“A man gets in his car,” said Parthenios Lilt, perched on the edge of his desk. “It’s night. The drive home is going to take him an hour. His favourite TV show starts in forty minutes. He starts driving. He goes a little faster than he really should. It starts to rain. His windscreen wipers aren’t that great. The road is slippery. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept well. He’s thinking about an argument he’s had with his boss. He gets to a sharp bend. He skids and crashes. What caused the accident?”

The class was silent. Lilt looked around, eyebrow raised expectantly. After a few moments, Megan Epithet put up her hand.

“He’s never heard of the Internet?”

Lilt frowned. “Sorry?”

“He can watch his show online whenever he wants,” Megan said. “He doesn’t have to hurry.”

“Ah,” said Lilt. “No, I think you’re missing the point a little.”

“The sharp bend,” said Never. “If it’d been a straight road, he wouldn’t have had to turn and he wouldn’t have crashed.”

“But he’s taken that bend every day for twenty years and he hasn’t crashed before tonight. Can you really say the bend is the problem?”

“The rain,” said someone else.

“The speed,” said another.

Lilt held up his hand. “I’ll put you all out of your misery. There is no one thing that caused the accident. It’s a combination of things. Each factor, on its own, didn’t make him crash. But put together … the crash looks inevitable. And so it was for World War Two. Reparations. The rise of nationalism. Appeasement. Europe’s reluctance to—”

The door opened and Jenan stepped in. Lilt glanced at the clock.

“Three minutes left of class, Mr Ispolin.”

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah’?”

Jenan straightened. “Yes. Sir.”

“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?”

“I was called in to the Principal’s Office.”

Lilt sighed. “Misbehaving again, Jenan? What did you do this time?”

Jenan scowled. “Didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure Mr Rubic invited you in for a friendly chat about the weather.” Lilt waved him to his seat. “Go on, you may as well sit down. Try not to cause any more disruption.”

Jenan went to his desk and Lilt chewed his lip. “Where was I?”

“World War Two,” said Megan.

“Yes, thank you. And what were the Sanctuaries doing during all this escalating tension? Were we getting involved? No? Why not?”

“The Scandza Accord,” Jenan said as he slouched into his chair.

Lilt nodded. “You are on your way to redeeming yourself already, Jenan.”

The thought occurred to Omen that naming Lilt as a suspect was one thing, but if he really wanted Skulduggery and Valkyrie’s approval he’d be better off getting some actual proof. He smiled, liking that idea immensely.

“Can someone remind me what the Scandza Accord is?” Lilt asked. “Omen?”