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of trees, reaching into the night above the heads of the mortals below.
    And how many mortals! Cedric was certain the Humans here numbered far more than all the creatures on the Strip. Their dwellings were clustered in untidy, winding rows, pieces of property claimed here and there by stakes in the ground. Some of the dwellings were simple cloth tents. Others were built side by side and joined together by common walls of cinderblock and other materials. There were roofs made from blue sheets of mortal plastic or metal hammered flat, and some homes had no roofs at all. Mortal children ran without heed past mortal women stirring pots over communal fires or hanging sodden garments over lines stretched between tents. There seemed to be fire and joy and life everywhere, and for a moment, it truly overwhelmed him.
    There was something else, too…. A sense of expectation, of a burden lifted. He remembered Dika’s words, and it froze the joy within him to ice.
    He remembered why he had come. It occurred to him for the first time that, although he had found his way here, finding Dika would be a much different task. He would have to enter the settlement, not just survey it from afar.
    Dika had never told him what to expect of her home, nor what to expect of the people there. It was possible that she had not properly thought through the consequences of his being there, that she had no idea how other mortals would react to an immortal creature in their midst. But such carelessness was not like Dika, and so he concluded that it would be safe to enter the camp.
    There were no guards; at least, no formal display of armed might, but a few males wandered at the outskirts of the camp, and one, upon spotting Cedric, approached.
    “Do you speak our language?” he called, pulling something off of his back. A gun, one of those strange Human weapons that incorporated the magic of fire and force. Cedric stepped back instinctively. He did not care for such objects.
    “I have this,” he called out in lieu of answering the question. He held out the map, and when the mortal came close enough, he let the man take it.
    The man frowned at the paper. “Who gave you this?”
    “Dika.” It was the only name he had. Did mortals, Gypsies, have other names? Secret ones that only they used with each other? “She told me her name was Dika.”
    The mortal laughed. “Dika is a very common name. I suppose next you will tell me that she has dark hair and eyes?”
    Cedric had nothing to say to this. The man continued to regard him with wary amusement. He did not return the map.
    “I can walk you back to the Strip, friend,” he said, tucking the folded paper into the pocket of his shirt. “But you cannot become lost in our land again.”
    “I must speak with her.” Though Cedric tried to keep his voice even, he heard the desperation in his words. “She has told me that you are leaving soon. That this will all be gone. I cannot chance not seeing her…I have made a terrible mistake.”
    The mortal’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know of our leaving?”
    “Because Dika told me. She told me. I can’t give you proof, but please, I must find her.”
    Cedric could say no more, only look to the man with what must have been pleading on his face, and wait for his decision.
    Finally, the man sighed the heavy sigh of something giving way. “You are an outsider. You will have to take your case to the Dya.”
    “Dya,” he repeated the word, rolled the unfamiliar shape of it around his mouth. “Dika did not mention this.”
    “If you wish to see Dika, you will have to obey our rules, friend,” the mortal said, his smile not so kind.
    There was little else Cedric could do but agree and follow the man through the maze of the mortal city. They passed the rough dwellings, came to cleaner, neater homes—as clean and neat as anything in the Underground could be—made from the same mortal materials, but with a certain air of pride about them. The children running