Rosethorn frowned. “Did you see it in the fall?”
“No. Today.” She wasn’t going to hit him? It’s what any grown-up would have done, back in Deadman’s District in Hajra.
“Then the stem that has brown leaves is dead. The whole tree may be sick, or dying. Where did you see it?”
He winced. It had been hard enough just to ask. He wasn’t at all ready to mention Dedicate Crane. “Around,” he said vaguely.
Rosethorn sipped her juice. “Well, if you see it again, around, let me know. Perhaps I can help. There’s no reason for any Winding Circle tree to be sickly.”
Once the table was cleared, Lark took the large slate on the wall nearest the hearth off its hooks and lay it on the table, along with a stick of chalk. “The schedule,” she said, black eyes impish. “Yours includes chores and lessons—”
All four children groaned.
“I knew you’d be happy,” Lark commented. “Now, first in the day, everyone cleans her—or his—room. Some mess is all right, but make your beds, sweep your floors, and clean your washbasins before you come to breakfast. After that, we’ll do chores inside the house….” She bent her curly head over the slate and began to write.
Briar frowned. “What if I don’t know how to do any chore stuff?”
Lark smiled. “We’ll show you.”
“I’ve done housework forever,” Tris said glumly. “It’s not hard to learn.” She looked at the others, wondering how good they would be. Sandry had probably had servants all her life. The only things Tris knew about Traders were tales of secret rituals and how they cheated merchants. Did the tales mention cleaning and sewing? She couldn’t remember if they did. “I’d better not get stuck doing all the work,” she muttered.
“You won’t,” Lark replied. “That’s why I do a schedule. As the moon goes from full to full, you all share the chores. No one gets stuck with the hardest ones every time.”
“We have terrible ways to ensure no one cheats,” Rosethorn said, leaning back in her chair. Four pairs of eyes fixed on her as the children tried to guess if she was joking or not. The tiny smile on her lips was not at all reassuring.
“After chores,” Lark announced, “you learn to meditate, under Niko’s supervision.”
“What’s meditation?” asked Daja.
“It’s clearing your mind,” replied Lark.
“It’s controlling your mind,” Rosethorn said at the same time.
Lark smiled. “As you can see, it serves more than one purpose.”
“It’s priest stuff,” grumbled Briar. “Real people don’t need it.”
“But you’re no longer a real person, boy,” Rosethorn commented wickedly. “You live here—you’re halfway to being a priest yourself.”
“Meditation teaches self-control,” Lark told the children firmly, with a look at Rosethorn that said Behave! “It teaches discipline. You learn to govern and organize your mind. Since a few of you were sent here because it was thought you were ungovernable—” Sandry, Tris, and Briar turned red—”meditation could turn out to be the most important thing you do here.”
“It can’t hurt, and it might help,” added Rosethorn.
Lark examined the slate. “After that, midday and cleanup. Then, during the summer, Winding Circle has a two-hour rest period, during the hottest part of the day. That time’s yours. After it, we’ll arrange for lessons of some kind—I’ll take care of that sometime this week. Then supper, and cleanup. Here we bathe daily, after supper, in the Earth temple. Free time for a while, then bedtime.” She looked at Daja and Briar. “We didn’t take you to the baths last night because you were still getting settled. That was an exception, not the rule.”
“Aren’t temple baths just for dedicates and novices?” asked Sandry.
“We have permission to bring our charges,” Lark replied. “It’s easier on everyone.” She looked at the children’s faces. “Don’t look so glum. On Sunsday your time is your own, provided you behave. And there are holidays, and days when your teachers won’t be available. We’ll try not to work you to death. Any questions?”
No one said a word.
“Then get your bathing things and meet us here.”
The group split up to collect soap and sponges, the undyed robes given to them by the temple, and wooden shoes to keep their feet out of the dirt. When they assembled at the back door, the only one missing was Briar.
Rosethorn stuck her head into his room. The boy was inspecting one of the plants that she had pulled from the ground during the day. “Come on, my lad,” she ordered. “That nettle had better go back in the compost heap, where it will do me some good. I don’t want it seeding in my garden.”
“I washed day before yesterday,” he retorted. “How can a plant do good in a heap, and not the garden?”
“It helps the compost to ferment, so the compost makes better fertilizer. The fertilizer helps plants I want to grow. If the nettle stays in the ground, it chokes out other plants. Get moving.”
He stared at her, gray-green eyes stubborn. “You and Niko! I never washed so much before. I’ll catch my death.”
“Nonsense. Think how nice you smell.” When he didn’t move, Rosethorn’s eyebrows twitched together. “I have used up my week’s allowance of patience, boy. Everyone bathes here, every day. You don’t have a choice.”