I nodded. Mr. Stoke had never left Harrow, much less the City States of Arrent to which it belonged. “Absolutely.”
Mr. Stoke sat back with a satisfied air and laced his hands over his stomach. “Well, this has turned into a rather fine day, Miss Fleet. A fine day indeed.”
A NOTEUPON:
HARROW AND THECITYSTATES OFARRENT
The City States of Arrent, with their capital of Harrow, were freed from the rule of the Entwined in 1890 and united by the efforts of Grand General S. R. Baffin. They represent a haven for humanity, a land in which the Entwined have been firmly regulated to the keeping of the Entwined Guild and are restrained within broader society.
The Vigilant Lady Traveller may rest at ease in regards to the dangers of the Entwined in Arrent, knowing her dignity, person, and virtues are held in the highest esteem.
FROMTHEVIGILANTLADYTRAVELLER:
A GENTLEWOMAN’SGUIDE TO THEWORLD
Present Day
The streets of Harrow were still bright and busy as I left the office, adjusting my hatpin and fighting back a wave of frustrated exhaustion.
My need to leave Harrow loomed before me, still out of reach and yet closer than ever, and all of it too momentous to contemplate. I wished I were already back in my apartment, sequestered beneath blankets and silencing my overburdened mind with a generous supply of chocolates and the kind of novel that would have made Pretoria cackle and Madge bristle with indignation.
The thought nearly made me smile. That, I determined, was precisely how I intended to spend the rest of the evening. As soon as the sun was up, I could face the future. I would return to Mr. Stoke’s office to retrieve my pay from the safe, then go right to the docks and book passage out of Harrow. I would meet with Pretoria to see her one last time, turn down whatever her latest scheme was, and with any luck, I would be at sea before Mr. Stoke returned from his trip.
I would already be on the path to freedom.
And I would not have to say goodbye.
The city bustled around me as I wove through pedestrians, avoided carriages and the occasional bugling motor car. I caught the end of a tram heading uphill towardsthe hub of Communion Square, riding like a coachman on the backboards until the conductor approached to extricate a fare.
I landed lightly back on the cobblestones before he could reach me and walked over the rise to the square, the beating heart of New Harrow. The tram diverted in front of me with a warning cling of its bell, electricity snapping on the lines and wheels grinding in their well-worn grooves as it passed storefronts, cafes, and fine hotels.
There were people everywhere. Every shop seemed to have placed tables outside, every café was bursting with patrons, and policemen and soldiers were out in force.
The reason for all this rapidly became clear. The opening bars of a rousing song soared above the retreating rumble of the streetcar, and the passive clamor of humanity became a roar.
Thousands of people gathered in the center of the square. Many waved white and green flags of the City States, while bunting of the same colors girded temporary barriers and ran between lampposts.
In the center of it all was a stage, where the orchestra sat. I stopped, watching as a man joined them above the heads of the onlookers, lifting his military cap as they thundered again. His uniform was a bold, rich blue, trimmed with gold braid and glistening with pips and medals. His hair was an admirable chestnut, refusing to grey despite progress into his fifties. It was slicked back with not a hair out of place, and his moustache and sideburns were perfectly trimmed.
I felt my mouth dry. When a woman jostled past me, I hardly noticed. When a young boy tried to sell me a newspaper, I ignored him, not out of any ill-will, but because my mind simply refused to move past the sight of the man on the platform.
“Good people of Harrow!” Grand General Baffin, Arrent’s conqueror and king in all but title, called over the square. A cavalry saber hung at his hip, light and of impeccable craftmanship. It was no ceremonial sword and, if the papers were to be believed, had seen a great deal of use. “What a pleasure it is to return to you. There truly is no finer city on this island, no more industrious and admirable folk.”
The crowd cheered.
“You will have, no doubt, heard of my recent exploits in The Sarre,” Baffin continued. “But this news, I tell you, is fresh. We have evicted the Seaussen and their allied rebels! The Sarre is free, once more a nation unto itself, with the generous guidance and support of our great nation. Hand in hand, we move forward!”
This time I had to cover my ears against the assault of noise. I retreated towards the wall of a nearby café, my skin prickling with gooseflesh. Thiswasnews, and whether it was for good or ill, it constituted a drastic shift in the situation abroad. There would be reorganization in The Sarre, changes in personnel, and Lewis might be affected.
I thought of the letter in my pocket and nearly reached for it, but Baffin was still speaking. He recounted the valor of the Arrentian troops and the cowardice and immorality of the Seaussen, who had so fiendishly stirred the Sarren people to rebel against their Arrent-allied monarchy, and forced the flight of Lord Stillwell and many other Arrentians living in The Sarre, tearing them from their homes and possessions. Little was mentioned of the violence and displacement brought upon the locals themselves, but that was no surprise.
“You should move along, Miss Secretary,” a voice said in my ear, accompanied by the scent of something strangely metallic. “Quick, like.”
I recoiled as the smuggler from the docks, Mr. Harden, shouldered past. He crossed the tram tracks and vaulted over one of the barriers without looking back at me, sidling wolfishly into the crowd in a long coat with popped collar.
He was not alone. I picked out a half dozen, a dozen, two dozen figures weaving through the crowd and passing the barriers with equal focus. Some carried satchels, others wore heavy coats.
My eyes rounded.
