There was a small Ghanaian flag on the counter by the cash register this morning. Flint was over by the fire again, reading a book about the history of spices that had been inspired by Supper Club's trip to an Indian restaurant.

(If he was learning the name of the spicy powders to avoid them next time, that was between the book, himself, and his sensitive 1700s stomach.)

The bookshop was open, even if the door was closed.