the smuggler’s bible

Edouard

Exile isn’t so bad, really, if you can somehow manage to divorce the intense feelings of shame and resentment from your everyday run-of-the-mill habit of being a sore loser. The ex-Emperor spends most of the morning revising Elba’s legal systems, then takes a walk along the coast.

“Amazing,” a man says, stepping out from behind a very convenient pile of driftwood and trailing dark wisps of smoke. “Just amazing. Sunnier than I expected.”

“But it isn’t France.”

“No, I’m sure it isn’t. And, honestly, I’m glad you brought that up,” the man says. “It’s sort of what I’m here about.”