Page 43

“I could ask Ziku to shout outside your door.”

“He’d charge extra.”

“He’d enjoy it.”

I laugh, then turn my face into his neck. He puts down his cup and holds me until I’m ready to finish the letter.

I finish and seal the reply before Daurek leaves for his midday work.

After the midday meal, I start a letter accepting the job in Karath and cross out the first sentence.

I don’t know anyone at the trading house. I haven’t asked who I’d work with or whether their idea of settling a dispute involves making whoever earns least agree to a smaller share. I’ve been deciding where to live before finding out what I’d be doing all day.

I turn the paper over.

This time I ask to speak to the factor who runs the house. I ask what happened to the last person who did the work. Then I write that I haven’t decided whether to accept. I want to know what the work is like before I promise anyone I’m coming.

The sentence looks ungrateful. I leave it there.

When I take the letter to the message room, Ziku is sorting post into three leather bags. One lies open on the bench, another hangs from his shoulder, and the third has trapped his tail beneath its strap.

“Do you need help?”

“With the post or my dignity?”

I lift the bag off his tail.

“That one was easier.”

He takes my letter and reads the name on the outside. I give him Asha’s reply as well.

“Karath. The westbound rider has left for today. These will go with tomorrow’s.”

“Thank you.”

He puts both letters in the bag on the bench without asking what they say. I find myself wanting to explain anyway.

“It’s a question about the work.”

“Then I hope they answer.”

I wait for him to add something about Daurek. He picks up the next letter.

For once, the fox is making this less difficult than I am.

That afternoon, I go to the southern clearing to find the cloth trader. If Karath is her next stop, she may know the house. She has returned from her circuit that morning and is packing her remaining winter wool when I reach the wagon. She asks whether I chose the green dress.

“I did. It already has a stain.”

“Good wool will survive dinner.”

I help her fold the length spread over her tailgate and tell her why I came. She has supplied the house twice, most recently last winter.

“Paid both invoices on the day they promised,” she says. “I can tell you that much.”

“Would you work for them?”

“I like having a wagon. Their people spend too much time indoors.”