Alistair Grim's Odditorium

by Gregory Funaro

  “The banshee!” hissed one of the Sirens.

  “The barrel!” hissed another. “Get the barrel before it sinks!”

  Cleona’s glow began to flicker and flash. I could see the stars behind her eyes. And then the two of us were falling.

  “Cleona!” I cried again, reaching out, but my hands passed right through her!

  The Sirens screeched and Mrs. Pinch cried out, but all I could see was Cleona, flickering and slipping away from me as we fell.

  “Grab hold of me, Cleona!”

  “I—I can’t,” she whispered, and without thinking I shouted:

  “Catch us, Number One!”

  Whereas time had seemed to slow down when I’d jumped toward the Siren, time now seemed to speed up. And as Cleona and I tumbled together toward the sea, she used the very last bit of her strength to solidify her hand and grab hold of my coat. But as she did so, the rest of her began to dissolve before my eyes.

  “Hold on, Cleona!” I said. “Hold on!”

  The silver waves rushed up at us with maddening speed—when finally, just as we were about to hit the water, Number One’s claws clamped round my shoulders.

  “Hurry, Number One!” I said as she whisked us away. “Throw us on your back and fly higher!”

  “It’s too late,” Cleona moaned, her face now invisible beneath her hair. But then Number One flung us over her shoulders and we landed safely between her wings.

  “Cleona!” I cried, grasping her hand. “Come back!”

  “Grubb…” she croaked, and then all but her hand flickered out.

  “Come back! You’re safe now! Number One’s magic paint will protect you!”

  Cleona’s hand flickered once inside my own, and then my fingers closed around the empty air.

  “No!” I screamed, the tears beginning to flow. “You can’t die, Cleona! You can’t—”

  Miraculously, Cleona’s hand reappeared at my side.

  “Cleona!” I cried with relief.

  And with that the rest of her began to take shape—foggy and dim, but at the same time clear enough for me to see that she was sleeping with her head on my chest. I could not feel her body against my own, but I cradled her in my arms as if I could.

  “That’s it, Cleona,” I said, her light growing brighter, her features more defined. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you back to the Odditorium so you can—”

  “Grubb!” screamed Mrs. Pinch, but when I looked up from Cleona’s sleeping face, instead of the Odditorium, I saw that we were surrounded by the Sirens.

  I gasped.

  And then the monsters swept Cleona and me up into their big black barrel.

  Come on, lad,” the man said. “Wake up, now.”

  “Coming, Mr. Smears,” I said groggily, but a sinking feeling in my head told me I’d be much better off if I just stayed asleep.

  “No, no, no,” said the man, and he gently slapped my cheeks. “Come around, now, lad.”

  The sinking feeling at once turned to orange-colored waking. I blinked open my eyes and immediately gasped in horror when I saw the face staring down at me.

  “Judge Hurst!” I cried. But as I tried to back away, my head bumped against something hard.

  “That’ll wake you,” the judge chuckled. “Unless you knock yourself out again.”

  I rubbed my head and, gazing round, discovered that I was lying on the floor in a dark, windowless prison cell. The walls were black, like the Odditorium’s, but the red glow streaming in through a porthole in the door told me I was someplace else.

  And then there was the man sitting next to me—a man who Mr. Grim would never allow inside the Odditorium, a man who Mr. Grim suspected not only of murdering Abel Wortley, but also of being Prince Nightshade himself.

  I began to panic.

  “Where am I?” I cried. “What have you done with Cleona?”

  “Cleona?” said Judge Hurst. “Who is Cleona?”

  “Don’t pretend! I know you know where she is!”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Cleona!”

  “Quiet, lad!”

  I tried to get up, but the judge pulled me back down.

  “Do you want them to come back?” he hissed.

  “Let go!” I said, struggling. “I know who you are! I know what you did to—”

  Thankfully, the judge clamped his hand over my mouth before I said, William Stout. Yes, I thought, given his habit of hanging people, the less Judge Hurst knew about what Nigel had told me the better.

  “Now, you listen to me,” the judge said. “I don’t know any Cleona, but I do know that if you don’t pipe down, those armored skeletons will come back. And believe me, lad, you don’t want them to come back.”

  The judge turned his face to show me his cheek. It was badly bruised, and I could see traces of dried blood in his beard. His hair stuck out from his head in dirty gray clumps, and his clothes were soiled and ragged.

  “Now,” he said, “if you wish to find this Cleona, you’ve got to keep your head. If you promise to keep your voice down, I’ll let you go, all right?”

  I nodded, and the judge removed his hand from my mouth.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Now, first things first. As you seem to know who I am, would you mind telling me who you are?”

  “My name is Grubb, sir,” I said warily.

  “Grubb?”

  “That’s right, sir. No first or last name, just Grubb with a double b.”

  “Ah yes. You’re the boy from the Odditorium, aren’t you? The one who caused all that fuss with the handbills?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m afraid I am.”

