Alistair Grim's Odditorium

by Gregory Funaro

  “Pshaw,” Cleona said, giggling. “What a silly boy you are, Master Grubb. May I play a trick on you sometime?”

  “A trick, miss?”

  “I’m only allowed to play tricks on my family.”

  “Shall you bring me trouble, miss?”

  “A trick well done brings joy to both the trickster and the tricked. Besides, who would want to bring trouble on one’s family?”

  “I wouldn’t know, miss.”

  “So then, may I play a trick on you sometime?”

  “If it brings you joy, miss.”

  “Thank you, Master Grubb.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Cleona.”

  “You know my name?”

  “I heard you talking to Nigel outside the trunk.”

  “Well done,” Cleona said, giggling. “A bit of a trickster yourself, are you?”

  “Begging your pardon, miss?”

  “Go back to sleep now.”

  “Miss?”

  “Sleep.”

  I must have obeyed her. And if I dreamed about anything else that night, I couldn’t remember, for I awoke the next morning with a feeling that I’d just leaped across some great black chasm.

  “I slept after all,” I said, sitting up. But for how long? Long enough, I thought, for I certainly felt rested. And as I gazed around the shop for some sign of morning, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen a single window in the Odditorium anywhere.

  Just then there came a crackling noise, followed by a sputtering tick-tick and a flash of blue light from the center of the worktable. Rising from my bed and drawing closer, I spied a large red-and-gold-checkered pocket watch quivering amongst the scattered clock parts. I picked it up and opened it.

  “What time is it?” the watch asked. Startled, I gasped and let it fall. “Ach!” the watch said, flopping about the table like a fish out of water. Then, with a crackle and a flash of blue light, the watch sprang upright on its case and shouted:

  “Mind yer step, ya neep! If it’s a fight ya want, McClintock’s yer man!”

  The watch’s face bore a ring of Roman numerals—I’d learned these years ago by counting the bongs from the clock tower at the center of town—but between the X and the II there was a pair of smiling, mechanical eyes. The pupils glowed bright blue like the eyes of the samurai, as did the watch’s wide, smiling mouth, and its curved hands hung down at the VIII and the IV so that the face appeared to be that of a jolly old chap with a large mustache.

  “Well?” the watch asked. “You for fighting or gawking, neep?”

  “Neither, sir,” I said. “And I don’t mean to stare, but I didn’t expect to meet a talking pocket watch this morning. I apologize for dropping you, sir.”

  “Silly bam,” the watch chuckled. “It’d take more than a wee bairn like yerself to rattle ol’ McClintock.”

  “McClintock?”

  “Aye. Dougal McClintock. Only surviving son of Dougal the Elder, and chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock. And who might you be?”

  “Why, I’m Grubb, sir.”

  “Grubb?”

  “Yes, sir. Just Grubb. Spelled like the worm but with a double b.”

  “Never heard of a Clan Grubb,” the watch said. “Never heard of a grub with a double b either. A foreigner ya must be, then. But foreigners are always welcome amongst the McClintocks. A pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mr. Grubb.”

  “Likewise, Mr. McClintock.”

  “Call me Mack, laddie. All me friends do.”

  “Very good, then, Mack.”

  “Would ya mind picking me up again? Me eyesight ain’t what it used to be.”

  I did so, and the watch’s bright blue eyes seemed to study me.

  “Hmm,” he said finally. “Yer outsides look all right. Got yerself some trouble on the inside, then, have ya?”

  “Trouble, sir?”

  “Aye, laddie. This is Mr. Grim’s shop for Odditoria what’s giving him trouble, so that would indicate ya being both Odditoria and trouble, would it not?”

  “Well, I must admit I’ve been quite some trouble to Mr. Grim, but I thought the Odditoria was where I am, not what I am.”

  “Ya silly bam,” Mack chuckled. “Odditorium is where you are. Odditoria is what you are. Ya follow?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”

  “Loosely defined, the word Odditoria, at once both singular and plural, is used to classify any object living, inanimate, or otherwise what’s believed to possess magical powers. Thus, Odditoriummmm is the place, and Odditoriaaaaa are those objects inside the place. I dunno how much clearer I can make it, laddie.”

