Linus bent over, scooping up the button, bouncing it in his hand. “Why is this dangerous?”
Phee translated for David as Theodore explained that if the inspector saw how much he loved the button, she might try to take it away. It had been done before, he said, and he thought that meant the inspector might try to do the same. It wasn’t dangerous to her, but dangerous to him as he didn’t want to lose one of his treasures.
Linus reached down and patted Theodore’s head, the wyvern leaning into it, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t think they’d take your button, but if you feel strongly about it, I will carry it on my person at all times and return it to you once they leave. Deal?”
Deal, Theodore chirped.
Chauncey went next, deciding that a comprehensive explanation was needed for each of the items he presented, most of which were sharp seashells or sea glass he’d found buried in the sand. There was also a pile of pine cones. “It’s not what it looks like,” Chauncey said quickly as Arthur arched an eyebrow. “I’m just … collecting them. Yes, collecting them in order to make … a … pine cone … diorama?”
“Oof,” Phee said. “That wasn’t even remotely believable.”
Chauncey groaned. “I can’t even lie right.” He threw up his tentacles. “Congratulations! You caught me. I eat pine cones after everyone goes to bed, but it’s fine, I can stop whenever I want!”
“Of course you can,” Linus said. “Phee?”
She turned over her own sack, the contents spilling out onto the floor. Her contribution was a bit more involved than Theodore’s or Chauncey’s, bits of driftwood and spiny leaves, along with an impressive dagger with a jeweled hilt that glittered in the light.
“Where did you get that?” Arthur asked.
“Won it playing cards,” Phee said.
“What,” Linus said.
She shrugged. “I’m good at Go Fish. You know how it is. J-Bone didn’t believe me when I said no one had beaten me at Go Fish, so he bet his dagger. And then I kicked his ass.”
“Phee,” Linus said.
Theodore gripped the dagger in his claws, rolling over onto his back to bring the blade up to his face to inspect. His tongue snaked out, flicking against the jewels. He chirped three times, and Phee was immediately outraged. “What do you mean they’re fake?”
“Talia,” Arthur said. “You’re up.”
“I didn’t bring any of my tools,” she said, shuffling forward and picking up her bag. “They aren’t weapons but implements of my trade. If the inspector has a problem with that, they can die mad about it.”
“Noted,” Arthur said.
Talia turned her bag over, and Arthur almost wished he could be surprised by what he saw, but he wasn’t. At least a dozen glass bottles, small with fat, circular bases where liquid sloshed. Each bottle had the same design drawn onto it: a skull and crossbones.
“Is that poison?” Linus asked, aghast.
“It is,” Talia said. “Of my own concoction, and I grew all the ingredients myself. Hemlock, deadly nightshade, white snakeroot, with a pinch of cinnamon for taste. According to my calculations, it should take only thirty seconds before anal leakage starts, quickly followed by leakage from everywhere else.”
“Anal leakage?” David asked with wide eyes, hands going back to cover his rear.
“That sounds like the name of a band,” Lucy said. “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting … Anal Leakage! Guess what kind of music we’d play?”
Linus sighed. “Gospel.”
“Nope! Gos—oh. Yeah. That’s right.”
“Are you stalling, Lucy?” Arthur asked mildly. “I see that it’s your turn.”
“Ha!” he said. “I have no problem turning anything over, because Linus said if we try, anything can happen.”
Linus smiled. “That’s exactly right, Lucy. Thank you for—”
“Which means anything can be a weapon if you try hard enough.” He began to tick off his fingers. “Spoons. A flight of stairs. Sinkholes. Peanut butter. Air.”
“Lucy,” Linus warned.
“What? It’s true!”
“Be that as it may, we do not use sinkholes or peanut butter as weapons. Funnily enough, we’ve talked about this very thing. Twice.” He shook his head. “At least Sal doesn’t have poison or death by spoon on his mind.”
Sal fidgeted.
Arthur cleared his throat pointedly.
Sal made a face and then pulled out his hands from behind his back. Arthur almost laughed when Linus started to splutter in shock. “Is that—where did you—why did you—is that a sword?”
It was. A long, flat blade with a wooden hilt wrapped in red fabric. It looked heavy, but Sal held on to it tightly.
“How?” Linus asked helplessly.
“J-Bone’s kind of bad at cards,” Sal explained, scratching the back of his neck. “He said he could beat me at Old Maid. Turns out he couldn’t.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Linus?”
