“The East Residence station was crowded, full of the heat and smoke and steam of a busy summer’s day. It felt humid after the Drangosh Valley; he rested his eyes on the hints of green higher up the hill and the fleecy clouds scattered across the sky. It was after 1900, near sunset, with Miniluna and Maxiluna both up, huge translucent globes hanging in a purpling sky.“Move it, soldier!” the conductor said.Raj smiled wryly and hopped down, ignoring the wooden steps the Central Rail slave was putti...ng by the passenger car. He had a bandage over half his face, and he was dressed in common soldier’s clothing—as a Descotter cavalry sergeant, which was probably what he’d have been if he hadn’t been born to a noble family. The uniform brought a few cheers and careful claps on the back as he walked out through the station, a garrison bag slung over one shoulder.That was unusual. Questions flew at him:“Is it true Heneralissimo Whitehall cut off Ali’s head with his own hand?”“Are they going to march the prisoners through the streets?”He smiled lopsidedly and pointed to his bandage; somebody thrust a goatskin of wine into his hand, and a free ticket to the bullfights.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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