The ferry worker picks it up and inspects it, then lets out a surprised grunt.

“Macrae gave you this?”

I look at Thomas, and he nods, not showing any trace of surprise. At least he’s capable of lying. I don’t think I’m very good at it. Mum said it wasn’t a good skill to learn.

“Yes, he did.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” the other man says. “I’ll give you folk the workers’ discount, forty pounds total. Tell Macrae we’re even now for him taking that last shift of mine, alright? And tell him to show up to work, everyone’s going spare without him. We’re expecting another of those cakes his bird makes.”

Thomas slides two notes across the barrier and takes our bright yellow tickets with a look of intense confusion.

“What bird? Since when? Who?”

“I dunno about the bird. I don’t think he has bird that bakes,” I admit. “I didn’t know they do that.”

“No, not a literal bird,” Thomas says, frowning, “it means — nevermind. What was that card you gave them?”

“Kit works on the ferries,” I whisper, grabbing his arm and propelling him toward the walkway that’s set up to let us on the ferry. It rattles unsteadily under our feet. “He splits his time between these and the Mab tour boats. Didn’t you know?”

Thomas shakes his head, looking twitchy.

I shouldn’t have asked. He clearly doesn’t know anything.

Thomas goes to find a seat inside the ferry cabin, but I stay out on the deck. I’m still getting used to the sensation of being inside, of fitting myself into enclosed spaces. Being shoved onto the bus felt like being slowly compressed into a steel box full of too many smells and other people’s breath.

Right now, I’d rather the cold than screaming children. I saw two of them board after us. My ears don’t need that. Why would you bring children out in public if they’re just going to be that loud?

I’ve been coming on land for years, so I thought I understood humans well enough. I observed my mum and her human husband and his human children for years. I mostly know the human customs and their oddities and the way that they live, but I guess that didn’t exactly prepare me. At the end of the day I always put my warm pelt back on and slipped into the water and went home, where everything is quiet and heavy and vast.

Adjusting to staying on land is harder than I thought it would be.

It’s off dusk and getting cold, so not many people stay on deck with me, and by the time the heavy engine roars even louder and we set off from the harbour, I’m alone. That’s another thing that’s odd about being human. They don’t live in herds. They’re so often alone.