There's a knock on my door.

"Master Luke, it's time for lunch."

I turn another page in my book.

"Master Luke!"

"I'm not hungry, Doland!" It's a lie, but I'd rather go hungry than eat another meal with Dad.

I wait until Doland's footsteps go back down the hall before getting up to look out the window. All the canals I can see from here are filled up. That's almost worse. That means I don't know where the specter's going to be tonight. It could attack anywhere—Brock's house, or Thomas's, or Arianna's—and there's nothing I can do about it.

Why won't Dad do anything? Mum would make him do something, if only she were here!

Doland's voice drifts through the door. "Master Luke, I've brought up a plate for you. If you insist on secluding yourself I will leave it here beside the door—get out of here, you putrid rodent!"

A piercing SQUEAK! shrills from the hall, followed by a series of thuds. I scramble to my door and yank it open, just as Doland's stomp misses a little dark gray mouse. It flees into my bedroom, squealing in terror.

"Pardon me, Master Luke—!"

"Hey!" I block the doorway so Doland can't push past me. He's been all out of sorts since the specter showed up, but this is going too far. "You're scaring him!"

"That little vermin!"

"Leave him alone!" I yell. "He's just hungry—he wasn't hurting anything!"

"But Master Luke!"

"That will be all, Doland!" I yank the covered plate from his hands. "Thank you for dinner. You can go!"

He blinks. I slam the door in his face.

The mouse has gone into hiding. I can't see him anywhere.

Ten minutes later, Dad knocks on my door.

"Luke? Doland tells me you let a mouse in there."

I pick at my overcooked chicken and don't answer.

"Put it outside, please, son. It's probably wild; it won't be happy cooped up."

He almost sounds like he used to, back before the specter came and Mum disappeared. But I can't talk to him if I don't ask him what's going on, and if I ask him we'll just fight again. I fiddle with my fork.

"I love you," Dad says quietly. I wrap my arms round my knees and wait until I hear him walk away before letting myself sniffle.

"Eep?" The little mouse emerges—from under the bookcase, of all places.

"Hi, Mr. Mouse." I wipe my eyes. "You all right?"

He doesn't look hurt, but his thin squeal tells me how scared he was.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I'm not going to let anybody hurt you." I pick up a piece of carrot off my plate and hold it out to him.

Eee-ee! The mouse gobbles the carrot gleefully.

"I'll let you back outside later if you want. I bet you've got a little nest hidden somewhere."

He squeaks, sadly, and I get the distinct impression that he doesn't—not anymore anyway.

"Oh." I hand him another piece of carrot, and go push the window open a crack. "Well, you can stay here as long as you don't chew anything you're not s'posed to. Beth would be after me, then. But if you want to go outside there's the window, all right?"

This time the squeak sounds like a "yes." The mouse finishes his carrot and darts up my leg. It tickles! I'm still giggling when he finds a perch, right on top of my head.

I walk very carefully for the next half-hour, so he can nap.

He scurries out the window eventually, but the next day he's back. I snuck into Dad's study over breakfast and borrowed the M volume of the encyclopedia, so now I know what it's okay to feed him. (No cheese. Who'd have thought a mouse could get sick from cheese?) He squeaks a tentative greeting. I give him a few grapes from my lunch.

He comes again the next day, and the next. I name him Toppy, because he likes to sit on my head. (I start wearing my cap more, too. I don't mind Toppy sitting up there, but sometimes he pulls my hair by mistake. The cap's easier for him to climb.)

Then the specter comes again.

It's usually the flute that wakes me, or the crashing in the distance. Tonight it's Toppy, skittering in through my window shrieking Monster! Monster! Monster! I scoop him up. Even when Doland kicked him, he wasn't scared like this. But it's the specter. Every single thing about it is scary.

I look out the window anyway. All I can see is fog and red lights in the distance. Toppy shivers against my chest. His heartbeat thrums out scared-scared-scared-scared…

"Me too," I whisper.

Wait.

"T-Toppy? Can you talk?"

Toppy looks at me with tiny black eyes. Talk-talk always. Boy listen?!

"Y-yeah… a little…?"

Toppy makes a squeak of absolute glee and runs up my arm. Boy listen! Boy listen!

We're giggling and squeaking at each other when the specter crashes again, closer than before. Toppy shrieks and scrambles into my shirt pocket. We hide under the covers, my big heartbeat against his tiny one, all night long.

The next morning, Toppy climbs up on my desk to share my breakfast. The specter didn't come to my neighborhood. Not yet. But sooner or later it has to, doesn't it? I don't know what I'll do then.

