of the Fifth Class. They trust us to watch out for them. That’s what I mean to do.”
“And if the Keepers don’t listen?” Niko asked gently.
Dema wanted to tell the older man that this was ridiculous, but he couldn’t. Refusal was always a possibility. “I’ll have to think of something,” he said, feeling defensive.
“Perhaps you ought to start thinking now,” suggested Niko. “Just in case.”
Tris watched as Keth roused everyone and gathered them in Ferouze’s sitting room to break the news of Yali’s murder. The result was chaos. Xantha collapsed in hysterics. Ferouze punched the wall before she started to cry; Poppy sat and rocked as tears streamed down her face; the male lodgers hammered Keth with questions. Glaki clutched her doll and screamed for her dead mother and her Aunt Yali.
“Get her out of here!” shrieked Ferouze. Poppy lurched to her feet and scooped up the child, taking her outside.
Tris went to the wailing Xantha, considering slapping her out of her hysterics. A seed of pity stopped her. Instead she took the scent bottle she carried for such occasions from the purse on her sash. She removed the top and waved it under Xantha’s nose. Immediately the blonde inhaled and coughed. The men standing near her flinched from the smell.
“What is that stuff?” demanded the flute-player, a pretty young fellow with bronze skin and grey-green eyes. “It’s hideous!”
“The friend who made it calls it ‘Infallible’,” replied Tris, corking the vial. She chose not to mention that her foster-mother Rosethorn had no respect for hysterics. The herbs in her version of smelling salts were chosen with that attitude. “We need some water.”
As Xantha drank the water, Tris looked around. The drummer held Ferouze, his muscled arms tight as he kept her from lashing out again. Tris remembered hearing something shatter as she brought Xantha around: the pieces of a basin lay on the floor at Ferouze’s feet. Glaki could step in that mess, she thought, and fetched the broom to sweep up the shards. Finished, she looked for Glaki. The child and Poppy were still missing.
One of the male yaskedasi was also gone. He soon returned, having spread the news throughout the neighbourhood. Others came with him, men and women, old and young, to weep and to curse the killer and the city that didn’t care if yaskedasi died. It wasn’t long before Tris’s head ached fiercely. Little Bear and Chime had escaped the room when the first guest arrived.
When Tris gave a final look through the crowded chambers, she saw Poppy had returned. The brunette sat with Ferouze as they shared the contents of a jug with their neighbours. Poppy wept still, without making any sound.
Tris asked one of the men for directions to Yali’s room, where she assumed that Poppy had left Glaki. She guessed that the little girl would cry herself to sleep, but Tris didn’t like the idea that Glaki would wake alone.
Tris walked out to the courtyard, glad to be in cooler, less stuffy, air. She let rain fall on her head for a moment, enjoying its comforting feel on her braids. It was over the rain’s soft patter that she heard hiccups. Glaki was huddled on the stair to the upper galleries, weeping into Little Bear’s fur. Chime sat on her shoulder, crooning as she groomed the child’s tangled hair with her claws.
For a moment Tris could only stare, appalled. Did Poppy just bring the child out here and leave her to cry alone?
How often had Tris herself done this, crept into a corner to weep, knowing the only ones who cared about her were the animals of the house? She had not lost a mother or an aunt as Glaki had, but time after time she had been passed on to yet another relative. It was overhearing the talk that decided that she and her many strangenesses would be sent to some other family member that had always sent Tris to cry in secret. When Cousin Uraelle, who had kept her the longest, died, Tris had wept not for the mean, stingy old woman, but for the loss of the most permanent home she could remember.
She touched the girl on the shoulder. Glaki flinched against Little Bear, throwing up an arm to protect her face. Gently Tris pressed her arm down. A handprint showed clearly on the girl’s cheek. Poppy had slapped Glaki to silence her.
“It’s just me, Glaki. You saw me yesterday, remember?” Tris kept her voice gentle as she sat on