Neds stepped out, and I was right on his heels. I’d expected some kind of shine and neon out here, but it appeared we were in an older neighborhood, or one that had been restyled to appear older.
That slight claustrophobia of buildings stacked too close to one another and looming over me was bumped up a notch by the crisscross of wires that created a net just a few feet over our heads. Above that, several elevated tube lines arced off between the buildings, and a zigzag of stairs and multilevel sidewalks were broken up by narrow doors and small, dusty windows.
Just because there wasn’t a lot of neon didn’t mean things weren’t glowing. Windows, doorways, the edges of the sidewalks sent off yellow-and-amber light.
More than enough light to reveal the crowds of people moving over the street. Some strolled, others jogged and wove through the knot of bodies, each wearing a main House color on his or her torso, some embellishing clothing with stripes or designs in other colors.
But the thing I hadn’t noticed from my brief view of the city in the car was how many people were wearing bright-colored thread worked like stitches around their wrists, or, for some, across their faces.
“Are all those people stitched?” I asked.
Left Ned snorted.
“No,” Right Ned said. “It’s a fashion. A sort of removable tattoo.”
“Stitches?”
“People like the galvanized.” He started down the sidewalk. “See them as heroes, as stars. Wear their colors, follow their fashion decisions, put on fake stitches. That sort of thing.”
I turned around to get my bearings. The elevator door behind us looked like every other narrow closed door around us, except that the dust-colored stone above it was carved with the word GRAY.
Good enough. I was pretty sure I could find that if I needed to.
“This way, tourist,” Left Ned said.
“Have you been here before?” I jogged a little to catch his stride.
“A couple times.”
“Wow.”
“Not that impressive. You see one city, you see them all.”
“Not you. That.” I pointed at the image of Abraham and another man—a galvanized—both wearing breeches and no shirts and glaring at each other like they were about to throw punches. Abraham’s dark gray stitches looked like barbed wire dug into his skin and muscles. The other man’s skin was darker than mine, and the thick red stitches that crossed his body looked like they were made out of fire.
“What’s so ‘wow’?” Right Ned asked.
“To start with, they’re the size of a building. Also”—I nodded—“half-naked, so that’s not bad.”
He shook his head. “It’s an advertisement for their showdown at the gathering. These things are all over the place.”
He waved, and I glanced around, looking for more half-naked pictures. “Oh?”
He was right. Lots of pictures of Abraham and the other galvanized who, according to the fliers, screens, and slides, was Loy Ninth of House Red. But they were not the only galvanized on display. A wide variety of women and men, in modern clothing or historical looks, and all with stitches clearly enhanced, filled the advertisements, shop windows, and more.
It was weird to think the galvanized were celebrities when, in actuality, they were little more than property and a show of power for the House that owned them.
“Coffee?” Right Ned was saying. “Just follow that little cup symbol. See there?” He pointed at a small red cup painted on corners of buildings, sides of stairs, or the sidewalk itself. “That will take you to food if you’re not plugged in. If you’re plugged in . . .” He shrugged.
“What happens if you’re plugged in?” I asked.
“Then the city’s riding in your noggin and it will tell you anything you want to know.”
“Bothersome,” I noted. “Are you plugged?”
“Nope. Doesn’t work as well on me.”
Probably because of the way he was made up. I studied the other people on the street. Tall, short, all shades of colors found in nature, and plenty of colors not found in nature, most everyone seemed to be of a standard makeup: one head, two arms, two legs.
