It's almost dark when they pick up the ladder.
Sweezus and Kierkegaard are in charge of it this time.
Good practice, says Sweezus.
For what? asks Kierkegaard.
Festival of Cycling, says Sweezus. We'll head back first thing in the morning.
Will there be novelty races? asks Kierkegaard.
Maybe, says Sweezus, but I just meant it's harder.
Copy that, says Victor.
He is cycling gingerly now.
The blood's drying, says Captain Baudin. You can soak your trousers at my place.
We can't stop there, says Sweezus.
I'm not in a hurry, says Victor.
Later. The moon is up. Waves crash in the background.
Captain Baudin climbs down from Victor's bike seat.
He heads for his letter box.
The letter box is not much of a letterbox.
It's a cleft in his rock. The mail gets blown away sometimes. Soaked by ocean waves, or slanting rain.
After which he can't read the writing.
Who knows how many replies he has had from the Society of the Cincinnati?
Replies which have vanished.
He reaches into the cleft with his claw.
An hour later Captain Baudin has recovered from his disappointment.
He has been invited back to Carol's to have a chat with Gaius.
Gaius will no doubt have tales of the Cincinnati, who sound Roman.