In the old woman’s hovel, seated at her warped table, Mr Samuels felt distinctly drowsy. Usually, the morning hours saw Mr Samuels as bright as a button, all his senses at attention, even if the night had been spent out in the field in a ruin. Not that he had ever spent a night quite like that. Plenty out in the field over the years, though, on a stake out or on the hunt or merely in the performance of his duties that required they be carried out from dusk to dawn. Not now. His head crawled through a fog of blurred impressions, none of which settled into any clarity. He could not even be sure if he had indeed thanked the old woman at all. The phrase had sounded in his head but whether it had been formed by his lips was unsure. He thought he heard urgent whispers from the woman and thought
