“Stories?”
Raven asks.
“Of
course,” replies the guide. “Ever since they found a way to
communicate, stories have been traded. A tale told in return for
supper and whatnot, that's the second oldest transaction in the
world.”
The
market stalls around them are beginning to look run down and shabby,
many are empty, with no traders or stock. As they walk on, Raven
notices they continue to decline, until some look more like piles of
abandoned junk or collapsed sheds. It's not much further before the
place more closely resembles some kind of shanty town. Shelters and
lean-tos have been cobbled together from loose pages and covers
scavenged from neighbouring stalls. Here and there Raven can see
people covered in dirt, dressed in rags, just sitting and staring,
sometimes mumbling with despair.
“Now
this,” says the guide with a shudder, “This is the slums.”
