Thalia didn't seem worried. "Business in town," she explained tersely. "Greersday wagon'll be full of wrought iron, so no passengers, but we got a couple of investments to look after, the two of us. Places we put our money so's it won't evaporate out here. That happens, y'know. Coin-sticks just vanish. I wouldn't leave mine under my pillow, if I was you."

Maia blinked, wondering how Thalia knew. Had she looked? Suppressing an urge to rush back to the cot and check her tiny stash, Maia also took note how deftly the older var had managed to change the subject. None of my business, I suppose, she thought with a sniff.

Work continued at the same steady, numbing pace. On her eighteenth day at Lerner Hold, Maia and most of the other workers were assigned to haul barrowloads of preprocessed iron ore from a mine two miles away, staffed entirely by a clan of albino women whose natural pallor had become tinted by rusty oxides, permeating their skin.

The next day, a caravan of huge dray-llamas arrived, carrying charcoal for refining the ore. Tall gaunt-eyed women tended the beasts, but took no part in unloading which, apparently, was beneath their dignity. Maia joined the team of vars lugging bag after heavy bag of sooty black chunks to a shed by the furnaces, while an elderly Lerner paid off the teamsters in new-forged metal. Within a few hours, the caravan was heading back up country. Their journey would take them past three distant, stony pillars that gave the northeast horizon its character, and onward toward barely visible peaks where yet another clan filled a small but thriving niche — cutting trees and cooking them into ebony-colored, log-shaped, carbon briquettes. It was a simpleminded rustic economy. One that functioned, though, with no space left for newcomers.

Afterward, while sponging away layers of grime, Maia patiently endured another of Calma Lerner's daily visits. The clanswoman "dropped by" each evening, just before supper, with an obstinacy Maia was starting to respect. She would not take no for an answer.

"Look, I can tell you have an educated background for a summer child. Come from a classy line of mothers, I reckon. Ought to do something with your life, you really should."

I plan to, Maia answered in her thoughts. I'm planning to run, not walk, out of this valley just as soon as it's safe, and never again set foot near a piece of coal, ever!

But Calma was likable enough, and Maia had no wish to offend. "I'm just saving up to move on," she explained.

The Lerner shook her head. "I thought you came here 'cause of what we talked about that day in the wagon. You know, studyin' metallurgy? If that wasn't it, why're you here?"

This line of inquiry Maia didn't want to encourage. So far there had been no sign of Tizbe or the Joplands looking for her here. They must have figured she'd head west, toward the sea. But inquiries by Calma, or even loose gossip, could change that.

"Um. Look, maybe I'll think about that apprenticeship. I'm just not sure about the arrangements, that's all."

Calma's expression transformed and Maia could almost read the older woman's thoughts.

Aha! The little one is just staking a bargaining position, hoping for a better deal. Maybe I can drop the lesson fee a bit. In exchange for what? A term contract?

"Well," the older woman said aloud. "We can talk about it whenever you're ready." Which Maia immediately translated as meaning Let her slave at the forge another week. By then she'll accept if we give a point or two.

In fact, Calma's face was so easy to read, Maia felt she understood how such a talented family never amounted to much in the world of commerce. They might go far in partnership with a businesslike clan. But some families just couldn't work closely with groups other than themselves.

Especially over generations, which was how long many interclan alliances lasted.

Although Maia filed this insight away for future reference, she no longer contemplated sharing such tidbits. Leie's loss still felt like a cavity within her, but the ache dulled with each passing day. Through it all, she had begun to see the outlines of her future, unwarped by the inflated dreams of childhood.

If she was clever and hardheaded, she might manage to be like Kiel and Thalia, slowly saving and searching, not for some fabled niche, or anything so grandiose as establishing her own clan, but to find a tiny chink in the wall of Stratoin society. A place to live comfortably, with a little security. You could do worse. You've seen people who have done much worse.

To pass the second and third evenings Kiel was away, Thalia enlightened Maia on strange customs practiced in the seaports of the. Southern Isles. The stocky young woman seemed equally amazed when Maia described mundanities of Port Sanger life she herself had long taken for granted. Then they listened to the radio awhile — to a station playing music, not political commentary — until sleep time came.

Maybe when Kiel returns, she'll say the coast is clear, Maia thought as she drifted off. She felt no ties to Lerner Hold, but would she be able to tear herself away from her new friends? For the sake of this comradeship, she felt tempted to stay.

Work, and recovery from work, took up nearly all of the next day, from dawn to dusk. Mealtime was a fragrant lentil stew with onions and spices, a supper Maia felt sure Thalia had prepared in expectation of Kiel's return. But the dark woman did not show. Thalia only laughed when Maia worried aloud. "Oh, we got plans, we do. Sometimes she's away a week or more. Lerners got to put up with it 'cause nobody's better'n Kiel at cold-rollin' flat sheet. Don't you worry, virgie. She'll be back presently."

All right, I won't worry. It was surprisingly easy to do. In a few short weeks, Maia had learned the knack of letting go and living from day to day. Not even the priestess at the temple had been able to teach her that. Physical exhaustion, she admitted, was a good instructor.

That evening, Maia took their small oil lantern into the ebbing twilight to visit the toilet before going to bed. For privacy, it had become her habit to wait until all the other vars finished. Along the way to the outhouse, she liked to watch the stars, which were beginning to show winter constellations to good advantage. Stratos was slowing in its long outward ellipse, although the true opening of cool season still lay some weeks ahead.

Turning a corner in the warren of laborers' bungalows, Maia saw someone leaning against the tilted door of the outhouse, facing the other way. Oh, well, she thought. Everyone has to take turns.

She approached and set the lantern down. "They been in there long?" she asked the woman waiting ahead of her, who shook her head.

"No one's inside."

"But then, why are you …"

Maia stopped. Something was wrong. That voice.

"Why am I waiting?" The woman turned around. "Why, for you of course, my meddlesome young friend."

Maia gaped. "Tizbe!"

The pleasure-clan winterling smiled and gave an offhand salute. "None other than your loyal assistant baggage handler, in person. Thought it was time you and I had a talk, boss."

Despite her racing heart, Maia felt proud not to show a quaver in her voice. "Talk away," she said, spreading her hands. "Choose a subject. Anything you like."

Tizbe shook her head. "Not here. I have a place in mind."

"All right. Where—"

Maia stopped suddenly, sensing movement. She whirled just in time to glimpse several identical black-clad women bearing down upon her, holding fuming cloths.

Joplands, Maia recognized the instant before they seized her. She felt their brief surprise at her strength. But the farm women were stronger still. Struggling, Maia managed to dodge the damp rags long enough to catch sight of one more figure, standing a short distance away.