It was early afternoon when we decided it was time to start looking for more gods. Since each of us could take care of ourselves, Cobalt, Rhed, and I split up to cover more ground and agreed to meet in the town square around four o'clock.

Vanberg is one giant city that spans the entire island, so there was no way to search everywhere, but in the Southwestern Port area there are a good number of sight-seeing spots. I went to all the likely places, or at least places I thought would be likely for a god or goddess to be. I poked my head into a prestigious bank built in the framework of what used to be a temple, wandered the old prayer gardens in Wicken Park, and visited the shrines scattered here and there throughout the markets, but didn’t see anyone who struck me as divine. After that, I searched through the shops, scouring clothing stores, a toy shop, a clockmaker’s, a fishery, and wandered down every bazaar in the area. Nothing and no one seemed unusually divine. The only productive thing I managed to accomplish was pawning the newly-restored sword (thanks to Cobalt’s handy-dandy magic) in an antique shop, and the hook-nosed old lady behind the counter offered no sign of being godly.

By that point, the clocks showed that it was about half-past three. I was running out of time and ideas. On a whim, I turned into the nearest store, which happened to be a candy shop.

The walls were white, but you didn't see much of the walls. Racks with jars of candy coated every available space, and lollipops and candy canes dangled from ribbons pinned to the ceiling. The floor was made up of pink, lemonade-yellow, and minty green tiles, and the room itself smelled of a confusing mix of cotton candy and toffee. The man at the counter smiled at me, making his mustache's curled ends curve upward. “Welcome, what can I do for you?”

I propped my elbows onto the counter, a bit overwhelmed with the spin of color around me. “Look, I’ve been around half the Southwest Port, so just tell me quick,” I said. “Have you seen anybody weird, monochromatic, and/or inexplicably magical today?”

He frowned. “I’m… not sure. You aren’t looking for her, are you?”

He pointed to a little girl who sat by the window, licking a lollipop and gazing dreamily out the window. Her hair was a wavy cotton-candy pink, done up in ribbons, and her frilly dress was trimmed with taffy colors.

“She said she was waiting to be found,” the candy man told me. “That someone was coming for her.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Huh. Weird. Thanks.”

He bobbed his head, gave me a perplexed smile, and went back to restocking gumdrops.

I crossed the room toward the little girl. She kicked her feet back and forth as she watched the foot traffic through the window. When she heard me coming, she flashed a pearly-toothed smile at me and chirped, “Hello!”

“Hi.” I looked her up and down. The hair sure was strong evidence that she might be a goddess. “What's your name?”

“Blush.” She took a lick at her lollipop. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Manda.” I pulled out a chair from a nearby table. “I think I might know some friends of yours.”

She cocked her head, but didn’t say anything more.

“You are Pink, right?" I asked.

She startled and stared at me. Even the color of her eyes was soft tulip-petal pink. Honestly, it was a little off-putting. It reminded me of the one albino I’d met, except this girl’s eyes were oddly iridescent, a pearly pink you’d see in seashells but not in flesh-and-bone creatures. “How did you know?” she asked.

“I've met Blue and Red. They sent me to find you.”

“Blue and Red? They don't get along very well.”

I puffed a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

Blush hopped down from her seat. “Can you take me to them?”

“Sure.” I stood and headed out of the shop, the bell tinkling overhead, and Blush slipped her hand into mine. I tried to ignore the candy-stickiness of it. We started down the street, but we’d only gone a few shops down when Blush slowed to a stop.

“What is it?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her eyes screwed up in concern. “You haven't met...?”

“Met... who?”

“No, nothing.” She started walking again.

Late afternoon shadows crept across the pavement as we returned to the fountain. Rhed stood near the middle of the little plaza by himself, impatiently digging the tip of his sword into the cobblestone walk. When she saw him, Blush let go of my hand and ran to him, squealing, “Red!”

She tackled him in a big hug, and they both toppled into the fountain. A gush of steam geysered from the fountain pool. Rhed’s legs flailed in the air before he scrambled out of the water with a howl of pain, clouds of steam rising from his back. Patches of his skin had turned bright red and shiny as if he’d touched a hot pan, and where he wasn’t blistering, he was flushing like an infuriated lobster in a pot.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed. “You know I can't—” He broke off with a grunt and doubled over, coughing like he’d swallowed a bottle of acid.

Blush stood up to her waist in water, looking shocked. A few tears dribbled down her face, mingling with the water, and she started bawling. I wasn't sure who to attend to, Rhed or Blush.

Rhed was closer. I ran over and pulled him upright, trying not to touch his blisters. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“No, I'm not okay!” he wheezed. “I can't take—”

“Get ahold of yourself, Rhed!” Cobalt snapped, running up to us. “It was an accident.”