  “I thought I recognized you when they dropped you off in here. Wish we could have met under different circumstances, but a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grubb.”

  “Where are we, sir?”

  Judge Hurst made a grand, sweeping gesture with his hand. “Why, a castle dungeon in the clouds, of course,” he said mockingly. “I’ve been a prisoner here since yesterday. Or has it been two days? I can’t seem to remember. Ever since that winged monster whisked me away from London, I’ve had a hard go keeping track of the time.”

  “The Black Fairy.”

  “Come again?”

  “The Black Fairy, sir. He’s the one who brought you here.”

  “Fairy, did you say?” the judge asked, and I nodded. “Well, how about that. Not what I’d expect from a fairy. Although, he’s a peach compared to those skeleton soldiers. Ill-mannered chaps, the lot of them, and certainly not ones for London Prize Ring rules.”

  Judge Hurst rubbed the bruise on his cheek. If the old man really was Prince Nightshade, what would he be doing all battered up in a dungeon?

  “Why did the Black Fairy take you prisoner, sir?” I asked cautiously.

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But I must admit I was happy to see you come tumbling out of that barrel. Was afraid I’d go mad spending another night down here alone.”

  In my mind I saw myself again being surrounded by the Sirens. And although I couldn’t remember anything that had happened after we were captured, I somehow knew that Cleona had gone inside the barrel with me, safe and sound.

  But how could that be? I wondered. After all, there was no way Cleona could have survived over the ocean without the protection of Number One’s magic paint.

  Unless, of course, the barrel in question was no ordinary barrel.

  “Cor,” I gasped, the light finally dawning. “The barrel was painted black—just like Number One.”

  “What’s all that about the barrel, lad?”

  “Er, uh,” I sputtered. Prince or no prince, I certainly wasn’t about to tell Judge Hurst how magic paint could protect a spirit from water. “The Sirens, sir,” I said quickly. “They used that barrel to capture Cleona and me.”

  “You mean to tell me those hideous women were Sirens?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. They work for Prince Nightshade.”

  “What’s ne
xt?” said the judge, rubbing his forehead. “Evil fairies that spit black fire, Sirens with snake faces, and skeletons who like to take cheap shots. Any other fantastical delights of which I should be aware, Mr. Grubb?”

  “I’m sure there are, sir. But begging your pardon, sir. You didn’t happen to see anyone else come tumbling out of that barrel along with me?”

  “I’m afraid not, lad. The Sirens only dropped you in here.”

  I frowned and looked at my shoes—I needed to find Cleona.

  “And who is this Cleona, anyway?” asked the judge.

  “Er, uh,” I sputtered again, “Cleona is my friend, sir.”

  “Another resident of the Odditorium, I assume?” I nodded. “Ah well, I should have known something like this would happen. That Odditorium has been nothing but trouble since the start. But rest assured, if I ever get out of this dungeon alive, Alistair Grim is going to pay dearly for what he’s done.”

  “Oh please, sir, don’t blame Mr. Grim. It’s partly my fault we’re in this mess. In fact, had I not popped down the wrong chimney and stowed away in Mr. Grim’s trunk, Prince Nightshade would never have known about the Odditorium in the first place.”

  “What on earth are you talking about, lad?”

  I gave the judge a brief account of my life, including how I arrived at the Odditorium and the events leading up to my capture. Of course I dodged around the bits about the animus, the doom dogs, and anything having to do with Odditoria. But still, at the end of my tale the judge eyed me suspiciously and said:

  “You’re not telling me the whole story, are you? Particularly, why this Nightshade character would be interested in Alistair Grim’s Odditorium to begin with.”

  My heart hammered—surely Judge Hurst would know if I tried to lie to him—but as I fumbled for a reply, he gently placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled.

  “Let us speak plain, lad,” he said. “Given my history with Mr. Grim and the Stout brothers, I can understand why you’d be disinclined to trust me. However, as you and I are now pickles in the same jar, I should think that we’d have a better chance of getting out of here alive if we worked together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, but my mind was spinning. If Judge Hurst was shrewd enough to murder Abel Wortley and get away with it—or even worse, if he was Prince Nightshade himself—I would not be able to dodge his questions for much longer. At the same time, even if I was wrong, and the old judge was as blameless as a newborn babe, I still couldn’t trust him—not to mention that I was Mr. Grim’s apprentice and would never reveal to anyone the secrets of his Odditorium.

  “Well, what do you say, Mr. Grubb?” asked the judge. “You have my word as a gentleman that this conversation shall remain confidential. And so I’ll ask you again: why would a devil like Prince Nightshade want the Odditorium for himself? If you tell me its secrets, I might be able to bargain with him for our release.”

  I was just about to explain how I’d been sworn to secrecy, when a woman’s voice cried out: “Hold your tongue, Grubb!”

  “What the—?” said the judge, gazing around. “Did you hear that, Mr. Grubb?”

  “Yes, I did, sir,” I said, gazing around too.

