"My husband's a ship captain," Zelda said, "And I still can't imagine a five year old on the Atlantic." (Zelda could not imagine the Atlantic. Her trips with Alfred had kept them on the Mediterranean, and while it was still a sea, the ocean felt like a different beast entirely.)

Orion, with his bouncing curls, was making his way carefully down the stairs. "There he is," Zelda said brightly, beaming at her son. "Orion, where's Yorick?"

Her words summoned the dachshund — the golden dog trotted after Orion and began making her way, equally carefully, down the stairs.