The finishing hall was full of racks, book viscera, and the scents of glue and paste. On one side, books were pressed and bound, and on the other, the finishing touches were applied. Ismene liked the way the sunlight fell in visible rays through the tight, upper windows; it gave the bustle below a sort of nimbus. Everyone wore light face masks; otherwise, one tended to sneeze.

  "Welcome back, Iz!" one of the binders greeted her. "Get us some good reading?"

  "Always, Oron," she said, making her way down the tables. Some of the others looked up or gave her a wave, and went back to work. "How's it been?"

  Getting back to work felt satisfying. Most of the binding servants lived in the same dorms she did, and had news of their friends, the villa household, and their crèche. In return, she had tales of the Castle. Now that she was back, it felt mythical and far-off indeed. Meanwhile, Ismene had a lot to do in the book shop. The inventory had to be confirmed; materials checked; reports written or gathered. The other servants kept the different departments running smoothly, and Ismene rarely had grounds for complaint, but she still had to check and re-check. For hours she inspected machinery and tools, ink and paper, racks and books. It would be her job lost if Harmonia found a shortfall.

  After she was caught up, Ismene unlocked the new materials cabinet to properly sort out their acquisitions from the night before. Her illicit volumes went in the back of the used-originals cabinet; it also locked, and it was tucked inconspicuously out of the way. The used originals generally didn't do anything but sit there until Harmonia gave them away as gifts, so it was a good place to hide books. No one would question an additional Castle volume. Someone from the guild would be there to pick them up later.

  That, and the record-keeping for her legitimate new arrivals, was a long process. When the lunchman came by, Ismene turned over a token for a packaged meal and took it out back to eat. She was lucky today; they had included little meat pies, along with a cheese that she hadn't tired too much of. She hated the onions, but she knew she'd best eat them too.

  Well; she thought. Her mother's letter couldn't wait forever. She took it out of her pocket, tugging open the outer fold. The slip of paper keeping it locked tore as the pages parted.

  The words buy out crossed her eyes, and she almost refolded the letter. But she couldn't redo the lock any more than she could ignore the contents. Ismene started to read.

  You always spoke of something more. Well, this is your chance. Timander's willing to buy out your contract in full. I think that you have a much higher chance of moving up into a management position here, and through this, you might be able to accomplish something permanent.

  I feel like you've been willing to settle for obscurity. This sort of chance isn't likely to come again. So, I've handled the negotiation with your contracted House myself.

  Not many Tyrenians get this sort of chance anymore. I expect you to take it.

  Ismene wanted to reach through the letter, take her mother's hand, and ask her what the gods she was thinking.

  It was humiliating. Her crèche mother, reaching out on her behalf? Ismene was too old for that sort of networking. Did Timander actually want to poach her? Had Mellon's people already been contacted by a representative of Timander's, or Autonoe herself? Gods. She hoped it wasn't that; he would have to wonder why Ismene couldn't apply to Harmonia about it herself. She didn't know if Harmonia would be mad, but she definitely wouldn't think much of it. Ismene had worked too long for Harmonia to cancel her contract without complaint.

  There is a pair of unattached siblings in the family, and by joining with either, you could press your ambitions there. Pairing off with someone in the business family could certainly raise someone's chances of becoming an employer themselves; or having a license basically given to them. Ismene would be dependent on her spouse, though. If they didn't want to support her ambitions... well, she'd be very well trapped. Maybe more than if she'd just taken the job itself.

  "You've got to be kidding me," she said, and then made herself take a deep breath. Expelling it, Ismene considered her options. If the application got off the ground, technically, she could take it. Timander published lovely maps, and their books were works of art. It was true. Ismene liked them.

  She didn't want to make them for the rest of her life, though. The position wasn't even that bad, on the surface; a good allowance, guaranteed two days' off, and access to the farms for food. But Ismene had her suspicions. Moving up might be possible, but the shops would be focused on producing the colored maps and hand-work that Timander was known for. She'd be back to bookbinding. It might be specialized, high-quality bookbinding, but Ismene wasn't interested. She didn't have the skills to do tedious, small-scale hand embellishment and coloring work. She didn't even know how long she'd last, even with two days off in eight, before her sight and wrists wore out. She didn't want to color the borders of Apion a thousand times over. She might spend years doing that, and never get the promised promotion.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Her mother had really outdone herself this time. She had to write back and tell her mother to stop.

  "And I'll never give up the Castle," she said.

  Ismene turned back to her half-eaten meat pie, and set about it so she could get back to work on time.

