Free Deep Roots by Beth Cato Page B

wondering if every whisper was about her face. She wanted to bury herself in her projects and books—­even the damned grammar exercises from her tutor sounded pleasant at this point. At least she’d be home.
    But the gremlins needed her. She wasn’t sure how to save them, but she knew she couldn’t do it alone. She didn’t want to do it alone.
    â€œLump is just a name,” Rivka said, looking away.
    â€œJust a name.” Tatiana harrumphed. She walked by, then turned, sudden worry crinkling her eyes. “Are you coming?”
    Tatiana was scared to walk back to the tram alone. Good. She should be scared. Maybe on some level she knew that she couldn’t bend everyone to her whim.
    â€œCan you meet me downstairs in a few minutes?” Rivka asked as she switched the parasol hook to her other arm.
    â€œWhat, are you going to talk to Broderick without me?”
    Was that jealousy in Tatiana’s eyes? Rivka shook her head, loose hair lashing her cheeks. “No. I’m going to buy something here. Give me a minute.”
    Rivka waited until she heard the stairs creak beneath Tatiana’s weight, then she opened the door to the bakery. The full smell smacked her: bread, yeast, sugar, and so many childhood memories.
    â€œCan I help you?” The woman in the kitchen had to be Grandmother’s age, her skin like mahogany, her hair white and unconstrained like a halo. A table was laid out with the usual Mendalian flatbreads of the southern nations, and speckled egg rolls, and . . .
    â€œIs that . . . a Frengian maple-­sugar cake?”
    â€œYes, yes! Used up the last maple sugar I took as a barter. You Frengian?”
    â€œMy mama was. I’ll buy a loaf.” She fingered the coins in her pocket as the baker wrapped a block in paper.
    As she headed downstairs, she heard heavy footsteps ascending. Tatiana’s expression was anxious, angry, but upon seeing Rivka, she shifted to her usual haughtiness. “Oh. You really were buying something.”
    Had Tatiana really been so sure that Rivka would desert her here, without so much as a parasol for defense? Rivka paused on the steps. She broke the small loaf in half and handed over the larger piece. Food was the only way to earn the trust of feral creatures.
    â€œHere. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
    â€œWhat is this?” Tatiana’s nose crinkled as she sniffed it.
    â€œMaple-­sugar cake. One of the best things in the world.” Rivka continued downward, taking a small, delicate bite of her half. Maple-­flavored glaze glossed over her tongue. The cake beneath was dense and sweet but not too sweet. Sporadic walnuts added crunch. It was perfect.
    â€œOh.” The voice was small. “I didn’t expect . . . I thought . . . Thank you.”
    â€œIf you don’t like it, I’ll eat it. My mama used to make these.” They exited the building and followed the sidewalk toward the station.
    Tatiana took a bite of the cake. All was quiet but for a tram rattling overhead and the distant horn of a cabriolet. “No. It’s good. I like it. Really.”
    They walked on together, saying a great deal through nothing at all.

 
    CHAPTER 4
    M iss Arfetta stalked before them, her boots solidly resounding with each step. “Those who are not graced with the powers of the Lady have difficulty understanding the miracles they witness, but I will not tolerate questions or interruptions. Nor will you gossip about what we do after the fact. I am here to work, not perform theatre. Is that understood?”
    â€œYes, Miss Arfetta,” answered Rivka and Tatiana, almost in concert. Behind Miss Arfetta, Broderick stood at the edge of the copper circle in the laboratory. He hunkered over, not meeting their eyes. All their effort to seek out the shop on the south island, to avoid a confrontation with Mr. Cody, and Broderick broached the subject