Fleggs trotted over to nuzzle Billy. He had always been able to recognize the boy, body or bones.
“There’s another matter we must face up to.” Grim smiled but his voice was stern.
Billy looked up.
“When I arrived, time had already stopped.”
“Collywobbles! How?” Billy gasped.
Grim took Fleggs by the halter. “I’ve long suspected you absorbed some of my powers when you turned from a skeleton back into a boy. I’m afraid that’s against quite a few Afterlife rules. So it’s past time I told Oversecretary Underhill about that, too. Even the angel of death is bound by regulations, my boy.”
Billy’s mouth dropped open. “But … does that mean you’ll get shipped off to Nevermore?”
Grim drew the boy close. “Not if I can help it.”
A cold sensation swept through Billy when Grim’s cloak grazed him.
“Oversecretary Underhill is a first-rate skeleton and a solid friend. He and I think the time for secret prisons and Afterlife spying is over,” Grim said. “The Investigative Branch has too much control.”
Billy bit his lip. “They’re horrible.”
Grim leaned down and looked Billy in the eye. “Truth is, they think they’re doing right. But don’t worry, we’ll set things straight. Right eventually flowers even out of the darkest wrong.”
Despite Grim’s grin, Billy felt unsettled. Lately, the adults around him had been awfully quick with assurances over things they couldn’t control.
Uncle Grim stood, the hem of his cloak sweeping a trail of frost across the floor. Billy watched him swing into his saddle, then felt a scorching blast from behind.
A voice pierced the room like shards of dark crystal. “And that, my old assistant, will only happen over my smashed bones.”
Shadewick Gloom stepped out of a whirling hole with his two huge shadow hounds snarling at his side.
Chapter 7
The Boneyard
Sad to say, but not every part of the Light Side is nice. Take Edgeton, for example. It’s gray, dreary, and slop-full of dilapidation. That is because of its unfavorable location: next to the Dark Side. This sorry district is reserved for the lowest rungs of society, namely skeletons, and ghostly fugitives like Glass-Eyed Pete.
Pete had sought shelter in this shabby corner of the Afterlife now that Chippendale’s spying eyeballs were everywhere. At the moment, he was lying low in the Boneyard, a rustic pub, filled with smells like oiled wood and pipe smoke.
Minnie Lumbus sat behind the backroom bar, tossing an occasional smile toward Pete. She was plump for a skeleton. Large boned she would say—all the better to wrap her guests in bone-crunching hugs when they needed them. Widow Lumbus had known Glass-Eyed Pete for many years, and second to High Manners Manor, the tavern was his favorite haunt.
Pete looked splendid in his translucent blue coat. It was double buttoned with wide lapels and hung down to the tops of his buccaneer boots. Despite the softness of his ghostly glow, his face was wrinkled as a mummy’s wink, but rarely wore a frown. Jenkins, his parrot, sat on his shoulder—a jewel-like green to Pete’s filmy blue.
Pete scanned the two rogues who faced him with his glass eye. It was believed the eye was magic and helped him judge the souls of others. “Lads, thank ye for comin’ by at such an early hour. An hour too early from the look of ye.”
“Too right.” Ned—Mrs. Lumbus’s grown son—clattered in agreement. He was a hulking fellow with a battered jawbone, who wore the red cloak and silver emblem of a Skeleton Guide. It was his job to escort condemned souls to the Dark Side.
“This might make it worth yer while.” Pete materialized a golden coin. It turned and floated within the gentle column of his pipe smoke. “One hundred golden wishes to both of ye, if ye can help me.” Pete palmed the coin before anyone could grab it.
“Where’d you come across that, Pete?” Ned’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “The most you’ve had in your pockets before’s been a hungering moth.”
Pete took a steady pull of his pipe. “My friend will be bringing the rest of the loot soon.” His good eye crinkled like salty sail canvas. “But with the gold comes a mission, lads.”
“I’ve a bad feeling about this.” Ned sighed.
