She couldn’t make head nor tails of xem, and she was tired. But potential allies weren’t a thing to be scorned. “Thank you for your help,” said Orfeus, and flicked her cloak gratefully, wiping the grape off her hand as she did so. “But I work alone.”

“Mm, that makes sense,” Significance said. “What’s that old phrase about sharing the spotlight?”

She bowed. “I’m glad we understand each other.” Xe shook xyr head, a vague look on xyr face, and was still mumbling phrases when she left xem.

Orfeus walked out of the temple, the shapes of trees and bushes silhouetted against the street’s lights. She entered the first wayhouse she found and climbed into bed, and she slept a sleep deep and without dreams.

The next morning she walked through the shifting prism-lit streets to the quartertrain and stopped dead. All five council members stood there, quiet in robes of cream: Margaux, Significance, Amande, Latafale and Othmar with their sword.

None of the other people passing by on foot or on scooters seemed to see anything out of place in this, so perhaps it really was a very egalitarian place where the elected leaders mingled with the common folk. Perhaps everyone here ate grapes off wide dishes and held secret conferences in the ancient church.

“I’m leaving,” Orfeus said. She reached over her shoulder to touch her guitar case, reassuring herself it was still there. “As requested.”

Margaux nodded benevolently. In the light, Orfeus could make her out better. She was beautiful, of course. Fine-boned with a delicate nose and flawless skin, the slight indent of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and a stubborn jut to her chin. Probably far older than she looked. Her hoverchair was panelled in the same manner as stained glass, with gold webbing in between sections of colour, but it still made Orfeus think of a beautiful beetle. “The Archivist shall escort you,” Margaux said, clasping her hands. “It would be a shame for such a unique personage to be lost to the quirks of fate.” Margaux smiled serenely. “We are sure you’ll go far.”

And some Elder yoked to her would make sure she wouldn’t go too far in the wrong direction, bringing embarrassment to these grand Blooded folk. Orfeus twitched.

But no. Look at it differently. She could use this. A guard? Smog Sky, Orfeus had just been gifted a free bouncer if she played this right. Her very own begrudging bodyguard.

Orfeus shrugged and smiled. “The Archivist?” she said cheerfully, adjusting the set of her guitar and cloak. “I have never in my life heard of anyone who sounds so entirely pretentious and stuck-up …” She trailed off. The stern Margaux was outright grinning.

Orfeus turned. Rivasoa stood behind her, in admittedly beautiful robes of bright yellow and blue, her nails newly painted in similarly bright shades. As Orfeus turned, Rivasoa tucked her small book away into her robes.