  “Oh, that’s quite clear now, thank you. However, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mack, but as far as my being Odditoria, I’m afraid there’s nothing magical about me.”

  “Rubbish,” Mack said, hopping into my hand. “Yer here in Mr. Grim’s shop, ain’t ya? And since this is the place for Odditoria what’s giving him trouble, it’s only logical to conclude that you, too, must be both Odditoria and—tick—tick—”

  McClintock crackled and flashed, and then his eyes went black and he stopped ticking.

  “You still in there, Mack?” I asked. “Mack?”

  I shook him, opened and closed his case, then tapped him gently on the XII on his forehead. This last bit did the trick, and he started ticking again.

  “What time is it?” he asked, the blue light returning to his eyes.

  “Judging by your hands—er, by your face, I should say—well, I gather the time is twenty minutes past eight o’clock, give or take a bit since last we spoke.”

  “Ach, ya don’t understand,” Mack said sadly. “Me time is always twenty past eight. No matter how often Mr. Grim sets me, eventually I stop ticking and me hands go back to eight and four. And Mr. Grim can’t for the life of him figure out why.”

  “So that’s makes you Odditoria and trouble? A pocket watch what’s not only magical, but what also can’t keep Mr. Grim’s time for him?”

  “Aye, laddie,” Mack said, hopping back onto the table. “And I dunno if I’ll ever get outta this shop in one piece. Mr. Grim’s got bigger problems now, which leaves only the scrap heap for ol’ McClintock.”

  “The scrap heap?”

  “Aye. After all, what good’s a talking pocket watch to Mr. Grim if it can’t properly keep his time for him?”

  “Well, you’re very good at talking. That should count for something. And you can hop about and shine as bright as the lamps in Mr. Grim’s library. That should count for something too, I’d think.”

  “Yer very kind,” Mack said, turning away. Then he stopped. “Hang on. You have been inside Mr. Grim’s library?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m afraid I have.”

  “But that’s where Mr. Grim keeps me cousins!”

  “Your cousins?”

  “Aye, me cousins the clocks!”

  “Magical clocks?”

  “Nah, ya silly bam, but clocks what’s keeping their proper time without magic!”

  “I don’t know about that, but there certainly are a lot of clocks in there.”

  “Grubb!” Mack cried, hopping to the edge of the table. “Me new friend, you’ve got to get me inside!”

  “Inside Mr. Grim’s library, you mean?”

  “Aye, laddie!”

  “But what for?”

  “What for?” asked Mack, jumping from the table and onto my shoulder. “What for? So I can keep me time correctly, that’s what for!” I looked at him quizzically. “Don’t you see, laddie? If I were to join me cousins in the library, I’d always know what time it was no matter how long I stopped ticking!”

  “That’s true,” I said, thinking. “But Mr. Grim certainly wouldn’t approve of my going in there without his permission. I suppose I could ask him, but come to think of it, why haven’t you asked Mr. Grim yourself if you can join your cousins?”

  “Well, uh,” Mack stammered. “I, uh, well, it’s just that—tick—tick—”

  Mack crackled and
flashed as before, then stopped ticking altogether, and his eyes dimmed to black. I caught him as he fell from my shoulder, and was about to tap him again on his XII, but then I heard Mrs. Pinch’s key in the lock.

  I quickly returned McClintock to the table and stepped back just as Mrs. Pinch entered the shop.

  “Already awake, are you,” she said. “No snooping about or touching anything, I should hope.”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” I said. “And good morning to you, Mrs. Pinch.”

  “Humph,” she replied. “Now off to the kitchen with you. Lots to do, and blind me if I’m going to waste my day playing hostess to a chimney sweep.”

  As Mrs. Pinch ushered me from the shop, I was tempted to ask her the time for Mack’s sake. But when I glanced back at the worktable and saw none of his blue light amidst the clutter, I assumed he was still out and unable to hear me.

  Good thing, I thought. Mrs. Pinch struck me as the sort who didn’t like answering questions, never mind telling little boys the time.

