Why couldn’t it have been Paris, with that sprawling pile where the rulers of Frankia laid their heads? Hardly a step in the whole place. Or Burgundy, where the lame Emperor David had built his grand suite on the ground floor, and made the servants sleep upstairs. “But nooooooo—” he growled, cut off in a gasp at a savage twinge through one knee. It had to be Troy. The most vertical city in the known world.
