The door caught against its frame as it swung shut behind them. It held there for a moment, leaving enough of the mess hall open that the sounds inside still carried through. Someone laughed down the table. A bench scraped across the floor. Somebody shouted for another helping she wasn't there to serve.
Cedd didn't speak.
Frida filled the silence by thinking about what she'd do when the company moved on.
The room over the tannery sat two streets beyond the gate. It was cheap because nobody had ever managed to get the smell out of the walls, but it had a roof, and she'd slept under worse.
She still didn't know whether the city kitchens hired people from outside or only those who came through the registrar, like everything else in this city seemed to require.
If they wouldn't take her, she'd find something else.
