The next morning, Lutia heard twelve wishes on North Street.
The first came from a man shoveling ice beneath an awning.
"Wouldn't it be nice if this ice could just fall off on its own?"
The second came from a woman pushing a fuel cart.
"I really wish the road were a little wider."
The third came from outside a dyeworks.
"Whoever can make this snow stop right now can have the whole shop."
The third time Lutia stopped, Lorne stopped too.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for them to make themselves clear."
"Make what clear?"
"Which one they want me to handle first."
Lorne glanced toward the dyeworks. The speaker was working with several laborers to haul up a roll of frozen-stiff cloth, completely unaware of them.
"Nobody's asking you to do anything."
"He just said whoever can stop the snow gets the shop."
"That was a complaint."
"He proposed an exchange."
"He wasn't negotiating an exchange with you."
Lutia turned back toward the shopkeeper.
"But I heard him."
"Hearing something doesn't mean you've been commissioned."
"What if he doesn't know I can do it?"
"You can't make the snow stop right now anyway."
"I can make it stop falling temporarily in this area."
Lorne tucked the clipboard beneath his arm.
"No."
"You didn't even ask about the range."
"Because nobody asked."
"Humans say they hope for something, but don't want someone else to make it happen?"
"Often."
Lutia frowned.
That was harder to understand than having no walls beyond the city walls, or people oiling a disused windway.
They continued along North Street.
The anomalous boundary they had discovered the night before had already been marked by wooden stakes driven in by the Disaster Affairs Office, with red cord stretched between them. Snow had piled up on one side of the cord, while the other held only wet, cold flagstones. Patrol workers recorded the snow depth on both sides at regular intervals and temporarily forbade residents from moving the markers.
Greta had reassigned Lutia and Lorne to North Street because the Engineering Office was inspecting the underground water mains house by house. Every address where the pipes had frozen before the snowfall began had been placed on the priority reinspection list.
A dozen or so people had gathered at the corner.
A public water main had split beneath the base of a wall. The water leaking out had flowed along half the alley and now frozen into an uneven layer of ice. The pipe repairmen had removed the wooden guard around it, revealing a blackened stretch of copper pipe, but the actual break was still hidden beneath thick ice.
A resident stood nearby with two empty buckets in hand.
"At this rate, we'll be without water again today."
Someone else said, "Wouldn't it be nice if this ice could just melt?"
Lutia raised her left hand.
Lorne caught her by the wrist.
She turned to look at him.
"This time it's directly related to the problem in front of us."
"It's still not a request."
"He said he wished the ice would melt."
"He was speaking to the repairman."
"I'm standing closer."
"Being closer doesn't automatically give you the job."
The repairman crawled out from beneath the pipe and brushed ice flakes from his sleeve.
"What's going on?"
Lorne asked, "Did you just ask her to melt the ice?"
The repairman glanced at Lutia.
"No."
"But you need the ice melted," Lutia said.
"I do."
"Then why didn't you ask me?"
The repairman's gaze moved from the tips of her ears to the clipboard tucked beneath Lorne's arm.
"I didn't know if I was allowed to ask."
"You can't just ask at random," Lorne said.
Lutia looked at him.
"So he wants to ask but can't ask directly; other people say they hope I'll do something, but that doesn't count as asking. Then when does it count?"
Lorne released her wrist.
"First, move away from the water main."
He led Lutia to the side of the street, away from the workers carrying tools. The residents were still watching them, clearly wanting to hear the explanation too.
"Human speech has many uses," Lorne said. "Sometimes people are only telling others that they're very unhappy."
"That's called complaining."
"Right."
"Can't a complaint contain a wish?"
"It can."
"Can't a wish count as a request?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Lorne pulled a blank sheet of paper from beneath the clipboard.
"Suppose I say, 'I really wish I had twenty fewer forms to fill out today.'"
"I can burn twenty forms."
"You can't."
"It's the fastest way."
"Because I'm only complaining about having too much work. I haven't authorized you to destroy municipal documents."
Lutia looked at the sheet.
"What if you say you wish the twenty blank forms on the desk would disappear?"
"You still can't burn them."
"Then I'll move them somewhere else."
"You can't do that either."
"You should be more precise when you speak."
"That's why I'm teaching you how to confirm things now."
Lorne wrote three lines on the paper.
Complaint.
Wish.
Request.
Then he added "formal" beside the third line.
Lutia studied the words.
"An ordinary request and a formal request are different too?"
"An ordinary request can be something like, 'Hand me that bucket.' A formal request to cast at least requires confirming three things: that the other person knows what you're going to do, has the authority to decide that matter, and knows what consequences might occur."
"What if they change their mind after hearing all that?"
"Then you don't do it."
"What if they make the request but don't have the authority to decide?"
"You don't do it."
Lutia pointed toward the water main.
"Who can decide there?"
"The repairman decides how the repair is done. The Disaster Affairs Office decides whether you're allowed to cast within the controlled area. The residents need to know how long the water will be shut off."
