T he limes and sweet tangy oranges of winter are gone now and the vegetable market is a perfumed mist of peaches cherries and figs. Aster and Clara edge through the crowds their hands stretched out to feel the plump fruit gently roll it into baskets.
When their basket is filled with pink-and-yellow-streaked peaches they make their way to pay. Aster counts out the coins and spills them into a copper dish. The woman eyes the money the peaches then sharply inclines her head. “Thank you ” Aster says and she and Clara turn for home.
As Aster returns the money bag to her cloak Clara asks “Do you ever wonder what the astrolabe is worth?”
Something inside Aster clenches. She turns to her sister and speaks slowly and clearly. “It is worth the accuracy of Papa’s maps. It is worth the other calculations that he does with it — I do not know what they are.”
