"Yes," Kell answers, too stubborn to remain on the ground however he feels. He takes the man's hand and manages to rise. "We are in the Americas, then?" he asks, for he has heard the Georges speak of them more than once, George II with wistfulness, George III with anger. The distance of an ocean should be no obstacle to his blood magic, but Kell knows better than to try again so soon.

The sound of the sea is strong here on the docks, but Kell can hear another roar, and beyond the short, squatty buildings near the shore Kell can see far taller ones rising. He's never seen such innovation in Grey London's world before. "Do the others here have magic as you have?"