My main bag fell on to the frozen pavement, and my computer tote was swinging down from under my arm and across my chest as I stepped, crouching and awkward, from the cab on to the slippery surface. I staggered to regain balance. Wendow reached across to the inner handle of the cab door, and slammed it closed with a forceful movement. The vehicle drove away moments later, while I was still straightening. I could barely glimpse even Wendow’s dark shape through the condensation on the taxi’s windows.

The moment I passed through the hotel’s triple door complex I felt I was back in an understandable world. The doors closed swiftly behind me and streams of warmed air came down from ceiling grilles. The reception area was large and light-filled, soft classical music played unobtrusively. The atmosphere was fresh but overall maintained at a pleasant temperature. Lights were recessed, the carpet was thick piled. Close to a piano on a podium, not being played at that moment, there was a loose, informal arrangement of dozens of armchairs and long settees, clustered beside or around tables. Many groups of people were sitting about in the relaxed atmosphere, talking and drinking. Every table had a small, independent electric fan heater beside it. I could smell the appetizing aroma of well prepared food and saw direction signs to two separate restaurants. The reception desk was a long gentle curve following the back wall of the lobby, and was staffed by two young men and two young women.

I felt huge and disruptive in my heavy outside clothes, but I assumed the staff would be used to people moving in and out through the doors. I began unzipping my bulky padded jacket before I reached the desk and removed my hood. I pushed my protective glasses up my forehead. I felt the strap briefly adhering to the skin of my cheek.

I presented the confirmation booking I had been sent by the Historical Society several weeks earlier. The young man who was attending to me glanced quickly at it, typed something at his keyboard, then looked up at me.

‘Dr Fremde?’

‘Yes.’

‘Welcome to the Dearth Plaza Hotel, Dr Fremde. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us, citizen sir. It is just for one night, I believe? And you are alone?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Is this the first time you have visited Dearth City?’

‘Yes.’

He typed some more, then produced a room card and an electronic key. He wrote the room number on the card, made sure it was the same number he had seen on his monitor, and turned the card around for me to see.

‘You are in Room 627, Dr Fremde. That’s on the sixth floor. The elevators are in the corridor around the corner,’ he added, pointing to the side. ‘Are you familiar with the use of elevators in this city?’

‘I assume so. Presumably—’