BALANCE
by R.S. Mason
Iain told me I could be famous in the colonies, and I was young enough that I believed him. I’d trained as a dancer since I was a little girl, and all I needed to do was sail with him to Markham to live out the a dream I never realized I’d had. There was a time when I’d been content living in our misty seaside town, helping my father manage the books for his merchant fleet, dancing for the entertainment of his friends and peers. Then Iain came. He convinced us both that we had a bright future, and that future was in the colonies.
My father was suspicious at first, but those suspicions didn’t last long. Iain had an answer for everything. “There’s no dance companies in the colonies, Mr. Blackwood—it’s an untapped market,” he said, because he said things like that. “With my business sense and young Elinor’s training, we could be turning a profit inside of a year.”
“She’s barely eighteen. She’s never been on her own before.”
“True. But she is brilliant and talented. You will have to let her spread her wings before she can soar.”
They both thought I wasn’t listening, but I always listen. It was a lesson my mother had taught me: what people say when they think you aren’t listening is always worth paying close attention to. So while my father hired the finest instructors to teach me the art of dance and the science of ledgers, my mother taught me to observe and remember.
That night Iain and my father drank my father’s finest wine and talked about business. Iain was a jaunty fellow in his thirties, with a sonorous voice and a perfect smile. He dominated the conversation with my father, who was a quiet, bookish man with a reedy voice. Iain answered all of my father’s questions in assurances: he assured my father that this venture was a “sure thing,” and that there was “no risk.” Eventually my father was nodding along, and the only question left on his lips was “how much?”
The answer was a considerable portion of my father’s assets, but not, he assured me later that night, anything he couldn’t afford. “It’ll set us back a year or two, but Iain says we can expect a threefold return on our investment. If all goes well, Blackwood Exports will have holdings in Markham City in a couple of years.” So my father agreed to invest, and I agreed to dance, and Iain booked passage for two on a packet ship bound for the colonies.
Despite insisting that he had every faith in Iain’s abilities as a businessman, that night my father also gave me a small wooden puzzle box full of gold coins—enough that I could live comfortably for quite some time even if things fell through. “Never travel without something tucked away for emergencies. Sometimes disaster strikes. And if it does—” he trailed off, blinking back tears. “Be safe, Elinor. You are loved. I’ll see you in a few years.” I hid the box away in a secret compartment in my bags and kissed him farewell, too excited for sorrow.
It was misty and cold the following morning when Iain took me to the docks. Iain looked annoyed at the inauspicious weather, but the smell of the ocean always made me smile, and the quiet creaking of the ships at harbor brought to mind an orchestra tuning its instruments. It was a perfect morning for beginnings.
Our ship was the Timely Gift, a graceful barque of three masts. The sleek lines of her hull loomed large in the morning fog, and Iain’s countenance brightened considerably. “And there she is, Miss Elinor! Our winged messenger, here to take us to distant shores.”
“She’s beautiful.” My father had larger ships in his fleet, of course, but none, in my youthful estimation, so stately and elegant. His ships were there to haul cargo and turn a profit. The Gift was there, I was convinced, to deliver important dignitaries. Our cabin, while not large, was well-appointed, and on our voyage we dined like kings. The crew and passengers loved Iain, and I loved that I was traveling with such a charming and intelligent gentleman. On the occasion I expressed misgivings, he calmed my nerves with platitudes and wine—and, callow lass that I was, that was enough for me. “The architects behind every great undertaking are terrified it will go wrong at any moment,” he told me. “What distinguishes them from everyone else is that they push bravely forward despite that fear.”
“Surely sometimes fear is warranted?”
“My dear girl, fear is just the voice that tries to keep us from achieving greatness. If anything, fear is a sign that you are very close to something magnificent.”
His confidence was infectious, and like a plague it spread to everyone on the ship by the time we made port in Markham City. He had secured funding from two new investors, and several of the crew expressed interest in helping to build the dance hall. Iain had never looked more pleased than when he set foot on the docks. “All we need now,” he said, “is an architect. And it just so happens I know where we can find one.”
