Last First Snow Read Free Page A

“Here’s a demand. Go back and tell your boss—”
    â€œTay!” A woman’s voice. Broken-Nose turned. The one who’d spoken ran over from farther down the sentry line. The guards shifted stance as she approached. Embarrassed, maybe. “What’s going on here?”
    Broken-Nose—Tay?—pointed to Elayne. “She says the King in Red sent her.”
    Elayne examined the new arrival—short hair, loose sweater, broad stance. Promising. “I am Elayne Kevarian.” She produced a business card. “From Kelethras, Albrecht, and Ao. I’ve been retained by the King in Red and Tan Batac in the matter of the Skittersill warding project. I’m here to meet with your leaders.”
    The woman’s deep brown eyes weighed her. “How do we know you won’t cause trouble? Last few days, folks have come into the camp just to start fights.”
    â€œI have no interest in starting fights. I hope to prevent them.”
    â€œWe won’t bow to you,” Tay said, but the woman held out one hand, palm down, and he closed his mouth. Didn’t relax, though. Held his muscles tense for battle or a blow. “Chel, we don’t have to listen—”
    â€œShe look like one of Batac’s axe-bearers to you?”
    â€œShe looks dangerous.”
    â€œShe is dangerous. But she might be for real.” Chel turned back to Elayne. “Are you?”
    And this was the Craft that could not be learned: to answer plainly and honestly, to seem as if you spoke the truth, especially when you did. “Yes.”
    â€œNo weapons?”
    She opened her briefcase to show them the documents inside, and the few pens clipped into leather loops. Charms and tools, instruments of high Craft, were absent. She’d removed them this morning against just such an eventuality. No sense frightening the locals.
    â€œWho do you want to see?”
    â€œAnyone,” Elayne said, “with the authority and will to talk.”
    Chel looked from her, to Tay, to the others gathered. At last, she nodded. “Come with me.”
    â€œThank you,” Elayne said when they had left the guards behind but had not yet reached the main body of the camp.
    â€œFor what? Tay wouldn’t have started anything. Just acts tough when he’s excited.”
    â€œIf he would not have started anything, why did you run over to stop him?”
    â€œIt’s been a long few days,” Chel said, which was and was not an answer.
    â€œAren’t sentries a bit exclusive for a populist movement?”
    â€œWe’ve had trouble. Burned food stores, fights. Folks that started the fights, nobody knew them—Batac’s thugs.”
    â€œA serious accusation.”
    â€œBosses did the same during the dockworker’s strike. Got a lot of my friends arrested. Those of us who lived through that, we thought maybe we could calm things down, or scrap if scrapping’s needed.” She sounded proud. “So we stand guard.”
    â€œYou’re a dockhand?”
    â€œBorn and raised. About half the Skittersill works the Longsands port, or has family there.”
    â€œAnd your employers gave you leave to come protest?”
    A heavy silence followed her question, which was all the answer Elayne needed. “I guess you’re not from around here,” Chel said.
    â€œI lived in DL briefly awhile back. I’m a guest now.”
    â€œMaybe you didn’t hear about the strike, then. This was last winter. We faced pay cuts, unsafe working conditions, long hours. People died. We took to the picket line. Turns out strikes against you people don’t work out so well.”
    Elayne recognized that tone of voice—heavy and matter-of-fact as a rock chained around an ankle. She’d spoken that way, once, when she was younger than this woman. Come to think, she’d had the same walk: hands in pockets, bent forward as if against heavy wind.
    â€œWe