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  The exile read these things over and over, trying to believe them. If all thens were now, there was no aloneness, no banishment, no loss. If all were now, the promise of redemption had come, the five stood nearby, and the age of empty silence was no more than a single room in the vast house, a thousand others alive with joy and union. One could leave the small room and close the door.

  But the ancients had also written of a man whose house holds a treasure in its walls. If he knows it not, he owns nothing. If he cannot find his wealth, though it surrounds him, he is poor.

  And so the exile stood at the center of the small room in the great house of time and had not the eyes to find the door.

  Three nights, Susan thought. Three nights away from home, and not a clue as to how to get back. She shuddered. The sleepers’ children were layering the floor with rags, and Yali motioned to her, showing Susan she’d cleared a corner near the window. She blew a small mountain of dust from it and swept a spiderweb away with her stick.

  “Spiders, you know, they can bite,” she explained. Sefi and Espin brought two battered old coats and half a tablecloth over for padding, and Nell spread her blanket over the pile. The five of them took their spots on it, sagged between the lumps, and sweated as night fell.

  Yali stretched out on the other side of Susan.

  “I won’t touch your face in the night,” she assured her. “I just like to look at it. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Susan flushed, but she shook her head and tried to find something to look at besides the girl’s wide eyes, inches from her face.

  Above her, the long windows deepened from blue to black. Outside, the sounds of steam engines and people in the streets dwindled.

  “Sefi, will you sing?” It was the little boy who’d hidden in the stove; Susan tried to remember his name and couldn’t. “Like you did last rally day?”

  Beside Espin, Sefi yawned. “I’m tired.”

  “Just one. I don’t like to sleep after slashers. Please, Sefi?”

  A long pause, and finally Sefi sighed. “Just one. You choose.”

  The little boy thought a minute. Then Susan heard him say, “I don’t know. A rally song, how ’bout?”

  “Yes,” someone else said. “Those are always the best.”

  Sefi cleared her throat and sang:

  “The useless brought the change and still

  They suck you dry — they always will.

  No better than a plague are these

  So treat them as you would disease.”

  Susan gave a start. The song went on, ending with the words she had heard from Liyla:

  “Give them a gift, they’ll pay you double,

  In the only coin they know — that’s trouble.”

  “How could you sing that?” Nell asked in the darkness. “That’s awful!”

  An uncomfortable silence followed.

  “It’s just a song.” There was an edge to Sefi’s voice when she said it. “And they’re all like that, aren’t they?”

  Omet’s voice came from across the room.

  “It’s a nice tune, Sefi,” she said soothingly. “No harm in it.”

  But Nell wouldn’t let it go. “But there is!” she said, propping herself up on her elbow. “How could you say there isn’t?”

  For another long moment, the silence stretched. Susan rolled over and tried to see Omet, but the room was only full of dark mounds.

  “I don’t know,” the girl said after a while. “It’s just a story they tell, like all the others. Discards brought the change, sleepers turn to slashers, you know. I couldn’t tell you what’s true. Once heard a story that it was dark magics brought the change, and wicked magicians with books of evil. It’s all just village tales.”

  Espin laughed softly in the dark. “Wicked magics,” he said. “I heard that one. But my ma told me that’s just what the useless say. She said that before she was useless herself, of course.”

  Susan thought of the woman she’d seen in the shed. She wondered if that was Espin’s mother.

  Modo, who’d bedded down near Omet, laughed at this. “What books, anyway? Where are they, then?”

  “Maybe in the ruins,” Yali said from beside Susan. “I heard they were burned to ash there in the first wars.”

  “Village tales,” Omet said again. “Only way books bring the change is by being useless, and the only books I ever saw were the red cloak law book and the farming rules given out by the Purity. Those aren’t dark magics.”

  “I had one of those!” someone else said delightedly. “I almost made the patrol, too, before my da went sleepy. Always wanted to.”

  “I was in it,” Modo said. “And it was nice. I liked the fruit picking. Weekly harvest. It helped at home. But then, you know, my sister came, and they pushed me out. Still love the songs, though.”

