Daphne, who had gone very still crouched beside Connor, broke in now. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not your fault!” said Hortense, in a voice that was clearly aiming for cheerful.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Daphne. “Hey, Connor, can I tell you a secret about the Raptor Detectives?”
Connor nodded, chin wrinkling in advance of tears. Daphne leaned over and whispered something to him. He swallowed, listening intently, and whispered something back. Their secret conference spanned the rest of Hortense’s apologies and all of Sister Patience’s efforts to pack up the microphone.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” said Sister Justice at last. Daphne straightened. Connor wrapped his arms around what he could reach of Daphne, burying his chocolate-stained face in the side of her trouser leg.
Zada and Daphne followed on the sisters’ heels, back out into the blazing sunshine.
“What did you tell him?” asked Zada in an undertone.
Daphne cleared her throat. “That’s between me, him, and Velly Raptor.”
Over the next several hours, the nuns called on a number of citizens scattered around the city. Sister Patience seemed determined to push their little suncart to its limit, racing through the streets of New Ionia with shameless glee.
They interviewed a newly married couple who kept glaring and sniping at each other with passive-aggressive comments about chores left undone and who said what. Perhaps they were another of Heartsong’s rare mistakes. Or perhaps they simply deserved each other. Would she and Buford end up like these two, months from now?
They spoke to a family with three children, ranging from thirteen to maybe seven. The parents looked exhausted. Reading between the lines, one or both of them had been demoted, so they had probably taken extra work to make ends meet. The eldest girl unpacked the nuns’ basket as her parents answered the nuns’ questions. When she uncovered a small box of hand-dipped candies, her smile was so giddy that Zada had to blink back tears. Zada couldn’t help wondering what the girl’s parents had done. It seemed horribly selfish to incur that sort of punishment when they had young mouths to feed.
And then there was the older man who had never gotten a Heartsong match. His housing unit was almost bare, and he kept jumping up to offer them snacks, or water, or maybe someone would like a cup of ginger tea? He smiled hard whenever anyone spoke to him and told long, meandering stories about his parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, which the sisters diligently recorded. His smile only dimmed when they were about to leave, but the sisters promised tovisit again to get the rest of his family history. After they left, Sister Patience murmured something about getting him to come to craft night.
Following the unmatched man was a former guard who had quit her job a few months ago. The sisters didn’t press her as to why she’d left, but the guard’s hunted look gave Zada a sinking feeling. The guard had since been assigned a job hand-scrubbing filters for the hydroponics labs. She was polite but clearly so worn down from her latest shift that the sisters made excuses to cut their interview short so she could rest. In contrast with the housing unit of the unmatched man, this one was so cluttered and dirty, Zada wished she hadn’t removed her shoes by the door. By the time they left, the soles of her socks were nearly black.
Zada kept waiting for them to interview someone who was doing genuinely well.
Their final stop, around sunset, was a stoop-shouldered white-haired woman who gave both of the sisters a big hug when they entered. Her home was small and cozy, and Zada felt her shoulders relax as she sunk into the comfortable armchair offered to her.
“What would you like to know?” the older woman said with a laugh. “I’m an open book, even if some of the pages are a little wrinkled!”
She answered every question freely, enthusiastically, and at great length. Her name was Cordelia Sutton. She’d lived in New Ionia her whole life, first working as a librarian and then teaching English literature at Hammersford University. She was a widow with three grown children, and she loved to garden.
“Now, my cousin Thea never used five words when she could use fifty,” Mrs. Sutton was saying. “She reminded me of, oh, who am I thinking of? FromRomeo and Juliet?” She peered up at Zada as if seeing her from a great distance. “What was her name?”
Zada glanced at Daphne, who shrugged.
“We haven’t the faintest idea,” Daphne said.
“Oh, come now,” said Mrs. Sutton. “Surely you know your Shakespeare. The nurse, what did they call her? I’d be able to tell you if my head wasn’t full of bees.” She tapped her forehead. “I’ll forget my own name next.”
“Works by Shakespeare were curated out the year before we were to read him,” said Zada quietly. “Along with James Baldwin and, uh, Zora Neale Hurston.”
There had been a small outcry when it happened, which Zada only knew because Daphne had told the group in hushed tones over lunch. Curation was a yearly occurrence, but something about this one had set people off. Several teachers and professors had been reassigned to different jobs, where they couldn’t influence young minds. A few of the more outspoken ones had even been Extricated. The incident hadn’t appeared anywhere on the news feeds, of course.
“Nonsense,” scoffed Mrs. Sutton. “They would never ban the Bard!”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Daphne asked, leaning forward. She had that gleam in her eye that Zada knew spelled trouble. “Share with the class.”
“Well! Because—” Mrs. Sutton seemed to see Daphne for the first time. She broke into a grin. “Oh, Iffy!” she cried. “You should’ve told me you were visiting!”
Daphne jerked back as if she’d been slapped.
“I have something for you,” Mrs. Sutton added with a wink. “Found an old copy ofMacbethamong my things. Oh, and I have one of those other books you like, with a shirtless Scotsman on the cover.” She stood and began to rifle through the couch cushions. “Now, where did I put it?”
“I—” Daphne darted a bewildered look around.
Sister Justice put a hand on Mrs. Sutton’s arm. “I’m afraid we have to run, Cordelia. You can give your books to Iffy the next time she stops by.”
