The First Cart

Bettina Lowery spun the first cone of the night in a count of three, handed it over, and looked down the street at the empty steps.

Every night this week a crier has gone down those steps to the Long Bend to shout, and tonight nobody went. Word came along Sugar Row before the second cone: Tibor Kaczmarek’s voice is gone, and the call has wiped.

Bettina runs the first cart on Sugar Row. It stands at the very top of the row, nearest the Corner, where the crowd comes out hungry after the first count. A cart that leaves its place gives it to the next cart along. The next cart keeps it. That is how Bettina got it, years ago.

Bettina wants one thing, quite badly: for the Labs to time a cone, just once, so the whole Way can hear how fast three really is.

The newcomers were still going out. They made their small calls and went down the steps, one by one, toward the Long Bend. Tonight there would be nothing loud out there to walk toward.

Bettina looked at the bell on the cart’s pole. Sugar-cart bells carry. Ask anyone trying to sleep on Sugar Row.

Bettina thought about the top of the row, and the next cart along, already edging up.

Then they kicked the brake off and pushed the first cart out of its place, down the steps one bump at a time, all the way to the Sleeve Post. Behind them, the next cart rolled into the top spot with a squeak. It hurt more than Bettina expected.

At the Sleeve Post, Tibor sat wrapped in a blanket. They looked up at the cart and started to laugh, without any sound.

Bettina rang the bell in a count of three, and again, and again. Out on the dark posts, a lamp swung round toward it, and then another.

A Labs Beast came by on the old road with a notebook of their own, stopped, and listened. “Four seconds late,” they said, out of habit.

“Time a cone, then,” Bettina said, and spun one.

If you’re on the Long Bend tonight and can’t hear anyone shouting, walk toward the bell. There will be a cone at the end of it.