  Omet laughed again, softer this time. “See that, Sefi? Modo loves the songs, too.”

  But Sefi was already asleep, snoring softly on her pile of rags.

  Outside, the moon had risen, and through the windows, the dark shimmered with the ghost of it, strands of silky light that caught the dust. It was too quiet for a city, Susan decided. There was no hum of machinery, no distant honking cars, only the occasional shout or bark of a dog far away.

  Red cloaks, she reminded herself. Patrolling. Her mind began to play tricks on her, and though she knew it couldn’t be, the city stretched out all around her, swallowing the world, swallowing even her own home, everything familiar and normal and known. It was impossibly big, so big she wanted to fold herself into a small space and hide from it. It’s not that big, she told herself. It’s not even as big as a city back home. I bet it’s not.

  And yet the world suddenly did feel bigger. Too big. Not in miles or meters or acres or any of the other familiar measurements, but in strangeness. She knew that even her own world was bigger in that way than she typically liked to believe. She reflected now that the place she called home was really very small. It was comforting that way. The bigness of it existed only in books, where the ugliness could be put away when you were done. She looked around at the sleeping children: dirty, bruised, hungry. Their world was so big, it had eaten them up. So big, they couldn’t put it away, ever. Susan thought about what it would be like to be them, to be trapped here forever. She shuddered.

  Across in the dark, Jean stirred. “Max,” she whispered, “write me a letter about going home.”

  Max groaned sleepily, and there was such a long pause that Susan thought he must be dozing, but after another second, he murmured, “Dear Jean, We’re going home in the morning. Now, try to sleep. Your brother, Max.”

  Jean exhaled softly, satisfied, and Susan thought, We’re going home in the morning, and the world will be right sized again.

  In the morning Omet pressed a sack on them before they went. Susan peered into it and found a bit of the remaining bread and part of an iron chain.

  “Just to be safe,” Omet said.

  The children thanked her.

  “Wish you’d stay,” she said as they walked out together. “Gives us a bit of hope, looking at you.” She rubbed at her face, and Susan winced at the rawness of the bald little sandblasted circle she’d made there. “But you couldn’t beg, not with faces like those. And I expect as soon as the sun gets high, they’ll be looking for you again.” She sighed. “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

  They watched her head down the street, several of the smaller children behind her. Yali turned and waved cheerily at them before they turned the corner.

  Max squinted at the sun. “This time let’s follow the sky instead of the streets. We walked east before, so we should head west now.” They set off, moving away from the rising sun.

  Despite the early hour, the air was already thick and smelling of garbage. A torn strip of red bunting rolled past on a muggy breeze, looking more brown than scarlet. Nell kicked it as they passed. Susan rolled her shoulder, which throbbed where the slasher had bitten her.

&
nbsp; After a while, the blocks began to look familiar. They passed the series of sleepers’ sheds where they’d first seen Espin, but though they looked, none of the children were inside. They made their way along the line of thin-faced houses they’d seen with Liyla.

  Ahead, they heard the sounds of an outdoor market. A merchant shouted; a steam engine chugged in the distance and then closer. They walked several blocks before they reached it and then finally turned a corner into a square full of booths and hawkers, flooded with summer light.

  Susan looked for the fruit merchant but couldn’t see him among the other stalls. Relieved, she motioned to the edge of the square, and the others followed, picking their way around the market, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

  “Just a little farther now,” she said. “Once we get past these blocks, we’ll head straight to the woods.”

  Then, from behind, a familiar voice hailed them.

  “Hallo! You five! Where’d you run to yesterday? Ma was a sight when I told her I’d lost you! She threatened to put me out!”

  Criminations! Susan thought as Liyla ran toward them.

  “Only joking, of course,” the girl continued. “But she was mad. Ranting and raving! I told her I’d bring you back. Useful; that’s me, right?” She squinted at them. “And look! You stopped it, didn’t you? Still smooth as plums!”

