Tosti's hands shook as he tried to warm himself in the unnatural chill. The Floating City was never cold, never warm; it was kept always at optimal temperature by the city's anarchs. The chill, he knew, was shaped within his own soul."Today's the happiest day," thought Tosti, "of my life."He was lying, covered in vomit and other excretea, against one of the Floating City's sharp, domineering buildings. No one else was in the street.