Alistair Grim's Odditorium

by Gregory Funaro

  “What shall I do, Your Honor?” the constable asked. “That bloke’s brother might’ve been a murderer, but I can’t haul him in just for passing out papers.”

  “Very well,” Judge Hurst said, crumpling his handbill into his pocket. “We shall see what Mr. Grim has in store for us after all.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Move these people along, constable,” Judge Hurst said. “Life on our street needn’t stop every time Alistair Grim spits.”

  The constable barked out his orders, and the men and women quickly dispersed, taking the remainder of my handbills along with them.

  “Yes,” said Judge Hurst, sneering up at the Odditorium. “We’ll see what Alistair Grim has in store for us. And then Alistair Grim shall see what I have in store for him.”

  And with that, Judge Mortimer Hurst disappeared into the crowd.

  “I was afraid of that,” Lord Dreary said. Then he looked down at me and asked, “And who might you be, young man?”

  “I, uh—Direct all questions to the man in the goggles.”

  “It’s all right, Grubb,” Nigel said, stepping down. He seemed his cheery old self again. “The lad here is just following orders, Lord Dreary. You see, sir, Grubb here works for Mr. Grim now too. Took him on last night, he did.”

  “Did you just call this boy a grub, Nigel?”

  “Called him by his name is all. Ain’t that right, Grubb?”

  “That’s right, sir. No first or last name, sir, just Grubb. Spelled like the worm but with a double b. In case you plan on writing it down, sir.”

  Lord Dreary narrowed his eyes at me. “Then you’ve been inside the Odditorium?”

  “Yes, sir,” I began, but then I remembered my discussion with Mr. Grim from the night before. “My apologies, sir. Mr. Grim told me not to talk about the Odditorium with anyone ever.”

  Lord Dreary chuckled. “That sounds like Alistair Grim, all right.” He pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat and wound its knob. “Very well,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind escorting me inside, Nigel?”

  “Right-o, sir. Come along, then, Grubb. Our work’s done here.”

  Lord Dreary returned his pocket watch to his waistcoat, and as I followed the men up the Odditorium’s steps, I reached inside my chummy coat to check on Mack. In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about tapping him out in the chimney.

  But when I felt inside my pockets, I discovered Mack was gone!

  I spun on my heels, patting myself all over as my eyes darted down the steps to the sidewalk. There was no sign of Mack anywhere.

  “What’s the holdup, Grubb?” Nigel asked, and I turned back to see him and Lord Dreary staring down at me from the Odditorium’s doorway.

  My outsides froze, but my insides began spinning every which way—my heart racing as my brain frantically tried to retrace my steps. I knew at once Mack couldn’t have leaped from my pocket somewhere inside the Odditorium. It was much too quiet in there and I would’ve felt him shaking.

  But outside the Odditorium?

  Yes, things had certainly been noisy enough—especially with all the yelling from Judge Hurst. But still, wouldn’t I have felt Mack shaking inside my pocket?

  Unless somebody snatched him, I realized in horror. Mack wouldn’t need to shake himself free if someone else did the freeing for him.

  Yes, that had to be it!

  Thanks, chum, I heard the well-dressed lad say again in my head.

  And all at once I knew what had happened.

  A pickpocket! I said to myself.

  “You all right, Grubb?” Nigel asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Come on, lad,” said Lord Dreary, annoyed. “I don’t have all day.”

  Mr. Grim’s words echoed in my head. If my blue energy should fall into the wrong hands…

  And with that I bounded down the steps and took off down the street.

  “Grubb!” Nigel cried.

  “I’ll come back!” I called over my shoulder. “I promise!”

  “Grubb!” Nigel cried again, but I didn’t stop to look at him.

  At once I was swallowed up into the stream of pedestrians. I wasn’t sure if I was headed in the right direction, nor did I know what Mr. Grim thought would happen if his blue energy should fall into the wrong hands.

  Only one thing was certain: Mack had been right about me.

  I was trouble after all.

  Despite the racket in the street, I could still hear Nigel calling after me as I zigzagged through the crowd and rounded the corner out of sight. Soon the traffic began to thin out enough for me to see up ahead a stretch, and as I flew past row upon row of fashionable shops, I thought of the Crumbsby twins.

