An inn, of course, was a place you came to at night (not at three o'clock in the afternoon), preferably a rainy nightwind, too, if it could be managed; and it should be situated on a moor (bleak, Kate knew, was the adjective here). And there should be scullions; mine host should be gravy-stained and broad in the beam with a tousled apron pulled across his stomach; and there should be a tall, dark strangerthe one who speaks to nobodywarming thin hands before the fire. And the fire should be a firecrackling and blazing, laid with an impossible size log and roaring its great heart out up the chimney. And there should be some sort of cauldron, Kate felt, somewhere aboutand, perhaps, a couple of mastiffs thrown in for good measure.