“The village of Bowen Beacon is nestled on a hill with slopes so steep that the tall spire of the village church seemed like the peak of a small mountain. Near the church there was a forge, usually full of flames and always strewn with hammers and pieces of iron. Opposite it, at the intersection of two cobblestone streets, was the only local inn called the Blue Boar. Just at this crossroads, in the leaden-silver twilight of dawn, two brothers met, although one of them was just beginning the day, and the other was finishing it. The Reverend and Worshipful Wilfred Bowen was a very devout man and would go to church to spend time in morning prayer or devotional meditation. His older brother, Colonel Norman Bowen, was not distinguished for piety and was now sitting in a tailcoat on a bench in front of the Blue Boar and finishing another glass, which for an observer with a philosophical mindset could be considered the last on Tuesday or the first on Wednesday, depending on the mood . The colonel himself didn’t care..."