“One book. I never gave him more than one at a time. He still has the last one I gave him, before I told him I couldn’t give him any more.”
“Do you meet him, talk with him regularly?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes I see him when Beneda and I go to the wall. Sometimes he’s there. He hasn’t really talked to me, not since that last time, the time he told me he was choosing to stay in the garrison.”
“Unlike Habby…”
“Habby? Has he chosen to come home!”
“He will choose to return. There are about five of his century who will.”
Stavia wept, the tears dripping soundlessly into her lap. She could not tell if they were tears of happiness for Habby or tears of angry grief for Chernon. “Morgot was worried he’d feel as Chernon did….”
“No. Morgot should have known better.”
“Where will Habby go?”
“He’s agreed to go to Tabithatown. In exchange for Donal. All the towns try to keep things balanced, you know? Which doesn’t help us right now with this problem.” He shut his eyes, squinting, as though seeking something in the dark. “What did books mean to him, Stavia? Huh? Did he really want books, or was it something else?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I feel… I feel him wanting something from you, but it isn’t a book. Books. Not sex. A link of some kind. He feels some sense of attachment to you, but it isn’t the usual youthfully romantic kind of thing.”
“We’re friends,” she offered with some dignity.
He quit rubbing his forehead. “You may well be, Stavvy. Despite that—or, perhaps, because of that—it’s important to return yourself to compliance with the ordinances. The book probably isn’t very important, but we should take some steps to get it back. What I think you can do is this. Chernon is fifteen. Old enough for assignations. You can arrange to meet him in the assignation house at midwinter carnival.”
“I’m not old enough,” she blurted, shocked.
Joshua shook his head. “I don’t mean you should attempt to have sex with him, child. I mean you can have a quiet time to talk with him, and that’s the only one you’re likely to get. He probably won’t go home, not if he intends to stay in the garrison. Since the ritual of choosing hasn’t actually happened yet, he could come home, one last time, but I’ll wager he won’t. The taverns and eating houses will all be jammed with drunken warriors and giggling women. The market swarms with them. You know that.”
“What shall I say to him, Joshua?”
“Stavia, I don’t know. I can’t feel it clearly….”
“I don’t understand what you mean, you can’t feel it clearly!”
“I can’t comprehend what he intends to do! Or why!”
She stared at Joshua, trying to figure out what he meant. “If we knew that, we wouldn’t need to talk to him.”
“Of course. Quite right. Well, if I were you, I would tell him that your conscience is bothering you. It is, whether you know it or not, or I wouldn’t have picked up that something is wrong. Tell him you must either get the book back or report to the Council what you have done.”
“What will they do to me?”
“If they find out.” He reached out for her. Joshua had never reached out for her before, but he did, pulling her to him and crushing her against his hard chest. For a moment she was frightened, old stories of mad servitors darting through her mind like crazed swallows, but then she felt his hand on her back, patting her, as though she had been one of the donkeys, patting her, and she smelled him, the leathery, smoky smell of him, his sweet breath on her face as he turned up her face to him. “Oh, Stavia, Stavia. If the Council finds out about it, they’ll be honor bound to punish you somehow. They’re not going to find out from me. I think you’ve punished yourself enough already. I don’t think you’ll break any of the ordinances soon again. But it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s something to do with Chernon that bothers me. If the warriors caught him with womanly books, they’d punish him severely. Why isn’t he worried about that, Stavia? Hmm? Think about it. Why isn’t he worried about that?”
She went to the wall, day on day, finally managing a meeting which was unlikely to be overheard. He whispered to her to bring books to the secret hole, but she shook her head. “I’ll meet you in the assignation house, Chernon. At midwinter. Bring that last book I gave you. We’ll talk about it then….”
He was stubborn and resentful, but she felt she had already yielded too much. She would not yield again.
“CHILD, YOU’RE NOT OLD ENOUGH,” the assignation mistress said, a quirk at the corner of her mouth saying clearer than words could, “Oh, look at this precocious little miss, thinks she’s in love with some warrior.”
Joshua had told her what to say. “It isn’t sex, ma’am, if you please. He’s almost like my brother, just turned fifteen, and wants to talk to me. You know how it is—there’s no place quiet he can go now….”
A flipping of records, and the woman nodded. “I see. That’s Sylvia’s son, Chernon. You’re neighbors.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll give you the end room nearest the plaza, first day of carnival, at six in the morning. That’s an hour before we open for the lovers, so you’ll have a chance for a quiet chat.” She had a different expression now, a yearning, as though she had had a brother once, or a dear friend, she had wanted a quiet time with. “I wish you luck, child. Bring him home if you can.”
Stavia flushed. It was a secret they all shared. Someone to be brought home; someone who could not come.
As it seemed he could not.
“You have to give me the book, Chernon.” They were sitting side by side
