It sounded like it was the start of a long night.

“... Kosher?” Christopher said as Simon pressed an ear to the door, with that smarmy faux-nice voice he used to address him in. “You are too kind. We are on holiday – live a little!”

“I came here to sleep like the dead,” the other voice deadpanned, and there was something about the emphasis that immediately marked him as foreign.

“I came here to live like I’ll die tomorrow!” a new voice laughed, definitely not from the York area but still sounding quite English.

There was a hollow pop, and the sound of pouring.


Some time later, after more and more people had filtered in, there were footsteps down the hall. There was fumbling with the door, before it easily opened.

Zechariah, face flushed and down to a shirt, vest and tie, blinked slowly. This did not look like the toilet. He squinted.

“Sorry, wrong –...” he trailed off, and squinted again. “Wait. Samuel, right?”