‘Queen’s knight takes bishop  . . . and the other stuff. Yes, got it.’

She smiled, and quite without warning leaned forward, placed a soft hand around my neck and kissed me full on the mouth. I was taken aback, but before I could say or do anything she was up and out of the door. I looked around the lounge to see if anyone had observed us and saw ShamBob cleaning some coffee cups in an indiscreet manner.

I touched my lips where Aurora had kissed me. It hadn’t been a misplaced peck; she had parted her lips slightly upon contact and I’d tasted her warm mouth on mine. She smelled of clean laundry, Aveda conditioner and Ludlow scent, and her shirt had been only loosely buttoned. When she leaned forward I had seen the top of her left breast, and clearly visible amidst the soft down of her wintercoat, there was a birthmark the shape of Guernsey.

Shamanic Bob walked over and sat down opposite me.

‘What are you doing back so soon?’

‘I’ve not been away.’

‘Undercover?’ he said in a conspiratorial tone.

‘Under the covers,’ I said, ‘over at the Siddons. I overslept.’

‘I shouldn’t spread that around,’ he said with a smile, ‘but the first Winter up can sure be a dog. So tell me about Aurora: have you known her long?’

Gossip is thin on the ground during Slumbertime. To souls bored by the tedium of the Winter it can become a commodity of value, fourth only to protein, warmth and loyalty. But it struck me that an association with Aurora might actually help me, given that most people seemed to be frightened of her.

‘Four weeks,’ I said, truthfully enough.

‘O-kay,’ said ShamBob slowly, ‘and what – if I might be so bold – does Chief Toccata say about it?’

‘Is that relevant?’ I asked.

ShamBob’s mouth actually dropped open. I wasn’t sure why but he was either shocked, or impressed, or outraged, or a mixture of all three.

I was going to leave, but then I remembered about the last time we’d met. He’d said something about Morphenox being a fluke, and I asked him what he meant by that.

He smiled. Winsomniacs liked conspiracy theories almost as much as they liked undersleeping on someone else’s dollar.

‘Morphenox was originally plain old “F-652”,’ he began, ‘developed as a powerful Dreamblocker, devised so there could be a non-dreaming control group during trials of a cancelled project named Dreamspace, where Don Hector was trying to make us dream not less, but better. But then someone noticed the dreamless group were losing significantly less weight during hibernation, and that was the turning point: up until that point, no one realised just how much energy dreams were burning. Block them and go to sleep lighter. It’s that simple.’

This took a moment to sink in.

‘You’re kidding?’

‘I’m not.’