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AND DOZENS MORE!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 by Bruce Coville
Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © 2015 by Paul Kidby
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging‐in‐Publication Data
Coville, Bruce.
Diary of a mad brownie / Bruce Coville.—First edition.
p. cm. — (The enchanted files)
Summary: “Angus Cairns is a brownie, a magical creature with a fastidious nature. Alex Carhart is the messiest eleven‐year‐old in the United States of America. Together, this unlikely pair embarks on an unforgettable adventure.”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-385-39247-1 (trade)—ISBN 978-0-385-39248-8 (lib. bdg.)—ISBN 978-0-385-39249-5 (ebook)
[1. Imaginary creatures—Fiction. 2. Blessing and cursing—Fiction. 3. Orderliness—Fiction. 4. Magic—Fiction. 5. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 6. Family life—Fiction. 7. Diaries—Fiction. 8. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.C8344Di 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014026335
eBook ISBN 9780385392495
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v4.1
a
For Joe Monti—
Friend, mensch, inspiration
Contents
Cover
Also by Bruce Coville
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Great Oath of the Brownies
Saturday, September 19
Sunday, September 20
From the desk of Sheila Winterbotham [September 21]
Monday, September 21
Tuesday, September 22
Happy Pets Vet [September 23]
Wednesday, September 23
About the Encyclopedia Enchantica
Autobiographical Essay, by Alex Carhart
Saturday, September 26
Encyclopedia Enchantica: Selkie
Sunday, September 27
Letter from Ms. Lorna Kincaid [September 28]
Wednesday, September 30
Encyclopedia Enchantica: The Enchanted Realm on Other Continents
Thursday, October 1
Memo from Sheila Winterbotham [October 2]
Friday, October 2
Note from Ellen Carhart [October 2]
Saturday, October 3
Email from Alex Carhart [October 3]
Sunday, October 4
Email #1 from Sheila Winterbotham [October 4]
Email #2 from Sheila Winterbotham [October 4]
Sunday, October 4 (continued)
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 4]
Monday, October 5 (morning)
Monday, October 5 (evening)
Transcript of call from Alex Carhart (AC) to police dispatcher (PD) regarding intruder in her room
Monday, October 5 (continued)
Tuesday, October 6
Note from Alex Carhart [October 7]
Wednesday, October 7
Thursday, October 8
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 9]
Friday, October 9
Text messages between Ellen Carhart and Dennis Carhart
Saturday, October 10
Sunday, October 11
Three Poems by Bennett Carhart
Monday, October 12
Wilson, Wilson, Wilson and Wilson letter from Dennis Carhart [October 12]
Tuesday, October 13
The Curse Bearer
Tuesday, October 13 (late at night)
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 14]
Wednesday, October 14
Thursday, October 15
Wilson, Wilson, Wilson and Wilson letter from Dennis Carhart [October 15]
Friday, October 16
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 16]
Saturday, October 17
Excerpt from How to Be a Better Brownie, by Buttercup MacKenzie
Sunday, October 18
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 18]
Monday, October 19
Song lyric by Dennis Carhart
Tuesday, October 20
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 20]
Wednesday, October 21
Note from Bennett Carhart [October 21]
Thursday, October 22
Charter of the Fierce Poets Society
Friday, October 23
Thracks Trax Music letter from Ann Thracks
Saturday, October 24
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 24]
Sunday, October 25 (evening)
Monday, October 26
Case Notes on Bennett Carhart [October 26]
Tuesday, October 27
"The Tale of Ewan McGonagall" from Legends, Lore, and Lunacy of the Scots People, by Jane Hyatt Stemple
Wednesday, October 28
The Curse of the McGonagalls
Wednesday, October 28 (part 2)
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 29]
Date Uncertain
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [October 31]
Sunday, November 1
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [November 1]
Sunday, November 1 (part 2)
Monday, November 2
Monday, November 2 (part 2)
Tuesday, November 3
Wednesday, November 4
Text messages between Alex Carhart and Lorna Kincaid
Thursday, November 5
Letter from Lorna Kincaid [November 5]
Thursday, November 5 (late evening)
Friday, November 6
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [November 6]
Saturday, November 7
Date Uncertain (I canna figure how to date this diary entry if we are going to return at the same time we left!)
