“BLAST THIS STUPID LEG!” Violet groans, flopping down on a bench on the promenade. The climb has obviously been hard on her sprained ankle. I look back down to the beach, but there is no sign of Sebastian Eels now.

“Sea mist coming in again,” I say. “It’s going to get even colder, Vi. Whatever else Eels said, he’s right that you should rest that leg. Let’s get back to my Lost-and-Foundery. I can share my leftover lunch sandwich with you.”

“And then what?” says Violet, rubbing her ankle. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“At least we know Boathook Man and Eel Face are working together. And the things he told you, about the malamander—”

“Herbie, I came here to find my parents, not a monster.”

“But what do you want to do then?” I say.

Vi looks up at me. “It’s time I got some straight answers.”

She gets to her feet and starts limping into town. “I want to see the only other person I’ve found who actually met my mum and dad.”

By the time we reach the Eerie Book Dispensary, the sea mist has engulfed the whole town. The streets are already emptying as everyone hurries home. It’s so cold now that everything the mist touches gains a sparkle of ice.

“Looks like she closed early,” I say, rattling the door. “Jenny Hanniver doesn’t keep regular hours anyway. We should go before we freeze to death.”

Violet bangs on the door. “Hello!” she shouts through the letter plate.

Some people walking on the other side of the square glance over, curious.

Inside the window, just visible in the cold winter light, the mermonkey grins down at us from behind its enormous black typewriter.

“Seriously, Vi,” I say, lowering my voice, “there’s no one in.”

But then Erwin the cat appears.

One moment there is nothing but fog, the next the cat is curling around Vi’s legs and purring ferociously. Violet stoops to pick him up, her hands vanishing into his thick white coat of fur.

“He must have crept up on us out of the mist,” I say. “Poor thing wants to get in. Where can Jenny be?”

“I’m here,” says a voice, and we turn, squinting into the gloom. Jenny Hanniver steps out of the mist wearing a long, scale-patterned coat and furry green scarf. When I catch sight of her face, I think for a moment that she looks tense; worried, even. But then she smiles, so perhaps not. It’s hard to tell anything straight with this mist.

“I’m not actually open, as you can see,” Jenny says as she fiddles with an enormous bunch of keys. “But since you seem to be rescuing my cat, the least I can do is let you in and warm you up.”