When I had uttered my first word, it had been during the Revolution of Hastings. Several gold-eyed citizens wielding clubs and knives marched into the Grand Emperor's palace and killed him with a single bullet. As he bled profusely on his Arabian rug, he asked for the name, "Claudius Rothman" to succeed him, that he would be the savior of the country. When those gold infused eyes bled out their power into stone oblivion, a new era had ignited. The era of freedom and ignorance.
    And I, Claudius Rothman, am their greatest enemy. My father, a whittled down baker of cracking joints due to chronic arthritis, directly asserted we were in instant danger. Therefore we packed our bags and rode two stallions to a Northern port city just west of Paris. Thereon we traveled incognito, my new name Neuf: Nine. Nine was the day of July when we left our quiet lives behind, and forever fugitives. We were merely an ink splash in the citizen's' guide books. We may run forever, and we can keep it that way. The Inciters, as my father had called the Revolutionaries, sworn to find us and throw our ashes into the River Seine. I as the baker Rothman won't let them get my dear father.
    Swirling my naked feet against the scales of the Seine, a little trout splashed its fins on my calf. I turned away, frightened of how a miniscule creature could incite fear, and continued scurrying along the banks. A couple fishermen waved towards me, ignorant I was a Rothman. They were hardy supporters of the Revolution of Hastings; If they were to find out my true identity my stature would falter.
    "Bonjour Neuf," a fisherman busy with his reel greeted. After reeling in yet another kelp, he frowned, rechecked the hook and net, then tossed it back in.
    "Bonjour Charles," Claudius replied, for a second forgetting his fake name. "How are fish this week?"
    "Scarcer than finding an albino black bear," he laughed, concentrating without a glare on his net.
    "You think a fish famine is coming?"
    The fisherman fidgeted with the hook and reel, wiggling the rest of the net. "I don't want to think about it," he answered. "But if this pattern continues, we'll have to burrow with bread. I'll have to retill my fields."
    Claudius nodded, glancing at the hanging sun now making velvet streaks across the aged sky. "Oh would you look at that, I have to head back to the promenade," he murmured, wishing the fisherman luck on his endeavor and setting off to the bakery. The day had a little chill, even though winter was months away. My vest fluttered like a billowing sail in the hearty wind, so much I could very much be on water and not realize it.