It appeared that all daily business was conducted in the middle of the road. Men moved around in gossiping turbaned groups. The higher ranking women, in colourful shrouds, were followed by groups of servants and showed a marked preference for large brightly coloured fringed parasols which Primrose called, “Most respectable”. Fruit and meats were exchanged, pottery and fabric haggled over. Rue even spotted a live snake.

“Everything is so bright and cheerful.” She spun in delight. “And everyone smiles so much!”

Sekhmet asked Prim, “Is she always this excitable?”

Primrose, looking extremely dignified, answered, “I’m afraid so.”

“How exhausting,” replied their guide.

“You’re telling us,” grumbled Percy.

“It’s one of her charms,” defended Quesnel.

But it was so bright and cheerful.

Rue was particularly fascinated by the consumption of a specific hot beverage, the earthenware mugs of which were then cast aside into the street to crumble to dust under the many feet walking by. Everyone seemed to be drinking it. Where was the vendor?

A Cederholm Condenser muscled its way through, obstructing Rue’s view and blasting hot steam from its carapace. The people around scampered away to avoid being burned. The smoke from its small antennae stacks was somehow dyed bright pink, which coloured the unwary with speckles of pigment, to no one’s surprise or avoidance. Prim shrieked, parasol up in defence of her yellow walking gown, although the smoke was nowhere near her.

Rue was seized with a mad desire to dance through it – it looked like fun.

Eventually, they made their way to the Cloth Market proper, which was, as advertised, mainly cloth with a few other vendors. Tethered at corners of the square were hot-air balloons, the primitive floating technology of yore still alive and well in parts of the empire. Rue’s mother had once told her a story of the Balloon Nomads of the Sahara, how they floated their patchwork giants above the desert. Anitra, remembered Rue suddenly. Hadn’t she said something about floating? Perhaps that was the connection. Here the balloons were also patchwork, and Rue wondered if these were distantly related tribes, or if it were merely the nature of ballooning that lent itself to patchwork.

Despite being early morning, it was not a sleepy gathering. The locals were enamoured of singing and yelling and laughter. Grey and black monkeys scampered through the crowd, hands in everyone’s baskets and business. Miss Sekhmet picked up a stick which she applied adeptly to any monkey, curious child, or beggar that approached Rue’s party with overly familiar intent. The monkeys, she explained, were considered reincarnated politicians, which made Rue laugh and the stick entirely understandable.