Chapter 12
IT WAS DARK and misty when Isandor caught the tram back to the inner city. The streets along the way lay mostly deserted, and the street lamps showed up as ghostly pools of light. Occasionally he noticed a glimmer of icefire that crept over a wall or a fence or window frame. If the sky was clear—and that happened so infrequently now—he might be able to see skylights. He hadn’t seen any for so long.
The carriage with its steamed-up windows was full of people going home from having had dinner in the many cheap eating houses in the Harbour District. He received many greetings, bows and curtsies. It got quite busy on the short ride, but no one took the seat next to him. People kept their distance in a what-is-he-doing-here kind of way. Some kept casting him glances as if they were