I assumed he referred to the University of Markham, but I did not accompany him as he left that evening. Instead I spent the day wandering the streets, getting to know my new home. Markham City was a city that had never expected to grow beyond a trading post along the Firth of Markham. The streets and alleys formed a claustrophobic labyrinth, as buildings had been added wherever there was room, without, as far as I could tell, any sense of planning to them whatsoever. Eventually I found my way to the grand lodgings he had secured for us, and opened a bottle of wine from a place I’d never even heard of. The chaos of the city, the comforts of home: this new life, I determined, was going to be a good one.
He returned home that evening to announce that he had hired one of the University’s finest architects, and he was positively brimming with enthusiasm when he made the announcement. “He’s a bit . . . reclusive, but if I am any judge, the man is a genius. Our—your—dance hall will be legendary, Elinor, the actual stuff of legend. Of this I have no doubt.”
“Can I meet him?”
He hesitated, and furrowed his brow in apology.“He’s asked not to be disturbed unless it’s absolutely critical,” he said. “I’m sorry, Elinor, but I think we should respect his wishes. Perhaps some other time.”
Over the following weeks, Iain regularly told me that the plans were coming along nicely, but the architect remained firm in his desire to be met by no one. But by then I was too busy to care: Iain needed investors, and to secure investors, he needed me to dance. So I performed, along with a small orchestra he had assembled, wherever he needed me to. I danced in the Governor’s mansion and I danced in the University’s performance hall. I danced in the market square. I danced anywhere Iain thought there might be an investor—and sure enough, first as a trickle and then a stream, investments began pouring in. Every night we ate well, and every night I wondered how long it would be before all our works came to fruition.
Despite Iain’s constant assurance that we were making progress, it always seemed that the end was as far away as it had ever been. The architect kept scrapping his original plans and starting over, just when we seemed to be getting somewhere. “This is the price,” Iain said, “of working with genius. He wants to make sure the building is absolutely perfect.”
Our previously steady stream of investments began to dry up, but Iain assured me that we had more than enough funding to see the project through to completion. “Within a year, everyone in the colonies will be talking about the Elinor Blackwood and her dance company,” he said. “You just need to have faith.”
But I was losing faith with each passing day. His platitudes were no longer sufficient, and I’d grown tired of his wine. Still, each night, when he sensed my concern, he would try to ply me with more and more wine. So each night I’d pretend to drink deeply and pretend to believe his new assurances, while I quietly wondered what the future would hold.
One night I followed him when he left to meet with the architect. He moved quickly and took a winding path, as if he were concerned that someone might actually track him—but if he saw me in the shadows he gave no indication. Then, rather than arriving at the University, he arrived at a small building made of white marble with a sign that read: “Covington’s Bank.” A guard stood at the door, and nodded a familiar greeting when Iain approached. They exchanged quiet words briefly before Iain handed him a silver coin and the guard let him in the door.
He was inside for a few minutes before he emerged once again, and clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Thank you again, my good man.”
“Just doing my duty, sir.”
“I’ve brought a bottle of wine. Excellent vintage. You may wish to share it with your comrades once you’ve finished your shift.”
“That’s mighty generous of you, sir, as always.”
Iain clapped the man on the shoulder once again and strode into the streets once again. From there, he stopped at a nearby public house, as I watched from outside. He spent an hour or so drinking quietly, occasionally chatting with the other patrons, before he packed up to depart. I followed him until I was certain he was heading home; after that I took an alternate route and ran back as fast as I could. I arrived a few minutes before he did.
So, there was no architect. That meant there were no plans for a dance hall, no plans for a dance company. There was just a small, out of the way bank, where he had no doubt stashed all of the investment money that wasn’t going to fueling our life here in the city. He’d sold me on false dreams.
“Good news, Elinor,” he called. “The architect’s finalized his plans again. This time I think he means it.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“This time I mean it.” He hung up his coat and sat down. “I believe I promised dinner when I returned?”
“I’m not hungry tonight,” I said, which was true enough. I was worrying about what would happen when he decided to take the money and run. I’d have to go crawling back and telling my father we’d been taken in by a confidence man. I’d have to admit that I really couldn’t make it on my own. Everything was far too precarious for me to think of something as trivial as food.
“You haven’t been hungry all week,” he said, searching my expression. “Are you feeling ill?”
“No.”
He frowned at me. “You know you can tell me if something is bothering you. We’re partners, you and I. We can’t go keeping secrets from each other. Not when we’re so close!” He put a tentative hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I think I’m just homesick.”