  The pickpocket had worn a cap and a brown three-piece suit like fat Tom and Terrance wore on Sundays. He even had freckles and red hair like the Crumbsby twins, but his eyes were bright and mischievous, whereas Tom’s and Terrance’s eyes were little more than slits of coal-black malice.

  A beating from Tom and Terrance is nothing compared to what’s in store for me if I go back to Mr. Grim’s without Mack.

  Oh yes, Mr. Grim had been quite clear the night before about what would happen if I ever spoke to anyone about the Odditorium. And now I’d done something even worse. I’d gotten his animus lifted.

  “It’s all my fault,” I muttered as I ran. “But no matter what, I’ve got to go back and tell Mr. Grim the truth.”

  The thought of returning to the Odditorium without Mack stopped me dead in my tracks. I had no idea where I was or how far I’d run. But as I gazed around trying to get my bearings, I saw a tuft of bright red hair sticking out from a lad’s cap only a dozen or so paces ahead of me.

  The pickpocket!

  My heart leaped into my throat, but thankfully I thought twice about crying out. The pickpocket’s legs were longer than mine, and he was still far enough away that he might be able to outrun me.

  Suddenly the pickpocket stopped as if he’d felt my eyes on the back of his neck. I readied myself for a brawl, but the lad only patted his pockets and made for a shadowy lane to his right.

  Following him at a distance, I rounded the corner just in time to see the heels of his boots disappear into a narrow alleyway between the shops. I ran after him, down a short flight of steps and through a winding maze of dirty passageways until I emerged into a cramped brick courtyard.

  The pickpocket was waiting for me.

  “I told ya lads I was tailed,” he said, and I spun round to find that two other boys had closed in behind me. One was short and stocky with frog eyes and a gray woolen cap. The other was tall and thin with a square face and a flat nose. He wore a top hat cocked to the side and a fancy blue scarf around his neck.

  “Look ’ere, me coveys,” said the pickpocket. “If it ain’t the little showman what was workin’ outside of Mr. Grim’s.”

  “I remember ’im,” said the boy with the frog eyes.

  “Me too,” said the boy with the flat nose. “A proud bird he was, eh, Noah?”

  “’At’s right,” said the pickpocket, stepping toward me. “I take it you ain’t come ’ere to join our gang, birdie. Not with a posh job workin’ for Mr. Grim.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “’Owever,” he went on, “I also take it we owe you a bit o’ gratitude. What with all the commotion from you and your baldy friend, we took in quite a haul outside Mr. Grim’s. Ain’t that right, lads?”

  “’At’s right, Noah,” said Frog Eyes and Flat Nose.

  “Consider our debt paid, then,” Noah said. “You turn ’round and fly on back to Mr. Grim’s, and we let you take all your teeth with you.”

  Frog Eyes and Flat Nose laughed.

  “You’ve something that belongs to me,” I said, my voice tight.

  “You mean this?” Noah said, producing Mack from his coat pocket.

  “Yes. That’s my pocket watch.”

  “Strange,” Noah said, patting his pocket. “This ’ere is me po
cket, ain’t it, lads?”

  “’At’s right, Noah,” said Frog Eyes and Flat Nose.

  “And since this watch ’ere came out of me pocket,” Noah said, dangling Mack in front of my face, “it’s only logical that this watch belongs to me. Ain’t that right, lads?”

  “’At’s right, Noah.”

  I made a grab for Mack, but Noah snatched him away. Frog Eyes and Flat Nose were on me at once, seizing me by the arms and pulling me back.

  “The bird’s a brawler,” Noah said, smiling.

  “Let ’im ’ave it,” said Frog Eyes.

  “’At’s right, Noah,” said Flat Nose. “Pluck his feathers.”

  Noah dangled Mack in my face again and said, “Time’s up, birdie.”

  Frog Eyes and Flat Nose laughed, and Noah cocked back his fist. I clenched my teeth, bracing for his punch, but then the pickpocket began to bobble Mack like a hot potato. Noah quickly gained control of him and cautiously peered into his cupped hands. I couldn’t see Mack, but I thought I glimpsed a flash of blue light on the pickpocket’s dirty freckled cheeks.

