John shifted in the elegant velvet-backed chair. It was too small for his big frame. He stood up and slowly paced the ornately gilded hall. He wanted more time. Another week. He and Ravishan had just begun to explore Nurjima. They had visited only a few of the brightly-painted bookshops and raucous theaters that Hann’yu had recommended. They’d spent the better part of an evening listening to loud political debates in one of the teahouses near Scholars’ Park. Scattered between students’ and teachers’ orations, there had been a provocative speech from a red-veiled widow and one ferocious diatribe from a young blonde man. The diversity of opinion had given John hope. Nurjima was far from a utopia, but people here were free enough to say as much. After that, Ravishan and he had sampled a few of the sweet and spicy dishes that came from the southern holdings. They had heard beautiful new music played by a blonde beggar and seen the brilliant gold uniforms worn by the priests in the city dress guard.
