ASAIO

In the time it takes for Flynn, Asher, and I to trudge from our warehouse to the pleasure district, Vinyerd, the rain's picked up so much that the droplets are startin to burn as they make contact with skin. Storms are harsh round here, so we all got to develop thick skins. There are barrels and such to catch the rain throughout the City but, with huge storms, you got to tie your belongins down less you live in a real enclosed space like us Garnets do. We're lucky that way. Other people got to pray till the storm clears. The City's homes were built with elevated floors and such to withstand them, but they ain't enough. I whisper to nearby brush, havin it cover us as much as possible, but it's hard to do that without bein seen by the unfriendly public.

At the ripe age of seven, after realizin that whisperin leaves ain't normal because of the way Isaela and Sans freaked out when they found out I could do it, I determined not to share that gift with the world. It got worse with each dayI grew and Sans expected to find non-existent plague symptoms in me. Plenty of people are bein sent to the Slaughter Houses on the daily for too many fractures or crimes against the Industry or 'abusin the gifts of the plague.' That's a big one, and I ain't tryin to end up like one of those folk.

We settle for runnin beneath slanted rooftops to avoid any more elemental abuse, makin sure not to stand directly beneath the corners, where the rain's pilin up and comin onto the ground hard enough to kill someone. The water's already risin to my ankles. Our City floods frequently, so it's covered in drainages which, durin Dry Season, make for fun hidin places.

We dodge the Black Streets and keep on. No one wants to be near the Black Streets.

The Vineyerd District is made up of a bunch of streets. It's right on the brink of 'tourist area,' but not the dingy sort of 'tourist area.' Most tourists are from the TEn Islands or other Cities are all so far apart they might as well be different countires. There ain't anybody from Damaskraga since they're pretty isolate. Since these tourists are from our own or the Islands, they got a bit of an averseness to anythin that don't picture Mecreanots City in the flashy, beautiful way that it's known as in the Fortress. These tourists don't want to see brothels, especially kid-brothels, so it's a bit ironic that the Vineyerd is right near by.

The street's called Carnum and Catum. The block ain’t really called that but it got nicknamed by locals since that’s where Carnum and Catum, two brothers, went missin and then were discovered to be kidnapped by some creepers after findin them in one of the brothels, the Penthouse, years and years ago. Seran told me the story.

Most of the pleasure houses are marked with hand-drawn signs on their doors. Some are long top hats, for the Lime Men. Some are red rubies. But they all also have the 'dove', a bird that once existed before the plague, and it's the sign that lets you know these brothels are registered and monitored by the Industry of Entertainment.

We round the corner, narrowly avoidin bein hit by a very angry coach driver. Asher rubs a bruise on his arm, probably just made from the rain. "Sssiké, that hurts." I don't recognize the first word.

"Hold on, Flynn." I'm still wearin the mask that hides my face, but now I take off the cloak of Mono-Man's skin. Beneath it, I wear standard Mecraenton paddin against the rain: tough, pliable, plague-ridden pieces of wood that are weaved into pallets. They keep the rain from bruisin too hard, same with the occasional ice-rain. I take mine off and hand them to him.

"Don't you need them?" he says.

"Nah, I got thick skin." I help him fit it on. The rain's already startin to punch through my skin.

"Michie doesn't have these," he says.

"Yeah, not everyone's got em. Some people got helmets and stuff, or they put metal on their rooftops or somethin. We came up with these, cause they're easy for me to make. Don't rain too much where you're from?"

"It rains more, but the rain is calm and clear, not angry like this."

"Blame the Suns or whatever you believe in."

Beside me, I hear Flynn utter some prayer. Not a Yevanian one though.

Carnum and Catum's known for bein real dark, with more vile and rottin wood and veins than many other blocks of the City. There ain't as much trash or bone or death on the streets since, you know, the place has got to be marketable and aesthetic, but the cost is that everythin feels a little too shallow. You know it's all a facade. You know that beautiful mural on that nearby wall is probably coverin up some stain or grafitti or somethin. Or that those metal bars weren't there for the aesthetic of your establishment--rather that your establishment was once a prison. The roofs are so broken down and beaten that they hang like canopies over us, block away the red sky. Brothel owners have taken full advantage of that, sometimes decoratin those roofs with glowshrooms or other species of fungi that kind of look pretty enough to be non-plague ridden flowers, so people feel special walkin through here. While it can be nice, it keeps light out and makes it seem like the Suns never rise here.