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [First Day on Ship]
Fourth Day Since Entering the Enchanted Realm
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [Third Day on Ship]
Article: "Mysterious Disappearance at Happy Oaks" from Connecticut Coast Town Crier
Sixth Day of Our Journey
Seventh Day of Our Journey
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [November 7]
From the desk of Sheila Winterbotham [November 13]
From the Journal of Alex Carhart [November 14]
The Judgment Upon Angus Cairns as Declared by the High Court of the Enchanted Realm in Scotland
Kindergarten letter from Jill Dietz [November 18]
Saturday, No
vember 21
About the Author
About the Illustrator
The Great Oath of the Brownies
(As sworn by every brownie when he or she comes of age to leave the Enchanted Realm and enter the human world)
We will maintain order and cleanliness in the households we inhabit, as is good and right.
For are we not brownies?
We will do a modest amount of mischief every day, mischief being an important part of a life well lived.
For are we not brownies?
We will avoid the eyes of all humans, and strive to be seen by none save the ones to whom we are bound.
For are we not brownies?
We will speak not of the Enchanted Realm to any human.
For are we not brownies?
And all this we swear, and all these things we will do, knowing that to break this oath is to risk fierce punishment.
For we are brownies, and subjects of the Queen of Shadows!
Saturday, September 19
I am about to embark on a great and fateful journey, and I am deep fretful. The thought of leaving Scotland fills me with woe.
To make things worse, I have just passed through a time of sorrow and loss.
Still, I am a brownie, fierce and proud, and should not be afraid.
Ach, I hope that is true! Oh, I know I am a brownie. And I know I am proud. But whether I am as fierce as I will need to be remains to be seen.
My cousin Fergus, who is the only other brownie left in our little highland village, has told me that when one is beset by fear and change, it can help to write about it.
That is why I have started this diary.
So far, it is not working.
Sunday, September 20
Last night when I told Fergus I thought the diary was of little use, he cried, “Ah, Angus, you don’t understand. The diary is not just for calmin’ yer frets. ’Tis also a way to save your memories!”
My memory is quite good all on its own, thank you very much. For example, I still remember the day over a hundred years ago when my da explained the curse that binds us to the McGonagalls.
You would think this would allow me some claim to wisdom. But Fergus said that as he is older than me by forty years, he is that much wiser, too. So I listen to his advice…unless he is offering it after he’s had too much of that good nut ale he brews in the basement of the cottage he tends.
Those nights he spouts an awful stew of nonsense.
It occurs to me that even if this diary does not calm my frets, it may be wise to write down what happens. After all, I am about to undertake a journey into unknown territory. If I manage to survive, the tale may prove worth the telling. If it comes out well enough, I may even want to publish it someday!
With that in mind, I should probably write a bit about myself.
To start with, my name is Angus Cairns. I stand nearly a foot tall. I recently celebrated my 150th birthday, though you would not know it to look at me, as by human standards I appear to be less than a third that age. I have thick, curly brown hair (I am a brownie, after all!) and large green eyes. My nose is somewhat pointy, and my large ears are very pointy. I dress mostly in brown tunics with brown britches underneath. For a festive occasion, I sometimes add a red sash to liven things up. My shoes curl up a bit at the end, which is my one frivolity.
Also, I am extremely strong for my size. I hope this does not sound like a brag. It is simply a true thing about brownies.
We have to be strong in order to do all we must about a household!
Also, I have the gift of scurrying, which lets me move so fast when a human is near that I can appear to be but a blur to their eyes, so long as I begin before they sight me. I canna do this for great distances, of course. But in the moment it is quite useful.
As noted, I am long bound to the clan McGonagall. But—alas and woe!—my current McGonagall, Sarah, has grown old and ill. The thought of losing her pains me deeply. I have been the spirit of her house for many decades and tended it faithfully for all that time.
It is not often that a human and her brownie become friendly, but it happened in our case. This was due in part to a wicked trick Sarah played on me when she was young.
I will not speak more of that now, other than to note that I finally forgave her. In truth, I was delighted to discover she had mischief in her soul. Oh, the pranks we played when she was a lass…and even when she was what mortals call “old enough to know better.”
Alas, one of the sorrows of being a brownie is that the humans in your life will never last as long as you do. Though I knew it was coming, it was still hard two nights ago when Sarah summoned me to her bedside to tell me the end was near.
Being not quite a foot tall, I climbed onto her nightstand, where I seated myself atop a pile of books. Once I was settled, she said softly, “Dearest Angus, I am not long for this world.”
“I know, Sarah,” I said. Then, to cheer her up, I added, “But you’ll move on to a better one hereafter.”
