“Must be,” I say. “Can you tell which book it was from the code?”

“From the code? No, not a chance.” Mrs Hanniver frowns. “The books change position all the time, as you should know by now, Herbie.”

“Hold on.” Violet raises her hand. “I don’t get how this place works. It looks like a shop, but it sounds like it’s something else. What is it, exactly? A library?”

“The world’s one and only book dispensary,” Mrs Hanniver says, handing the card back. “A library will lend you the book you want, while a bookshop sells it for a price. In this place, however, it’s the book that chooses you.”

“With –” Violet still looks unsure – “the mermonkey? That thing?”

And she points to the grotesque creature sitting in the window. Viewed from behind, its scaly lower body and hunched hairy back are a disturbing sight.

“Why not find out for yourself?” says Jenny Hanniver.

IN WHICH A BOOK IS DISPENSED

“BUT I DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY,” says Violet.

She’s standing in the shop window now, her back to the glass. In front of her, the mermonkey looks down over the top of its typewriter. Its left arm is extended, and in its hand it is clutching a tall, scraggy, moth-chewed top hat, held out as if asking for an offering.

“You do,” I say. “Remember? From your parents’ room in the hotel?”

Violet puts her hand in her pocket and pulls out the foreign coin she found on top of the wardrobe.

“It might as well be yours,” I say with a shrug.

“But how much does it cost?” she asks.

Jenny Hanniver smiles. “Oh, that depends entirely on you. Some who come here stuff that hat full of cash before the monkey will talk to them. While others have only to brush it with their fingertips. Try your coin, Violet. It’s the only way to find out.”

Violet reaches out and drops the coin into the hat. It lands with a soft thud somewhere inside.

Nothing happens.

But then, before anyone can speak, something does.

The mermonkey shudders. There’s a wheezing, clicking sound like rusty gears being driven by a spring, and its left arm lifts up, and up, and up, until it plops the hat down on its head. Then there’s a rattle as something – the coin, surely – falls down into a hidden mechanism.

The creature’s eyes light up.

There’s a bone-jarring scream from somewhere, which makes Violet jump in surprise. Steam, or possibly smoke, curls out from the creature’s ears as it rises up on its coiled, iridescent fishtail. The mermonkey curls its other arm till its hand stops, hovering over the typewriter. With a terrible screeching sound, it slowly extends a long, bony index finger. Then it starts to type.

“What’s it doing?” Violet cries over the horrible, shrieking, clacking sounds. But Jenny just nods towards the typewriter.