The questions are dropping from the air like falling stars, bashing me from all sides—and the last question keeps hitting me, rebounding, hitting me again, never quite finishing, because to finish it will make it true.
(Is she dead?)
“We’re going to find her,” I say, clinging to the statement with every bit of false hope I can muster.
Chapter Nine
Life marches on.
Bad shiv happens, people cry—not me, but some people—and then everyone forgets about it, keeps on keeping on as if nothing bad happened in the first place.
Wes lost his job after three weeks of not showing up. I’ve gained more respect for him than ever before, because he put Joles before his job, before Mother, before everything. Not that it helped.
Buff’s been great too, spending all his days off with me, scouring the town, peeking in windows, asking people itchy questions, like “Where were you on the night…” and “Have you seen a little girl…” We even romped through the Red District one night, sneaking down alleys that aren’t safe even during the day, picking fights with guys we had no business picking fights with. The two black eyes would’ve been worth it if we’d found out anything at all about where Jolie might’ve been taken, and by whom. But nobody knew an icin’ thing, or if they did, they weren’t talking, other than with their fists.
Abe told Buff I have to go back to work tonight or he’ll stop paying me, by order of the king, which I think is a bunch of bearshiv, because the king don’t know me from a three-legged goat. I could be dead in a cold grave and King Goff would go on nibbling on his fire country delicacies as if nothing had changed.
But I’m going back to work anyway, not because Abe says I have to, but because I need a distraction, and our family needs a bit of that meaningless silver, so we can keep eating.
Buff’s pretty much kept me up to date on the job, what he’s seen, what he’s done. It hasn’t been that much different than the first day. He and the others slide down the snowy part of the mountain, hike through the unsnowy bits, and then either deliver trade items—like bear meat and furs—or pick up fire country goods. Then they climb back to the top. Easy breezy.
Just like life, Buff and I march on, too, out of the Brown District, through the Blue District, and around the White District, even though that’s the long way. I’m in no mood to see any witches today.
As high and formidable as they are, the greystone palace walls do little to hide the grandeur of the king’s royal castle. Surrounded by the turreted wall, the heavy stone blocks of the castle rise up in five different places. Four thin towers that nearly reach the clouds can be seen from almost anywhere in ice country. And the fifth tower, in the center of the four thin ones, is the marvel of the Icers, rising higher than the others, splitting the clouds in half. It is said that from the uppermost lofts of that tower, the king can see direct sunlight, no different than in fire country.
With the teeth-chattering cold of night already fallen, we’re stuck waiting on the outside, as winter whips the snow-filled air around us. Neither of us have the faintest clue as to why we have to do this job at night, but it doesn’t really matter because we’ll do it either way. It’s too cold to talk, so we pull our slider masks over our heads.
It’s the clearest night we’ve had all winter, and the dim light of a few stars pokes through the intermittent cloud cover. The brighter light of the moon glows overhead, casting a surreal sheen on everything. If we have to work at night, tonight’s as good a night as any.
When the palace gates open and Abe ambles out from inside, everything I thought about him changes in an instant. He was actually…inside? Maybe he does get his orders directly from the king. Maybe he does have as much power as he says he does.
He seems to recognize how impressed I am. Icin’ eyes. Always giving my thoughts away for free. “Welcome back,” he says, directly to me. “I just had a chat with Goff”—he says the king’s name casually, like they’re old friends—“and we got special cargo arrivin’ in a few days, so we hafta deliver some extra goods today.” He’s speaking words I understand, but when you put them all together like he does, they make no sense. Questions pop up in my mind, but I swallow them away, because questions are against the rules.
Nebo arrives next, looking as skittish as a pup that’s lost its mother. I try to greet him, but his eyes never leave the ground, darting around like he’s trying to locate his lost marbles.
Brock and Hightower arrive last and together, which makes me wonder whether they’re friends, whether they talk at all. Well, not talk talk, but something like conversation, with Brock saying something and Tower grunting a response, maybe adding an extra grunt that Brock can then respond to.