I poured some more coffee. I hadn’t burned myself, of course. I had simply covered up the tattoo on the back of my hand that read JENNY IS A MINDWORM so that Landen didn’t see it and go off on a furious rant. What was confusing to me was that I was the one with the warning tattoo—it would have made more sense on Landen’s hand.

“I’d better make sure Jenny is ready for school,” he said, rising.

“She’s ready,” I said, “and . . . just doing her homework. I’ll ensure that Tuesday looks after her on the bus in.”

I repeated the instructions to Tuesday in case Landen was within earshot, and Tuesday acted out her part by saying something to Jenny. I let Tuesday out of the security gate, made sure she was safe onto the school bus, then returned inside. The Wingco was in the kitchen when I got back.

“Was that Imaginary Childhood Friend of any use?” I asked. “Mr. Snuffles? Not really,” admitted the Wingco. “The trouble with ICFs is that they are invented by children and so don’t have a large vocabulary or sophisticated worldview. It’s an ongoing problem—most of the time we talk about sibling rivalry, the price of sweeties and how repulsive spinach is. Still, I’ll keep at it. Oh, I managed to get some information.”

“And?”

“Tresco Supermax was tricky to begin with, but I said I was working for you and eventually got through to Records.”

“And?”

“Aornis never arrived. They raised the alarm when the prisoner was two hours overdue. The police were called, then SO-5, and that was it.”

“Okay,” I said, pinning a large map of southern England on the kitchen wall and drawing a red circle around Swindon with a felt pen. “She left here at one-fifteen P.M. on the second July, 2002 and was being driven toward Cornwall, but she never made it. Have you called Land’s End International? She would have been flown out of there to Tresco.”

“I’ve got the operations manager calling me back.”

“Anything on Highsmith and Quinn, the guards?” I asked.

The Wingco consulted his notes.

“Quinn died six months ago in a car accident when she ran a red light into the path of a bus. Highsmith quit the prison service after losing Aornis. They were chosen for Aornis duty as they were both completely deaf.”

“They think she used speech to manipulate memories?”

“Apparently.”

“They know nothing about her,” I said with a sigh.

The Wingco handed me a Post-it with Highsmith’s address on it, and I thanked him.

“Someone named John Duffy called,” he added.

“Yes?”

“He’s your personal assistant at the library and wanted to know when you would be starting work. Apparently they have a lot of ‘pressing issues.’”

“So do I.”