Suddenly, I thought of the empty black book. It felt like a millstone in my pocket. A whole day and night of absence would not go unnoticed by Jones. She might, even now, be awaiting my return. I needed information about the Director, and I needed it now!

I glanced at Hosea from the corner of my eye. “You know, if you miss the meeting, the worst Jones will do is expel you.”

He frowned, suspicious.

I smiled to cover my nerves. I was fishing, hoping he’d let a clue slip as to his intentions at the Schoolhouse.

“Perhaps I want to graduate and become a Senator,” he said.

“Do you?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

I huffed. He was toying with me, and I didn’t have time! I gave up all pretense. “Be straight with me, Hosea. I want to know why you’re here. If not to graduate, then why? It’s important.”

He scoffed. “You school brats are all the same. Whatever you happen to want becomes important, just because you want it.”

“Don’t forget, this school brat was right beside you in the sick room tonight! There’s blood on my hands too.”

I lifted a hand to show him and realized, to my horror, I was a mess, covered all over in blood and filth. I touched my hair where soft curls sprang haphazardly. “Obi Solomon! I have to change,” I said.

“There’s no time. We have to go.”

I balked, imagining Jones’ reaction to the dirt. “Late or not, I can’t go back like this.”

He looked me over. Resignedly, he took my arm and led me to an abandoned hut. He took a turn around the single room, ensuring it was safe, and left me alone with a shout. “You have five minutes.”

I didn’t waste any time. I stripped and took a square pile of garments from my bag. I plucked up the first square, an underskirt, and stepped into it. Then I pulled a soft blouse over my head. I shook out the last square, my aura, and began to wrap myself in the broad strip of cloth.

I started with a long drape around my hips, tucking it in at the waist of my underskirt. I made several pleats and tucked those in too, creating a fan pattern across the top of my thighs. I pulled the next part of the cloth tight around my knees, hobbling them together. I secured the remaining length around my back and over my shoulder. With the small steps required by the close nip of my skirt, I retrieved the thick studded belt I’d discarded earlier and cinched it around my waist.

Finished, I surveyed myself. The pleats were unfashionably wide and I’d tucked the skirt poorly, so the hem hung unevenly. I’d managed a tight hobble, which was most important to Jones. It would do. A knock sounded at the door.

“Are you done in there?”