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Chapter 6
The gold coin hangs heavy in my pocket as my feet take me to the far side of the fifth, to the northeastern quadrant between the white and black roads. I need to know what happened to Pa. I need to know where he is. And I need to figure out what I’m going to do about it. I need information.
There’s one place that sells information, amongst other, more unsavory, things: the gray market. It’s not a proper market, not like the established stalls of the fourth’s Pearl Bazaar. For one, it’s much harder to find. It moves from street to street and employs tricks both ikon-powered and not to shield it from the Wardana’s eyes. Those tricks also make it a good place to get swindled or be robbed and left for dead. Jem brought me here the first time and every time after that; I’ve never been without her.
One street looks much like another at twilight, in the hour before the street ikonlights turn on and everything is in shades of indigo. I come to the crooked street where I last saw the market—back when I had no worries beyond getting shalaj to grow—and walk its length to a dead end strewn with moss-covered boulders.
A hooded woman sits on one of them, bottle in hand. I make the three-fingered gesture Jem taught me, and she nods and points to alarge boulder. Beyond it is a zigzag path through the ruins that’s invisible from the street. It lets out in front of a curtain embroidered with ikons.
When I pull the curtain aside, the gray market opens to me in a crash of sound and glittering gray light. The curtain falls behind me, and I stand a little straighter, squinting into the glow. Pipe-smoke diffuses the light from a hundred gray lanterns. It lies thick in the air, casting faces in indistinct detail and disguising where exactly the market ends.
Sellers of trinkets, totems, and necessities line each side of the floor. They’ve set their wares out on blankets that can be wrapped up and secreted away, in case of a Wardana raid.
I tug my shawl higher over my nose, cutting some of the resin-scented smoke. Eyes follow me, taking in the singed hem of my overdress. The hawkers at the entrance of the market gesture at their wares, but I focus on searching their faces. A familiar one catches my eye: a slender face adorned with bushy white eyebrows and a white mustache of astounding luxuriousness. Avos’s shrewd eyes notice my attention, and his gestures become even more extravagant.
“Come, come, anything you need, I have for you at a good price. Better than these thieves—”
Falling to a crouch before his blanket, I lower my shawl. “I need a little information.”
Avos makes a theatrical shrug. “A little information, maybe I have. But maybe you want”—he drops into a whisper just as loud as his talking voice—“ikons?”
“You sold me one once,” I say. “It didn’t work so well.”
“No? These ikons, they’re a little sensitive. Maybe you missed a line, yes?”
I frown. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, but no one’s looking when I glance behind me. “In the fourth, at the old shrine, the Wardana took someone—”
He hisses, dropping the genial act. His voice goes so low I hardly make out his words over the din. “Quiet, you idiot. You don’t ask about them here. The Wardana have ears everywhere. You want to get killed?”
“What?”
His eyes don’t meet mine as his act resumes. “No? That’s okay, maybe another day. You!” He gestures over my shoulder. “Come, I see this has captured your eye.”
I rise and back away, leaving him to his customer. Avos is the only seller I’ve dealt with. Guess this isn’t the place to expect a break for being a loyal customer.
Tugging my shawl back up, I walk on. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, keeping pace with me. My pulse picks up.
A bark of laughter. Three women sit around a barrel, a game of tiles set up between them. Their peals of laughter reassure me and draw me close.
They quiet as I approach, though smiles still curl their lips. “Ten brass to play, dearie.”
Ten brass coins? How do they have that kind of money? “I haven’t come to play. I’m looking for—do you know where I can get a bit of information?”
“Why, Marva here has ears long as a hound’s. She’s heard just about everything, wouldn’t you say, Marv?”
“Haven’t heard as much as you’ve sniffed out, Pera, dear. A bird once took her nose for a perch,” she says behind her hand, in mock whisper to me.
I bite my lip. “Well, have you heard—or, er, sniffed—anything about the incident in the fourth? At the old shrine, the Wardana took a man—”
Their faces turn to stone, shutting me out. “No, Marv, you’re right, our game’s full.”
“Please—I’ll go. Just tell me who to ask.”
The long-eared one shakes her head at me. “Go home, child.”
I clench my fists and turn away. The pipe smoke lies just as thick here, but there are far fewer lanterns. I shiver. This is deeper than I’ve ever been into the market. Jem warned me never to go past the lanterns.
I steel myself and put one foot in front of the other. Slowly, the sellers with wares on blankets vanish. People hurry past, disappearing behind doors that open at a password. Sellers of other things lurk and lounge, some playing cards, others sipping cups of sundust tea.