  When the book shop closed for the night, the streets were already dim. Ismene barred the front door, and drew the curtains. She surveyed the lamplit shelves of stock, each neatly stamped in blue. They had made sales, of course. Somewhere out there, the books she helped make and sell were being read. Some by those who paid in tokens, and the better by those who could pay in cash.

  Somewhere out there, copies of the books Ismene had smuggled were being read too.

  I'm making the right choice, to stay, she told herself. But how could she tell her mother about her real reasons?

  She went into the back and signed the sheets for the day crowd so that they could leave. The evening crew was already milling around the back door. Some were servants in houses who rented space from Mellon, but most were Harmonia's people. They'd be busy with ongoing jobs and the new books, until the next influx of new material came in.

  After letting everyone in and signing their work sheets, Ismene started giving assignments. Most of the printers were set to their building, typesetting the new jobs already begun during the day. The rest were assigned to copy jobs, and the binders' work never ended. When Ismene was done, she had one printer left. They were tall, intimidating really, but Ismene was used to them.

  "Good to see you, Evo," Ismene told them. Evo was guild; Ismene's one real contact with the movement. She suspected they were occasionally responsible for sneaking out bits of type and press parts under Ismene's carefully turned nose. "Got a complicated job for us to discuss." The usual excuse was that Evo did a lot of go-between work to the people who did picture plates for them. That was true; but they both knew what Ismene was talking about.

  Wandering into the back, they got to work. With the coast clear, Ismene unlocked her cabinet and started handing books off to Evo. "Ledgers... the 'cookbook'... and. I got that novel you were hoping for, too."

  Evo laid the titles out; the educational, expensive, or simply banned. Ismene handed the last to them. It was titled Factory Girl. She just grinned.

  “Ohh,” Evo said. “You did get it.” Unlike most of Ismene's legitimate books, this one was recently written. Ismene had no idea who’d read it into the Library’s collection. It hadn't been her.

  “I’m surprised,” Evo said, flipping through it. "I didn't really think they'd have it." The novel was coolly honest about its description of life as a factory servant. They had few memories of a crèche. When work was scarce, their cohort had been let go at age fourteen. Some of them were saved from vagrancy by an opportunistic employer, but it wasn't a happy ending. They hadn't starved, true. Hadn't been picked up by soldiers. But the author had tasted a moment of freedom, only to watch her family be split up and put back to the grind. The author openly wondered in her writing whether it had really been salvation at all.

  It was a hard read. If not for Harmonia, and Ismene's success at the bookbinding shop, she'd have ended up somewhere like that.

  The plainly written novel had been picked up by an enterprising small publisher, and run as something of a shock piece. The Assembly had immediately accused them of writing seditious fiction and outright lies. The publisher had settled for a hefty obscenity fine, but as far as Ismene knew, the domestic print run had been rooted out and destroyed. Only copies that had left Tyrene were likely to survive—if they weren't secreted away in fancy private libraries, never to be seen again.

  As if the book was to blame, Ismene thought. Remove the book, and surely the conditions will change! But she could see some employers thinking that. How nice for them that the Library never forgot.

  "I have some extra paper for you, too," Ismene added. It was written off as a loss; she didn't have to know where it was going. Together, they packed up the books like any other delivery. Evo took their leave, weighed down with their prizes.

  Slipping Eryx's items into her robe, Ismene locked up the rest. She waved to her relief on the way out.

  The villa was raucous with evening camaraderie, and Ismene was glad to get to the comparative privacy of her dorm. She snagged a plate and a mug from the main hall, and slinked away before anyone could try to pull her into some social gathering.

  She wasn't done. She had to write a response to her mother.

  What should she write? That she loved her work? It was true, but it sounded implausible when she could only describe the print shop. She couldn't tell her mother about the smuggled books. She enjoyed her Castle visits? Yes, but her position was probably as high as it would ever be.

  Was Ismene really, as her mother suggested, settling for obscurity?

  No, she told herself. She wasn't obscure. She was helping out the Guild, and Eryx, too. As long as she never got caught sneaking books, Ismene could stay where she was indefinitely. She didn't know how she would get a license, but she wasn't about to give up everything she had for a nebulous set of promises. She made her excuses to her mother, scratching away on a sheet of wastepaper.

  Except they weren't excuses, really, were they? Even if they didn't fly with her mother. They were simply... Ismene's decision, for Ismene's reasons.

  "I feel like that's all right," she said to herself, reading her missive.

  She didn't think her mother would be happy, but her mother would have to accept it.