“Where are you from?” I ask the chimney sweep.
“Eppax,” comes the woman’s curt response. “Come from hill country.”
I’ve heard of Eppax before. My papa mentioned it once or twice when he returned from his trips to Foghum city.
“Hear it’s beautiful country.” I smile. “Never been there myself.” I can’t think of anything more to say, and the woman just stares blankly. Rhydian rocks back on his boots, clearly uncomfortable. “Can you tell me where Miss Harminy is?”
She bobs her head. “She’s in the back room. Come in.”
As we step inside, a putrid rotting fish smell fills my nostrils. “Don’t mind the smell,” mutters the woman. “It’s her sick girls.” She shows us to the parlor, and I sink into a chair. Sheep wool spills out like entrails from ripped pillows. Rhydian feels the seat cushions car
