“Do you think those herbs are some kind ofdrug?” I ask Buff as we walk through the Blue District. We’ve givenup on the Red District. If someone took my sister there, she’s wellhidden, because we’ve scoped out every last shivhole in that shivvyDistrict.

“Can’t be,” Buff says. We’ve talked about theherbs a dozen times, but always end up chasing ourselves in acircle. “The only drug I’ve ever heard of is ice powder. If therewas some herb floating around, we’d know about it.”

“Maybe it’s the king’s secret stash,” Isay.

“It’s possible,” Buff says. “You mean, kindof like a leader to leader exchange thing.”

“Yah, with the fire country guy—what’s hisname?—uh, Roan.” It’s the only explanation I can come up with.Other than that, the herb is just an herb, and why would it requireall the night work, secrecy, and smuggling in by Heaterprisoners?

I know I shouldn’t care about the herbs, orthe trade with the Heaters, or anything other than getting Jolieback, but my theories are the only thing keeping me sane. Every daythat passes without seeing Jolie is like a bruise on my soul, anache in places that are impossible to reach and that don’t heal,not with time, not with talk, not with sleep.

The lawkeeper stopped the search weeks ago,chalking it up to a mysterious disappearance, despite the fact thatClint, Looza and I all saw someone take her. But I won’t stopsearching, not now, not ever.

Now with winter waning and the throes of afrosty spring upon us, I know that if I don’t figure out whathappened to Jolie soon, it might be too late. It might already betoo late. Shut up! I tell myself. If I think like that, Imight as well curl up in a thick patch of snow and let the Coldtake me.

Speaking of the Cold, incidents of thedisease have been on the rise as of late. Some say it’s because thewinter was one of the coldest yet, and others believe the Heart ofthe Mountain is angry with us for all of the evils that take placein the Red District. Me, I don’t care either way. If the Cold willcome, it’ll come. Who am I to question the why or the how?

I pause in front of an arched doorway. TheBlue District isn’t nearly as well off as the White District, butit beats the chill out of the Brown. The streets are clean and freeof beggars, the houses are solid and well-maintained, and thepeople are smart enough to slam their doors in our faces as soon asthey realize we’re not from around these parts. I’m not saying Ilike it, but there are plenny of bad folk who might try to takeadvantage of them, so they’re right to be cautious.

Another door to knock, this one paintedbright green under its white archway. Recently touched up by thelook of it. Smooth and bright. I rap on the door with my knucklesas Buff rubs his gloved hands together beside me, trying togenerate some heat.

Someone hollers from behind the door, but Ican’t make it out. Unusual for this District. Usually the peopleare quiet and timid. The boisterousness of the cry reminds me of agood old Brown District welcome.

The door opens.

Nebo stands before us, bald and short andaltogether the most unintimidating person you could ever meet. Hismouth forms an O and he sucks in a gasping “Uhhh!” and then triesto slam the door.

I swing my foot out and wedge it between thedoor and the jamb. The heavy wood crunches my toes, but I’m alreadymoving forward, lowering my shoulder, barging my way inside. Nebo’sthrown backwards and into the house as the door rebounds off thewall with a solid thud.

He tries to scramble away from us on hisarse, but runs right into a table leg, his eyes full of terror.

“Whoa there, Neebs. We’re not going to hurtyou,” I say, feeling somewhat bad about the jittery man’s responseto our forced arrival.

“Like—like—chill you’re not,” he says. Whatis this man so afraid of?

“Nay, really, Neebs. We didn’t even know youlived here. We were knocking on every door on this street,” Buffsays.

Neebs is shaking his head, his eyes closed.“Go—go away.”

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Isay. Although I’m pretty sure the nervous little man can’t help uswith Jolie, clearly he’s scared of something and I want to knowwhat. Plus, he’s been working for Abe/King Goff much longer thanus, so he might know more about the mystery herb.

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay,” Neebs droneson.

“It’ll only take a minute,” Buff adds.

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.”

Ten “nays” and we haven’t even asked aquestion yet. Nebo’s as still as a statue, still on the floor, backagainst the table leg. He looks sort of like a child throwing atantrum, his eyes all squinted shut, his mouth crunched in anoverdone scowl.

I kneel in front of him and he twitches, likehe can sense how close I am. “First question,” I say, as soothinglyas I can. To my ears my voice sounds like grated rocks.

“No questions,” Neebs says.

I ignore him, say, “Why don’t you want towork for the king anymore?”

“Rule one: no questions,” Neebs says.

“We’re not on the job,” I say, “and you’renot Abe, so I’ll ask you any freezin’ thing I want to.” It comesout a little harsher than I’d planned, but I’m getting frustrated.I repeat the question.

“Bad man,” Neebs says.

“Abe’s a bad man?” Buff asks, sliding inbeside me.

“Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay,” Neebo hisses. Hiseyes are still closed and his mannerisms are so jerky I wonder ifhe’s got more wrong with him than just silver problems. “The king.”He clamps a hand over his mouth as if he just swore at hismother.

“The king is bad?”

“Not saying any more,” he says, pouting out alip like a child.

“What are those herbs?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Drugs?”

He shakes his head but I don’t think it’s ananswer.

“Tea leaves?”

Another shake of the head.

“Spices?”

His eyes flash open and I’m surprised to findthem clear and blue. “Not spices,” he says.

It’s like my mind is trying to climb a sheerrock face, and its fingers are scrabbling for something to grab onto, but they keep coming up empty, keep sliding down it, gettingtorn by the stone, slipping farther and farther toward a fall thatwill eventually kill it. Nothing makes any sense. That’s usuallywhen everything makes sense. It hits me.

“Is it some kind of medicine, like theconcoctions the healers use?”

The look on his face tells me I’ve hit onsomething that’s close to the truth. “Abe made me promise not totalk about all that,” he says.

“All what?” Buff says with a growl, but Iwarn him off with my eyes. I don’t want to scare him back into hisshell.

“Nope,” Neebo says, crossing his arms.

“What kind of medicine?” I ask. I soften myvoice. “Please—it’s important.”

He bites his lip, as if he has to keep itfrom telling me everything.

“Please,” I say again.

“Uh-uh.”

“What’s the special cargo we’ll be picking upsoon?” I ask.

His eyes close and he goes back to shakinghis head.

“Do you know what happened to my sister?” Iask.

He stops shaking, but doesn’t open his eyes,doesn’t give an answer. Just sits there.

We leave, knowing more than we did when wearrived, and yet knowing nothing.

~~~

It’s quiet on the home front. Mother’s passedout on the floor in front of a dwindling fire, a blanket drapedover her, clearly placed there by Wes, who’s sitting in a woodenchair just watching the last few flames dissolve into hotembers.

He doesn’t acknowledge my arrival. Not evenwhen I slam the door much harder than is necessary. I hate goinghome these days.

“I knocked about a hundred doors in the BlueDistrict,” I announce. Wes flinches, as if I’ve pulled him out of adaze, but doesn’t turn or say anything. “No one was really in thetalking mood.”

Wes just stares at the fire. He’s beginningto scare me. He’s always been the strong, responsible one—thereplacement for my father. Mother could never cope, could never bethe one to provide for us, but Wes was stalwart, unflappable. “Geton with what has to be done,” he would always say, mimicking one ofmy father’s favorite expressions and sounding a chill of a lot likehim. But now, ever since Jolie…