“WHEN I FOUND OUT who you were, Violet Parma, I thought your arrival might mean trouble for this town. But I never thought vandalism would be the problem. Why on earth are you breaking windows in my museum?”
We’re sitting in Dr Thalassi’s study, behind tall glass windows that look over the main hall of the museum. From here, the exhibits beyond are nothing but strange skeleton shapes. The only light comes from a paraffin lamp that hisses on the desk. The doctor had this with him when he found us crouching in shock on the ramparts. The folded umbrella he brandished as a weapon is on the desk too, like a polite threat.
“It wasn’t me,” protests Violet. “I didn’t break anything. It was…”
“I’m listening,” says the doctor, one thick black eyebrow raised at us.
Vi looks at me. I shrug back. After all, what did we see?
I clear my throat, and hope that the little pieces of sticking plaster on my face don’t look too ridiculous.
“As official Lost-and-Founder at the Grand Nautilus Hotel, I hope you don’t imagine for one moment that I, or my associate here, would break your windows for fun, Doctor Thalassi—”
“You can drop the posh voice, Herbie,” interrupts the doc, lowering both eyebrows into a single monster caterpillar of hair. “It won’t work on me.”
I deflate.
“But it wasn’t us,” says Vi. “It really wasn’t.”
Dr Thalassi looks at us both in turn. Then he nods. He lifts the umbrella off the desk and drops it into a brass stand near by.
“I know it wasn’t,” he says after a moment. “The glass is all on the outside. Whoever broke that window was already inside the museum.”
“Ow, it’s starting to hurt,” says Violet, clutching her cheek. The doctor has already given her a wad of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant to hold against it. The cotton wool is pink with blood.
“Let me see,” says the doctor. He gets to his feet and allows his specs to drop down onto his nose as he peers at the wound.
“This wasn’t done by glass,” he says. “It looks for all the world like something scratched you. Something big.”
Vi and I exchange glances again. But there doesn’t seem to be any point beating around this particular supernatural bush.
“Dr Thalassi,” says Vi. “Do you believe in the malamander?”
The doctor sits back, making his chair creak, and places his fingertips together in a steeple. Since he’s also wearing a swirly dressing gown, he reminds me for a moment of Sherlock Holmes.
“Interesting question,” he says. “A legendary aquatic creature, entirely unknown to science, that is rumoured to haunt these shores and which is occasionally sighted by the townsfolk as they roll home from the pub at midnight. And for which there isn’t a shred of evidence, I might add. Do you think this is something I should believe in?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds silly,” says Violet. “But what about Mrs Fossil’s arm? You said yourself she’d been bitten. The curve of that bite was right across her forearm and hand. Surely that was done by something big too. Isn’t that evidence?”
“Hmm.” The doctor narrows his eyes. “Let’s say for a moment I do believe. Or let’s say, at least, that I believe it is possible, which is not quite the same thing. Why would such a creature be inside my museum, behind locked doors, at night?”
“It might,” says Violet, meeting his gaze, “if it was looking for something.”
The doctor’s eyebrow slowly creeps up again.
Violet pulls out her book and lays it on the desk in front of her. From where I sit, I can see the word Malamander written across the sea-green cover in faded silver letters.
“When I was given this book by the mermonkey, I thought it was just a story. Just a local legend. But since then, I’ve seen things – twice now – which I can’t explain. And I’ve found things out, too. Like the fact that my dad believed the creature described in this book is real. And if it is real, then what about other things in the book?”
“What other things?” says the doc.
“I think you know.”
Dr Thalassi stares at Violet. Then he puts one hand into his dressing gown pocket and pulls something out. He places it gently on the desk between us. It’s roughly the size and shape of a very large egg, ruby-red in colour, and glows faintly in the light of the lamp.
“The malamander egg,” says Violet, in a whisper.
“Or,” says the doctor, “a piece of harmless red sea glass, found by Mrs Fossil, which just happens to be egg-shaped. Which is a great deal more likely, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But if it’s just that,” I say, “why do you want it?”
The doc smiles. He picks up the paraffin lamp and moves it across his desk. The egg-shaped glass lump, or whatever it is, glows brighter and fiercer as the lamp approaches, then fainter again as it moves away.
Like a winking red star.
“You were trying to lure it here!” Vi cries. “Up in your tower, shining that red light. You were trying to lure the malamander!”
“If,” says the doc, raising a finger, “and it’s still a big ‘if’, the malamander is real, then it bit Mrs Fossil for a reason. Maybe it mistook this piece of red glass for something else, if only for a moment. That is a hypothesis that can only be tested by experiment…”
“But it’s a monster!”
“By experiment,” the doc insists, “to gather evidence.”
“An experiment that just slashed off half of Vi’s face!” I blurt out. “Is that evidence enough for you?”
OK, the half-a-face thing is a teensy bit of an exaggeration, but the doc sighs and has the decency to look sheepish anyway. His eyebrows flock from one side of his forehead to the other.
“Don’t forget, you’re the intruders here, Herbie,” he says eventually, slipping the lump of sea glass back into his pocket. “It was not my intention to cause anyone any harm.”
Awkward silence.
Then the doc changes the subject by reaching out and picking up Violet’s book. “Malamander by Captain K,” he says. “One of the more interesting tales associated with the legend. Jenny told me you were dispensed this. I have a copy myself, of course – only mine doesn’t have seaweed stains on it. Have you finished reading it yet?”
Violet says nothing, so I pipe up. “I haven’t read any of it, Doc. Though I’m beginning to think I should.”
“Everyone who lives in Eerie-on-Sea should read this book, Herbie,” says Dr Thalassi, waggling it at me.
“I’ll add it to my to-do list. In the meantime, could you give me the nutshell version, please, Doc? I don’t mind spoilers.”
Dr Thalassi leans back in his chair again. The paraffin lamp hisses softly on his desk, making the shadows dance in the room. “Very well,” he says.