  It was only a short distance down the hallway to the kitchen, but to me it seemed like miles. The smell of freshly baked bread had taken over me, and instantly my stomach began to grumble.

  “You’re on the first floor now, Master Grubb,” said Mrs. Pinch, eyes forward and always two steps ahead of me. “In addition to Mr. Grim’s shop, on this level you’ll find the kitchen and the servants’ quarters.”

  We stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and Mrs. Pinch turned around.

  “You see that door down there?” she asked, pointing to a large red-painted door at the far end of the hallway behind me. “That door is off-limits to you, Master Grubb. You’re never to go in there for any reason, you understand?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Pinch.”

  “You better, or blind me if my broomstick shan’t be the least of your worries.”

  I nodded and followed Mrs. Pinch into the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the Odditorium, the windowless chamber had hardly a speck of black paint anywhere. And instead of the eerie blue light, in the ovens there burned a brilliant bloodred fire unlike any I had ever seen.

  Other than that, the Odditorium’s kitchen was nearly identical to the Lamb’s. However, I must say that Mrs. Pinch’s bread tasted much better than Mrs. Crumbsby’s. She served it warm with butter and jam, and allowed me to sit at the table rather than send me out to the stable, as Mr. Smears was wont to do.

  “Easy, lad,” Mrs. Pinch said as I stuffed my face. “You’ll make yourself sick at the rate you’re going.”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” I said, but I kept on munching. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks, and could not remember having ever tasted anything so delightful.

  “I take it your Mr. Smears thought it ill-advised to feed you,” said Mrs. Pinch, sitting down across from me. “Wanted to keep you small for your job, did he not?”

  “I suppose he did, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Pinch’s expression softened. “Well, you needn’t worry about that here. Blind me if I’m going to let a lad like you go starving. Happy tummy, happy chummy, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” I said, smiling. Then, unexpectedly, a closet door cracked open and out slipped a broom sweeping away of its own accord.

  “Just a moment, please,” said Mrs. Pinch, and she hurried over to the closet and stuffed the broom back inside. “It’s not polite to gawk, Master Grubb,” she said, noticing my amazement, and I quickly went on with my munching.

  After breakfast, Mrs. Pinch snatched her broom from the closet and ordered me into the lift with a scraper and chimney brush. And as we traveled upward, I waited for her broom to fly out of her hand and start sweeping again. But when it didn’t, I began to wonder if my eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on me earlier.

  Mrs. Pinch brought the lift to a stop and we stepped out into the parlor. The furniture had been covered with sheets, and another had been laid out on the floor before the fireplace.

  “You’re to sweep this chimney and this chimney alone,” Mrs. Pinch said. “No wandering off into the flues as is your habit. And when you’re finished, you’re to summon me on the talkback.”

  “The talkback, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Pinch pointed her broomstick at a small panel on the wall beside the lift. “Just flick that red switch there and speak into the wire screen above it. I’ll be able to hear you from the kitchen. You understand me, lad?”

  “Er, yes, Mrs. Pinch,” I said tentatively. “But—begging your pardon, ma’am—might I have a soot bag and, er…a broom to sweep the hearth?”

  Mrs. Pinch looked down at her broom as if my request puzzled her, and then stepped into the lift.

  “You needn’t worry about that, Master Grubb,” she said. “And you’ll be sure to keep out of the master’s library. I needn’t remind you why.”

  Mrs. Pinch smiled knowingly and disappeared with her broom up the lift.

  My eyes immediately flitted to the library doors and then up to the portrait above the hearth. The Lady in Black, I christened her. What was she looking at past her silver mirror? And what could possibly make such a beautiful woman look so sad?

  I looked more closely at the stones in her necklace, the blue of which seemed to glow a bit brighter than the rest of the painting. And as I stood there on the hearth, my eyes eventually wandered back to the library doors.

  “The blue stones in the Lady’s necklace look like the eyes of the samurai,” I said to myself. Suddenly, I felt something rumbling in my chummy coat. I reached inside my pocket, and when I pulled out my hand again, there was McClintock the pocket watch.

