actually,” she answered. “Ludwig found it right out there, poking out of the muck on the bottom of the pond.”
Joy’s eyes lit up. The onyx pen had a gold-plated snake curling around its cap. “Cool!” she exclaimed.
“You like it? You can keep it.”
“Really?”
“Of course! Ludwig fished many such things from the black depths of our backyard. I am glad to be rid of the clutter, frankly.”
“Thank you so much!” said Joy gratefully. She squeezed it to detect the faint hum of its previous owner. Who could have used such a distinctive thing, and how did it end up in a blood-sucking swamp?
“By the way, Madame Portia, how could your husband go diving down there with all those leeches?”
“My dear, leeches are quite unable to chew their way through a scuba suit, try as they might. Ludwig got the occasional one inside his flipper, but other than that, he was fine. In fact, he said there was nothing more delightful than lying on the bottom, looking up at the blue sky through an angry school of the little devils.
“But I must get some plywood to cover it up now. I don’t think I’ll be going for a swim myself any time soon. Oh, you wouldn’t happen to know any licensed divers interested in purchasing a scuba tank and respirator?”
“I don’t think so,” said Joy.
“Well, no matter. I can always put it in the classifieds, although it breaks my heart to do it after what happened. Poor Ludwig drowned, you know, just out front there. One wrong step and—splish!—the world lost one of its last true intellects. If only he’d been wearing his scuba gear at the time!”
Madame Portia became wracked with sobs. The children waited awkwardly, with Joy drawing a blank on anything comforting to say.
“Anyway, don’t mind the rats,” Madame Portia continued finally, wiping her nose with a dingy handkerchief. “They are quite timid, most of the time. They are mainly just interested in getting into the pantry. Speaking of which, I promised you cookies! Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”
Joy and Byron waited, looking nervously for rodents. The sitting room was jammed with cushioned furniture vomiting its stuffing onto the floor. The curved walls were lined with elaborately built bookshelves. They rose over Joy and Byron like cresting waves, crowded with volumes held in place over their heads with leather straps.
“Our library,” said Madame Portia fondly as she returned, carrying a tray with two glasses of milk, a plate, and a box that said chocolate chunks in letters so faded they were barely legible. “Would you believe it, I am completely out of the gingerbread kind!”
Joy scanned the collection of books. Freaks of Nature: A Study of Botanical Abnormality. The Wild World of Wood Lice. The Idiot’s Guide to Being Psychic. “Come, come! Here are the cookies you were clamoring for, children,” Madame Portia said, putting the tray down and pouring out a heap of shattered pieces. Through the corner of his eye, Byron saw a rat bolt across a section of open floor.
“ The Compleat and Collected Works of E. A. Peugeot !” cried Joy, pulling the book out. It was a modern edition with its corners chewed off, but it was otherwise the exact same book she owned.
“Oh, I picked that up at a garage sale a long time ago,” said Madame Portia. “Is it any good? I’d quite forgotten about it, actually.”
“Oh yes!” Joy was beaming. “It’s my favorite book in the whole world. The author, E. A. Peugeot, was a very famous horror writer who actually lived very near to here, you know.” Joy blushed, thinking how her theory had gone down the last time. “At least I think so,” she added with a shrug. “It hasn’t really been proved yet.”
Madame Portia laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. The area has quite a fascinating history, and has been home to more than a few unusual characters, as I know personally. And it’s refreshing to see some Darlington children taking an interest in
Joy’s eyes lit up. The onyx pen had a gold-plated snake curling around its cap. “Cool!” she exclaimed.
“You like it? You can keep it.”
“Really?”
“Of course! Ludwig fished many such things from the black depths of our backyard. I am glad to be rid of the clutter, frankly.”
“Thank you so much!” said Joy gratefully. She squeezed it to detect the faint hum of its previous owner. Who could have used such a distinctive thing, and how did it end up in a blood-sucking swamp?
“By the way, Madame Portia, how could your husband go diving down there with all those leeches?”
“My dear, leeches are quite unable to chew their way through a scuba suit, try as they might. Ludwig got the occasional one inside his flipper, but other than that, he was fine. In fact, he said there was nothing more delightful than lying on the bottom, looking up at the blue sky through an angry school of the little devils.
“But I must get some plywood to cover it up now. I don’t think I’ll be going for a swim myself any time soon. Oh, you wouldn’t happen to know any licensed divers interested in purchasing a scuba tank and respirator?”
“I don’t think so,” said Joy.
“Well, no matter. I can always put it in the classifieds, although it breaks my heart to do it after what happened. Poor Ludwig drowned, you know, just out front there. One wrong step and—splish!—the world lost one of its last true intellects. If only he’d been wearing his scuba gear at the time!”
Madame Portia became wracked with sobs. The children waited awkwardly, with Joy drawing a blank on anything comforting to say.
“Anyway, don’t mind the rats,” Madame Portia continued finally, wiping her nose with a dingy handkerchief. “They are quite timid, most of the time. They are mainly just interested in getting into the pantry. Speaking of which, I promised you cookies! Excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.”
Joy and Byron waited, looking nervously for rodents. The sitting room was jammed with cushioned furniture vomiting its stuffing onto the floor. The curved walls were lined with elaborately built bookshelves. They rose over Joy and Byron like cresting waves, crowded with volumes held in place over their heads with leather straps.
“Our library,” said Madame Portia fondly as she returned, carrying a tray with two glasses of milk, a plate, and a box that said chocolate chunks in letters so faded they were barely legible. “Would you believe it, I am completely out of the gingerbread kind!”
Joy scanned the collection of books. Freaks of Nature: A Study of Botanical Abnormality. The Wild World of Wood Lice. The Idiot’s Guide to Being Psychic. “Come, come! Here are the cookies you were clamoring for, children,” Madame Portia said, putting the tray down and pouring out a heap of shattered pieces. Through the corner of his eye, Byron saw a rat bolt across a section of open floor.
“ The Compleat and Collected Works of E. A. Peugeot !” cried Joy, pulling the book out. It was a modern edition with its corners chewed off, but it was otherwise the exact same book she owned.
“Oh, I picked that up at a garage sale a long time ago,” said Madame Portia. “Is it any good? I’d quite forgotten about it, actually.”
“Oh yes!” Joy was beaming. “It’s my favorite book in the whole world. The author, E. A. Peugeot, was a very famous horror writer who actually lived very near to here, you know.” Joy blushed, thinking how her theory had gone down the last time. “At least I think so,” she added with a shrug. “It hasn’t really been proved yet.”
Madame Portia laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. The area has quite a fascinating history, and has been home to more than a few unusual characters, as I know personally. And it’s refreshing to see some Darlington children taking an interest in
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