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being the Rightful Heir anyway? All I get is trouble!”
    Nobody answered Arthur’s question, and he noticed everyone was not quite looking at him—and no one was telling him to behave himself. He felt suddenly weird, and wished that somebody would just say, “Shut up, Arthur, we’ve got work to do.”
    “Is it possible?” asked Leaf. “To get rid of the Spirit-eater, I mean.”
    Arthur and Leaf both looked at Scamandros. The tattooson his face showed some anxiety, picturing shaky towers that were being built up stone by stone, only to fall down as the last course was laid.
    “I think so. But it would require finding the item used to create the Spirit-eater in the first place. That will be something personal from its target, overlaid with spells. In this case, something of yours, Arthur, that was close to you for quite a while. A favorite book, or a spoon, or perhaps some piece of clothing. Something of that order.”
    Arthur frowned in puzzlement. What could he have lost that could be used in this way?
    “When would this have happened?” he asked.
    “It would have taken more than a year of House Time for the Spirit-eater to be grown from Nothing,” replied Dr. Scamandros.
    “A year…How long has it been since I was given the minute hand by Mister Monday?” Arthur asked. It was only the previous week for him, but much longer in the House. “In House Time, I mean?”
    “A year and a half,” replied Dame Primus stiffly. She had the Agenda open and was tapping it with a gold pencil. Every time she tapped, one of the items on the list moved up or down, or to some unseen page deeper in the volume.
    “It must have been Monday’s Fetchers,” said Arthur.“Or maybe one of Grim Tuesday’s Grotesques. But I can’t think of anything really personal that I’ve missed.”
    “You could enquire of the Atlas,” said Dame Primus. “You still hold the Third Key, so the Atlas will answer.”
    Arthur took the Atlas out of his pocket, set it on the table, and held the small trident that was the Third Key with his right hand. But he didn’t start concentrating on a question to ask the Atlas. After a moment, he put the Third Key down, the trident’s tines pointing to the hollow center of the table.
    “I have to be careful how much I use the Keys,” he said slowly. “I already used this one quite a lot back in the Border Sea, and I don’t want to turn into a Denizen. Then I could never go back home.”
    “How close are you?” Leaf asked curiously. “Like, do you get to use the Key a hundred times or something and then wham, you’re suddenly seven feet tall and a lot better looking?”
    “I don’t know,” said Arthur. “That’s part of the problem.”
    Dr. Scamandros gave a slight and rather fake-sounding cough and raised his hand. Dame Primus stopped tapping her agenda for a moment and stared at him, then continued with her rearranging.
    “You may care to know, Lord Arthur,” saidDr. Scamandros, “that there is a little student project of mine that could be of use to you. It measures the sorcerous contamination of things, including, of course, persons.”
    Scamandros started rummaging around inside his yellow greatcoat and pulled out a peacock-feather fan, several enamelled snuff boxes, a scrimshaw letter opener, and a brass piccolo, all of which he laid distractedly on the table.
    “Here somewhere,” he said, and then triumphantly pulled out a two-inch-square velvet box that was very worn around the edges. Opening it, he passed it to Sunscorch, who passed it to Leaf, who looked curiously at the item inside before she gave it to Arthur. It was a slim silver crocodile coiled into a ring, its tail in its jaws. It had bright pink diamonds for eyes, and its body was scored with lines that divided it into ten sections, each marked with a tiny engraved Roman numeral.
    “Is this relevant?” asked Dame Primus impatiently. “I am ready to proceed with the reordered Agenda.”
    Arthur ignored her and took the