owe me three hours,” said the Archivist mildly.
“Did you know?” That was the question she had carried with her for two years and more in the “real” world.
The Archivist shook her head. “I had no idea. We have a bargain: unless we’ve discussed modifying it, like we did last night, I trust you to take care of your side of things.”
“If you didn’t know, how did the Market know? I was tired. I forgot.”
“That’s why it was a small debt,” said the Archivist. “A few feathers? That’s practically a reminder. A string around the thumb. It’s not until your toes go webbed or your eyes change colors that you have a lot to pay off. If you had decided your freedom to do as you liked mattered more than keeping your word to me, you might have received more than a few feathers. It’s the intent and the size of the debt that matters, as much as anything else.”
Lundy frowned. “So the Market did it.”
“Yes,” the Archivist agreed. “The people who live here learned long ago that enforcing debts against one another only leads to inequality. An indulgent parent thinks it isn’t right to make their precious children pay their fair share, even though everyone else’s children pay. A cruel husband makes his wife bear his debts and runs about free of care while she goes draped in feathers. But if the Market, which knows everything done within its boundaries, wishes to keep the rules, there can be no cheating, no imbalance. Only the knowledge that all must contribute.”
“It still feels . . .” Lundy paused, struggling with the concept, and finally said, “It feels wrong.”
“That’s because you don’t know what fairness means. You’ve been in a place that wasn’t fair for so long that the things we’d been trying to teach you have been driven back into the shadows. How many ribbons do you have in your hair?”
“One,” said Lundy, startled.
“Imagine, for a moment, that I had a hundred ribbons. Now imagine we both wanted something to eat. Not something fancy or special, not something radiant or rare, just cheese and bread and a slice of mutton. Would it be fair to say the price was a single ribbon?”
Lundy frowned. “I . . . I don’t know. Can’t the person who has the food decide?”
“It’s their food, yes, so they get to set a price—but again, we’re not talking about a luxury. We’re talking about plain food, the sort of thing that keeps body and soul connected. Our imaginary merchant is getting fair value no matter what, because the Market will make sure of it. Is it fair to ask each of us to give a single ribbon?”
“No,” said Lundy.
“No,” agreed the Archivist. “It wouldn’t be fair, because you’d be paying so much more than I would. Fixed prices may be necessary in a world where there is no authority making sure we take care of each other, but here, with the Market to oversee us, we can relax knowing that fairness will be maintained. If our imaginary merchant asked us each for a ribbon, seeing I could pay so much more while you had so much less, the Market would remind them that fairness is a subjective thing, not a fixed target.”
“Oh,” said Lundy.
“Things will cost more for you now,” said the Archivist gently. “You’ve grown. You’re better able to contribute. We don’t ask babies to pay for their keep. We don’t ask children to do more than they’re capable of. We only ask that people respect the hand that feeds them.”
“Everything?”
“Not everything,” said the Archivist. “It will still only cost you an hour a night to stay here, because I’m accustomed to your company. The bed, however, you will need to buy or build for yourself. Do you remember what I said last night?”
“That I needed to feed myself before I tried to buy Moon’s debt,” said Lundy. Her jaw set stubbornly. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Doesn’t it? Hunger makes us foolish, causes us to make poor decisions without realizing how poor they are. If you want to help her, you need to help yourself first. No one serves their friends by grinding themselves into dust on the altar of compassion.”
Lundy wanted to argue, to say that sacrifice was as important as playing fair, but she couldn’t find the words. Finally, she huffed softly and asked, “How do I buy debt?”
“There is a stall. You won’t have seen it before, because you’ve never needed it before. Look for