“He’s a bit weird.”

“Well, maybe, but he’s a good man. If you were in trouble, you could turn to Caul. It’s thanks to him we found this place, you know. If he hadn’t escaped from Grimsby and brought us Snori Ulvaeusson’s map…”

“Oh, I know that story,” said Wren. “Anyway, it’s not Caul I was wondering about. I was thinking of the others, back in Grimsby. They were pretty bad, weren’t they?”

Tom shook his head. “Their leader, Uncle, was a nasty bit of work. He made them do bad things. But I think the Lost Boys themselves were a mix of good and bad, just like you’d find anywhere. There was a little chap called Gargle, I remember. He’s the one who saved Caul when Uncle tried to kill him, and gave Caul the map to bring to us.”

“So he was as brave as Caul?”

“In a way, yes.”

“And you met him? How old was he?”

“Oh, only a youngster, as I say,” said her father, thinking back to his brief, frightening time with the Lost Boys. “Nine or ten. Maybe younger.”

Wren felt pleased. If Gargle had been nine when Dad met him, he couldn’t be more than twenty-five now, which wasn’t so very much older than herself. And he was a good person who had helped save Anchorage.

“Why this sudden interest?” her father asked.

“Oh, no reason,” said Wren casually. It felt strange, lying to Dad. He was the person she loved the most in the whole world. He had always treated Wren like a friend, not a child, and she had always told him everything before. She suddenly wanted very much to tell him what had happened on the north shore and ask him what to do. But she couldn’t, could she? It would not be fair to Gargle.

Dad was still looking at her in a puzzled way, so she said, “I just got thinking about them, that’s all.”

“Because they’re Lost?” asked Dad. “Or because they’re Boys?”

“Guess,” said Wren. She finished her oatcake and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to see Tildy. ‘Bye’ ”