Wulfric Walker, Warden of the Church Roads and dandiest of dandies, sat quietly at the table furthest from the bar in the Dew Drop Inn, New Cross Gate. In front of him was a steak sandwich and a glass of orange juice, two ice cubes were vying for supremacy on its surface, and tiny bubbles were racing to their oblivion from the bottom of the glass, each time one popped and disappeared. Wulfric fancied that he heard each bubble give out a defiant, rebellious cry.
Wulfric had been up for 48 hours straight, and he was tired. Hence the preoccupation with bubbles and orange juice. He wolfed the steak sandwich down; he even ate the obligatory salad on the side of the plate as well. Then, after eating the stale crisps that came with his lunch – gratis, he asked for another, without the salad this
