I fed the dead woman half a dozen custard creams and she mercifully dropped off into Torpor, a welcome relief. I got up to stretch my legs and walked to the end of the carriage, where I found Moody. He was staring out of the window, deep in thought, and looked up when I stopped next to him.

‘I need to give you this,’ I said, handing him a piece of paper outlining the nature of the Debt I’d promised: who it was to, the date and my signature.

‘Tidy,’ he said, placing it in his top pocket. ‘Join me?’

I sat in a position from where I would be able to see if Mrs Tiffen went walkies or tried to chew the seats.

‘How did you get the Vacant back?’ asked Moody.

‘Just good old-fashioned grit, I guess.’

‘No, seriously,’ said Moody, who’d figured me out well, ‘how did you get her back?’

‘Aurora stepped in and saved the day.’

‘That figures,’ said Moody. ‘It also means you owe her. It’s not a good habit to get into during the Winter, owing people stuff.’

‘I owe you,’ I said.

‘True,’ he said, ‘and even that’s not to your best advantage. You heading back home once you’ve dropped off your nightwalker?’

‘Once I’ve spoken to Toccata about viral dreams.’

Moody jumped visibly and looked around the carriage. He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

‘I can tell you something about viral dreams,’ he said, ‘but later, privately. I’ll be in the Wincarnis. Easy to find – on the main square. Watch out for HiberTech, too. All that “Saviour of Humankind” stuff is utter tosh – HiberTech are in it only for the cash. Don Hector was always generally true to his ideals, but the others soon took his dream and turned it into a nightmare. And Project Lazarus will just make the whole thing worse.’

‘What is Project Lazarus?’

‘I’ll tell what little I know at the Wincarnis later. But be careful in Sector Twelve: there’s something contrary about it.’

‘Contrary?’

‘Unusual. Spooky. Y’know all those weird Winter legends and fables you hear about when you’re a kid? The Wintervolk?’

I knew exactly what he meant, and I’d been fascinated by them for years, not just by their oddness, but by their variety: from the Thermalovaurs that fed off your heat, to the Winter Sirens who called you from your bed with the promise of song and dance and dreamy bundles but left you dead of exhaustion and spent of all moisture. Of the Tonttu or little people, who crept into your room at night to steal your teeth, and cash, and toes. Also the Chancer, who could walk through walls and fed off your fat as you slumbered, leaving you an empty bag of bones, and the Gizmo that crept into your ear and laid eggs that hatched into worms that fed off your dreams.