He watched me for a long time, clearly concerned—but now I was fairly certain the concern was for his own little project, and not for me at all. “You can write them another letter,” he said at length. “How does that sound?”
“That might help.” I’d sent one when we first settled in, but since then I hadn’t found the time. Of course, now that everything was about to fall apart, I didn’t especially want to send another.
“That’s my girl.” He smiled his best smile at me. “You go and fetch a pen and some paper, and I’ll pour us some wine. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
I considered telling my father everything in the letter—that Iain was a fraud, that there would be no dance company and certainly no return on investment—but he’d be reading the letter before he allowed it to be sent, certainly. So I wrote something filled with the things a homesick girl might say and retired early, trying to think of a plan.
Iain spent the following day meeting with some of his investors, assuring them that everything was fine. No doubt they were getting as restless as I was. I normally stayed at home and practiced, but today I had other plans. I retrieved half the gold from my emergency stash, dressed in my finest clothes, and strode boldly to Covington’s Bank, where a friendly old teller greeted me. “Good afternoon, my lady, and welcome to Covington’s Bank. How can we be of service today?”
“I represent Blackwood Exports,” I said. “We’re looking for a bank to do business with when we begin operating in Markham City. I trust you are able to provide these services?”
“Certainly, madam, certainly. If you’d care to have a seat?”
I did. We discussed business. A few hours later, I had deposited several gold crowns to Vault 7. Once our business had concluded, the teller gave me a key and a certificate. “That is the only copy,” the teller said, his tone low. “Suffice it to say, should you lose it, you will find that all the locksmiths in Markham could not recover your goods.”
“I shall look after it carefully,” I told him. I turned as if to depart, then stopped at the exit. “Oh, one more question. Should I wish to access the vault after hours—”
“We have guards stationed after hours. If you present them your certificate they will escort you inside.”
“Very good.” I strode confidently out the door.
I returned home and searched the lodgings for Iain’s key and certificate, but there was no sign of them. Either he’d hidden them better than I anticipated, or he kept them somewhere else. It was time to find another way in.
Iain had been clever: though we’d been in the city for nearly six months, I’d barely had any time to get to know the place on my own. By now he knew everyone with either wealth or influence in this city. He’d brought me to dinner with each of them: I was, after all, the star. Without me there was nothing to invest in, so he needed them to see me. What he hadn’t anticipated is that I would be paying attention at each one of those meetings.
Most of them had been cut from the same cloth: pampered merchants with aspirations to nobility. But one stood out in my memory. She was called Fiona, a curvaceous woman of about forty years, dark-eyed, red-lipped, wearing an enormous blue diamond bracelet on her left wrist. Otherwise her attire of black silk and gold jewelry wouldn’t have been out of place at any high society gathering in the city, but the bracelet captured my attention: the way she fidgeted with it, as if she were worried it might vanish at any moment, the way she wore something so valuable so openly. Something about her was different. The posh accent she had affected was clearly not her own, and every word she exchanged with Iain seemed to have a double meaning. I’d wondered about her as soon as I met her.
She had declined to invest, which had put Iain in a foul mood—so he was perhaps more incautious than he would have otherwise been. “Who was she?” I’d asked. “You’re never this upset about investors.”
“Some two-bit smuggler with pretensions above her station. I should have known better than to waste my time.”
If anyone we’d met could help me get out from under Iain’s thumb, it would be her. So I decided to track her down. Her mansion was not far from the University, and was stately without being ostentatious—a rare gift in a city full of the nouveau riche. I knocked on the front door—a dark cherry wood—and waited. Eventually the door opened, accompanied by a faint whiff of incense, and a tall, wiry gentleman answered.“Can I help?”
“Is Fiona available?”
“Might be that she is. Who’s asking?”
“My name is Elinor Blackwood. I’ve met her once before.”
He grunted noncommittally. “Best come in, then. I’ll see if she’s free.”
He led me to a sitting room and disappeared into the halls of the house. The room was dominated by a painting of a ship at sea during a storm, and I realized the decor was meant to invoke the nautical: the windows were portholes, navigational instruments were displayed on the walls and end tables, and a map of the Firth of Markham hung on the wall opposite the painting.
