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Authors: Emily Raabe
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midnight?”
“But it only takes two hours to get to Pop’s. If it’s past midnight, we’ve been driving for at least four hours.”
Gus tried to answer Leo but found that she was just too tired. Instead, she breathed in the air from the open window, cool and faintly tinged with the smell of salt and something else, something green and sharp.
Maybe seaweed
, she thought sleepily. And then, taking one more deep breath of the lovely sea air, and with all of her questions still circling around in her brain, she fell fast asleep.
When Gus woke up again, the bedroom door was closed. The only light in the room was coming from a small night-light plugged into the wall. And there in the dim glow, next to her bed, was a creature, something like a large brown weasel.
The creature was sitting up on its haunches, and it was speaking to her.
I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming
, Gus thought frantically. The weasel, or whatever it was, twitched its large, bushy tail in what was clearly impatience. It was far too big to be a weasel, she realized. Standing on its hindquarters, it was almost as tall as Ila. Its thick, reddish fur smelled like that of a wet dog, one that had taken a good long roll in rotten seaweed.
“Come, come,” the creature said. “Get up, stupid little girl.”
Gus had opened her mouth to scream, but when the creature called her
stupid
, the insult wiped out her fear. Gus was very sensitive about her brain, as anyone would be with Leo for a brother. “I’m in eighth-grade math,” she whispered furiously.
Leo interrupted whatever the creature might have said by waking up and saying very quietly, “Gus. Shut up.” Then, speaking even more quietly, he said, “That’s a mink. Don’t move, Gus. Just stay still. It’s probably rabid—”
The creature turned and said crankily, “I am most certainly
not
rabid. What is it with you two? We do not have a lot of time, you know, and this is not easy for me either. And for your information, I am not a mink. I am”—and here the creature stretched itself up proudly to its full length, swishing its furry tail from side to side as a balancing aid—“a sea mink.”
“Extinct,” Leo sad flatly. “Eighteen ninety-four.”
The creature dropped down on all fours and looked balefully at Leo. It had small, rounded ears, which it pinned back in a very clear show of displeasure. “Do I look extinct to you?” it demanded.
“For goodness’ sake,” Gus burst in. “It doesn’t matter! I mean, whatever-it-is is talking, Leo! I don’t think—”
“The last sighting of a sea mink was in 1894, in New Brunswick,” Leo said desperately. His face was very pale, and he looked at Gus, not at the creature, who was beginning, very slowly, to arch its back.
It stretched and hissed, and then, quite suddenly, standing in front of them was a small, elegant-looking man in a dark overcoat. He yawned and gave a little bow, smiling at the children, who sat with their mouths hanging open.
“The Bedell,” he said, and bowed, a very deep and formal sort of bow. “At your service.”
As he straightened back up, Gus turned on her bedside lamp and took a longer look at him. He was small, not much taller than Leo, and enveloped in a long coatthat reached all the way to the ground. He was wearing woolly gloves with the fingertips cut off. His fingernails were long and curved over themselves. They seemed to glow with a faint pink light, like the insides of oyster shells. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, with high cheekbones and large, dark eyes.
“You must be Leomaris, and you are Gustavia,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. The parts of his fingers that were not covered by the gloves felt freezing and slightly damp, as if he had been washing in cold water just before he arrived. He spoke with a very slight accent—French, Gus thought, but not quite. He sounded a bit like the lobstermen from Nova Scotia who sometimes came to Maine in the winter to sell
“But it only takes two hours to get to Pop’s. If it’s past midnight, we’ve been driving for at least four hours.”
Gus tried to answer Leo but found that she was just too tired. Instead, she breathed in the air from the open window, cool and faintly tinged with the smell of salt and something else, something green and sharp.
Maybe seaweed
, she thought sleepily. And then, taking one more deep breath of the lovely sea air, and with all of her questions still circling around in her brain, she fell fast asleep.
When Gus woke up again, the bedroom door was closed. The only light in the room was coming from a small night-light plugged into the wall. And there in the dim glow, next to her bed, was a creature, something like a large brown weasel.
The creature was sitting up on its haunches, and it was speaking to her.
I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming
, Gus thought frantically. The weasel, or whatever it was, twitched its large, bushy tail in what was clearly impatience. It was far too big to be a weasel, she realized. Standing on its hindquarters, it was almost as tall as Ila. Its thick, reddish fur smelled like that of a wet dog, one that had taken a good long roll in rotten seaweed.
“Come, come,” the creature said. “Get up, stupid little girl.”
Gus had opened her mouth to scream, but when the creature called her
stupid
, the insult wiped out her fear. Gus was very sensitive about her brain, as anyone would be with Leo for a brother. “I’m in eighth-grade math,” she whispered furiously.
Leo interrupted whatever the creature might have said by waking up and saying very quietly, “Gus. Shut up.” Then, speaking even more quietly, he said, “That’s a mink. Don’t move, Gus. Just stay still. It’s probably rabid—”
The creature turned and said crankily, “I am most certainly
not
rabid. What is it with you two? We do not have a lot of time, you know, and this is not easy for me either. And for your information, I am not a mink. I am”—and here the creature stretched itself up proudly to its full length, swishing its furry tail from side to side as a balancing aid—“a sea mink.”
“Extinct,” Leo sad flatly. “Eighteen ninety-four.”
The creature dropped down on all fours and looked balefully at Leo. It had small, rounded ears, which it pinned back in a very clear show of displeasure. “Do I look extinct to you?” it demanded.
“For goodness’ sake,” Gus burst in. “It doesn’t matter! I mean, whatever-it-is is talking, Leo! I don’t think—”
“The last sighting of a sea mink was in 1894, in New Brunswick,” Leo said desperately. His face was very pale, and he looked at Gus, not at the creature, who was beginning, very slowly, to arch its back.
It stretched and hissed, and then, quite suddenly, standing in front of them was a small, elegant-looking man in a dark overcoat. He yawned and gave a little bow, smiling at the children, who sat with their mouths hanging open.
“The Bedell,” he said, and bowed, a very deep and formal sort of bow. “At your service.”
As he straightened back up, Gus turned on her bedside lamp and took a longer look at him. He was small, not much taller than Leo, and enveloped in a long coatthat reached all the way to the ground. He was wearing woolly gloves with the fingertips cut off. His fingernails were long and curved over themselves. They seemed to glow with a faint pink light, like the insides of oyster shells. His face was smooth and unwrinkled, with high cheekbones and large, dark eyes.
“You must be Leomaris, and you are Gustavia,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. The parts of his fingers that were not covered by the gloves felt freezing and slightly damp, as if he had been washing in cold water just before he arrived. He spoke with a very slight accent—French, Gus thought, but not quite. He sounded a bit like the lobstermen from Nova Scotia who sometimes came to Maine in the winter to sell
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