  Susan pulled herself as much as possible into the shadow of the nearest house and favored Liyla with a tepid smile.

  “We — we couldn’t wait,” she said. “Max remembered where we could get . . .”

  “An antidote!” Max supplied helpfully. “Antidote to stop the change. So of course we had to run and get it.”

  Liyla nodded in sage agreement. “Wait until I explain it to Ma. She’ll give me breakfast then, I wager!” She grinned at them, and Susan almost felt sorry for her.

  “Unfortunately,” Susan said, “we’re not going to be able to come back just now. Maybe later. There are some people we need to see.”

  She liked the sound of that. People to see seemed businesslike and forbidding at the same time.

  Liyla frowned. “But Ma said —”

  Susan glowered at her and decided she needed to ratchet up the forbidding.

  “This is official business,” she said severely. “And you don’t want to be getting in the way of that kind of thing.”

  This statement had a completely unexpected effect on Liyla. She stopped short and the color drained from her face. Then Susan noticed where she was looking. She followed Liyla’s gaze and felt herself go pale, too.

  A red-cloaked soldier, standing beside a market stall, had seen them. He released his dog, and it galloped over, snarling. Kate whirled around and yelped, and the dog crouched down in front of her, a low growl vibrating in its throat. The soldier hurried over, musket up.

  “He’ll rip your throat out if I snap my fingers!” the red cloak shouted at them. “All of you! Stay where you are!” They stood as still as they could. When he reached them, he surveyed the group, eyes glinting from their deep sockets. They lit on Liyla, and he gave a curt lift of his head, dismissing her.

  Liyla surprised Susan by holding her ground. “They weren’t doing anything wrong, sir,” she said. “I mean, I found them, and they’re not useless. My ma’s taken charge of the whole thing. She’s —”

  “Girl,” he cut in, “your mother’s not in charge of anything. You go home and tell her children shouldn’t wander the streets alone. Someone might think they were useless.”

  Liyla cringed, and the light hairs on her face seemed to rise. She took a step back, looking uneasily at the soldier and his dog. But the red cloak had turned his full attention to the children.

  “You’re wanted in the center of the Domain,” he said.

  Max’s hand had been inching toward his back pocket, but the soldier noticed and clicked his tongue at the dog. It pounced, knocking Max to the ground. The soldier leaned over, extracted the knife, and took Omet’s sack from Susan. He pocketed the blade and tossed the food into the road.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  The dog growled, spurring Jean and Kate forward. It rounded next on Nell, who jumped to follow them. The soldier prodded Max, and then Susan, with his gun, shoving them toward his wagon.

  Turning back as they hurried along, Susan caught one last glimpse of Liyla before she was out of sight. She stood where they’d left her, big eyed and afraid, and, for once, silent.

  The wagon sputtered and blew steam on the street across the market square, waiting for them. The soldier shoved Susan and Max into the back of it, then turned and tossed the three others up behind them. The dog bounded up to block the opening, and the soldier climbed into the driver’s seat. The wagon lurched, hot steam pouring from it, and they set off, bouncing over the ill-paved roads.

  Susan crept toward Kate, and the dog growled a threat. Kate lifted a hand to reach for her, and the animal snapped. So they sat there, hugging their own knees, as the wagon chugged through the market square and into the side streets, winding back past the taller buildings the children had seen before, then through the large rally square. It was littered with red paper and the spoiled remains of smashed picnics. Oily crows picked at the leftovers and flew off, screeching, as the wagon rolled by.

  There were no more tall buildings on the far side of the rally square. Here the bricks were gray and the streets full of soldiers. Under a leather canopy, Susan spied a long table, where red-shirted officials ate with a gusto that reminded her of Liyla’s father. One block farther, and a line of fidgeting people stood outside a low stone building, waiting in the heat to be called forward by an official who sat fanning himself with the edge of his red cloak.

