At the moment Joel has his production facility down in Spain where he employs five people full-time. They breed new strains and produce seed to sell, mainly to hobby growers all over the world. He’s done well out of it; I’m pretty sure he’s already on his way to being a millionaire. But he’s clearly got a much bigger vision. One I could be part of.

We talk some more before I finally decide to call it a night.

Just as I’m leaving Joel takes a few more buds out, slips them in a bag and hands it over.

‘This’ll help,’ he says. ‘With your decision.’

On the way back I think about the message from Sabine. I gave her my number, not really expecting anything. It takes me most of the walk back to my houseboat to decide that I am going to text her back. My phone’s battery has other ideas, though; it’s fully dead. Having no power in the houseboat means I can’t charge it up now, so I’ll have to text her tomorrow.

As for Joel’s proposal, that’s going to take a little longer to respond to. Despite the coolness of the night, intensified by being on the water, I take out one of the white buds only to find my vape has gone the way of my phone. I don’t know why people are so afraid of technology rising up to take over mankind: Skynet initiating nuclear war to clean the planet of the human virus, marching armies of robots strafing us with lasers as they crunch over the burnt-out husks of our civilization. What’ll really happen is that technology will run out of battery once we’ve delegated everything over to them, leaving us in a kind of helpless chaos. Mankind’s more likely to become extinct poking each other’s eyes out with sticks over the last pack of triple-A batteries, than fighting robot overlords. At least in my view. Though I have to concede it could be the Skywalker talking.

I’m looking for rolling papers when I pass the letter on the table, now highlighted in a round beam from the street light streaming through the porthole. It’s glowing orange and spots of dark blood dapple the surface like mould. I get a pen and stand over it, almost like I’m watching someone else, waiting to see what they’ll do. The pen’s rolling back and forth between my thumb and forefinger, the ridges hard. I think about Klaasen, about what Jansen had said. I think about Joel and Sabine and before I can stop myself I think of Tanya. I think of the black wolf. A snarl, the flash of teeth. Eyes glowing amber.

And then, the night deep and full and momentous all around me, I reach down and sign my name, the scratching nib the only sound I hear.