Finely and Parker were outside Parliament, waiting for a carriage to take them back to the Tower. The former Senators had left. The General had arrived. There were no carriages present, and they were too afraid to walk back on account of the looters and hooligans. They sat, waiting, in silence. The day had held too many surprises. They had come to see history in the writing, and history had been written. Finley was in a state of disbelief. The suspension of Parliament felt wrong, but something had to be done. Maybe, he thought, Sir Bek is the one to steer us towards a brighter future. Finley was no politician though; he didn’t understand the finer nuances of what had happened, not like Parker. Finley was the nephew of the Guildmaster, an average student with no real lineage. He looked at Parker whom was sitting next to him, dazed. He had lost everything today. “I’m sorry, Parker,” he offered. Parker grunted. “Will you soon speak with your Father?” “Soon?” inquired Parker, his first words, “what’s done is done, Fin. What can he do now? He is nothing more than an unemployed gentleman. What happened in there?” he asked himself as much as Finley. A carriage came to the gate. Finley stood, “Are you open?” “I ‘tis young’un, ya’ in need?” “Yes, we are.” “Well, now, ‘tis dark days, these. I haten to ask, but d‘ya’ve a means of payment, upfront that is,” the driver, Finley noticed, had holes in his overcoat, his bare elbows sticking through. “Yes, we have payment. How much to the Tower?” “Ah, Tower lads is ya’? Well, ole’ Tuck never a’gouged no one, let me just say,” his smile was illuminated by the torches on the guard shack and the lampposts on the walkway. “Seventeen coppers then,” he finished. “Seventeen coppers,” Finley laughed, “surely you jest. It’s no more than two, and, I’ll point out, you claimed that you made it a habit of refraining from gouging.” “Gougin’?” the driver asked, “no, no, young ‘un, many be charg’en near twenty-five coppers these days, some near one full silver piece. I’m a doin’ nothing improper, lad.” Finley looked at Parker for support. Parker stood, dusted off his pants, and said, “Pay the man, Fin. It’s a simple matter of supply and demand.” “Right you are, lad, supply and demand. It’s like I says,” said the driver. Finley paid the driver and the pair climbed into the carriage. Parker stared out the window as the horses lurched forward.