and claw indentations of
her fellow workers. She took the pay packet outside and opened it to count.
Three hundred and twenty pieces. One hundred and sixty-five for rent. Ninety for
food. Twenty-five for lights and fuel. Eight for water. Twenty for that new pair
of shoes Holly needed. Twelve for unexpected stuff that always came up.
Rye tucked the packet in her back pocket, hefted her bag, and strode through the
gates. She waved to Knot and the boys, then turned the opposite way for the long
walk to the Hollowberry Municipal School for her night class.
A low-flying carpet passed Rye, an old song trailing from its speakers. Rye
picked up the tune with a whistle. She was smiling to herself as she trotted
down the Rootway underpass. A shower of fat raindrops did nothing to dampen her
high spirits. Life wasn’t so bad.
Rye strolled through the school gates ten minutes early for her class. She had
just stepped inside when the lights died.
“No panic!” A goblin caretaker hurried down the corridor with a torch bobbing in
his big grey claw. “Power dead. Go outside.”
Rye went to stand out in the parking lot. She nodded to one or two of her
classmates. More students arrived and the time for the start of class passed,
but the school remained black. After about a quarter of an hour, one of the
teachers came out to say that the classes had to be cancelled.
Rye shouldered her bag and headed for the gates. When she hit Lowbranch Street
she automatically turned right, but she had not gone more than a dozen paces
before she stopped. A large transit carpet flew past, crammed with people going
home from work. Rye frowned. She had two hours before she was due home. Holly
would be around at the Barks’ house. She had her pay in her back pocket.
Rye ran back down the street and stopped at the first public transit node. She
quickly scanned the flashing timetables. Newbud. There had to be a route that
could get her there. Yes. The brown carpet to the bridge district node and the
taupe carpet to Newbud. She felt only a slight twinge for her extravagance as
she handed over four pieces for her fare. She would not buy beer this week.
She had changed to the taupe carpet and was whizzing north from the bridge
district before it occurred to her to wonder that Flora might not be at home, or
might have company.
Rye jogged to Whiterow Gardens. The flutters of unease and sense of not
belonging didn’t stop her from looking for the call panel on a decorative but
also sturdily functional gate around the base of the tree. There were only ten
buttons. That meant each apartment occupied a whole level to itself, unlike the
sixth of a wedge that Rye lived in. She wiped her hands on the back of her pants
before pressing Flora’s button.
A jogger in trendy gear shot Rye a disapproving look as he passed. Rye craned
her neck to see if she could see any lights in Flora’s penthouse.
“Crap,” Rye said. “I should’ve called first.”
Click.
“Rye!” Flora said. “What are you doing here?”
Rye grinned and looked up to see where the camera might be. “Um. If it’s not a
good time, I could –”
The gate clunked open.
“Come up,” Flora said.
Rye smiled all the way up ten flights of stairs. She paused on the porch to
regain her breath and wipe sweat from her face before knocking.
Flora looked surprised when she opened the door. “Is the elevating carpet not
working?”
“Elevating carpet? Oh. I’m so used to the one in our tree being broken that I
didn’t think to look for one.”
Rye set her bag down inside the door and kicked off her work boots. Flora wore
baggy casual pants and a snug little top that seemed designed to draw Rye’s
attention to her chest. After an awkward moment of staring, they exchanged
chaste kisses.
“What a great surprise,” Flora said.
“I’m not interrupting?”
“No. I’m all alone and thinking about you.”
Rye grinned like an idiot as she followed Flora through to the living room.
Flora
her fellow workers. She took the pay packet outside and opened it to count.
Three hundred and twenty pieces. One hundred and sixty-five for rent. Ninety for
food. Twenty-five for lights and fuel. Eight for water. Twenty for that new pair
of shoes Holly needed. Twelve for unexpected stuff that always came up.
Rye tucked the packet in her back pocket, hefted her bag, and strode through the
gates. She waved to Knot and the boys, then turned the opposite way for the long
walk to the Hollowberry Municipal School for her night class.
A low-flying carpet passed Rye, an old song trailing from its speakers. Rye
picked up the tune with a whistle. She was smiling to herself as she trotted
down the Rootway underpass. A shower of fat raindrops did nothing to dampen her
high spirits. Life wasn’t so bad.
Rye strolled through the school gates ten minutes early for her class. She had
just stepped inside when the lights died.
“No panic!” A goblin caretaker hurried down the corridor with a torch bobbing in
his big grey claw. “Power dead. Go outside.”
Rye went to stand out in the parking lot. She nodded to one or two of her
classmates. More students arrived and the time for the start of class passed,
but the school remained black. After about a quarter of an hour, one of the
teachers came out to say that the classes had to be cancelled.
Rye shouldered her bag and headed for the gates. When she hit Lowbranch Street
she automatically turned right, but she had not gone more than a dozen paces
before she stopped. A large transit carpet flew past, crammed with people going
home from work. Rye frowned. She had two hours before she was due home. Holly
would be around at the Barks’ house. She had her pay in her back pocket.
Rye ran back down the street and stopped at the first public transit node. She
quickly scanned the flashing timetables. Newbud. There had to be a route that
could get her there. Yes. The brown carpet to the bridge district node and the
taupe carpet to Newbud. She felt only a slight twinge for her extravagance as
she handed over four pieces for her fare. She would not buy beer this week.
She had changed to the taupe carpet and was whizzing north from the bridge
district before it occurred to her to wonder that Flora might not be at home, or
might have company.
Rye jogged to Whiterow Gardens. The flutters of unease and sense of not
belonging didn’t stop her from looking for the call panel on a decorative but
also sturdily functional gate around the base of the tree. There were only ten
buttons. That meant each apartment occupied a whole level to itself, unlike the
sixth of a wedge that Rye lived in. She wiped her hands on the back of her pants
before pressing Flora’s button.
A jogger in trendy gear shot Rye a disapproving look as he passed. Rye craned
her neck to see if she could see any lights in Flora’s penthouse.
“Crap,” Rye said. “I should’ve called first.”
Click.
“Rye!” Flora said. “What are you doing here?”
Rye grinned and looked up to see where the camera might be. “Um. If it’s not a
good time, I could –”
The gate clunked open.
“Come up,” Flora said.
Rye smiled all the way up ten flights of stairs. She paused on the porch to
regain her breath and wipe sweat from her face before knocking.
Flora looked surprised when she opened the door. “Is the elevating carpet not
working?”
“Elevating carpet? Oh. I’m so used to the one in our tree being broken that I
didn’t think to look for one.”
Rye set her bag down inside the door and kicked off her work boots. Flora wore
baggy casual pants and a snug little top that seemed designed to draw Rye’s
attention to her chest. After an awkward moment of staring, they exchanged
chaste kisses.
“What a great surprise,” Flora said.
“I’m not interrupting?”
“No. I’m all alone and thinking about you.”
Rye grinned like an idiot as she followed Flora through to the living room.
Flora
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