You dream that you're sitting on a flat piece of ship's deck, on a calm sea, under a sky of brilliant stars. Heaped on the deck are piles of sand. You reach down to pick up a handful of the stuff, and find your fingers wound in your bed-sheets instead. You open your eyes. Someone has scratched on the headboard of your bed the single word: NORTH. You can't be sure whether it's your writing. You don't often write on beds.