Page 41 of City of Stone and Silence

His expression tells me he’s not convinced. I clap him on the shoulder.

“Come on. Grandma’s waiting.”

On the first floor, we pass Kosura, tending to some of the victims from the latest round of “disturbances” at the draft stations. She sees Garo at my side and keeps her head down until he’s past, then catches my eye and gives me an exaggerated gesture of approval. I roll my eyes at her.

Kosura’s not even the worst of the bunch. All the older women who help Grandma Tadeka have decided that Garo and I make a cute couple, and I’m getting sick of their encouraging looks. For his part, Garo doesn’t seem to notice, which has to be a polite fiction. No one can be that oblivious.

And it’s not like I’d be … entirely opposed. In theory. But I don’t even know if the admiration he professes for me translates into anything … romantic.

I try very hard not to read his mind, but there are times when I can’t help but slip, and I’d swear there’s something there. Using my powers feels like an intrusion under the best of circumstances, though, and checking on the feelings of a … whatever we are … seems like possibly the worst of circumstances. So I refrain. Mostly.

Grandma is waiting for us in her office. She looks tired, but she always looks tired recently. Between finding space and funds to accommodate everyone who comes to us, and using her own powers on the worst cases, I’m surprised she holds up.

“Tori,” she says curtly. “Garo. Are you getting used to the work?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Garo says, polite as always with her. “Tori is an excellent instructor.”

“Of course she is,” Grandma says. “Tori, can you get him up to the High Market without too much trouble?”

“It shouldn’t be hard,” I say. “We’ve been using the shortcut through Laundress Lane.”

“Good. Then you can both go.” She taps one finger on the desk. “There’s a place called Nirata’s, a restaurant. He’s a friend, and he’s got three people in the back he’s hiding from the Ward Guard. Find them and bring them back here.”

I get a sudden rush of anxiety. I know Grandma helps keep people from the authorities, but—“Hiding from the Ward Guard for what?”

She shakes her head. “What do you think? They’re escaping the draft, just like everyone else.”

“If we start sheltering draft-dodgers, this place is going to fill up fast,” I say.

“Leave that to me,” Grandma says. “Just go and collect them.” She makes a shooing gesture with one hand and goes back to her ledgers.

“She puts a lot of trust in you,” Garo observes, as we slip back out through the curtains.

“Not enough, sometimes.” I sigh. “She’s spreading herself too thin.”

“You know she has to.”

“She can’t help everyone, either.” I look at him, raise an eyebrow. “You’re up for a trip to High Market, I take it?”

“If you’re leading the way.” He grins. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time.”

“Probably not.”

It’s still only an hour or so after dark when we reach the market, having threaded the narrow, clothesline-choked alley at Laundress Lane and circumvented the draft checkpoints at the major intersections. In the market itself, there are more Ward Guard patrols than I would like—there have been ever since the draft riots started—but at least they’re not actively harassing us. There are still plenty of people around, and the stalls are doing brisk business.

“We’ve got some time to kill,” I announce, as we push through the crowd. “If we give it another hour, we’ll have fewer Ward Guard to dodge once we pick up our refugees.”

It’s true, more or less. The fact that it gives me an hour to wander the market with Garo is entirely coincidental.

“Fair enough,” Garo says. “So now what?”

“You haven’t spent much time in the market, have you?”

He shakes his head, and I smile again.

“I’ll show you around.” When he looks a little dubious, I add, “If you’re going to be working here, it’s important information. You never know what’s going to come in handy.”

“Ahhh.” His face clears. “Of course.”