“One hundred in gold can go a long way in calming our fear.” This smooth voice belonged to Roger Jolly. He was a bit of a dandy by skeleton standards, wearing a tattered tailed suit and a top hat. Unlike most skeletons, Roger Jolly had hair. He wore it long, black, and sleek.
Pete exhaled a smoke plume. It circled the table and then drifted apart. “Very well, me buckos, let’s get down to business.”
The skeletons leaned toward Pete—Ned on his ham-sized fists and Roger on an elegant elbow. Pete paused for dramatic effect, but the air was already thick with curiosity. “Here it is, lads.” He spread his hands on the table. “How do ye get me into Nevermore? And more importantly, how do ye get me back out?”
Chapter 8
When Time Stands Still
Regretfully for skeleton historians, the Battle at Stonehamm Cottage lasted only seconds. Billy was pinned to the ground near Uncle Mordecai’s bed when Shadewick Gloom and his snarling hounds sprang from their shadowport. From there, all Billy could see were two crackling bolts of purple light. The cottage shook with a thunderous explosion, then went quiet.
“Off!” Shadewick Gloom snapped.
The dogs obeyed instantly and Billy got his first clear look at the shadow-cloaked skeleton. There was something in his hands: Uncle Grim’s head! Billy jumped to his feet. His eyes swept the room in a panic. Grim’s headless body lay still, on the far side of the room.
As Fleggs reared up and whinnied, relief surged though Billy. The huge warhorse would surely set things straight. Fleggs pawed and snorted as he edged toward Shadewick, his eyes the color of spitting lava.
“Get him, Fleggs!” Billy cried.
Gloom held up Uncle Grim’s head. “I’ll smash it if you plant one hoof closer,” he shouted.
Fleggs stopped.
Billy couldn’t believe it. Could this dark skeleton win so easily?
Gloom lifted the skull. “Ah, poor Grim Bones.” He snickered, then tucked the skull into the crook of his arm. He turned on Billy. “I expected some trickiness, but this is most unusual.” He circled the boy slowly. “How is it that a human boy is still moving even though time has stopped? Hmmm. We’ll have plenty of time to sort it out it because you’re coming with me! But, first …” Shadewick strode toward Millicent.
“Noooo!” Billy swiped at his friend’s arm, but the hounds pressed him back.
That voice. And this shrouded skeleton, they were straight out of his nightmares.
Shadewick Gloom smirked. He waved a hand toward Millicent’s chest and out leaped a bright purple orb. A chill crept through Billy, frosting him to the bones.
Shadewick Gloom floated Millicent’s glowing soul above his fingertips. “Delightful,” he mused.
He didn’t notice Grim’s eyes light up. But Billy did. Uncle Grim was coming around!
Shadewick slunk toward Billy as the hounds took up a new post in front of Fleggs. “And now for you.” He flexed his fingers like he was trying to choose melons in a grocer’s bin. “Another ripe soul for Nevermore.”
Billy leaped back, tripping over the bed.
“Hold still, boy.” Gloom raked Billy’s chest with sharp fingertips.
The touch burned and the room whirled. Out of the dimness, he heard Grim shout, “Pull, Billy! You’ve done it before!”
Blue glows and black sparks flared around Billy. In a flash, he was more bones than body. Eternal energy twisted out of his chest and up his arms. Shadewick reached for the bright blue ball of Billy’s soul. But the boy reached out and pulled back.
By then, Grim’s headless body was back on its feet. It took a menacing step forward. Fleggs rumbled back into the fray. Hammer and Tongs lunged at the horse’s flanks, but the huge beast was too powerful.
Billy lunged after them, but it was too late. The shadowport was nearly closed. Billy caught Grim’s last shout —“The Boneyard!”— before the hole twisted shut.
In the dim light of Stonehamm Cottage, Billy was left with Martha, still as a headstone; Grim’s headless body fumbling around on the floor; and his best friend’s soulless body, frozen in time, reaching out to save him.
Chapter 9
Timelessness Marches On
The last time Millicent felt like this, she had been a passenger in Professor Dabbleton’s rocket-powered dirigible. Too much kick in his thrusters and she had found herself a thousand feet in the air, swearing her stomach was a thousand feet below.