"That requires a lot of people."
"Because it isn't any one person's private water main."
"What if I only melt one patch of ice?"
"The ice is wrapped around a public line. Meltwater could seep into the foundation, and the break could widen."
Lutia looked at the section of copper pipe.
"I can remove only the cold from the ice."
"Where will you put it?"
She paused.
"In the snowbank beside it, for now."
"There's a drain beneath the snowbank."
"Then toward the outer side of the street."
"The outer side is a resident's cellar wall."
Lutia had nothing more to say.
Lorne folded the paper and tucked it back into the clipboard.
"Do you understand now why you need to clarify things first?"
"I understand that your city is full of other people's things."
"That too."
The repairman came over.
"If we only clear the ice around the break, I can put on a stop-leak clamp first. We won't need to touch the rest of the pipe."
Lorne asked, "How large an area?"
The repairman crouched beside the copper pipe again and drew a rectangle on the ice with chalk.
"From here to here. A foot and a half long, two hands wide. Stop once enough ice has melted for us to see the surface of the pipe."
"How will you catch the meltwater?"
"Put an iron pan underneath, then use strips of cloth to guide it into a bucket."
"What if the break widens?"
"Shut the upstream valve immediately."
"Who's responsible for that?"
"I am."
Lorne looked at the two other repairmen nearby.
"Did you hear all that?"
Both men nodded.
He then asked the resident holding the buckets, "The water will remain shut off for a while longer, no later than the second afternoon time signal. Do you understand?"
The residents exchanged looks.
One of them asked, "How long would it take without magic?"
The repairman said, "It could take an hour just to break through the ice, and we might crack the pipe along with it."
"Then use it."
Lorne did not turn to Lutia immediately.
First, he took a temporary casting form from his leather case and wrote down the location, range, estimated duration, and stopping conditions. The repairman signed in the repair responsibility field, while a Disaster Affairs Office clerk left a mark in the witness field.
Lutia stood beside him and watched every step.
"Now?" she asked.
"Now you confirm it."
"Confirm what?"
"Whether this is a formal request."
Lutia looked at the repairman.
He was pushing the iron pan beneath the water main and hadn't noticed her.
She stepped forward.
"Excuse me."
The repairman looked up.
For the first time, Lutia felt that this phrase was somewhat awkward to say.
"Is this a formal request?"
Someone nearby snickered.
The repairman froze too.
"What?"
"Are you formally requesting that I melt the ice within the chalk rectangle until the surface of the copper pipe is exposed? The meltwater will go into the iron pan and will not affect the ice outside the chalk rectangle. If the break widens, I will stop immediately, and you will shut the valve."
The repairman glanced at Lorne.
Lorne said, "Answer her."
"Yes," the repairman said. "This is a formal request."
Lutia nodded.
"I accept."
She removed her left glove and crouched in front of the copper pipe.
The chalk rectangle wasn't perfectly even; the left side was slightly higher. Lutia traced the edges once with her fingertip, confirming that the range did not touch the wooden wall behind it or extend beyond the iron pan.
A small sack filled with dry snow sat to her left.
She did not borrow heat from the wall or the surrounding air. She merely loosened the structure of the ice within the chalk rectangle and moved its cold into the snow inside the sack.
The objective was to expose the surface of the copper pipe.
The boundary was the chalk rectangle and the iron pan beneath it.
Restitution was to leave the removed cold in the prepared snow sack, which would be taken to the centralized snow-piling area after the repair was complete.
Water droplets first seeped from the thinnest part of the ice.
The repairman immediately pressed a strip of cloth against the edge of the iron pan, guiding the meltwater into the bucket. Another man held the valve, his eyes fixed on the joint in the copper pipe the entire time.
Lutia maintained the same pace.
The ice grew thinner bit by bit.
The underground pull that had been there all along traveled along the pipeline, trying to draw the loosened cold into the wall. Lutia narrowed the resonance further.
Only within the chalk rectangle.
Not along the pipeline.
Not touching the wall.
Not touching any water beyond the iron pan.
The knuckles of her left hand gradually lost their warmth.
She did not speed up or use greater force to suppress the underground flow. She only dealt with the loosened ice layer by layer.
"I can see the pipe," the repairman said.
Lutia stopped immediately.
The last drop of water fell into the iron pan.
The ice within the chalk rectangle had vanished, exposing a section of dark copper pipe. The break lay beneath the joint, only a hairline wide, with water slowly seeping out.
The ice outside the rectangle still completely encased the pipeline.
It had not melted outward or suddenly collapsed.
The repairman reached out and touched the pipe.
"The temperature's normal."
The other man checked the base of the wall.
"No new seepage."
Lorne looked at Lutia.
"Your left hand."
She opened her palm.
Her fingertips were whiter than usual, but she had not completely lost sensation. Lorne touched her palm once with the back of his finger.
"Colder than this morning."