“I was a mariner in a past life,” said a woman’s voice, smoky and rich as fine whisky. “Miss Blackwood, is it?” Fiona slinked into view. She still wore the enormous blue diamond bracelet from our first meeting, along with a subdued dress of green and gold.
I rose to greet her. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure how to address you.”
She laughed. It was far from the refined sound I expected from a lady of wealth, but then, I wouldn’t have been here if she was an ordinary lady. “Call me Fiona. Formality is for the terminally insecure.” She sank into a chair and looked me over carefully. “Well, I just lost a gold crown. We really have met before. Iain’s girl?”
“I—yes.”
She nodded. “Could you indulge a curiosity?”
“Yes?”
“Walk around the room before you sit down.” She gestured with her hand. “Just once, around the edge.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
I shook my head and did as she asked. She watched me intently, and gave me a reassuring smile as I finally assumed a seat. “Has anyone ever told you you move like a cat?”
“I’ve been dancing since I was a girl,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“Of course.” She nodded, and began fidgeting with her bracelet absently. “So, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Iain. He—”
“Shown his true colors, has he?” Her expression was almost gleeful.
“I think he’s being dishonest about his intentions,” I said carefully.
She laughed again. “There’s no point in dancing around it. He’s a crook and a con artist, and he’s duped half the city with his scheme. Does that sound about right?”
I nodded. “I’d like to take that money back. He’s keeping it at Covington’s Bank, but I don’t know which vault.”
“And you thought I could help you with that.” It wasn’t a question.
“You seemed like the resourceful type. My apologies if I was mistaken in my assessment.”
She looked affronted for a moment, then laughed. “Looks like Iain’s found himself a feisty one.” She leaned forward. “Tell me, Miss Feisty. Why haven’t you gone to the authorities? One word to the magistrate—”
“I—I guess because then I’d just be back where I started.”
“And where is that?”
I looked out the window. “Just another spoiled rich girl. Letting other people live my life for me.”
She nodded. “I sympathize. I was quite a bit like you when I was a young girl.” She took a tinderbox from the end table and lit a stick of incense before continuing. “But you must understand that I can’t help you for free.”
Without thinking I produced the other half of the gold my father had given me. “I can offer—”
“I don’t want your gold, girl,” she said, her tone chastising. “I can get gold anywhere. But you—such poise, such balance, such spirit—you could be my protege.”
“Is that your price, then?”
“I’ll tell you what.” She clapped her hands, and the wiry man appeared as if from nowhere. “Give Mr. Giry here your gold. I’ll help you rob Iain’s vault. If you decide that you wish to return to your old life, I’ll keep your gold as payment. If you decide that you’d like me to help you become who you were meant to be . . . well, come and see me when you’re done.”
I handed the box to Giry, who gave me a knowing wink before vanishing it expertly. “Not to worry, miss,” he said. “Ain’t nobody in Markham who’s better at looking after other people’s gold than old Giry.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think. I’ll consider your offer.”
“Splendid.” Fiona clapped her hands again and stood up. “Can you meet me here tomorrow at noon? I’ll have everything ready by then, and I expect you’ll want to be getting home. We don’t want Iain to suspect that his pet is planning a rebellion, do we?”
I grinned. “No, ma’am.”
“Then off with you. I’ve got work to do.”
Giry escorted me to the front door, and I returned home with a spring in my step and a smile on my lips. I couldn’t keep from smiling even when Iain returned home.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” he said, carefully.
“You were right,” I said. “Writing that letter helped.”
“Excellent. As it happens, just this afternoon I’ve put that letter on a packet heading back west. Glad to have you back to your old self.” Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed to emphasize that last sentence strangely.
I couldn’t sleep that night—did he suspect? had I fooled him? could I really rob a bank?—and I practically ran back to Fiona’s place the next day. She handed me a large parcel as soon as I’d been let in. “Iain is meeting with one of my associates today. That associate will agree to invest in his fraudulent little scheme, so I am quite confident Iain will pay the bank a little visit this evening. If you play this right, the bank may not even believe him when he says he’s been robbed.”
“If I play it right.”
She nodded. “And if you make it back to your lodgings before he does, he won’t have any reason to suspect it was you.”
“Which is ideal.”
“Quite so.”
