This black water is cold, with galaxies of the foetid silver warmth of the chum. Unnameable things bob and tumble with me in the cave beneath the market square, and colder-bodied nocturnal fish or eels bump against me in their haste to get a meal before larger diners arrive. A few gulls, never shy, are plucking gobbets from the surface, feathers batting at my head as they land and take off.