Even the birds of the air seemed to have stayed in their roosts.Īnd no music. A thin, dimly glowing line directly above - coming and going as the clouds moved slowly overhead - was far-side light. Spinwards, over the city center and the still more distant mountains, the clouds were parting, revealing a few of the brighter stars as the weather system cleared. The lights were out across the whole city, across almost all this side of the world.

There were no lights nearby positioned to reflect from the canal's black surface, so that it seemed like nothing, like an absolute absence on which the barges appeared to be floating unsupported. Also tonight there was no appreciable wind at ground level, which meant that - in the absence of any traffic - the canal, though still free of ice, was perfectly still and soundless, with no slap of wave or gurgling surge. The snow made it seem hushed, he supposed, muffling what little sound there was. He stopped and lifted his head, sniffing at the air. He could hear his own footsteps as they sank into the untouched whiteness.

It was a quiet area of the city at almost any time, Kabe knew, but tonight it both seemed and was quieter still. The horizontal surfaces of the canal's paths, piers, bollards and lifting bridges bore the same full billowed weight of snow, and the tall buildings set back from the quaysides loomed over all, their windows, balconies and gutters each a line edged with white. The barges lay on the darkness of the still canal, their lines softened by the snow heaped in pillows and hummocks on their decks. Chapter One: The Light of Ancient Mistakes

Look to Windward by Iain M. Banks