"Some of the resonance echo stayed in my hand when I transferred the cold."
"Do you need to stop working?"
"No."
"How did you determine that?"
Lutia flexed her fingers.
"I can feel the inside of my glove, and I can grip things. I don't hear the sound of wind and snow."
Lorne recorded all of this on the form.
The repairman had already fitted the stop-leak clamp over the copper pipe. As the bolts were tightened, the seepage stopped as well. The other man removed the iron pan and the bucket full of meltwater, preparing to replace the pipe section.
The resident with the empty buckets came closer and watched for a while.
"So that's it?"
"It's stopped for now," the repairman said. "We can restore the water once we've replaced this section this afternoon."
"So we're still without water right now."
"Yes."
The resident sighed.
"I really wish the whole pipe could just grow back on its own."
Lutia raised her head.
The man immediately took a step back.
"I was just saying."
"I know."
"You're not really going to do it, are you?"
"No."
Lutia thought for a moment, then still asked, "That isn't a formal request, right?"
Several people nearby laughed.
The resident hurriedly shook his head.
"No. Just a complaint."
Lutia nodded.
"I can tell the difference now."
Behind her, Lorne said, "You still asked."
"Confirming doesn't mean I couldn't tell."
"Fine."
His tone was flat, but he did not object.
After completing the temporary repair, the repairman added the result to the casting form.
First-circle resonance.
Range did not exceed the chalk markings.
No new damage.
Lorne had Lutia sign beneath it as well.
When she held the pen, the bandage around her right palm pressed against the barrel, making the last stroke of her name heavier than usual.
"Is this the first time I've been permitted to repair city infrastructure?" she asked.
"According to the Disaster Affairs Office records, yes."
"So it will stay on record?"
"It will."
"What if people say that something goes wrong every time I use magic?"
Lorne put the signed paper into his leather case.
"Then we'll pull this one out."
Lutia watched the case snap shut.
After noon, they continued inspecting the water mains.
Once word spread that Lutia could accept formal requests, people along the way began trying to address her.
"I formally request that you remove all the snow from my roof."
Lorne asked, "Are you the owner of the house?"
"No."
"Then it doesn't count."
"I formally request that you make my shop a little warmer."
"How much warmer?" Lutia asked.
The man couldn't say, so he had to go back and find the heating-equipment inspection records first.
Another child ran up to Lutia carrying a toy cart with a broken wooden wheel.
"I formally request that you fix this."
Lutia crouched down to examine it.
The axle had split down the middle, and a small piece of wood was missing as well.
"Resonance magic can't make missing wood reappear."
"Then what can you do?"
"With a new piece of wood and some glue, I can fasten the two sides together."
The child thought about it.
"Then I'll go find a piece of wood."
He ran back inside with the toy cart.
Lorne stood beside her.
"That's not disaster recovery."
"I didn't agree to cast."
"You almost started teaching him how to fix a toy cart."
"He made a formal request."
"Formal requests can be refused too."
Lutia looked at the door that had just closed.
"Why refuse? Once he finds the materials, I can help."
"Because there are still twelve households whose water mains need to be inspected."
"So the reason to refuse is time, not that he can't make the request."
"Right."
Lutia committed that fact to memory.
By evening, when they returned to the worktable outside the dyeworks, Greta was checking the day's records.
She saw the first formal casting form, read it from beginning to end, and then looked over Lutia's temperature record.
"No expansion of the range?"
"None," Lorne said.
"No heat drawn from the wall?"
"None."
"No fixing anything else while you were at it?"
"No."
Greta looked up at Lutia.
"When someone complained that the ice was too thick, you didn't act?"
"No."
"Progress."
"Lorne said something similar."
"Then that means it's rare enough to record twice."
Greta stamped the Disaster Affairs Office confirmation seal onto the casting form.
Lutia looked at the red mark.
"Can I continue tomorrow?"
"Depends on what the work requires."
"What if someone makes a formal request?"
"We still have to see whether they have the authority, whether you have the authority, whether the risks have been explained, and whether someone is present to handle the aftermath."
Lutia counted them off.
"Human formal requests have a lot of conditions."
"That's why the whole city doesn't change seasons every time someone says, 'I really wish.'"
Greta placed the casting form in the completed-documents tray.
That night, as Lutia and Lorne left North Street, someone by the roadside was carrying the wooden buckets assigned to the households with leaks inside.
The water supply had not yet been restored, but no new ice was forming around the base of the wall.
At the corner, two children were building a snowman.
One of them used a branch to give the snowman an arm, then the other stepped back and looked at it.
"I wish it would never melt."
Lutia stopped.
Both children looked at her.
She asked, "Is that a formal request?"
They immediately shook their heads.
"No."
"Just a wish."
Lutia nodded and continued forward.
Lorne followed.
"That time, you really didn't need to ask."
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
"I wanted to make sure they knew too."
The children's muffled laughter came from behind them.
Lutia did not look back, and she did not touch the snowman.