Pallid, angular Gharians had developed projectiles made up of whistles and singing bells. Complicated urbanites from the immense, remote fire-cities of the Far West made lingering patterns in the sky, shimmering dragons and exploding birds with long red tails and exploding eyes. Sibilant weavers from the lakes of Banaree, where in springtime it was always milky morning, preferred calm and sparsity and empty spaces. Their rockets rose slowly: a small light would ascend, drawing a straight stalk behind it, and then petals of color would open noiselessly against the sky—gentle, silent blossoms of amber, lavender, and a hundred shades of blue, sent up separately into the expectant sky. There were spaces of darkness in between each bloom.

Abu and Thanakar were in the crowd once more. They had passed beyond the city into a great promenade of stalls and booths and garish lights, sweetshops, wheels of chance, bumper cars, barkers, soothsayers, and drunks, dressed in all the colors of the spectrum, because for the three nights of the festival, obligations of class were forgotten and people mixed freely. Still, there were few Starbridges in the fairgrounds, so the two cousins found themselves moving in a circle of eager familiarity. They loitered, and ate ice cream, and watched the fireworks burst above their heads. An old palmist with an old beard and yellow teeth grabbed Abu by the hand, to croon over his lines. Abu laughed. “Go on,” he cried over the pressing din. “Tell me the girl I’ve got to marry. Tall and thin? Short and horrible?” He was partly drunk, and held a plastic bottle of wine in his other hand.

The old man peered, and frowned, and shook his head. “Abu Starbridge,” he said slowly, as if he could read it in the lines. “Marry? No. You will not marry. I don’t think so. No.” He rubbed the prince’s palm.

“No, see. Look here. Death by fire. Not far away.” He brought his own hand up and peered at it. “I have the same mark.” He traced along his own lifeline with a withered finger. “Here. Death by fire.”

The crowd had quieted down. People stood around them in a circle. Some squatted on the ground.

“See?” the old man continued. “All in the same place. My grandson has it too. One man out of six. I’ve counted.” He gestured vaguely around the circle of faces and looked up, his eyes puzzled and worried.

“What does it mean? Death by fire. So many of us, all at the same time.”

“It can’t come soon enough for me,” said Abu, and he put his bottle to his lips. But before drinking he paused, because the old man was still staring at him with the same puzzled expression, and all around the small circle, people shuffled and looked down.

“That was tactless,” muttered the doctor.

“I don’t understand. Why are they looking at me like that?” whispered Abu.

“You think everyone is like you. You have nothing to fear from death. A Starbridge prince. You’ll go straight to Paradise. But these people fear it. However miserable their lives are now, their next ones will be worse, whichever horrible planet they’re condemned to.”