or alcohol and move on. Otherwise we trash it."
The goods on the wagon looked so few for a town of so many people. How much could we afford to trash? "If death-palsy travels through saliva, then what do we need to worry about?"
Grayed eyebrows lifted. "You've never sneezed on something you're holding? Or wiped your mouth on your hand and forgotten about it? Never held something extra between your teeth, while you wished you had three hands?"
I blushed. My brushes often ended up in my mouth, wooden stem first. In bad cases, I forgot not to chew. "I understand."
"In other words, I can't overlook a jar of preserves someone pried the lid off of and spat in, or we'll end up like the city."
I stared at her. "Would anyone do that?"
"Don't know. But I check the seals anyway." She rapped her knuckles against a glass jug and nodded.
I surveyed the wagon again, more carefully. "How much of this do you think we'll be able to use?
Her mouth pursed. She'd draped her cloak and mask over one arm. "Half."
"Half?"
"Of this load. Only because of the plague."
"You really trust him to come back?"
She shrugged her round shoulders. "Either he'll return with the second wagon and we'll do business in the future, or he'll make a run for it and I won't have to put up with his arrogant ass another time. Not much downside there." She nodded to me and turned to speak with one of her sorters.
Dismissed, I circled the wagon back to the city gates. I could've gone the other way round, where Amaz sat beside Lira, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. I was troubled. If someone had asked me that morning whether Grandmother would let a perfecta walk off without paying all his due, I would've said no. It didn't seem like her, and something about that discrepancy made me uneasy.
I trudged inside the walls, past the tidy rows of automas. I'd only known Grandmother for a matter of months. Not even a year. I was reading too much into things. Again.
My gaze was on my little house, my refuge. Another step, and my foot glanced off something hard and round. I stumbled, kicking the obstacle out of my way, and wobbled upright. For once my balance had saved me a trip to the dirt.
The tripping hazard was a brown glass jug, its top tightly sealed with wax and tar. It lay on its side a few feet away until an unremarkable brown hand righted it. I shook myself out of my concerns about Grandmother and blinked at my surroundings. I'd nearly stepped on Tamorin and Gadara. They sat on a folded grass mat just beyond the line of automas, a healer's bag and a book open at Tamorin's side. Bandages and bottles stood out clearly against the bag's black weave. Blankets were folded neatly beside them.
Tamorin was holding the jug carefully and checking it for damage. His sister glared at me. "Watch where you're going."
"Sorry," I signed back.
"You're lucky you didn't break that. Then you'd be sorry."
"Was that a threat?"
Her lip curled. "If you want naphtha all over your legs, be my guest. But you might want to avoid the cookfire."
I took a better look at the jug. The deep hue of the glass hid the color of the liquid that sloshed at the halfway mark. Tamorin, apparently satisfied by his survey, set it upright next to his other supplies and glanced back at his book. I signed to Gadara, "Why would a healer keep a jar of naphtha?"
Her gaze declared me stupid. "To burn things."
"Did Grandmother order you to wait here, just in case?"
"Hashida doesn't care. Tamorin was worried. He's a fool like that."
I crouched across from them, my elbows propped on my knees. "The town could've been attacked. Lots of us could've gotten hurt. I think he was wise to be ready."
She rolled her eyes. "Nothing head-on and blatant would get past the automas. They may be dumb, but they'd spread the perfectas in bits across the sand. Everyone inside was safe. But not anyone dumb enough to go outside."
I glanced at Tamorin, who was poring over a page. I signed to Gadara, "Can you thank him for me? I'm glad someone was ready to help Grandmother."
"Are you thick? Nothing touches Hashida. She'll outlive us all. But you went out with them."
"Me?" I signed, bewildered. We'd barely met, the twins and I. They'd known Grandmother for years.
Gadara glared me down. "Hashida told him you're an oracle. Since then, he's been interested in you. Don't hurt him, or I'll make sure you don't live to inherit."
"Excuse me?"
"My brother's a healer. I'm attached to him by the head. I've read a lot of things about poisons and how to hurt people. Understand?"
Tamorin's gaze flicked upwards, between his sister's hands and me. He signed, "Please don't threaten people on my behalf, Gaddi. It makes me look bad." His smile towards me was apologetic.
Gadara said aloud, "Go back to your book."
"Why do you think I'd hurt him?" I signed to Gadara.
"Should I pretend not to see this?" Tamorin signed.
His sister picked up one of the blankets at her side and tossed it on his face. Her hand signed, quickly, "Because people hear he's my brother and they make assumptions."
Tamorin waved at me from under the blanket, and I nearly smiled.
"Assumptions?"
"About what's in his pants. If you break his heart over it, I'll break your head."
