Tanny buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving. The other girls tried desperately not to laugh. I determinedly examined the seats opposite where well-to-do folk reclined on comfortable cushions beneath the shade of awnings while servants fetched them food and drink.

“Yee don’ want that man’s trouble anyway, Tanny.” Lanky Diantha had features more Taino than Celtic or Afric and hair as straight and black as mine, cropped short because she had aspirations to play on the Rays’ women’s team. “He is in deep with they radicals.”

“Exactly what radicals is that?” I asked.

“That Kofi-lad was arrested two times for he radical associations. Those is not clan scars on he cheeks, yee know. The wardens tortured him, but he would not talk.”

“Cat, close yee mouth,” said Luce. “I thought yee knew.”

Kayleigh was staring into the crowd to where Kofi was singing and dancing with Vai and the lads to the beat of a hand drum. Those young men could dance! They had the crowd around them getting into a call and response led by Kofi’s strong voice: “Give the man yee money, and what do yee get?”

“The wardens must act to keep the peace,” said Diantha. “If the radicals get their way, the whole city shall go up in flames.”

Luce leaned over my shoulder. “The Council rule unjustly and for they own benefit!”

“The Council was established at the founding to stop a king from taking over!” protested Diantha. “They did it for the best!”

“Just because that was true then, Dee,” said Tanny as the other gals nodded in agreement with her as she went on, “don’ mean we cannot want to change the way things is now. What chance have we in the districts to be heard by the Council? They line they own pockets with money and we get nothing.”

“Think of all the trouble that will come,” muttered Diantha.

“Trouble is here already,” objected Tanny. “General Camjiata got angry when the Council refused he request for support. Now he is run to the Taino.”

“Yee think if them radicals get in power with an Assembly, they will support the general and buy off the Taino?” cried Diantha. “The radicals don’ want a king either.”

“But the general wants to be emperor in Europa, not here,” I said. “You would think the Council, and the radicals, would want to encourage him to go back home, not to hang around because he can’t afford to return.”

“No one want him to hang around,” said Tanny. “There was one time already a man tried to kill the general.”

“What happened?” I glanced at Kayleigh but she was whispering to a friend.

“A man shot at the general when he went to Nance’s Tavern to meet with the local factory union people. The Council blamed the radicals. The radical leaders had broadsheets printed and blamed the Council. Truth is, the general was always a-meeting with both sides.”

The song swept up the risers as the gals joined in: “Give the man yee money, and what do yee get? Yee don’ get nothing, not even a kiss!”

A roar rose from the crowd, drowning out the song. Folk leaped to their feet as the two teams trotted out onto the ball court. Three women dressed in white tabards stood as arbitrators for the game, overseen by an umpire seated on a pedestal. Captains accepted the stone belts that marked their status; flags rose. Today, Rays played Cajayas, and the singing of team chants became deafening as the lead arbitrator tossed the ball into the air to launch the game.

At first, I stood with the others, swaying and shouting, yelping when the ball hit dirt, whooping when a well-placed elbow or knee kept play afloat, for teams lost points if a bad play caused the ball to touch the ground. Diantha offered a running commentary on the players.

Yet a disquieting murmur tugged at my ears. A whiff of burning tickled my nostrils. I pushed to the top of the stone edifice to look over the back wall to the ground below. A troop of wardens had gathered, some carrying lamps and the rest carrying staves and pistols.

I dropped down. Vai was easy to find, not because he was particularly tall but because I immediately recognized the shape of his head and the cut of his shoulders. He swung around to look at me, as if I’d spoken. I lifted my chin. He nodded and, with Kofi to cut a path, started up.

I pushed down through the dancing, chanting throngs as the game surged forward, one player making a shot for the hurricane’s eye—the stone ring—and just missing to a great shout from the crowd, relief and disappointment woven into a single cry.

On the cry’s dying, Vai shoved into view. “Tell me.”