So it was that we were indeed transported to the event by horse and carriage, a steep cost but the only feasible alternative as all our friends and associates were already waiting for us at the Stockholm Concert Hall. “I hate carriages,” Appolina stated once we were inside the cursed thing. “Did you see the whip that man is using? It's inhuman, it is."
"That's all very well and good dear,” I hissed, driven mad by paranoia, “but what on Earth is this ... this coachman doing, stuck on the back of the carriage like that?!"
We looked in unison at the diminutive window behind my head—I was situated facing forward while the two women sat before me, facing the rear—to spy the young man wearing an overcoat and top hat, smiling politely in at us.
"I believe, “Applonia said, “that it is customary
