Colette met Rize with a grim, worried face. The cat, forestalling her, held out two sacks of bread and declared proudly:

  — Everrything rerrurned. And what didn’t rerrurn — hurrigarns earr it.

  From the kitchen, Niko’s head poked out—his fringe, as always, fallen over his face. You could not tell from it whether he was frightened or glad.

  The hostess took the sacks, checked them, and counted what was inside.

  — Together with what Niko brought, it’ll be enough for the evening. But you acted foolishly. What if you hadn’t come back? How did you even find your way?

  — R-people herprrred…

  — Aye, and I’m to believe you—your first time out, and you wandered who knows where!

  — But I rerrurned… And bread’s herrre!

  Sighing and waving a hand, Colette went back into the kitchen, where a huge pot of stew was already seething. After the street it seemed even hotter here than usual. The next listener was Niko.

  — Of courrse I hid, what did you think?! — the cat lifted her chin with pride.

  The boy listened with awe as Arden begged for mercy and swore, he would never touch anyone again.

  The tale ended, and the routine went on. By night the tavern filled with people. The floorboards hummed beneath their steps; mugs clattered in the hall; someone argued about the price of salt, another about rumours from the road. Rize darted between kitchen and common room, carrying food.

  When the patrons dispersed, Niko got a beating. The hostess began to shout about the cheese, but Hemile calmed her. In the end the boy went to bed sniffling, near to tears.

  — I don’t even know what’s wrong… I brought some cheese, just… not the right kind, I don’t know…

  Rize pressed herself to him and rubbed her fur against his face; once he would have been afraid, but now it soothed him.

  When at last the noise settled and the walls let you hear the stove crackle, the cat lay down on her bedding, yet still did not close her eyes.

  “We do what we want… No masters decide…”

  Arden’s words rang in her head again and again, as though waking something that had slept until now: the thought that she could bolt outside and break into a full run; not wait for food, but take it at the first desire; not look at the stars from a window, but live beneath them.

  Yet outside the world was cold and alien. These walls, these crowds— they inspired terror. And even before them, all her remembered life, someone had kept her locked away.

  Here, though—there was always plenty of food and warmth. Colette might grumble without end, but she fed her. Niko was a good friend. Hemile did much work and treated her well. Even Gyuste—strange as he was—could make one laugh. It was like a cage again, only surely kinder than the last.

  Rize seethed at her own irresolution, but one thing she understood clearly: she had to go out again, and learn the street better.

  The next day, when Hemile and Niko were setting off for the market, she was at once beside them.

  — Can I go with youuu?

  The old man glanced back at the hostess.

  — An extra pair of paws won’t hurt, — Colette said. — And don’t forget to stop by Thibaut!

  The children went out after Hemile. He told stories of what had happened to him in the city. Folk loved to talk—both the patrons and Gyuste—but unlike the latter, the old man’s tales were easier to grasp. He had lived in Anzi many years and seen all manner of things, especially when he led the militia: skirmishes with bandits, arrests of dishonest merchants, chases after cellases. Only a small part of what he had lived through.

  Midway through a tale of pursuing a band of brigands, they came out to the market. Seeing the noisy place again, Rize tucked her tail between her paws.

  — Don’t be afraid, they won’t steal you… probably, — Hemile smirked. — Come on. I’ll introduce you to someone.

  They headed to that very house of stone and timber in the central part of the market.

  Opposite it stood a statue of a barefoot woman cloaked in a mantle. The hood hid her face almost entirely; from beneath it fell a braid. In her right hand she held a sickle, in her left—an apple.

  The old man led the youngsters to the effigy. Niko folded his hands and shut his eyes.

  — Meet her, Rize. This is Tessa.

  — Who’s thaat?

  — Our goddess. The Mother who rules over the earth we walk upon.

  — She’s a masturr, like Corrrette?

  — Imagine it—greater still. All the food we eat comes from her.

  — Then she has sooo much food?! Why doesn’t she sharrre, then, and just stands herrre?

  — That’s not her. Or rather, it’s her statue; she herself is in the earth and in the sky.

  Rize thought, then shook her head.

  — I don’t underrstand…

  — Nor are we given to understand. We can only give thanks. That’s why I brought you here—so you’d know who grants us life and gives us something to eat.

