“That’ll be the Auberon,” I said, craning my neck to see if I could spot Captain Carver in the wheel house. I couldn’t, so I asked Wirthlass to move closer and try to land the Rover on the aft hold cover so I could step aboard. She expertly moved the bus in behind the bridge and gently lowered it onto the boards, which creaked ominously under the weight. The door of the coach hissed opened, and a strong whiff of salty air mixed with coal smoke drifted in. I could feel the rhythmic thump of the engine and the swell of the ocean through the decking. I took my bag and stepped from the Rover, but I hadn’t gone three paces when all of a sudden I realized there was something badly wrong. This ship wasn’t the Auberon, and if that was the case, this book certainly wasn’t Dark and Stormy Night.

“Okay, we’ve got a problem,” I said, turning back to the Rover only to find Dr. Wirthlass standing in the doorway—holding a pistol and smiling.

“Ballocks,” I muttered, which was about as succinct as I could be, given the sudden change of circumstance.

“Ballocks indeed,” replied Dr. Wirthlass. “We’ve waited over fifteen years for this moment.”

“Before now I’d always thought patience was a virtue,” I murmured, “not the secret weapon of the vengeful.”

She shook her head and smiled again. “You’re exactly how he described you. An ardent moralist, a Goody Two-shoes, pathologically eager to do what’s best and what’s right.” She looked around at the ship, which heeled in the swell. “So this place is particularly apt—and the perfect place for you to spend the rest of your pitifully short life.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. With you trapped here, we have everything I want. We’ll be off to the Hesperus now, Ms. Next—to find that recipe.”

“You know about the unscrambled eggs?” I asked, shocked at the sudden turn of events.

“We’re Goliath,” she said simply, “and information is power. With the End of Time due tomorrow evening, it will be something of a challenge, but listen: I like a challenge, and I have the knowledge of your defeat to freshen my mind and make the task that much more enjoyable.”

“You’ll never find it,” I said. “Longfellow is at the other end of the BookWorld, and Poetry is the place you’ll discover—”

I checked myself. I wasn’t helping these people, no matter how acute the perils.

“Discover what?” asked Wirthlass with a frown.

“Never mind.”

“We’ll be fine,” she replied. “We just needed your expertise to make the initial jump. We’re not quite so stupid as you think.”

I couldn’t believe that I’d been hoodwinked by Goliath again. I had to hand it to them—this plan had been hatched and executed beautifully.