They came out of Zafira's place into a street that had gone grey with mid-morning, and Trafalgar was still chewing on the same sentence he'd finished the conversation with.
"So who's allowed to cross?" he asked. "Gate to gate, ring to ring, carrying something nobody looks at."
"You won't like the answer." Zafira fell into step on his left. "The Myrrhvale guard, obviously. All of The Tide, because they run the locks. Customs officers. Medical transport. The maintenance crews, and the waste crews after them, and both of those haul covered loads through every checkpoint in this city twice a day without anyone lifting a lid."
"That isn't a short list."
"That's a third of Meraval," Rhosyn said.
Trafalgar walked another twenty paces on that.
He'd been going at this the way he went at everything, sorting people into piles and shaking each pile until something rattled. That wasn't going to work here. The pile was too big and half of it wore a uniform.