  Seeing her baffled muzzle, the old man laughed.

  — Today is simply her day—Tessis. So I thought I’d tell you. Praise her before you eat, and you’ll stay hale.

  The cat still stared at the statue, pensive.

  — Well then, off we go. It isn’t fitting I stand here prattling of gods—there, I’ve run my tongue again…

  The vegetable rows lay in the market’s centre, where there were almost no stalls. Visiting peasants sold straight from their carts, or from the ground.

  — Turnips! Rutabagas! Beets! Step up, don’t be stingy! — came from every side.

  Hemile stopped at an elderly woman whose nose was red from the cold.

  — Morning, Agnes. How are things?

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  — And to you. Not bad, but the goods are running out. One more delivery, and then—till spring, — she replied, shrugged, and fixed her eyes on Rize. — Who’s that you’ve got with you?

  — Our runner.

  — Veridan’s daughter—into an eatery? You lot are quite the inventors. And she still hasn’t gnawed everything in your place?

  — No. We’ve been lucky.

  The old man sorted the roots, squeezing each one.

  — Remember: we toss the soft ones. We need firm, — he told Rize.

  Niko was loaded with a full basket of peas, Rize got a sack of carrots, and Hemile a sack of rutabagas. The three moved on.

  — If we go the other way, we’ll come out by the river. That’s where the meat and fish rows are, — the elder said, but seeing the cat’s eyes light up, he hurried to soothe her. — We’ll go for fish and meat tomorrow. There are trimmings for soup, and besides, slaughter is forbidden today.

  — Srrraughterr? — Rize repeated.

  — That’s where we get meat. Tessa is the goddess of life, and on her day it’s forbidden to spill blood. So only tomorrow…

  Passing a stall whose sign bore a painted wheel of cheese, Hemile turned toward it.

  — Wait here, — he tossed over his shoulder.

  Rize and Niko stepped aside from the passage, watching the morning bustle. The boy looked downcast.

  Voices drifted from behind the counter.

  — I’m telling you, Thibaut, this isn’t the right cheese! — Hemile said, uncommonly loud.

  — By Callista, it is exactly that, — the merchant snapped back.

  — This cheese isn’t even a month old. You covered it with dark wax to make it seem older.

  — I cover everything with wax, and besides, the goods are eaten—no refunds.

  — Our lad paid three forrins!

  The quarrel went on. Hemile returned, vexed.

  — A cheat, — he muttered, pulled out a knife, scraped a dark yellowish coating from the wheel and showed the children. — See? It’s springy, and smooth within. He sold us young cheese and charged as though it were aged!

  — The patrons didn’t seem to complain… — Niko stared at the ground. — S-sorry. I was fooled.

  — Don’t blame yourself. That’s Thibaut’s doing.

  — Maybe we should complain? — the boy went on without lifting his head.

  The old man waved him off.

  — If I go to the market master now, he’ll say we swapped the cheese ourselves on the way. Without proof they won’t even listen. And with it—likely the same, too…

  Rize, who all this time had been sniffing the air, flicked her tail.

  — I can stear, — she said quietly. — I’rrr srrrip inside, take the rrright cheese and brrring it. I’rrr be rrrike Tarrian!

  Hemile looked at her sternly.

  — No. There are no thieves in our tavern. It isn’t right.

  — Hostess wrrrill be angrrry.

  The old man fell silent, thinking.

  — All right. Listen carefully. While Thibaut’s in sight, his helper is surely below, in the cellar. You must get in there and see what they’re doing. Best to do it now. — He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. — Remember: don’t take the cheese. But bring something I can shove in his face as proof. Niko and I will take the vegetables to tavern, so Colette won’t grumble. When you’re done, wait by the old well at the corner of the square. Climb only if you’re sure no one’s there; don’t steal his goods, and don’t eat. Understood?

  Rize nodded confidently and made a pleased little face. She was nearly trembling with anticipation for something interesting.

  — Understooood!

  Hemile led her to a narrow window set close to the ground. She peered in, saw no one, and sprang inside, landing softly on the stone floor. The cellar was cool, and the air so thick it tickled the nose: the sharp stench of mould mingled with the sweetish scent of fresh milk and the heavy reek of salted whey.

  Rize moved along the shelves, listening. Above, beyond the ceiling, heavy steps thudded dully.