The buskers here are real good, mostly girl-singers. The different brothels like havin different performers to help lure in their customers, so the place is alight with music and color.

We stand a few legs away from The Shaver, a rather horrible and intentionally cruel name for a child-brothel. It doesn’t even look like anythin suspectin. Just a slab of old stone and wood with expensively weaved carpets outside. However, next to the painted dove on the side of the front door, there are two red-colored bugs painted on the door.

This place is part of Yaselle’s Bugs territory. If it wasn’t, we Garnets would have probably tried to mark it as our own somehow—unsure how, since we got so few numbers and no establishments except Michie nearly twenty blocks away—but that’s just too risky for both the kids and us right now.

"Here?" Asher says, examinin the semi-large buildin up and down.

“Yup,” I say.

“You two stay here in your free time?”

“Yup. We help out.”

“Oh.”

"Not like that," I say hurriedly. While this place don't advertise what it is that loudly, the others on the street do, with rather graphic pictures. "The Mistress knows me and Flynn real well. She feels pretty bad for a lot of the kids here, keeps them as safe as she can. A lot of them are freed victims of the Child-Nappers that the orphanages couldn't take in. They're like, I dunno, Garnet adjacent. They can't really help us in a rumble or somethin, but we got their backs sometimes. We just watch--well, not like that--but we keep an eye out for real hoodlum sorts that'll probably hurt the kids and sometimes we try to get the real rick folk over here to try and buy the kids out. You know, us Garnets are real good actors, so it works surprisingly well. Or if it ain't, we can mug extra coin off some poor soul and we donate it sometimes."

A lot of Garnets have personal history with the Shaver. Asher is silent as we approach it.

From the corner of my eye, I note a Purer lookin woman talkin to a man by what used to be a shroom lamp. I angle myself towards them, gesturin for Flynn to keep movin ahead, lettin Asher decide whether or not he wants to follow.

Asher decides to keep movin forward with Flynn, but pausin indiscreetly at a corner to observe me.

She stands by some overgrown brush. I gently whisper and direct the nearby branches towards her man's pockets, almost pattin him down but with a touch as light as a feather. When I catch notice of a laurel, probably an engagement laurel, I gesture for an extremely thin whick of branch to pick it up.

Asher raises a brow but remains silent. I glance at Flynn. "We got some time before Vernon and Vip and Ana are done talkin to Kamon and we got to figure out what we're doin at the harbor."

I've never been to the other brothels, but Ellie's said that The Shaver was made to look particularly friendly on the inside. Braided vines hang down from the walls. All the imported carpets have designs of flowers and such. There are a bunch of candles, which are out of date so it gives the place an old-timey feel, and it smells nice, warm sort of. I don't know how the Mistress managed it, but my nose ain't cryin out with each breath I take. It's all the same sort of twisted show that is this City.

Live branches line the floor from seeds that had been painstakingly bought from Michie, my gift.

There's the small front desk area, which is currently unoccupied, and then it breaks off into a bunch of private rooms.

Two young-ish men, with few plague-symptoms I can see, wait in line ahead of us.

"Bye," Flynn says abruptly. He breaks off from Asher and I, turnin left into the 'Red Rooms.' Dependin on how much you pay, there are different rankins. Industry of Entertainment's gives more leeway to its businesses on prices than other Industries--which keep everythin and everyone at a hard number in terms of coin and stock--since you can't really regulate a person's person. You also get paid in reputation.

"He's quiet," Asher notes.

I like that he don't ask where Flynn's goin, like how he didn't ask who the Garnets were. He likes to figure things out on his own, and that's a good trait to have, even if you're part of a collective.

I eye the two men in line in front of us, tryin to gauge how civil they are. Since they're younger, they ain't here for maternity reasons. See, a brothel, of course, means prostitution. But, at The Shaver, a lot of the time these kids are here to keep the company of grievin parents, or plague-ridden parents that are slowly losin their minds and are unsure of who their real kids are, or maybe their kids gave up on them and sent them here so they could live somewhat peacefully in their last few days. It's a good alternative to Slaughter Houses. Customers like these, you can't help but just feel bad for them. And even if it's weird you're comin to a brothel for that purpose, the kids don't mind too much.

