‘Daughter of a dog,’ she said, leaning against the door frame, ‘we thought the Buick was just another Sub-beta recurring night terror. Not actually active. And you said that there was a Mrs Nesbit dream-avatar with The Notable Goodnight’s voice demanding you find the cylinder?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘what does it mean?’

‘It means,’ she murmured, ‘they don’t yet have it.’

She looked at me and thought for a second or two. ‘What room you in?’

I pointed to the other side of the Dormitorium. ‘901.’

‘Who lives next door to you?’

‘On one side, Moody – until he got thumped. The other side is unused.’

‘It won’t be. There’ll be a large box, a flight case or a—’

‘—steamer trunk?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘a steamer trunk would do it. This is what we’re doing: you’re telling no one what you just told me, no one except Toccata. Understand?’

‘I don’t understand at all, but yes, I agree.’

‘Good.’

She pocketed the Polaroid of Birgitta and Charles, then picked up the phone, speed-dialled the Consulate and asked to be put through to the Chief.

‘It’s Jonesy,’ she said after a pause. ‘The Buick dream was active, Wonky has been third-person Don Hector and get this: Webster was given the cylinder – and the nasties over at HiberTech don’t have it yet.’

She listened for a moment, then stared at me.

‘Because Wonky dreamt it – and much else besides.’

There was a pause. Jonesy said we’d be back in half an hour, put the phone down and then turned to me with some urgency.

‘We’re leaving now.’

‘And Birgitta?’

‘I know a safe place she can go; we’ll drop her off on the way. Congratulations: you’ve just been promoted from liability to asset.’

‘Because I harboured Birgitta?’

‘Because you’re dreaming the right dream. Because you’ve been in the Dreamspace, because Aurora thinks she owns you, because you’re going to continue to make her think that. But you’re not, because you’re on our side now.’

‘Which side is that?’

‘The right side. Once we get back to the office, we’ll tell you everything.’

‘You’ll tell me why I’ve been having these dreams?’

‘Everything.’

Thumped

‘ . . . Winter Consuls never really felt comfortable with the Summer. It wasn’t the warmth, thronging masses, or the general sense of euphoria that went with the knowledge that they had cheated the Winter. It was more the sense that come Autumn, when they headed back to their allotted Consulate, they would be facing the darkness, loneliness and the cold and doing it all over again. They loved it  . . . ’

– from Seventeen Winters, by Winter Consul Lance Jones