“The first cords?” How many people knew about me? No wonder Trackers were on me like fish stink.
“No, the Elders. Not by name, but a rumour’s been running all day in the dorms about a girl who can shift pain. That chicken rancher came in for healing at first light and told a story too good to keep quiet. The Elders even asked me about you. Interrupted rounds to do it too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this first?”
“They were asking everyone, and they called you Merlaina, so why worry you over nothing? No one knows who you are but me.”
And the Tracker. Even if he had my name wrong, he knew my face—and now he knew Aylin’s.
A strong gust blew my curls around and Tali’s hair jingled. We looked up in unison and gazed out across the lake, so large we couldn’t see the other side. Blue-black storm clouds darkened the horizon, mirroring the jagged mountain range on the other side of the city. The same mountains that made Geveg rich in pynvium and a target for greedy men like the Duke. Several fishing boats were hauling anchor. Lakeside storms were the worst kind and we got our share every summer afternoon.
Tali handed me a roll and half a banana, wrapped in what looked like a page from one of her schoolbooks. “I smuggled this out for you at lunch. I’m sorry, it’s all I could get.”
“Thanks.” I gobbled the food, hoping it would make it easier for me to think. “What do the Elders want with me?”
“They didn’t say. I wanted to find out, but I was afraid they’d get suspicious if I asked questions.”
I swallowed the last of my bread. No butter or cinnamon, but still delicious. Shame there were no answers tucked inside like the special cookies we used to get on All Saints’ Day. “Tali, you need to be careful. There’s—”
“I know. They can’t find out about you. I was stupid to think the League wouldn’t care that you weren’t normal. They’d lock you up or send you to Baseer so the Duke can turn you into an assassin.”
“Wait.” I held up my hands, palms out. “What are you talking about?”
“This morning’s history class. Elder Beit was acting odd, telling weird stories, checking over his shoulder the whole time like he thought someone might come in. He said the Duke used to use Takers as assassins; that’s why it was important to report them right away if you found one. He said the Duke discovered a way to make them hurt people. I thought of you right away.” Her eyes grew bright. “Do you think there are others like you and that’s why he wants different Takers so bad? Maybe you’re not alone!”
Thunder rumbled soft and low and a fresh gust rustled the leaves. More like me? Saints, I hoped not, but if that were true, then the fancy man might be tracking all of us. “Tali, you didn’t ask anything in class that might make them suspect me, did you? Or say anything that hinted you knew someone like that?”
“Nya! You know I’d never do that.”
I chewed what was left of a thumbnail. Maybe the fancy man was a Baseeri spy. There’d always been spies in the city and they’d no doubt have some freedom about what they spied on. Just my luck he’d been there when those wards pointed me out.
How much danger was I in?
“Tali, a Tracker is following me.”
She gasped and looked around frantically. “Here? Now?”
“No, earlier today.” I grabbed her shoulders and the panic dimmed in her eyes. “He left when Enzie came.”
“He saw Enzie?”
“She wasn’t wearing her uniform and he was too far away to hear what she said. I don’t think he knows I came here.” Not for certain anyway, but I doubted I’d see him if he didn’t want me to. “Be very careful who you trust.”
“I will, I promise.” Tears blurred her eyes and left streaks on her cheeks.” Do you think he took Vada? And the others?”
“I don’t know.”
Tali hugged me, her head tucked between my shoulder and chin. “Like Trackers took Mama.”
No, she’d gone willingly, like Papa, to fight, but by the end of the war the Trackers hadn’t just grabbed unimportant Takers any more. They took Elders from the League, personal healers from the aristocrats—no Taker had been safe.
Honeysuckle and rain scented the air. In the empty space under the fig tree, I imagined a blue blanket held down against the wind by bowls of spiced potatoes and roasted perch, and Mama spooning out her special bean salad while Papa buttered the bread.
Another war. Another need for Takers. What about Takers who could do more than heal? If they came for me this time, would I wind up on the front lines healing or get stuck in the dark doing something far worse?
The storm drove the boats back in early. Wind-blown drops stung my cheeks and soaked my clothes. That didn’t keep me from the docks, and a chance to get my room back, any more than the fancy man who wanted to turn me into an assassin did. Sadly, the rain didn’t keep anyone else away either. Dozens of folks stood in line by every unloading berth, some with baskets in their arms. A few even had children clinging to their legs or cowering in their arms. No one complained when parents were chosen first, but more than one scowled. At least here a Tracker couldn’t snatch me without someone seeing. Whether they’d care or not was anyone’s guess.
The jobs filled up fast. By sunset only one boat was out, but at least forty people jostled each other to catch the berth foreman’s eye. I’d kicked the foreman once after he’d pinched me nowhere proper, so I walked away, shivering in the rain as the last of the sun’s warmth faded.
Where could I go? I retrieved my hidden basket and sat in the dry lee of the ferry office, half hidden behind a drooping hibiscus bush. On the lake, now empty fishing boats packed the canals leading to the docks, and two ferries with more people looking for work and rooms waited for the dock master’s signal to come in. One was an overloaded river ferry from Verlatta, its flag whipping around on its stern. The other was a small lake ferry that took folks from the docks to Coffee Isle, the largest of the farm islands. Every few seconds a sharp crack echoed across the lake as waves knocked the ferries into each other. The urge to scream “Go away!” at the refugees stuck in my throat. A lot of good screaming would do me.
A screech ripped across the lake and for a confused heartbeat I thought maybe I had screamed. I dropped my basket and it rolled into the rain, gaining speed down the sloped bank towards the lake’s edge. Thunder rumbled as I scrambled away from my dry spot under the awning. My feet slipped in the mud and I fell to my knees, but I caught the basket before it rolled into the water.
Another grinding squeal, like pigs gone to slaughter. The smaller ferry dipped hard to starboard, its side crushed against the bigger ferry. Muffled screams mingled with the splattering rain. The wind howled and another crack rang out.
I clutched my basket to my chest as a chunk of deck broke off and plunged into the churning waves. Crates followed. Lightning flashed, illuminating people falling into the water. Saints be merciful! I turned, scanning the shore, though I couldn’t say what I hoped to find. Rescue boats? Lifelines?
The crowds on the docks surged forward, but no one did more than gawk and point.
“Do something!” I shouted. Wind swallowed my words, not that anyone was listening anyway. The ferries chewed at each other. Passengers staggered across the decks, slipping on the wet wood. Waves and wind slammed the smaller ferry further under the water. It hit the channel lakewall and bounced off the canal marker. Waves sloshed against the walls, the ferries, the shore, getting higher and higher.
And still people did nothing.
Dropping my basket, I raced to the ferry office and banged on the door.
“Help! People need help out here!”
No