These men ain't that. Nah, they're antsy. They're touchin the desk impatiently and lookin over. One calls, "Hey, hussy! You in there?"

Asher leans in close to me and points to them, shakin his head. I nod. I have a feelin they'll give the Mistress a hard time. And, in turn, the kids'.

Asher adjusts his quiver. I reach over and push it back deeper into his cloak. "We don't want her gettin a bad rep. But if they lay a hand or the kids don't want em, then we can give em a good scare."

"Okay."

One of the men turns towards us. He's not big and brawly but he sure would like to be, I bet. He wears an extremely large cloak with four overwrought, hefty pockets. “Who are you kids?”

"What the fuck is this service?" the other says. He's wearin fashion of a similar size and style. I've seen em often. Cold Cities, like Dulxm Un, wear those. They got human hair on the inside to keep warm. "I don't care. I'm going in."

"Probably shouldn't be speakin like that," I say. "All crude around the kids."

The man facin us eyes me. "Who are you?"

"This my aunt's place," I say. "I can help you if you want."

“Your aunt,” he says. “Nah. You’re lying. Don’t think I haven’t seen little rats like you all over.”

“Nah, I’m not,” I say, comin around towards the front desk as though I’ve got any official business. “What are you lookin for? A dime-girl? Red, Yellow, Green, or Blue? I haven’t seen y’all around before. I figure you’re new to town? From somewhere foreign?”

"Kid, just call the bitch of the house."

I bristle at that. "I can get you cheaper prices than the fixes ones. man to man. Or boy to boy, I guess."

“Whatever. Just get us a good room and a good girl.”

“You sharin?”

“Excuse me?” the one on the right says, as if this is more ludicrous than them bein here in the first place.

“Alright, whatever,” I say. “That’s probably better anyways, since you’re less likely to contract whatever’s goin on down at Mayers.”

“Contract?”

"Yeah," I say. There's a stack of papers on the Mistress' desk. I start to flip through em. That's how I know these guys are probably tourists from the Islands. They don't know that people here are illiterate cause most of us ain't Pure enough to learn to read. There are a couple schools here, but they're real selective and they're mostly for learnin other languages verbally. "That smoke-lung has been goin around the Factory District, or whatever."

"Smoke-lung?" one of the guys says.

"He's bluffing, can't you tell? Suns."

"Not really," I say, and I'm not. "I'm just warnin you, cause a lot of the kids from the orphanages are real sick right now. I should know. I'm one of them. Not that it should affect much since it ain't contagious if you ain't, you know, workin near the smoke."

"This whole City is covered in smoke," the first guy says.

I shrug. "Or if you come into too much contact with their breath. Works the same as smoke, you know. In the air. Suns don't like that."

Sometimes I'll pull the, ain't you a good Valka man? Or any other class of Yevanian Purity, since brothels ain't really virtuous and certainly does not help heal fractures or keep the pluckers, the Soul Checkers, happy, and they know everythin for some reason. That's why I don't go. But if these men are from the Islands, they wouldn't care. The Islanders are rough folk.

"If you're trying to get us out of here to save your friends' hides, that isn't going to work," one man says.

If you think these kids need savin, then maybe you’re in the wrong, I do not say. “Really, I ain’t even lyin to y’all right now. I’m just warnin you. A bunch of the kids are out right now cause they’re spittin black and cryin gray. You might have better luck somewhere else.”

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I'm pullin this bull right out of my behind. No kids miss work and, if they're workin here, that means they weren't exposed to whatever bugs been goin round the factories in Mayer, unless they're workin multiple jobs, but our fair Industries prohibit that.

“Maybe we—” the first guy says tentatively.

“No, we aren’t going to be persuaded out of our own business by some kid,” the second man says.

“I’m just sayin,” I say, “the Lime Men got some real good sweet-places with some real nice ladies, and you can get drinks there too for about the same price as here.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping your aunt?” the second man says.

“I don’t like her very much, so no.”

“Just give us a price and move, kid.”

