The man resumed his examination of the bills. I asked Balzac, “Is there anyone else? A cook or a chef or caterer? What do we do about meals?”
“The canteen is stocked with tins of sardines and beans and we hunt rabbits in the tunnels. But I assume you are referring to Tiffin.”
I followed the pair. “Tiffin!” I jumped as the Stenographer had shouted right into my ear. At the far end of the carriage, a man got up and a woman with him. He was walking rather quickly as if he was trying to evade the woman who, as they drew closer, I saw was quite elderly. The woman had an apelike look of bewildered despair and the man was very skinny, his clothes hanging around his body loosely. “State your role,” the Stenographer barked, startling the woman.
“I am a breatharian,” Tiffin said seriously. “I get
