A few moments later he stood up, grasping for the luggage rack overhead for balance. 'Go back and wait for me in our room. Stay inside until I return.'
Without waiting for a response, he moved to the open exit and hopped down into the street, walking off quickly even as the tram passed him by, oblivious to Nico's face pressed against the glass of the window.
Some time later the tram entered the district of the east docks, and Nico began to recognize where he was at last. He gazed out the window at the passing streets, their vague familiarity an equally vague comfort to him. On the pavement a girl strode past. He caught sight of her dark hair.
Nico jumped up, made his way to the exit, and stepped out.
'Serese!' he shouted, but the girl was too far away to hear him.
He lost sight of her on reaching the end of the next block. It had been her, he was sure of it. Nico kept walking in the same direction, looking one way and then the other. The streets were busy with late-afternoon traffic. Pedestrians hurried along the pavements, trams and carts trundled along the roadway. A nearby temple rang out the hour, two bells and then silence.
He headed along a street of identical buildings, the windows tall and standing open to the city air, leaking sounds of industry from within. He stopped at one of the ground-floor windows to chance a look inside. It looked like a workshop, though a massive one, spacious and dusty. Hundreds of people, mostly women and young children, sat on rows of mats on the floor and worked at simple repetitive tasks that made no immediate sense to his eyes. Other children swept loose debris from the floor and the few grown men sweated as they pushed handcarts filled with material along the aisles. Those sitting on the mats tossed finished items into the carts as they passed by, while others grabbed things out. A few supervisors stalked between the workers, shouting at one every so often. After a minute, Nico passed on, seeing no sign of Serese. He had clearly lost her.
For a moment he considered returning to the hostalio, but the mere thought of sitting there all on his own, dwelling on what he had done last night, was a depressing one. He might as well take a stroll, even if the city streets were barely more welcoming than his room.
He walked on into a prettier district, where trees lined the avenues and small plazas offered space for chee houses or fountains of clear running water, the mood of the area less hectic than the eastern docks. Still, Nico could feel in his blood how he did not belong in this city. It had little for him to relate to, little he could settle his eyes upon in welcome recognition. It was all so daunting to him, not simply the scale of the architecture but the manner of the people themselves.
At least in Bar-Khos strangers still spoke to strangers. Smiles appeared readily on the faces of shopkeepers; if there was a sudden fight or argument, others would always be quick to calm things down. As war-weary as Bar-Khos might be, or perhaps even because of that, there was still a spirit of community amongst its beleaguered populace, a sense of lives shared in a common purpose that transcended creed or religion or acquaintanceship. Here, though, there was something sour and self-contained about the people. It was as though they had been promised much in their lives – yes, and had gained it all too – and yet here they were, even more harried and discontented than before.
Perhaps what Nico needed most was to see something green and spacious as opposed to this endless oppressiveness of concrete and brick. On a whim, he stopped a boy in the street and asked him where the nearest park could be found, hoping the youth would not squint at him in confusion and say there were no such things.
But the boy gave him simple enough directions, a mere block away it turned out. As he turned a corner, Nico's eyes lit up, for there, directly ahead of him, was indeed a small green park surrounded by a black iron railing. He quickened his pace and hurried through a gateway, his shoes crunching on a pathway of gravel. He slowed, gradually, to take in the scenery. It was attractive in its own way, and largely empty, save for the occasional figure squatting in the bushes to relieve itself, and a few drunks lying sprawled in the overgrown grass as though someone had staked them out under the sun.
Nico chose a spot as far away from these park denizens as he could find, and sat himself down beneath a tall cicado tree. With his face to the weakening sun, he almost began to relax.
Eventually, Nico closed his eyes and imagined he was elsewhere. He imagined he was back home in Khos, sitting in the forested hills that rose up behind his mother's smallholding.
On days like this one, back home, he had often gone hiking with Boon by his side, the pack on his back holding a loaf of keesh freshly baked by his mother, also some cheese, a flask for water, his bird whistle, some hooks and twine. He would climb away from the mundane problems of his life, sweating and panting his way into the crisp air of the higher valleys, his mood lightening with every footstep as Boon ranged to one side or the other, sniffing for rabbits, mice, anything he might chase.
Sometimes, after Boon had calmed enough to lie down and be still, Nico would fish in the cold mountain pools, catching one small rainbow trout after another, fish which he would proudly bring back to his mother for supper. At other times, in a more contemplative mood, he would find a slab of ancient rock overlooking some deeper pool, and would fish with pebbles instead, tossing in a small stone so that it plopped gently into the water. He would watch it keenly as it sank beneath the surface. If he was lucky, a young trout would dart for the sinking pebble from some hiding place by the edge of the pool, only to dart away again when it realized it was not potential food. In this way Nico would fish not for the meat of the animals, but for the sight of them. He would spend hours at this, hours.
If it was still early enough, Nico would choose the nearest mountain and climb to the very top of it, regardless of how tired or hungry or footsore he became, wondering if his father had ever come this way when he had hunted for game, or on one of his own solitary hikes. Once he reached the summit he would collapse to the ground next to Boon, his breath ragged in his throat, his eyes absorbing the vast spread of the land below and the blue-green press of the sea beyond. Salt would lace this high air that he sipped. His skin would cool against the soft ruffle of the wind. He would feel at peace with the world, his life placed in a truer context, his problems petty, without meaning; nothing really mattered, he would realise, not his fears and insecurities and hopes and desires, shifting and transitory, only the permanence of the moment, this presence of being. He would look into Boon's soft eyes and realize that the dog already knew this state of mind, and he would envy him his simple existence.
'Hello, you.'
The voice was of the present, and Nico returned to it simply by opening his eyes. Colours returned to his vision slowly, so at first all he could see was a green silhouette framed against the sky, looming above him. He craned his neck and shaded his eyes.
Serese, her hands on hips, frowning.
'You're on my spot,' she announced before he could say a thing.
'What?' he asked, sitting up.
'You, you're on my spot,' she repeated, and Nico smiled it her, puzzled, and cast a look around at the drunks and the addicts scattered about the little park.
'I see. You come here a lot, do you?'
She sat down next to him, and nudged him aside to gain more room against the tree. He felt her heat against his own; it sent a physical shock reverberating up and down his spine.
'Our hostalio is nearby,' she explained. 'My father refused to let me stay in the squalor he and Aleas have been putting up with down at the docks, so he had us all move to better quarters. They have returned to our rooms to lie low and discuss plans. I can't think of anything more tedious. I thought I'd take a walk, find somewhere to sit in the sun.' She looked about her, wrinkling her nose. 'And, I am afraid, this is it.'