I make the prices higher than the average—not too high or else that’ll look suspicious but just enough to be worth hagglin for. Worst case, they just carry on and pay a little extra. I’ll try to send them to Larry and Drasella cause those two know how to handle themselves pretty well if they’re about to be picked on by some perves. Best case, they get so pissed off at me that they leave and don’t come back and they can’t even blame it on the Mistress too much cause it was her kid nephew that was causin all the problems.

The men and I go back and forth over the prices. See, I know how to be annoyin. Stubborn. I even raise the pitch of my voice a little so I sound a little more whiny to get their gears grindin.

“I could beat the shit out of you right now and not even pay,” the second decides.

“If you want to, I’ll take you outside,” I say. “I doubt you’d win.”

“Some scrawny kid like you? Nah.”

“It’s not worth the trouble,” the first man grumbles, the one that was already wanting to get out of here the second I mentioned smoke-lung. “Let’s go. We could have been in and out of that other one, the one with the cat’s face, in the time it took for you to argue with this boy.”

“I won’t be stood down by some kid.”

“Come on. I’m bored.”

“You go then, you—”

I’m about to argue some more, when Asher steps forward, comin up real close to both the men. I think his hands touch the smalls of their backs. “I was trying to get by to get ready for my shift, but you two were so intriguing. I could offer you a better price than the one that idiot is as long as you don’t tell the Mistress.”

His voice is not his own. The same way he mimicked Seht’s voice, he’s completely changed his tone and intonation and inflection to sound like a girl’s. I realize that, when he’s talkin like this, Asher’s narrow face and long hair makes him seem a bit effeminate.

“Finally,” the second man says, glarin at me but his pupils are already dilatin, “someone with common sense. Where do you suggest we go?”

“There’s an alley out back,” Asher whispers. “Come on, you two.”

It’s eerie how it sounds absolutely nothin like him.

Gifts from the plague range from all sorts of physical abilities. Strong legs, like Ellie-Darlin; a strong body, like Seht; the ability to stretch your own bones, like Vernon. Flynn's a bit different cause there have been cases of animals comin back from the dead only to interact with plague-ridden peoples. While all the animals were wiped out durin the plague, plants and people remain, just with lessened lifespans. Those rare cases are how most of us learn what animals are. In fact, Flynn's Purer than the rest of us. Last time he got his soul-checked, we found out he was Innokenti, with less than five percent fracture, and should be livin good in the Fortress. But I ain't ever met someone that was gifted with such precise control of their voice.

“You won’t tell on me, will you?” Asher asks, lookin at me.

“I guess not.”

They leave. I raise a brow and whistle to myself. Not what I was expectin at all. I glance out the window, where Asher’s leadin them through the pourin streets and find myself noddin in appreciation. It sounds like a thousand mallets bangin on metal out there.

“Who is your friend?” a soft voice comes from behind me, so soft I almost think I imagine it.

“That’s Asher,” I say. “He’s new.”

The Mistress wears a long dress of white that makes her stand out distinctly from the shadows. She’s taller than you’d think she be based on the sweetness of her voice, which most people tend to associate with short people for some reason. She’s pretty, in the way that she clearly tries to be, the same way that this whole street tries to be, but I know she’s got crazy dark circles and stress-blemishes under all that.

“Thank you,” she says. “Everyone’s been having a hard week, I think. A lot of the Pitters and Lime Men have been dropping by and being… less than civil even though Yaselle has explicitly told them off.”

Again, more conflict between Yaselle’s Bugs and the Fiver Pitters. Since this place is under Yaselle control, more that they’re sponsored than anythin, the Mistress has to give most of her coin to them, which is also how the gangs sort of loop around the fixed prices of the Industry and get a leg up on one another.

"That's horrible," I say.

"They'll be happy to know you're here. Seeing Flynn has already brought smiles to ten of my children. You'll make it twenty."

"I can make it thirty, watch." I take out the laurel I'd snagged from the woman on the street. It's a real good laurel, woven of silverleaf and thyme, and can sell in the Underground Market for a good price. The Mistress' eyes widen in delight. "Not done."

What the two men that Asher just stole away did not realize was that I'd used the branches that line the floor--similar to the ones I'd sent after the woman--to trifle through the pockets of their extremely long cloaks. That's why we'd got the seed from Michie in the first place.

From the two men, I’d gathered the coin they were goin to use to pay here, some foreign lookin leather gloves, some foreign lookin chips, and a foreign lookin metal thing.

