make sense.
I wasnât the only one. For the first time since Iâd moved to High Scape, there had been called a formal meeting of all of High Scapeâs Pairs. It was being held in the Stall, a shortened form of the name Paranoia Stall bestowed on the one-room shack by a former Source. It had been built just outside the city limits, and it was where the Pair on duty sat and performed its watch, calming whatever natural events threatened to shake High Scape apart. I didnât know why any meeting had to be held there in the first place; it was so far out of everyoneâs way.
Walking in deep snow was hard work, I had to raise my feet so high and I could never be completely confident about my balance. I envied Karish his extra inches. He wouldnât reach the Stall exhausted and flustered.
âHey! Source!â
Karishâs arm tensed under my hand. We halted and turned.
A woman was charging up the street after us, trying to hold her homespun skirts over the snow with work-hardened hands. A farmer, I thought. An unhappy one. Peopleâs heads turned as they watched her pass. âWhen are you going to do something about this?â she demanded.
No explanations needed about to what âthisâ pertained. Karish held out his free hand, palm up. âWe canât do anything about the snow, maâam,â he answered in a gentle tone.
âWhy the hell not?â She halted before him, holding herself up to her full, considerable height. âThis is what youâre trained for, isnât it? Why you spend years being coddled in those schools of yours. Why you have everything handed to you your whole life without having to pay for it. Nor work for it hardly.â
Nor hardly work? We risked our lives every time we channeled. Even the regulars knew that.
âThis is very different from a hurricane or an erupting volcano, maâam,â I said in a voice that was low and, hopefully, soothing. âThe world goes about creating these things in very different ways, and the truth is, we arenât trained for things like snow.â
But the farmer wasnât interested in hearing logical explanations. She was angry, and she only wanted to vent. âOur crops are ruined,â she hissed. âWeâll have nothing to sell come harvest. Weâll have nothing to eat next winter. What do you plan to do about that?â
I hesitated, because what could I say to that? We couldnât do anything about the weather. That was the simple truth. And everyone knew it. No one had ever expected Pairs to regulate average weather. And there was nothing we could do about dead crops or unpaid mortgages or ruined occupations. âI am sorry.â A weak answer, made all the worse by the audienceâyes, some people had stopped to watch and listenâthat was witness to it.
âSorry wonât feed my children,â she spat. She glared at Karish. âWhile youâve been off cavorting with the Empress instead of watching your post, our livestock has been freezing to death. Youâve ruined us. Be proud, Lord Shintaro.â And she turned on her heel and stalked away.
Karish looked ready to call her back. I squeezed his arm to stop him. No one else said anything, but they looked at us. Little surreptitious glances, muttered comments to companions, a few scowls.
Karish didnât look as shocked by the incident as I felt. âHas anything like that happened to you before?â I asked him.
His only answer was a shrug. That meant something had happened. And he hadnât told me about it. He should have.
âYou shouldnât have to put up with that sort of thing,â I said.
âBut I donât, do I? I have my Shield to protect me.â
There was an edge to his voice. He didnât like my stepping in as I had. Too bad. That was my job. We headed on to the Stall in silence.
Arriving there we found it uncharacteristically crowded. In my memory, there