Kell gazes at the wall, macabre now with his blood painted over the colorful notes pinned there. He could summon the water that falls all around them to clean it, but he should save his strength, surely.

His companion speaks to more worlds than four, but it could be possible. And it is not so strange for a city to have its own source of power, thinks Kell, recalling the ruby red Isle that runs through his own city with a pang. "Who rules here?" he asks, trying to recall George II's mutterings. "Lord Washington?" That seems wrong, but Kell had never cared much for Gray London's goings on. He stops, realizing all at once that he doesn't know this man's name.

"I'm Kell."