Jerry Hard stood hunched over the fireplace in his bedroom, vainly trying to warm himself up. The fire, lit by a cost-conscious Scottish butler, was far too small.
Jerry Hard's bedroom required a fucking bonfire to heat. It was big, it had two large single-pane windows, and most importantly it was stone. It was located in the southern wing of Moran Castle, with maximum exposure to the sun. But sun rarely shone in that part of the world, at this time of the year.
Moran Castle had been built on Scotland's western coast almost eight centuries earlier. It was located well away from routes used by invading armies; sadly, it had escaped being sieged and hopefully damaged badly enough to necessitate reconstruction work.