happened?
“Of course I’m here,” a quiet voice replies.
I yank the shell away from me.
I didn’t hear that!
Glance around. Not a soul. With a trembling hand, I lift the shell again. “Did you say something?”
“Smart girl.”
I almost drop it.
“Wh-who are you?”
“Not important.”
“Not
important
?”
“Just wind in an empty shell.”
The voice is like my own, a bit lower, with a ragged undertone, as if it came from a cavern. Is it my imagination? This reminds me of Elwyn, my little lobster friend. Everyone thought I was imagining
him
speaking to me.
But he
was
speaking. Wasn’t he?
I turn the shell around. Examine all angles. This has got to be a trick. I’m used to magic tricks and good at figuring them out.
“Do you know who I am?” I say finally.
No answer.
“I said, do you know—?”
“You’re a lonely girl who can use someone to talk to.”
I forget to breathe.
“You don’t suppose I talk to every beachcomber who comes along,” it continues.
I don’t know
what
to suppose. Instead, I jump to my biggest question: “Do you know Elwyn?”
No reply.
“Elwyn?” I ask again. “He’s a lobster.”
“Different family entirely.”
“Well, I know that, but I just thought—”
There’s a brief gusty sound, suspiciously like a sigh. “You’d better take me with you. I have a feeling you’re going to need me.”
“One more question?”
“What?”
“Are you, you know, empty?”
“Am I what?”
“Isn’t there generally a mollusk or something…?”
“You really need to know this?”
“I’d
like
to know.”
“I asked her to leave.”
“Oh.”
“You can’t get a decent echo with some fat old mollusk crawling about.”
“I suppose not.”
“Now,” the voice goes on, “you should hurry. Your uncle is not the most patient of men.”
“Right.” Stomach rumbling—nerves again—I tuck the shell under my arm and climb the rocks to the seawall.
Not the most patient of men
. No, I wouldn’t say he was.
Well, who cares? What can he do?
Today, for the first time in weeks, I can enter through the labyrinth. The renovation is finished, or so the pantry maid told me. Let’s see what this fancy new maze looks like.
Asa has been secretive about it, not only fixing the machinery, but (I see now) rearranging the whole place—new walls, blind alleys I didn’t know about, even a pit filled with what looks like quicksand. He also added several large topiary animals—a hedge in the shape of a wolf, another in the shape of a bear rearing up on hind legs.
I stop, uncertain. I’m not used to feeling lost.
Ah, two hedges away, the gardener stands on a high ladder, clipping one of the taller plantings into a giraffe. He’ll know the way.
But I can’t ask.
Miss Thummel wants me to show her how to get into her own house
.
“Need help?”
The voice is close by.
I peer around a hedge. Nothing but a thornbush with needlelike spines. “Who’s there?”
“Who do you think?” says the voice.
I stare at the conch.
“Stay to the left,” it says. “Take the second turning.”
“How do you—?” I stop myself and do what I’m told.
The path leads to a blind alley.
Before I can say anything: “See that pointed stone? Be a dear and give it a half turn to the right.”
Again, I obey. With a loud creak, the hedge opens outward.
“He’ll have to put some oil on that,” says the voice in the shell. “Now just go ahead, turn right, and you’re home.”
“Wait!” I say, stopping where I am. “How do you know these things?”
“Not important.”
“I’m not taking another step until you tell me.”
“Oh my. You’re scaring me.”
My eyes narrow. “Listen. The labyrinth was just finished today. You weren’t anywhere near it.”
“Wasn’t I?”
I look around. The gardener on his ladder is looking at me oddly.
I lower my voice. “You couldn’t be.”
“Don’t confuse me with the house I live in. I don’t confuse you with
“Of course I’m here,” a quiet voice replies.
I yank the shell away from me.
I didn’t hear that!
Glance around. Not a soul. With a trembling hand, I lift the shell again. “Did you say something?”
“Smart girl.”
I almost drop it.
“Wh-who are you?”
“Not important.”
“Not
important
?”
“Just wind in an empty shell.”
The voice is like my own, a bit lower, with a ragged undertone, as if it came from a cavern. Is it my imagination? This reminds me of Elwyn, my little lobster friend. Everyone thought I was imagining
him
speaking to me.
But he
was
speaking. Wasn’t he?
I turn the shell around. Examine all angles. This has got to be a trick. I’m used to magic tricks and good at figuring them out.
“Do you know who I am?” I say finally.
No answer.
“I said, do you know—?”
“You’re a lonely girl who can use someone to talk to.”
I forget to breathe.
“You don’t suppose I talk to every beachcomber who comes along,” it continues.
I don’t know
what
to suppose. Instead, I jump to my biggest question: “Do you know Elwyn?”
No reply.
“Elwyn?” I ask again. “He’s a lobster.”
“Different family entirely.”
“Well, I know that, but I just thought—”
There’s a brief gusty sound, suspiciously like a sigh. “You’d better take me with you. I have a feeling you’re going to need me.”
“One more question?”
“What?”
“Are you, you know, empty?”
“Am I what?”
“Isn’t there generally a mollusk or something…?”
“You really need to know this?”
“I’d
like
to know.”
“I asked her to leave.”
“Oh.”
“You can’t get a decent echo with some fat old mollusk crawling about.”
“I suppose not.”
“Now,” the voice goes on, “you should hurry. Your uncle is not the most patient of men.”
“Right.” Stomach rumbling—nerves again—I tuck the shell under my arm and climb the rocks to the seawall.
Not the most patient of men
. No, I wouldn’t say he was.
Well, who cares? What can he do?
Today, for the first time in weeks, I can enter through the labyrinth. The renovation is finished, or so the pantry maid told me. Let’s see what this fancy new maze looks like.
Asa has been secretive about it, not only fixing the machinery, but (I see now) rearranging the whole place—new walls, blind alleys I didn’t know about, even a pit filled with what looks like quicksand. He also added several large topiary animals—a hedge in the shape of a wolf, another in the shape of a bear rearing up on hind legs.
I stop, uncertain. I’m not used to feeling lost.
Ah, two hedges away, the gardener stands on a high ladder, clipping one of the taller plantings into a giraffe. He’ll know the way.
But I can’t ask.
Miss Thummel wants me to show her how to get into her own house
.
“Need help?”
The voice is close by.
I peer around a hedge. Nothing but a thornbush with needlelike spines. “Who’s there?”
“Who do you think?” says the voice.
I stare at the conch.
“Stay to the left,” it says. “Take the second turning.”
“How do you—?” I stop myself and do what I’m told.
The path leads to a blind alley.
Before I can say anything: “See that pointed stone? Be a dear and give it a half turn to the right.”
Again, I obey. With a loud creak, the hedge opens outward.
“He’ll have to put some oil on that,” says the voice in the shell. “Now just go ahead, turn right, and you’re home.”
“Wait!” I say, stopping where I am. “How do you know these things?”
“Not important.”
“I’m not taking another step until you tell me.”
“Oh my. You’re scaring me.”
My eyes narrow. “Listen. The labyrinth was just finished today. You weren’t anywhere near it.”
“Wasn’t I?”
I look around. The gardener on his ladder is looking at me oddly.
I lower my voice. “You couldn’t be.”
“Don’t confuse me with the house I live in. I don’t confuse you with
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