The night was so dark it seemed blue. Standing on the balcony of the third floor of the Albion Hotel, looking out over the port of Ramsgate, the black sea resembled a bottomless abyss, devouring all improbable dreams.
Arthur leaned against the door frame of the balcony, his cane casually resting to the side, and a hint of tobacco lingering on his fingertips.
By the railing, Agares's figure blended into the night, and only the corner of the Red Devil's mouth, seemingly smiling yet mocking, could be seen.
"Tonight was quite the show. To storm into that villa, surrounded like a rat's cage, facing a roomful of people who could send you to the gallows at any moment, and still walk out unscathed..." Agares paused deliberately, as if genuinely searching for an appropriate word of praise: "My dear Arthur, if it weren't for your 'dedication to the ailing princess' being utterly repulsive, I might have applauded you."
