“The malamander hibernates,” Vi tells me. “I saw that in my dad’s manuscript, though it was probably my mum who worked it out. It sleeps for most of the year, somewhere far out in the ocean, the whole summer long. But then, when winter hits, it comes near the town to hunt, and to lay its egg on midwinter night.”

“In the wreck?” I say, and Violet nods.

“My dad must have come out here to watch it. My mum, too. When the tide was low enough.”

“As it will be later tonight…” I say.

“And then, when its mate doesn’t come, the poor thing devours its own egg, and swims away alone, to wait another year.”

“Poor thing?”

Violet shrugs. “The malamander has lost its mate. I’ve lost my parents. It’s funny to have something in common with a monster, but I do.” Then, after a pause, “And I wonder if you do too, Herbie.”

“Me?”

“Well, I can’t help noticing,” says Violet, turning to me, “that you don’t seem to have any parents either.”

I pick a large flake of rust off the pier railing, and pretend to find it interesting. I’m a castaway with no memory, washed up on a strange shore in a crate of lemons and adopted by a whole town. But Violet is wrong. She was lost, yes, but I was found. It isn’t the same thing at all.

“Herbie?”

“I’ll tell you my story one day, Vi,” I say, flicking the rust flake into the sea. “I promise. But first, we have work to do.”

“We?”

“Of course, we. You don’t think I’m going to let you finish the adventure without me, do you?”

“But, Herbie, it’ll be extremely dangerous…”

“All the more reason for me to come with you,” I say, setting my cap straight and standing tall. “You handed yourself in at my Lost-and-Foundery, Violet Parma, and I’m not letting you get lost again. I took on your case, and I’m going to see it through.”

The wind ruins the moment by pushing my cap back down over my face, but Violet doesn’t seem to notice. She throws her arms around me in a huge hug. Then she looks a bit embarrassed, and tries to hide it by punching me on the arm. So I try to pretend it doesn’t hurt, until the soppy moment has passed.

“We need to get back to the Lost-and-Foundery and kit up,” I say when it has. “There’s loads of stuff there we can use.”

“Thanks, Herbie.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I say. “Thank me when we’re toasting crumpets tomorrow morning, laughing at stupid old Sebastian Eels and how we stopped him in his tracks.”

And so we set off back along the pier, towards the lights of the Grand Nautilus Hotel.

DODGY BUSINESS