The Peculiars by Maureen Doyle McQuerry Read Free Book Online Page B

looked down at the ground around her feet, hoping to discover shells. She jumped. Instead of shells, strange brown snakes crisscrossed the rough beach. Long and bulbous, they sprouted tufts of green hair but lay completely still. Lena bent closer. Cautiously, she poked at one with the pointed tip of her alligator boot. It didn’t move.
    “Bull kelp.” The man wore a squashed bowler hat and mumbled his words around the pipe between his lips. “Some folks say it’s mermaid whips, used to tame the sea horses.” His laugh was rusty, creaking like something exposed too long to the sea air. From under the hat deep-set eyes twinkled. “Not from here, are you?”
    Lena shook her head and recovered her voice. “No, it’s my first time at the ocean.”
    “Thought so.” He nodded and chewed his pipe.
    The man, Lena noted, was barely taller than her shoulder. He looked like one of the craggy boulders come to life. “Do you live here?”
    “Came here with my father’s fishing boat ’fore this town was anything at all, and I’m still here now that it’s nothing again.”
    “You’re a fisherman?” She could see five or six boats bobbing not far offshore now that the fog had cleared.
    “Used to be.” He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his face. “Now I just help out on the boats, some.”
    Lena thought quickly. If he’d been here that long, he might be just the person to ask. “I want to hire a guide. Perhaps you could tell me whom to talk to?” She wasn’t prepared to reveal too much about her reasons for coming to Knoster.
    “Fishing guide? That’s the kind of guide most tourists want.” He squinted out toward the open water.
    “No, a travel guide.” Lena scuffed the toe of her boot in the grainy sand. “I’m not really a tourist. I need a guide into Scree.”
    The man turned toward her, his furrowed face scrunched tightly as a raisin. “You don’t look the type to have business in Scree.” He sucked his pipe thoughtfully as his eyes traveled from the pointy toes of her boots to her dark, windswept hair.
    Lena attempted to appear dignified. “Nevertheless, I am here on business. And I’m willing to pay.”
    Overhead a seagull whirled and screeched as it dropped aclamshell to smash against the rock. In a sharp dive the bird dropped and swallowed the exposed animal in a gulp.
    “They’re clever that way,” said the man. “Know how to get what they want.” He tapped his pipe against his leg and pulled out a pouch of tobacco. He took his time refilling the pipe. Lena waited.
    “Looks like you know what you want too. Name’s Milo. If we’re going to talk business, we’d best introduce ourselves.” He shuffled toward her and extended a brown-clawed hand.
    “Lena Mattacascar.” She held out her gloved hand, which he took and shook without comment.
    “Well, Lena Mattacascar—it just so happens you asked the right man. There’s only two folks I’d trust to take me into Scree. Two folks who really know the land and can help you find whatever it is you’re looking for.” He paused, waiting for her to say just what she was looking for. When she didn’t, he continued. “And I suspect it’s not the usual tourist curiosity. But it’ll cost ya.”
    She nodded.
    “Margaret Flynn—you can find her down at the Parasol.” He nodded toward the row of shops lining the harbor. “And Mr. Tobias Beasley. But he don’t do that kind of thing much anymore. Lives in a big house outside of town.”
    Lena started at the name Beasley. “Is that the Mr. Beasley with a library?”
    “You’ve heard of him. Yep, that’s him, all right. Used to be a practicing medical man. Gave it up a few years back. But I cansay this for him: He helped out some of those poor folk living in the forests up there. A shame the way they been treated. Beasley and Flynn’re both strange folk, I won’t deceive you. But they know things about Scree others don’t.” He turned back toward the sea, nursing his pipe, hands