Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot.

 

Or so the rhyme goes.

 

Come, look around you. The grandeur. The gold. Soak it all in. Hah! Our                            apologies – that was cruel. But seriously: an irony of sorts, no? What old man Fawkes couldn’t do with fire, the water will dispatch in a second. Think   hard on this final riddle. A thought wrong and it might be your song they’ll be singing next.