Judging by the sour expressions on most of the farmers’ faces, I suspected we would be waiting for a while. Not that I minded; the breeze was warm and soft, and it felt good to be out of Ceyrun. I stood and stretched my legs. Ever since my conversation with Rhyanon, I had found the city oppressive. The Martyrium loomed large over everything, and my thoughts spiralled endlessly back toward my mother. Who she might have offended, what she might have done. Outside, at least I felt like I could breathe.

A murmuration of starlings swooped through the air above us. They flowed like silk toward the city wall, a ribbon caught in the wind. Then they smashed into the ramparts.

“Hmm?” Zenza glanced at me.

The birds did not fall. They dotted the top of the wall like darts thrown into a board. Thin steaks of blood rolled down from their tiny crushed skulls.

“It’s nothing,” I said, and sat down. “Won’t you be late meeting Faye for dinner?”

“Probably.”

“Then let me take the boxes to the warehouse.”

She smiled. “It’s kind of you to offer, but that’s not necessary.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No, look.” She pointed at the queue. “We’re moving now anyway. But maybe you could drop the paperwork back at the office afterwards?”

“Sure.”

The starlings’ bodies turned silver as we passed under them, gleaming, profane bundles of broken wings and splayed feathers. I kept my eyes on the road ahead. I had to keep my composure in Zenza’s company.

Inside the walls, the throng thinned as the travellers dispersed. Three men in overalls were setting up for a fire-dancing show on Bell Square, laying out sand-coloured rugs. One of them caught my eye and waved. I didn’t recognise him, but I nodded in return. He grinned.

The warehouses were only two blocks from Food Management’s headquarters in Major East. Our driver skillfully navigated the busy roads and took a shortcut through the outskirts of the Crin District, where the streets grew quieter. Shouts and laughter drifted over the rooftops from the direction of Pearl Boulevard.

“I’m amazed that the Council didn’t call off the festivities,” said Zenza under her breath. “In two months, the Reverends will be eating spurwings with the rest of us.”

I snorted. “At least Reverend Somme will get to say that she told them so.”

“Over here, Sister?” the driver asked.

“Thanks, that will do nicely.”

The wagon stopped and Zenza jumped down. I handed her two boxes. The warehouse was an ugly, square building. No windows on the ground floor, rough-plastered walls, and a deep basement filled with a variety of preserved produce. The best that could be said about the place was that it was secure and dry.

Zenza wedged the boxes on her hip and unlocked the reinforced warehouse door. I lit the interior lamp, revealing a short, low-roofed corridor. We took the stairs down to the basement, where rows upon rows of sterilized glass jars waited to be filled. I left the lamp with Zenza and fetched more of our boxes. Other Acolytes had the unenviable task of processing the insects; we just had to deliver them here.