Mrs Tiffen stopped playing and dropped into the rigid state peculiar to nightwalkers known as Rigor torpis. It was a welcome respite from the playing, and although she could play ‘Help Yourself’ quite well, it was motor memory only – there was nothing in or on her mind at all.

‘That’s a relief,’ said the actor, and for the remainder of the journey she imparted to me some tips about the Winter: primarily to resist borrowing money from bondsmen, shun all contact with anyone of ‘low, questionable or financially-negotiable morals’ and to avoid the drowsies.

‘One moment you’re transfixed by their large eyes and honeyed words and wondering if there is anywhere you’d rather be,’ she told me, ‘and the next you’re paying off the Debt from the hock-house wondering how you could have been so stupid.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

The train slowed as we approached Merthyr, the disused pit-workings silhouetted against the afternoon sky, the streetlights already on. This was as far as we went on the local train; we’d need a transregional fitted with a snowplough to take us ‘over the hump’ to Sector Twelve.

The actor stood up to retrieve her bags from the rack while I smeared a finger-full of peanut butter on the roof of Mrs Tiffen’s mouth to keep her occupied. The actor opened the door to the compartment and stepped down onto the recently gritted platform.

‘Well, good luck with your first season,’ she said. ‘Keep your wits about you, and be prepared in case Hydra comes knocking. Whenever I took on a part, I always made sure I knew the lines of the next one up the ladder. I bagged my first Hamlet that way.’

The Hydra system wasn’t just for actors, it was for all of us. She gave me a Winter hug.

‘May the Spring embrace you.’

‘And embrace you, too.’

*   *   *

‘Who was that?’ asked Logan, who joined Mrs Tiffen and me from where he’d been travelling in first class.

‘I didn’t get her name,’ I said, ‘a thespian readying herself for a Winter tour.’

‘A noble servant of the Winter,’ said Logan, ‘like us. Now listen: we’ve got just over an hour before our connection and I have to go and see someone. I’ll meet you in Mrs Nesbit’s in about fifty minutes. Order me a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea to go.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh, and Worthing?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t lose the Vacant.’