Page 21 of In an Absent Dream

“That’s because you don’t know what fairness means. You’ve been in a place that wasn’t fair for so long that the things we’d been trying to teach you have been driven back into the shadows. How many ribbons do you have in your hair?”

“One,” said Lundy, startled.

“Imagine, for a moment, that I had a hundred ribbons. Now imagine we both wanted something to eat. Not something fancy or special, not something radiant or rare, just cheese and bread and a slice of mutton. Would it be fair to say the price was a single ribbon?”

Lundy frowned. “I . . . I don’t know. Can’t the person who has the food decide?”

“It’s their food, yes, so they get to set a price—but again, we’re not talking about a luxury. We’re talking about plain food, the sort of thing that keeps body and soul connected. Our imaginary merchant is getting fair value no matter what, because the Market will make sure of it. Is it fair to ask each of us to give a single ribbon?”

“No,” said Lundy.

“No,” agreed the Archivist. “It wouldn’t be fair, because you’d be paying so much more than I would. Fixed prices may be necessary in a world where there is no authority making sure we take care of each other, but here, with the Market to oversee us, we can relax knowing that fairness will be maintained. If our imaginary merchant asked us each for a ribbon, seeing I could pay so much more while you had so much less, the Market would remind them that fairness is a subjective thing, not a fixed target.”

“Oh,” said Lundy.

“Things will cost more for you now,” said the Archivist gently. “You’ve grown. You’re better able to contribute. We don’t ask babies to pay for their keep. We don’t ask children to do more than they’re capable of. We only ask that people respect the hand that feeds them.”

“Everything?”

“Not everything,” said the Archivist. “It will still only cost you an hour a night to stay here, because I’m accustomed to your company. The bed, however, you will need to buy or build for yourself. Do you remember what I said last night?”

“That I needed to feed myself before I tried to buy Moon’s debt,” said Lundy. Her jaw set stubbornly. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Doesn’t it? Hunger makes us foolish, causes us to make poor decisions without realizing how poor they are. If you want to help her, you need to help yourself first. No one serves their friends by grinding themselves into dust on the altar of compassion.”

Lundy wanted to argue, to say that sacrifice was as important as playing fair, but she couldn’t find the words. Finally, she huffed softly and asked, “How do I buy debt?”

“There is a stall. You won’t have seen it before, because you’ve never needed it before. Look for a blue flag with a white star in the lower left-hand corner. The person working there will be able to tell you how much it will take to buy Moon back. Even after you’ve asked for and received the figure, you’re under no obligation to pay, or to pay in full.”

“I’ll pay,” said Lundy stubbornly.

The Archivist sighed. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you will. Run along now, and I’ll see you when you return for your three hours’ sorting before sleep.”

That was a debt that felt increasingly stiff against her skin, making the feathers on the back of Lundy’s neck prickle and rise. An hour a night was manageable; three hours would be exhausting. But she owed it, and the Market wouldn’t allow her to leave her debts unpaid. Fair value would be enforced.

In a strange way, she found that reassuring. As long as she tried her best and paid attention to the cues the world was giving her, she would always be treating fairly with people, and wouldn’t need to worry they were taking advantage of her—that they were taking the only ribbon from her hair for not enough to eat. It was a strange system. It worked. Lundy nodded to the Archivist and left the shack, starting down the path toward the Market.

Seen by day, the woods were the riot of growth and color they had always been, flowers twining around tree trunks and fruit heavy on the vine. That, too, was fair value, she supposed. Even with as much time as she’d spent here, she had never seen the winter come, never seen a season where the forest wasn’t so filled with good things to eat that it was almost like a grocery store. A grocery store where the honey was full of bees and sometimes opossums chittered at you for stealing their fruit, but still. As long as everyone only ate what they needed, there was always enough. Paying someone like Vincent for pies or stews or other things was a matter of wanting, not need.

Birds sang in the foliage, and the air was sweet, and Lundy walked with an unconscious spring in her step, the strain of playing normal child in a normal school sloughing away like mist burning off in the sun.

When she came to the Market’s edge she hesitated before she turned and made her way toward Vincent’s stall, remembering the Archivist’s instructions. He was already there, feeding pies into the oven with practiced efficiency. She stopped and leaned against the counter, watching him work.

Some of the girls at school had been obsessed with unicorns, calling them beautiful and perfect and pure. She supposed she understood why. Vincent was a very pretty man, as long as she only looked at his top half, and a very pretty horse-thing when she looked at his bottom half. Most of the girls at school probably wouldn’t have been able to cope with the combination. That made her feel a little smug, like she was appreciating something they couldn’t.

Vincent turned, and nearly dropped his tray of pies. “Lundy! You’re back. We thought . . .”

“I came as fast as I could,” she said. “I’m staying for a while. I wanted to talk to you about pies.”

“I don’t need another sharpener,” said Vincent. “But I could do with more pencils, if you have them.” He made no effort to conceal the greed in his voice.

It made Lundy want to laugh. It was soniceto be back where people said what they wanted, where they trusted in fair value to see that they received it. They knew they couldn’t cheat each other without the Market becoming involved, and so they merely desired, openly and without shame.

Then Vincent sobered. “I assume you’re only buying for yourself this time.”

Lundy shook her head. “No. I’m going to buy Moon’s debt after this. She’s coming home.”

“Are you sure? She wasn’t careful after you left.”

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