“Oh no,” I whispered. “Mr. Smears will box me good for sleeping on the job.”
Then I realized something was different about this particular chimney. The bricks beneath me were soft and cushiony, the ones next to me as smooth as glass.
Suddenly the flue shifted, and the entire chimney seemed to be lifted off the ground. I sensed I was moving—traveling again, that was it—and in a flash everything came back to me. The Crumbsby twins, the chase from the Lamb, the fancy black coach—and the trunk in which I was hiding!
But what about that crack of thunder? What about the flash of yellow light and all that flying about the countryside?
A dream? Well, of course it had to be a dream. After all, even a humble chummy like myself knew that people didn’t just go flying about in fancy black coaches.
The coach! I was no longer on the coach speeding away from the Lamb. No sound of galloping horses, no sound of rattling wheels, only the thumping of my heart in my ears and footsteps beneath me. Yes, I was being carried on someone’s shoulders!
Then I heard a heavy clang, like the sound of the iron gate at the churchyard, and the trunk came to a stop.
“Do you require anything else, sir?” asked a familiar voice. The coachman—Nigel, was his name.
“Take the trunk up to my chambers, will you?” said another voice—Mr. G, the owner of the fancy black coach. “And be sure you put a blanket on the horses when you return them to the stables. It’s a bit chilly this evening.”
“Right-o, sir,” Nigel said, and then I was moving again.
The air was stifling, and I felt a tickle in my throat as if I would cough.
I swallowed hard, then swallowed again, and thankfully the tickle left me—but I hardly dared to breathe out of fear that at any moment the trunk’s lid would swing open and Mr. Smears would haul me out by the hair.
But I’d left Mr. Smears behind at the Lamb, hadn’t I? Along with the Crumbsbys and Old Joe and the cart and the soot bags. The fancy black coach had taken me south along the High Road, which meant that I’d left behind the cottage and the stable and the churchyard—the whole town, for that matter—too.
The town! I remembered seeing it from the air, far beyond the meadow of silver buttercups just before I—but no, that couldn’t be. I’d only dreamed all that. Yes, I must have fallen asleep inside the trunk on the way to…Well, that was the question now, wasn’t it? On the way to where?
I was answered with the loud clang of another iron gate, more footsteps beneath me, and what sounded like an entire guild of blacksmiths hammering away in the distance. And as Nigel walked on, the racket grew louder and louder until finally the hammering came at me from every direction.
Then Nigel abruptly stopped and said, “Hallo, hallo, what’s this?”
My heart leaped into my throat. I was sure he was speaking to me. But then a girl’s voice answered jubilantly, “Why, hello there, Nigel. Back so soon?”
“Not soon enough, from the looks of it,” Nigel said, annoyed. “You know right well you’re not allowed down here without the boss!”
“Pshaw. You won’t tattle on me, will you? I only wanted to have a quick look to see how things were coming along.”
“Not my place to go tattling, Miss Cleona. And things look to be coming along quite nicely. Just about finished, from what I can tell.”
“And from what I can tell, Uncle was successful on his trip to the North Country, was he not?”
“That he was, Miss Cleona, that he was.”
“Splendid!” Cleona squealed. “Let’s have a look at her.”
“Now, hold up! No need to go flying off like that. The boss will introduce the two of you when he’s good and ready. Come along, then, off to bed with—hallo, hallo, what do we have here?”
“What do we have where?”
“There in your hand tucked behind the folds of your gown?” No reply. “Now, now, don’t go playing tricks on me, miss. I want no part of that business. Come on then, Cleona, cough it up.” A brief moment of only hammering and then: “Just as I suspected. A book! You’ve been gadding about the library again!”
“I only wanted to read a little before bed.”
“But the rules state clearly that no books are to leave the library without the boss’s say-so. Them’s the rules. Period.”
“Pshaw. Uncle and his rules.”
“Rules are rules for a reason, miss. And after your little trick of stacking all them books up to the ceiling, well, you’re lucky you’re allowed in the library at all.”
