The zeppelin began to descend below the smog-choked horizon of London. Horatio felt that rising in his gut whenever an airship descended that little bit too quickly. He reached over into his brown, leather satchel and fished out his gold monoscope and peered over the landscape, examining the soot-blackened buildings of the city he had left behind so long ago. He spotted his old school, a place he thought torn down a decade ago, but there it was, in all its sandstone glory. The walls seemed pockmarked, but he couldn’t see any more details – the monoscope had its limits. He folded the contraption away and clicked open his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket – a quarter past eleven. He wouldn’t be late, but he wouldn’t be entirely on time. He’d have to forego changing his clothes and simply go straight to his meeting. He looked down at himself. His waistcoat was stained with coffee spilled on him early in the flight, his jacket was worn around the sleeves and he had lost a cufflink. He really wished he had the time to change his suit. He still knew where his old tailor was, “Please prepare for landing, all safety straps must now be fastened.” Horatio tugged at the leather strap around his waste to make sure it was connected. He sipped up the last of his coffee as the service girl came by and collected his cup and saucer.