Bank of Westminster

Chapter 1

A bitter wind knifed through the skeletal branches, and the Thames' breath froze into frost on the iron bars.

16 November 1987. Baron Constantine woke on the plank bed of London's Thirteenth Prison, ready to face trial before the British Prol Court.

Three days earlier he had been a sharp-suited bank debt-collector at Sheffield Industrial Bank.

All the ruin had begun the day Miss Alice handed him a new repossession file.

It was also the first day Zhou Yike arrived in this world.

......

Three days earlier.

13 November 1987. 07:04.

From the papers on the desk and the spines of the bookshelves Zhou Yike pieced together his new identity: Baron Constantine, born in Warrington on the banks of the Mersey in Cheshire, educated at the local grammar school.

He would turn twenty-two this Christmas. He had an older brother and a younger sister, and had recently started work at Sheffield Industrial Bank's Birmingham Old Town branch as the newest arrears officer.

Weekly pay: one hundred and seven pounds.

Work began at eight o'clock sharp.

To keep anyone from noticing the difference between the original Baron and himself, he decided to take a few days' leave and learn how this world worked.

07:30.

In the café below he bought a black coffee, no sugar, a whole-wheat roll, and that morning's Times.

07:48.

In the back of the taxi he closed the paper and exhaled.

A normal world, after all.

No magic, no battle-qi.

Part relief, part disappointment—but bearable.

"That'll be three pounds, sir."

The driver glanced in the mirror at the pale young man with black hair and ink-dark eyes.

Zhou Yike felt in his pocket.

No good.

......

Sheffield Industrial Bank, Birmingham Branch. Office of the Administrative Manager.

"Mr. Constantine, you are dismissed."

Silver hair was braided into a long fishtail that draped over her right shoulder. Behind her spectacles, grey eyes were framed by the fine lines of a beauty time had not spared.

Mrs. Eleanor adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and pronounced the death sentence on Zhou Yike's finances.

Dismissed? Meaning he was now unemployed?

Still catching his breath, Zhou Yike wondered if he had stepped through the door with the wrong foot.

"On Miss Alice's attendance sheet this is the fifth leave request you have filed this month. We have no more holidays to grant you."

Mrs. Eleanor lifted a sheaf of documents. "Your personal collection targets for last month and this month are five thousand pounds overdue. Meanwhile Mr. Pelton and Mrs. Jones—whose loans you personally guaranteed—died the night before last, one of organ failure, the other of asphyxiation. Between them they owed nearly two thousand and three thousand pounds in principal and interest."

"Needless to say, these are bad debts. Their expenditures were on medical treatment and daily living—no capacity to repay. I have no idea why you vouched for them, or how you persuaded our risk-assessment clerk... perhaps your eloquence is above average. Regardless, it ends here."

Mrs. Eleanor's voice remained level: "After careful deliberation, Personnel has concluded that you lack the competence required of a collections officer. You are terminated. Do not come in tomorrow. Compensation and unemployment paperwork will be mailed to you by Alice."

The lenses flashed under the warm yellow light; Eleanor kept her face turned away, never once looking directly at him. It was clear what she thought of the original Baron.

Zhou Yike accepted the verdict, thanked her, and turned to leave. The calm response made Eleanor glance at him again.

"Excuse me—may I come in?"

A knock at the door.

Secretary Miss Alice stood in the doorway clutching a stack of files.

She was a gentle girl in a chiffon dress, gleaming golden hair falling to a graceful waist, eyes the blue of a summer sky, the black pupils like swallows against it.

"Alice, my dear, what is it?"

At the sight of Alice, Eleanor's frosty expression thawed.

Alice Lovira was the office secretary and the daughter of Eleanor's close friend.

"I have a commission letter that needs Mr. Constantine's attention."

Alice smiled, and her smile was sky-blue.

......

"In the Philip District of the Old Town there is a debtor who still owes more than ten thousand pounds in principal and interest. Before Mrs. Eleanor sends your dismissal to headquarters tomorrow morning, I thought you might be able to settle the account."

On the terrazzo corridor Alice pressed a card into Zhou Yike's hand.

"This is the address. Go on, Mr. Constantine. Didn't you tell me your younger sister is going to university in Edinburgh? You can't afford to lose the job that pays her fees."

She looked at him with clear, bright eyes, as reflective as mirrors.

The original owner's diary had indeed mentioned this; refusal would raise suspicion. Besides, judging by the size of this morning's bedsit and the state of his pockets, the original Baron's finances were precarious at best.

After a moment Zhou Yike slipped the card into his jacket lining. "Thank you."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow. I expect good news."

Alice laughed, gave him an encouraging wave, and disappeared back into the office, her skirt fluttering with girlish energy.

......

11:24 a.m. Zhou Yike arrived at the Philip District, briefcase in hand, exactly on time.

He had run the whole way—he had no money for the fare.

The original Baron's body was in good shape; a thirty-minute jog left him only slightly winded. No wonder the taxi driver this morning hadn't been able to catch him when he bolted.

"506 Westing Street—this is it."

After asking directions from a young woman in a white felt hat, he stood before a Victorian townhouse of red brick and pointed arches, ivy crawling wild across the gable, curling beneath white-framed windows as if waiting to wither.

Golden irises stood on the windowsill—flowers that love warmth and sunlight, blooming April to May, yet here they blazed out of season.

The brass plate read clearly: "506 Westing Street." He had the right place.

The original Baron's diary noted that even the wealthy borrowed from banks, so Zhou Yike was not surprised to find his debtor living in such an old, imposing house.

He rehearsed his lines, cleared his throat at the gate, and tried to channel the techniques he had reviewed in the diary.

At last "Baron Constantine" pressed the bell.

Ding-dong.

Footsteps tapped down the stairs—sharp, like high heels on stone.

So the debtor was a woman, not a man.

The door opened, and Baron stood rooted. The carefully prepared "Good morning, Mrs. Dracoon, allow me to introduce myself—" evaporated like steam from an old Thames paddle-steamer.

A huge golden vertical pupil stared down at him.

Its owner was a dragon—one of the great red wyrms of Western myth, horn-crowned, wings vast as sails.

Baron's heart lurched.

First reaction: there are dragons in this world?

Second reaction: what does one say to a dragon?

The diary had advised: when meeting a new debtor, open with humor and praise some conspicuous feature—compliment a custom tie, or, if a lady, her looks regardless of what she wore.

But what compliment fitted a creature whose eye alone was larger than the door?

Baron drew on the composure honed in his previous life, smiled, and said,

"Honored Mrs. Dracoon, allow me to introduce myself."

He flicked open the telescopic walking-stick the original Baron always carried and tapped a measured rhythm on the flagstones until the ferrule struck the doorframe. Sightless eyes stared straight into the golden slit.

"Sheffield Industrial Bank at your service. My name is Baron Constantine."

He bowed to the golden pupil.

"Though I am blind, madam, my heart sees quite clearly."

......

[Baron Constantine (original) Work Diary

8 July 1987 / Birmingham / Overcast

Today I learned a profound truth: sometimes it is better to be blind of eye than blind of heart. From now on I will carry a white cane.

My thanks to Mr. Pelton, a good man who saved me from a false accusation on the bus.

(The entry is heavily amended—obviously added later.)

Truthfully I had no designs on the lady; indeed, I have no designs on any lady in Birmingham.

For I love only Christine.]