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held two fingers up to the barkeep.
    The young man behind the bar was wearing suspenders and a bowtie, a current fashion that Nanook had only seen pictures of in the past. The bartender set down two glasses of a murky, caramel liquid in front of Nanook and Harland.
    “Two Highland Scotches, on me, Mr. Fergusson,” the bartender said. He winked, and wiped his hand on the apron around his waist before he extended it to Nanook. “Eddie Brown, at your service sir,” the bartender said, while he shook Nanook’s hand.
    “Nanook K’eyush, and thank you for the drink, my friend,” Nanook responded genuinely. Sure, he shouldn’t drink too much before he found Isi, Afon, and Jian, but one little Scotch wouldn’t kill him, and it might even help him to wrap his brain around the past that he was currently living in.
    The first drop of the strong liquor that passed Nanook’s lips started a tingling sensation that spread through him, and filled his body with warmth. The alcohol also tickled a craving for the liquid that one part of him truly wanted. Nanook needed blood, and he knew that he had to satisfy the nanobots inside of him … soon.
    But where do I go to get blood here? Whatever time Isi has sent us to, I doubt that there are any hospitals, or laboratories, with blood in storage; no meals ready to eat for me, in this place … Oh God, am I really going to have to kill someone? Maybe an animal could suffice …
    Nanook’s thoughts were interrupted by a tug on his arm.
    “Are you still with us, Mr. K’eyush?” Harland said, his voice rising with concern.
    Nanook nodded, and said, “I’m fine, thank you Mr. Fergusson, it has just been quite awhile since I have tasted a decent Scotch.”
    Like a good bartender, Eddie Brown jumped to Nanook’s rescue with a change of subject. “Speaking of good Scotch, where has your friend Mr. Stoker been lately, Harland? Our stock of the Glenlivet is positively overflowing, in his absence.”
    Harland Fergusson laughed, and turned his attention away from Nanook, to respond to the bartender. “Bram has been a scarce presence lately, Eddie. I think the wife is keeping him under lock and key. Either that, or he’s got himself wrapped up in his writing again. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I was actually planning to stop by his flat later today, and check in on him.”
    “Please send him my best regards, Mr. Fergusson,” the bartender said.
    “Will do, Eddie,” Harland said. “I’m quite sure I’ll have to introduce Bram to Mr. K’eyush, don’t you think? Nanook here has come all the way from India, and good old Bram will probably want to question him incessantly, in his charming way, of course.”
    “Oh, absolutely, Mr. Fergusson,” the bartender said. “Next to a good Scotch, there’s nothing Bram Stoker enjoys more than a good story.”
    Harland laughed and nodded in agreement, but turned his attention back to Nanook, and continued to play the good host.
    “So, do tell us how you found your way to Britain, Mr. K’eyush,” Harland said. “When I encountered you in the street, it looked as if you’d never even seen a trolley before, so I imagine that you must be a very recent arrival?”
    Just as Nanook started to search his brain for some form of believable, but false, reply, a hand grasped his shoulder from behind. He turned around on his barstool and laughed with relief and mirth at the absurd sight of his friend Afon, dressed up like a blond Charlie Chaplin in a bowler hat, and efficaciously carrying a cane. Worse still was Isi, done up in some Victorian dress that looked impossible to walk around in, complicated even more by the pair of tightly tied, high-heeled boots in which she was precariously perched. Jian seemed to have gotten off easy, costume-wise, and stood quietly behind Isi and Afon, wearing a simple black suit.
    “Oh thank God,” Nanook said, and then remembered his new friend and tour guide, “um, Mr. Fergusson, let me introduce you to my