Read Online Milrose Munce and the Den of Professional Help by Douglas Anthony Cooper - Free Book Online

before it. He turned to Milrose and Arabella, and his expression was one of profound appreciation; an expression that beckoned them to join in his exaltation of this lovely door.
    They did not.
    He produced from his pocket a gruesome modern key—the sort that would drive any would-be burglar to despair—and fitted it into what must have been, internally, a gruesome modern lock. The sound this lock made as it opened was itself complex: a series of clicks and whirs, punctuated by what seemed—could this be?—the cry of distressed rodents.
    The light that shone from the opened door did not. Which is to say, there was certainly light behind the door, but it did not shine. The light simply sat there, heavily, like the smell in the basement. Massimo Natica stepped graciously aside and issued his two wards into the den beyond.
    The words
comfortable
and
cozy
seemed to vie with each other for status as the bigger whopping lie with respect to Massimo Natica’s den. Even the word
den
was a ridiculous misnomer, if meant in the sense of a place you might put your feet up to read a good book. On the other hand, thought Milrose, aren’t dens also where innocent people get thrown to the lions?
    Displayed in various places around the den were singular objects, some propped against walls, others in glass vitrines—possessions that were clearly dear to the den’s proprietor. The cattle prod was perhaps the most unnerving, even though it was clearly an antique, with prominent wiring and an old-fashionedbattery. The pitchfork too was old-fashioned, although it looked as if it could still do a good job in those areas where pitchforks come in useful. The prod occupied its own special glass case, but the pitchfork was propped lazily against the wall. The most elaborate display was a line of framed strait-jackets, stretching all the way across the wall: they had been arranged in historical order, to illustrate the evolution of that garment over time.
    And in the centre of the room was a group of plump chairs and a sofa.
    Massimo indicated these, expansively. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable.”
    There were numerous equally appropriate responses to that question.
    “I can see that my antiques have you a little apprehensive. Understand that I collect these objects simply to remind us of how far we have come in the Help-giving process. How much more civilized we are!” He nodded in satisfaction, evidently agreeing with himself. “Well now. Time to sit down and get to work. Try this comfy chair.”
    Massimo patted one of the comfy leather chairs, and indicated to Arabella that it was hers. He then patted the comfy leather sofa, and indicated to Milrose that this was his.
    Arabella sat on the chair, rigidly, as if it were a bed of nails. Milrose, on the other hand, expressed hiscontempt by stretching out on the sofa, with his feet up on the armrest.
    “There we are,” said Massimo Natica. “All comfy.”
    If he uses that word one more time, thought Milrose, I will fetch the cattle prod.
    “Now then. Time to get fully acquainted. We’re going to be good, good friends. And we’re going to get to know each other very well. What we are about to engage in is called Intensive Help. It is by far the best kind. You will be Helped during the day, and while you sleep here, you will be Helped during your dreams.”
    “Hang on!” said Milrose Munce. “We have to
sleep
here?”
    The sleeping quarters were approximately as winning as the den itself. A low doorway led off one wall of the huge room—so low as to require even Arabella, who was not all that statuesque, to bow her head. Milrose insisted that they have a good look at this bedroom before they commenced with any further Help, and Massimo Natica—with a smiling hint of impatience—agreed.
    The room was without windows. Come to think of it, Milrose came to think, the entire den was windowless, with the exception of the fortified glass set into the entry door. The bedroom was,