Pandora's Genes Read Free Page A

answer, he ladled hot water into a cup and handed it to Zach. Through the steam Zach could see what looked like dried roots at the bottom. Marson went to the door and called out, “Come in, boys. It’s cold.”
    Almost immediately the five boys entered, Daiv carrying the youngest.
    “I think Josef’s sick,” he said. “He’s hot, and he keeps rubbing the scratch on his face.”
    “Give him to me,” said Marson. He took the youngster in his arms, then turned the boy’s cheek to the window. “He’ll be all right,” he announced. He set the baby down, and Zach saw that the wound was red and oozing, with angry little lines beginning to spread from it. He felt a sudden chill and turned to his tea, cupping his hands around it for warmth.
    “It might help to clean the wound with soap and water,” he said after a moment.
    “That’s old-fashioned nonsense,” said Marson. “Scratches heal or they don’t. Sit down, boys. Daiv, give me the bowls.”
    Zach had become aware of a low, urgent murmuring from the loft, then shuffling sounds. He heard the woman and, he presumed, the girl descending.
    “Come along, Evvy,” said the woman. She had her arm around a figure who was almost completely hidden by a long blue cloak. Zach looked after them as they went through the narrow door.
    “Eat your porridge!” Marson snapped at the boys. The five young faces turned from the door and to Marson. Daiv looked down at his bowl and began to eat. Zach fought the urge to walk out and ride away, as fast as he could, far beyond the borders of the District. He sipped from his cup and nearly choked. The liquid was bitter, heavy, unsavory. He set the cup down. “A strong tea,” he murmured.
    “I pick the herbs myself,” said Marson. “It’s not to everyone’s taste, but it will wake you up.”
    Marson drank deeply from his own cup, and Zach gave it another try. The bitter warmth spread through his body, calming him. He began to eat the porridge, surprised how rich it was. The four young children ate greedily and unselfconsciously, while the older boy picked at his breakfast, stealing curious glances at Zach. Marson continued to sip tea, the porridge in front of him untouched.
    There was a scream from outside, then the sound of a slap.
    “What’s the matter with Evvy?” asked one of the younger children. Not receiving an answer, he turned back to his breakfast.
    Finally Marson spoke. “You must understand,” he said. “We are very poor.” Zach tried to think what to say in answer, and then the little man added bitterly, “But I’m sure you’ve heard that before. The fact remains. Since Evvy’s first-father died, we have nothing. Not even enough food for our children. And what we manage to earn is taken away almost as soon as we get it. What choice do we have?” He stopped speaking abruptly, looked down at his cup, then drained it.
    “Henny wants more, Pa,” said Daiv.
    “Give him what’s in my bowl, then,” said Marson, and he got up from the table and went to the fire, where he began to make more tea. The silence was broken only by the noise of the children eating, and Zach was certain he could bear it no longer when the door opened and the woman came in, her face grim, her eyes red-rimmed. Behind her was Evvy.
    Zach had been about to drink the last of his bitter tea, but the cup stopped just at his lips, and he set it down again and stared. In spite of dark circles under eyes which had spent many hours crying, in spite of the too-pale skin and dazed expression, this was the most striking girl he had seen in his life. Her long hair, just drying, was the rich brown of freshly turned earth, mixed with golden strands that reflected the feeble morning sun, and her eyes were as dark as plums. She was thin and tall, and moved with a presence which accentuated and was perhaps the basis for her beauty.
    “Come along, Evvy,” said the woman. The girl looked up and for a moment her plum-colored eyes met Zach’s, and he