I held up the smeared parchment the High Noblewoman had given me, just to make sure, and found the stain of lip grease to be a perfect match.
She was going to squeal with delight.
The handle of the fan was made of ornate pearl, engraved with curling song words. The blade looked to be both sturdy and wonderfully frayed. This had to be one of the nicest pieces in Paphos, and I had visions of Jadanmaster Geb earning commendations for my wonderful find.
I breathed in the air in Mama Jana’s shop, warmer than I remembered.
Most shopkeepers didn’t let us in if the room was chilled, claiming the crushed Cold was wasted on Jadan lungs, but Mama Jana was a good-natured woman who treated me as if I was more than a pair of dirty feet, and I brought her business whenever I could. She was a lowborn Noble – meaning she got the minimal Cold rations delivered from the Pyramid weekly, unlike the bounty bestowed on the Khat’s immediate relatives – and she could use all the trade I could muster.
The shop was unassuming, its entrance deep in the alleyway off Mirza Street, but this modest façade hid a feast for the eyes and the purse, and was the first stop for many Street Jadans. Its walls were concealed by stacks of goods, overlapped in disarray, jumbling together cheap headdresses, thin sandals, fine beadwork and leather waterskins. Often I imagined combing through these mounds with my Claw Staff, its orb sounding to alert me to items pre-dating the Great Drought. In this fantasy, I’d then smuggle the treasures back to my barracks, and take them apart, examining their craftsmanship for hours.
At the front of the shop was an entire area dedicated to the Closed Eye: racks of Closed Eye necklaces, Closed Eye candles, Closed Eye paintings, Closed Eye parasols, Closed Eye robes, and even a full suit of armour with the Closed Eye branded into the chest. There was a giant Closed Eye Khatclock, but its hands were broken and it was kept in the back of the shop. Most Nobles sported the holy symbol somewhere on their bodies, a reminder of the Jadan fate from which they were saved, and a symbol of their closeness to the Crier. I’d never seen Mama Jana wear one, but there was plenty of Cold to be made in religious tradition, so the shop was kept well stocked.
Mama Jana removed the pink fan from the shelf and set it on the glass counter, stretching out her aged back.
‘For this beauty? One Shiver, four Drafts, four Wisps,’ she said, tapping out the different Cold amounts with her brightly painted fingernails as was her habit. I noticed, however, that a few of them were chipped, and that her voice sounded more annoyed than usual. I checked under my feet to make sure I hadn’t dragged in too much sand.
She clucked her tongue, noticing my dismay. ‘How much did the Wisp-Pincher give you?’
‘Sadly the High Noblewoman didn’t give me enough,’ I said, knowing that I had to keep my tone fully respectful for my masters, even in the privacy of Mama Jana’s shop. I let my head sag, holding the lips of the velvet bag open for her to see.
‘One Shiver, five Wisps!’ Mama Jana exclaimed with a dismal shake of her head. ‘And some snooty clod expected a festival piece? Is your High Noblewoman wanting that I should come out and fan her myself? Has the Sun baked her head empty? Why have you brought me this nonsense, Spout? You know better.’
‘Sorry, Mama Jana,’ I said, letting myself bend forward, my heart sinking. The last time I’d found an item this perfect, Jadanmaster Geb had sneaked me a stale crust of bread at midday rations.
I stuffed the greased parchment back into my pocket, figuring I’d have to try Gertrude’s Windmakers instead, even if Gertrude made Jadans stand at her window, offering us half the quality and twice the attitude.
‘Thanks anyway,’ I said, my eyes trailing to the row of lip pipes she had displayed on the counter, making a note to myself to keep an eye out for a chipped pair as a gift for Moussa on my next nocturnal expedition.
I bowed, letting my eyes gloss over the new assortment of belts in the corner. It was always good to know your stock when the Nobles came demanding.
‘Spout,’ she halted me, as I prepared to walk out the door.
I stopped, my ears perking up. ‘Yes, Mama?’
‘What about if I had a job for you,’ she said, tapping her fingernails against the glass counter, giving the fan a wave.
‘Always, Mama Jana.’ I bowed again, stepping forward and holding out my hand for one of her Noble tokens. ‘Let me just finish this errand and I’ll come back and—’
‘I should get priority over some nitwit,’ she said, playfully swiping my hand away with the pink fan. ‘Besides, the job is here. And if you can do it, I’ll give you the fan for what you have in that purse.’
I nodded, keeping my eyebrows from rising. That was quite the deal.
She gave me a long stare and then shuffled over to the door, turning the sign to closed. The beads jangled as she drew the dense gold curtains over the window, shutting out a disappointed Jadan face that had just arrived.
With the only light coming from candles, the place took on a different look. Flickering darkness gave the objects around the shop a mysterious hue that made me believe some Ancient wonders really did live beneath the piles.
She moved to a nearby table stocked with gold-rimmed eyeglasses and ruby-studded crowns. Hunching over, she picked up something cumbersome, straining to bring it over to the counter.
Even in dim light I recognized the contraption immediately.
Cold Bellows.
One of my favourite inventions, and since Mama Jana was drawing attention to it, I had a feeling I knew why the air in the shop no longer tingled.
‘This hunk of beauty is broken,’ she said, gesturing to the space around her, her wrinkled face pinched with annoyance.
I put on a sympathetic expression, although in truth I couldn’t imagine the bliss of working inside a Cold room every day. I’d have given up some of my choicest tinkering fingers to have swapped places for even a few days.
She motioned to a table that was empty except for a thick hammer and a metal screen. ‘I’ve been having to crush Wisps by hand for days now,’ she said, wiggling her fingernails, showing off the cracks in her polish. ‘Dreadful stuff.’
I felt my stomach clench, looking at the door to make sure no taskmasters were trying to peer through the beads. I could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out I had an affinity for tinkering. In the eyes of the Khatdom, the only thing worse than a disabled Jadan was a Jadan with too much ability.
Mama Jana patted me on the shoulder, her jagged fingernails scratching my skin. ‘Quit your worrying. No one will see you.’
I gave a nervous nod, the sweat beading on my forehead.
‘I’ve kept your secret this far, child.’ Her voice was tender. She spun the crank on top of the Bellows, which offered no resistance, meaning that the machine refused to crush whatever piece of Cold she’d stuck inside. ‘Can you fix it for me?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied in a small voice. ‘I’ve never even held Cold Bellows before.’
She reached under the counter for her stunning wooden tinker box, which she placed before my eyes, opening its lid to reveal the fine set of iron-handled tools that gleamed in the candlelight.
‘I believe it’s time to change that,’ she said, swatting air over her face with the pink fan. ‘So, do you want to finish your errand or not?’
Back on my corner, I held my arms high and waited, my token in one hand, and the fan in the other. I kept the pink blade extended to block the harsh light of the sky, enjoying a rare moment of complete shade. If any taskmasters gave me trouble about blocking the Sun I could tell them my specific instructions. ‘All Jadans look alike to me,’ the High Noblewoman had told me with a haughty scoff. ‘So do make sure to keep the fan open so I