I envied her a bit in this. According to the priest in our small village, humanfolk have a soul that lives on after them, while we of the Enchanted Realm live on and on, but once gone, we’re gone.
’Tis a sad thing to think on, so I prefer not to.
Besides, I believe the priest to be a moon-addled bampot.
“You know you’re still bound to the McGonagall family, Angus. What you may not know is that none of this branch are left here in Scotland. And since the rule is that you must take service with the youngest female of age, I must send you to Alex Carhart, who lives across the sea in America.”
I yelped at this. “Alex is a boy’s name! You know ’tis to the youngest female of age that I must go!”
“Oh, Alex is a girl, all right. Her full name is Alexandra.”
I crossed my arms and said, “Well, that’s just silly. And I don’t want to go. America is too far off. Not only that, from what we’ve seen on your television, ’tis a wild and barbaric place.”
“Now, Angus! The Americans aren’t barbaric. They’re just…different. And there’s not much help for it, old friend. Gone I’ll be, and that soon enough. So off to my great-great-great-niece you must go. As you well know, it is not a matter of choice but of the charge laid on both our families.”
Which was true enough.
True or not, I was hardly happy about it. Nor would be any sensible brownie. To uproot myself and leave Scotland for the terrors of a new world? I’d rather peel off my clothes, roll in honey, and lie out in the sun where the ants could eat me. So though I dared not pitch a fit in front of Sarah, once I returned to my home beneath the stairs I had a prodigious one, with spirited cussing and much breaking of pottery and plates. (My own, of course, not Sarah’s. That I would NEVER do.)
I always regret these fits afterwards. But when the anger comes upon me, there is not much I can do. Generally, a fit will follow.
I cleaned it all up (of course!) and felt much dismay with myself for making such a mess to begin with. When I had all the shards and broken bits in a pile, I ran widdershins about them until I was going fast enough to make them disappear.
Now my shelves are bare.
Ah, weel. I couldn’t have taken such things with me on my trip anyway. Too much to carry.
I have decided I should journey through the Enchanted Realm. It will be the fastest way for me to get to America, despite its dangers.
More concerning is the matter of the curse. It has been so long since it’s been active that I am hoping it may have died away. After all, I have never been in a house where it was active. Even if not, perhaps it canna cross the great water?
That would be a blessing. Alas, I am fair sure the idea is naught but wishful thinking.
It would be best if this Alex Carhart I am assigned to has no brother or father about. Then I would not worry, for there would be none to suffer.
I wonder what she is like. I do hope she will be a tidy young thing, one who will appreciate a browni
e and what he can do for her.
Monday, September 21
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carhart,
Alex is a delightful girl, and I am glad to have her in my class.
That said, I have to tell you that her desk is the messiest I have seen in all my years of teaching.
I mean this quite literally. It overflows with paper and, well, stuff…some of it quite disgusting. Though Alex usually does her homework, it often takes five or ten minutes for her to locate it within the mess. That is, if she can find it at all! Though we are only three weeks into the school year, I already have a long list of missing work that Alex swears she has done but cannot locate.
Not handing in these assignments will have a serious impact on her grades for this quarter. To avoid further problems, here is a list of important upcoming due dates:
Autobiography project:
Due this Wednesday. Alex has had two weeks to work on it.
Book report on novel of choice:
Due Monday, Oct. 5
Research report:
Due Tuesday, Oct. 20
Could you please speak to her about this?
I am at my wit’s end!
Sincerely,
Sheila Winterbotham
Location: bottom of Alex Carhart's backpack
Monday, September 21
When I went to talk to Sarah this morning, I said, “Do you think you could mail me to America? It might be safer that way.”
She laughed, then coughed. Picking at the toast I had brought, she said, “Nae, ’tis a bad idea, Angus.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, to begin with, what would you do for food and drink…not to mention what comes of eatin’ and drinkin’?”
“I can hold my water a surprising amount of time,” I replied primly.
Sarah laughed again, but it was dry and wispy. “And who’s to package you up? I canna now do it myself, as you well know.”
So we watched an old movie on her little TV. We mostly watch old Westerns, which is how I know America to be wild and barbarous.
Partway through the movie, Sarah fell asleep. Once she was making that little-old-lady snore of hers, a kind of blippitty-whistle, blippitty-whistle (’tis a sweet sound), I went belowstairs, where I spent a very distressing two hours trying to package myself up.