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.Ata booth just down the streetfrom the castle I discoveredsomething I had not expected tosee but which I had to buy atonce: a newspaper.I had notseen a newspaper since arrivingin Yurt.“This is dated five days ago,” Isaid, leafing through it excitedly.In fact it didn’t matter when itwas dated, because I hadn’theard any news for two monthsanyway.“That’s when it left the City,”said the man at the booth.“Itcame up here on a pack train,and they hurried, too, to get ithere so quickly.You don’texpect the pigeons to be able tocarry a newspaper!”“Ofcoursenot,”Isaidabsently, moving away, avidlyturning the pages.But in amomentIpaused,thinkingsomething was wrong.When Ihad been at the wizards’ school,I had always read at least theSunday paper, and often thepaper during the week as well.Ithadalwaysbeenfullofinterestingnews,ads,andinformation, whereas this paperwas all full of the doings ofsomeratheruninterestingpeople far away.Then I realizedwhat the problem was.Therewas nothing in the paper aboutYurt.I laughed and folded it up.Atthis rate, soon I wouldn’t be ableto think of myself as a city boyany longer.I had only a rather vague ideaofhownewspaperswereproduced,exceptthatthepresses that covered piles ofnewsprint with black ink werepowered by wizardry.But Ihadn’tthoughtbeforehowlocalized newspapers were, allproduced in the City, by wizardstrained in the school, carryingads for the City emporia orsometimes ads sent in fromdistant kingdoms, like Yurt, thatwere aimed at people in the City,like young wizards.I opened thepaper again, and saw that on theinner pages there was somenews of political events in someof the western kingdoms, but forthe most part the paper wasdevoted exclusively to topicsthat would interest people of theCity.When I stopped at a stall tobuy a bun topped with spicesand melting cheese, I held thenewspaper under my chin tocatch the drips before theyreached my clothes.If I belonged anywhere, Ithought, I now belonged to Yurt,not the City.Both my parentshad died when I was very young,and the grandmother who hadbrought me up and operatedtheir wholesale warehouse for afew more years had died my fifthyear in the wizards’ school.I hadmade some good friends at theschool, but now that we werescatteredoverthewesternkingdoms we would not seeeach other very frequently, andprobably not in the City at all.Even if I wasn’t a city boyanymore, I was exhilarated to beback in busy streets, wherepeople on foot and horsebackjostled with carts and booths.Competing music rose fromevery corner.I tossed coins tothe best musicians, or at leastthe ones I enjoyed the most.Asthe afternoon dimmed towardevening,lampswerehungabove the shop doors, and theshadows danced over faces thatin many cases now were paintedand decorated.Men, and a fewwomen, with glasses in theirhands spilled out of taverndoors.Although this was a smallcity, we were certainly not theonly ones to have come to thecarnival from far away.This, Ithought, compared favorably tothe harvest carnival in the Cityitself.Thereliefafteralongsummer’s worry and the work ofharvest, of knowing food wasstored away for the next year,made people giddy.Or at least Icould imagine myself sayingthat to Joachim, to show him Ioften thought deeply abouthuman nature, not just magic.Onconsideration,itdidn’tappear as deep or unusual aconclusion as I hoped.For thatmatter,thechaplainwasn’tspending the carnival beinggiddy; he was doubtless at thismoment describing the purity ofhis heart to the bishop.But I was enjoying myself.Itried all the different kinds offoodbeingserved,fromsausages to sweet hot pastries.Istopped briefly at a tavern,though the air inside was sothick and hot that I moved backout to the street after a singleglass of wine.I admired andtossed coins to a girl doing afairly provocative dance.I wasstartled and had to leap backagainst a wall as six peoplecollectively wearing a dragoncostume came running aroundthe comer.For one horriblemoment, I was afraid it actuallywas a dragon.Theycertainlymadeaspectacular beast.Seeing theyhad startled me, they paused intheir progress and did a dancefor my benefit and that ofseveral people near me.Thedragon’s fringed ears whirledaround its head, its twelve legsstamped and weaved, and itseyes glowed red, not, as Irealized in a moment, from firebut from magic.I threw down a few coins, anda hand emerged from beneaththe dragon’s chest to scoopthem up before the dragoncontinueddownthestreet,roaringconvincingly.Ifeltsomehow inadequate.My greattriumph at Yurt so far had beenmaking lamps for the chapelstair, and yet a group of peoplein a dragon costume, who mostprobably had access to nothingas exalted as a Royal Wizard,were apparently able to makeglowing dragon eyes withoutdifficulty.My steps took me back to thesquare in front of the cathedral.Since I had been there an hourbefore, the scene had changed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]