A horse-drawn wagon rumbles past us, kicking up mud in its wake. Some of it splatters on the sleeve of my clean shirt, making me cry out in dismay. Li Wei and I, still holding hands, step off the main thoroughfare so that we won’t be run over, and we pause to read what’s around us. Both of us are at a loss. I thought it would be obvious how to find someone in charge who might offer insight on our village’s situation, but as I look around at these busy people, I have the feeling our village means nothing to them.

Li Wei releases my hand to speak, his face alight with excitement. Did you see that? he signs. Where they’re selling bread? That woman just handed over a small piece of silver and carried off a basket full of rolls! We pull out many times that in silver each day in the mines! If we could trade that in the same way, we’d never be hungry. For the amount of metal we produce each day, we should have a bounty of food!

It can’t be that simple, I reply, frowning. Otherwise why would the line keeper send us so little to eat? Perhaps there is something special about that woman. But as I watch her carry off her rolls, I can’t see that she’s much different from anyone else around us. The more we watch, the more we see bits of metal exchanged for all kinds of goods, and I begin to share Li Wei’s view. I know the amounts of metal our village produces. It’s my duty to note it for the record every day. I’ve seen just a fraction of that metal change hands here and result in an abundance of supplies that would leave our village reeling. Why doesn’t that kind of exchange apply to us?

I spy a group of children playing across the road. They are holding hands, moving in a circle, and speaking. But it’s a different kind of speech from what I’ve heard from others. For one thing, each child is saying the same thing at the same time. There’s also a quality to it than I haven’t encountered before. There’s a beauty to the sounds the children are making, almost reminding me of when I first heard the thrush back in our village. With a start, I wonder if I am hearing human singing. Whatever it is, it makes me smile.

Before I can comment on this, a wizened woman standing at a table notices us. She’s selling fruit and has a lull in her business. We make eye contact, and her face brightens. She holds up some fruit I’ve never seen, opening her mouth and making more unintelligible sounds. I shake my head, knowing she wants metal in exchange for it, and I have none. Misunderstanding me, she holds up a different fruit and speaks again. I shake my head and, out of habit, sign: No, thank you.

Instantly, the woman’s demeanor changes. She recoils, her smile fading. She turns away from us, trying to solicit someone else—anyone else. When she dares a glance back, noticing we’re still there, she makes a shooing gesture that’s understandable to anyone. We back away, finding another out-of-the-way spot in the shadow of a large building that advertises medicine and herbs.

What was that all about? Li Wei asks.

I’m not sure, I say. She reminded me a little of the line keeper: Both of them recognize signing, but neither seems comfortable with it.

A man emerges from the building just then and catches sight of me finishing my sentence. He recoils and makes an abrupt turn, giving us a wide berth. I glance back at Li Wei to see whether he noticed. He did, and his face darkens.

I’m getting a bad feeling about this place and these people, he tells me. Something isn’t right. They know about us, or at least about people like us. And it scares them.

Why would they be scared of us? I ask.

I don’t think it’s us so much as—

He drops his hands when a heavily cloaked figure appears beside us. Based on this person’s height and hands, I’m guessing she’s a woman. The hood makes it difficult to see her face, and she is careful to keep her gaze averted and avoid any further identification. She appears to have noticed us signing, and I expect her to behave as the others did. Instead, she makes a gesture of beckoning and leads us toward a narrow space between two buildings.

I think she wants us to follow her, I say to Li Wei.

Another passerby notices the signing and does a double take, sharing the same look of alarm as the fruit vendor. The mysterious woman stamps her foot impatiently and beckons again for us to follow. When we don’t move, she gestures broadly to the other townspeople and then makes very deliberate motions with her hands. She is signing, but it’s not exactly the same kind of signing I know. Some of the words and motions are foreign to me, but a few come through—especially when she points to the townspeople again and signs: Dangerous. She indicates once more that we should follow her, and I am able to understand: Me . . . keep you safe.

Li Wei and I exchange glances again. We don’t know anything about her, he says.

We don’t know anything about any of these people, I point out. But she is the first to know our language. Kind of.

The cloaked woman suddenly makes a sharp gesture. I follow where she points and see two guards from the front gate moving purposefully through the crowd, clearly in search of something. Their faces are hard, and they push people out of the way indiscriminately as their gazes dart around. A chill runs through me. I don’t know for sure that they’re looking for us, but we can’t take the chance. Li Wei and I clasp hands and follow this stranger into the unknown.

CHAPTER 10

OUR GUIDE LEADS US around and in between buildings, taking a path so convoluted that I soon lose all sense of where the market is. We leave it far behind us along with a lot of the more populated areas—which makes me uneasy. This stranger spoke of saving us from danger, but is it possible we’re simply walking into a trap?

At last, we reach what appears to be the opposite side of the township. I can see the towering wooden wall in the distance, but it isn’t our final destination. Instead, our guide takes us to a squat two-story building with minimal decoration. Painted characters on the front read: Red Myrtle Travelers’ Inn. With a quick gesture, we are beckoned around the back side of the building, to a nondescript door.

After glancing around to make sure we’re alone, our guide pushes back her hood, and I am surprised to see she is our age and exceptionally pretty. She opens the door and starts to step through, pausing when she notices we don’t follow. It’s okay, she says. No one will hurt you here.

Who are you? I ask.

And what is this place? Li Wei demands.

My name is Xiu Mei, the girl replies. I work at this inn. I am its . . . The word she signs isn’t one I know. Seeing our confusion, intrigue lights her features. Your language must be different. Come in, and we will get something to write with. Don’t sign until we’re secure.

Li Wei and I exchange uncertain glances. I honestly don’t know if we can trust anyone in this strange place, but at least Xiu Mei isn’t openly shunning us like the vendors in the market. There is something open and disarming about her face, and the fact that she can use our language—or something like it—goes a long way toward providing a glimpse of order in what’s otherwise a thoroughly chaotic situation. After a moment of hesitation, we follow her.