I wake with a start.
It’s freezing now. As I sit up and rub the feeling back into my arms, I stare into the thick fog and listen. The branches creaking above me, the faint guttering of flame in the lights, is all I hear.
Greg must’ve already passed by then, if the lamps are lit. In the fog he didn’t even see me, so he didn’t wake me up. How long was I out? Hours probably.
The bus.
I hope I didn’t miss it. Much as I like to doze off at work, I’d hate to be forced to spend the night here. After eight even the inn closes, and the only place I have a key for is the stables. God, the last thing I want to do is lie down with the horses. I might be a re-enactor and I might take my history seriously, but I have to draw the line somewhere.
I stretch as I stand and when I walk, my shoes ring of