“I know, but I’ll return the book in the morning. I promise. I’ve been conducting research all week in case Uncle tries to trick me back.” Another brief moment of only hammering. “Oh, please, Nigel,” Cleona said. “I just wanted to make sure I knew everything before Uncle returned. Promise me you won’t tell him, will you?”
“You’re certain there’s no trickery involved? I want no part of it.”
“On my honor. No trickery involved whatsoever.”
“Right-o, right-o,” Nigel grumbled. “But I didn’t see you, understand?”
“You’re a gem, Nigel!” Cleona said, and her giggling trailed away.
Nigel giggled too, and then we were moving again.
Soon there came another loud clang, followed by a jumble of sounds that reminded me of the coal mines at the edge of town—chains and pulleys, winches and metal cranking against metal. Nigel set down the trunk, but it still felt as if we were moving—not sideways this time but upward into the air.
The hammering faded away, and when the cranking stopped, the sense of traveling upward stopped too. Another loud clang, and Nigel hoisted the trunk onto his shoulders with a grunt and started walking again.
“Hallo there, Mrs. Pinch,” Nigel said, stopping. “Didn’t expect to find you still up and about.”
“Lots to do, lots to do,” replied a weary voice. “And blind me if I haven’t gone and misplaced my spectacles again.”
“Shall I help you look for them, mum?”
“Certainly not. What kind of housekeeper keeps others from their beds because of her own carelessness?”
The trunk rose and fell quickly—Nigel shrugging, I assumed.
“Besides,” said Mrs. Pinch, “they’re in here somewhere. Got a speck of dust in my eye as I was laying out the linens, got distracted and—well, blind me if my head doesn’t need oiling.”
“You’re sure it was you who misplaced them and not—”
“Oh, no, Cleona knows better than to play her tricks on me.”
This Cleona seems awfully fond of tricking people, I thought, and Nigel shrugged again. “Right-o, then, mum,” he said, setting down the trunk. “Off to the stables, I am.”
“Head needs oiling, I tell you,” Mrs. Pinch muttered distractedly.
“Good night, then, mum.”
The coachman’s heavy footsteps trailed away as Mrs. Pinch set about the room in search of her spectacles, all the while huffing and puffing and mumbling, “Blind me,” when her search came up empty.
The tickle in my throat returned. I swallowed hard, but the tickle only seemed to get worse. That’s it, I was going to cough, no remedy for it now, so I pressed my face into Mr. G’s clothes and let out a muffled, “Kipff!”
The tickle left me at once, but as I cocked my ear to listen, I noticed that all the huffing and puffing and blind me–ing outside had stopped. I waited, my heart pounding in terror, and then Mrs. Pinch began to hum pleasantly.
Dodged her for now, I thought. Yes, from the sound of things, it seemed as if Mrs. Pinch had set about the room again in search of her spectacles. Indeed, I’d just begun to entertain thoughts of an escape—when much to my surprise the trunk flew open and Mrs. Pinch screamed:
“Rat!”
Then she swung her broom and caught me square atop my head.
“Ow!” I cried.
Puzzled, Mrs. Pinch leaned cautiously over the trunk, her broom ready to strike.
“What on earth?”
she said, squinting down at me. Then she slowly lowered her broom and exclaimed: “Why you’re not a rat at all!”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am,” I said, rubbing my head. “Though I must admit you’re not the first person to call me that lately.”
“Well, what on earth are you doing inside the master’s trunk?”
I explained in short the circumstances surrounding my present situation, including how I came to live with Mr. Smears, as well as my apprenticeship as a chummy. Oftentimes I’d get ahead of myself, and Mrs. Pinch would become confused and ask me to go back. Her wrinkled face and squinty eyes seemed to soften when I told her about Mrs. Smears. However, when I got to the part about the trunk, her lips drew together so tightly that her nose nearly kissed her chin.
“Blind me!” she said. “You mean to tell me you’re here by accident? A stowaway chimney sweep?”
I was about to reply, when I noticed the dimly lit room for the first time. The floors and walls were black, but at the same time glistened like polished coal. There were strange pipes of all shapes and sizes running everywhere, as well as curtains of purple and red velvet draped from floor to ceiling. The trunk had been set down at the edge of a fancy rug, and the furnishings, peppered about with knobs of silver and brass, were finer than anything I’d ever seen on jobs with Mr. Smears. There were statues and vases and all sorts of objects of which I didn’t know the names. And at the center of it all, a grand four-poster bed. This, too, was draped in red and purple velvet, and emblazoned on the headboard, just like on the door to the coach, was a large silver letter G.
“Well?” Mrs. Pinch demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
It was then that, glancing at the bed, I spied Mrs. Pinch’s spectacles wedged between the coverlet and the bedpost.
“Spectacles,” was all I could manage.
“Come again?” said Mrs. Pinch, squinting, upon which I reached out and gingerly retrieved them with my pinky finger.
“Humph,” said Mrs. Pinch, snatching the spectacles from my hand. But once she slipped them on and saw how dirty I was, she opened her eyes wide and screamed.
“My apologies, ma’am.” I closed my eyes and braced myself for the flurry of blows that I was sure would follow.
“Chin up, lad,” Mrs. Pinch said after a moment. “A good thrashing is the least of what you need to fear here.”
I opened my eyes to find the old woman standing before me with her broom tucked beneath her arm like a musket, the handle aimed straight at my heart.
“Now listen carefully,” she began. “You’re to step out of that trunk and march straight for the door. Once you’re in the hallway, you’re to turn left and keep marching until I tell you to stop. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re to keep your eyes straight ahead at all times. No peeking or ogling about, but straight ahead at all times no matter what. You hear me, lad?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you best mind my instructions, or blind me if you don’t feel my broomstick on your bottom. Now march!”
And so I hopped from the trunk, turned left at the door, and set off down the hallway. Mrs. Pinch followed close behind, the tip of her broomstick lodged in the small of my back as if I were her prisoner. And I did try to obey her instructions, I truly did…but out of the corners of my eyes I couldn’t help but notice a number of peculiarities.
The walls appeared to be of the same polished black as Mr. G’s chambers, but they were lined with ornate sconces that burned with an eerie blue flame. Between some of the sconces were doors; between others hung large, gilded portraits that reminded me of ones I’d seen on jobs with Mr. Smears.
However, unlike the portraits in the manor houses, someone had marred the subjects with a bunch of swirly chalk mustaches. Even worse, on a portrait of a grim-faced little boy, someone had written: A.G. has a spotty bottom!
“That’s far enough,” said Mrs. Pinch. We’d come to a large, oaken door at the end of the hallway. The old woman scooted around me to give the brass handle a twist, and the door opened to reveal an iron gate behind it. Mrs. Pinch slid the gate sideways with a clang, and then scooted behind me with her broomstick at my back.
“Inside,” she commanded.
The narrow chamber into which I’d stepped resembled a jail cell, the walls from top to bottom made of long iron bars. The cell itself appeared to be suspended inside a vast chimney, and as Mrs. Pinch closed the door and the gate behind me, I discovered the same eerie blue light shining down on me from higher up the shaft.
“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Pinch. “You may turn around now.”
As I did, the housekeeper shifted a large lever, which in turn set off the same cranking noise I’d heard earlier on my trip with Nigel. However, instead of moving upward, this time we were moving down!
Mrs. Pinch must have mistaken the expression of amazement on my sooty face for one of fear, for she stared down her nose at me and said, “Come, come now. It’s only a mechanical lift. Surely you’ve seen something of the sort in your line of work.”
“Only when they sank a down-shaft in the coal mines, ma’am,” I replied. “And that lift had to be cranked by a pair of blokes, each one bigger than Mr. Smears!”
“Well, we won’t be traveling far down as any coal mines. Although blind me if I shouldn’t just move the master’s bed down here, what with his nose always buried in his books.”
The lift came to a stop, and Mrs. Pinch ushered me into a small parlor.
“Although you deposited most of your soot on the master’s clothes,” she said, pointing her broomstick again at my heart, “you’ll stand here by the hearth without touching anything until the master says you may enter. That is, if he says you may enter. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Once I introduce you, don’t speak unless spoken to. Be sure to speak clearly and to the point, and do not say anything casual, obvious, or irrelevant.”
“Irr-elephant, ma’am?”
“The master is a very proper man,” the old woman said, ignoring me. “And while he’s very fond of children, you’ll do well to at least pretend you have some breeding in you. So let’s start with that spine of yours and leave off slouching!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and stood up straight as a pencil.
“Very well, then.” Mrs. Pinch made to leave, but then stopped short of the door. “It just occurred to me. To whom shall I say the master is being introduced?”
“Grubb, ma’am.”
“Grubb?”
“Yes, ma’am. No first or last name, just Grubb. Spelled like the worm but with a double b. In case the master would like to write it down.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Pinch, her wrinkles softening. “And judging from the tale you told me upstairs, I assume it was Mr. Smears who bestowed this title upon you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Or so his wife told me, ma’am.”
“And how old are you, lad?”
“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.”
“Humph,” said Mrs. Pinch, looking me up and down. “To the untrained eye, your small stature and malnourished frame would suggest a boy of nine or ten. However, judging from your tale, I would guess your age to be twelve or thereabouts. So twelve or thereabouts is what I’ll tell the master.”
And with that Mrs. Pinch disappeared through a pair of pocket doors at the far end of the parlor. Gazing around, other than the coal-black walls and eerie blue light, to my eyes the parlor appeared no different than others I’d seen on jobs with Mr. Smears. However, stepping out from the hearth, above the mantel I spied a life-size portrait of a lady that, unlike the portraits upstairs, had not been defaced.
The lady’s hair was black and done up beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and she was dressed in a flowing black gown. She sat at a dressing table with a silver-handled mirror in her hand, as if she were admiring the large, blue-stoned necklace that hung about her neck. But her black eyes seemed to stare past the mirr
or with an expression of deep sadness. I thought this odd at the time, but I also thought the woman to be the most beautiful I’d ever seen.
Presently I heard muffled voices coming from the next room, and I stepped back onto the hearth and stood up straight. I tried hard to hear what the voices were saying, but when I could make nothing out, I began to go over Mrs. Pinch’s instructions again in my head. I so badly wanted to make a good impression.
But little did I know that nothing could have prepared me for what was waiting beyond the door.
The master will see you now,” said Mrs. Pinch, standing in the doorway. But as I made to pass her, she held me back by the shoulder and whispered, “Not so fast, lad. Remember what I told you.”
We stood at the entrance to an enormous library. Books filled the walls from floor to ceiling—ceilings so high that rolling ladders had to be used to reach the upper shelves. More books lay tossed about on the furniture, while others were stacked on the floor as high as my head.
As in the upstairs chamber, there were statues and vases and curtains of purple and red velvet, but also clocks and swords and other weapons that I couldn’t name. To my right I spied a large hearth with a pair of plush armchairs; above the mantel, a fierce-looking lion’s head with glowing red eyes. The remainder of this wall was taken up by more bookshelves, some containing mechanical objects the likes of which I’d never seen.
“Master Grubb,” Mrs. Pinch announced, pushing me forward with her broomstick. “Twelve years old or thereabouts and very dirty, sir.”
As I stepped into the middle of the room, I noticed for the first time a large desk behind the stacks of books on the floor. On top of the desk were more books and mechanical objects, as well as a large lamp burning with the same eerie blue light.
“You may leave us now,” said Mr. G, unseen behind the books on his desk.
Alistair Grim's Odditorium Page 3
