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Hands grasped her ankles and pulled, none too gently, and Nic fervently wished she’d been clever enough to position herself for this extraction. As it was, she felt much like the cork in a bottle of wine must—and she emerged from the wagon with a similarblerp, falling to the ground in an ignominious heap. She groaned, hurting everywhere she wasn’t numb.
“Better get up,” the man advised. “Laziness draws attention ’round here.”
Figuring the advice was well meant, if not terribly helpful, Nic rolled onto her hands and knees, grateful when the man grasped her arm to pull her to her feet, steadying her as she got her bearings. She was inside a large building stacked with crates and barrels, the snow-packed floor providing a highway for the sleds moving in a steady stream down a nearby aisle. Workers moved in and among the crates, loading and unloading sleds much like her own, which was currently parked in a shadowy back corner, away from the bustle of activity. This had to be a distribution center—but of Elal’s or a larger joint distribution center, like the ones Elal shared with other houses? “Where am I?”
“Elal,” he replied curtly, releasing her arm and adjusting the crates in her sled so the cavity she’d occupied was no longer evident. He gave no sign of knowing who she was, or any interest in finding out. “I gotta put this sled back into circulation. If these get too far outta order on the manifest, the sled-pixies get confused, bork things up, and then there’squestions.” He made questions sound like the worst thing possible, which—especially in her case—they probably were.
“What should I do?” she asked tentatively as the man hopped onto the bench at the front of the sled.
“Return to the main aisle for unloading,” he instructed the air elemental bound to the sled. He jumped down again as the sled lurched into motion, caught Nic by the elbow, and ushered her out of the way. “Best stay clear, gel,” he advised. “Them pixies ain’t none too bright. Soon as run over ye as blink.”
The sled, repositioned, glided back to the main aisle and turned, nearly colliding with an oncoming sled. The man sighed and jogged off, calling to someone else to slow their sled and, not incidentally, abandoning Nic.
“The next time I stage an escape,” she muttered to herself, “I’m going to know what the steps are.” At any rate,hernext step was urgent: She needed to find a relief room. With so many people working in this vast building, surely there had to be one. Unfortunately, the towers of crates made seeing any distance impossible. Nic worked her way along an aisle too narrow for the fast-moving sleds, nicely shadowed.
“Not that way,” a voice said behind her.
This would get old fast.
Nic whirled around to see a jaunty young woman, about her same age, with red hair in long braids on either side of her head. “You go that way,” she confided, “and you’ll be caught and bundled off to face Convocation judicial before you can say House Tadkiel.”
“I’m looking for a relief room,” Nic replied, pressing her legs together.
The girl cocked her head. “A what then?”
“I need to pee,” Nic clarified, and the redhead’s face cleared.
“Ah. You want the pit, then. This way. I’m Dary.”
“I’m Nic.”
“That your real name?”
“A nickname. My real name is—”
“I wouldn’t,” Dary interrupted. “Probably you shouldn’t even use your nickname. Too easy to ask around about you. Me, I’m not going to spill, cuz I’m getting paid well, and I’ve got just enough wizard talent that I’m immune to compulsion. Can’tdomuch, but it’s handy for this business. Here’s the pit.”
Nic looked at the trench cut into the frozen ground with some dismay. An angled platform on stilts kept the snow off, at least, but in summer, this had to reek to high heaven.
“Squat,” Dary instructed, bundling up her cloak and dropping her pants. Hanging her naked bottom over the open trench, she peed a steaming stream to mingle with the rest. No earth elementals to vanish the waste here.
And Nic had thought she’d miss the wine at home. Determined to buck up, Nic pocketed her mittens and followed suit, bundling her long cloak and tunic out of the way and undoing her trousers. She still bungled it, getting pee running down her thighs as much as in the trench. Well, if she smelled bad, no one would mistake her for a High House familiar.
“Ain’t ye never peed in a trench before?” Dary asked with a dubious frown. “Basin for washing up is there.”
“Thank you,” Nic replied, rather than answering. She dipped her hands in the water, freezing and cloudy with dirt, so she didn’t feel much cleaner.
“Soap,” Dary said, poking the yellow cake swinging from a rope. She washed her own hands, drying them on her cloak. “Ready?” she asked once Nic had done the same, striding off at a fast clip without waiting for an answer.
“Is there water?” she asked.
“Out and in, eh?” Dary winked as she dug a flask out of a pocket and handed it to Nic. “You can keep that. This is for you, too.” She rummaged in another pocket and produced a packet. “That will have to last you a few days, so go easy on it.”
Nic, chugging the water, belatedly slowed her pace and replaced the cap on the flask, stowing it and the packet in pockets of her own cloak. “Where are we going?”
Dary pointed without pausing. A long pier protruded across thick ice, ending in a dark pool of open water where several unremarkable barges were tied up. The boat version of the export sleds. Workers and wheeled wagons trundled up and down the planking of the pier, continuing the busy process of loading and unloading. “I’m going on the river?”
“The sea,” Dary corrected. “This is the estuary. Best way to shake the Elal ghosties, doncha know, traveling over salt water—confuses the border spirits so they can’t sense your tattoo, as long as you’re not out in the open.”
