“Baba was a handyman. When they passed farms or orchards where they were known, people would call out for him to stop and fix this or that. Baba could fix anything.”

Babet puts her chin on her arms, her dark eyes fixed on Nanna. I can picture all of these people, my distant kin, as clear as if I’ve met them. Baba, in my mind, is a husky, broad-shouldered man, not that tall, but solid of build. Theressell has long, thick dark hair, like Marina.

“The parents of Baba and Theressell were also of the travelling clans. Their names were Marek and Jip. Nothing is known of them except their names. Their parents were Chard and Thray. Their parents were Jasay and Midda. The names of their parents are unknown to us.” Nanna’s voice has grown soft and husky. “The parents of the unknown parents were also unknown. There were many parents before them, unknown to us, going right back to the very first parents who lived on an island of sand and trees, in the middle of a river – here, where Ursa now stands.”

Nanna’s gaze is black in the smoky glow from the lantern. She has gone so far back in time she’s transported herself and the rest of us to a place where there is no present – no Black Marks, no worries. She closes her papery eyelids for a few seconds. Nobody moves, as if spelled by the mensha.

Then Nanna’s eyes blink open and I know she’s back in the present.

“All right,” she says, pushing back her chair, “off to bed, the lot of you.”

4

As soon as I hear Nanna’s wheezy snores coming from her mattress in the corner of the kitchen, I scramble out of my cubbyhole and pad through the sleeping building.

The night is warm, the sky tinted a dark orange. An airship motors silently overhead, heading towards Via Parada, maybe making a night delivery or ferrying some high-ranking Travester to the House of Law. From one of the buildings across the street come the faint notes of a guitar. It’s a lonesome sound, and makes me shiver. Trotting along the street, I keep to the shadows like a rat, moving from one hissing gas lamp to the next.

Along the black, silent river and across the stone bridge, then I cross into the Travester district, going back to the building on Trabant Street where the girl lives. The street is dim and empty, although lights shine from behind blinds in the house. Do these Travesters ever sleep?

Climbing up behind one of the stone lions, I stare at the girl’s house, willing her to appear in a window. Now and then a shadow-figure moves behind the blinds, somebody walking through the long room, but there’s no sign of the girl.