sunwise?’
‘You have done your homework.’ She sounded impressed.
Elarn, ignoring the agent’s patronising tone, continued, ‘And would I be right that of the four Quarters, I need only worry about the Guest Quarter, where I am staying, and the Merchant Quarter, where I’ll be performing?’
‘Right again - unless you want to visit the Leisure Quarter, of course. I wouldn’t advise it, really, I wouldn’t have thought it your kind of place. If you must, let me know, and I’ll recommend a reputable agency to provide a guard. You might want to see a bit of the State Quarter too - I am still hoping we’ll be able to get you in for a performance at the Salvatine Cathedral on Grace Street in the State Quarter. That would be something, wouldn’t it? That place has a good capacity, and lots of prestige. Which reminds me: I’ve left the day after your first concert free, as that’s the one that corresponds to your holy day.’
‘I’m not a Salvatine.’
‘What?’ Shamal Binu stopped in mid-flow as the pedicab swung left under a huge floral arch.
‘Were you not aware of that?’ Elarn tried not to sound smug at finally having fazed her agent.
‘No, but—You are from Khathryn, aren’t you? And Khathryn is a Salvatine theocracy run on religious law—’
‘It is,’ Elarn agreed, ‘and I’m a registered agnostic.’
‘But you sing religious music—’
‘I sing it, yes. That doesn’t mean I believe it.’
‘Oh well, we don’t need to mention that, do we?’
Not if it decreases my curiosity value , thought Elarn. The agent’s reaction confirmed her suspicions that her appeal lay not so much in her vocal talents as in her novelty: Come and see the religious recluse making a once-in-a-lifetime trip out into the big scary universe .
The agent continued, ‘But you don’t have any implants? No tone monitor? You’ll understand that I need to be clear on this, given the sort of audience we’re hoping to attract.’
‘No implants. Even agnostics are subject to Khathryn’s laws forbidding personal enhancements; being agnostic merely means I am not expected to take part in religious activities.’ She resisted the temptation to add: but yes, I do live all alone in a big sprawling mansion at the top of storm-lashed cliffs. She could hardly blame Shamal Binu for trying to make the most of this opportunity to tout an exotically straitlaced performer, but neither did she intend spending more time than was absolutely professionally necessary in the woman’s company.
The agent’s com chirped and, with an apologetic smile at her client, she raised her wrist to take the call. Elarn took the chance to study the early evening crowd in Lily Street, which was positively sedate compared with the crush in the transit hall. She was amazed at the variation in body-shape and personal style, though there were no downsiders here, thank God. Many people wore arm-bands, or coloured tokens pinned to their clothes, presumably denoting their loyalty to the world or City within the Confederacy they came from - or maybe had just decided to support.
In contrast to the people, the buildings had an underlying uniformity: their heights varied by no more than a couple of storeys and most of the frontages were aligned. Though each was decorated differently, with a profusion of balconies, statues and porches, Elarn was acutely aware that this place was a construct, a habitat that had been made, not a natural settlement that had evolved over time. The thought brought back the barely constrained unease that had afflicted her for the last two weeks. This was as much an artificial prison as the ship had been . . . and a far more dangerous one.
Medame Binu finished her call and turned to Elarn. ‘I was hoping I might meet you for lunch tomorrow, but I’ve had to reschedule a meeting,’ she said. ‘Things are just insane at the moment, what with the Grand
‘You have done your homework.’ She sounded impressed.
Elarn, ignoring the agent’s patronising tone, continued, ‘And would I be right that of the four Quarters, I need only worry about the Guest Quarter, where I am staying, and the Merchant Quarter, where I’ll be performing?’
‘Right again - unless you want to visit the Leisure Quarter, of course. I wouldn’t advise it, really, I wouldn’t have thought it your kind of place. If you must, let me know, and I’ll recommend a reputable agency to provide a guard. You might want to see a bit of the State Quarter too - I am still hoping we’ll be able to get you in for a performance at the Salvatine Cathedral on Grace Street in the State Quarter. That would be something, wouldn’t it? That place has a good capacity, and lots of prestige. Which reminds me: I’ve left the day after your first concert free, as that’s the one that corresponds to your holy day.’
‘I’m not a Salvatine.’
‘What?’ Shamal Binu stopped in mid-flow as the pedicab swung left under a huge floral arch.
‘Were you not aware of that?’ Elarn tried not to sound smug at finally having fazed her agent.
‘No, but—You are from Khathryn, aren’t you? And Khathryn is a Salvatine theocracy run on religious law—’
‘It is,’ Elarn agreed, ‘and I’m a registered agnostic.’
‘But you sing religious music—’
‘I sing it, yes. That doesn’t mean I believe it.’
‘Oh well, we don’t need to mention that, do we?’
Not if it decreases my curiosity value , thought Elarn. The agent’s reaction confirmed her suspicions that her appeal lay not so much in her vocal talents as in her novelty: Come and see the religious recluse making a once-in-a-lifetime trip out into the big scary universe .
The agent continued, ‘But you don’t have any implants? No tone monitor? You’ll understand that I need to be clear on this, given the sort of audience we’re hoping to attract.’
‘No implants. Even agnostics are subject to Khathryn’s laws forbidding personal enhancements; being agnostic merely means I am not expected to take part in religious activities.’ She resisted the temptation to add: but yes, I do live all alone in a big sprawling mansion at the top of storm-lashed cliffs. She could hardly blame Shamal Binu for trying to make the most of this opportunity to tout an exotically straitlaced performer, but neither did she intend spending more time than was absolutely professionally necessary in the woman’s company.
The agent’s com chirped and, with an apologetic smile at her client, she raised her wrist to take the call. Elarn took the chance to study the early evening crowd in Lily Street, which was positively sedate compared with the crush in the transit hall. She was amazed at the variation in body-shape and personal style, though there were no downsiders here, thank God. Many people wore arm-bands, or coloured tokens pinned to their clothes, presumably denoting their loyalty to the world or City within the Confederacy they came from - or maybe had just decided to support.
In contrast to the people, the buildings had an underlying uniformity: their heights varied by no more than a couple of storeys and most of the frontages were aligned. Though each was decorated differently, with a profusion of balconies, statues and porches, Elarn was acutely aware that this place was a construct, a habitat that had been made, not a natural settlement that had evolved over time. The thought brought back the barely constrained unease that had afflicted her for the last two weeks. This was as much an artificial prison as the ship had been . . . and a far more dangerous one.
Medame Binu finished her call and turned to Elarn. ‘I was hoping I might meet you for lunch tomorrow, but I’ve had to reschedule a meeting,’ she said. ‘Things are just insane at the moment, what with the Grand
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