  Her sight did not fail her in the half-dark, but it helped little. Wooden tags with burned symbols were fixed to the cheese wheels. The cat squinted, trying to recall Gyuste’s lessons. That hook looks like a “Zh”… or is it a “K”? The lines tangled, turning into meaningless scratches.

  She drew in a breath. To the left it smelled of sour curd and dust. But in the far corner, behind a thick curtain of burlap sacks, the smell was different—so strong her mouth filled with saliva. If nothing else, in her time working at the tavern she had learned to tell a cheese’s age. The last pieces bore not wooden tags, but leather labels. It looked fine, and Rize slipped one of them off.

  Suddenly something creaked overhead. A hatch cover cracked open, and a pillar of light speared the basement. Without thinking, she jumped and hooked her claws into a wooden beam under the ceiling.

  A man came down into the cellar, set an oil lamp and a small pot on the table. Taking cheese wheels from a basket, he dipped a brush into a dark, pungent mass. Rize sniffed—this wasn’t merely wax; it smelled of fish oil and something bitter, like ash. The man smeared the soft, still-white side of the cheese, sealing the cracks until it darkened.

  He worked in haste, yet to the cat hanging above it seemed endless. Her paws began to fail; pain ran through her body. The fellow below kept smearing and smearing, and when a wheel was fully covered he fastened wooden tags to it. She already wanted to drop right onto the cheat’s face, strike his eye and run—but then someone shouted from above, and the man hurried up the stairs.

  “At laaast!”

  Rize dropped from the ceiling, flexed her paws, and quickly snatched from the table the knife with wax on its blade. Something hammered inside her—not from fear alone, nor only from daring. Like Tarian, she had found herself in an enemy den, and at any moment guards might be set to chase her. But no one came.

  Glancing about, she sprang to the window, slipped outside, and ran for the well.

  As she waited, she tried to make sense of what it meant to stand alone in the street; how to grow used to the immense, crushing vaults of the sky. Snow whirled and fell; wind cut through to the bone, and she had to hide behind the walls of houses.

  “And why don’t these rrrrpeople just go somewhere wrrrarrmer? Why rrrrive herrre among stone, crrrold, and water?”

  Hemile did not keep her waiting long. Taking the proof from her paws, he gave a grim little smile.

  — As expected. No one saw you for certain?

  She shook her head.

  They returned to the counter. Thibaut was just serving customers. Seeing Hemile, he grimaced.

  — You again? I told you, returns are not—

  The old man said nothing, only set the knife with wax stuck to it and the leather label on the counter. The merchant broke off. His gaze shifted from the knife to Rize, who stared at him sharply.

  — You… you what is this… — Thibaut stammered, quickly covering the label with his palm.

  — Your helper will likely be glad of the find, — Hemile said softly. — No one needs a scandal. Just give back two forrins, and we’ll part ways. Judging by the initials, you’ve clients far richer than us.

  Thibaut, without a word, ducked under the counter and then laid out a handful of coins, careful not to meet their eyes.

  Hemile left in silence. Rize, casting one last furious look at the cheat, ran after him, pelting him with questions.

  — The money’s returned. Let Colette find a new supplier. What had to be done is done, — he answered shortly.

  Already back at the tavern, well before sleep, the old man came to the youngsters, deciding to explain himself.

  — You see, those labels mean Thibaut sells cheese not to common folk, but even to buyers from the far bank.

  — Our lords? — Niko asked.

  — Aye. Usually cheeses have wooden tags—for simple folk like us. But leather is another matter; that’s for someone among our gentry. And if so, then he’s got plenty of coin, and he pays heavy taxes. Our market master won’t fine such a man, so we didn’t bother complaining.

  When asked why he thought so, he said he had seen such things in his day in the local militia, and wishing them pleasant dreams, he went to sleep in the cellar.

  Niko could scarcely imagine how one might evade punishment so.

  But Rize sank into thoughts of the lords from the far bank.

  “Thooose who kept me in a crrrate… They’re therre, and theirrr parrraces…”

  Even though she had not been in that great place long, it had stamped itself clearly into her memory.

  “So beautifurr… and brrrright, grrreeting…”

  Black Sapphire - Chapter 16 will be published on February 16th.

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