The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons Read Online Free PDF Page B

as the mist silently ushered the desk drawer shut, and then drifted on along the moonbeam toward the window. The diamond-shaped panes were suddenly shrouded in the shimmering mist, a magical vaporous curtain that seemed to draw the window shut. At the same time, another sparkling cloud spread beneath the broken spyglass, buoying it up from the floor. This wasaccompanied by the barely audible tinkling sounds of shards of glass hovering alongside, reconverging in the open end of the spyglass.
    The mist all but disappeared as Uncle Victor stepped into the room, and for an instant I wondered whether or not I’d actually seen it. But of course I’d seen it—how else could one explain the snuffed-out lamp, the snug drawer and windows, the spyglass all shipshape again in one piece? I retreated as far back into the shadows as I could, my hope of remaining undetected suddenly rekindled.
    Uncle Victor moved toward the center of the room, slowly, warily, his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed. I held my breath as he rounded the far side of the desk. If he were to glance over his shoulder into the path of the moonlight, he would surely glimpse Mr. Pugsley and me pressed up against the side of the bookcase.
    This time I didn’t actually see the vapor—but I felt it, surrounding the edge of the shelving from ceiling to floor. It was a light tingling sensation, like thousands of very fine pins and needles that pulsed between me and the shelf. As Uncle Victor peered in our direction, the most uncanny thing of all occurred. The edge of the bookcase began to breathe—at least that’s the way it seemed to me. It was as though the very wood itself inhaled, puffingup and out, swelling and expanding just enough to block Uncle Victor’s view of me, and mine of him.
    He stood for a minute, silently. I could nearly feel his eyes hungrily taking in every detail of the room, searching, scanning, skimming for evidence of anything out of place. The moment hung there between us and I could practically feel the shelf around me holding its breath, waiting … waiting.
    After what seemed like an eternity, my uncle Victor swore softly under his breath and retreated, his bedroom slippers making a hollow flapping noise along the floor.
    I heard the diminishing sound of his footfalls on the stairs, the murmur of Aunt Margaret’s voice, and the creak of the bed as he laid his narrow frame back down.
    We stayed still, Mr. Pugsley and I, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Mr. Pugsley squirmed out of my arms, and I leaned over to let him down. I stepped out from the shadows and looked about.
    Nothing was amiss, not a thing out of place. Mr. Pugsley walked this way and that, nose to the ground, sniffing the space around the desk, beneath the window. I tiptoed over to the desk and picked up Father’s spyglass with trembling hands. It was completely intact, just as it had always been.I turned toward the window and peered outside. An unearthly stillness hung over the place—even the water seemed flat and unusually calm. There was no sign of the old woman, no sign of the Brute. A dark cloud passed in front of the moon, a smoky silhouette veiling the luminous pearl. The moonbeam path slowly disappeared, handing the library back over to the night. In the darkness the whole episode suddenly seemed unreal to me, impossible.
    Yet the pack of letters sat in my pocket against my hip, and I’d not been discovered.
    I bent and picked Mr. Pugsley up, and took my lamp in my hand. As I moved toward the door, the room itself seemed to release a sound like a sigh—a very deep sigh, or a hushed whisper.
    I turned back and paused for a moment.
    â€œThank you,” I answered, but to whom or to what, I had no idea.

6
    B ack in my room, I laid my bedclothes along the bottom of the door to block even the smallest wink of lamplight from escaping into the hallway. The house was still, but I could not risk being discovered,