Freddie May had a perfect memory: total recall. Well, almost. He knew every inch of the school, even the parts that he had never visited. Why? Because he had studied the plans of Templeton Towers, from when it had been built and then subsequently altered, first as a monastery, then as a school for gifted and talented children. Some of the older documents had been framed and hung on the administrative corridor; others he had found and analyzed in the extensive archives. Two of the architect’s largest, and earliest, drawings were now in the conference room, where Freddie, Vanessa, and Camilla, were imprisoned.

‘What the hell are you doing, Freddie. This is no time to be gazing at the wall!’

‘No, it isn’t! We’re about to die and all you can do is look at those bloody dr...

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