Ten minutes after the boat has left Plymouth, I find myself looking out of the small window in my cabin to watch England shrink away slowly. I'm jolted away as someone knocks on my door, and I march over to open it.

"Hi," the man says, a slight twinge to his English accent. He's very muscular and matches me for height. His hair blonde hair is soft but combed upwards. His bright green eyes look depressed and there's a distinct look of self-hatred behind his smile. "I'm Dean, you must be Scott," I smile and reach forward to shake his hand. "I'm here to show you around, although once you've reached the foyer area, it's fairly self explanatory."

"When do I get assigned to a room?" I ask, being direct.

"Ah, that'll be after the tour," he chuckles slightly. "Don't worry, we'll put you to work in a minute." He smiles, but it drops as he turns and leads me back out of the door and waits behind me as I lock it.

He leads me back down the steps and into the corridor of which Cambola lead me down around half an hour ago until we reach the entrance which of course, is all closed up. As we follow the lights above us forward into the foyer, I realise what Dean had meant. On the marble white floor they have painted lines leading customers to the resturant, the pool and the viewing deck, to name just a few. It really couldn't be any simpler.

"Of course," Dean says, "if you follow the lines down to the cabins, they split off to seperate floors. Makes the job as simple as pie." I laugh polietly, and he looks over at the entrance to the cabins. "There are fifteen floors in total, and like your average cruise liner, they range in price depending on where you want it situated. The assistants will be working on the top five floors, you'll be sure to meet with them later."

"Dean." We turn around in response to the voice and find the man from reception waving us over. This man is a good four inches taller than with broad shoulders and shoulder-length brunette hair. Judging from the identical silver band on each of their ring fingers, it is evident that they are married, however they don't show the tell tale signs of a couple in love. Like his partner, however, he appears to be depressed and unhappy, though his eyes are wise so he's clearly intelligent. "Francis wanted me to assign Scott to a room."

"Alright, we'll just be a minute," Dean replies. "That's Sam, my partner, we had our wedding here, on the Tilly Briggs."

"Before or after?" I question, frowing.

"Sorry?"

"When did you start working here, before or after you got married?"

"Oh," Dean says, and I see him exchange glances with Sam, and he moves his head to the left - a common sign of someone who is about to lie. "After. We were offered the positions as a wedding gift from Cambola."

"Is that common?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Dean shrugs. "Whenever Cambola finds a suitable worker, I guess." I can't help but feel sceptical. It would have to mean that Cambola liked to swap and change his staff, because it's obvious from the condition of the ring on Dean's finger that they only got married recently. "Anyway, best be getting you sorted." He gestures for me to walk over to the desk, and with a smile, I comply.

"So, you're Scott Harris, are you?" Sam asks me, and I frown.

"Sorry?"

"Francis talks about you all the time," he explains. "Apparently, you inspired him to come up with the 'assistant idea' as he calls it. There's only a few others here."

"Really," ask, my frown deepening before smiling up at him. "Glad I'm an inspiration to some people." So he changes staff often and suddenly comes up with ideas to accommodate. Mr Cambola is coming across as very suspicious indeed.