‘Tell Jack about your D minus in General Skills, Worthing,’ said Mother Fallopia, who had not yet given up on her efforts to torpedo my interview.

‘It was a D plus, actually,’ I said, then added: ‘Not that it makes much difference.’

‘I don’t rely so much on exam results,’ said Logan before I could go on. ‘I was bottom of the class myself. I’m actually after someone with a good memory.’

This was more interesting.

‘I came second in the Swansea Town Memory Bee with six hundred and forty-eight random words memorised after only two readings,’ I said with a certain degree of pride. It was a record that was still the third highest in the town. Sister Zygotia wanted me to go to the South Wales regionals, but I’m not really that fond of people staring at me.

‘Did you know this?’ asked Logan, looking pointedly at Mother Fallopia.

‘It must have slipped my mind,’ she said, ‘and I never expected Worthing to be so utterly ungrateful as to apply.’

Logan nodded and looked back at me.

‘I need a new Novice with a good memory to train up. Good career path. Exciting too. Lots of challenges. Bit of cash, extra pudding. Medium to high risk of death.’

‘What was the last bit again?’

‘Extra pudding.’

‘And after that?’

‘Coffee and mints?’

‘I meant on your list.’

‘Oh – medium to high risk of death.’

‘I see,’ I said, ‘and how’s your last Novice doing?’

‘She’s doing pretty good.’

‘She’s not,’ said Mother Fallopia, arms folded, ‘she’s currently in an asylum, shouting at the walls.’

‘About what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Logan. ‘Ants or Lloyd-George or buttons or something.’

‘And the one before that?’

It was Mother Fallopia who answered.

‘They returned her body but without the head.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Logan reflectively, ‘a little mean-spirited, I thought.’

‘Nightwalkers?’

‘Villains.’

Villains generally lived out on the edge of the ice-fields and often raided nearby towns for pantry and domestic servants. They traded in mammoths as beasts of burden, and dabbled in the stock market, with moderate success. They had their own code of conduct based around ice and honour and good manners and afternoon tea, and would happily kill someone if they disagreed with them – but would often write an apologetic note to the next of kin afterwards. ‘Manners,’ they were known to say, ‘cost nothing.’

‘I know I shouldn’t ask this,’ I said, ‘but why did they return her without her head?’

He shrugged.

‘Do you know, I’m not altogether sure. We could have asked them once we’d tracked them down, but I wasn’t in the talking mood, and, well, it probably wouldn’t have affected the outcome. You shouldn’t let these small details put you off. Still want in?’

I looked at Mother Fallopia.

‘Surprisingly, yes.’

‘Okay, then. There’s a test and it starts right now.’

There was a pause.