She walked past the wall surrounding the Exchange complex and turned into wide and tree-lined street that led away from the square. This had to be the Market Street Jocassa had mentioned.
There was a large building on the corner, with a moss-covered façade, unkempt garden and cracked steps leading up to the arched entrance. Windows on the top floor had no glass. Sheets and other bedding hung over windowsills. A young Mirani man—a Nikala with longer hair than would be allowed in the army—leaned out one of the windows, yelling at another group of young Mirani men stumbling up the steps to the entrance. When one of them tripped and fell to his knees, his friends squealed with laughter. They were drunk already and it wasn’t even dark.
This had to be the guesthouse where Jocassa was staying.
