Scipio keeps to no faction and works The Yard as a Cane Corso who is heavy as old stone and softer than the posture suggests. Most evenings Scipio carves bone flutes that play one note no one else can play until the lanterns are out and the soup stalls close. There is a corner of the flooded market halls where Scipio is unofficially assumed to be in charge of nothing in particular. Scipio wants to be remembered as useful, loyal, and only mildly responsible for what happened near the door marked K N L.