"Sorry," Kivrin says, instinctively. The man striding through the bazaar hadn't really seen her, and when she ducked out of the way he bumped into John, but it's an easy enough thing to happen--the streets are narrow, crowded, bustling with people and noise. The last is made enough worse by the translator buzzing back to life; recognising the roots of an Indo-European language it seems to be trying desperately to adjust and only succeeds in overlaying utter gibberish in her ears.