“I don’t know what this last one is,” I say.

“I think it’s a tool they use for building on the Ten Islands,” the Mistress says. “Either way, they can be traded in well. Thank you, Asaio.”

She pockets a lot of these things and gives them back to the kids so they can eventually buy themselves out of here from Yaselle’s Bugs.

At that moment, Asher steps back inside, strugglin to pin the skin coverin of the openin closed against the harsh wind and rain.

“That’s a horrible storm,” the Mistress says as the coverin flies open and nearly whacks Asher in the face. She walks over and takes out one of the metal sheets. She undoes the pin of the skin sheet and attaches the metal one. She whacks it hard with her elbow.

Asher’s shirt is bloody and he’s pantin a little. One of his cheeks is a bright red and will probably bruise by tomorrow. I didn’t expect him to actually do the men any pleasurable favors, but he doesn’t look as beat up as I thought he’d be either.

As an explanation, he says, “I shot both of them in their treasured parts.”

I burst out laughin. “Oh, you’re wonderful.”

"That tall man, he kept calling me kid, kid, kid. Just beat up the kid. He probably grew up with brothers, or maybe something like you Garnets and he sat on the bottom rung."

“What, you a mindreader or somethin?”

He shrugs. I sling my arm around his shoulders and then poke him in the ribs. He flinches but then does the same to me. "You're weird," I say.

The Mistress greets Asher and thanks him for gettin those men away. She has us follow her into the backrooms, where Flynn is still talkin to the kids on break. There is a nice restin room, with a few personal cots for the ones that are exhausted, and a lot of carpets and needles and thread, since sewin is a real popular hobby here. Flynn sits on the ground, listenin intently to two of the girls, Priscilla and Mayna.

Flynn's everyone's shrink here, sort of. There are five kids on break right now out of the thirty-two that work, and the other three eye him, vyin for his attention. They grin and greet me too, but they've all got a real soft spot for Flynn. When I tell them what Asher did for them, they take a likin to him as well.

Asher sits to listen in on the conversation Flynn is havin with Priscilla and Mayna while I glance at a few posters that are hung about the room. They're all hand-drawn with words and a map,

"What's this?" I ask.

"Oh, it's a fair that's happening," Gunn answers, a newer addition to The Shaver. He sews in the corner. "A fundraiser for the orphanages."

"Huh. That's a first. Are y'all goin?"

“Can’t. Work.”

“Right.”

We stay there for a long while, just talkin to the kids. Some come and go for different shifts. They talk about recent abhorrent clients, but also about crushes and toys they want to buy and music they've been creatin and stories they've made up to pass time. When I glance at Asher, I know he gets it. This is how we 'help' them. Just talkin. Lots and lots of talkin.

***

We show Asher a bit around the City after we leave, several hours later. He's been here a few Moons, but admits he ain't left much.

"What were you doin at Michie's anyways? Michie said you appeared and asked for work."

"Helping him plant crop."

That answer seems much too simple considerin the skillset that Asher is equipped with.

We point out the orphanages that Ellie-Darlin and Seht help out at. One of the parks we like to visit. Our favorite theater, the Hopscotch, the one that me, Vernon, Ana, and a lot of the other 'original' Garnets like to help out at or participate in, if we're able to. All the same religious plays. We head back to the warehouse once the rain gets real bad, but only after a pit-stop for Flynn. He's always a bit more rejuvenated visitin his friends at the brothels. They calm his nervous, wavy mind.

“Right there.” He walks over to the side of a buildin, a barber’s it seems. The walls are tagged. “Those cracks on the stone? That means this building is made of adobe, and that means it was all imported from Javimoe. And, look, see these markings? That means it was built before the war, since we can’t create such precise lines like this anymore. And because it’s made from adobe and that’s—well, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t and I don’t get how you keep this in your head,” I say.

“Did you go to school?” Asher asks.

Flynn shrugs noncommittally, cheeks flushed. They talk about different types of housin structures the whole way back, since Asher’s a little more knowledgeable than me.

When we make it back to the warehouse, the others are already sat around Vernon and Vip and Ana, who are mid-conversation. Asher takes his time to process it all, the messiness, the different rag-tag items we've scourged throughout the years, the different faces. I'd asked right before we entered if he wanted to sit on the meetin about Kamon and he said he'd rather just listen in from Flynn's Hollow. So as soon as they come in, they leave again.

