The bread went out at first light every morning, whatever the Chamber had decided overnight, and Pell went out with it. She carried the first basket herself to the Mason’s Yard, because the Yard fed its Hands before the bell and she did not hold with starving masons, and she carried a second to the Watch-wall, because Ysra would not come down for her own bread until she had counted the stairs on the way up.
This morning she sent Kessa with the second basket.
“Take the wall stair, love, and mind the fourth step, it’s loose. Say good morning to Ysra and tell her she’s not to count my bread.”
“Is she counting it?”
“She’s always counting it. Tell her the bread’s not a stair.” Pell put the cloth over the basket and tied it with string, and then, because the girl was standing there with her hands folded in front of her apron and her grey cord showing at one wrist, Pell tucked a wrapped pat of goat’s butter into the top of the basket without thinking and took her hand away. “And that’s for the Mason’s copy, if you’re passing. Cheese, and a pat of the goat’s butter. The Form won’t eat it. But it’ll smell it, and I’d like to think something in the Yard has a nose.”
