INTERLUDE
Ten Years Ago…
Rory sat on the edge of a flat roof, her legs dangling over the edge, cradling a bunch of unripe cherries in her hands. They were crunchy and sharp enough to make the lower corners of her mouth tingle. Up ahead, across one row of houses, she could see Tinsbury Dock, and she watched as a boat that looked like a mountain of wood ploughed slowly through the water, guided by steamers at either end.
Farther down the dock, she saw a small patrol of Varanguards — the Marchioness’ bodyguards — escorting a fat man. She leaned forward in her eagerness to observe them. She had seen them plenty of times guarding the Old Girl’s mansion, but it was something else to see them in action. They moved like dancers, their burnished helmets winking in the sun. Long black horsehair p
