Nadya stared from the bench as Datra leaned into the baker’s oven and plucked a hot pastry off the rack, juggling the steaming bun until it was cool enough to cradle while the attendant watched with clasped hands. Datra reached into his satchel, found nothing, then searched through his pockets and sash. Finally, he said “just bill BOI, care of Levine, and pretend I bought twenty.” He walked towards Nadya, yelling over his shoulder: “and I’m serious, do it or I’ll come back.”


    Datra crashed down beside her and bit into his pastry, one of those spiced dumplings with cheese and shredded chicken, the kind Nadya didn’t care for. She sneered and nibbled at her own honied roll, topped with dried berries and nuts.


    “I gave you the pick of his wares and that’s all you took,” Datra said through half a bite.


    “I like them.”


    “Fresh squeezed juice, baskets of ripe fruit…”


    “I don’t eat much fruit. I only like grapes, the red ones.”


    “You clade kids are so spoiled.”


    “Because of fruit?”


    “Yes, among a dozen other things. Girls nearly as bad as the boys.”


    “Does that make Sudras spoiled?” she asked, licking her fingers. “They have more fruit than anyone.”


    “I assume you mean fieldhands, outside the wall?”


    “Yeah.”


    “They also marry at fifteen and die at forty-five,” Datra said, staring off as he chewed. “Although, when you put it that way…” He shrugged, unstopped his wineskin, and took a big gulp.


    “Are you Sudran?” She asked. “In part, maybe?”


    Datra choked and beat on his chest, then he coughed and scowled at Nadya. “Spending too much time with your aunt, are you? Do I look Sudran? Why ask such a stupid question?”


    She thought Datra was tanner than most, with stocky limbs and muddy brown eyes, but she kept that to herself. “Your name,” she said. “It was ‘Teeny’ or something.”


    “T’nay.”


    “Well it had the stop, so I thought… It’s a strange name.”


    “It’s a strange place.”


    Nadya blinked. Datra sipped. “It’s a city on the Northern sea,” he said. “in the Sapphic provinces. The old families there don’t do your business with three names, but the immigration form had an extra space, so we did our best.”


    “Datra of T’nay?”


    “Something like that.”


    “I didn’t realize. You speak perfect Imperial.”


    “Everyone speaks Imperial. That’s why it’s called that.”


    “Well, sorry for asking if you were Sudran.”


    “I’ve been called worse.”


    Nadya took a big bite, savoring the taste, trying to look grateful, giving Datra time to forget her false step. Finally, she swallowed and asked “Do you know the Patriarch?”


    “Mhmmm.”


    They sat and talked. Datra answered Nadya’s questions about his life in the bureaus, what the provinces were like, and how he knew aunt Menora (he caught ansels as a young officer and couldn’t leave the clade, so Old Menander took him in for a time); then he asked Nadya about her family and studies and eating habits, nodding along as she rambled at length about the hopes and fears she’d mentioned on the hill. As the sun peaked above them, Nadya grew bolder.


    “How hard is it to get a bureau job, really?” she asked.


    “There is no generic bureau job.”


    “Okay, but do scores really matter?”


    “The minimums are pretty strict, but only Heredity picks from the very top. Once you’re in range, better scores help but other factors have more weight, like family background and not being a stalker. I put up a formal minimum to scare off half-wits, but once an applicant is on my desk, I toss their scores in the garbage.”


    “You don’t want the best people?”


    “I’m not getting them either way, and the good ones I have didn’t come from exams.”


    “Hmm, so having family in a bureau can help?”


    “Again miss, which bureau? Heredity? Not unless said relative happens to be the Patriarch, although most of that crowd is related anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. Customs and Mercantile is large and messy enough that its internal divisions are bureaus unto themselves, and the dozens of smaller offices all have their own cultures: some are family businesses in all but name, some have ranked Sudras.”


    “What about Irrigation?”


    “It’s honestly never come up,” Datra said, squinting. “Why? Is there a Pentacost in my staff I don’t know about?”


    “No,” Nadya said, chewing as she stared at the clouds, unsure if she was lying or not.


    “Well, miss, I think you should—hey, get off of there!”


