By the time Ellisandra had reached Miran’s central square, it had started snowing again. The first thing she always noticed when she came here was the round, flat-roofed library tower at the top of the council steps. It was an old thing, not particularly straight, and originally built as a jail. When Father worked as Miran’s chief librarian, he used to have an office on the top floor, at the end of a dark and curvy set of stairs. From the tiny window up there you could see all over the square and the commercial district. Father used to have to lift her to the windowsill. She could still feel the pitted stone under her hands.
She walked past the Foundation monument, a pentagonal platform with a post on each corner, looking sad and forlorn today. During nice days, school classes came out he
