“What’s wrong with you?” said Maximilian to Lexy.

Lexy was certainly gloomier than anyone had ever seen her. She was usually so cheerful. And whenever one of the others was miserable or defeated, it was always Lexy who found the remedy—which usually involved a cup of herbal tea, a freshly charged crystal and an early night. But now she didn’t answer. She just frowned.

Effie opened the book. Inside, the words were arranged in a long column, with an awful lot of footnotes. Every other line seemed to rhyme with the one just before it. It was clearly some sort of poem. Mrs. Beathag Hide had once tried, unsuccessfully, to teach her class the names of things that happened in poems. Were these iambic pentameters? Rhyming couplets? Pterodactyls? Effie had no idea.

“It’s about how being selfish is really great,” said Lexy. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“What?” said Effie. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Apparently galloglass is like a category of person. . . . Some people think they’re selfish and horrible, but actually they’re really important and inspiring and wonderful. Apparently.”

Effie had listened to the first part of what Lexy said, but missed the sarcasm in the last word. This was a book that said it was a good thing to be a galloglass? Suddenly, Effie wanted to read it, more than she wanted to read anything else. Just then Orwell reached over with one of his big hands and scooped up the book.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think I’ll have this.”

“Dad!”

“What? Don’t tell me you suddenly want to read poetry? Trust me. This won’t be your sort of thing.”

“But—”

“You can read it after me if you’re that desperate. In the meantime I’m going to study all this galloglass theory so I can ask a very informed question after the lecture. Ha! I’ll show them.”

It was never clear exactly whom Orwell meant when he said “them” in this way. But he looked quite pleased with himself.

“Right. Didn’t you all want to go to the library?” asked Orwell.

“If you’re sure you don’t need us anymore, Dr. Bookend,” said Raven.

Orwell took the library key from his pocket.

“I see we now have almost the full complement of your little friends.” He looked at Effie, twirling the key in his long fingers. “The only one missing is the tough boy. Where’s he today?”

It was a good question. Something else to discuss as soon as Effie and her friends could get some privacy.

“I don’t know,” she replied.