  “Mack!” I exclaimed as I opened him.

  “What time is it?”

  “You never mind that. What are you doing in my pocket?”

  “Doing me duty, I figure. After all, what’s a pocket watch without a pocket?”

  “But how’d you get in there?”

  “I dunno, laddie. I pretended to be out cold in the shop so’s to distract ya, and then somehow I dropped off the table and into yer pocket while ya were gabbing with the old witch.”

  “That isn’t very nice of you to call Mrs. Pinch a witch.”

  “Well, she is a witch.”

  “And,” I said, raising my finger, “it isn’t very nice of you to sneak into people’s pockets and then go lying about it either.”

  “On my honor, laddie! I’m telling ya, something just picked me up off the table and dropped me in yer—” Mack stopped. “Hang on,” he said, turning round in my hand. “Are we where I think we are?”

  “You never mind about that. You’re going to get me into trouble unless I get you back to the shop.”

  “I told ya yer trouble already, lad. So I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

  And before I could ask what he meant, with a crackle and a flash Mack leaped from my hand.

  “McClintock!” he cried as he sailed across the room. Mack hit the floor with a grunt, tumbled a bit, and slid the rest of the way on his case. He waited until the very last moment to close himself, and then slipped neatly under the doors and disappeared into Mr. Grim’s library.

  “Mack!” I called after him, dashing across the room.

  “I’ve made it!” I heard him cry from within. “I’ve—Hey! What are you do—?”

  Then all was silent.

  I listened at the door. Nothing.

  “You come out of there, Mack,” I whispered, tapping gently. “You hear me?”

  No reply. I pressed my ear to the door but could hear nothing but the ticking of Mr. Grim’s clocks on the other side.

  I was in for it now, I thought. If Mack fizzled out again, surely Mr. Grim would find him and know I had something to do with it. Perhaps, if I quickly stepped inside, snatched Mack, and then quickly stepped out again, what harm could come of it? Gwendolyn the Yellow Fairy had already protected me once, and surely, if the samurai tried to attack me, she’d do so again. Wouldn’t she?

  I listened for a moment longer, took a
deep breath, and resolved at once to give it a go. I cracked open the library doors and immediately spied Mack lying on the floor only a few feet away. His case was open again, but his eyes were black as coal.

  “Serves you right,” I whispered, and I slipped inside and scooped him up. “No tapping you awake this time.”

  I closed Mack tight, returned him to my pocket, and instinctively glanced up at the ceiling behind me. The dollhouse that had hung in the corner was gone, and there was no sign of Miss Gwendolyn anywhere.

  Surely the samurai will attack me now, I thought, making to leave. But when I saw their eyes were no longer blue, my curiosity got the better of me.

  I stepped farther into the room, and amidst the library’s fascinating contents, for the first time I noticed the books themselves. I began to wander about. Some of the books bore words I did not understand, while on others I was able to read the entire title. The Science of appeared on many of the books, as did Secret, Wonder, and Legend.

  “‘Legend of the Thunderbird and Other Tales from the Americas,’” I whispered, reading aloud the title of a large book that had been left on an armchair.

  In addition to Americas, there were three other A words that kept popping up. I could read Adventure, but gave up on Alchemy and Archaeology until another time. And then, of course, there was one word that kept popping up more than any other.

  Magic.

  I wandered past the fireplace and gazed up at the roaring lion’s head. Its eyes seemed to pulse and flicker as if a red fire was burning somewhere behind them. I thought this strange, but soon other objects caught my attention too.

  In addition to the spinning top and the countless books piled high upon Mr. Grim’s desk, I noticed a silver mirror resting facedown atop a narrow wooden box. I recognized it at once as the same mirror from the portrait of the Lady in Black.

  Impulsively I picked it up. However, when I turned the mirror around, I discovered that the glass was entirely black.

  “What an odd mirror,” I whispered. “I should think the Lady in Black would have a hard time seeing herself.”

  I could have sworn I heard someone giggle behind me, but when I spun round, no one was there. Must be hearing things, I thought, my heart hammering.