Rin. That was her name. Every shift, she turned her dangling wooden plaque on the wall to clock in, but the word carved into it was a lie. In case she'd forgotten, since Rin was a normal name in her human world, Yubaba hadn't even left her the comforting illusion of normal script. It was carved in the blocky script of monks: a girl's name like a monkey-god from the sutras, a joke.

And while Yubaba had your name, you were stuck. There were dozens of lost, gullible or unlucky spirits that had ended up like her. Humans were rarer, but Rin knew she wasn't the only one. Sen had been another one. Rin thought there might even have been others who had got out, apart from Sen and Haku, but in truth the memories faded after a few dozen years. She wasn't sure how many dozens of years she had been here.

Sometimes she wondered if she could work it out for herself. Rin. Yubaba had a malicious habit of leaving you something from your name: a character, or a sound, or a clue. Maybe Rin had meant bell, or wood. There were dozens of ways of writing it. And she might have had a family name which would be on the contract too. She couldn't be certain, and while she wasn't certain, there was no way out.

But Rin wasn't looking for a way out. Not yet.

Rin leaned on the wooden railing of the veranda, looking down past the flapping laundry. The pale sea stretched out miles below her. Islands were dotted like emeralds in the distance, and the breeze, fresh against her face, carried the tang of salt. The middle and lower floors were hot and sticky work in the summer. By mid-morning she was glad to get out here for the feeding.

The weather birds were often skimming the waves below by this point, their morning clouds already seeded above. But the sea below her was flat and calm, ruffled only by the occasional wave. She looked up instead at the vast expanse of sky – ah, there they were. In the distance a flock of white birds wheeled and changed direction all at once, as if each bird was pulled by a thread around an invisible axis. There must be an order for high cloud today.

She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The birds carried on wheeling, but when she whistled again, a couple of them broke off from the flock and started arrowing down. She pushed herself away from the railing and upended the seed buckets onto the floor.

The birds flapped down with ugly squawks, setting the feed skittering in the buffeting air. They were each as tall as Rin's thigh, with beaks like razors and cloud charms strapped to their legs. Rin jumped back as one of swooped by her head with a skree. "Watch it!"

She was putting the bucket down when there was a feathery whumph and something landed on her shoulder like a tackle. She yelped and staggered forward, grabbing the rail. A gull-like head came around to peer at her face with a beady eye.

"Oh, it's you," Rin said, half-exasperated. "You don't need to land on me like you're trying to eat me." This bird was the runt of the flock, its head streaked with black. It had taken a shine to her in the years she'd been on the feeding shift. She had mentally named it Kiku, for old times' sake, but she never said the name aloud.

She crouched down, holding the rail to help her, and fed it a handful of grain from the bottom of the bucket.

"Oi, Rin!" A boy with ferret ears was lugging a bucket of soapy water out, dodging the beaks pecking at his feet. "Taro back there has sacrifice mail for you."

"Mail?" Rin said. Her hand dropped in surprise. On her shoulder, Kiku gave a squawk of protest and snapped at her fingers, nearly drawing blood. "All right, all right, you stupid bird." Rin grabbed more grain. "Are you having me on, Tachi?"

Tachi checked the direction of the wind and heaved the bucket over the edge with a grunt. Water splashed into the wind and was carried away from the walls. "Swear by Yubaba's toenails. Dedicated message for you. Didn't come with any gold, though. I checked."

"Help me get rid of these birds," Rin said. She heaved up the arm Kiku was perching on. It was like trying to throw a sack of rice in the air, and Kiku only gave an indignant flap and settled back down. Her claws sunk into the skin of Rin's arm like nails. Rin glared at her, inured to this after decades of it. Her scar tissue was getting impressive. "Shoo, bird!"

Tachi grinned and helped her chivvy the others into flight. The seed was nearly gone now, and the birds knew they had a contract to fulfill just like the cleaning staff. Kiku didn't want to join the flock, though. She hovered a few yards in the air. Just as Rin was bringing in the feed bucket, she made a dive for the open doors.

"No!" Rin said, and jerked the door shut. Kiku crashed into it. There was a displeased caw and receding wing beats.

"Orders?" Tachi said, loping along beside her. He had the slightly uneven gait of spirits who were used to having four legs, although he'd been there nearly as long as Rin. He didn't have a real name either.

"Are the rooms done?" Rin said. "Veranda, then, and cloths for the corridors – I want to see them shining. Then move on to the next floors."

"All five floors?" Tachi said. "We've got contract negotiations today."

Rin snorted. "That'll take no longer for you than for me." Every year they had to go in and admit they had no idea what name their contract was in. It was over in moments. "It won't take any time at all for most of the Group."

"Still, a couple of the juniors have real contracts," Tachi said. They were passing an open door, and there was a splash and a yelp from the balcony below. Both of them ran over to lean over the balcony. Below, drying laundry had been splashed grey by soapy water.

"JIRO!" Rin shouted. There was a croaking apology. Rin rolled her eyes. "I could happily lose Jiro to contract negotiations for the whole day," she said. "Tell him to try for a transfer to the boilers." Tachi grinned, bowed, and went off to hurry the rest of the group in their cleaning.

"Taro," Rin called, catching sight of the mail carrier. "Tachi said you had mail for me?"

A frog in a red coat hopped down into a crouch in front of her and handed her a strip of red-bordered paper splashed with black ink. It smelt faintly of ash. "Ise province," the frog croaked. "Ise shrine. Didn't come with an offering."

"Thanks," Rin said, staring down at it. The first character she looked at said Sen, but that wasn't the whole name. Four characters. Ogino Chihiro. She rounded the corner to a service passageway and opened the folded paper.

The title was in a clear priest's hand. Dedicated to the noble spirit Rin of the bathhouse of Aburaya. Rin gave a half-grin at 'noble' and 'spirit' both – Sen had been cute, but she'd been ten, scared, and wrapped up in her own problems. Fair enough.

The message itself was in a much less flowing hand, messy and childish. Sen must have written this bit herself.

I hope you get this. I didn't know which shrine to offer it at. I meant to send a thank-you before, but school has started and there's not much free time. But I went to a diviner in my town and asked him about your name. He says, bell. Haku helped him, so I think he's right. I hope it helps. Thank you again for everything.

Sen had written bell in a great splash of black ink. Rin stared at it, and stared and stared. Her name. Sen had given her back her name.