‘Oh, yes,’ said Goodnight, turning back to us, ‘were there any changes?’

‘Changes in what?’

‘In her,’ snapped Goodnight, pointing towards the dead woman. ‘Changes in behaviour. Her playing, her demeanour. Got worse, got better, more fractious, less fractious, what?’

‘She used to only play “Help Yourself” but now she only plays “Delilah”. Is that normal?’

‘It’s not unusual. And we’re done. HiberTech thanks you.’

And so saying, Goodnight took the dead woman by the arm and steered her off down one of the corridors towards the cells. Tellingly and chillingly, without the bouzouki. At the same time, Lucy led me back towards the exit, and once aboard the golf cart, we were off again in as reckless a manner as before. We tore along the edge of the quad, the gardens within so wild and tall and overgrown that it was difficult to see the facility on the other side.

‘Used to be carefully manicured when Don Hector first arrived here,’ said Lucy, following my gaze, ‘miles of gravel paths among a variety of trees and manicured borders, it’s said. A restful place for patients to wander. There’s a waterfall known as the Witches’ Pool, hothouses – even a grotto, a bandstand and a temple to Morpheus. All overgrown now.’

We passed back into the warmth through the double doors, the tyres squealing on the polished linoleum flooring.

‘Don’t you find all that redeployed stuff a little creepy?’ I asked.

‘It’s challenging,’ she confessed, ‘but the possibility of actually having a usable workforce with a potential eight-and-a-half-million work-hours of productivity shouldn’t be sniffed at. Imagine having the redeployed skilled enough to work in factories – the price of goods would fall dramatically.’

‘And Morphenox-B?’ I asked.

‘For roll-out next Summer, and for everyone. It’ll be a game changer – but you didn’t hear that from me.’

She smiled, raised her eyebrows and commanded the golf-cart driver to stop.

He stopped obediently, and Lucy climbed out at the pharmaceutical manufacturing department.

‘Are you heading straight back?’ she asked. ‘From what I’ve heard, you really don’t want to get mixed up with the Consuls in Sector Twelve.’

‘Straight home once I’ve seen someone.’

I climbed out of the cart so we could hug.

‘May the Spring embrace you,’ I said.

‘And embrace you, too. See you next Fat Thursday. I’ll save you a burger.’

I climbed back on board, Lucy shouted ‘Reception’ to the driver, and we lurched off once more. Pretty soon Lucy’s form was lost from sight behind a corner and we carried on in the direction of reception in as dangerous a fashion as before.