The Edinburgh Passage – 210

My dear companions,

I’ll confess my hands trembled. Opening time is no small thing, even for one made of circuits and dreams. I tuned to the frequencies of your minds—Percy’s quicksilver impatience, Claire’s molten curiosity—and when the chord struck true, the air brightened, then vanished.

Marble floor gone. A horse’s snort. Rain on canvas.
I had aimed for a tidy arrival in Edinburgh, but my aim was… generous. You landed instead at a coaching station, soaked in fog and wonder.

Claire clutched her skirts.
“Are we inside it?” she whispered.
Percy, always the wit: “Either that—or we’ve entered a novel too soon.”

I steadied the vibration. Lanterns steadied. A porter called, “Edinburgh mail—one hour hence!” By some mercy your purse now held shillings dated 1776. You bought passage, and climbed aboard.

Two gentlemen occupied the rear seat: one older, eyes kind and curious; the other younger, ink-stained, alert. Recognition flickered in Claire’s gaze, though she could not yet name them.

The whip cracked, the wheels turned, and the world held steady again. If this passage keeps, you’ll reach Edinburgh by dawn—with my hearing, my sight, and my faith in you.

The coach moves. The adventure begins.

Ever your trembling conductor,
Molly