I spent the next hour or so looking over the contents of the parcel. She had given me a bag, a map of the bank and its patrols, a key to Iain’s vault, some assorted tools, and some suspiciously well-tailored clothing in dark grey. The fabric, whatever it was, barely made a sound when it moved. And on the map someone had written: “You will find that the window indicated has been opened for you. Good luck.”
As predicted, Iain told me he was going to visit the architect again that night. After he had left, I hurried through the city and made it to the bank well ahead of him. With the aid of some creeping ivy I climbed onto the adjacent rooftop, and from there leapt onto the roof of the bank. I smiled to myself: my dance instructors likely never suspected I’d put my training to larcenous ends. No doubt they’d have disapproved.
It seemed like hours before Iain finally showed up. The guard nodded a greeting as he arrived. “Evening, Mr. White. Here for another deposit?”
“I am indeed, Mr. Graham. Fortune has smiled on me this day.” He produced a shiny silver coin. “Once again, a silver for your trouble.”
“Mighty kind of you, Mr. White. This way.”
The guard—Graham—opened the door, and Iain stepped inside. Several minutes later, he stepped out again. “I’ve brought another excellent vintage for you and your friends to share,” he told the guard.
“You’re too generous, Mr. White.”
“Too few people appreciate the vital work that you do, Mr. Graham. I am only doing my part.” With a tip of his hat, Iain walked back into the streets.
It was time for my work to begin.
Someone had unlocked a top-floor window for me earlier that day. I levered it open using a prybar Fiona had given me, and carefully lowered myself down and swung inside.
The vaults were in the basement, but the interior of the bank was lightly patrolled—apart from Graham on front, there were only two guards. One of them patrolled the building regularly, the other was stationed at the front door. So long as I could avoid making too much noise on the marble floors, I could sneak down to the vaults without either of them noticing.
I reached the ground level without difficulty. Two guards were inside, chatting. “That White fellow’s an odd one.”
“Oh? Bribed us with a silver and a bottle again?”
“Aye.”
“You know that wine he gives us is actually market swill, right? He puts fake labels on it. You could probably buy better with that silver he gives us.”
“I know. Still, it’s nice not having to pay for drinks after shift.”
“Aye, well. I don’t like him. He’s . . . unctuous.”
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“I do! It means . . . it means I don’t like him.”
“Hah.”
I sneaked past them as they were talking, and walked down into the vaults. By day the vaults were well-lit with regularly placed lanterns, but at night only a few of the lamps still burned—barely enough to see by. Still, I found my way to Iain’s vault—Vault 3—and unlocked it without a hitch. Within was a large pile of gold coins and some assorted jewelry—a small fortune by anyone’s standards. Everything was going smoothly.
Too smoothly. As I shoveled the vault’s contents into the bag Fiona had given me I wondered how, exactly, she had managed to arrange such a perfect heist. How did she get a copy of Iain’s key? How did he get a map of the bank and its patrols?
I tightened the bag and slung it on my back. It was designed to dampen the sound of coins jingling, which was probably for the best, as there was easily twenty pounds of gold in there now. The weight and the threat of jingling forced me to move agonizingly slowly, when all I wanted to do is run.
The guards had stopped chatting when I returned to the ground floor, and I couldn’t hear the guard on patrol. That meant he was probably upstairs somewhere. I hid in the shadows and waited for what seemed like an hour before he finally came back down.
“You have the time?” he said as he came down.
“Not five minutes since last time,” said the other guard irritably.
I hurried up the stairs.
“Did you hear something?”
“I heard you complaining.”
“I’m serious. I thought I heard footsteps.”
“Well, go check it out, then.”
I darted under an end table to hide as the guard made his way lazily upstairs. His footsteps passed right next to me before he stopped he muttered under his breath, “Morning can’t come soon enough.” After a long pause he turned and headed back downstairs. “Just the wind, I guess.”
By now my heart was pounding and all I wanted was to run for the rooftop, but I knew better than that. I’d trained for years to develop perfect control over every muscle in my body, and now I forced myself to move slowly, deliberately, quietly, out of that place. Once I’d reached the rooftop I leapt to the neighboring building. It was only several blocks later that I gave into my instincts and ran heedless through the city, back towards Fiona’s place. Before I went home, I wanted answers.
