Her da found her bargaining for a pair of gold plated earrings in the many shops thrown up slapdash in the island camping grounds and made her abandon that cause in the name of posterity.

“Did daoa let you buy that?” she demanded. Sergon was a wretched spendthrift when it came to his hobbies. The piece of spitch in his hands was a camera spectra that probably wouldn’t work.

“As a matter of fact it was a gift from Em,” Sergon said, sniffing. Sophie snorted. “It will be anyway. One day we might not be together, Sophers, I always want to have something of ye.”

“Lock of hair,” Sophie said irritably. “Drop of blood, toenail clippings.”

“Soph,” Sergon said sternly, and Sophie gave up.

“Fine, fine, it’s your old age,” Sophie said, throwing her ribbon-tied lock of hair behind her back.

Alko was leaning against the fami cart, smoking a pipe and talking with two kovs from Black Hand, Marcho and Evan Burgess, that he was friendly with. He hailed his da with a bobbing of the pipe and raised an eyebrow at the camera spectra.

“Did daoa really give you leave for that, da?” he asked, skeptically.

“Junta,” said Marcho, eyeing Sophie up and down. “Not so pina no more, eh Sophie?”

“How’s your rosh?” Sophie said flatly. Marcho chuckled, trying to play it off.

“It was a present!” Sergon sputtered. Alko nodded, and puffed complacently in such a way that implied that he perhaps thought this was not the case. “Alko, put your beata on the perch.”

Sophie brushed past them both and hauled herself onto the perch herself. The last time Alko or anyone else had put her on the perch had been over ten maw ago. Sometimes her da forgot that she drove the cart seven out of ten times, and she had floated it across to Surwood with daoa sick to her stomach and Alko busy with Yillian, his infant daughter. Marcho and Evan said their goodbyes and went to mingle.

Sophie leaned over to her brunno and opened her hand, indicating with a single look that she wanted a puff. “Hey, where’s Yill?”

“With Karalina,” Alko said, passing Sophie the pipe. She puffed it a few times and gave it back to him. “She likes her too, y’know.”

Sophie frowned. Her opinion of Karalina, Alko's soon-to-be bride, had never been high and hadn’t gotten higher at their last meeting.

“Look happy, brood of mine!” Sergon announced.

Sophie pulled a face, and Sergon wilted.

“Sophie,” her father chided.

“C’mon, Soph,” Alko said nudging her with his painted elbow. He smiled at her, revealing his yellow and gold teeth. “Be sweet.”

Sophie smiled.