The Master soon found himself in a small plaza; private, secluded. Out of sight. The slums stretched so high that the rain was struggling to reach the ground on its own. Several of his men loomed large over the four figures; two of the would-be murderers held their blades ready, whilst the third was using the woman as a shield. The Master’s men watched them coolly, bowstrings taught with a ready volley.

Now was the time: there they both sat Barely pretending from their chat That they weren’t infatuated With each other. Maribelle waited For a time until he left Her lounging there, alone, bereft Of protection from lover’s aid. Maribelle touched the knife she’d made. She walked towards fair Geneviève And removed the knife from its sheath And kept it hid behind her back Until the moment she’d attack.

The village outside of the harbour was very rudimentary. Each house felt cobbled together in its own unique way. Some were clearly better planned than others, but almost all had a garden and several sheets of corrugated iron hanging around. A dog sat in the street at one point, overlooked by everyone else. It had a tremendous underbite and one of its eyes was fused shut by what must have been a peg or something. We didn’t stop to inspect any closer. We just felt sorry for it.