And now he's going to want them all to get in a plane and fly to New Zealand or something, right?

It doesn't seem to get that far—yet. Rather, he drives them for several hours still, into the middle of a forest, to the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and to the top of a multilevel parking garage. Finally, they reach the coast, where Vernon parks, exits and locks them all inside the car, and disappears.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" he asks Aunt Petunia.

With Uncle Vernon not around...

"Aunt Petunia," he says hesitantly, "do you think you could say something to him...? We can't keep doing this forever, can we?"

"Perhaps," she says hesitantly. "I'll mention something when he comes back..."

It starts to rain, great drops beating on the roof of the car.

Dudley snivels. "It's Monday," he tells his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

At this point Victor will be happy if they stay somewhere with a roof.

But presently Uncle Vernon returns, smiling and carrying a long, thin package. He ignores Petunia's pleas and says, "Found the perfect place! Come on, everyone out!" He seems oblivious to the heavy drops of rain pelting his face.

Please let there be a roof...

It's very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon points at what looks like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock is the most miserable little shack one could imagine. One thing's certain, there is no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" says Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

A toothless old man comes ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," says Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

...it does, technically, have a roof. If only Victor had been more specific.

Into the boat he gets.

It's freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain creep down their necks and a chilly wind whips their faces. After what seem like hours they reach the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, leads the way to the broken-down house.

The inside is horrible; it smells strongly of seaweed, the wind whistles through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace is damp and empty. There are only two rooms.

This place is beyond any help Victor could give it.

Uncle Vernon's rations turn out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tries to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoke and shrivel up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he says cheerfully.

He's in a very good mood, probably thinking nobody stands a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. 

Victor hopes they don't send any owls. The owls would probably die.

As night falls, the promised storm blows up around them. Spray from the high waves splatter the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattles the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia finds a few mouldy blankets in the second room and makes up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon go off to the lumpy bed next door, and Victor's left to find the softest bit of floor he can and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

It's his birthday tomorrow. He'll be eleven.

Happy birthday to him.

The storm rages more and more ferociously as the night goes on. Dudley's snores are drowned by the low rolls of thunder that start near midnight.

And then Victor can hear something creak outside...

Did the wizards send some sort of monster to deliver the next letter. Is that what is happening.

Is that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And what's that funny crunching noise? Is the rock crumbling?

He gets up and goes to the door and opens it.

A giant of a man is tying his boat to the rock. His face is almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but one can make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. He looks up at Victor when the boy opens the door.

"Um. Hello."

"Well!" he booms. "If it ain't Victor himself! Yah's grown, boy! Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby!"

"Where's the cannon?" comes Uncle Vernon's cry from inside the shack.