    Nadya ducked and turned and saw two boys climbing the canalside fence, one on the cobbles, the other suspended over the water, feet balanced on the brick foundation while his hands clung to iron barbs. The bigger of the two, the insider, bolted down the path and slipped into an alley. The other hooked his heel between two points and moved to swing himself back to safety, but Datra yelled “slow down, fool, you’ll gut yourself!” and stormed over, taking the boy’s hand and helping him time the jump—one, two, three, go! Datra held the youth’s wrist as he fell into a crouch, then pulled him close as he bounced back up, twisting his arm so he couldn’t run away.


    Datra questioned the lad, learning that this had been a dare and they’d meant no harm. Datra explained the technicalities of clade borders, stressing that they end at the water; and, while his companion had merely violated state property, the boy in Datra’s clutches could be charged with clade-hopping. The lad grew pale and stammered out more apologies, but Datra ignored him and turned to Nadya. “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you believe him? Give me a peer’s opinion, citizen.”


    The boy flashed his red wet eyes towards Nadya, and she fumbled a response. “I think he’s telling the truth.”


    Datra nodded. “He does look the clade-hopping type, but if you’re vouching for him…”


    He kept excoriating the boy, turning back for Nadya’s perspective every two or three answers. Datra got his name, clade number, address, and other menial details; but when the identity of the runaway came out, Datra held up a hand. “No need for that,” he said. “I have better things to do than chase children around the clade. Although… how about this: you agree to go set your friend straight, explaining the error of his ways and all that, and I pretend I never saw you, deal?”


    “Deal!”


    “Wait,” he turned to Nadya. “So long as you support that, of course.”


    The boy looked as though he might kiss her feet, and part of her wanted to make him. Nadya felt bad for him, of course, but she also knew Datra’s captive was in no real danger, and saw no harm in savoring the moment. She pursed her lips and traced her eyes up and down his scrawny frame, from his dirty feet to his snot-soaked cheeks. Finally, she said. “I do support that,” and Datra let go. “Lucky day, son,” he boomed. “Thanks for the cooperation. After you settle things, head over to that bakery up the square. Grab a few rolls and tell him to take it out of Levine’s twenty.”


    Datra stood still while the lad ran away, then stretched and laughed, Nadya with him. “Thanks for your help, miss,” he said. “And thanks for the company, although it seems G could use a good patrol, and I’d rather not walk it with a clade brat on my arm. That will buy me a few more hours, then I suppose it’s time to face reality.”


    Nadya looked up at Datra’s face—worn, but soft and smiling. She remembered the whispered warnings about Irrigation and its leaders, the times she’d overheard Anya talking about other officers and the barbarians she worked for, the endless lectures from Mother and Veronica about the Water Laws and what happens to children who break them. None of it fit with the chubby old man who stood before her, as if she was doing a geometry set and discovered a four-sided triangle. As Datra turned to leave, something pulled at Nadya’s insides, yanking out words she hadn’t planned on saying.


    “You could have dinner at my house!”


    Datra looked back with a crooked smile. “That’s sweet of you, girl,” he said, “but it’s not so simple.”


    “My sister knows how to cook for clean bureaucrats, with hot silverware and everything. Anya will already be there, so it’s no trouble.”


    “I hear you, but I’d hate to be impose…” He glanced at the gray spires of Menora’s palace.


    “You know my family don’t you? Mother would be heartbroken to hear you turned us down.”


    “Maybe, but you don’t need to tell her…”


    “Especially once she learns you spurned her for Menora.”


    “Well, that’s just unnecessary.”


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    “My sister’s really cute, too!”


    “Fine, fine. You’ve convinced me,” Datra lifted his arms in defense, then leaned in and tapped her on the sternum. “But you need to clear it with all involved, okay?”


    “Okay.”


    “I’m still going to walk G’s border. When I loop back to your end, I’ll check on your house again. If you have permission, come get me. If not, I’ll just say my goodbyes and move on.”


    “See you then!” she yelled over her shoulder.


    Nadya ran back towards the peninsula, working out a plan as she moved; but as she passed the bridge, she saw the house where she’d tried to trick Datra, where she’d peeped on that boy. A stone fell in her stomach—what if he came calling? Or told his parents?---It could spoil everything.


    She slowed to a walk just as she reached the square, shuffling past the fountain with clasped hands and acknowledging the Irrigators who milled about with plumb bobs and chisels.