A horrid skeleton was leading her through a spiraling hall. Am I dead? she wondered. But her stomach felt too topsy-turvy to believe that. It was a most unusual sensation, like she wasn’t altogether there.
A purple glow scuffed the edges of the walls. It took Millicent a moment to realize the light was coming from her. She looked down at her arms and legs. They were as ghostly as Glass-Eyed Pete! Then she saw something worse. The skeleton in front of her was carrying Uncle Grim’s head. Grim was scowling.
And as if all this wasn’t enough, two shadowy hounds loped ahead—each leaving a wake of sludge.
It was all most curious.
Eventually, they stepped into a cavernous room, filled with lenses, crystal globes, prisms, surveying instruments, and even several orreries. It’s some kind of laboratory, Millicent thought. But for what kind of strange science?
The skeleton slammed Uncle Grim’s head next to a lens the size of a globe. He turned to one of his hounds. “Take her into the next room, Tongs. But don’t let her drift away. Hammer, you wait by the shadowport.”
Both dogs obeyed. Tongs gripped Millicent by her dress and trotted her into the hallway. She floated behind with as much ability to resist as a balloon. From its scowl, Millicent guessed the dog wasn’t fond of light.
Tongs released her, then flopped next to the door. She drifted toward the center of the room and circled slowly. Many children would have died of fright by now, but not Millicent. She lived for these kinds of mysteries. She was scared, of course. But with measured steps and trembling breaths, she regrouped and looked around.
She was in a kitchen. Thick wooden islands were chockablock with ingredients in large glass jars. Bits and pieces of body parts wriggled inside each one. A handful of eyeballs blinked at her. Millicent shuddered.
When she tried to take a step away, she sank partway through the floor, then sprang into the air again. After numerous attempts, one thing was certain. Running away was out of the question.
Millicent drifted as close as she dared to the door, until the hound growled a low warning. She could hear snips of the conversation in the next room. The shadow skeleton’s voice carried particularly well.
“Now, now, Grim. My dear ex-assistant. Don’t be such a sourpuss. You are to be the crown jewel of my collection. The least you could do is show off that big skeleton smile.”
Who is that beastly skeleton? Millicent wondered.
“I’ll smile, Shadewick, when you’re locked up thirteen levels below,” she heard Uncle Grim croak.
Ah! Millicent tucked the name away.
“Not much chance of that, old thing. You see, I’m on the best of terms with the One below. Besides, no one will hear you when I put this jar over your head.” Millicent heard the ring of a glass bell. Shadewick must have tinged the glass with a fingertip. The shadow skeleton continued. “It’s quite soundproof. You won’t be able to call your nasty horse.”
“Be glad I can’t. He’d splinter your body —”
All Millicent could hear from Uncle Grim after that were muffled curses. She turned toward the farthest wall, but this whole walking business was like trying to get around on a lake bottom.
Millicent heard Shadewick chuckle right behind her. She turned to see him pull a key from a shadowy sleeve. It had a scrollwork horse head for a handle and the shaft ended in a large crystal eyeball, filled with radiant black energy.
Shadewick studied Millicent’s face. “You have a most familiar look.” He stroked the key with sharp fingertips. The sound raised her neck hairs. “Ah, yes … I know who you are. I shall station you next to your parents. That should be lovely, I’m sure.”
Chapter 10
Billy’s New Bones
Slowly, with a few prods from Fleggs, Billy sat up. He still felt horrid as hag’s breath, but had to do something. Millicent would have. “Get your teacup out of its saucer and get busy!” he could imagine her saying.
As Billy dragged himself up, Grim’s headless body bumped into him. It was holding a creased sheet of paper in one hand and swirling the other in a gesture of writing.
He wants a pen!
Billy grabbed the candle from Martha’s hand, the flame still frozen in mid-flicker. He searched the cottage, lighting up every dank corner until finally stumbling across a crumpled grocery list and a pen.
