Page 31 of The Sin

“She lives next door to me,” the woman said, then qualified that with, “in The Break. I’m Paula, by the way,” she added, and went on to give me directions.

I didn’t return the favor by giving her my name. I did thank her profusely, and wished her all the best.

She rubbed her stomach and giggled. “Thanks.”

Okay. Weird. I couldn’t afford to raise any suspicions, though, so I didn’t ask.

12

The market was situated in a square similar to every other square I’d seen in Gardens. The ground level housed shops and eating places, some with awnings shading a seating area on the sidewalk, and the square itself was set up with canopied tables displaying the sellers’ wares.

Every inch of foot space was packed, either with tables or people mulling between tables. There was no way to navigate the stalls without bumping and pushing your way around the crowd.

I’d never seen so many people packed so tightly together. There was so much noise, how did any of them actually hear each other? Hundreds of people talking, arguing, haggling, and sellers shouting over each other, boasting specials and best deals.

The tables were mostly laden with farm goods, piled high with onions and potatoes or baskets of vegetables such as carrots and lentils. Some of the tables held crafts, pottery, crude jewelry, knitted garments.

A woman—a woman!—called out from behind a table piled high with fresh vegetables, “Onions! Two for one! Today only!”

I pushed my way through the crowd to reach her, fascinated. She was middle-aged, with graying hair and bags beneath her eyes. Too young to have aged into this job. In Capra, only elderly, widowed women were allowed to work, and then only at the academies for girls.

She grinned at me and held out two onions. “Half a credit.”

“Oh, right.” I delved into my pocket for the plastic card and offered it to her. I had no idea how many credits Roman had on it, but half a credit didn’t sound like a lot.

She took the card from me and swiped it over a black box, then returned the card along with my two onions. Her attention moved to the man beside me before I could thank her, and an elbow was digging into me from the side, bumping me out of the way.

I hadn’t planned on buying anything at the market. I’d come here to distract myself from the burning temptation to track down Jenna in The Break. It wasn’t the Packing District with their Blood Throats, but Roman had expressly warned me about straying too far from Gardens. I wasn’t looking for trouble, and I didn’t want to give him yet another reason to think me reckless…but this was Jenna.

It was a lost cause.

There was no way in hell I couldn’t go looking for her.

St. Ives girls looked out for each other and I needed to know she was okay.

And if she wasn’t?

Maybe there was something I could do. I’d persuade Roman to help. Even if the wardens didn’t have any jurisdiction here, he knew the ins and outs of this place. He was resourceful. I was pretty sure he’d know how to work the system.

It was decided then.

I was doing this.

But first, I bought some tomatoes and herbs to go with my two onions, since we had to eat tonight. I added a scoopful of fresh pasta to my groceries and stopped by the apartment to offload everything before setting out for The Break.

Paula’s directions were simplistic to follow, if not highly detailed. As I walked deeper into The Smoke, everything felt denser. The buildings were stacked higher and closer together. The paved streets became narrower. Even the air felt thicker, although there were less people on the streets. I passed a group of children on a corner, three girls and a boy. They were playing some sort of game, tossing plastic sticks into a pile.

The dynamics was wholly out of whack. Girls and boys did not play together. Girls never outnumbered boys. Children of that age did not hang out on street corners without adult supervision, and it was a school day. Were the academy semesters different here?

I stared as I walked by. They didn’t return the stare, too engrossed in their game to care about a passing stranger.

I’d been walking for maybe half an hour when I found myself in a business district again. Nothing like the market, just a block with shops and restaurants lining both sides of the street.

Pedra’s Pita, with a scrumptious looking pita bread painted on the grime-stained frontage window. It was coming up to lunchtime and if the line of people wasn’t coming out the door and halfway down the block, I might have joined it. Now I knew why the streets were empty. Everyone was here, lining up for pita bread.

Buy & Swap. I peered through the window to see rails and rails of hanging clothes, all crammed so tightly together there weren’t aisles to walk between.

The Soup Shop. My stomach rumbled, but as I got closer and saw the crowd packed inside, I lost my nerve. I spent a few minutes watching the bizarre arrangement through the window. The restaurant had no seating. People placed their order at a counter and then took their cup of soup and slice of bread and stood around, eating their bread and slurping their soup on their feet. When they were done, they placed their cup on a tray near the door and came out.

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