        Reaching Trixie’s, she stopped, utterly flummoxed.  No longer the carved oaken edifice it had been, it was a simple wooden door, a thick grille of iron bars at muzzle height, exactly like all the others.  She looked inside, risking a brief flare of light.  There were no chairs, no desk, just rough stone walls and a straw-covered floor.  In the far corner of the room, a huddled shape lay covered with a blanket.