22

THE HONEY-STRIPED WOOD of the railing glided smoothly beneath my cold hand. Sconces lit my way up the winding stone stairs, and I could see parts of the Middling quarter through the diamond-paned windows that appeared at every floor.

The patched-quilt colors of the night-market tents.

A garden behind the wall of someone’s home, bushes and trees blurred together in the darkness, warped by a defect in the window’s glass.

The nearly uniform shapes of houses, the same rust-colored ceramic tiles, doors painted the same sage green as the door at the address Sid had given me.

It had taken me forever to find the house. She had included no map and no instructions. I had spent much of the night wandering, looking for street signs, not daring to ask anyone the way. I assume that if you were able to get into the Middling quarter once you can do so again, the note read. No one had answered my knock at the door of the tall Middling house, which even in the dark looked intimidating in its newness—rich red brick with an undertone of blue, shiny-painted shutters, carefully groomed flowers waving from their window boxes, petals sulfur yellow and soapy white. Flickering light from the oil-lit street lantern behind me wavered over the door. I knocked again. When no one answered, I tried opening the door, my pulse thudding. It unlatched easily, opening with the soft sigh of well-oiled hinges.

A warm breeze pushed me from behind, tunneling into the house, stirring my brown skirts. The empty room I entered glowed with the light of small lanterns that showed powder-blue painted walls, a soapstone mantelpiece that bore a brass bell fit for one’s hand. Old ashes lay in the grate, a sign that whoever lived here—was it Sid?—had had the comfort of a fire during the ice wind. A window was open. I could hear the muted cry of far-off seagulls. An uncorked bottle of wine and two delicate glasses sat at a little oval table. One glass was stained red at its bottom. A pink-striped chair looked dented in its upholstery, as if someone had recently sat there. I touched the silk. It was faintly warm.

A muffled thump, weirdly musical, came through the door at the other end of the room. I followed the sound.

Sid was lying on the floor under the belly of a piano, prying with a small knife at something I couldn’t see.

The floorboard creaked beneath my step, so she must have known I was there, but she continued at her task. I saw her face only in profile, brows furrowed, chin tipped up, lips bitten in concentration.

“You’re late,” she said.

“You’re rude. You didn’t even answer the door.”

“I was busy.”

“What are you doing?”

“Getting started without you.” She slid out from under the piano and stood, brushing herself off. She was dressed in Middling clothes, though without regard for how she would dress if she were in fact a Middling woman. The trousers were a tight fit, made for a man, and although the dark blue tunic had a feminine cut that nipped in at the waist, it was free of the simple embroidery that a Middling would normally flaunt as a sign of minor status. In the buttery yellow lamplight, I could see details that I hadn’t in the moonlight outside the prison: the fullness of her mouth; a freckle beneath her eye; her proud posture; the skin that was a few shades lighter than mine; the eyelashes surprisingly thick and black, a contrast to her fair hair. I could see that even in good light, it would have been easy to make the same mistake I had in the darkness. It would be easy to think she were a boy, if I only glanced once. But I couldn’t believe that anyone would glance at her only once.

She smirked. “You’re staring.”

This was different from her friendly arrogance in the prison. There was an anger to her that seemed directed at me even though I had done nothing to deserve it.

She slid her long hand inside the open mouth of the piano, feeling around inside. The strings hummed and twanged.

“Do you play?” I asked. In the Ward we were allowed only little wooden flutes that played simple melodies. I knew what a piano was only because I had read about them in books at Harvers’s printing shop.

Sid shuddered. “Not on your life.” She roughed up her short golden hair, frowning into the instrument.

“I suppose you’re no good at it,” I said, “and don’t enjoy something where you have no opportunity to show off.”

Her gaze snapped up. Her black eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t come here to be ignored.” I wasn’t sure what allowed me to give voice to the resentment brewing in my chest. Normally I wouldn’t, to anyone. “I risked punishment going through the wall to meet you. I wandered for hours trying to find this place because you left no directions. So tell me why I’m here and what you’re doing or I will leave.”

Her expression changed, screwing up with rue. She scrunched her eyes shut and covered her face with her hand. “Directions,” she groaned. “I didn’t give you directions?”

“None.”

“I thought you would recognize the address. I thought you must come to the Middling quarter all the time.”

“The last time was my first time.”

“I am such an idiot.”

“You are,” I agreed.

Her hand slid away from her face. “I’m sorry. I waited for a long time. I assumed you weren’t coming. It bothered me.” She said her last words slowly, seeming to consider them as she said them.

“Everything is safer for you than it is for me.”

“You’re right. I should have been thinking about that. I was thinking too much about me. About how I was feeling.” She looked down at the piano.

My curiosity got the better of my fading anger. “What are you looking for?”

“A prayer book.”

“There is no such thing as a prayer book.” I studied her to see if she was joking or making this up. “No one worships the gods. They’re not real.”

“There used to be such books. It’s an old book. And hidden, I’ve been told, in this piano.”

“So this is not your piano.”

“No.”

“Is this your house?”

“No.”

“Do you even have the right to be here?”

“No,” she said cheerfully, “which is why I must hurry. I will understand if you wish to leave. I’ll stay here until I find the book.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I planted my hands on my hips. “So you are a thief.”