The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. It must be the dawn creeping in. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. You must—you shall be mine. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. uk Cover Art by David Evans Bailey www.
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