He darted back to the bedroom, then, steering Grim’s body to the bed, he placed the writing instrument in its hands. It took a number of scribbling strokes before the body figured out how to produce something legible. Billy read the offered note, his knees shakier than the handwriting.
Billy, not sure how long I can keep time stopped … still possible to save Millicent. Ride Fleggs to the Afterlife! If time restarts, Millicent will be lost forever in Shadewick Gloom’s hideaway, Nevermore!
Go to the Boneyard. Get help. Can’t write more.
He’s coming this way … I fear he’s going to —
Grim’s pen clattered to the floor. His body twitched and bent over—hands contorted like claws, arms crossed and shaking.
Billy felt horrible leaving Grim, but staying couldn’t help his uncle and would only put Millicent into more danger. He jammed the note in his raincoat pocket, and then, scraping a chair alongside Fleggs, he clambered aboard.
On any normal day (if there was such a thing in this odd boy’s life), Billy would have banged off a stout little jig. Second to pirating, a ride on Fleggs was his favorite thing. Instead, Billy shouted and snapped the reins, “Come on Fleggs. Uncle Grim wants you to take me to the Boneyard!”
Billy pulled the reins tight to his chest, leaned into the horse’s starry mane, and closed his eyes. He held on for dear life—Millicent’s dear life.
Chapter 11
By the Grace of Minnie’s Knuckles
For a jaw-dropping moment, there was silence at the Boneyard table. Then the skeletons reacted.
“Help you get to Nevermore?” Ned Lumbus blustered. “Pete, your brain’s a mile wide of its berth!”
Roger only stared, but his eyes were cold as cod scales as they took the measure of the old pirate.
“Look, Pete,” Ned said. “Most in the Afterlife have heard about the place, but no one knows where it is. I have grave doubts it’s even on the Dark Side.”
Pete aimed his pipe stem at the burly skeleton. “It’s got to be.”
“But it’s not.” Roger Jolly slipped his legs off the table. His boots landed with two smart whaps. “If you like, I can tell you where it is, and who’s in charge.”
Ned looked at him like his brain was as fogbound as Pete’s.
“Thing is”— Roger hinged his fingers open and extended a palm toward Pete —“I need to see all hundred wishes before I say another word.”
Pete dropped back in his chair, massaging his stubbly chin. His parrot, Jenkins, struck a matching pose. “My friend usually arrives well before anyone’s ready to see him. I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.”
With a clatter of sparking hooves,
Billy and Fleggs arrived outside the Boneyard. The whoosh from their entrance swung the tavern sign. It was handpainted, depicting a graveyard with skeleton arms sticking out of its plots. They were holding beer mugs, raised in a foamy toast.
Billy looked around as the sign creaked to a stop. The street was empty as a headless man’s hat and the Boneyard looked closed for business. Not a light flickered inside. Now what?
Billy swung off his saddle and dropped to the cobblestones. The resulting clatter led him to an important discovery. He held up a bony hand, flexing his fingers. I’m a skeleton again!
As Billy stood goggling, Fleggs nosed the boy’s pocket. After a few more luminous eye blinks, Billy took the hint. He pulled out Grim’s note, noticing the unusual fold. Typically a note-writer folds the paper to conceal its contents. But his uncle had written on the outside (a very un-noteworthy thing to do).
Billy shook the folds open and discovered someone else’s message inside:
Grim,
Aye, I’ll be happy to help ye with yer task. As ye might guess, I’d like nothing more than to clear me name.
Meet me at the Boneyard Tavern in Edgeton. Find Minnie Lumbus. I told her to expect an awesome powerful bloke. She’ll lead ye to me. And don’t forget the bag of wishes. I’ll need every ounce of gold.
Thank Cecil Benders for me for takin’ this note to ye.
Hope surged in Billy as he checked over the note again. Grim must have been on his way to the Boneyard to meet Gramps Pete! But what about the golden wishes? And just as if Billy had spent a golden wish to find out, Fleggs turned to leave, jingling with every step.
The Road to Nevermore Page 4