  “Don’t open him!” I shouted—but it was too late.

  “What time is it?” Mack cried, and all three boys let out a gasp.

  “Cor blimey!” said Noah, his eyes wide. “A talking pocket watch!”

  “Cor!” gaped Frog Eyes and Flat Nose.

  “Made by Mr. Grim himself, I’ll wager,” Noah said.

  “And who might you be, lad?” Mack asked.

  “Give him to me!” I cried, trying to break free, but Frog Eyes and Flat Nose pulled me back.

  “Is that you, Grubb?” Mack called, spinning round in Noah’s hands. “Aye, laddie, there you are! What’s all this about?”

  “Mack!” I screamed, struggling.

  “Pipe down, bird,” said Frog Eyes, twisting my arm until I cried out in pain.

  “What’re you lads doing to me friend Grubb?” Mack asked.

  “Come on, then,” said Flat Nose. “Let us have a look, Noah.”

  “Naw,” Noah said. “I pinched it from the birdie’s pocket, so I gets to keep it.”

  “What’s that?” Mack asked, spinning round. “Pinched me from me friend Grubb’s pocket, did ya?”

  “Quit yer jabberin’, watch,” Noah sneered. “You’re mine, now.”

  Mack trembled and hopped—and without warning sprang from Noah’s hand.

  “McClintock!” he cried, and then clamped his case hard onto Noah’s nose. The boy howled in pain, and his hands flew to his face.

  “Get it off of me!” Noah cried, pawing at his nose in a flash of crackling blue.

  Frog Eyes and Flat Nose just stood there gaping, but their grip on me released, and I quickly broke free and elbowed Flat Nose hard in the stomach.

  “Oof!” he grunted, and then he dropped to the ground moaning.

  Frog Eyes swung for my head, but I ducked and sent him stumbling past me.

  Then, with a squeal of pain, Noah pried Mack loose and threw him down hard on the cobblestones.

  “Mack!” I screamed, scrambling toward him—but the old pocket watch only laughed and said:

  “Ha! It’ll take more than that to scrap ol’ Mack!” And then he flew up from the ground and cried, “McClintock!”

  The pocket watch sailed past my head and smacked Frog Eyes square on his brow, whereupon Mack promptly fizzled out and tumbled to the ground.

  Dazed, Frog Eyes collapsed on his bottom beside his mate, who was still moaning from my shot to his stomach. Then, unexpectedly, Noah knocked me down and went for Mack.

  “Bite my nose, will ya?” Noah growled, and he raised his boot to stomp him.

  “No!” I screamed—when out of nowhere a beefy hand clamped down hard on Noah’s collar and lifted him clean off the ground.

  “Nigel!” I cried, and the big man sent Noah flying backward.

  The boy landed on top of his mates, and the three of them quickly scrambled to their feet and took off, running out of sight.

  “Thank you, Nigel,” I said. “But how did you find me?”

  Nigel bent down and picked up Mack.

  “Oh dear,” he said, closing Mack’s case. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

  “I’m sorry, Nigel,” I said. “I forgot he was in my pocket and—”

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  I couldn’t see Nigel’s eyes behind his goggles, but the rest of his face was all fear.

  “I know,” I said glumly. “Mr. Grim told me what would happen if—”

  “No, you don’t know, Grubb,” Nigel said, slipping Mack inside his coat pocket. “We need to tell the boss his animus has escaped. We’ve got to get back before—”

  A strong breeze whipped through the courtyard, and what looked like a black cloud of smoke began billowing out from one of the darkened corners.

  “Come on!” Nigel cried. “Let’s get out of here!”

  The big man scooped me up and slung me over his shoulder. And as he dashed with me from the courtyard, I caught sight of a pair of bright, burning red eyes blinking open amidst the smoke.

  Nigel carried me back through the passageways, up the short flight of steps, and out into street. He paused briefly, and then dashed off in the opposite direction from which I’d followed the pickpocket.

  “The Odditorium is the other way!” I cried. But then I saw another black cloud of smoke beginning to form in a shop doorway only a few yards away from us.

  “There’s no time to explain!” Nigel said, picking up speed. “Just tell me when we’ve lost them!”

