I considered quickly. The currency used on Salay was the Aubracian talent, but the rate of exchange between the talent and the thaler was notoriously poor.

‘Into simoleons, please,’ I said. This was the currency used for general trade across the Dream Archipelago. It was the accepted currency within the publishing industry. All my book contracts were drawn up using simoleon amounts and rates, and the literary agent invariably sent me payment in that currency. I was used to it, knew instinctively what it was worth.

The simoleon was the old standard currency. It had been in use for centuries when most of the main clearing banks were established on the island of Muriseay, but in recent years, because of the flourishing finance sector on Salay Raba, the Aubracian talent had become the new standard for banking and trade. As a result the simoleon had evolved in effect into a virtual currency. I had never seen an actual simoleon banknote or coin – nor had anyone else I knew who used them. It was accepted as a universal legal tender, but only a handful of the more remote islands were thought to still use it as practical money.

The thaler, which also originated from Muriseay, was now seen as the currency for big businesses and high spenders. The fact that this hotel defaulted to the thaler was a clue to the status and wealth of the regular clientele.

The receptionist slipped the original account into a shredder, and moments later a new version came smoothly out of the printer. She turned it around and slid it across the desk to me.

The sums of money were now at least comprehensible, roughly understandable in comparison with the prices of other expenses that I might have to bear. The first price on the list, for instance, the overnight use of the room, was approximately three times what I had ever paid before, in any other hotel anywhere.

I said: ‘My booking was made on my behalf by Dearth University. The Historical and Literary Society. Could you tell me, please, how much of this will be covered by them?’

She looked at her computer monitor, typed something. Still looking at the screen she said: ‘That’s correct, citizen sir. The information we have here is that the room was booked for you by the Revisionist History Department at Dearth University. A Professor S. Wendow. Is that name familiar to you?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘The arrangement as set out by Professor Wendow is that the university will cover the cost of the room, and a two course dinner without drinks. Breakfast is not included. The instruction we have is that you will settle the full amount on departure, and the university will reimburse you in due course.’

‘But I thought the account had been paid in advance—’

‘No, sir. If you have a bank card I can finalize the account immediately.’