As he did, Janurana continued to stare at the gate after it closed, watching the dust of the Outside mix with that of the city streets in a gentle swirl. A few of the unseen mechanisms clanged within the wall itself and atop the gate as they settled back into place with bars and chains behind the doors secure. She gripped her parasol again. Despite the imposing power of the walls, she felt her safety subsiding, expecting the pale blue sliver to be behind her again. But instead, she was greeted by the docile cacophony of the city’s ambiance. From the roof of a nearby house a husband snored a bit too loudly, eliciting a tired argument from his wife. A bull snorted down the road and rattled in its stocks. A brick maker working through the night carefully tended his kiln’s fire. Janurana even heard a bird being shooed off the wall and one guard chastising his comrade for not skewering it to use its feathers for more arrows.

Her fingers fully relaxed from the parasol and again, she smiled contently, sighing in relief.

“Ma’am,” called a tax collector jogging towards Janurana from a small hut by the wall. She spun to face him like he was a lion who had just leapt from the bushes, and he stepped back. “Ah, oh, no. I need your… Taxes…” he trailed off, seeing her parasol, skin, and sari, then put his hands together and prostrated before her. “Oh! Oh! My apologies, my gwomoni. My sincerest. Welcome to the Capital of Daksin and the entire southern plateau! Of course, your entrance taxes are waived. The Keep is at the city’s center. Any main way street should lead you to it. Do you require an escort?” He looked up from the dirt and peeked past her as if an armed guard were hidden behind her hair.

“No!” Janurana yelped. She had tensed up again at the word gwomoni. She tried to calm her tone. “No. No. No, thank you though. I can easily navigate a city alone.”

The tax collector rose awkwardly. “I suppose you’re right. Your journey must have been trying. The Maharaj will certainly cater to your every need at the Keep. Once again, any major street should lead you there soon enough. I think you’ll find our city well within your expectations,” he finished proudly.

Curtly, Janurana bowed, put her parasol over her shoulder as if nothing was wrong, and fled, leaving the tax collector perplexed.

She heard him return to his hut, and then she leapt behind the nearest house, putting it between her and the wall. Her heart pounded at the word still, “gwomoni” rattling through her bones.

‘Of course. Out of the dirt and into their fangs…’ she thought.

Janurana grew angry, gripping her parasol so tight it strained under her fingers, creaking like an animal yelping in pain. When it did, she brought it to her cheek and stroked it like a crying child. She reviewed the situation again with a calming sigh.

‘The guards didn’t recognize me. That man did mention the Maharaj. I doubt the ruler of the whole plateau would be one of them. Maybe she has a treaty with them? No. They can’t be that powerful yet.’

She had to stop herself before she went too far down that path of anxiety.

‘That is what a Maharaj is, yes?’

Janurana tapped her head, trying to remember, but she only felt her hair padding the knock. She smoothed the front of her sari, grimacing as she touched the largest patch on her hips.

‘Somewhere without nobles. Common folk. Information is the priority.’

Janurana brought her parasol up to her cheek again and caressed it to apologize. She slipped out into the street, staying close to the edge as if it gave her cover. The sights and smells of the city bombarded her as the sounds did before. Mudbrick, single-story buildings lined the streets, and each had unique character. Many were painted conservatively with small but telling splashes of color. Walls were carved with names of who owned what or general graffiti. Some had been scratched out, not having been left by the owners. Others had a canopy over their cloth covered door. Janurana bent down, picking up a small wooden elephant with one tusk missing. The child who owned it was too rough with their toys. The bricks of the buildings paved the roads as well, with the center bisected by a covered causeway. She enjoyed the scent of the bonfires being carried along the breeze and the remnants of what every nearby house had made for dinner. She caught the taste of cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, and other spices she had forgotten or never smelled. Each blew a wave of calm through her, as if they were a physical comfort. After so long among the shrubs and dirt of the plateau, having anything pleasant in the air was paradise to Janurana. Even the acrid hints of burned meat or lentils from someone’s failed attempt at cooking added to her olfactory comfort.

The bull in the distance snorted again, drawing her attention. Janurana focused to hear multiple voices coming from the same direction, muted from being indoors. There were a few other sources in the distance, but one was the loudest and closest. She took a step towards it, realized she would cross the street, and froze.

“No,” she said to herself. “They have night guards out now. So the others would be asleep. It’s not a barracks.”

Rationalizing that it had to be common people, Janurana took another step forward, looked to the gate to see no one was watching her, then to the other end of the street. In the distance, along the arrow straight main way and past the multiple storied upper class houses further along, was the city’s central hill. It was topped by a smaller and just as imposing wall as the one she passed through. Even below the violet moon, it still gleamed a wondrous white, obscuring the Keep behind it with only a few of its towers fully visible. The entire city rose towards the hill, hiding yet more of it. Janurana hurried over the causeway and slipped between the tightly packed houses on the other side of the street. The neatly paved main street of the city gave way to a cobbled mess of alleys and minor roads, all dusty. Deep inside, past countless houses and the occasional community garden, Janurana found the source of the voices at the edge of the city walls.