I leave the other half of my toast on my desk and go lean out the window, like I do every day. What doing? Toppy asks.

"I'm looking at the canals…" I tell him what I think is going on with the specter and the water levels. "I can't see most of them from here, but sometimes I can tell where the specter will attack."

Toppy help?

"Huh?"

Toppy run-run-run everywhere! Toppy see wet river high-low! Toppy scurries right to the middle of the windowsill. He's quivering all over. Toppy. Can. Help, he says firmly. Monster smash-hurt Toppy's home too.

It takes me a minute to sort out what he means. "You… you want to go look at the canals for me?"

He squeaks shrilly and this time I'm not quite sure what he said, but part of it was definitely a yes.

"Okay. But only in the daytime. I… I don't want the specter to get you at night."

Toppy be careful. Toppy sleep here with friend-boy. He sniffs at my hand. Toppy come back soon! he says, and scurries out the window.

I pick up a book and wait.

The police station seems miles away, so I end up confiding in Doland. I leave Toppy and the canals out of it. He might say something to Dad, and then the specter would know too. But I'm making sure people are safe, and that helps me sleep better at night.

We go on like that for months. Toppy runs around town every morning and comes back with reports about the water levels. It's hard to understand what he says sometimes, and he doesn't know the human names of most of the streets, but I steal a map from Dad's study and we figure it out. I feed him bits of my lunch and he sits on my head or my shoulder to keep me company.

It's good we can predict the attacks, because they're coming more and more often. I'm starting to be afraid it will go on forever, or end with all of Misthallery in smoking ruins.

Want STOP monster, Toppy says one day. Toppy good at run-run away from cat, but Toppy still want cat go away always. Monster like person-cat.

I scratch his ear with one finger. "I know. But I don't know how we can stop the specter, and Dad's not doing anything, and none of the other grown-ups seem to be able to do anything."

Maybe dog to chase cat? Toppy nibbles on a piece of my toast.

The specter is way bigger than any dog I've ever seen, but he's got a point. Is there somebody strong enough and smart enough to chase the specter away?

No. Not in Misthallery.

Maybe I could write to the queen? Or the prime minister? Oh, but Mum used to say the prime minister had "a real mean streak," or something like that, and the queen probably gets advice from him.

But there's got to be someone. Toppy's right. I don't know if the specter even can be defeated, but somebody's got to try, and we can't do it all by ourselves. We need a dog to chase the specter's "cat."

It takes me almost a week to think of someone: that university professor Dad used to talk about all the time. He's supposed to be really smart, and kind, and good at solving puzzles and mysteries. I think he even helps the London police sometimes.

He's still a grown-up, though, so when I type up my letter I pretend to be Dad. When he gets here, and sees that the specter is real, maybe he'll look around on his own. That would be enough, probably.

I work in an extra message anyway, a hidden one. I make up a puzzle just in case he comes to my door. If I can trust him, really trust him, and if he's really as smart as Dad said, then…

Then I'll help him.

I sneak into Dad's study again when he's at dinner, to steal an envelope and a stamp and look up the address. "Gressenheller University." I wonder what that place looks like. I slip back in my room just as I hear Doland coming up the stairs with my plate.

"Toppy," I whisper.

Ee-ee? He pops out from under my pillow.

"Can you take this down to the post-box for me? It's really important."

Big! He takes it in his teeth and pulls it a few centimeters. Not heavy. Okay, Toppy try.

"Thank you."

As Toppy slips out the window, Doland knocks on my door.

"I have brought your dinner, Master Luke. Perhaps you would have the decency to open the door."

"Not tonight, Doland."

"…If you insist." There's a clink as he sets the plate and cup down. "And what of your… predictions?"

I wrap my arms around my knees. "Tonight. Right near the bridge, where Brock lives."

"Heavens. I will alert the police, then. Thank you, Master Luke."

"Doland? You'll make sure Brock's okay, right?"

"…Of course, Master Luke."

I wait until I hear him go back into the study before I open the door to get my dinner. I haven't felt much like eating lately, but I'm still nearly finished when Toppy comes back. All done! he squeaks.

"You got it in through the slot?"

Ee-ee-ee! Toppy did! Toppy very good climber! He scurries over to the edge of the plate. Toppy hungry.

"I saved you some of my potatoes," I tell him.

Boy very good friend! He digs in gleefully.

"You're a very good friend too, Toppy." He might be my only friend now.

I hope Professor Layton is all he's cracked up to be, cuz I don't know what else I can do.