“There aren’t a lot of Arum, but the Arum and Luxen know to behave. Obviously, no feeding on the Arum’s part and no bigotry on the Luxen side. Neither are tolerated.”
“And what happens if they don’t follow the rules?”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “As far as I know, there have only been a few instances where rules were broken. All of them have been resolved in one way or another.”
I studied her profile. “And what do you mean by ‘one way or another’?”
She didn’t respond as we walked along the outskirts of the crowded tables, not for several long moments. “The people here don’t want to leave, Evie. For many, their lives are better, but it’s too much of a risk to kick people out. Luckily, it’s never come to that. No serious rules have been broken, and there is a place to hold those who need a time-out from fighting or being a general pain in the ass.”
Sounded sort of like a jail, which made sense.
An older man who’d just placed a bundle of ears of corn in his cart eyed us—or me—with open suspicion as he hurried as fast as he could to the next stall, the wheels on his cart squeaking.
“And no one has wanted to leave?” I asked. “To be reunited with family or friends outside?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I wouldn’t know. I’m not a part of the council, and I imagine if someone wanted to leave, that would be who they’d go to.”
Unease trickled through me. I had a really hard time believing that not a single person had wanted to leave.
“That’s Javier.” Zoe pointed out a dark-haired man with skin the color of sunbaked clay. “He was a tailor before the war, and his skills are now just as useful.”
A man waved from behind a table where clothing was folded and stacked neatly when he spotted Zoe, but the smile froze when his gaze coasted over me.
Zoe didn’t seem to notice as she led me along, but I did. I couldn’t help it. Each time someone noticed us, they noticed me and immediately appeared as if they wanted to bolt.
I was a stranger in their midst, and these people had every right to be wary, so I didn’t take it personally. Or, at least, I tried.
The scent of cinnamon grew. The last table was the source, but the crowd around it blocked any access to Larry and his apparently magical pecans.
“Dammit,” Zoe grumbled. “I really wanted you to try them. The pecans are amazing, but we’re getting nowhere near the front of that line anytime soon. I’ll check back later to see if he has any left. Right now, there’s still more to see.”
Tugging me around the last stall, she pointed out the urgent care I’d noticed on the way in, explaining that it was as functional as could be, serving as the only medical facility. Then I saw what was behind the plaza. Clothing hung from tightly stretched lines attached to bolted-down wooden poles. Men and women, all I inherently knew were human, sat on stools or in chairs above large plastic containers. The area smelled like fresh detergent.
I glanced back at the market. “Are they cleaning the clothes for the people shopping at the market?”
Zoe nodded. “Yep, and some do it full-time for others who really don’t want to mess around with it.”
“Labor?” I surmised.
“You got it.” Motioning me to cross the street, she said, “The market is pretty much in the center, so a lot of stuff is here. The council meets here, and if anyone needs anything, this is the place they come to.” She pointed to a three-story, concrete building with a sign LITTLE FISHER LIBRARY. “The basement area is also used when the temps get high.”
Zoe didn’t take me into the library. Instead, she followed a stone path shaded by heavy oaks as it curled around the side of the building. We only took a handful of steps when I heard the shouts and laughter of children.
“The school?”
Eyes a deep violet in the shade of the trees, Zoe smiled. “Mostly little rug rats. I think there are only like two a year or so younger than we are. They moved the school to this house because it’s close to everything and easier to manage without power.”
Someone had painted Sesame Street characters as if they were peeking out from the windows of the one-story, redbrick building.
Children—tiny children—were everywhere. Racing over sand and grass, climbing onto jungle gyms and playing on a seesaw that featured Snoopy and Charlie Brown. Jump ropes snapped off the asphalt part of the yard. Little ones smacked their hands in the sand shaded by the trees.
There were two sets of swings and both were packed, of course, as swing sets were the coolest piece of equipment in a playground. One was designed for smaller children, and the other was occupied by kids who looked around ten or so years old, but I was always terrible at figuring out kids’ ages. To me, they all looked like babies.