There’s a sign pointing down some steps, with the legend Water Taxis. She follows it.

The taxi is a small outboard with a tattered red plastic awning, driven by a weathered man of middle years. The hand that reaches for her bag is missing the first two fingers. A handwritten sign next to the meter says, We take foreign currency.

Aiah has read a guide to Caraqui on the Wire, and knows the name of a hotel near the government center. She had tried to call to make reservations but the lines were down.

“Hotel Ladaq,” she says.

He helps her into the boat with his clawed hand. “Can’t do that, miss,” the driver says. “Hotel Ladaq’s full of soldiers.”

“Do you know another hotel in the area?” “All full of soldiers, miss.”

“Get me as close to Government Harbor as you can.”

He starts the meter. “Right away, miss.”

But it doesn’t happen right away. The driver casts off, but then he can’t start the outboard, and as the wind pushes the water taxi broadside down the canal he has to take the cover off the motor and tinker with it, and then try to start it again, then tinker some more. Several taxis leave from the station in the meantime, and Aiah’s taxi rocks in their wake.

The meter, Aiah notices, is still running. She points this out to the driver, but he affects to be too busy with the engine to notice.

He tries to start the engine and fails. Aiah points out the meter is still running, but the driver starts kicking the motor and screaming.

It’s a chonah, Aiah thinks. The driver’s a confidence rigger and there probably isn’t anything really wrong with the engine.

If she were home she’d know what to do. But the fact she’s a stranger in this place makes her hesitate.

Finally Aiah steps forward and turns off the cab’s meter. The driver is stern.

“Can’t do that, lady. It’s government regulation. Only the driver can touch the meter.”