“You’re not carrying anything restricted are you, Jory?” a guard asked.

“Just the usual, Hugh,” Jory said, then turned to Jason. “You’re not restricted, are you?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Jason said.

“You have a good day, Jory,” the guard said. “I’ll bring my mother to the clinic, now you’re back. Her leg again.”

“Always welcome, Hugh.”

Jory drove the wagon through the gate and into the city proper. Most of Old City was built from the same red and yellow stone Jason had seen in the desert, although many buildings were painted in colourful whites and greens. They were mostly one or two levels high, but three wasn't uncommon. Over the rooftops, he could see the occasional building that jutted five, six or even seven storeys high. The streets were teeming with people, even right in front of the gate. The air was filled with voices and the smell of spice.

“What’s that I’m smelling?” Jason asked as Jory let the wagon confidently into the street, people flowing around it like water.

“It’s called chittle,” Jory said. “It’s cheap, strong and grows all over the delta, so the street vendors all use it. It can take some getting used to.”

“No, it smells good,” Jason said. “I’ll have to do some wandering around.”

They reached Jory's combination home, alchemy lab and medical clinic; a large, three-story building. A sign above the door proclaimed it as the Broad Street Clinic. Although the street was crowded, the building was given a wide berth as two people brazenly vandalised the front of the building in the middle of the day. Rather than hooligans, however, they were wearing bright white robes hemmed with blue, yellow and green. They both had ceramic pots of red paint and were writing the word ‘HERETIC' across the door. There was a small crowd of passers-by who had stopped to watch the show.

“Ah, dammit,” Jory said wearily, pulling the wagon to a halt.

“Who are they?” Jason asked.

“They’re from the church of the Healer,” Jory said.

The two men spotted him on the wagon, putting down their pots and brushes to march over and confront him.

“So, the heretic is back,” one of them said. They were both young, around eighteen or nineteen.

“Is this really necessary?” Jory asked, still atop the wagon.

Jason could sense from their auras that both men were essence users. Iron rank, like Jory and himself.

One of the two opened his mouth for a sneering remark but was pre-empted by Jason.

“Who are these pricks?” Jason asked loudly as he hopped down off the wagon. Walking around the two men, he picked up one each of the pots and brushes they had put down when Jory arrived. Jory and the two men watched him, unsure of what he was doing.

“Who are you?” one of the men asked.