“Were the other Kystrene relocated?” Lantern-Eyes wanted to know.

“No. They were allowed to stay on the planet with their current property, which is where they remain, under Minister administration. There were no other battles on the planet, so the only damage was to Itaka. The survivors we found—”

“Stop,” I said. I could barely hear myself over the sound of my own breathing echoing in my ears, but I must have spoken loud enough for the other two to hear me, because they fell silent.

It really was hard to breathe here. Maybe the air was getting thinner too; that made sense, didn’t it? I mean when you climbed a mountain there was less air at the top. I was climbing a spiral staircase in a spinning wheel; spirals upon spirals meant my head hardly knew which way was up anymore, which was bad when my feet didn’t feel thoroughly tethered to the ground. And the strut was narrowing further; if it kept this up, I’d be able to span the whole width of it with my arms outstretched, and then it would get too small for me to do even that.

There was a Child sitting in one of the nests. Squatting, it barely fit on the narrow mattress platform. Not like the spacious nests the ernes had made.

There were Children behind us, on the stairs. There were Children in the walls, watching. “Has anyone noticed,” I said, and my voice sounded weird to my own ears, “that there seem to be a lot more kids around?”

“Just keep walking,” Tamara said, from far, far away.

We climbed. We climbed and climbed, and the stairs turned tighter and tighter, until I could trail my fingers on the steps of the opposite side while I climbed, reaching right over the many stories of empty space. And still we climbed, even as our heels got so light we hardly had to touch the stairs, pulling ourselves along with the railings, and Children barely more than an arm’s length away.

Tamara stopped. I almost bumped into her, so focused was I on the way the staircase was narrowing, on my spinning skull. I opened my mouth to ask why she’d stopped, when I saw, instead of a staircase, the ascent changed to a single ladder, stretching up too high for me to see the end.

And, worst of all, the strut itself had narrowed to a tube, as narrow and close as a coffin.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX:

My Mother’s Wardrobe

I got locked in my mother’s wardrobe as a kid. Not for very long, and it was my fault really. My mother didn’t like to throw things out. She kept a lot of mementos. I understood it now better than I used to. Her mementos were all lost now, gone on Kystrom. I wished I’d taken a box with me, but even if I had, they would’ve been someone else’s memories.

I hadn’t liked narrow spaces before that, either, but I liked them even less afterwards. All those boxes of my mother’s memories pressed against me on all sides, almost too tight for me to turn around. I did turn around, somehow, and banged on the door, first yelling, then begging, for Brigid to let me out. For someone to let me out.