Rogers stood on the steps, surveying the street with his lips pressed tightly together.
The straight-line distance from the station to the Ashford Family estate in the Imperial Capital's West District was about four miles (6.5 km).
Walking there would take at least an hour.
And just look at what the family was wearing: his and his son's three-piece suits, Margaret's dress, and the little leather shoes that pinched his daughter's feet.
Walking four miles was out of the question. Even if his wife and daughter could manage it, they'd probably be drenched in sweat by the time they arrived.
Their shoes would be coated in dust, their clothes sticking to their backs, and they'd be showing up to a dinner party with sweat streaming down their faces.
There'd be no hope of making a good impression.
After watching the street for a while, his father raised a hand and hailed a carriage.
It was a small hansom with two seats facing each other, a black-painted body, and brass handles.
It was much plainer than a luxurious four-wheeled carriage, but at least it would keep out the wind and dust.
A tall, thin, middle-aged man sat in the driver's seat, perched high at the back of the carriage roof as he looked down at them.
"Where to?"
"The West District, 13 Chelsea Road," his father replied.
"Chelsea Road?" The driver lifted the brim of his hat. "Two shillings."
His father felt around in his pocket. "Would one shilling and sixpence do?"
"Sir, just look at how far it is. I wouldn't even earn enough to feed my horse for one shilling and sixpence."
"How about one shilling and eightpence?"
The driver looked over the clothes worn by the family of four, then at the old suitcase sitting by their feet.
"Right, one shilling and eightpence it is. Hop in."
The little carriage carried the family of four into the Imperial Capital's traffic.
The streetscape kept changing outside the window.
After leaving the commercial district near the station, they passed several busy intersections, where the clatter of hooves mingled with the cries of street vendors.
Farther west, the buildings grew noticeably less crowded. The gaps between them widened, and there were more trees.
Rows of shops gave way to detached houses, and every so often they spotted stone fountains and gravel driveways.
"I wish we could live somewhere like this one day." Evelyn leaned against the carriage window, her nose nearly touching the glass.
Richard looked up from his shorthand notebook. "What, you want to live in the Imperial Capital too?"
"Of course. Who wouldn't? But wishing is all I can do." The girl leaned back, ever practical.
"Dad's salary is enough in Briston. If we moved to the Imperial Capital, we probably couldn't even afford rent."
She kept her voice low as she spoke, afraid her parents up front might hear.
"Evelyn, have you ever thought about what you want to do in the future?" Richard asked.
"Hm?"
"After you graduate."
Evelyn tilted her head and thought for a moment. "You know my grades are average. I'm not very good at Latin or the sciences."
She didn't sound discouraged when she said she wasn't very good.
"But I'm all right at home economics. I'm pretty good at baking bread and making pastries. My teacher says I have a bit of a knack for it."
"So you want to go into baking?"
"Not 'go into baking.' I want to open my own bakery." She corrected him, suddenly serious.
"Selling bread, scones, cookies, fruit tarts... the kind that comes fresh out of the oven every morning."
As she said "fruit tarts," she unconsciously licked her lips.
"It wouldn't need to be a big place. Just a little corner shop, with all kinds of pastries in the window and the smell drifting out to people passing by."
"Then Mom wouldn't have to count every last thing in the kitchen every day."
Her voice softened on that last sentence.
"She could cut the butter as thick as she liked and add as many eggs as she wanted."
Watching his sister's expression as she spoke, Richard felt she might not actually love baking all that much.
The baking she described wasn't really about baking at all.
Every one of the things she'd listed—butter, cream, eggs, all kinds of afternoon tea treats—was a luxury in their home, something that had to be carefully rationed.
Evelyn had grown up watching that, year after year.
So opening a bakery wasn't so much a career dream as the simplest kind of wish: she just wanted to eat whatever she liked.
Richard didn't point that out.
"That sounds nice," he said.
"Don't you think it's unrealistic?"
"Why would it be unrealistic?"
"Because it takes a lot of money." The girl had finally realized the problem herself.
"We can think about the money later. For now, just keep practicing."
Richard closed his shorthand notebook and took the conversation further. "But have you ever thought about something even bigger?"
"Something bigger?"
"Yeah. Like becoming the head chef at a fine-dining restaurant."
Evelyn turned toward him, her braid swinging over her shoulder. "What?"
"One of those fancy restaurants in a big city. You've probably seen them in magazines." Richard rested an arm on the carriage window.
"The head chef can use whatever ingredients they want, and they decide the whole menu. They spend all day working with steak, lobster, and foie gras."
"After the guests finish eating, they even stand up and applaud, saying, 'Please tell the chef that dish was incredible.'"
He'd made all of that up on the spot.
But his sister's eyes lit up at once, clearly picturing the wonderful scene in her mind.
Then she quickly pulled herself back to reality.
The girl leaned hard against the seat, folded her arms, and put on an unconvinced expression.
"Big brother, do you think I'm stupid? Those head chefs at fancy restaurants have all been training since they were little."
"I didn't say you had to do it now."
"And lobster's so expensive. I've never even seen one alive."
"I'm just asking if you want to."
Evelyn's lips moved as if she were arguing with herself.
After a moment of silence, she finally murmured, "...I do."
Then she immediately added, "But there's no point wishing for something impossible. I'm not you. You've suddenly gotten smart and can learn anything."
"So you're finally admitting you're not very bright?"
"You..." Evelyn reached over to pinch his arm, but Richard dodged her.
She missed, and huffily turned back to the window, muttering under her breath.
"Fine, I'll just become a head chef. I might as well say I want to be prime minister."
Richard smiled but didn't reply.
He opened his shorthand notebook again and looked down at the page, but his thoughts had nothing to do with Latin.
His sister wanted to open a bakery so she could eat whatever treats she liked;
His mother instinctively calculated how much butter was left every time she cooked;
And those two pennies his father had just haggled over with the driver.
For the past month, he'd devoted nearly all his attention to the world behind the Veil.
The Breathing Technique, classical scholarship, deciphering coded messages, observing the seal, earning points... Every step led farther and deeper into the supernatural world. He was heading in the right direction.
The power behind the Veil was certainly worth pursuing. It was the foundation of survival.
But his mother's illness, his sister's hopes, and his father working overtime until he couldn't come home just to bring them on this trip to the Imperial Capital...
All the little things that had happened over the past few days had made him realize again and again that he wasn't walking this path alone.
The carriage turned onto a quiet street, and the driver called out, "Whoa!"
"We're here."
Before you continue