    “Bon tarre, prim,” to the plain-robed youth.


    “S’morrow, bella,” he said with a bow.


    “S’moorro, damme,” to the graying corporal, who smiled and patted her head.


    “S’m…” Nadya stumbled. A new person had emerged from behind the bunkhouse, a dark woman of about thirty, almost Nadya’s height with the biggest chest she’d ever seen. The trunk of her robe was littered with extra pockets, and a stout baton swung from her sash. Nadya reached for the appropriate words and came up short, then realized she’d taken too long. Her mouth twitched as she looked down, unsure whether it was better to push out a stillborn greeting or snub the woman and go inside; but the sudress smiled, bowed, and said one word in a throaty accent Nadya didn’t recognize.


    “S’vandei,” a stern, old-fashioned greeting Nadya had only read in books, one which showed great deference and demanded no response unless the other party was feeling generous or wanted to show favor. Nadya choked back a strange mix of guilt and relief, said “s’vandei,” back, then scurried into the house.


    She smelled garlic and saw Veronica at the kitchen counter, sleeves tied back as she diced a pile of Winter vegetables. Nadya let the door snap shut and her sister’s head spun round, long hair flipping over her shoulders as Veronica looked from Nadya to the clock, then back again.


    “Where have you been?” She asked. “I thought you were helping?”


    Nadya’s face, red from running, turned redder. “I am. I am,” she said, rushing to the sink, where she found two freshly plucked chickens, streaked with viscera. “You got a second one?” she asked.


    “I kept wondering if one would be enough, but two seemed too many, especially when Anya can’t eat leftovers; but then I remembered Mr. Binov offering a bird every time I tutor Zach—and if the second chicken is free…”


    “You brought it home alive?”


    “Mhmm. I should have asked him to wring it, but I waited too long. We’re lucky the sergeant was here or that thing would still be biting my ankles.”


    Nadya stuck her head around the corner. Anya’s couch in the living room was empty. “Where is she?” Nadya asked.


    “Not sure, why?”


    “Just curious.”


    Nadya set the baffles in the sink’s drain and pulled the chain, slipping the final link into a hook on the wall. A trickle of cold water fell from the overhead pipe, and she lifted one of the chickens into the flow, rubbing clotted blood from the pale, rough skin. “Are you roasting both?”


    “Just one. We’ll dice the other and save the skin for dumplings.”


    Nadya hmm’d and set after the birds, scraping away pinfeathers and dropping the organs into a growbed beneath the window. She wondered if “Zach” might be the boy she walked in on earlier, but that problem had to wait. As she stropped a knife, Nadya said “oh, right. I was supposed to tell you, one of Anya’s people might be coming to dinner.”


    A tuber slipped from Veronica’s hand, and her knife chinked against the counter. “What? Who?” she asked.


    “One of the men who were out there earlier. I’d never seen him before.”


    “It’s not like her to surprise me like that.”


    “I’m not sure it was her idea. I was hoping she’d be here so we could ask.” Nadya waited for her sister to say something, but Veronica kept chopping, so she pressed on. “He wanted me to check with Mother and you just to make sure. He was very polite.”


    After a long moment, Veronica said “I’ll have to thank Mr. Binov again for the capon. He might have saved our afternoon. Go talk with Mother. If she approves, then fine. If not, we’ll have some extra meat.”


    Nadya wiped the slime from her hands and rushed upstairs to Mother’s study. She knocked on the door—a few soft taps, hoping she was still asleep—but Mother said “come in” and Nadya did.


    Mother sat over her slanted, tile-top desk, pecking away at one of the memos which lay heaped up besides her. The disks of glass which made up her window cast circles of light along the polished surface, her pen flashing as it passed through rings of shadow. “What is it?” she asked without looking.


    “Is it okay if another Irrigator joins Anya for dinner?”


    Mother leaned back and tossed a completed memo onto a nearby chair. “Why am I only hearing of this now?” she asked.


    “We didn’t know. He has an invitation to Cousin Menora’s, but I don’t think he wants to go.”


    Jenya set down her pen and turned to face her daughter. Nadya bit her tongue: the black handprint was still smeared across Mother’s cheek. “Who is this, again?”