“Blazes if I care!” Rhed wrenched his arm out of my grasp. “Stupid brat!”

Blush whimpered louder and, if possible, more pathetically. I looked to Cobalt for help, but he was busy glaring at Rhed. How constructive.

A girl strode past Cobalt extended her hand toward Blush, long, thick hair the color of fresh leaves brushing against her ramrod-straight back. Blush sniffled and took her hand, climbing out of the fountain, and the girl stepped back so that the splattering fountain water wouldn’t wet her skirt and its pale green sprigs of embroidered flowers. She said a few quiet words to Blush, who subsided into sniffles, and then she brushed past me to reach Rhed. Lifting Rhed's chin, she studied his face with steely focus through a pair of green tortoiseshell spectacles. Something about the way she carried herself rubbed me the wrong way. It was like she knew all eyes were on her, and she expected them to be, but was unbothered all the same.

This, I supposed, was Green.

She released Rhed’s chin. “It isn't severe. You should fully recover within a few minutes.”

Rhed crossed his arms —gingerly, because of the burns— and sulked. “Well, tell her to be more careful.”

Blush's lip trembled. Green eyed him sternly.

“Rhed…” I said.

“Please behave yourself,” Green told him, interrupting me. She turned to Blush. “My name is Éva. What is yours?”

Blush sniffed and told her.

“And do you remember that Rhed can't go into water?”

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

“Don't tell me. Tell Rhed.”

Blush tucked her hands behind her back and whispered. “I'm sorry, Rhed.”

He sniffed and looked away, but shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Fine. Just don't do it again.”

Blush made a weak smile and wiped her eyes. “I won't!”

Éva folded her hands like a politician about to recite a speech. “First of all, we need to finish locating the others. I believe we are the only Colors on Vanberg, but there are likely to be a few on Inashi or Argozon. I’d prefer we travel quietly. In order to do that, we need money. Does anyone have a convenient way to acquire some?”

They looked around at each other. Cobalt absently scratched his ear. “I have an idea,” he said. “Is there a music store?”

* * *

While Éva took Rhed and Blush with her to make other arrangements, I led Cobalt into the upper class part of town. Here, the road was smooth bricks instead of uneven gravel and cobblestone. Horse-drawn buggies could be seen stopping at specialty shops, and miniature flocks of well-to-do shoppers wandered here and there, twirling canes and umbrellas and whatever else they had to show off.

“How do you plan to pay for an instrument?” I asked Cobalt as we walked.

He pressed his lips together. “Well, I was hoping to borrow some from you.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Were you now?”

“I know we’re practically strangers. I know. And I’m sorry to ask it. We could steal an instrument, but I’d rather not rob an innocent shopkeeper, either.”

I chewed over the notion. I’d never been generous with my funds, largely because I usually had so little of them. There had been a time or two I’d given a few bronze jungs to little street brats, but that was because I knew they needed them, and I knew what it was like to live that way. For a street brat, grown-ups are all a flinch away from kicking you, catching you for the police, or indenturing you. Mayhap that was how I’d developed my distrustful nature.

I scrutinized Cobalt’s face with all the subtlety of a hypochondriac checking his salad for stray hairs. He hadn’t done anything to make me distrust him, but then again, no swindlers did. On the other hand, he wasn’t just some random boy I’d met. He was a god, or a god-like thing. On the other-other hand, I’d never been religious and had no intention of becoming so. Did it make a difference if the god asking for your money asked in person and had a moderately decent reason for doing so?

Cobalt’s blue eyes flicked over to mine, but I wasn’t finished scrutinizing. He gave me a confused look, glanced away, glanced back. “What?”

“Just thinking.” I let up staring at him and watched where we were going instead. “My street senses keep telling me that lending money is a bad idea. No offense.”

“None taken. Does it help that I promise to pay you back?”

“Plus 15% commission?”

He laughed. “Calculating, much?”

“You’re looking at a born and bred Vanberg girl. The stereotypes are pervasive.”

He cocked his head. “Is that something you don’t wonder about? Who and what you are?”

“Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Perhaps it’s different, growing up from a child into an adult. Mortals discover themselves gradually along the way.”

“I take it that being a god leads to identity crisis?”

“Transforming from one person to another is jarring,” Cobalt said. “It’s not just our bodies that change — who we are on the inside changes, too. It’s odd to remember the person I was not so many hours ago and feel like a stranger to him. I don’t really know who I am yet, what I like and don’t like, how I’ll think and feel about certain things.”

“But you have some idea, right?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m gathering an impression of myself, yes. It may be different starting off in the teenage years. They’re usually rather confusing, aren’t they?”