My suspicions, earlier, seemed confirmed. I'd been right; conjoined twins were always identical. No matter how different these two seemed. "I don't care what's in his pants. Or yours."
"We might have the same genitals. But Tamorin's are a mistake. He's my brother, and I don't want to hear you call him anything else."
"I already have a girlfriend," I signed. "I really don't care what he looks like naked."
She eyed me, critically. At last she signed, "Good."
Tamorin surfaced from under the blanket, patting it down over his lap. His brows lifted. "Do I want to know what that was about?"
"No," Gadara said.
"I'm going to go," I signed and made a quick escape.
I watched the ground this time. The conversation stung. I'd called Thesil my girlfriend without a thought, but for all I knew she wanted nothing more to do with me. She would never be the first to apologize. She was too proud for that. She might be too proud to even forgive me.
There was only one way to find out.
#
Thesil sat on a bench on the other side of the town, combing through a fresh mass of goat wool. It was still speckled with bits of twigs and leaves. The comb sent up a puff of dust with each pass.
She stopped carding the moment she saw me. But though she dropped the wool, she didn't bolt.
I settled next to her. Her head turned towards me as she inched away. I picked up the matted wool – her work undone by the dirt– and set it on the bench between us.
"Thesil," I said aloud. "I'm sorry."
Her slow escape stopped. Green eyes searched mine. "For?"
Everything. "Grandmother told me you were right."
"Did she?"
"She said I shouldn't have opened the gates or let Lira leave."
Her hand signs were sharp. "Huh. What a surprise."
Sarcasm. A bad sign. "I knew she'd agree with you. That doesn't change anything. Maybe I was just being stupid. Either way, I'm sorry."
"For being stupid."
"For what I said."
Her arms shifted closer against her sides, as if readying herself against attack.
I kept my limbs loose and non-threatening. "I didn't mean it."
She examined me, her gaze piercing. "Everything you said was true."
"True things hurt the most." I folded my hands, at loss for words. Then I signed, "You know what's true about me? I'm deaf. Imperfecta. The city that was my home threw me out as soon as it could. My parents will never see me again. Never write me letters. Never know if I survived. And they could all be dying of palsy right now."
Thesil stared at me, eyes wide.
"No lies there. And if someone else came and taunted me with that, I would claw their face off."
She shuddered in what I hoped was a laugh. At least she no longer looked like she wanted to stab me with my own palette knife.
I said, "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you. You were trying to save lives."
"By calling you an idiot."
"A huge idiot, I think you said."
"No, enormous. An enormous idiot. We could've all died."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. "Maybe I am. I'm not a leader, Thesil. I don't think like one. I want to help, but I can't hold a whole troupe or town or city in my mind and calculate what's best for them. I only see ways to solve the problems of individuals. When I was banished, I saw yours. And I helped."
Some of the harshness fell from her face. "Yeah. You did."
"Lira and Amaz had a problem. I thought I could fix it. And maybe I made a mistake. I'm just one person. But I was lucky, and nobody died." I exhaled, trying to relieve the pressure in my chest. "I thought, because of that, maybe you'd consider talking to me again?"
I didn't look up until her lean fingers touched the back of my wrist. Her face was only a few feet away. Her lips said, "I think maybe I could."
I wrapped her hand in mine, entwining our fingers. It was the best thanks I could give.
"I made a mistake, too," Thesil said.
"I don't think you did," I said aloud, reluctant to relinquish her touch.
"Expecting you to think like someone raised to the Cene was unfair. You're young as me, and you were never trained to be in charge."
I shook my head. "My parents trained me to be quiet. To be unnoticeable. To pretend I was like everyone else."
"Well, you aren't."
I flinched. "I know."
"You paint a lot better than the rest of us." Her eyes squinted as she smiled. "Your grandmother thinks like the Cene. The greatest good for the group. But you haven't been here long enough for her to train you. So I'm sorry, too."
At some point, I'd ended up holding both her hands. They were still soft, even with the calluses exile had added to them. I said, "We're a sorry pair."
Thesil nodded. "Then where do we go from here?"
"Grandmother says all young couples fight."
"Are we still a couple?" The words could've stung, but she squeezed my hands as she said them.
"I hope so."
"I saw you spending time with the conjoined twins. You like the boy."
"As a friend. His sister already warned me off. You don't have to as well."
"I'll warn him off." She hesitated. "If being together is what you want."
"I know what I want," I said, letting go of her hands. "I want a hug. I want to be able to wrap my arms around someone and bury my face in their hair and not worry about anything for as long as we sit together."
Thesil said, "Then I think we can manage."
#
The cena's men came two days later, in secret and under the red glare of a sinking sun.
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