I looked over at Moussa, hoping the talk of music might cheer him up a little, but he said nothing, his expression remaining sombre. Moussa’s Patch birthday was nearing, and lately he hadn’t been in the singing mood, which was too bad, as his voice was arguably the best in the barracks. On top of that, Sarra and Joon had taken to spending their free hours in one of the empty boilweed divisions, which I imagine didn’t help Moussa feel any less forlorn.
Matty tucked the metal feather behind his ear, licking his dry lips. My small friend looked almost as ready for water as me. ‘One day you’re both gonna see I’m right. I know it.’
‘Doubtful,’ Moussa said under his breath.
‘However, I do have gifts.’ I leaned forward conspiratorially, trying to brighten the mood. ‘And news.’
Matty stuck out his palm, his smile practically spanning the common area.
I produced the marble nose chunk. ‘For our game. I figured you’d know what to do with it.’
Matty wiggled his eyebrows in delight, taking the carving and holding it up to his face. ‘Howsit look?’
‘A bit big,’ Moussa said with a contemplative look. ‘But you should know, most things are big compared to you.’
Matty stuck out his tongue. ‘Just wait some years. When I’m turning fifteen like Spout I’m going to rest my elbow on your head all the time.’
Moussa craned his neck to full height. ‘We’ll see about that.’
I then pulled out the box of gem candy remains and laid it on the hard sand at Moussa’s feet, opening the lid. ‘For you.’
‘It’s not my birthday yet – thank the Crier,’ Moussa replied, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of gears, nearly free of rust, and with most of their teeth. ‘For you.’
My eyes went wide with shock. ‘Where? How did you … Thank you. They’re perfect.’
‘They’re not much.’
I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Once I need them, they’ll be everything. Tinkering is only fun when you have things to tinker with.’
Matty’s face dropped, guilt flooding his face, and he tried to hand the Khat nose back to me. ‘For you?’
I laughed. ‘Just figure out a place for it in the game. That’s good enough for me. It’s about time we finished that thing.’
‘I should of got’cha something,’ Matty groaned.
‘Really, I don’t need anything else.’
Keeping his head slumped, Matty reached out his arm and tilted his hand backwards, offering up his ‘calm spot’. I touched my thumb to the splotchy birthmark on his wrist, which for some reason comforted my young friend whenever he felt like he’d done something wrong.
‘Family,’ Matty said.
‘Family,’ I repeated, letting go and gesturing both of them closer. ‘So last night I was in the Smith Quarter and found—’
A foot dug into the sand near my knee, spraying up a light coating into our faces. Then a gravelly voice said: ‘They put it in the ground!’
I sat back to look into the loopy face of Old Man Gum, grinning at us through a mouth full of black gaps. As he was the oldest Jadan in our barracks, with skin dark as soot, we had to show him respect, even though he never made much sense.
‘Morning, Zeti Gum,’ Matty said, offering the youthful term of respect.
Gum bent down and patted us all on the head, then, without another word, he wandered back to his private space, tucked aside the boilweed curtain, and slumped back to his ratty blanket. There was enough space to watch him land directly on his face and tap the ground, listening for a response.
Matty picked up the metal feather Gum had accidentally knocked from his ear, and slipped it in his pocket.
‘Anyway,’ I said with a smile, ‘last night, when I was in the Smith Quarter, I found a full Shiver in the boilweed.’
Matty’s eyes went wide. ‘Did’ja touch it?’
I gave a slow nod, feeling a lump in my throat.
Matty angled his head to look at my palms. ‘Did’ja hands burn up?’
I splayed them wide, calloused yet unharmed. ‘Nothing.’
Moussa looked at me, astounded. ‘Where is it now? You didn’t try to keep it, did you?’
From the concern in his voice, I thought it best not to mention the Wisps that Abb had given me. My stomach churned at even the thought of betraying the Crier. It was probably best to bury the Wisps and never speak of them again.
‘It’s still there,’ I said, keeping my voice down. I looked around the barracks to see if anyone could overhear us. ‘I think so at least. I don’t know for sure, because when I put it back there was a girl watching me.’
Matty’s face broke into a coy smirk. ‘A girrrl …?’
I reached across and flicked him on the arm. ‘Listen. There was something different about her. She was—’
‘Spout.’ The desperate voice came from over my shoulder.
I turned around and found sweet Mother Bev hunched over, hands on her knees, panting slightly. ‘Can I use a crank-fan, darling?’
‘Of course, you never have to ask.’ I went to get up, but she put a gnarled hand on my shoulder.
‘I’m still able,’ she said with a cracked voice, shuffling off. ‘Blessings, child. May fifteen be Colder than fourteen.’
I watched her walk away. I hated it when she said things like that, as blessings were supposed to be saved for the Khat and Crier only.
When I looked back, Moussa was dabbing his finger in the gem candy dust. He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Thanks, Micah.’
‘Don’t mention it. So this girl,’ I held my palm up like a blade, trying to approximate her posture, ‘she was running on the rooftops like this.’
Matty frowned. ‘Smacking the wind?’
I shook my head with a chuckle. ‘No, her back. She ran with her back completely straight. A Jadan, running like that. Crazy, right?’
Moussa paused and then gave a long shrug. A few boilweed flaps began rustling behind us, bodies in motion, so he lowered his voice. ‘Here’s the thing. That’s weird, I suppose. But she was already out, breaking one rule. What would stop her from breaking two?’
I hadn’t thought of it like that, but something about the memory still bothered me. We weren’t supposed to move like that, so tall and proud, and it almost felt like a worse transgression than hiding Wisps.
I slipped the gears into the candy box and placed it against the wall. From the amount of light basting the roof, I knew the chimes would be ringing soon, and we needed to get ready.
‘Spout,’ a deep voice boomed.
I turned back and found Slab Hagan looming over our group, his meaty body blocking at least five beams of sunlight from reaching the floor. One of my scorpion traps dangled in his hands, the face of the box shut and sealed.
‘Morning, Hagan,’ I said.
‘I’ll eat it when you done?’ Slab Hagan asked, his eyes gleaming with hunger. I never understood how he maintained such a frame on a Jadan diet, even supplemented by the occasional insect.
‘Please,’