“Mm, I guess it depends on the person.” I paused at the corner of Eighth and Lollamund —in this part of town, the streets actually had signs— leaning out to see further down the lane. “There it is.”

Pressed between two larger shops sat a small, classy brick building with Solomon’s Music gilded on the glass above the door. The same family had probably been renting that spot on Eighth Avenue for generations.

As we stepped through the door, chimes tinkled in a melodious jingle. No one was at the service desk, though the counter was wiped clean of dust and the paper files behind it were orderly. Scattered about the shop were displays of beautiful instruments made of glossy wood and polished metal. I hovered near the door, a little lost in such a nice shop and scared of tracking in dirt, but Cobalt strolled among the instruments as if they were old friends. He hesitated for a moment at the bench of a grand piano, tracing his fingers down the keys, and sat down to play.

I’d heard pianos played plenty of times before, mostly lively ditties chopsticked out of old, out-of-tune instruments. But I had never heard anything like this. His fingers flew up and down the keys, over and under each other, and the music that poured out was both smooth and tempestuous, so many notes tumbling over each other like waves crashing over rocks and receding in swells. To my great disappointment, he stopped after a minute and withdrew his fingers, maybe thinking that he shouldn't be touching something this expensive.

“No, please! Go on,” said a voice.

A wizened old man emerged from the back. He was completely devoid of hair, the top of his head spattered with liver spots. His hands were wrinkled and curled like tree roots, but there was no tremor in them.

“I haven't heard anyone play like that in decades,” he said, tapping down the aisle with the aid of a knotted cane. “You're here for a piano, young master?”

“I'm not sure,” Cobalt admitted. “I just need an instrument.”

“An instrument? None particularly? Quite peculiar.” The man gestured for him to follow. “I'm Mr. Solomon. Come this way, please.”

Mr. Solomon made his way down to a particular display and raised his cane to point out some cellos. “What do you think of these?”

“May I?”

“Go right ahead.”

Cobalt sat down on a stool and drew the bow across the strings. A low note thrummed. He tried a short melody, but frowned and put it back. “No.”

Mr. Solomon hefted a clarinet, tipping it over in his fingers. “This is a nice one. Are you familiar with woodwinds?”

Cobalt blew into it. He could play it, alright, but he didn’t seem to like it.

“No?” Mr. Solomon rapped his fingers atop his cane. “Let me understand: you can play many instruments, but you don’t know which one you want to buy?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Solomon waited for elaboration, but Cobalt offered none. “Well, try them,” he sighed. “I don’t think you’ll hurt anything.”

“I won’t.” Cobalt drifted down the aisles, looking at all the instruments. He tested out a trumpet and found it too loud. He agonized over a guitar, but ultimately decided it was too cumbersome for travel. Drums were also not portable, a flute too shrill, a harp too large. He simply ignored the upright bass. Mr. Solomon ambled along behind him, watching with keen interest as Cobalt played each one expertly, then discarded it. After a trombone attempt, Cobalt lamented a piano’s lack of mobility and resigned himself to keep trying each instrument.

At last he stopped at a shelf displaying violins. He took one down, fitted it under his chin, and played a flowing, leaping melody on it. The piano was similar in the general rising and falling spirit of his performance, but there are some things a violin can do that are different from other instruments. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he made that violin sing.

Mr. Solomon was speechless. I was impressed from a distance, still hovering near the door. Cobalt asked, “How much?”

Mr. Solomon blinked a few times. “400 gold filgers.”

Cobalt glanced back at me. I made a slashing motion at my throat. With the addition of the 30 gold filgers I’d earned from pawning the sword, I had what added up to about 36 1/2 gold filgers in various currency, but I wasn’t sure if a high-class place like this would accept the jungs I’d acquired on Muir.

“Anything cheaper?” Cobalt asked.

Solomon held up a glossy black one. “250?”

I tilted my thumb down. Way down.

“What’s the cheapest one you have?” Cobalt asked.

Mr. Solomon tapped a wrinkled finger on his cane. “Working? 110. Broken? Eh… say 15.”

I nodded vigorously.

“We’ll take the broken one.” Cobalt replaced the expensive violin.

Mr. Solomon hobbled to the back and brought out an old fiddle. The wood along its sides had cracked, it was missing two strings and several knobs, and the finish was severely water-stained. I was surprised he hadn’t thrown it out. “I hope you’re as good a violin maker as you are a player. If I may ask, young master, what’s your name?”

Cobalt took the violin with a gracious nod, and I left the money on the counter. “I’m Blue,” he called over the door chimes.

Outside, Cobalt sat down on a bench and studied his new violin. I leaned against a wall nearby. “You better get some good money with that thing,” I said. “All I’ve got left will stretch thin, especially with travel expenses.”

