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our master?” Andromeda asked. “You?”
    â€œYou must obey all the masters, but you are not slaves,” Maia said. “Ficino will explain later. Come on now. It is time to eat.”
    We were all dressed, and none of our kitons were actually falling off. Maia led us to our dining hall. “Our dining hall is called Florentia,” she said. “A sleeping house is a small thing, though each has a name and a flower, and you might want to embroider hyssop on your kiton later, if you care to. But a dining hall is a very important matter. Each of them seats seventy people, mixed boys and girls, and each of them is named for one of the great cities of civilization.”
    â€œHow many eating halls are there?” I asked.
    â€œOne hundred and forty-four,” Maia answered at once.
    I calculated in my head. “So there are ten thousand and eighty of us?”
    â€œYou’re quick with numbers! What is your name?”
    â€œSimmea,” I said.
    She smiled. “Another wonderful name. Well, Simmea, yes, there will be ten thousand and eighty of you, twelve tribes, a hundred and forty-four dining halls. And you will all learn about the cities of your dining halls and take pride in their accomplishments.”
    â€œAnd is Florentia a great city?” Andromeda asked. “I never heard of it.”
    â€œYou will hear about it soon,” Maia promised.
    The dining hall was immense. It was built of stone, not marble, and it had narrow windows and a twisting tower rising from one corner. Inside it had a courtyard with a fountain, and stairs leading up to a big room with a great cacophony of children sitting on benches drawn up at tables. I was glad to spot Ficino and Kebes sitting eating among the others. They were both wearing kitons, but Ficino kept on his red hat.
    Maia found us places, all together at one of the tables. Kebes saw me and waved a hand as I sat down. “We all take turns serving,” Maia explained. I was hungry. A boy brought out trays of food and set them down where we could help ourselves. The food was amazing—it was bread and fresh cheese with olives, artichokes, cucumbers, and olive oil, with fresh clean water to drink. That first night I remember we had a delicious buttery ham that seemed to melt on my tongue.
    It was when I was eating the ham that I looked up and saw the paintings. On all the walls of the room hung paintings, ten of them, all of mythological scenes, and nine of them painted with a wonderful delicacy of imagination that made me stare and stare. I did not see all ten that night, only the one on the opposite wall, which showed an old man with a long beard shaking snow from his cloak while beautiful young women danced around a frozen fountain and a wolf gnawed at a bundle dropped by a fleeing hunter. I had never seen snow before, but that was not why I couldn’t stop staring.
    â€œYou’re not eating, Simmea,” Maia said after a time. I realised I was sitting there with ham in my mouth and not chewing.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, closing my mouth and swallowing. “But the painting! Who did it? What is it?”
    â€œSandro Botticelli did it, in Florence. Florentia,” she corrected herself at once. “It’s Winter. It’s part of a set. Summer and Autumn are here too.”
    â€œNot Spring ?”
    â€œ Spring is in the original Florentia,” she said. “But I can show you a reproduction one day, if you like it.”
    â€œLike it? Of all the wonders here it is the most wonderful,” I said. I had seen paintings before. There were two ikons in the church at home, one of the Virgin and one of Christ crucified. Botticelli left them in the dust.
    After dinner we went off to bed. It turned out that there was a glowing beam in Hyssop House, which gave us enough light to use the latrine-fountains and then undress and get into bed. Maia showed Andromeda how to turn it off, using a switch near