  “Lost who?”

  “Just tell me!”

  There was a handful of pedestrians milling about—and I was vaguely aware of their curious looks as we raced past them—but then a pair of burning red eyes slipped out from the shop doorway, followed by another pair from the passage we’d just left.

  Both sets of eyes brightened as they caught sight of me, and I noticed for the first time that the smoke around them had taken on the shape of a pair of large black hounds. And yet at the same time I could see right through them, as if the beasts were made from the very shadows in which they moved.

  My heart froze with terror as the pair of shadow hounds dashed off after us. But every time they came upon a shaft of sunlight that had managed to find its way onto the street, they slowed and skirted around it as if they were afraid.

  “Do you see them?” Nigel asked.

  Another red-eyed shadow hound joined the chase.

  Then another!

  And another!

  “Yes!” I cried in horror. “There are five of them now!”

  The other people in the street seemed not to notice them, and soon the shadow hounds were right behind us, the five of them overtaking one another as if jostling for the lead on an invisible leash—when suddenly one of the hounds leaped straight for me.

  Its paw swiped only inches from my face, the breeze ice-cold on my cheek. And then the hound landed in the street and tumbled toward a shaft of sunlight. Another hound immediately took its place at the head of the pack and made a leap for me too.

  At the same time, Nigel rounded the corner and we emerged into a crowded open-air marketplace. The lead hound was close behind, but as soon as it hit the sunlight, the beast burst apart into a plume of smoke. Three more shadow hounds met the same fate and vanished one by one into thin air.

  “Do you see them?” Nigel asked, panting.

  “They’re gone,” I said, terrified.

  “You’re certain, Grubb?”

  “Yes, the hounds broke apart as soon as they entered the square.”

  The marketplace was filled with the constant clamor of bell-ringing and shouting. From atop Nigel’s shoulders I could see carts of hay and straw everywhere, while mounds of the same rose up amidst the endless stream of buyers and sellers like boulders in the middle of a babbling brook.

  “That was a close one,” Nigel said, setting me down. He stood bent over at the waist, gasping for breath wi
th his hands on his thighs.

  “What were they?” I asked, my throat tight with fear.

  Nigel raised a finger to his lips, and when his breath had leveled off some, he stood upright, dragged his sleeve across his forehead, and stared up at the sky.

  “We’ll be safe here out in the open,” he said. “At least until I can figure out the best way to get us back to the Odditorium.”

  Nigel felt inside his coat for Mack, then buttoned his pocket and led me to a large fountain at the center of the marketplace. Amidst the throng of peddlers who’d set up shop on the steps, Nigel found an opening for us to sit, and splashed some water on his head. Then he just sat there for a moment. Following his gaze through a break in the buildings at the far end of the marketplace, I spied a massive domed cathedral looming in the distance.

  “A pity it’s not a Monday,” Nigel said. “Mondays and Fridays are the market days for livestock. You could rub yourself all over with their scent. That would make it harder for the doom dogs to track you.”

  “What are doom dogs?”

  “Speak softly, Grubb,” Nigel said, looking around. Then he leaned back on his elbows so that his mouth was close to my ear. “Doom dogs are what’s after you now.”

  “After me?”

  “That’s right. And once a doom dog sets out after you, he’s harder to shake than your own shadow.”

  I glanced around, terrified.

  “Oh, it can be done, mind you. Especially during the day, when all you have to do is get them to follow you into the sunlight. You saw what happens to them then.”

  “Are those dogs spirits, Nigel?”

  “A kind of spirit, yes, what can only roam about in the shadows.”

  I swallowed hard. Nigel stood up on the fountain’s top step and gazed out over the crowded marketplace. After a moment, he nodded and sat back down beside me.

  “Don’t see any more of them, but they’re hard to spot. And sunlight or no sunlight, once a doom dog latches on to you, you’re as good as done for.”

  I shivered at the thought of how close the black hound’s paw had come to my face—and then it dawned on me.

  “It’s because of Mack’s animus,” I said. “That’s what Mr. Grim meant when he told Lord Dreary it was dangerous for his animus to leave the Odditorium. That’s why those dogs came after me.”