“That was some Guy,” remarked a hairy man with a hideous orange-and-blue baseball tattoo on his neck. “Did you know that during the Great Fire of Rome, Nero just watched from a hilltop, singing and playing his lyre, like he was thrilled the whole damned shithouse was going up in flames?”

The man was addressing her, Elizabeth realized. She inhaled and then exhaled slowly. She could do this. She could make chitchat with the natives.

He swigged his beer. “I like your outfit.”

Elizabeth was wearing her orange prison jumpsuit. “Thank you. I got it at Rikers.”

“Neque fimina amissa pudicitia alia abnuerit. Tacitus. A woman after losing her virtue will hesitate at nothing.”

Was he hitting on her? Elizabeth was at a loss.

Tupper returned from stoking the fire and wound a skinny arm around her waist. “I keep hearing compliments about our Guy.”

“You made that? Seriously?” the hairy man marveled. “So cool to be able to make stuff. I’m a Latin guy. I teach Latin.”

Elizabeth ignored him. The fire had set her mind ablaze. Why had she never worked with fire? There were dormant volcanoes in Iceland. She could bring fire to them. It would be a huge project. She’d need helicopters. Except she wasn’t going to Iceland.

“Remember Deus ex Machina at Bard?” Tupper said. “We went to a discount Christmas place and bought out every elf in the shop.”

Elizabeth rested her long cheek on his bony shoulder. She didn’t have to go to Iceland alone. He could come with her. There was nothing keeping them in Cobble Hill. With his MacArthur money they could go anywhere.

“What are we celebrating again?” Tupper heard someone ask as the fire crackled and roared.

“That time when Big Ben almost got blown up but didn’t. It’s a big thing in England.”

“This is way better than Halloween,” someone else said. “Except for that crazy trail of arms and legs someone did this year. That was fucking awesome.”

“It’s definitely better than waiting on hold for two hours while Full Plate tries to figure out what’s been happening to our orders.”

“Hey, our orders have been messed up too!”

Above their heads, on the landing outside the kitchen, Roy Clarke banged a fork against a glass.

“I just wanted to thank you for sharing this fun English tradition with us. If you have old shoes, useless children, or too-tight jumpers that need getting rid of, you are more than welcome to throw them into the fire. And please help yourselves to more food and drink. Wendy loathes leftovers. Thanks very much. Enjoy!”

Roy descended the stairs and joined Tupper, Elizabeth, and the abominable Mr. Streko beside the fire. “I see you’ve met Shy’s Latin teacher.”

“Salve,” Mr. Streko said and swigged his empty beer bottle uncomfortably.