  Susan’s legs were shaking. She gripped them tighter and tried to reason with herself. It can’t be as bad as they say, she told herself. People exaggerate in rumors. But her heart wouldn’t listen to reason and kept knocking stubbornly against her chest.

  Too soon, they sputtered to a stop before what seemed to be the main building, a blocky structure only about three stories high, but the tallest one in sight. A scarlet flag flew from its roof.

  The soldier dismounted and gave a whistle. Several guards jogged over.

  “These are the ones wanted,” he told them. “Take them to Ker.”

  They were hustled down from the wagon and shoved through the door. If the building had seemed small on the outside, the opulence of the furnishings inside made up for it. Great slabs of marble gleamed in the floor, and oil lamps flickered in sconces, casting shadows that danced along the red banners on the walls. The lobby ended in tall red doors, their greasy finish glistening in the yellow light.

  The soldiers propelled them down a wide lamplit hall so warm Susan felt the sweat trace lines on her face. There were no windows, and beneath her feet the polished stone felt slippery, as if it, too, perspired.

  “Here,” one of the soldiers said, stopping them at another red door. He rapped sharply on it, and it was opened by a woman dressed in a deep-ruby gown.

  “Ker,” the soldier said, dipping his head to her.

  The woman had covered her raw face, recently waxed, with a slick layer of skin-toned makeup, and Susan realized that the smooth, almost-normal complexion made her ferocious, angular features even more unnatural.

  Ker’s eyes widened when she saw them, and she smiled, showing her long teeth, the ends shaved to a flat line.

  “Thank you, soldier, for accompanying our guests,” she said. Her voice was nasal and breathy. “I’d like one or two more of your men to come along with us. We’re going to the back room.”

  The back room had a chilly sound. Even the soldier flinched, almost imperceptibly, when she said it.

  He nodded and turned to two men standing at attention in the hall. Ker looked over his shoulder, then back at the children.

  “Two more, I think.”

  Susan’s throat tightened. Rumors, she told herself. Exaggerations. But her heart contin
ued galloping behind her ribs, and her mouth went dry. Two more soldiers approached from the hall and came to stand, one each, behind the children. Ker smiled again, baring her teeth.

  “Excellent. Come along, then.” She closed the door to her room and walked up the hall, her long dress snaking behind her. Susan flinched as a soldier put a hand on her bruised shoulder and pressed her forward. She glanced at her siblings in the flickering light. Sweat stood out on Max’s forehead; his face looked dull and yellow in the shadow of the lamps. He blinked over and over, wiping perspiration from his eyes. Beside him Jean had her hand wrapped around her shirt, clutching the unseen Barbie.

  Ahead of them, Ker stopped at another red door, produced a ring of keys, opened it, and stepped inside. Kate, thrust forward by the soldier behind her, was first to reach the threshold. Susan saw her stop suddenly and try to step backward. She met the soldier’s stomach and ducked sideways. He grabbed her arm.

  “No! I don’t want to go in there!”

  He shoved her through.

  Susan flinched and tried to reach her, but before she could move, the soldier behind her had her arms.

  From the right, Jean made a break for it, jumping away so suddenly that she managed a few steps before a red cloak snatched her back, dragging her through the door. The soldiers propelled Nell and Susan through together. Beside her, Susan felt Nell go rigid.

  A grimy tiled floor spread out from the doorway of the windowless room. Tile walls glimmered slickly beneath kerosene lights; the scent of warm metal clung to them.

  A series of straight-backed iron chairs stood on clawed metal feet along the walls, and on each hung leather straps for arms and legs. At the other end of the room, a wide door stood half open, and through it Susan could see a row of iron tables. They, too, had straps. She turned her head and saw a glass case full of syringes, tubes, and long thin knives.

  Instinctively, Susan arched backward, but the soldier drove her forward. She found herself shoved into a chair, her back clanging against the hard metal.

  She yelled and thrashed, kicking and slapping, but the man was too strong. He bound first one arm, then the other; the hot leather gouged deep into her wrists and elbows, then her ankles. Her shoulder throbbed. She couldn’t move.