The windows of the house opposite are glowing with light. It’s like a display: look at us, look at what we’ve got. It’s both disturbing and fascinating, the way those Travesters show off their wealth. And they’ve got nothing to hide, or to hide away from; nothing to fear. Their lives are so protected. How nice to live like that! I try to imagine what it’d be like to be a rich Travester, living in a warm house with good food every day and a decent job … well, I reckon I’d still want my privacy. I wouldn’t show off like that, or burn electric lights all night, even in rooms that aren’t even being used. No, I’d wear a nice jacket (a smoking jacket, like a real gentleman) and sit in a leather armchair, a glass of something at my elbow, and read a book.

The sound of steps disturbs my dream. The aunt, in a velvet cloak, the hood over her head, is walking rapidly towards the house. It’s the first time I’ve seen her alone; usually Travesters move in packs, like dogs. It looks as if she has been on some kind of mission.

I watch as she enters the house, then she appears in a room on the right, slipping the cloak off her shoulders and letting it fall to the ground. The aunt’s golden hair is piled high on top of her head and is strung with pearls. Probably real ones, fetched from the ocean depths by native divers in the Outer Islands. Then a young woman in an apron appears and quickly picks up the cloak. Slinging it over her arm, she follows the aunt out of the room. They go into a second room, and the uncle appears. Words are spoken. The aunt’s hands flutter to her chest. Everything is lit up like a stage.

A steamtram trundles past, and I miss a few seconds of this domestic scene.

Now the aunt and uncle are embracing. Maybe they had an argument and are making up. Then the aunt seems to notice for the first time that the window dressings are open so that anybody (like a stray Cerel boy) can stare in and see them. The servant woman hurries to close the dressings, moving from window to window.

Leaning back against the cold stone, I study the blank house. Is something going on? My mind goes to the Director and my plan; to things that might possibly be happening in the city.