When I reach the inner circle that's formed in the center of the warehouse, I take a seat beside Ellie-Darlin and Seht. I would go on braggin about what Asher did, but I can tell everyone's in serious-discussion mode. "The meetin went well?"

"We were just about to get into the details," Vernon says.

"Did you guys pocket anything?" Crimson asks.

"Priorities," Seht mutters. I rest my head on his shoulder and say, "There, there." He nearly shoves my head into the ground before pullin it back to contact with the crook of his neck.

"Course," Vernon says, showin us the haul of stolen goods. Simple things: paintbrushes, part of a deskhead, and a jewel for Lahla.

"Kamon has been watching us," Ana says. "He's not just rich. He's of a higher class, Purer, and so the home he's been granted by the Industry is a larger one."

“He’s noticed that we look out after Punnet,” Vernon says. “Savin Michie sort of, I don’t know, confirmed to him that we’re here to watch out for a while. He said he watched us when we conned those top-head guys, remember? Me, you, Shim, and Uyala? Said it was impressive. He wants to use our anonymity to do... discreet jobs for him."

"Is he Yevanian?" Ellie-Darlin asks.

"Nah, actually," Ana says. "He's a failed entrepreneur from Damaskraga."

"Failed what now?" I say.

"From Damaskraga?" Shimmy repeats. "Really?"

Vernon nods. "Yup."

Damaskraga's it's own country across the ocean. They don't talk to anyone ever or come to our own kingdom, so we don't know much about them other than that they exist.

"Yeah, so he's got foreign money. The ship that he wants us to hit while the gangs are goin at it is goin to come by in three Moons, around Gerasim's highest peak. on it, there's supposed to be some crates from his private company that he started back in Damaskraga," Vernon continues.

"He started his own company?" Shimmy repeats.

"Isn't that illegal?" Crass says. Vernon doesn't hear her.

He addresses Shimmy. "Yeah. An entertainment company. So he owns everythin that they make, and they're tryin to expand out into Mecraentos, except they fired him. That's why he's here. What's comin are parts for some sort of 'saloon' machine. It's supposed to be a better version of gasta, a new type of card that's bein developed in Damaskraga. The normal gamblin games."

I don't miss the parallels between this and the gamblin hub that we'd all run with Seran.

"Is the ship not his own? Why can't his crew get it?" Shimmy asks.

"Because," Vernon says, "the ship ain't his own. They fired him. Failed, remember? We're stealin stuff from his own business that they kicked him out of."

"So what do we get out of this?" Crimson asks.

"Two hundred coin," Ana says.

Mustletop glances at Genavieve and slaps her knee. "No way."

"Wow," Kim whispers. "We'd be rich!"

"Until you realize we have to divide it nearly twenty ways," Shimmy says.

"Two hundred coin each," Vernon clarifies. "For each person that helps intercept the ship. But we don't got to be honest about that number."

"Oh Suns," Seht murmurs. "That's a lot."

"We could do so much with that money," Vernon says, as the other Garnets murmur in agreement with Seht. "Think about it."

"And how will we not be caught by the lickers?" Shimmy challenges.

"That's why he's payin us so much," Vernon says. "It's a crazy promise, but the ship isn't supposed to be too big. Yaselle's Bugs and the PItters should be occupied, they're actually having a rumble right now, I think--there murmurins goin around by Market Street--so the lickers will be too. And we'll get half the pay before the job even begins."

“If he isn’t Industry approved,” Genavieve says, “how is he supposed to start up his business here?”

“That’s the thing,” Vernon says. “He’ll be doin it illegally, the same way that the Rubies and the Lime Men got their own underground trades. Only, he’ll be usin marketin schemes that worked in Damaskraga.”

I don’t think I’m quite smart enough to understand what’s happenin. I glance up Seht and bite his ear to annoy him. He swats me like a piece of dirt. “Do you get what they’re sayin?” I whisper.

“Sort of. Shut up.”

"He wants to turn Punnet Street into somethin grand," Vernon says. "And he wants us to be a part of that."

"That is suspicious," Shimmy says. "A bunch of street kids? Really?"

