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the weight of unanswered requests and unpaid bills—mostly the latter variety of late. Then again, people stopped asking for favors once they knew you owed money all over. Even if your name was North.
    When her mother was alive, there’d been economy in their house. Economy and industry both, to balance out her father’s worst tendencies. His older brother had been raised to manage the farm, not Zachariah North. Elliot’s uncle had died before Elliot’s parents were even married, leaving behind an infant son too young to take over and Zachariah, who hadn’t been fit to lead but became the baron nonetheless. The North estate had never been the same. Elliot’s father possessed the Luddite sense of superiority, but without its corresponding call to action. And ever since his wife died, he deeply resented anyone who made him remember it—by, say, suggesting that one’s debts ought to be repaid.
    Most days, that was Elliot. She had to be very careful with the bills now, or risk lectures from her father on the honor due to Baron North. They were not even ordinary Luddites, the Norths, but one of the last great baronic families who had preserved the world in the wake of the Reduction. Their ancestors had led the remnants of humanity out of the caverns. They had held their land for generations.
    Hard to remember all this family honor when Elliot spent every day staring into the eye of a cyclone of debts called due.
    Her wheat could have saved them, kept the estate from needing to import food this winter. Even allowed them a surplus for the first time in Elliot’s memory. But it was not to be this year. Her father would rather build a racetrack for horses he could barely afford.
    One of the letters caught her eye. An unfamiliar correspondent, and a Post by the look of the address. Elliot opened it.
    Most Admirable Baron Zachariah North,
    Forgive me the trespass of writing this letter. I have never had the honor of being introduced to such a lofty person as you. Most likely, you do not know me, nor of my reputation amongst your illustrious fellows. I am an explorer in the service of my Luddite lords, and in the past ten years my activities have brought great distinction and wealth to my patrons, who include the honorable families of Right, Grace, Record, and Baroness Channel. For my references, you may apply to any of these families.
    I have learned that you are currently in control of the shipyard belonging to Chancellor Elliot Boatwright. If the facility is not in use, I would be interested in renting it from you, as well as some residential properties and the use of some of your labor force while my shipwrights work. I seek to build a new ship, one much bigger than any of my current facilities can handle. I am told that Boatwright shipyard is the best in the islands, and I am sure we can come to an agreement that is profitable and advantageous to us both.
    I remain your ever-humble servant,
    Nicodemus Innovation, Admiral of the Cloud Fleet
    Elliot had heard of the renowned Cloud Fleet. There weren’t a lot of seaworthy vessels on the island—at least, not since her grandfather’s shipyard had shut down before her birth. And since the wars had rendered magnetic compasses useless, very few braved the trip out of sight range of their shores. Was the Cloud Fleet, staffed entirely by free Posts, attempting an overseas journey? Elliot’s heart raced at the very thought. It had been ages since she’d allowed herself to dream of that. Not since Kai had gone away.
    Of course, she did her best not to think of him, either.
    As far as anyone knew, there was nothing left of the world but these two islands, these quarter of a million square kilometers, these people and these mountains and these animals and this society. Admiral Innovation might change all that. His Fleet had first captured the population’s notice when one of his exploratory trips to nearby islands had brought back a breed of horse not seen for generations.