The effect on Coralis was immediate. He stopped flapping his arms and waving the letter. He even blushed slightly as he composed himself and took a deep breath.

“Why don’t I make you up some hawthorn-berry tea, and you can tell me what is so important,” she suggested.

Coralis no longer fought the effects of Voice, as he had at one time. Gretchen suspected it was because he understood the damage that high blood pressure could cause. “Yes, that sounds wonderful,” he said. “My aging heart could use a little help. Let us go to my Kunstkammer.”

Gretchen tried unsuccessfully to mask her surprise. Coralis’s Kunstkammer was his private workroom, where he spent the majority of his days. Even after all these years, she had never been allowed inside.

After a brief detour to the kitchen, she entered the Kunstkammer: a spacious, dimly lit room that was cluttered from floor to ceiling. Curiosity cabinets were filled to capacity with specimen jars, vials of colorful liquids, and taxidermy of some of the strangest creatures she had ever seen. A peculiar large rodent with a particularly nasty set of fangs stared at her with glassy eyes. It might have been long dead, but it still looked hungry.

Coralis leaned forward in his buffalo-leather armchair. The chair groaned—well, actually, it moaned. He took a cup of tea from her serving tray and visibly relaxed as he took a sip. “Mmm … just a touch of yarrow and mint. Excellent!”

Gretchen located a stool that looked harmless enough and dragged it from his workbench back to where Coralis sat, deep in thought. “You seem troubled,” she said, dusting off the seat and sneezing in the process. “You really should allow me to give this room a thorough cleaning.” As she sat, the wood seemed to soften and expand, making it very comfortable.

“Nonsense. A little dust never hurt anyone.” He placed the teacup on a side table and saw the young boy’s crumpled letter, and he scowled.

“I don’t understand why the scribbles of a young boy would aggravate you so. You must have realized this kind of thing would happen when you printed the guidebook—after all, the instructions are not very clear.”

“They’re not meant to be clear!” he snapped, and smacked his hand against the leather, causing the chair to buck, four cloven hooves lifting off the ground. Gretchen jumped in surprise, but Coralis was unfazed. “It’s why it’s called a guidebook and not a manual!”