coup. They seemed to feel that even speaking of it was dangerous, and it was best to ignore the entire thing.
New people moved into the manors on Limley Square. Rina told him that factory managers and employees were being moved into the districts the managers controlled “because they’ll care more for their own neighborhoods, of course.” She was at Arkady’s manor for the resource inventory, which turned out to be a half-dozen workers from Paper going over the manor from top to bottom, writing down everything they found and taking any goods they deemed valuable or luxurious. Once it was established that the lab—and Charles, huddling on Nate’s pallet inside it—would be left alone, the inventory didn’t bother Nate at all. The search committee could take what they wanted; nothing in the manor was his. Rina, in a white and brown sash like her mother’s, had clearly found herself in a position of some power. Eagle-eyed and efficient, she followed the workers from room to room, making sure they didn’t miss anything. She could not be less like Bindy; there was no merriment in her, no music.
“What will they do with it all?” he asked her, as Arkady’s favorite chair left the manor feet-first.
“Sell it,” she said promptly. “Reinvest the profits in the factory.”
“Sell it? To who? Nobody has any money anymore. It’s all been confiscated.”
He spoke without thinking. Rina’s eyes turned to flint. “Surely, even where you’re from, farmers expect to be paid for their crops, and miners their ore. For once, they’ll be getting a fair price.”
Nate almost asked how those farmers and miners would feel about being paid in confiscated furniture, but Rina’s glower told him he’d better not. Every citizen over the age of fourteen had to work now, and each position had to be approved by the factory committee. Bindy was just fourteen. Nate had applied to the New Highfall Productivity Board for her to be named his apprentice, officially, but he hadn’t received confirmation yet. Rina and Nora had argued over the apprenticeship; Rina had wanted Bindy in the factory, where she’d have more opportunity for advancement. Nora said Bindy was just fine where she was. He didn’t know why Bindy’s mother had intervened, but he was grateful. Also, and more worrisomely, Rina had warned him that even Charles would need to find work, and soon. He didn’t know if Rina could make either process more difficult, but he knew that he didn’t want more trouble to fall on people he cared about, so all he said was, “I’m glad to hear it.”
Rina gave him an arch look. “A lot of outsiders have been sent back where they came from, you know, magus. But you needn’t worry. Seneschal has you on his list of indispensables.”
“I’m glad to hear that, too.”
“Yes,” Rina said. “You should be.”
Three days after his visit to the Seneschal, Derie came. As he let her in the garden gate, he said, “Where have you been?” and the question was part anger, part curiosity. He didn’t know where she was living or how she was surviving, but she seemed no worse for the wear.
“None of your business,” she said harshly, “and don’t grouse at me, boy. I couldn’t answer, and that’s all you need to know. Get inside.”
“Charles is here,” he said as he closed the kitchen door.
“I know. I don’t care.” She reached into her skirt pocket, took out a knife. “Now shut up and sit still. Let’s see what’s going on.”
So he had to endure it again: having her inside his head, tossing his memories the way Rina’s crew had tossed the manor. It was worse this time, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. When it was over he lay on the floor and discovered that his words were gone. He wanted to communicate, and knew that he’d once known a way to do it, but the means simply weren’t there anymore. He couldn’t think of her name. He couldn’t think of his own, either. She seemed very tall, perched above him on a sort of frame that he’d once known the name of, made of something he could no longer identify. A long piece of the same stuff was in the nameless one’s hand. It made small noises on the floor. He’d once known the name for those, too. The sounds. The long thing.
“Nasty piece of work, that Seneschal,” the nameless one said. “Well, we’ll just have to be nastier, that’s all. No more dancing around.” There were