Shatterglass

he goes home to sleep,Tris added. She sighed. we wait for the globe to clear.

Dema made the circle of the All-Seeing on his forehead. it will clear before time,he said.

Keth looked at him and smiled crookedly. optimistic lawkeeper. Now there is something unusual.

A proper meal and youll be an optimist, too,Dema said, ushering Keth out of the workshop.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tris watched the two men walk away, smiling when Dema draped an arm over Keths shoulder. Shed got a very favourable impression of the arurim dhaskoi the previous night, once they d got over their original misunderstanding about the use of torture. As hed questioned Keth, shed watched his face and listened to his voice. He wanted to catch the Ghost, and she didn t think it was all about glory for Dema. It didnt seem to be much about the yaskedasi, either, but Tris would settle for what she thought he did want, the end of the killers lawlessness.

Once the men were gone, she went into the glass shop to ask Keths cousin Antonou a favour. Would he mind if she left Little Bear and Chime in the courtyard for a few hours? She would get them later, without disturbing the family. Not only did Antonou agree, but his quiet, shy wife found a meal of table scraps for Little Bear. Tris thanked them, and ordered the dog and dragon to wait for her return. She brushed the soot and dirt from her pale green dress woven and sewn by Sandry, it refused all stains and hardly wrinkled - and headed down the street.

This Ghost mess revo lved around Khapik, and Tris had yet to see the place. She had heard of it, long before they had reached Tharios. Other travellers, learning where they were bound, sang the praises of Khapik: its gardens, its entertainers, its food, its wine. The best per f ormers worked there at some point in their careers; the guests who saw them spread their names from the Cape of Grief in the south to Blaze-Ice Bay in the north. Some men had spoken more fondly of Khapik than they did of their families. To Tris it seemed that many of the young people theyd met were saving their money for one holiday only, at Khapik.

Shed seen Khapik when they rode into Tharios, of course, or at least, its brightly painted walls. Normally she might not have gone there. While she loved musi c, acting, tumbling and food, she thought it folly to pay for such things when she had to watch every copper. Now, though, Keths globes had given her an excuse at least to look around.

She Joined a river of visitors all headed in the same direction, on foot, in sedan chairs, on horse-, camel-, or donkey-back. The caravan master who d brought her and Niko to Tharios had mentioned that no wagons were permitted inside Khapik. She wondered if the prathmun had to carry the garbage, night soil and dead bodies ou t of Khapik by hand, without using their carts. She wanted to ask a prathmun who drove his cart across the Street of Glass if that was the case, but there were too many Tharians around, all retreating from cart and driver, most drawing the circle of the All-Seeing God on their foreheads.

Some blocks past Touchstone Glass, above the shabby stores that sold overpriced items to newly arrived tourists, Tris saw the bright yellow pillars that marked Khapiks entrance. They towered over the districts walls, whic h were painted with dancers, musicians, bunches of grapes, illusionists, wine jugs, plates of steaming food, tumblers and all the other delights which lay inside. The guards at the gate watched the flood of tourists go by them with blank faces, unimpresse d by the number and variety of the visitors.

The moment she passed inside the wall, Tris felt cool moisture in the air. Ahead of her lay a shaded expanse of ground divided into small islands by streams and riverlets, some broad enough to allow boats to pass along their length. Inside the boats people lazed, nibbled on fruit, talked, or trailed their fingers in the water. Squat candles burned inside flower-shaped cups that floated in the water, like fireflies that skimmed its surface: those who poled the boa t s avoided the candles with the ease of long practice. Trees grew here and there along the banks, cooling the streets under them. On the islands she saw delicate pavilions lit by lanterns and torches where musicians, singers and dancers performed for small groups.

Scents drifted on the air: roses, jasmine, patchouli, sandalwood, cinnamon. She heard bits of music and the splash of fountains. Her breezes, which had come back when she lowered her protections on the glassmaker s workshop, whirled around her like small children, eager to run away and explore the maze of streets and streams. She let them go, reminding them to come back to her. As she looked around, watching the guests break up into small groups and disappear down the streets, something tightly kno tted inside her loose ned a bit.

She had to walk a distance to leave the area where the streams flowed. Beyond them she found the streets where businesses thrived: eating houses, wineshops, theatres, tea houses, gambling dens and shops that sold trinkets, p erfumes, scarves, even toys. Here too were houses where entertainers performed for smaller audiences than those found in the theatres, in courtyards and in brightly lit rooms with gauze curtains.

Tris saw yaskedasi at street corners, beside the many fountains, on the stream banks, in courtyards, on the islands, on balconies and porches. Six tumblers stood on one another s shoulders to shape themselves into a human pyramid, then to leap free, tucking, rolling and landing on their feet. Next to a many-tiered fountain Tris listened to a handsome boy play a melancholy song on a harp. On the far side of the fountain an older woman juggled burning torches. An illusionist produced flowers and birds from his sleeves under a willow tree while dogs danced together un der a trainers eye. A woman draped in an immense snake and a handful of veils perched in a low window, stroking her pet. When she saw Tris watching, she beckoned, but Tris shook her head and walked on.