I blinked. “Money? But —”

“You’re a god. You should be able to make money.”

I tried to think of a game or toy that might allow me to produce money. Gambling was an adult game; it did not suit my nature at all. Perhaps I could act out a children’s tale or lullaby, that one about the golden ropes and the pearl lanterns … “Would you take jewelry instead?”

She made a sound of utter disgust and turned to leave. I groaned and trotted after her. “Listen, I said I could make things that are valuable, and you can sell them! What’s wrong with that?”

“I can’t sell them,” she snapped, still walking. I hurried to keep up. “Trying to sell something valuable would get me killed. If I took it to a pawnbroker, everyone in South Root would know I had money before I left the shop. My house would get robbed, or my relatives would be kidnapped, or something. I don’t know anyone in the merchant cartels who could fence it for me, and even if I did, they’d take half or more in ‘fees.’ And I don’t have the status to impress the Order of Itempas, so they’d take the rest in tithes. I could go to one of the godlings around town, maybe, but then I’d have to deal with more of you.” She threw me a scathing look. “My parents are old, and I’m the only child. What I need is money for food and rent and to get the roof fixed and maybe to buy my father a bottle of wine now and again so he can stop worrying so much about how we’re going to survive. Can you give me any of that?”

I stumbled after this litany, a little stunned. “I … no.”

Hymn stared at me for a long moment, then sighed and stopped, reaching up to rub her forehead as if it pained her. “Look, which one are you?”

“Sieh.”

She looked surprised, which was a welcome change from contempt and exasperation. “I don’t recognize your name.”

“No. I used to live here” — I hesitated —“a long time ago. But I only came back to the mortal realm a few days ago.”

“Gods, no wonder you’re such a horror. You’re new in town.” This seemed to ease some of her anger, and she looked me up and down. “All right, what’s your nature?”

“Tricks. Mischief.” These were always easier to explain to mortals. They found “childhood” difficult to grasp as a specific concept. Hymn nodded, though, so I took a chance and added, “Innocence.”

She looked thoughtful. “You must be one of the older ones. The younger ones are simpler.”

“They’re not simpler. Their natures are just more attuned to mortal life, since they were born after mortals were created —”

“I know that,” she said, looking annoyed again. “Look, people in this city have lived with your kind for a long time now. We get how you work; you don’t need to lecture.” She sighed again and shook her head. “I know you need to serve your nature, all right? But I don’t need tricks; I need money. If you want to conjure something, sell it yourself, and bring me that later, that would be fine. Just try and be discreet, will you? And leave me alone until then. Please.”

With this, Hymn turned to walk away, slower this time as she had calmed somewhat. I watched her go, feeling altogether out of sorts and wondering how in the infinite hells I was going to get money for her. Because she was right; playing fair was as fundamental to my nature as being a child, and if I allowed the wrong I had done her to stand, it would erode a little more of whatever childhood she had remaining. Doing that prior to my transformation would’ve made me ill. Doing it now? I had no idea what would happen, but it would not be pleasant.

I would have to obtain money by mortal means, then. But if there were jobs to be had, would Hymn have been digging through muckbins and making knives from broken crockery? Worse, I had no knowledge of the city in its current incarnation, and no inkling of where to begin my search for employment.

So I began walking after Hymn again.

The streets were quiet and empty as I walked, taking on a dim, twilightish aspect as the morning progressed. Dawn had come and gone while I tormented the muckrakers, and all around me I could feel the city awakening, its pulse quickening with the start of day. Ghostly white buildings, long unpainted but soundly made and still beautiful in a run-down way, loomed out of the dark on either side of the street. I saw faces peering through the windows, half hidden by the curtains. Through gaps in the buildings I could see the mountainous black silhouette of a Tree root. Roots hemmed in this part of the city, while the Tree itself loomed above all to the north. There would be no sunlight here, no matter how bright the day grew.