The woman is tying a complicated nautical knot around the post.

The woman is tying a complicated nautical knot around the post.

"J-j-j-jettady-jetty."

"Oh jetty, oh jetty...." she responds mournfully...

...then secures the mooring line. "It's good to see you here, detectives. I only just arrived myself."

"What brings you here, madam?"

"Nothing, really... I've had my eye on this jetty for weeks now. So I decided to investigate it personally. This cluster of buildings isn't on any of the official maps, as far as I can tell."

That -- and she's also keeping an eye on you.

"So how do you like it here?" (Look around.)

"Hmh... How do I like it?" She casts her gaze toward the village -- slush melting on the cinder blocks, construction work left half-finished ten years ago...

Water drips down eaves of eternite. The jetty below her feet creaks to the tune.

The smell of salt and dog shit in the background.

"It's pornographically poor. The street has no name, all the men are dead or missing... and is that the carcass of a motor carriage over there?" She squints her eyes...

"Fortunately for you, madam, the RCM is on the scene."

All right. Politics time. Let's react.

Real men, real politics, real thoughts in your head!

"The place is doomed either way."

"Maybe..." She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky.

Above you there forms a quilt of altocumulus clouds, twisting into each other. The wind tugs and stretches them over the bay.

Their cloud shadows slide over the ruins of Revachol West -- wherever they pass, the temperature drops slightly but perceptibly.

It's early spring and the rains are coming. An officer enters a low hut of stone and wood. Inside, weapons are piled against the walls. Rifles with splintering stocks... and swords. Tens if not hundreds.

"They're antiques," says Lieutenant John 'The Archetype' McCoy to his partner. "They're digging them up from the catacombs now, fixing them. Old caches from the Revolution. "

"The children carry them up. Come May, the streets will be flooded..." Outside the wind rattles the loose hatches. "Flooded with cheap weapons. In angry hands."

"Have I told you how they discovered this place?" The wind picks up, her raincoat flaps in the gust.

"This isola?"

"Yes -- Insulinde."

"No, I don't know how they discovered it."

"You're not alone. Neither do most of these people -- the literacy rate is around 45% west of the river. Fifty years of occupation have left these people in an oblivion of poverty."

"Oblivion -- that's so me."

"I knew you would sympathize." She nods. "Most Revacholians will never know what this place means, our home -- this island of matter. Or why they were ferried over in the first place..."

"Remind me to tell you one day." She corrects the scarf around her neck. "For now -- how can I assist you in this new location?"

"Well, it was good running into you." [Leave.]

"Godspeed, detectives."

"Thank you, ma'am. Do keep an eye on your boat."

"Godspeed, detective."

"Tell me something else then."

"Of course. I hear you have singled out a suspect and are in pursuit -- this is cause for cautious optimism. How can I help you at this juncture?"

"Tell me now, I have time."

"Do we?" He glances at his watch. It doesn't look like he does.

"I hear you have singled out a suspect and are in pursuit. This is cause for cautious optimism -- I would not want to delay you..."

This story she will tell only before she leaves Martinaise. At the very end of her stay.

"...maybe there is something else I can assist you with? While you're hot in pursuit?"

"It's a pity. Most of these people will never know what this place means -- this island of matter. Or why they were ferried over in the first place..."

Say nothing.

"Forty-five percent is around where I operate. Things are getting better though."

"What is an isola, exactly?"

"I'm guessing you don't know then..."

"This... fishing village?"

"No -- the Insulindian isola."

"This island?"

"Do you know how they discovered this place?" The wind picks up, her raincoat flaps in the gust.

"Don't worry. I got her sword." (Show it.)

"Perhaps you shouldn't have. I sort of liked it on her..." She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky.

"She's a woman. She doesn't know how to use a sword."

"So am I -- and I do know how to use one..." She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky.

Say nothing.

"She could easily just..." She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky.

You detect a note of longing in her voice.

"You're right to be scared. This is all your fault."

"You're in no danger." (Whisper) "The working class have no idea what's happening to them."

"That they don't..." She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky.