The smaller sentinel’s empty helmet scanned Pete up and down and then turned to his partner. “I will take the conscript to Gloom. You take the good-deed doer to the inquisitor.”
Billy screwed up his eyes, straining to think what to do. And once more, the truth served him. “Oh, he’ll want to see me … and my friends!” he said, sweeping a hand toward Pete and Roger: but missed Ned, who was doing his best to blend in with the conscripts.
“Huh?” Roger straightened up.
Pete was quicker to recover. “The lad’s not pullin’ yer tails, neither.” He frowned at the sentinels. “Has a standing invitation by Gloom’s office whenever he’s in the Dark Side.”
“I’m sure he’d be furious if you didn’t let me see him,” Billy said with loads more confidence than he felt.
Chapter 21
At Gloom’s Door
“Where is everyone?” Billy asked Pete. “This place looks deserted.”
Billy had always imagined that Government Hall would be filled with the churn of administrative activity. At least that’s how his parents and Mr. Benders had always described it.
“Not a lot for these bureaucrats to do, I suspect.” Pete looked around. “Ye heard the sentinels say there’s only the one rule ’bout not doing good deeds.”
Billy, Pete, and Roger stood near the door of the Receiving Department, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. They had no wish to be invited inside. Thanks to the sentinels, they had no wishes at all. Uncle Mordecai stood a few paces away, still wearing shackles. His chains clinked gently each time he sneaked a nervous glance into the office.
Ned had insisted that the sentinels stop at the Receiving Department, before he turned over Mordecai. He also had pointed out that it was his duty as a Skeleton Guide to return to the Light Side once his prisoners had been discharged.
The trip up to Government Hall had been uneventful, if you consider a clattering ride suspended over a pit of flames an everyday activity. The sentinels had been monstrously rough with the crowds as they escorted Billy and company through the streets. But they had been almost tender with their spider mounts as they urged them up the walls of the elevator shafts and then into the long hallway, where they were silently standing guard.
Looking up at the demons, Billy scratched his head. “They’re awfully good at following orders.”
“That’s all a part of evil’s bloom,” Pete agreed. “It blossoms best when people blindly follow orders.”
A BANG, CLANK, CLANG of steam pipes drew Billy’s attention to the Receiving Department door.
ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER (THEN SURRENDER THE REST OF YOUR PERSONAL EFFECTS) was chiseled into the stonework above the entrance. Roger told Billy that the last living person to visit the Dark Side had come up with the first part of the line—some Italian fellow, Dante. The demons had just loved the quote.
Inside the office, a chubby demon wearing a singed waistcoat and a very bored expression stamped the ghosts’ paperwork. Every time the stamp rapped paper, the documents burst into flames and the ghosts standing before him transformed into the most gruesome shapes. Some grew horns and tiny bat wings (like the chubby demon), some tentacles or tails, and others multiple eyestalks with big dripping fangs. Back in the hallway Uncle Mordecai paled and turned away from the door.
Pete sidled closer to Roger. “Looks like yer with us for the long haul.”
Stroking his hair, the skeleton dandy looked down the long curved hallway, then up at the towering sentinels. His lidded eyes seemed like calculators figuring the odds of escape. Roger slouched back against the wall. “It’s just the opportunity to develop an interest in Dark Side architecture.”
“Sorry. Telling them Gloom wanted to see me was the only thing I could think of,” Billy apologized.
“Just as well you did, Billy, otherwise I’d be a top hat taller from the inquisitor’s rack,” Roger said. “Besides, I did promise you I’d get you to Gloom’s door.”
Just then, Ned emerged, humming and holding a transfer receipt. He tucked it temporarily under his arm and then set about his final official duty. He unlocked Uncle Mordecai’s cuffs, setting him free. “Well, that’s that. It’s back to Edgeton for me.” He tapped his staff to his forehead in a salute, then caught the look of Billy’s disappointment. “Nope, my mind’s made up, Billy. Skeleton horses couldn’t get me to change it.”
“I’m sure yer mum will be plumb proud ye made it this far,” Pete said as Jenkins tut-tutted from the old pirate’s shoulder.
Ned looked from Pete to Roger to Billy’s misting eyes, then rolled up his document and stuffed it into his red cloak. “I’m sorry, Billy. I really am, but I can’t risk it. Got to go.”
Ned pushed Mordecai over to Roger. Embarrassment shrouded the Skeleton Guide’s expression as he slumped into the elevator. The metal floor grate groaned, and fingers of orange light lit him from below like prison bars shutting across his face.
Giving Billy a mournful wave, Ned called, “Good luck, boy.”
With a deep metallic THUNK the elevator shrugged into use. Chain links the size of rib cages rattled through subterranean gears. Squeaks of protesting metal echoed through the long hallway with the disorder of scattering roaches.
The level of Billy’s worry rose with each clattering link as Ned lowered out of sight. They never would have gotten this far without the skeleton’s stout staff and alert scouting. And now Ned was leaving right when he and Gramps Pete were facing the most dangerous part of their journey.
Pete glanced over the edge of the elevator shaft. Scowl dwindling, he turned to Billy and Roger. “It won’t do to fanny around. We best be going,” he said. “This ain’t a place for cowards.” Then, striding up the hall, he beckoned everyone to follow.
Billy scampered up to join Pete and Roger, glad to be away from the sounds now emanating from the Receiving Department. He refused to imagine what was happening to the conscripts now that they had been turned over. But the thought didn’t seem to be eluding Uncle Mordecai. His eyes were round as golden wishes as he trudged along, looking back over his shoulder. The sentinels spurred their mounts forward. One took up the rear, keeping a missing eye on Billy. The other rode his spider to the head in order to lead the way.
“Any more ideas for a plan? Or is piratey stealth the best you’ve got?” Roger whispered to Pete.
“Stow it!” Pete growled. Then under his breath muttered, “Weren’t sure we’d even get this far.”
This did not improve Billy’s confidence. Still, Pete and Roger sauntered along—Roger with a skimp of a smile on his face, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Billy wondered where he found that kind of courage and if he might borrow a spoonful.
Soon the Receiving Department disappeared behind one hallway curve and then another. The longer they trudged, the more convoluted the hallway became. Billy could see firsthand why it wasn’t wise to wish oneself around on the Dark Side.
Through roundabouts, dark distortions, and in and out of backtracks the sentinel led them, until they arrived at a towering ebony door. Gloom’s door. As it loomed above Billy, he couldn’t shake the feeling it lead to the very depths of a nightmare—one that might last forever.
Chapter 22
The Skeleton Siege
When the skeletons arrived at Stonehamm Cottage, it was still thunderously dark. Mr. Bones gestured for everyone to gather around. Mrs. Bones, Mrs. Ribtuck, the two Headleys, and four Bunyons formed a tight huddle. Then Mr. Bones said, “Before we charge in there all willy-nilly, I suggest we do a little investigating. Mr. Headley, will you join me? The rest of you guard either side of the door. If something’s in there, it might come this way.” Mrs. Bones’s brave look calmed him slightly as he turned to Headley. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Mr. Headley replied, and the two skeletons stole around the corner.
The bedroom window lit up with a sudden burst of purple as they drew near. Mr. Bones pressed his back against the cottage clapboards, then signale
d silently for Headley to take up a post on the opposite side. Headley ducked under the sill and got into position. More glows erupted, followed by screams, and then the skeletons peeked inside.
The glass was filthy with dust, but what Mr. Bones saw was enough to chill him to the marrow. Millicent and a plump woman stood frozen next to a bed. What is Millicent doing here? And where is Billy?
Eyes flared with worry, Mr. Bones stepped in front of the window for a better look. The bed contained a wiry old man. In the center of the room, a shadowy shape slipped between two skeletons, suspended in the purple light of some unearthly magic. The skeletons were slumped forward, backs to the window.
Mr. Bones recognized Grim’s cloak immediately. He guessed the other skeleton was Liam Slackbones. Mr. Bones scanned the room for Billy and Fleggs. Maybe they’ve escaped. But his flicker of hope vanished as the next purple flash revealed a third skeleton. Shadewick Gloom!
“We don’t want any witnesses, now do we?” Gloom said—voice muffled by glass—as he applied a shimmering arc of purple energy to Liam Slackbones’s skull. “That ought to boil that pea brain of yours!”
Mr. Bones grabbed the windowsill. It splintered apart in his hands.
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Headley asked in a sharp whisper.
Mr. Bones’s eyes were blank as a cemetery statue’s. He slowly reached for the scar at his temple.
“It’s no time to go wobbly.” Mr. Headley grabbed Mr. Bones’s shoulder and shook. “How are you going to save anyone like that?”
Very slowly, beneath twitching lids, the blue luminance returned to Mr. Bones’s eyes. He steadied himself on the remains of the sill. “Right.”
“Let’s get in there.”
“Not advisable,” Mr. Bones groaned. “Not quite yet.”
“We can’t just stand here. That’s plain wrong!”
“Of course it’s wrong! But it’s advisable.”
Mr. Headley stared at Mr. Bones as if his head had turned into a parsnip.
“Don’t think this doesn’t pain me, Headley!”— Mr. Bones turned from the window in disgust —“but perhaps you haven’t noticed his blasts are weakening: they always do.” He closed his eyes, stroking his scar. “H-he doesn’t have unlimited power.”
“Apologies, Bones,” Mr. Headley offered crisply. “That’s why you’re in charge.”
“It shouldn’t be long now. Let’s get back to the others.”
Mrs. Bones swept over to her husband as soon as he rounded the corner and she saw the extra paleness of his expression.
“I’m all right, my dear.” Mr. Bones untangled himself from her embrace. He explained what was happening inside the cottage and finished with, “Let’s give it a minute or so, then we will strike.”
It was the longest minute Mr. Bones had ever withstood in his long Afterlife life. When the explosions from the room finally turned to fizzles, he signaled the others to follow.
The skeletons snuck craftily into the cottage and surrounded the bedroom door. On Mr. Bones’s shout of “You’ve tortured your last soul, Gloom!” they stormed in.
The skeletons clattered across the room—surrounding Gloom in a circle of Headleys, Bunyons, Boneses, and even a Ribtuck.
Mr. Bones stepped forward. “Nine to one, Gloom. Best to give up.”
“Lars Bones!” The shadowy skeleton rasped his fingertips together, a jagged grin cutting across his jaw. “Whoever thought I’d see you again. Your nightmares were quite special. Such a shame I had to release you.”
“We won’t be releasing you anytime soon, I can tell you,” Mr. Bones replied, hands trembling as he locked them tight behind his back.
Shadewick Gloom sauntered forward. Mr. Bones inched back nervously. “Nine to one you say? You think that’s enough to hold back my kind of power? Ludicrous!”
“H-hold together,” Mr. Bones urged the other skeletons. “He’s bluffing. It will take him time to recharge.”
“Look, Dad!” one of the Bunyon boys cried near the bed. “Grim Bones hasn’t got his head!”
The skeletons turned to look. Indeed, Grim’s hood was empty.
When they turned again to face Gloom, the odds had changed. It was now nine to two. Hammer bristled next to his master. The skeletons instinctively stepped back from the hound.
“Tear ’em up, boy!” Shadewick shouted. Shadowport key in hand, he fled to the nearest wall as the room burst into bone-clattering mayhem, with skeletons dashing in all directions.
But Mr. Bones threw himself at the nightmarish skeleton. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happened to Billy!”
“Billy?” Gloom paused in midstride, then, like two blood-choked ticks, his eyes swelled with realization. “Of course. I should have remembered.”
Turning his key with one hand, Gloom met Mr. Bones’s charge with the other. The shadow skeleton had just enough power to deliver one more jolt. It seared Mr. Bones’s temples, sending him to his knees, smoke drifting from his skull. Gloom sneered as he stepped through the shadowport and disappeared.
It was Mrs. Bunyon who finally restored order to the cottage. An enthusiastic thump to Hammer’s head with her thighbone did the trick. The shadow hound was still laid out on the floor when Mr. Bones regained consciousness. Mrs. Bones helped her husband up and led him to Grim. Mr. Bones wobbled along, shaking his head as if trying to clear out cobwebs. The rest of the skeletons had congregated around Liam Slackbones, doing their best to bring him around.
Mr. Bunyon’s barrel chest was near bursting with pride as he wrapped an arm around his wife, his sons on either side. “Saved the day, you did. Would ’a been a disaster without your quick wits and your thighbone.”
“Weren’t nothin’ but a trifle.” Mrs. Bunyon blushed.
“Well, it was just the trifle we needed.” Mrs. Bones smiled, then turned to Mr. Bones. In the chaos, she hadn’t heard Gloom mention Billy’s name. “Do you think you can manage, Lars?” she asked as she let go of his arm.
Mr. Bones lurched over and swept open Grim’s empty hood. “Billy’s in real danger, I know it!”
“How?” Mrs. Bones asked, gripping Mr. Bones’s shoulder.
“I saw it in Gloom’s eyes.”
Mr. Bones yanked Grim’s body up by the lapels—his blue glow barely perceptible. “What’s happened? Where’s Billy?”
“Steady, Lars,” Mrs. Bones soothed, although she was clearly as worried as he. “We need to think our way through this.”
Screwing his eyes up, Mr. Bones lowered Grim back down. “Sorry, Brother.”
“Fleggs is gone and so is Billy.” Mrs. Bones rubbed her ivory brow, the way Millicent often did. “He must have escaped to the Afterlife.”
“Most likely he’s looking for Pete, but the old rascal has more hiding places than we have bones.”
“Bones? Didn’t Mr. Benders mention the Boneyard?”
“The Boneyard … yes, but it’s anyone’s guess where that is. And we’ve no way to get there.”
Mrs. Bones’s fingers flitted worriedly across her mouth, and then she stumbled to a chair and sat down. Mr. Bones reached after his wife, sad to see her brave front crumble.
“Someone say Boneyard? I could do with a little hair of the dog.” Speaking thickly, Liam Slackbones sat up. “Gooo, I’ve a doozy. Feels like my head’s split in two.”
“You know the Boneyard?” Mr. Bones asked.
“Who doesn’t? Drained many a glass there.” He rubbed his head and looked around. “Where’d that shadowy gent go? A real troublemaker he was. Got in my way of getting back to the Department of Fibs and Fabrications.”
Liam reached for his official D.F.F. pocket watch, mumbling, “Head’s packed full of the worst kind of nightmares. Saint Bastian’s Bones! I best get up there right now before it’s too late!”
“Hang on a minute, Liam,” Mr. Bones suggested. “Perhaps I can hitch a ride as long as you have a pass.”
“Excellent idea, Bones!” Headley boomed, then grew thoughtfu
l. “But how are you going to get around in the Afterlife without any golden wishes?”
Mr. Bones fingered his vest pockets. “I’m not sure, but being there has to be better than being here. Maybe I can get to Oversecretary Underhill’s office… .”
“Maybe you should get to Fleggs instead,” Mrs. Bones fretted. “It could be the fastest way to Billy.”
“Good idea, but we’re not sure where Fleggs is. And it will take more wishes than I have to find him.”
“Whatever you’re going to do, Mr. Bones, I wish you’d hurry.” Liam glanced toward the bed and frowned. “With my charge gone, my pass is about to expire, and then I’ll be stuck at Stonehamm Cottage for good.”
Mr. Bones looked desperately from skeleton to skeleton, searching for suggestions. One by one, they shrugged their shoulders, except for Mr. Bunyon. He was studying Grim. “Dunno, Mr. Bones, but isn’t your brother rather well off in the Afterlife? … I should think he has a few golden wishes jingling his coin purse.” He leaned down for a closer inspection.
Mr. Bones swept past Mr. Bunyon and rifled through Grim’s pockets.
“Brilly-frilly-ill-iant, Mr. Bunyon!” Mr. Bones cried seconds later, holding up a palmful of golden wishes.
“Nicely done!” Mr. Headley pounded Mr. Bunyon on the back.
“No time to celebrate. We’ve got to crack on.” Mr. Bones wrestled Grim’s body up and wedged it under an arm. “Liam, grab hold.” His legs buckled under the strain. Grim was terrifically heavy for a skeleton, particularly one without a head. Not surprising, though, with the responsibility for every soul on Earth weighing him down.
“Once we locate Fleggs, I may need your services at the Boneyard,” Mr. Bones grunted.
“I’ve no problem with that.” Liam rubbed his mouth with the back of a bony hand. When Grim’s body was secure, Liam held up a piece of parchment. A thin line of silver light worked its way from the edges into its center. The D.F.F. document collapsed into flakey ashes as a purple glowing portal opened before them.
The Road to Nevermore Page 8