    “One of the men working on the bunkhouse. I don’t really understand the bureaus, but he has a baton.”


    Mother looked away to sign a memo. “Your sister can handle another guest?”


    “Yes, she made extra.”


    “Fine, but go help her prepare—you shouldn’t need to be told that, you know?”


    “Yes, mother,” Nadya said, leaving.


    She went downstairs and made a good-faith lap around the house, but Anya was nowhere to be found—the water closet was empty; a single rankless knelt in the garden, fiddling with the cistern; and the bunkhouse windows were pitch black. She even asked the few Irrigators who were still standing around the hole, and all said the Sergeant disappeared hours ago, although they were happy to pass on a message once she returned. Holding back a smile, Nadya thanked them and returned to the kitchen, taking up a knife and unpeeled carrot.


    “Still no Anya,” she said. “I hope she gets back soon.”


    “Do you?” asked Veronica, using the clean end of a ladle to swat Nadya’s rear—a playful tap, but it landed where Datra had caned her. Nadya hissed and jumped and covered her rear, then she saw the confused concern on her sister’s face and did her best to play it off as a joke. Veronica tossed the ladle into the sink, and both girls got back to cooking, although Nadya felt her sister was paying as much attention to her as the food.


    “Well, we’re here,” Veronica said. “Might as well fit in a session. How are your subjects doing? Still struggling with geometry?”


    “I’m doing better. Danica helped me.”


    “I’m glad. Where do you need help? Geography? Civics? Pre-Imperial poetry?”


    Nadya stared out the window and did her best to look innocent. “What about… boys.”


    “What about them?” Veronica asked.


    “I don’t know, everything?”


    “I can’t teach you everything. We could talk physiology, sex patterns in heredity, marriage law and bride prices. Do any of those work?”


    “I don’t mean any of that,” she said, dumping her cutting board into a pot. “Not school stuff, just boys in general. How they talk, their dreams, their… bodies.”


    “What?”


    “I’m just curious,” she said, shrugging as she reached for another carrot.


    “I can see that,” said Veronica, raising an eyebrow.


    “Huh?” Nadya followed her sister''s gaze down to her own hands and saw the way she was holding the carrot. She blushed and tossed it across the counter.


    Veronica cleared her throat and rolled her eyes towards the stairwell. “Nadya,” she said. “I tried to give you some initiative, and you are wasting my time. Since you need direction, why don’t we work on your foreign languages?”


    “Fine.” Nadya sighed.


    “Aerte,” said Veronica, the Sapphic word for achievement or deep approval. Then, in the stiff, sing-song cadence she used with students, she continued in the foreign tongue. “So, what are you curious about?”


    Nadya grinned as she hacked at a tuber. “Plith,” she responded, meaning “a lot”.


    “Plieth,” her sister corrected, staying in Sapphic. “But that’s too vague. What do I even say? Were you serious with the ‘bodies’ thing or being facetious?”


    “A little, but that is part of it.”


    “You understand the basics, right?’


    “Yeah, but not where they lead. Clive was only around during the day, and Bernard was so shy.”


    “Bernard is modest, not shy,” said Veronica. “And if you’re that interested, go spend more time with Aunt Menora. If you stay through the evening she’ll invite you to the balcony. Sooner or later I’m sure Menander will pop in.”


    Nadya made a face. “No.”


    “Do you like him or something?”


    “Of course not.”


    “Then I don’t see what the problem is.”


    “You go bathe with him, then.”


    “I’m not the curious one.”


    “Easy for you to say,” Nadya grumbled. “You’ve…”


    Veronica slammed her knife through an onion, cleaving it in two with the blade stuck quivering in the wood. She glared at Nadya, who shrunk back and left the sentence unfinished. After a few moments, Nadya said “sorry, that’s just the type of advice I’d expect from Mother.”


    Veronica took a deep breath and pried the knife free. “It’s okay sweetie, just please think before you speak. Talking in Sapphic only goes so far.” She got back to dicing onions, and Nadya felt water in her eyes. “Any other questions about boys, or should we actually study now?”


    Nadya hesitated. She’d said enough to cover her tracks if the boy she’d intruded on came calling, but still…


    “What is it like to spend time with them?” She asked. “Like when you tutor? How is it different?”


