“Here it is,” she said suddenly and jumped to her feet. Nolan scrambled up beside her and began excusing himself as he edged through the press of guldmen. Everyone politely squeezed back to allow him and Melina room to disembark. Surely it was his imagination that one of them pantomimed a quick kick to his backside.

“Well, isn’t this pretty!” Melina exclaimed, pausing a moment on the street corner to survey the scenery. Nolan, who had spent the whole ride watching the action on the interior, now caught his first glimpse of a gulden neighborhood. It stopped him in his tracks.

Instead of the stark blacks, whites, and grays of his own district, here the buildings wore festive pastel hues on their painted brick, on their draped awnings, on the flags and signboards and shutters that decorated their exteriors. There were plants and flowers everywhere, climbing up trellises, pouring out of hanging baskets, peering out from the windows of houses and retail shops. Every storefront featured a fountain of varying complexity, and the sound of splashing water murmured up and down the street.

“Well, I think I like this much better than the neighborhood where I live,” Melina said.

“You don’t think it’s a little—inelegant? Overdone?” Nolan asked.

“No, I think it’s cheerful.”

“You’d get tired of it after a while.”

“Well, I don’t suppose we’ll be here long enough to find out.”

“Which way now?”

She pointed. “North on Cloverton. To number 1811.”

They walked slowly down the street, Nolan at least trying not to gawk. Melina frankly looked about her, lifting her arm to point to views she found particularly intriguing. Nolan hoped no one was watching from the windows, indignant at the blueskins sightseeing through their neighborhood. The few other pedestrians they encountered tended to be young men, apparently heading home from work, and older women shepherding flocks of children down the sidewalk. They saw no young women out walking alone. They saw no couples.

“Is there a curfew for girls?” Melina wondered.

“I don’t know. You see gulden women in the city all the time.”

“Older women,” Melina said thoughtfully. “We’ll have to ask Pakt.”

It was about an hour before true dark by the time they arrived at number 1811. The midsized house was small by indigo standards, but comfortable-looking nonetheless, and certainly respectable enough for the locale. It was painted with colorful stripes of sky blue, pale orange and yellow, and its slanted roof was copper tile. Out front played a small fountain in the shape of a lily whose petals narrowed into streams of water.

“Not the sort of place I would imagine Colt coming from,” Melina said under her breath. “But I rather like it.”

“Does he live here alone?”

“I didn’t ask. I wouldn’t think so. Let’s see who’s home.”