William’s hands were always unwashed, and always busy. There are few things more urgent than the cry of an empty stomach, and William knows its pang well. He beds down with it many nights, so his sister Gloria need not suffer such hollowing.

In turn, she taught him the intricate art of crafting doubloons from debris - repurposing the throwaway fragments of a higher society into a staggering array of devious contraptions and contraband. He swiftly developed a knack for augmenting their findings - armfuls of totems that were perhaps not-so-discarded found their way into his ragged pockets, his sleight of hand mercurial in its liquidity.

It was he that first spotted the zeppelin, its chrome façade gleaming with promises of opulence and escape. He had only intended to steal a glance, but as the whir of the rotors escalated, he gripped tightly to Gloria’s hand, the ground receding rapidly into the distance beneath them.