She may as well have said giraffes – which I’ve heard are long-necked beasts that live in the Outer Islands. There are some carthorses around the city, and I’ve heard about the Travesters’ fast horses that race each other, but I’ve only seen a few such animals in my entire life. Once, on the day of the Home Parade, the Director went through the streets in a carriage pulled by a large black horse. The Travester horses are rumoured to be enormously expensive.

“I might’ve known that an ignorant Cerel boy wouldn’t understand about horses,” she sniffs.

“Sorry,” I murmur, “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

She raises her chin, watching the dog. It’s given up on the butterfly and is lying panting on the ground. Its sparkly red collar is probably worth two or three meals for our family. Emee picks up her pet and sits on the side of the fountain, cupping water into her hand. The dog laps delicately at her hand, then pricks up its ears.

A woman carrying a basket is hurrying into the square from the far side. She glances over at Emee, then smiles, not seeming to notice me hunched on the bench. It is a privilege to be noticed, I suppose. Though another kind of privilege to be invisible.

Emee stands up, the dog in her arms. “I must go now,” she says, and walks off, as if I have suddenly failed to exist.

Should I follow? I don’t know. Her abrupt manner confuses me, and I take only one step forwards. “Wait,” I call out.

She stops and turns back, her pale eyes studying me.

What can I say to her that won’t be considered offensive? She isn’t a Cerel girl, who I can be friends with if I feel like it. Cerels aren’t even supposed to talk to Travesters. But I can’t let her go just like that, my pride won’t let me; I want her to acknowledge that I exist.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, scuffing my boot into the gravel. “Goodbye.”

“Yes, goodbye,” she says, walking away.

6