‘There are now fifty-four winsomniacs in the Sector,’ said Aurora, sitting down and taking off her gloves, ‘and there’s been no wastage for almost five days. I left a note suggesting to Toccata that we tell them there’s a good selection of videos at the Captain Mayberry. The trek would have at least a thirty per cent attrition rate, perhaps as high as forty if we timed it during an ice storm.’

‘Is that legal?’ I asked.

‘The trick is to try and get them to do potentially fatal things voluntarily with a full understanding of the risks. We call it ethical reduction.’

‘Unless there isn’t a good stock of videos in the Mayberry,’ I said.

‘And therein lies the problem,’ replied Aurora. ‘The selection isn’t terrific. Mostly Police Academy comedies, endless Die Hard sequels and boxed sets of Emmerdale and Dynasty. Hey, Shambob. Two coffees.’

There was a grunt from Shamanic Bob and he moved with almost snail-like speed towards the coffee machine.

Aurora brought out her knitting. It wasn’t a bobble hat this time, it was a sock with an Argyle pattern. We’d sat near the window so we could keep an eye on the nightwalkers. Since you couldn’t actually own another human being, possession – and the bounty thereof – was based nominally on custody and proximity. But on reflection, I doubted, given Aurora’s standing, that anyone would try and steal them.

‘So,’ she said, ‘let me be your Dormeopath. Tell me as much or as little as you want.’

I paused to gather my thoughts, and told her how the blue Buick dream had been circulating around the Sarah Siddons. How I hadn’t thought much about it; how I thought it was simply a Sub-beta dream panic.

‘That’s our view and that of the Consuls,’ said Aurora, ‘although we didn’t know there actually was a blue Buick parked up in the garage. What sort of dreams were you having?’

‘Not dreams as I imagined them to be,’ I began. ‘Half-remembered artefacts, disjointed and vague – but strong, vivid and full of detail. I know this sounds silly, but I dreamed I was Don Hector, with his feelings and his memories.’

‘Go on.’

I recounted everything in as much detail as I could, but purposefully omitted the Birgitta dream because it seemed strangely private, and an odd amalgam of my own childhood holiday memory and Birgitta’s painting. I only told Aurora about the blue Buick, thinking I would apply any advice across to the other dream.

‘Why am I dreaming about rocks, cars and disembodied hands?’ I asked.