Locating Monsieur Blanc’s butcher’s shop was proving mighty difficult. Slowly, methodically, we worked our way through the streets. Although thankfully the mist had thinned in places, the lighting was still poor and I had to lean precariously out of the sidecar in order to read the shop signs. It was now late evening and most shops were shuttered or had their blinds drawn. I looked to my right, while Loki peered left. Pausing at a junction, he leaned over in my direction and said, ‘Can’t we ask for directions, Finn? This is impossible.’ ‘No. We’ll keep looking,’ I replied, worried that talking to anyone might create a mighty deep hole for us, not to mention Monsieur Blanc. In any event, the suburbs were pretty deserted, with little traffic and few people wandering the streets. That all changed as we drove deeper into town. The roads narrowed and the buildings took on a medieval feel. I realized Rochefort had been here for centuries. The ancient stone buildings of the old town were crammed together.
