But she could never quit this place, abandon her obligations, until Adda’s fees were paid off. Ties of obligation and duty would imprison her here as surely as any cage.
Qos Frenk blinked, studying her. “I know this must be a strange situation for you. I want you to know you’ve nothing to fear but hard work. I own the ceiling-farm, and I own your labor, in that sense. But I don’t make the mistake of imagining I own your soul.
“I’m not a cruel man, Dura. I believe in treating my coolies as well as I can afford. And…”
“Why?” Dura found herself snarling. “Because you’re such a noble person?”
He smiled. “No. Because it’s economically more efficient for me to have a happy and healthy workforce.” He laughed, and he looked a little more human to Dura. “That should reassure you if nothing else does. I’m sure you’ll be fine here, Dura. Why, as soon as you learn the trade I don’t see why we shouldn’t be thinking of you as a future supervisor, or skills specialist.”
She forced herself to smile back. “All right. Thank you. I understand you’re doing your best for me. What will I have to do?”
He indicated the rows of ripening wheat dangling from the forest ceiling above them. “In a few weeks we’ll be ready for the harvest, and that’s when the real work begins. But for now your job is to ensure that the growth of the wheat is unimpeded. Look for the obvious, like boars crushing the stems. Or trespassers.” He looked saddened. “We get a lot of that nowadays… scavengers, I mean. A lot of poverty in the City, you see. Watch out for blight. Any kind of discoloration, or growth abnormalities… If we get any diseases we isolate the area and sterilize it fast, before the infection spreads.
“Look for wild grass, any plants growing among the roots, damaging the wheat. We don’t want anything else absorbing the lovely Crust isotopes which were meant for our crop… And that includes young trees. You’d be surprised how fast they grow.” He spread his hands wide. His enthusiasm was almost endearing, Dura thought. “You wouldn’t think it but this part of the Crust was all native forest, once.”
“Remarkable,” Dura cut in drily, remembering the broad, unspoiled forests of her home area in the far upflux.
Frenk looked at her uncertainly.
They met another worker, a woman who drifted with her head lost in the green-gold crop and her legs dangling down into the Air. The woman was hauling small saplings down from between the green stems of the wheat and shoving the weeds into a sack bound to her waist.
“Ah,” Frenk said with a smile. “One of my best workers. Rauc, meet Dura. Just arrived here. Perhaps you’d be good enough to show her around…”
The woman drifted slowly down from the dangling crop. Over her head, Rauc was wearing her Air-helmet, a veil of soft, semitransparent gauze which covered a broad-brimmed hat. The curtain bulged out a little, showing that it was being fed by Air from the woman’s tank.
Frenk Waved fussily away.
Rauc was slim and wore a simple smock of grubby leather, though her arms were bare. After Frenk’s departure she regarded Dura somberly for a few moments without speaking. Then she untied her veil and lifted it. Her face was thin and tired, her eyecups dark; she looked about Dura’s own age. “So you’re the upfluxer,” she said, her voice containing the flat whine of the City-born.
“Yes.”
“We heard you were coming. We were glad. Do you know why?”
Dura shrugged, uncaring.
“Because you upfluxers are strong… You’ll work hard, help us meet our quotas.” She sniffed. “As long as you don’t show us up, you’ll be popular enough.”
“I understand.” This woman was trying to warn her, she realized. “Thanks, Rauc.”
Rauc led her beneath the golden ceiling-fields back toward the cluster of structures at the heart of the farm, where Dura had been dropped on first arrival. There was no sign of Qos Frenk’s car; Dura imagined him returning to his cozy, stuffy home inside the City. Now, in mid-shift, the little huts seemed deserted: they were small, boxy buildings of wood, dangling by lengths of rope from the truncated stems of Crust-trees. There was a small, unkempt herd of pigs. Rauc said the herd was kept — not for commercial purposes — but to provide meat for the coolies, leather for smocks and hats. Rauc showed her small stores of clothing, Air-sacks and tools. There was a bakery, its inner walls blackened by heat; the coolies’ staple food, bread, was made for them here. A large, overweight man labored in the gloom of the bakery; he scowled at Dura and Rauc as they peered in at him. Rauc pulled a face. “Well, the bread’s fresh,” she said. “But that’s all you can say for it… The lowest-quality wheat ends up here, that and any gleanings we can find, while the best stuff is shipped off to Parz.”
There was a dormitory building, a small, cramped box packed with rows of cocoons. About half the cocoons were occupied. A woman’s sleepy face lifted to stare at them before flopping back into sleep, mouth open and hair dangling. Rauc pointed out a vacant cocoon Dura would be able to claim for herself. But Dura couldn’t imagine sleeping in here, breathing in the snores and farts of others, while the fresh Air of the Mantle swept away all around her. It made her realize, jarringly, that she was going to be as out of place here as in Parz itself. Most of the coolies were, after all, City-born — and mostly from the Downside where conditions were even more cramped than the average. So off-shift coolies shoveled themselves into this stinking box, listening to each other breathe and pretending that they weren’t stranded out here in the Mantle, but were tucked away inside the cozy confines of Parz.
Rauc smiled at her. “I think we’ll get along, Dura. You can tell me about your people. And I’ll show you how to get around here.”
“Frenk seems all right…”
Rauc looked surprised. “Oh, he’s decent enough. But that doesn’t matter. Not day to day, it doesn’t. I’ll introduce you to our section supervisor, Leeh. She makes a difference… But not as much as she likes to think. Now Robis — who runs the stores — that’s where the real power lies. Get him to smile on you and the world is a brighter place.”
Dura hesitated. “Frenk says I might get to be a supervisor, eventually.”
“He says that to everyone,” Rauc said dismissively. “Come on, let’s find Leeh; she’s probably off in the fields somewhere…” But she hesitated, looking searchingly at Dura. Then, glancing around to check they were unobserved, she dug into a deep pocket in her smock and drew out a small object. “Here,” she said, placing the object in Dura’s hand. “This will keep you well.”
It was a tiny five-spoked Wheel, like the one she’d seen around the neck of Toba Mixxax… a model of the execution device in the Market Place. “Thank you,” Dura said slowly. “I think I understand what this means.”
“You do?” Now Rauc’s look was becoming wary.
Dura hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry. I won’t betray you.”
“The Wheel is illegal in Parz City,” Rauc said. “In theory it’s illegal everywhere, throughout the Mantle… wherever the Guards’ crossbows can reach. But we’re a long way from Parz here. The Wheel is tolerated on the ceiling-farms. Something to keep us happy… That old fool Frenk says it’s economically efficient for us to be allowed to practice our faith.”
Dura smiled. “That sounds like Frenk.”
“…But you never know. Do upfluxers follow the Wheel?”
“No.” She studied Rauc. She didn’t seem very strong, or much of a rebel; but apparently this Wheel business gave her comfort. “I saw a Wheel used as an execution tool.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is it a symbol of faith?”
“Because it’s used to kill.” Rauc looked into her eyes, searching for understanding. “So many human lives have been Broken that the Wheel, the very shape of it, has become something human in itself. Or more than human. Do you see? By keeping the Wheel close by us we are staying close to the noblest, bravest part of us.”