I see Q in the yard outside, chopping wood on a block. He doesn’t look strong enough to hoist a book over his head, let alone an axe, but, like so much else in Blackthorn Manor, his appearance is deceptive. He splits open a log with a single, powerful strike, then tosses the pieces onto the small pile beside him. It never occurred to me until this moment that chopping wood while wearing a tattered wool relic of an opera cloak might be considered odd.

