Would the kids be safe? Someone in the Stone Clan had already betrayed them once. “I found something out,” Oilcan said. “All the kids are naelinsanota—a caste that the Skin Clan was developing. The weird thing was that it’s a bit of a stigma — families weren’t advertising the fact that they were naelinsanota.”
Tinker cursed loudly, looking like she wanted to hit someone hard. Frustrated, she settled for kicking at a clump of grass. “I bet the dead children were hiding the fact that they were naelinsanota, too. Lain says all the kids, the ones that lived and the ones that were killed, were related. It means they’re all the same caste — even Baby Duck, even though she can’t remember. All seven! This wasn’t a random call for sponsorship. Earth Son, or whoever was using his name, had to have all but hand-delivered his offer to specific families.”
“To specific children,” Oilcan said. “It can’t be a coincidence that all of them are still doubles.”
“Only doubles are free to change households without shame.” Pony’s voice echoed Tinker’s anger. “The only caste that waits until their hundredth year to choose their beholding are sekasha. But to find seven doubles of any one caste — that is not coincidence.”
“Do you think Forge has anything to do with this?” Tinker eyed Oilcan. He could almost see the little cogs and wheels in her brain spinning quickly, planning ways to kidnap him herself.
“No,” Oilcan said firmly. “Thorne asked me for our lineage. The news traveled to Forge, and he came to find us. Me.” Forge’s emotions felt too genuine to be faked. “He loved Amaranth beyond reason. There’s no way he could have killed her and stayed sane.”
“So maybe he’s crazy,” Tinker said.
“I–I doubt it.” Pony shook himself like a wet dog at the idea. “His Hand would know if he’s unstable enough for that, and if they suspected he was monster enough to kill his domi, then — no — he can’t be insane.”
It was comforting to know — assuming that the sekasha were as all-knowing as Pony thought. Certainly Pony had been the first to realize Tinker was slipping over the edge when Esme was invading her dreams. But what if Tinker had been twisted before Pony met her? Would Pony see past a mask of sanity? Thorne Scratch hadn’t.
There was chaos on the faire ground by the massive anchors. Apparently Earth Son’s and Jewel Tear’s orphaned households had heard of the arrival of a Stone Clan airship. They were gathered around Forge, carrying travel bags. Some stoically quiet. Some in tears. Some pleading and weeping loudly.
“Anyone that wants to go back to Easternlands can.” Forge must have cast an amplification spell, because his voice carried as if he were using a bullhorn. “Anyone seeking to join my household will need to stay here in Pittsburgh and wait until I can decide to accept anyone.”
Oilcan glanced to Thorne Scratch. He hadn’t even considered that she might leave completely. Certainly there was nothing he could offer to make her stay. He took comfort that she made no move to leave his side, collect her gear, and go back to the Easternlands on the great living airship. Did she plan to offer to Forge or Iron Mace? Surrounded by Tinker’s and Forge’s Hands, Thorne had her face set to warrior neutral, so he could glean nothing of her intentions.
Forge pushed through the throng to where Oilcan and Tinker stood. “Is something wrong?”
Oilcan realized then that they hadn’t actually talked about how much he’d charge Forge. Maybe the elf thought he was staying in exchange for the defensive spells he planned — but Tinker could probably do just as good a job. It was food that Oilcan couldn’t get easily elsewhere. “The city is under siege and running low on food. We’ll be happy to have you stay with us — but there’s no place we can buy enough food to feed everyone. I was hoping that part of your—”
He wasn’t sure what elves called it.
“Mau,” Pony murmured.
“Mau would be in supplies from Easternland. Flour, salt, sugar, keva beans.”
Forge nodded. “Of course, of course. If you need something, and if it is mine to give, you may have it.”
It was nearly the same thing that Tinker had said just days before. It touched Oilcan deeply that this male he had just met was so willing to commit completely. It reminded him of his own instant affinity to Merry because she had reminded him of his lost mother.
“Thank you, Grandfather.” He put his hand on the male’s shoulder, ignoring the slight snort from Tinker.
Forge swallowed him into a full hug. “Oh, my child, I don’t know if I’ll be able to bear losing you so soon after finding you.”
“You can stay as long as you want,” Oilcan said. Really, they needed all the domana they could get.
Forge hugged him tighter. “I will stay to the end.”
For a moment, Oilcan thought he meant until the end of the war. Only when he caught sight of Thorne giving him a look full of understanding sorrow did Oilcan realize that Forge meant until Oilcan died of old age.
37: DAYS OF PAST NOT FORGOTTEN
Oilcan spent the next few days finding tables and chairs, buying paint, tracking down yards and yards of fabric and a sewing machine, raiding his various stashes of paintings for artwork emotionally safe enough to hang, and making countless trips to Wollerton’s for the massive bathing-room renovation. He also tracked down yet another cell phone for Tinker and programed it for her. All of this meant he spent a lot of time away from Sacred Heart. Since Thorne always came with him (and usually a rotating foursome of Forge’s sekasha in the name of learning the city), it left the children alone. With the oni doing raids all over the city, he was glad that Forge was at the enclave, overseeing construction of outer walls and defensive spells.
When Oilcan found time to spare, he would check in on Forge. The male was more than willing to patiently explain how he was building the spells into the wall’s foundations to create the enclave’s powerful barrier protection. Again and again, Oilcan found echoes of his grandfather in the elf. From the way Forge handled his project management to the way he pulled at his hair in frustration, it was obvious that more than just genetics had been handed down through the family.
It delighted Forge to see the habits in Oilcan. “Amaranth always had paint on her hands and in her hair and on her face, usually right on the end of her nose. I think it was because she would do this.” Forge pressed the back of his hand to his nose to demonstrate.
Oilcan laughed and checked. He had a swipe of soldering paste across his nose from welding the bathing room’s water pipes. “Yeah, that’s how it got there. Tinker is worse than me. Five minutes into anything and she’s got a smudged nose.”
Forge was showing Oilcan how to vary the shield spell when a slight tension went through Forge’s Hand.
Iron Mace drifted onto the worksite. “Ah, I wondered who was tapping the stones.”
“I’m just teaching him how to protect himself,” Forge said.
“You weren’t taught our esva as a child?” Iron Mace motioned with his hand as if conceding a point. “Well, more of a child.”
Oilcan sighed. Insisting he was an adult made him feel like a four-year-old shouting “I’m a big boy now!” Forge had studied architecture during the days of the pharaohs and Iron Mace had been using four numbers to record his age when Amaranth had been born. It was no wonder that the two couldn’t see him as anything but hopelessly young. “My mother knew Elvish, both Low and High, and a handful of songs, but not much more.”