“He’s been educatin himself on the gangs around. The Rubies, the Lime Men, Yaselle’s Bugs, the Five Pitters, Keidmer’s, the Street Swingers—all them, thinkin he could get one of them under the cause. He actually asked the Street Swingers but they nearly beat him to a pulp. He heard about the Garnets from people around Punnet, and he decided we’d be a good fresh slate.”

“That is still suspicious,” Shimmy says.

“You should’ve come,” Ana says.

“Yes. I should have. We were stupid to not have me there.”

“If we can pull this off,” Vip says, “Kamon said that we can work with him to try to get back on our feet again. He’s gonna sponsor us. We work jobs like this for him, get him the stuff he needs to build an underground business. He funnels the funds, he gives us a hefty load and we live… better than this.”

“And,” Vernon adds, “he said that if business takes off the way he hopes it does, we can eventually build something personal.” His eyes shine. “Like… you know.”

“Oh Suns,” Shimmy says. “Vernon, we cannot take care of every kid we see. It—no.”

“I ain’t even said anythin!” Vernon says.

“He’s going to let us—well, Vernon, because we kinda made it seem like Vernon’s in charge—have a say in a bunch of the proceedins,” Ana says.

“You guys act as though those things just appear out of nowhere,” Shimmy says. “Let me just build my own underground establishment. Let me just start my own gang that can rival the complexity of the Rubies, who have been around for tens and tens of Cycles. That is not how it works. Trust me.

Shimmy's from the slum of the slums, Minee. Rumor has it that the place is built on underground transactions, a deep spiderweb of illicit activity that no Industry or lickers could or would ever approve of. It's just gotten so deep there they can't monitor it anymore.

"He has machinery from Damaskraga," Vernon says. "We'll be ahead of the game. That's the point. It's an investment."

"Are they not all Sunless heathens?" Shis-Aspinova says. She is a quieter sort, the most religious out of us Garnets, and has the least blood on her hands. "In Damaskraga."

"I heard they lock up men and women who speak out against the regime in Damaskraga," Crimson says.

Seht says slowly, “He got fired from his old company. The whole reason he’s here. The whole reason he needs us. Because his fellows in Damaskraga do not trust him. What makes you think we should?”

“We don’t have to trust him,” Ana says. “He is just an opportunity, a steppin stone.”

“Lahla, what do you think?” Shimmy asks. She just shrugs.

"Well no matter what," Vernon says. "We need money, and we know how to steal stuff. Remember when we conned a whole class of Fortress scholars?" He looks at me in particular.

Course I remember. It'd been a fun day for Seran and the other dead Garnets. It'd been an elaborate scheme that only Seran could've thought of: it all came down to tellin the scholars exactly how we were gonna con them, by plantin fake Underground Market Whispers for their project, and sayin that our own would rob them in the next few Moons if they didn't listen to sweet-hearted Vernon for betterment. Sometimes people see one evil and assume they can't be unlucky enough to encounter two.

After Seran died, we never quite had a scheme like that again. We never quite lived under the name 'The Garnets.' We simply just stuck together, family holdin us together rather than the money we now no longer make.

Thing is, that was before different additions to the Garnets appeared. Shis-Aspinova, Ellie-Darlin, Malloo and Mustletop seem apprehensive. Each one has various reserves towards stealin.

Unlike killin, thievin is often looked down upon by any Moon or Sun. I wasn't really raised Yevanian, but most of the others were, and the issue of piety and Purity has come up before with things like this. That's also why things have changed so much since Seran's death.

Ana says, “We don’t got to make a decision right now. You all can sleep on it and we vote tomorrow, after we’ve all talked amongst ourselves with somethin this big, okay?”

We all agree to that, especially since it’s startin to get late.

“Also,” Vernon adds. “We have to have a few of us, the ones that don’t want to do this if we decide not to, head to Punnet Street and get those lessons by Michie about how to plant crop. Even if this falls through, that’s useful to learn.”

We talk a bit more about what Kamon was like, what his home was like, but I’m startin to tune out. Ultimately, the decision ain’t gonna really be up to me, and I’m fine with whichever way it swings. Us Garnets are split up into groups a load of the time so I’m excited for an opportunity to do somethin as a collective, as one real giant family.