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Mr. G began. “From the brief account given me by Mrs. Pinch, I take it you’ve had quite a journey. You’ll find a pitcher and a goblet on the table there
beside you. Please pour yourself some water and drink.”
    I hesitated. The pitcher and goblet were finer than any I’d ever touched.
    “No need to stand on ceremony, Master Grubb. You’re welcome to it.”
    As I drained my goblet, I searched unsuccessfully for Mr. G between the books on his desk. On the wall behind him, however, I spied a wide row of polished steel pipes running from the floor to
the ceiling. These were bookended on either side by oaken doors, which in turn were bookended by a pair of knights. Each wore a red, bell-shaped helmet with a horned crest and a scowling black face
mask. Their body armor was painted to match, but was plated in such a manner that they looked like a quartet of big red beetles standing on their hind legs.
    “Ah, you’ve noticed my samurai,” said Mr. G. “Just a little something I acquired in my travels. They stand guard in case any busybodies try to get inside from the
balcony. The pair behind you is merely a second line of defense.”
    I glanced round at the pocket doors and discovered two more suits of armor behind me, each holding a long spear.
    “The samurai are from Japan and are considered amongst the fiercest warriors in the world. Congratulations, Master Grubb. You are the first person to have ever gotten past them
alive.”
    I swallowed hard, and the ticking of Mr. G’s many clocks seemed to grow louder.
    “So, you’re the troublemaker from the Lamb’s Inn, eh? The lad about whom the owner and that chap with the scar were making all that fuss?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said guiltily.
    “And am I correct in concluding that you slipped into my trunk during their pursuit of you? Perhaps only moments before our departure?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “An intriguing turn of events,” said Mr. G, more to himself than to me. “Tell me, Master Grubb, at any point between your departure from the Lamb and your arrival here, did you
happen to peek out from your hiding place?”
    I made to speak, but then quickly stopped myself.
    “I suggest you consider your answer carefully,” said Mr. G. “Your sooty face speaks volumes, and I’ll know at once if you’re lying.”
    “Yes, sir,” I said finally.
    “And what exactly did you see?”
    “Well, sir,” I began slowly, “I peeked out when we were leaving the Lamb, heard Mr. Crumbsby’s hounds setting off after me, and saw the inn disappear round the bend. I
suppose I also peeked out a handful of times along the High Road, but then…”
    I hesitated one last time, for upon remembering Mrs. Pinch’s instructions, I decided that a proper gentleman like Mr. G would not be interested in my silly dream of flying about the
countryside.
    “Then what?” asked Mr. G. “What else did you see?”
    “Nothing, sir,” I said quickly. “What I mean is, I must’ve fallen asleep, sir. For the next thing I remember is being carried in the trunk on Mr. Nigel’s
shoulders.”
    I waited for what seemed like an hour of clock ticking. Finally a tall, slender gentleman dressed entirely in black rose from behind the mountain of books on his desk.
    I took in the most obvious of his features at once: longish, slicked-back hair, black-ringed eyes, and a drawn, chiseled face that glowed whitish-blue like the moon. He looked me up and down as
if inspecting a horse, but at the same time I sensed something dangerous beneath his cold appraisal—when without warning he lurched forward on his desk and snarled,
“
Liar!
”
    His eyes blazed, and his thin lips stretched wide around a toothy grin.
    Terrified, I spun on my heels and made for the exit—but the pair of samurai beside the pocket doors crossed their long spears and blocked my escape.
    I shrieked, turned round, and saw that the other samurai had left their posts and were now coming for me around the desk—armor clanging,