Page 15 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

A crowd of perhaps a hundred people milled before the steps of the building Malar was aiming at, their number distributed along the narrow strip of shade cast by the portico. Higher up, near five large doors, stood white-robed figures, one at each entrance.

“Five,” Malar muttered unhappily.

“Five is bad?” Livira asked.

“Just rare. You get a crowd. The first door’s open every Wodesday. The second every other Wodesday, and so on. The fifth is open every five Wodesdays. So having them all open together... that happens once every...”

“Sixty Wodesdays.” Livira had no idea how often a Wodesday happened, but she could count.

Malar brought them to the base of the leftmost of the pillars that supported the roof above the stairs. He snaked out a rough hand and grabbed Livira’s shoulder. “You, stand behind me, right be-fucking-hind me.” He sounded curiously anxious. He shoved her into the position he’d indicated. “Get a move on!” He waved the rest of the children ahead of him.

Livira stalked behind the soldier, rubbing her shoulder and fuming. Snatching a glimpse past him she could see that the white-robe at the leftmost door had marked their approach and was descending the steps to meet them. Malar herded the children ahead of him, snarling at them to go towards the woman in white.

“Go on,” Malar growled. “Up!” He gave Acmar a shove, encouraging him to take the steps. Like Livira, none of them had actually seen or used a step before. “Not you!” As Livira tried to join the others Malar dragged her from his shadow and pinned her to the pillar so she couldn’t even see the others. “You stay here!”

“But—”

The back of Malar’s hand met with Livira’s mouth so unexpectedly that she nearly fell down. It wasn’t the pain but the shock of it that silenced her. She thought she’d understood him but, clearly, she’d been wrong. It was that sense of amazement and outrage which kept her there in the shadow of the pillar despite the unfairness of it all while Malar went to speak with the white-robe. Only the sudden humility in his tone reached back to her, lacking meaning. Livira pressed her hand to her throbbing lips—he hadn’t struck as hard as Acmar had, but still she cursed herself for thinking that perhaps the man’s bark was worse than his bite. His bite had killed a full-grown sabber.

And then he was in front of her again, shoving something black at her while the others trailed up the steps after the woman in the white robe.

“Put it on.”

“What?” Livira scowled at him and blinked at the bundle of cloth pressed against her.

“Quickly! Put it on. Dust-rats get the bad jobs. You want to be crawling about in the sewers for the next twenty years?”

“I...” She took the bundle. It was a cloak, like the one he was wearing but without the dust and the rips.

“You’re clean for the first time in your life. Cleanish anyhow. Put that on and I can blag you through the middle door. You’ll be serving dinner to rich bastards. Easy life. Get to pick at what they leave. This time next year those other rats’d kill to swap with you.”

“I don’t—”

“I pay my debts. Now follow me and button that fucking mouth. They’re big on tradition here. All those old-fashioned robes and such. It’s all about putting you in your place. So, know yours!”

With that he set off up the steps towards the middle door of the five.

After a pause, perhaps the longest moment of indecision in her life, Livira followed, wrapping the cloak around her as she went. It was too long of course, but Neera had been right about the city not allowing the dust past its gates, and the cloak swept the steps behind her without raising a cloud. Malar glanced back and motioned for her to pull it tight at the front. “Don’t let them see you’re barefoot.”

Climbing steps was a new experience for her, but not so new or absorbing that it stopped her looking around. Here and there along the broadness of the bottom step other children were breaking away from the groups of adults she’d seen milling around. Breaking away or being pushed, some parting with hugs and kisses, others hanging their heads beneath the stern command of an extended arm and pointing finger.

She could see now that there were strata in the groups at the base of the steps, just like the layers the well cut through out in the Dust. At one end the people were ragged, smaller, nervous. At the other they stood tall, proud, magnificent in the finest of clothes, adorned with curious, elaborate hats, their bodies sparkling with jewelled brooches and gold chains. These last few were the people who owned the world, without shame. A boy marched from their ranks, climbing the steps towards the fifth door, head high, his hair a buoyant golden cloud that made Livira wonder how much filth her own damp mane still harboured.

Two children in sky-blue cloaks glanced her way, only briefly, as if letting their gaze linger might dirty their finery. They were climbing towards the fourth door, which looked no different from the rest—a huge dark slab of wood, round-topped and studded with square-headed iron bolts.

“What’s behind those other doors?” Livira called after Malar.

“None of your gods-damned business is what.” Malar turned and beckoned her to close the gap between them. “Fourth’s for merchants’ sons and daughters. Fifth’s for the fuckers that got fed with a gold spoon.” He shook his head and stomped on up towards the third door. “They’ll probably kick you out of here but I’m giving you the chance, and you’ll definitely get into second after. Now shut it and let me do the talking when we get to the robe.”

A girl heading towards the fourth door caught Livira’s eye. She looked magnificent in a crimson tunic that seemed to flow around her, a silver necklace of interlocking leaves around her neck, red hair coiled artfully atop her head. Livira had never seen red hair before—in the settlement nearly everyone had black hair like hers. She wondered if it was real. The girl caught her looking and sneered. Livira held her gaze and the girl stuck out her tongue, though she looked too old for such silliness. She was taller than Livira. Old enough to have her blood for sure.

Livira looked away and promptly tripped on the next step. The girl’s laughter proved to be as refined as the rest of her, a delicate trill, like music rather than something honest from the belly, something you could trust. Despite herself, Livira looked again as she picked herself up, big toe and shin hurting. Livira had seen the girl’s current expression before. Acmar had worn it two days ago when he called her “weed.” Back then she’d punched the look off his face. This time another impulse seized her. Not a sensible one. Not one that had been thought out, but something born from two days of loss and pain and growing anger. Livira began to walk towards the girl.

The girl gave a genteel shriek and hurried up the steps after the pair in blue. Livira didn’t alter her course.

“Hey!” Malar hissed after her. Livira kept walking. She passed the spot where the girl had stood and kept going.

“Hey!” Malar struggled to shout without shouting, a touch of unaccustomed fear mixed with the fury. Livira heard him come after her then falter a few paces on.

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