‘Me? None at all.’

‘I can’t make up my mind about you,’ said Toccata, staring at me intently, head on one side, her lone eye unblinking. ‘Most Novices we get are either burned-out ex-military with a thousand-yard stare, gung-ho idiots or saddos who might as well have Kill Me Now printed on their forehead. You’re not any of those. But I can’t figure out if you’re a clever person pretending to be thick, a thick person pretending to be clever, or just a chancer stumbling through the Winter without any sort of plan or thought at all.’

‘Can I vote for option “C”?’ I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

‘But one thing we do know,’ added Toccata, ignoring me, ‘is that we can’t let you out of our sight.’

‘Ah,’ I said; my only plan – running away when their backs were turned, but details not yet worked out – was now tattered and broken. ‘Can I ask a question?’

‘A question?’ said Toccata. ‘Of course – actually, no. Be quiet and do as you’re told or I’ll make good on the tongue-coming-out promise. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’

*   *   *

In less than a minute I was driving Jonesy towards the Siddons in the falling snow, Toccata having elected to stay in the Consulate. The light was muted by the coming storm, and aside from the occasional street light that glowed a yellowy-orange, the sky had an angry blackness about it. I was fifteen minutes away from arrest, and no amount of talking would get me out of the charges that would undoubtedly follow.

‘After all those years we spent together,’ said Jonesy, finally finding something to say as we drove past the wrought-iron gates to the museum, ‘you might have taken me into your confidence. Just shows that even when you pretend to think you know someone, you actually don’t pretend to know them at all.’

‘Can we have a break on the whole invented histories deal?’ I asked.

‘Absolutely not. For one thing the only way through the Winter is continuity, and for the other, I don’t back out of a long and happy make-believe union just when things start getting rocky.’

A squall hit the Sno-Trac and the vehicle seemed to shake down to its smallest rivets. I instinctively throttled back to a slow crawl, and increased the speed of the wipers.

‘This is nasty,’ I said, attempting to distract myself from Birgitta’s impending discovery, ‘a blizzard.’

‘This isn’t a blizzard,’ she replied, ‘this is just crystallised water with a smattering of wind. When you open the door and know that going out is certain death, that’s a blizzard.’

We continued on, the weather steadily worsening until by the time we had pulled up outside the Siddons, the visibility was down to less than ten yards.

‘Are we in a blizzard now?’

‘Nope,’ said Jonesy, ‘but we take precautions as if we were. You’re leading.’