It's near Drent Station."
"Bzzt, wrong. It's a couple blocks away."
"I said near ."
"Partial credit." The man continued to quiz him. Ced didn't get every question right—he suspected some of the places the man asked about weren't even real—but he knew most of them. After a few minutes, the man said, "Does he have a device in there?"
"I assure you," the woman said, "such things are not allowed."
"Well, I'll be. Thanks, kid. See you soon."
* * *
He never saw the woman with the smart-sounding voice. A few hours later, a husky man came for him, led him to a car. Ced asked where they were going, but the man didn't answer. The car drove itself through the Locker's streets, pulling to the curb outside a beige apartment building that looked slightly nicer than the ones around it. Ced's door opened. The man got out too.
On the sidewalk, Ced reached for the husky man's hand. The man looked surprised, but didn't pull away. They entered the white doors. Inside, boys and girls dressed in blue and white stared at Ced, gazes dropping to his hand. Ced released his grip.
They took an elevator to the sixth floor. The husky man left Ced in a reception room and went into the office beyond. Ced sat in a chair, swinging his feet. The man walked back into reception and jerked a thumb at the office door.
Ced slid off his chair and entered the office. A young man with slicked-back hair sat in the windowsill, feet propped on his desk. He wore a blue shirt with two white stripes running up the left side of his chest.
"What's up, kid?" The man's voice was familiar. He was the one who'd grilled Ced on the Locker's geography. Ced had pictured him much older; this guy was barely grown up. "Have a seat."
Ced sat in a chair that was much too large for him. "Where am I? If something happened, I was supposed to go to my Aunt Amanda's."
The man scrunched his face in a wry smile. "Bad news, kid. Your Aunt Amanda is broke. Either that or she just doesn't care."
Ced had once seen a man fall in the street for no good reason. He'd cracked his skull on the sidewalk and blood rushed out like it had been waiting to be set free. That's what it felt like now. Except the sidewalk was his mom, and the blood was tears. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.
In the windowsill, the man's grin ran away. "Hey. I'm sorry, kid."
"My name—" Ced choked. The back of his throat was salty. "My name isn't 'kid.' It's Ced."
"Hello, Ced. I'm Benson. As to where you are, you've been crewed. Do you know what that means?"
Hiccuping, Ced shook his head.
"You have been successfully bid on by the South Street Dragons. You're working with us for the duration of your contract. Contracts last for six years or until the employee is eighteen years old, whichever's longer."
"But that's eleven years for me."
"Excellent, you're a mathematician as well as a cartographer." He tapped his nails against the windowsill. "Is it fair, this system we've got? I don't know. I do know our crew is absorbing a significant financial burden to keep you off the street. Providing invaluable job training, too."
Ced shifted in the chair. "But after my contract's up, I can leave?"
Benson shrugged. "On your eighteenth birthday, if the Dragons want to extend your contract, you'll have the option to join as a full member. At that point, you'll draw salary. You'll also need to repay the Dragons for the costs of living you accrued during your pre-employment. It's called a care debt."
"And if I don't want to stay?"
"Then you'll have the option to join another crew, or to leave the business altogether. If you do that , however, on top of remunerating the Dragons for your care, you'll take on the responsibility of paying them to find and train your replacement." Benson swung a foot off the desk and smiled toothily. "But that's a long ways off. Right now, your only worry is learning the ropes."
"Am I going to have to do crimes?"
"Listen, kid—Ced—I'm not going to
"Bzzt, wrong. It's a couple blocks away."
"I said near ."
"Partial credit." The man continued to quiz him. Ced didn't get every question right—he suspected some of the places the man asked about weren't even real—but he knew most of them. After a few minutes, the man said, "Does he have a device in there?"
"I assure you," the woman said, "such things are not allowed."
"Well, I'll be. Thanks, kid. See you soon."
* * *
He never saw the woman with the smart-sounding voice. A few hours later, a husky man came for him, led him to a car. Ced asked where they were going, but the man didn't answer. The car drove itself through the Locker's streets, pulling to the curb outside a beige apartment building that looked slightly nicer than the ones around it. Ced's door opened. The man got out too.
On the sidewalk, Ced reached for the husky man's hand. The man looked surprised, but didn't pull away. They entered the white doors. Inside, boys and girls dressed in blue and white stared at Ced, gazes dropping to his hand. Ced released his grip.
They took an elevator to the sixth floor. The husky man left Ced in a reception room and went into the office beyond. Ced sat in a chair, swinging his feet. The man walked back into reception and jerked a thumb at the office door.
Ced slid off his chair and entered the office. A young man with slicked-back hair sat in the windowsill, feet propped on his desk. He wore a blue shirt with two white stripes running up the left side of his chest.
"What's up, kid?" The man's voice was familiar. He was the one who'd grilled Ced on the Locker's geography. Ced had pictured him much older; this guy was barely grown up. "Have a seat."
Ced sat in a chair that was much too large for him. "Where am I? If something happened, I was supposed to go to my Aunt Amanda's."
The man scrunched his face in a wry smile. "Bad news, kid. Your Aunt Amanda is broke. Either that or she just doesn't care."
Ced had once seen a man fall in the street for no good reason. He'd cracked his skull on the sidewalk and blood rushed out like it had been waiting to be set free. That's what it felt like now. Except the sidewalk was his mom, and the blood was tears. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.
In the windowsill, the man's grin ran away. "Hey. I'm sorry, kid."
"My name—" Ced choked. The back of his throat was salty. "My name isn't 'kid.' It's Ced."
"Hello, Ced. I'm Benson. As to where you are, you've been crewed. Do you know what that means?"
Hiccuping, Ced shook his head.
"You have been successfully bid on by the South Street Dragons. You're working with us for the duration of your contract. Contracts last for six years or until the employee is eighteen years old, whichever's longer."
"But that's eleven years for me."
"Excellent, you're a mathematician as well as a cartographer." He tapped his nails against the windowsill. "Is it fair, this system we've got? I don't know. I do know our crew is absorbing a significant financial burden to keep you off the street. Providing invaluable job training, too."
Ced shifted in the chair. "But after my contract's up, I can leave?"
Benson shrugged. "On your eighteenth birthday, if the Dragons want to extend your contract, you'll have the option to join as a full member. At that point, you'll draw salary. You'll also need to repay the Dragons for the costs of living you accrued during your pre-employment. It's called a care debt."
"And if I don't want to stay?"
"Then you'll have the option to join another crew, or to leave the business altogether. If you do that , however, on top of remunerating the Dragons for your care, you'll take on the responsibility of paying them to find and train your replacement." Benson swung a foot off the desk and smiled toothily. "But that's a long ways off. Right now, your only worry is learning the ropes."
"Am I going to have to do crimes?"
"Listen, kid—Ced—I'm not going to
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