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the room. Just as Dougal had warned, Jeremius and Dougal’s dad sat huddled together in the far corner of the kitchen, talking quietly.
    â€œAh, Angus!” Mr. Dewsnap stood up and shook him cheerfully by the hand. “’Tis a great pleasure as always, my fine young fellow. Welcome back to Feaver Street.”
    â€œEr, thanks very much, Mr. Dewsnap.”
    Mr. Dewsnap was short and rather stout, with the same round glasses and jet black hair as Dougal. He was dressedin his favorite patterned housecoat, which reminded Angus of a bedspread.
    â€œJeremius has just been filling me in on all the details of your fascinating lightning tour of London”—Mr. Dewsnap continued in a melodious voice— “although I’m not convinced that introducing a young lightning cub to a pair of retrospectacles was entirely appropriate. They’re well known for causing nightmares. I remember seeing a famously fierce fognado through some once.” He shivered suddenly. “It gave me a severe case of the collywobbles for weeks.”
    â€œYou’ve never mentioned that before,” Dougal said, staring at his dad in surprise.
    â€œThere are a great many things I have not yet told you about my life.”
    â€œLike the time you almost got yourself killed in an ice maze, for instance, when you came to stay at the Canadian Exploratorium,” Jeremius said as he stood up and stretched.
    â€œYou’re kidding!” Dougal said, surprised. “What were you doing in an ice maze?”
    Mr. Dewsnap chuckled. “Not all research for my booksinvolves sitting about in libraries and reading ancient, dusty tomes. It sometimes calls for a more . . . direct approach. I found a fascinating document that talked of hidden wonders buried in an old, abandoned ice maze from which no one had ever returned. I hired a local guide who was willing to risk rumors of sudden spontaneous snow swamps, and we set off at three-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon in January. You and Angus are not the only ones capable of having thrilling adventures.”
    â€œBut what happened?” Angus asked, enthralled.
    â€œWe heard nothing from Aloysius for a whole week,” Jeremius said. It took Angus several seconds to realize that Aloysius must be Mr. Dewsnap’s first name. “We thought he’d been eaten by a polar bear, or worse.”
    â€œThe truth was far more mundane, I’m afraid. The ice maze is famous for the vicious snowstorms that rage through its passages in the winter months, and we were pinned down by a particularly nasty specimen for some days, before we could continue our search.”
    â€œBut how did you survive?” Dougal asked, staring at his dad, flabbergasted.
    â€œLuckily, I’d had the good sense to pack plenty ofreindeer furs and a small camp stove. We survived by making meltwater lichen soup, which was surprisingly tasty with a pinch of salt.”
    Angus exchanged shocked looks with Dougal. He found it impossible to imagine Mr. Dewsnap, with his comfy slippers and portly frame, trekking through remote ice mazes.
    The corners of Mr. Dewsnap’s mouth began to twitch, then. . .
    â€œYou’re making the whole thing up!” Dougal declared suddenly, pointing a finger at his dad.
    Jeremius roared with laughter. Mr. Dewsnap smiled over the top of his glasses at Dougal and winked. “I may have embellished a few of the finer details, just to add to the excitement of the tale, you understand.”
    â€œOr you might have stolen the whole story from an old copy of the Weekly Weathervane you’ve been reading,” Jeremius said, grabbing a dog-eared magazine from Mr. Dewsnap’s chair in the corner of the room. The cover showed a large picture of the famous ice maze.
    Angus grinned. The Weekly Weathervane was a private weekly news journal for the inhabitants of Perilous.It reported on everything that happened inside the Exploratorium, from explosions in the