"Blanche! Blanche, get over here!" Old Ashford called out from the warmth of his District Precinct-style security booth.
Blanche skidded to a halt on the gravel, her blue-striped polo shirt fluttering. "How in blazes—?! What you want now, Mister?"
"Don't forget your munchies," the old watchman said, gesturing to a small pile on his desk.
"What munchies?"
"The ones Leah Ashford left for you. She said they were a thank-you for the water-juice."
Blanche’s eyes lit up as she peered through the glass. "Are they all for Blanche?"
"Every single one. You want to carry 'em yourself, or you want me to help?"
Blanche puffed out her chest, looking like a tiny tycoon. "Millie! Millie! Get over here and help me with the haul!"
She and Millie began gathering the treasures—Candied fruits, dried ap