Cobalt closed his eyes and took a gentle hold of the neck with one hand, his other tracing down the violin’s body. The wood along the crack spliced together seamlessly. Strings and knobs materialized, and the wood first turned glossy, then to a deep sapphire blue. Decorative black trim coiled on its body like brushstrokes of ink, and the bow that came with it turned glittering black as well. He opened his eyes and inspected his handiwork, then tucked it under his chin and tried a quick little melody. It sang like an angel.

“That was pretty… something,” I said.

He looked down at the violin with a frown. Something was still bothering him, but I couldn’t tell if something was wrong with the violin or if there was something else entirely. Should I ask, or just let it be?

A pair of lady’s shoes tapped toward us, and I looked up to see Éva making her way toward us. Her chin tilted high, she gave the violin an evaluating glance. “Yes, that will do,” she said.

Cobalt stood. “Where are Rhed and Blush?”

“Blush wanted to see the livestock by the docks, and Rhed is with her. With any luck, he won’t manage to cause a stampede. You'll want to go down that street.” She pointed. “You’ll find a merchant’s club called Gregorio’s. Their entertainment has, unfortunately, developed a sore throat and will be unable to perform tonight. Go and ask if you can perform in...” She glanced at the sky, seeming to make a calculation. “...Ten minutes. Make sure they pay you well, but they won't pay extravagantly.”

“How do you know all that?” I asked.

She looked at me coolly, and I noticed that her spectacles were set with tiny emeralds that flicked light into my eyes. “I am luck, both good and bad,” she said. “The performing tenor seems to have caught a chill.”

“You jinxed him?”

“He will be perfectly fine by tomorrow.”

Cobalt gave her a disapproving look. “Éva, that man needed the money.”

“He could easily get by for another day. Besides, isn't our need greater? We must reunite with the others as soon as possible, or the natural world as we know it will fall into shambles. Do you realize just how many places they could be?”

“I still think...”

She held up her hand. “We can't spare any time. This is the best way.”

“Best for us or best for him?” Cobalt snapped.

Éva's expression did not change. “Use the violin and earn us money. Meet us at the Melted Candle.”

Cobalt's face hardened. With a dazzlingly well-coordinated twirl, he spun the violin over his shoulders and tucked it into a case that hadn’t been there a few seconds before, drawing down a strap and cinching it across his chest. I blinked and tried to quantify where and how he’d got that case, but he’d already stormed off up the road.

Gods and their magic. Karā.

I left that endless train of thought alone and went back to the last thing Éva had said. “The Melted Candle? Are you sure?” I asked.

“It is the most economical place to stay. We need to save as much money as we can.” She had already turned her back on me and was walking briskly away. I sensed a pattern emerging.

I chased after her. “We can't stay at the Candle. Ever met a pirate?”

“Yes.”

“If you thrash a pirate until he calls uncle, his uncle vacates a room in the Candle to find and grotesquely dismember you.”

“You're overreacting,” she sighed.

“No, I'm not.” I grabbed her arm to get her to stop. She did stop, dead in the middle of the street, and gave me the evil eye.

“I’m Manda, by the way. You didn’t ask. The Candle is probably the worst possible place to go,” I went on. “Lots of under-the-table, behind-closed-doors stuff goes through there. More than I know about, that's for sure.”

She removed my hand with two fingers. “Allow me to make something very clear. We are gods, and you, Manda, are a mortal. Rhed has informed me that you accompanied him and Cobalt today. You may assist us if the need arises, but we will make the decisions. After thousands of years of experience, we do have some idea what we’re doing.”

“By ‘we’ do you mean ‘you’?”

A half-smile thinned her lips. “Do you make a habit of being blunt when you shouldn’t?”

“I can see you make a habit of being condescending.”

“The only reason I’m allowing you to accompany us,” Éva said, “Is that you were calm enough to approach Rhed during a tantrum, and that he responded to you. This could be very useful if I am away and a crisis arises.”

“Should I be honored?”

“You should make yourself useful. Return to the Candle while I find Red and Pink.”

I clicked my heels together and saluted. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” I about-faced and took my turn showing her my back as I clipped off down the road.

“The tavern is that direction,” Éva called after me.

I spun around and walked backward for a few paces. “Who said I was going there right away?”

Her frown left me feeling somewhat gratified, and I trotted across town, leaving her to her own devices. The setting sun washed Vanberg and all its glorious monuments to commerce in tangerine gold, and the early evening bustle of spenders trying to get to shops before they closed put a spring in my step. Karā, I’d forgotten how much I’d missed the energy of Vanberg. The sunset did mean I was running a bit behind, though. Abbetts-Rochester Library might be closed by the time I got there. No problem. There was more than one way to get in.