Before the first bell, Calen set three trays of iron nails out on the trestle in the yard. Each tray held a hundred of them, the flat heads dull in the grey light.
“Call the total,” he said. “Before you touch a nail.”
The class stood in rows along the wall. Kade had the front place, with his chin up and his hands in his coat. Liss stood behind him and watched his hands, not the nails.
Hetta Ords went first. She stared at the nearest tray for the space of one breath.
“Ninety-seven,” she said.
Calen counted them out loud, one at a time, and the class counted under its breath with him. Ninety-seven. He pushed the last nail to the side of the tray.
“Again. Say it before you look.”
“Ninety-three,” said Joss Mell. She had watched Hetta and wanted to be first, and she had not looked at all. Calen tipped the tray out in front of her. There were ninety-one.
