Page 11 of In an Absent Dream

Moon probably wasn’t a very good friend. She was wild and she was strange and she followed the rules only because she knew she’d be punished if she didn’t. She cared more about fair value than she did about anything else. And Lundy didn’t care. Moon was her friend, her first friend and hence her best friend, and she was going to be sohappywhen she saw Lundy was back again. Back, with pies!

Maybe the pies would help Moon forgive her for running away when they were both hurt and grieving and confused. Death wasn’t fair. Death wasn’t fair value foranything, not for a world without Mockery, not for pies enough to touch the sky. But death didn’t follow Market rules, and Lundy had been hurt and confused and worst of all, unsure, and feet had such a long memory. Her feet had remembered what it was to run home for comfort, and that was exactly what she’d done.

Lundy shivered with nerves as she stepped into the clearing in front of the Archivist’s hut, the trees heavy with their burden of birds. A few of the birds had disappeared in the two years she’d been gone, and new birds had replaced them. One, a snowy owl with eyes the color of the sky above a glacier, hooted mournfully at her.

“Who-who to you as well,” she said politely. “You must not have been told to avoid asking questions. Who is Lundy, thank you and you’re welcome, and who I’m looking for is Moon, and when I find her, we shall have pies.” She felt terribly grown-up and pleased with herself, bringing paid-for pies to tell her friend that she was back again.

All that faded when the Archivist’s door opened and the Archivist herself stepped onto the rickety porch. She stopped there, looking briefly startled before her expression softened, turning pleased. “Lundy,” she said. “I wasn’t sure we’d be seeing you again.”

“You still have books I need to read, ma’am,” she said. “I brought pies for me, and for Moon.” She stopped then, looking expectant. She didn’t need to pay for Moon’s location if she never asked for it, and waiting—especially silent waiting—could often work better than a question.

When she had first returned from the Goblin Market, she had sworn to herself and to her father (her father! Who would have thought that someone who had been to a place like this, had an adventure like hers, could grow up to be as dull and ordinary as herfather?) that she was never going to go back. The Market had hurt her, even if it had never intended to. It hadkilledMockery. It hadn’t given either of them fair value.

But she had known, hadn’t she? Even then, she had known, because even then, she had been practicing her questions that weren’t questions, finding ways to slide between the ask and the obligation. She had been intending to come back here from the moment that she’d left.

The Archivist nodded, slowly. “You were younger before,” she said. “You still had a measure of protection about you, because no one wants to feel they’ve treated unfairly with someone who doesn’t understand. You’re not protected now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Lundy, who hadn’t felt protected since she’d seen Mockery die.

“Youmustbe careful, and youmustfollow the rules. You can’t count on Moon to take your debts for you.”

Lundy felt a pang of guilt. She had incurred two debts when she was in the Market for the first time, and Moon had taken them both, as per their agreement, without telling her exactly what that would mean. She assumed the other girl had paid them off by now.

Maybe she would have a debt Lundy could take, to keep things even between them.

“I will, ma’am.”

The Archivist sighed again. “Oh, to be young, and innocent, and foolish.” She pointed to a small trail into the woods. “She’ll be by the stream this time of day. Remember, you didn’t ask, but you indicated. What you find is yours to bear.” She turned and went back inside.

Lundy frowned at the shack for a long moment before she walked toward the narrow trail. It was well worn, as if someone walked it regularly. She followed it, the smell of pie still in her nostrils, until she heard a stream chuckling to itself. She walked faster, coming around a small bend, and saw the familiar, hunched shape of Moon crouching on the bank.

“I came back!” she announced, pride and delight and joy in her tone.

Moon turned.

Lundy froze. It was the only thing she could think of to do; the only thing that wouldn’t drop the pies.

The other girl’s eyes were still wide and orange, but they had grown larger, seeming to swallow half her face, becoming fixed and staring in a way that human eyes had never been intended to be. Her lips were pursed and shiny and looked as hard as a beetle’s shell—or a beak. And her fingers, oh. Her fingers had grown even longer, until they could no longer fold into fists.

“Hello, Lundy,” said Moon.

“I came . . . I came back,” repeated Lundy. “You . . .”

“Debts,” said Moon. There was a smile in her voice, wry and sad, that never reached her pursed lips. “I was alone with you and Mockery gone, and I was sad and careless, and I guess I took too many. Now I’m almost tapped out, and the only fair value left for me will be the kind that flies away.”

“You’re . . .” Lundy stopped, swallowing hard. “You’re becoming a bird.”

“Yes.” Moon blinked those impossible eyes. “I thought you knew. Do girls normally have orange eyes, in the world you’re from?”

“No. But I don’t know the worldyoucame from. It could have been ordinary, for you.” Lundy forced her legs to carry her closer.It’s not contagious, she thought, andall those cages,she thought, and she had never wanted to run away more in all her life. “I brought pies.”

“Did you give fair value?”

“Three pencils and a sharpener, and we both get pies for a year.” She held out her left hand, offering its contents to Moon. “You must be hungry. Eat.”

Moon started to reach out. Then she froze, and pulled her hands away. “I haven’t paid for them.”

“Two of the debts you carry are mine. Doesn’t that mean I can give you pies to start paying them off? Ayearof pies, Moon. Isn’t that worth anything?” They had both been there, when Mockery fell, when everything changed. Wasn’t that worth anything?

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