And from the front, a vertiginous drop down to the water: the cliff, then the railway tracks, then the green of Princes Street Gardens and the straight, neat lines of the New Town beyond, and farther across the water to the Kingdom of Fife.

She stood still, even in the freezing sunlight, just staring, awestruck.

Oke approached her quite cautiously. “What do you think?” he said.

Carmen swallowed once then spoke. “I didn’t . . . I’ve never really seen the New Town like this before. It’s laid out . . . like it was designed.”

“It was designed!” said Oke.

“Was it?” said Carmen, annoyed that she felt stupid.

He realized his mistake at once. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, tell me,” she said, trying not to be prickly. “I do want to know.” And she did.

“Well . . . Edinburgh was the first designed city in the world. The birth of the Enlightenment. The whole idea that we could plan our futures for ourselves, that we were not dependent on the whims of God, that we could conquer our animal natures, find our place in the world. That from this jumbled”—he swept his arm around at the jammed-together old houses on the up-and-down cobbled streets of the Old Town—“thrown-together world, you could have beauty, order, fresh air. The New Town is philosophy made stone. It is a promise from the past to the future that better times are coming. That entropy can be overcome. Well. For a while.”

“But all the fun happens in the Old Town,” said Carmen, naturally contrary as ever.

“Well, yes, of course,” said Oke, smiling. “Agents of chaos. Humans need that too.”

“I’m an agent of chaos,” said Carmen glumly.

Oke looked at her curiously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I just wondered for a moment if you were.”

“You really know how to make a woman feel good.”

“Who said that’s a bad thing?”

“Every teacher I ever met.”

“Until now,” said Oke.

Then he cleared his throat and looked out over the horizon. And on this bright, hard, heavenly northern day, more Russian weather than Scottish, it was there, plain as day: the castle built to impose and threaten, and the jumble of rooms in the Old Town—she thought of Mr. McCredie’s wobbly, illogical house—piled here and there, often with whole families living in single rooms, surviving for hundreds of years. And ahead, the orderly roads running down to the water, the beautiful wide sidewalks, the gorgeous houses, and the stunning gardens in the squares.

“Those gardens are private, though,” said Carmen.

Oke nodded. “Oh, it’s built on dirty money,” he said. “You can’t get away from that. But what is terrible about it doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

He turned her around.