There was a murder that night. 

Enrique Ortega woke up feeling extremely agitated, with the scene still freshin his mind. Once more, his dreams had revealed another victim.

"Have you ever had a nightmare,Jeff?"

They were standing out on thelibrary terrace, far from the tables where the other students were studying.Enrique leaned against the railing, oblivious to the fact it was covered in alayer of dust which would dirty his coat.

"Who? Me?" responded Jeff,turning toward him. He leaned on the railing with his hands and looked sidewaysat Enrique. "I mean . . . sure, we all have nightmaressometimes, Enrik."

But Enrique was not referring tojust any kind of nightmare. 

Enrique stood looking out into the distance, contemplating the skyline, which was dense with buildings. It was just like in his own country – on his world – where winter started in June and the first of the cold winds could already be felt. The only difference was that Albion was in the Northern Hemisphere of Terros, at least according to an encyclopedia that he had perused in Francis' bookstore.