When one frequently writes, as I do, about people breaking into or out of places and/or objects, it pays to do a little practical research.

Rewatching the Indiana Jones and Mummy movies on repeat is not, alas, sufficient (but still recommended), and despite having meant to do so for years at this point I still haven’t invested in a set of lockpicks and one of those transparent practice locks. (I do, however, have a bag full of the old locks from a friend’s house that they replaced when they moved in, so I’ve at least got some materials. Also I can usually crack open those combination key-safes without much difficulty. Don’t ask how I know that.) But when my loveable rogues – whatever flavour they might be, sci-fi or fantasy – are faced with an obstacle, it’s not normally just a lock. I aim higher than that.

If you’ve read any of the Boiling Seas books you’ll have seen me write these scenarios, and you’ll know how much I love a good puzzle. I’ve done whole floors of pressure pads, I’ve done hidden safes and locks – my favourites have to be in The Owl in the Labyrinth, which among other things has a musical combination lock. In my science-fiction worlds I do tend to fall back on technobabble to create equivalent challenges but I base it on fact as much as possible; thank you, father, for introducing me to the concept of a scramble pad at your place of work all those years ago. It’s turning those modern conveniences of security into their fantasy equivalents that’s the most fun, though, especially when real history can lend a hand. Did you know that the Romans had combination locks? Cause they’ve found a couple.

I love coming up with weird ways to challenge my characters. But like I said at the start, I need experience; I need to solve some puzzles to be able to pose them. If only there was a way to do that: to lock myself in a room with an overly complicated exit process.

Oh wait.

I, my wife, and some good friends of ours have been systematically working our way through all the escape rooms we can find for a couple of years now, and loving every one. We thought we’d done everything on offer at our chosen establishment until a few weeks ago when they very kindly opened a new puzzle just for us. (It’s ClueQuest in Kings Cross, if any Londoners are interested; they’re very good escape rooms.) Because we four are a very effective team, and even as I participate I’m making mental notes on the group dynamic, on what everyone does and how they confront different puzzles. What’s easy for one person isn’t for another, and it won’t always be Tal, Max and Lily solving my own puzzles – and even they get stuck, a lot. We divide our efforts wisely, on the whole: my wife and one friend are excellent at finding stuff, at pressing all the buttons and opening all the hidden panels and gathering the scattered puzzle pieces to assemble later; while myself and our other friend will stand with our heads together and methodically work through the mysterious symbol alphabets or connection of many wires. Between us there is no mystery we cannot conquer. We attack these escape rooms without mercy and with maximum whimsy.

Because, as I said, I (and indeed we) love puzzles. We love fitting the pieces, physical or otherwise, together, we love that moment of crystal clarity when the answer comes to you – and we love doing it together even more. Immersing yourself in something you love is always fun, but doing it as a team, sharing in the victory – that’s even better. It would be a far less satisfying story if Tal just did all the lockpicking on the Boiling Seas, after all. The best puzzles to write are the ones where multiple people attack from different angles and with different expertises – when they’re assembling the puzzle of their own different skills in the process of assembling the puzzle itself. And that’s as true in fiction as it is in real life.

And now, as I finish writing this, we’re off to conquer the next room. There are animatronics, apparently. If you see some robots show up in a future Boiling Seas story you’ll know exactly where they came from.