Work in progress

It has not failed to come to our attention even here in these benighted South Coast precincts at the shore of the reeking sea that you have been making something of a name for yourself at home in the City Imperishable. Mater has begged me to write you as sib to sib, and entreat you to speak to us of your motives, methods, and — to use her unfortunate turn of phrase — “particular and present madness” in this course of action upon which you have embarked.

Belisare the dwarf, who has secret ways and means of gathering information (and if he is reading these lines now will live to regret his actions, I assure him) has advised both Mater and me that the odds against you in the Cork Street betting parlors have risen to over forty to one. Contrary to his counsel, I have wagered a small sum on your success, for after all, you are my brother, and blood will tell. However, Belisare also advises me that you were read out in the Assizes Court this past Reckoning Wednesday and there are even now writs against you traveling via the post coaches to such distant outposts as this squalid nesting ground to which circumstances have forced us.