I smile, anticipating the look on his facewhen I tell him who I’ll be working for. “Naw, nothing like that,”I say.

“Tell us,” Jolie says, resting her head on myshoulder.

“I don’t think Wes is interested, but I’lltell you.” Jolie giggles, sticks her ear close to my mouth so I cantell just her.

“I’m. Working. For. The. King,” Iwhisper.

Joles pulls back, an awed expression flashingacross her face. “Are you joking?” she asks. A fair question,considering how much I joke with her.

I tickle her, drawing a fresh set of giggles.“Stop, stop,” she cries, but I don’t listen, focusing on herstomach, which is her most ticklish spot. She’s squirming andlaughing and yelling for me to stop. Finally, I relent and we bothgasp for air.

“Are you really working for the king?” sheasks, grabbing my hand.

I nod.

“What?” Wes says, suddenly interested in whatwe’re doing. He finishes wrapping Mother in a blanket and turns toface me. He has a rare day off from the mines today and it’s weirdto see him without even a smudge of dirt on his face. Without thedirt, he’s the spitting image of my father, even more so than me.His dark hair is even cropped short with a slight curl at the top,just like Father used to wear it. His strong jawline, freshlyshaved cheeks and chin, and tree-bark brown eyes complete thepicture. Me, I’ve got two days’ worth of dark stubble and too-longhair that puts the un in unruly. Feeling self-conscious allof a sudden next to my well-groomed brother, I run a hand throughmy hair like a comb, trying to straighten it.

“I got a job,” I repeat.

“Nay, I got that part. The part about theking.”

“The job’s working for the king,” I say witha shrug, as if it’s no big deal.

Wes scoffs. “C’mon, Dazz. Where are youreally working?”

“He’s working for the king,” Joles says, herhands on her hips, looking more like a mother than a sister. Ilaugh and put an arm around her. She’s always given me more creditthan I deserve. But for once, it’s not misplaced.

“But how…?” Wes’s expression alone is worthall the bad things that happened yesterday. Was it really justyesterday that I broke up with the witch? So much has happened thatit seems like last year.

“What can I say, the king has an uncannyability to recognize talent,” I say, grinning. This is great.

Wes shakes his head, still coming to termswith the possibility that I’m not lying. He fills his own mug withboiling water, takes a sip.

“Buff’s working with me too,” I blurtout.

Wes spews a mouthful of tea across the room,causing Joles to erupt into a fit of laughter. I can’t helpcracking up, too. Everything about this morning is turning out tobe perfect. While Wes is wiping his mouth and trying to composehimself, I add, “We start tomorrow, under a two month contract. Ifthings work out, who knows? It could become permanent.”

Wes uses a cloth to wipe up the mess on thefloor. Then he stands, looks me in the eyes, says, “Well done,Dazz. I’m really—really proud of you.” I swear there’s melted snowin his eyes, but then it’s gone. “So what kind of work will you bedoing?”

It’s not something that should be hard toanswer, but Nasal-Talker wasn’t very forthcoming with detailsbefore we left the Hole last night. As we repaid as much of theloan as we could with Buff’s silver, she told us where to show upand when, and that was it. She wouldn’t tell us anything else,except that the job wasn’t difficult, paid well, and was of theutmost importance to the king. Who were we to argue? Under thecircumstances, the job was a gift.

“Uhhh…stuff,” I say. Well said.

“What sort of stuff?” Wes pushes.

“Tell him, Dazz,” Joles urges, as if sheknows exactly what I’ll be doing. I wish she did so she could tellme.

“Important stuff,” I add, winking. “Yah, uh,really important stuff that’s top-secret and I can’t really talkabout it.”

“Like spy stuff?” Jolie asks, excitementbuilding in her eyes.

“That’s all I can say.”

“Are you for real?” Wes asks, frowning.

“I wish I could say more, but I’d lose myjob.”

Wes gives me a hard look, but then his facelightens. “Well, whatever you’ll be doing, it’s a big step. You’rebecoming a man.” I ignore the implication of his last comment—thatI’m not already a man—because I’m just happy that he’s not askinganymore questions.

Wes slaps me on the back, ruffles Jolie’shair, gives Mother a kiss on the cheek, and then says, “I’m headingout to grab a few things. See you later?”

Jolie and I nod. Mother says, “Tell yourfather to bring in another load of firewood.” Her hands are stillcupped around her full mug of tea. The tea’s cold.

Chapter Six

We’re right wherewe’re supposed to be. The only problem: there’s no one elsehere.

“She did say Skeleton Rock, didn’t she?” Buffasks.

I gaze up at the large rock formation thatprotrudes from the mountainside. As its name suggests, the rocksare arranged in such a way that it looks like the decomposedremains of a large beast. The biggest rock is the skull and isshaped almost like a human’s head. The story goes that there was atribe of ogre-like creatures, called Yags, that once roamed themountainside, eating everything in sight, from rabbits to bears tohumans. But when the Star Rock crashed into earth, and ourancestors hid in the Heart of the Mountain, the Yags disappeared,either killed or having found somewhere else to hide. Some of theolder Icers still believe there are a few of them left, and theyget the blame whenever something unusual happens, like when a kidgets mysteriously killed, or a dead bear is found in the forestwith no sign of how it died. The Yags musta done it! peoplesay. I think it’s all a load of shiver.

“Definitely Skeleton Rock,” I say, scrapingaway a bit of the freshly fallen snow from the rocks with my toe.“And arsecrack of dawn, right?”

As if remembering how early it is, Buffyawns, rubs his eyes. “That’s what she said, only without thearse…or the crack.”

“Maybe we just misheard on account of theextreme nasalness of her voice.”

Buff laughs, rips the pastry we bought intown in half, hands me a chunk. Wes gave me two sickles so I couldbuy it, as a sort of congratulations on the new job. A day’s pay.For a second we both chew, relishing the warmth of the freshbread.

The black of the clouds begins to lighten toa dark gray. It’s snowing, but not heavily, which is the same as aclear sky for this time of year.

I sit down in a snow bank. “Do you think theking will show up personally?”

“Yah,” Buff says. “And he’ll personally tellus how proud he is that we were able to lose so badly inb-’n-a.”

I grunt. “So badly and pathetically that he’dwant to offer us a job.” I pack a snowball, but don’t throw it,just let it sit at my feet, start on another. “Must be a prettyshivvy job,” I say, “if he’d pick two of the biggest losers aroundto do it.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Buff says,throwing a handful of snow in my face. I return the favor with mytwo snowballs, one in the chest, one in the kisser. For a minute weboth wipe the cold off our faces and just laugh. Being frozensolider than an ice block will make you a little crazy sometimes,like wild-eyed Jarp down in the Brown District. Sitting on thecorner, he’ll laugh at most everything. A bird flying overhead, amisshapen cloud, a normal-shapen cloud, a person walking by: he’lllaugh so hard he has to hold his sides, as if his skin might tearopen and let his insides out.

I start packing another snowball while wewait for…whatever it is we’re waiting for. We wait and wait,wondering when Nasal-Talker is going to come by and tell us it wasall a joke and that we better find a real job to pay back our debtsbefore she gets someone to break our legs.