I perceive Natural Vat as a cross between a classic nineteenth-century mansion and an insane asylum. It is tall and brooding, with worn mauve siding and dull green shingles on its many-peaked roof. The windows are numerous, but small and barred. The whole building is surrounded by a baroque wrought iron fence, decorated with fanciful beasts and the faces of demons. Standard corporate Ice. I stood looking up at it for a moment. Lights flickered on and off inside, and the occasional shadowy figure flitted in silhouette past the windows. Somewhere far away, a dog gave a strange, ululating howl.