Otha’s supper table was a door laid across two trestles in her sister’s courtyard.
The door had been bought from a demolished storehouse and still carried its old latch hole. Garrik had plugged the hole with a carved bird that fitted badly enough to turn when somebody nudged it. Edra put the salt bowl over the bird before the first dish arrived.
“It’ll escape into the stew,” she said.
“It can’t fly.”
“Then it should be easier to keep off my plate.”
Havren laughed and brought out the bread.
Tavin had paid for the food as part of the first full week of expanded carrying. Otha had chosen the place. Her crew would be offered more shifts, with the hazards and wages written beside them, and she wanted the conversation where people could eat without an engine asking for attention beneath their feet.
Iven came with Neri after her last client had gone. Sera and Elian arrived from the lower clinic together. Kesh took the chair with a view of the courtyard door, then let Otha’s sister move him because he was sitting where the little children ran to the kitchen.
