“Don’t be so grouchy,” she teases, poking me in the ribs. “It’s something that’ll cheer you up!”

“I don’t need cheering up,” I tell her grumpily. But nevertheless even the hint of something nice is lifting my spirits.

We walk and walk, into an area I’m oddly not familiar with, and I thought I knew most of the city. There’s probably no access to the river over here, maybe that’s why.

Then we’re walking through an industrial area. The sky is a soft purple and clear, heading towards twilight, and a few worker Cerels are out on the streets going home.

“Not long now,” says Marina, turning into an unpaved road.

There aren’t any Cerels here and I’m starting to get nervous. “Where are we going, Marina?”

She simply gives me that secretive grin of hers.

The road opens out into a large, barren area with enormous sheds. There are three airships in a field, tethered to tall metal towers and floating majestically above the ground. My heart starts to beat faster. This must be one of the depots – not beyond the gates, as I’d thought.

Marina leads me across the wasteland towards the open doorway of one of the huge sheds. Inside there’s the sound of hammering and the sizzle of welding, like at Jorzy’s factory, though here they’re all Fonecians – not in their traditional red felt vests, which are maybe only for best occasions, but in grimy overalls. One of them, a young man with skin like burnished chicory, spots us and with a grin hurries over, pulling off big leather welding gloves as he comes.

“Ydra, this is my baby brother, Leho,” says Marina.

He’s squat, as the Fonecians often are, and even though he seems a bit shy in front of my sister, I can also see the confidence in his eyes. It’s the natural-born confidence of being a Fonecian – one of the trading clan who hold the monopoly over the airship traffic. And he’s not a Cerel, which means he’s mostly divorced from what’s happening in the city. Cerels and Fonecians don’t have much to do with each other, they’re different tribes, and now here’s my sister buddying up with one of them.

The Fonecian grips my hand in both of his. “Your sister has told me all about you,” he says enthusiastically.

Right. And she’s told us nothing about you.

“Is it still all right?” Marina’s practically bouncing up and down in her excitement.