    “Hard question,” said Veronica. “It’s not like they’re all that different. Everyone’s trying to learn and get on with their lives, although there are some differences. Boys spend more time trying to impress me, for one.” She paused. “Yeah. I’d say the boys are less secure.”


    “That feels wrong.”


    “How so?”


    “Menander is pretty secure. So were Clive and Bernard.”


    “Then why aren’t they here?”


    Nadya tripped over her tongue, reaching for an argument, but unsure whether she understood the question. After a few false starts, her sister pressed on.


    “I didn’t say they lacked confidence. I said they were insecure. Nadya, how often does Mother go to clade meetings?”


    “Like once a year, maybe?”


    “Does she seem bothered, or worried about her position in the family?”


    Nadya remembered the desk piled high with memos and manuscripts. “No.”


    “Can you imagine either of the boys doing that?”


    Nadya chafed at the question, but let it go. “No,” she said.


    “Bernard wanted rank, and Clive wanted to lay about doing nothing. Both worked hard and got their prize—far, far away from here. That’s what I mean: insecure.”


    “What about you, Veronica? Does that mean you can stay?”


    Her sister sighed. “Why wouldn’t I?”


    “You still haven’t told me what you want to do, and now you’re old enough for the exams or whatever, so…”


    “We’ve spoken of this.” Again, Veronica looked towards the stairs, lowering her voice further. “If I leave, it won’t be until everyone has their place—all three of us. Okay?”


    “I’m not sure I ever will be ready,” said Nadya, smelling the onions. “If you were going to Menora’s we’d be there already. I could work too and help with the money, but you won’t let me.”


    “A few years of clerking isn’t worth your education, Nadya. You need options.”


    “Why? Nobody else wants them.”


    “Nadya…”


    “All the girls in study group know what they’re doing. Danica already has a job, and the rest are looking for husbands.”


    “Has anyone found one?” Veronica hmm’d.


    “No, but they all have someone in mind. Some are boys I know, and some aren’t boys at all.”


    “It sounds like you kids need better supervision. Maybe I should talk to the mothers…”


    “They’re the ones doing it!” Nadya said, the smell of onion growing stronger. “Jessica’s mom is sucking up to Kat’s uncle. Lala’s mom is pregnant and wrote an option as part of Lala’s dowry. Even Danica’s doing it, and she’s going to be Alderman, but Mother hasn’t even tried to help you yet. She just writes her stupid poems all day!”


    “If only,” Veronica muttered. “I’ve already told her I don’t want any matchmaking, and she just thinks you’re too young to worry about marriage—She’s right, by the way.” Veronica placed a hand on Nadya’s shoulder. “I had no idea you cared about this so much, but you really nee…”


    The stench was becoming unbearable. “I don’t, but everyone else does, so what am I supposed to do? Mother thinks I can rely on the family name when that didn’t even work for Menora. I want to stay with you but what if it’s too late for me? You didn’t find a boy either, you…”


    An iron hand clamped down on Nadya’s shoulder, finger and thumb jabbed into the base of her neck. She smelled the oily sweetness of Veronica’s hair as her sister stooped down and kissed Nadya’s ear. “Nadya,” she breathed. “I really tried, but this conversation is over.” Veronica spoke in Imperial, and with a sinking gut Nadya realized she’d switched languages without realizing—when had she done that? Had anyone heard?


    “In a few days,” Veronica pressed on. “We will be alone again. Until then, you are going to act normal and help me handle the guests, understand?”


    “Yes, Veronica.”


    Her sister loosened her grip and nuzzled Nadya’s cheek. “It’s okay, and I promise we’ll talk the moment Anya leaves. We just can’t afford this right now.”


    Veronica let go and drifted back to the counter, using the back of a knife to scrape the onions into a simmering pot. “Wait, does the other guest like onions? Oh well, I suppose it’s too late to ask.”


    Nadya started and looked from the clock to the dying light outside. She planted her palms on the counter and bounced up with straight arms, looking out the window. “He’s here!” she yelled, wiping her face as she rushed for the door. Veronica drifted over to look for herself, but Nadya was halfway out by the time she got there. Behind her, Nadya heard the dull thud of Veronica’s knife dropping to the floor.