Harry uncorked a bottle of Mouton-Rothschild ‘47 and watched, from the floating balcony of his mansion perched high on the forest cliffs, as the first barrage of cruise ships and island ferries entered the harbor of Canis Minor. Along the airstrip deplaning tourists were met by buses that quickly ushered them to the casinos. Harry would begin the evening hosting a VIP black-tie affair at his homestead, having spent the last month overseeing renovations to the property. The hilltop’s northern side was modeled after the botanical gardens of Quinta do Bom Sucesso and the Monte Palace of Madeira. The mansion sported twenty-six designer rooms, with bathtubs spouting rainwater from rooftop cisterns. His wine cellar was Napoleonic. At any time of day, ghostly women curved fluidly about the ground
