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Dragon
:
An Intrepid Trio Mystery
.
    “Hmmm,” Norman muttered. He was afraid of getting hishopes up, but he stripped the Harvard Classics shelf bare, and sure enough there was a whole shelf of them.
Intrepid into the Night
,
The Intrepid Three at Sea
,
The Scourge of Malbranche
:
An Intrepid Trio Mystery
. Okay, this was worth trying.
    Norman wasn’t so finicky as to need to read a series in order. He knew that it didn’t really matter. He just grabbed the title that jumped out at him and descended to the kitchen to finish off the scones. He couldn’t have explained why he picked
Intrepid Amongst the Gypsies
. He didn’t reflect on it. All he cared about was reading something that he hadn’t read before.
    Edward Vilnius was in the kitchen when he arrived. Norman’s father had had the same idea about the scones and was making coffee again to go with them.
    “Hullo, Spiny, how goes it?” Edward asked. Since they had been in England, Edward had taken to using a rather comical British accent around the house. Unlike Dora, he knew he was doing it and thought he was rather funny. Norman wondered whether he used it with the other professors at the university, and whether they thought he was crazy or just insulting.
    “Found a book,” Norman managed through a mouthful of scone.
    “Huzzah!” Edward cheered ironically, raising his scone in a toast. It was his new favourite word, apparently a British way of saying “Yay.”
    “Huzzah,” Norman repeated, but less enthusiastically. “You ever heard of this?” He held up
Intrepid Amongst the Gypsies
for his father to see.
    “Nope,” he said. “It’s probably one of your mother’s old books.”
    Norman opened the front cover to see if she’d written her name in it. There was a name, but it was not his mother’s. Written very exaggeratedly, in cobalt blue ink, as if somebody was trying out a new pen or just very proud of his handwriting, was the following inscription:
    Property of Christopher T. Jespers
    “Ah, your mysterious uncle,” Edward intoned.
    “Why don’t we ever see Uncle Kit?” Norman asked. “I thought he’d be here.”
    “Off travelling the world, I expect. Your mother probably wouldn’t have agreed to stay here at the Shrubberies if your uncle weren’t away.”
    Norman had no idea what Uncle Kit did for a job. He imagined him as some sort of international explorer, crossing a desert on camelback or hacking his way through some jungle to uncover a hidden Aztec temple.
    Norman paused before asking a question he’d never before dared to. “Why don’t they talk anymore? What happened?”
    Edward Vilnius paused for a moment and considered the question. “I don’t know, really. Probably started as a little thing and snowballed. It doesn’t sound like they ever got along.” He took a last bite of his scone and wiped the crumbs from the goatee he had decided to grow this summer. “Better be nice to your sister,” he warned, rising from the table. “She might decide never to see you when she grows up.”
    Norman opened his mouth but left the obvious reply unspoken. He loaded a plate with scones and carried them and the book up to the small room that served as his bedroom and lay down on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to read.

Intrepid Amongst the Gypsies

    I
ntrepid Amongst the Gypsies
didn’t exactly grab Norman right away—it was slow to start and full of old-fashioned British slang, but after a while he started to get into it. The Intrepid Three were three kids. George Kelmsworth was tall, dark-haired, with something called an “aristocratic nose.” He was only fifteen, but somehow he lived alone in a hunting lodge at the edge of Kelmsworth estate. The estate’s main house, Kelmsworth Hall, was George’s family home, but it had been commandeered and was going to be turned into a First World War army hospital. The other two Intrepids were Pippa Cook, a red-headed girl George’s age, and her younger brother, Gordon.