Page 90 of The Space Between Stars

Color touched the boy’s face. “I’ve just acted like a blithering idiot and said I can’t find them.”

One eyebrow quirked, and Calver nearly snorted. Dex’s chest rose and fell in relief.

“Because they told me it’s my last chance—I only had until tonight to bring the reserve tin to the command tent tonight.”

“In the least, they’ll assume he’s corrupted me.”

Calver suddenly understood why Dex had followed him into the desert so many nights ago.

Dex nodded and swallowed.

Another nod.

Thinking quickly, Calver knew there was only one option that would leave him with the least regrets. Sharing with Niklaus what had happened in Kaidech had felt like removing a heavy pack he’d worn for half of his life. When Calver had first heard allegations that Kaidech had fallen to Strikapa—not a scourge—he’d wondered if he’d imagined everything. But he had two souvenirs as firm reminders that it had happened. The first was the stump of a tongue, clumped uselessly at the base of his mouth. The second was the Ratka, carved by Cul’Mon into his chest. A third affirmation had come later, when he was rescued by Fankalo. But Niklaus… Niklaus had been the first who commiserated.

It seemed Calver wasn’t going to have any more time to investigate the plates.

“But… Meyernes?”

Dex didn’t make any moves. “Will he be alright?”

If there was one thing Calver understood, it was having a monster that needed to be overcome. He would have given anything for someone to exorcise him of the Survivor.

Dex stared in contemplative silence at the shelf where the moss tin hid. “How long have you known?” he finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you keep teaching me?”

Calver crossed his arms. Then uncrossed them.

His signals were met with a hard swallow.

NIKLAUS

Dex had disappeared. Niklaus was sure that something had gone terribly wrong. He searched the encampment in sweeping circles. By the time he made it to the merchants’ quarter, he was sweating stones from moss descent. Panic clenched his gut. He’d already had a full tab today. He well understood moss hunger: once acclimated to more, it would only get worse. And half a ten-day remained until the next rally. He wasn’t even sure that his reserves would get him to that, at this rate. But nearly two months of Red Wing stipend might be enough to patch him through.

Shaking legs drove him to the same out-of-the-way tent with the same sweat-slicked dealer. A wordless exchange was made: he lost his stipend and gained three full tabs. They remained clenched in his fist. It was the safest place for them until he returned to the wagon, presuming they didn’t dissolve from perspiration alone.

Three tabs. Combined with his reserves, that would last him to the rally without rationing. No one would know how much the dependence had worsened.

He swept the merchants’ quarter in search of the boy without success. He turned back toward the southern rim. He would have to tell the mute. Something about this absence was wrong. Dex might very well have turned against them. He slipped a third of a tab—just enough to steady him.