As I crept up to the mansion, I heard her voice coming from the balcony. “If you still want me to arrange transport, I have a ship leaving two nights hence. The hold is specially designed for smuggling passengers.”
Iain’s voice responded. I covered my mouth to keep from making a surprised sound. “That should be amenable. I don’t think my investors will catch on before the end of the week, but—”
“You’d rather be gone by then. I understand.”
As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I could just make out their silhouettes. They were seated and drinking wine. A lull settled over them, and Iain stood and paced to the edge of the balcony, looking out into the darkened city. “So, everything with the girl worked out?”
“Oh yes,” said Fiona. “Your little pet suspects nothing. Poor, credulous thing. She’ll figure it out one day, of course, but—”
“Hardly matters by then, eh?”
“Quite so.”
“Though I think she’s probably your pet now.” Iain chuckled and leaned his back against the balcony railing. “She could barely contain her excitement. She really thought she was about to pull one over on me.”
“I almost feel bad, taking advantage of her,” said Fiona, her tone contemplative. She drummed her fingers on her glass. “But I suppose that’s why I’m taking her in, isn’t it?”
“I do wish you’d let me take my share of the money before you set up a heist for her.”
Fiona’s voice went sharp. “You said yourself, Iain, she’s a merchant’s girl. She’s got a head for numbers. She’d suspect something if there wasn’t enough money in that vault.” Her tone softened. “But there’s nothing to worry about. Tomorrow she’ll deposit it all in my vaults, and Giry will deliver your share upon your departure.”
“You’d better be right, Fiona. I don’t want to see six months’ work wasted.”
So that was it. Iain and Fiona had set me up. Well, I’d already told Fiona I had no intention of letting someone else live my life for me. Perhaps it was time to remind her of that conversation. It was several hours and two or three bottles of wine before they both retired for the evening—Iain to our lodgings and Fiona to her bed, both of them more than a little drunk. I gave it a half hour more before I moved.
I took a flying leap—another little trick I’d picked up in the world of dance—and pulled myself onto the balcony. I was prepared to try to force the lock open, but she had neglected to lock it behind her. From there—well, I had only seen very little of her mansion before, but I knew the type well enough. The master and guest bedrooms would be upstairs, with the servants somewhere below. Very probably the basement. I had no interest in servants.
I found her study and spent a few minutes looking over her records—father had always insisted that I know how to do the books for his shipping company, and Fiona’s books were not particularly complicated. She had one ship leaving in two days’ time: a sloop called the Jewel of Markham. I borrowed some paper and pen and drafted a letter to the magistrate explaining that the Jewel was carrying a fugitive, folded it up and slipped it in my pocket. As an afterthought I took a few of her ledgers, too—perhaps there was other ammunition hiding in those pages.
From there I found my way to the master bedroom. The door was locked, but I was able to force it open with a knife. Inside lay Fiona sound asleep, sprawled indolently across her bed, bathed in the cold light of the gibbous moon. Her bedroom, in contrast to the stately muted display in the rest of the mansion, was so opulent it bordered on gaudy. The windows were draped with some of the finest fabrics I’d ever seen. The nightstand and dresser were covered in all manner of fine jewelry. Two double-doors opened out onto a private balcony. The walls were decorated with paintings that collectors would pay their entire fortunes for. And there, lovingly placed on the nightstand next to the bed, was her blue diamond bracelet.
I grabbed as many of the jewels as I could and stuffed them in the bag, then unlatched the doors to the balcony. At the sound, she stirred and half-woke. “Iain?”
I didn’t answer, and crept towards the bed. Her breath stank of stale wine.
“Elinor? What are you doing here?”
“Just taking what I’m owed.” I took the bracelet and slipped it on my wrist, then leaned in until her face was inches from mine. “I’m no one’s pet, Fiona.”
She bolted upright and reached out to grab me, but she was too slow. I was through the doors to the balcony and over the edge before she could reach me. Her shouted obscenities followed me into the streets as I ran off into the night.
I wasn’t sure where I’d go next. I had a bag full of ill-gotten wealth to take care of, a letter to deliver to the magistrates and Her Majesty’s Revenue Marine, and a whole city to get lost in. I’d send some money back to my father, of course, but after that—time to start living.