Catrona is a city of liars, and of lying. Who is caught in a truth is cast out of all polite society and must make his way as best he can with no help from his fellow citizens. Even the architecture of the city is built to deceive. Streets dwindle and vanish without any organic connection, and may in some cases be reached solely through the courtyards of private homes or by ways available only to those who already know of them. It is a city seemingly without plan, populated with ladders and blind alleys, stairs to nowhere and street signs designed to mislead — an illusion, certainly. Such chaos does not grow without a large design behind it.
No wills are made in that district, nor bequests left. When a prominent citizen dies there, or, as it might be, some unlucky foreigner abandoned within its mazes, his substance is divided among the beasts and his corpse consigned to general abuse; trampled upon by the slaves and truthtellers; set adrift within the sewers. In this wise the Catronans show their contempt for death and the fineness of their bravery.
It is all a lie, of course — in his heart, each quails to think of the day to come.