As I pen these words (metaphorically, that is, as I am in actual fact writing this using a wondrous new invention called a type-writer, which despite its tendency to jam and occasionally tear the paper still results in something far more legible than my usual chicken scratch) I am not sure for whom it is intended. It certainly isn’t intended for a general audience, at least until several troublesome laws are changed. Perhaps it shall be passed on to my descendants? Either way, the important part is that it is written down, so that my first, and perhaps greatest, adventure shall not be lost in the mists of time. Now, for the following tale to make sense, I shall have to begin with a little of my personal history, and that, dear reader, is the purpose for this foreword. My name, in case you were unaware, is Sir William Richard Elaine Flechesley, Esquire (Esquire by office, seeing how I am technically gentry by birth, I simply find the title of gentleman rather unappealing), only child of Lord Richard Flechesley the second and his wife Elaine Flechesley née Smith. Although I know my mother only through the stories told about her by my father and other relatives, all accounts seem to portray her as a very spirited woman, richer in courage than in sense. These stories portray her as an adventurous sort, with a certain disregard for her own safety, despite being in all other ways a rather keen-witted woman. Unfortunately, this risky way of living caught up to her in a most tragic fashion, as a complication from an old wound led to her unfortunate demise mere minutes after giving birth to a healthy baby girl. Yes, a girl. Bear with me for but one moment, and I shall explain. You see, Lord Flechesley, who had married late in life and was already past fifty years of age by the time of my birth, was the owner of a not insignificant shipping empire, and as such was in dire need of an heir. Now, thanks to the then recent inheritance reforms, this would have been no problem if not for one crucial detail. My father was a landed noble. The Flechesley holdings, while small, are still land granted us by the crown, and while the reformed inheritance laws allow a female heir to inherit almost everything, the inheritance of a noble title and the land that goes with it is still a privilege exclusive to sons. Now, were the Flechesley holdings less significant to my Father’s company, he would have probably let the title and land return to the crown after his demise, but unfortunately many important structures crucial to the operations of the Trans-Atlantic Trading Company, including the Main Offices, the shipyards, and over fifty warehouses, are built on the small strip of coastal land that is tied to the Flechesley title. Given this situation, my father did the only thing he could do to preserve his legacy, and declared me to be his son. It was, perhaps, a bit odd to grow up carrying such a secret, but despite it all, my upbringing was not an unpleasant one. I was home schooled, and learned every discipline useful to a young nobleman. The only real gap in my education was in magical matters, as my father held a deep-seated distrust for magic and employed it only grudgingly when no other alternative presented itself. When not trapped within a schoolroom with one of the dozens of tutors my father employed, I was usually out exploring the grounds, climbing trees, and getting into all sorts of mischief. My father disapproved, possibly because he feared I might get myself seriously injured like my mother, but didn’t forbid my rough and tumble ways since my boyish behaviour was quite helpful in maintaining the ruse of my gender. At fifteen, I started binding my breasts as a precaution, although nature kindly made sure I never had too much to worry about in that department. Later in life I discovered that sufficient amounts of tweed can cover up your figure better than any bindings, and as such I now forego such bindings on most occasions. My only real dissatisfaction, as far as my childhood is concerned, is that I never got to go on any real adventures, or indeed got to go beyond the Flechesley holdings at all. The only trips I attended as a child were visits to the docks, warehouses and offices of the company, and even those were simply intended as opportunities to learn the ins and outs of running the company. At the age of eighty-three, my father passed away due to an incurable infection of the airways, and I inherited all that he owned. Seeing this as a chance to finally get out and see the world, I quickly arranged for various high-level employees to take on the duties related to the day-to-day running of the company, and prepared for a long journey, ostensibly to inspect the state of the company’s property and the running of our foreign offices, but in all honesty I was simply jumping on the first real chance at adventure I had seen in my thirty years of living. And that, gentle reader, is where our story begins.