I nodded. ‘Yep. They seem to like working as a team.’ And then, because I couldn’t help myself, ‘Unlike you.’

Tipsania sneered at me. ‘What would you know about it?’

‘Nothing apparently.’

‘You think you’re pretty amazing, don’t you? Swanning around like you’re better than the rest of us. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be part of a Clan and to have responsibilities.’

‘No,’ I said softly, ‘I don’t. Maybe that’s because you wouldn’t let me.’

‘Just because my father took you in as a charity case, doesn’t mean you were ever a Scrymgeour,’ she spat. She threw me a glare that Medusa herself would have been proud of. ‘Screw you, Integrity.’ With that, she edged away from me onto the ice.

I watched her. She’d barely taken three steps when there was an ominous creaking sound. In one lithe movement she sprang back. In a reflex action, I grabbed her arm to steady her. She snatched away and glowered. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Are you afraid you’ll catch something?’ I inquired. ‘It’ll be like things between us have come full circle then.’ I paused. ‘Scurvy.’

She gave me a blank look. ‘Eh?’

I grinned. ‘Never mind.’

‘I’m going around,’ Tipsania announced. She started walking off. ‘Don’t you dare follow me!’

‘I don’t have to follow you,’ I called after her. ‘I was in the last group to set off – that means I’m already three hours ahead of you.’

She didn’t answer; she didn’t even look back. I shrugged. If Tipsania was going left round the frozen loch, then I’d go right. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her.

Before long Tipsania had disappeared. I was tempted to run round the loch but it was fairly large and there was an odd prickling sensation running down my spine that suggested this challenge couldn’t be that easy. Conserving energy seemed sensible. It had been a clear day, so it should have been a clear night but I couldn’t see the stars or moon. That didn’t make any sense. Even the air around me tasted artificial. No doubt the Carnegies had more up their sleeve than simply making the competitors run around the countryside for a bit.

When there was a sudden whooshing noise and a row of flags at the far end of the loch was illuminated by several dozen flickering fires, I knew I was right. The finishing line was right behind them.

I slowed down and eyed the flags warily. This was a common trick used by museums and art galleries around the world: beam lights onto your most valuable object and draw moths to it like a flame. It worked for the general public during visiting hours and, in theory, worked for sticky fingers like mine. But I wasn’t an inexperienced thief and I knew that whatever was most brightly lit was usually an elaborate fake or a ploy to keep would-be thieves away from more profitable items. The Carnegie organisers weren’t stupid, they just lacked originality.