Marina crawls into my little space and lies along the mattress beside me, propping herself up on her elbow to gaze down at me, her dark eyes pensive, her skin paler than it ought to be. She’s wearing her outdoor coat – a thin, dark-blue coat fraying at the ends of the sleeves.

“I need to ask for a special dispensation.”

That wakes me up. Her expression is completely open. There is nothing hidden or secret about Marina: she always tells the truth. Though she doesn’t always tell the full story. My curiosity is roused, but it’ll be pointless to ask why she needs or wants a dispensation. She will either offer the information freely, or avoid telling me anything at all. The House of Law?

“Are you sure you want to go there?” I ask carefully.

“Yes, or I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me.” Marina looks at me with a teasing half-smile on her lips. “You do want to go, don’t you?”

Of course, and my wily sister knows that. I’m as clear as a bucket of water to her. I’ve been itching to get up close to the House of Law for ages. Only Cerels wanting a special dispensation dare go near the place. I’ve seen it from a distance, of course – who hasn’t? Its glass and metal dome can be seen for miles away. It shines sharply outlined in the morning light, or flashes in the afternoon sun, a code of light. At night the dome glows orange like a lantern. All kinds of people are constantly coming and going; I’ve watched them, this steady traffic that sets my curiosity on fire. The Travesters’ House of Law never sleeps.

So we make our way through Market Square. Passing a stall of wizened pears – windfall – and my fingers twitch to grab one. But the stallholder’s tough gaze follows me as if he can read my mind and doesn’t like what he sees. I flip him the finger once we’re at a safe distance.

Marina pauses at a stall of fabrics, fingering a bolt of pale blue cotton. The Travester stallholder watches us without expression. I elbow Marina, wanting her to move on; it’s making me nervous hanging about like this. She gives a grin and walks off, quickening her pace.

“You might as well know,” she confides once we’re clear of the market, “I’m asking for a special dispensation to go and stay with our aunt and uncle in the country.”

It takes me a few seconds to absorb this information. “Oh.”