Had she ever been here? In the depths of the city, surrounded by the city, by people, by crowds, everyone crammed  into cities built to house entire species? Where everything was loud and crowded and houses were built on top of houses, stores exploded out into the street, and everywhere you turned there was someone else?

The answer becomes no. The memories of clinging to [i]her[/i] arm slip away, replaced by a city more real than real. A city without anyone else; a city built for the benefit of the buildings, which whisper to each other in the dark. A city of secrets and hidden places; a city that has meaning that is not derived from inhabitance but from existence and context. 

From high up, she glances down through a window and sees a shack, squatting in a grassy square in the shadow of taller walls, wires curling on its sides. From below, she looks up and sees ten dozen golden windows, each one spilling out light, each one promising solitude. From across the way she catches a glimpse of pink-white trees lit up by phosphorus beacons, casting long shadows of reaching arms across the city.

“All knights are the same kind of knight, milady,” the knight says. “It doesn’t matter whether they have a sword or a spear or an axe, except that swords have an advantage over axes, and axes over spears, and so on. Some ride horses and some ride skateboards and some ride rainbows. But all knights are the same knight, because in their hearts, they all have a quest. And sometimes this quest is to go someplace, to find someone or something, to never give up. And other times it’s to go where someone else is, to keep them safe no matter what, and to never give up. And sometimes, I guess, it’s both? I’m both. My quest is to protect you, and to follow my fair damosel [i]triangulus[/i], and to not let that kill me, because then you’d both be very upset at me for being so careless! Knights rescue the helpless, the captured, the kidnapped, and even when they get caught up in it, they’ll always find a way out in the end. To be a knight is to devote yourself to the happily ever after as your mistress, your tyrant, your god.”

The ceiling overhead is vaulted but thin-slatted, and where there are slats missing, the pale pink sky of twilight peeks through. Around them are locked doors and locked windows, invitations to peek inside and see treasures. It would be wrong to crack these vaults open and take what they like; it would be easy, but it would be a blasphemy. So the knight continues onwards.

“It’s your turn,” she says, smiling, hefting her up a little higher, pulling her a little closer. “Tell me about princesses. What sorts are there? What kind are you?”