“Here you are, sir. Come on, mams,” she said, and linked her arm through Yenni’s. She guided Yenni over to one of the hard benches inside and down they sat. The interior echoed with the clop of shoes on the wooden floor as everyone else settled. Finally the bell dinged again and the tram was off. Yenni wobbled and clenched the underside of the bench.

Diedre put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “And jus’ what you tryin’ to do, Mam’selle Yenni Ajani? Pay the man’s salary for the year?”

“What? Oh, oh yes. I must have reached for the wrong type of duvvy note. Thank you.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Diedre, watching her shrewdly.

Yenni averted her gaze. It wasn’t exactly that she didn’t trust Diedre, but she didn’t want anyone to know she was of the Yirba chiefclan. It would raise too many questions.

“Oh! Look at that view!” she said, drawing Diedre’s attention instead to the window on their right. The tram moved even faster than she did with speed runes, though not as fast as she did on her field sphinx, and certainly not as fast as Dragon. She could clearly see everything as they traveled from the greenery surrounding the academy to the city center, trundling between buildings taller than she could have imagined possible, like an ant among giants. Who could climb all those stairs? Some even had bridges overhead connecting one building to the other.

And like on Sainte Ventas, the buildings came in every color imaginable—blues and pinks and oranges; rainbow-like structures surrounded them, blocking out the sky. In fact, a few made a bright barricade dead ahead. Yenni gasped as the tram quickly closed in, but as they crested a hill she saw that the track curved to the right, and they carried along without harm. People walked along the stone-paved streets on either side, paying no mind to the tram even though it passed by close enough that she could reach out and touch them if she wanted.

Periodically the driver called out districts of the city. “Marshay Street” or “West Castle West” and the tram would stop, letting off a stream of riders. At last the driver called out “Pub Street.”

“That’s us,” said Diedre. The tram slowed to stop and they made their exit. Once again Yenni marveled at how different Cresh was from home. Tall metal lamps that curved like drooping flower stems lined the streets, and strong, meaty smells wafted on the mild breeze. The tram dinged, voices chatted everywhere in musical Creshen, and even the way people’s shoes hit the stone ground was foreign, a hard clip, clip.

Yenni put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the area. “Where is the pubs?”