Prologue

Tap tap tap. The rain lashing against the train window grows fiercer by the moment. The sky had been clear when he set out, but dark, heavy storm clouds have piled up layer upon layer. Weather like this means rough winds and unpredictable waves. When sailing by sail becomes impossible, you are left with nothing but the oars. Yes. Just like that day, the day it took their lives.

The man leaned one side of his forehead against the window at an angle. The ice in the whisky glass he held clinked in response. His head felt ready to split open. He had not slept properly a single night since then. By now the insomnia felt less like a symptom or an illness and more like a part of his own body.

‘Don’t fail. Not once. And keep the secret.’

The voice that had urged him lingers at his ear. But Trouville, of all places. A town where the same predictable well-bred crowd gathered to dance and go boating. Aside from the sound of waves that always drifted through the air, not a single thing about it suited his taste. Even in the widest carriage on the train, the seat was laughably small for a man his size, and his body, crammed into it against his will, ached with stiffness. After years of wearing nothing but a uniform, having to pull on a frock coat on top of everything else was its own particular nuisance.

The stuffiness drove him out into the corridor. The space between first class and second. The train swayed noticeably, perhaps because of the rain. The acrid smell of burning coal stung the tip of his nose. He stood at the railing and slowly brought a cigarette to his lips. He drew in a long, deep pull. Now, at last, he felt like he could breathe.

“Ugh, uugh!”

From the toilet compartment behind him came the repeated sound of a woman dry-heaving. First time on a train, perhaps. Quite a rough go of it. Click. The sound of a door opening reached him. His body turned on instinct. He held the cigarette between his fingers and slowly exhaled the smoke he had been holding.

Through the haze, a young woman wearing a hat came into view. Her face had gone completely white, and her brown eyes were brimming with tears.

“Cough, cough.”

It was only a moment. She shot him a look, as though blaming him for his cigarette smoke, and furrowed her brow slightly.

He gave a small nod, offering a silent apology.

Wait. Her handbag was open, and the contents were on the verge of spilling out entirely.

“Oh! When did that……”

She must have caught him looking at her bag, because she noticed at once and gathered her things together. Before he could say another word, she pushed open the door to the second-class carriage and disappeared at a quick trot. The hem of her checkered skirt, a shade close to the color of her eyes, trailed after her.

Flustered movements, clumsy and unpolished. Anyone could see she was a country girl. The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. If one ever needed to deceive someone, a person exactly like her would be the one they would choose.

But where she had stood, a small notebook lay on the floor.

Without quite meaning to, he picked it up. The cover was worn with handling. He opened it, and inside, written in a neat, determined hand, was a name.

Serafina Arihendel.

The corner of the man’s mouth curved upward in a faint, unreadable smile.

Behind him, thick sheets of rain came driving down from a sinister gray-brown sky.