But Del did not agree and the other women did not comprehend, and so her words were wasted. Besides, they wanted to use her for other work. Fund-raising, for instance. She was a blueskin; she could approach the indigo corporations and ask for money. She could wheedle for concessions from the utility companies who did not understand why so many of the guldwomen’s bills were paid late or not at all. She could recruit highly trained indigo doctors who felt enough compassion to donate their time and services to the poorly equipped clinic. She could be their conduit to all that indigo wealth.

And so she had done it. Uncomplainingly, though at first with a certain degree of embarrassment. It was begging, after all, even though her cause was noble and she was not begging for herself. She had enlisted Sereva’s help, because her cousin had not spent half her life in Geldricht, as Kit had. Sereva knew who among the indigo were philanthropists and crusaders. She knew who had a genuinely kind heart and who could be moved by appeals to noblesse oblige.

In fact, Kit was surprised at how many indigo women were eager to help their unfortunate sisters, how many gave generously of both personal and corporate funds. When she considered it, she realized that, in this particular instance, gender superseded race. The blueskin women were appalled at the lives of their gulden counterparts. If a loaf of bread, a hefty check, or a pile of used clothing (scarcely worn and good as new) could transform the hapless, helpless, fearful guldwomen into strong, independent, righteous members of society—well, then, they were glad to give what they had. It was the least they could do. And they felt proud of themselves once they’d done it.

It was a start. There was so much more to be done that sometimes Kit could hardly bear it. But a start.

This morning, when she arrived at the charity bank, there was a small mob of women standing outside the double doors, huddled close together but not speaking. They were all dressed in the city drab that the ghetto women affected. In Geldricht, they wore a medley of bright colors, rich blues and hand-dyed green and scarlet. Here, khaki and olive and tan. They did not like to draw attention to themselves; they had no joy in color anymore. And their gold skin, like their clothing, seemed to fade and lighten under the city sun, till their rich complexions were a pasty beige and their lovely flaming hair showed no life or brilliance at all.

Today, the group outside the charity bank seemed even paler and more colorless than ever. Kit counted about fifty women, more than could usually be found here at this hour, all wrapped in fear and silence. “What is it? What’s happened?” she asked in goldtongue as she strode up to them. No one answered her. A few looked away.