“You had your own books?” I marvel out loud. My friend Eric once told me something similar, but I didn’t believe him.

“Yes, it was a different time, Leho.” Marina carries on smoothly, intent on her story, “And each day this girl would do something nasty to me. Pinch the back of my arm so I yelped and the teacher would frown at me. Or put glue in my braid, which I wouldn’t know about till I got home and tried to brush out my hair. Once she put a dog turd inside my desk. I cried that day.”

We turn into Market Street. The stone buildings, old merchant houses, loom above the street. They’re mostly abandoned now, too damaged even for Cerels to live in. I’ve explored them, and nearly broke a leg when I went through a rotten floor, hitting the ground below.

More people are passing now, also heading for Market Square. I can hear one of the Director’s broadcasts coming from the square: Cerels, you must work harder! Work makes you free!

“But why did she do those things?” I bring my attention back to my sister, perplexed. How could anybody not love Marina?

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips. “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “It didn’t seem to make any sense. We weren’t any poorer than anybody else really, so it can’t have been snobbery. Maybe it was just because I looked different. My hair was dark, while hers was light. Yellow, like straw. Her eyes were blue, while mine were brown. I was the only Cerel in that class. Perhaps it was something as silly as that.”

An airship passing overhead blocks out the sky between the high buildings, so that the street dims for a few seconds. I gaze up at its ribbed grey belly. It’s heading in the direction of the House of Law, the place where high-ranking Travesters gather to make sure the city is working the way the Director wants it to. It’s a Fonecian ship, judging by the painted eye on its undercarriage, and I wonder if it’s come from the Outer Islands, maybe bringing fancy goods and fabrics to trade with Travester merchants.

“What happened to that girl?” I ask, once the airship has passed.

“Oh, I’m not sure. We got taken out of school. She’s probably married to a Travester shopkeeper, I suppose.” Marina goes quiet then, as we enter Market Square.

* * *

Our family sits around the table in the soft lantern light, sucking and crunching on the chicken bones from the soup – leftovers from Marta Gayer’s household. Her “payment” for the reading. I hope Nanna made up a good one, full of treasure and handsome strangers, so maybe she’ll bring us some proper meat next time.