I stopped. Her flat look convinced me. Such knowledge was highly illegal and I wanted no part of it. But, somehow, she knew her birth child.

“Don’t say any more,” I said.

She ignored me. “She was sick. I took her to the medicine man, but he was no good. The sickness was in her chest.”

I covered my ears.

“She died in his arms. She coughed and coughed. There was blood in her eyes—blood everywhere.”

“No.”

“Mark my words, a terrible thing has come to Cobane—a black plague!”

“No! No!”

“Would I lie, Arika? Would I lie?”

I stood, scrambling for a bit of memorized text. “Fever is foreign to the Kongo. They are a healthy and hearty lot, immune to the frailties of the North. The male grows seven feet tall and the female as much as six.” I stopped to look at her. “That’s word for word from my reader, Robin.”

“But you yourself were sick this year. I brought tea and soup.”

“Yes, sick with a passing cold. But a plague in the Kongo? Impossible.”

Robin shuddered, unable to explain.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten,” I argued. “I’m a favorite of Teacher Jones. She would have warned us of a plague. Perhaps, well—the pill can damage your mind.”

“I gave birth to my little girl in March. How could I forget? She was sick, I tell you. She would not eat. Her cry became raspy. I went to the nursery but I did not recognize her, so small and shriveled. She had pain, here, and it changed her song.” She touched the hollow of her neck where her hot tears pooled. “When she came, she chippered like a wren—like a wren!”

Doggedly, I shook off her words, determined to make her see reason. “There were complaints at supper tonight, Robin. The kitchen is understaffed. I came to warn you. You have to go back to work. Jones will start asking questions. And then—”

Robin held up a hand. “How can I work, Arika? How can I work when a black plague—”

“There is no plague.”

She went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “I think to myself, if only—if only I had kept her with me, out of the nursery, I could have made her well. I could have stolen a hovercraft from the stables and fled.”

“Fled where?” I asked her.

Her mouth trembled. Her eyes fluttered back and forth. “I could have tried,” she finished.

Her tears were flowing again, scalding my heart. I offered the only comfort I could. “The child-rearing laws are set in place by the Compromise—approved by Obi himself. Such laws are good, Robin, even when we don’t understand them.”

“I’ll never understand. Why would Obi Solomon want to keep my Wren from me?”