  “Hello?” the judge called. “Is there someone here? Who said that?”

  “I did,” said the woman. Her voice—gentle but firm, and marked by a strange accent—seemed to come from just outside our cell. Judge Hurst and I scrambled over to the door. The barred porthole was too high for me, but the judge peered out and said:

  “There appears to be someone in the cell across the way.” He pressed his face between the bars. “You, there, who are you?”

  “Someone who knows better than to talk to judges.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Judge Hurst exclaimed. “What kind of talk is that?”

  “Take care in whom you confide, Grubb,” the woman said, ignoring him. “Your secrets are your only advantage here.”

  Judge Hurst gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been listening to our entire conversation?”

  “Your secrets are your only advantage, Grubb,” the woman repeated.

  I stretched up onto my tippy-toes in an attempt to see out the porthole, but Judge Hurst elbowed me away from the door.

  “Now see here, woman,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but I assure you that I have nothing but this boy’s best interests in mind.”

  “The Black Fairy was wise to take you hostage, eh, Judge?” the woman said. “A man like yourself who knows the Odditorium inside and out. Isn’t that what you told him?”

  My mouth dropped open in shock.

  “What the—?” said Judge Hurst. “How did you hear that?”

  “I also heard you bargaining with the prince,” the woman said. “Heard you offer to help him find Alistair Grim in exchange for your life.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “Hold your tongue, woman!” the judge shouted, kicking the door. “You heard nothing of the sort!”

  “You said you’d help destroy the Odditorium. Said you’d been inside and knew its secrets.”

  “That’s a lie!” I cried, backing away. “Mr. Grim would never allow Judge Hurst inside the Odditorium!”

  The judge whirled from the door. “You keep your mouth shut! You hear me, boy? Keep it shut!”

  “You lied!” I shouted. “You knew all along why the Black Fairy took you here. He thought you belonged with us at the Odditorium!”

  “I told you the truth! I had no idea why—”

  “The best liars mix the truth with fiction,” the woman called from across the passageway. “It’ll serve you well to remember that, Grubb.”

  “Shut your trap!” the judge screamed through the porthole.

  “That’s why you wanted me to be quiet,” I cried. “You were afraid I’d blow your cover!”

  And with that the judge came for me, screaming at the top of his lungs and flailing his hands in the air. He knocked me down to the ground, straddled my belly, and was about to pummel me, but then the door swung open and a pair of Shadesmen rushed into the cell.

  “Let go of me!” the judge cried, struggling, and the Shadesmen pulled him off me. “Tell them I’m Alistair Grim’s friend! Tell them I’ve been inside the Odditorium!”

  My mouth froze in terror, my heart in my throat.

  “Tell them, Grubb!” the judge screamed as the Shadesmen dragged him out. “Tell them I’ve been inside! Tell them I’ve been inside!”

  The Shadesmen slammed the cell door and locked me in, the judge’s screams trailing off as they dragged him down the passageway.

  I ran to the door and listened. But then the slam from another door echoed loudly through the dungeon, then all was silent.

  “Do not feel sad, Grubb,” the woman said after a moment. “He would have betrayed you in the end. It’ll do your conscience well to remember that.”

  I grabbed hold of the porthole’s iron bars and pulled myself up. The porthole to the cell across the passageway was dark, but still I could make out the woman’s eyes staring back at me. They were almond-shaped and sparkled with an almost feline intelligence.

  “Your strength is impressive,” the woman said. “Being a chimney sweep has made you stronger than you realize. Both inside and out.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Kiyoko, and I am a prisoner here like you.”

  “Do you know what’s going to happen now to Judge Hurst?”

  “I suspect the prince will keep him alive until the banshee’s animus is extracted.”

  “You know about Cleona?” I asked, and Kiyoko nodded. “Where is she?”

  “She is resting in another part of the castle. Doing fine, from what I gather.”

  “What about Mr. Grim and the others?”

  “They were not brought here, but the banshee was very weak when she arrived. And so the prince must wait until she regains her strength before he can extract her animus. Do you know why he wants her ani
mus, Grubb?”

  “The prince wants to make purple-eyed Shadesmen. His army is limited right now to the ancient legions he’s brought back from the dead with the Eye of Mars. But with the animus, he’ll be able to mix it with the Eye’s red energy to make as many purple-eyed Shadesmen as he desires. Red and blue make purple.”

  “This Mr. Grim has taught you well. I should like to meet him someday. If we ever get out of this dungeon alive.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “The prince captured me the same as the others.”

  “Others?”

  “The magical beings that serve him. Some, like the Black Fairy and the Sirens, do so willingly. While others, well…even the unwilling are forced to serve him in the end.”

  “Then are you a magical being, too, Miss Kiyoko?”

  “No, I am human like you, Grubb, but a fierce warrior. The prince brought me here to help him capture a spirit, but I refused. The prince needs animus from a spirit that is pure and uncorrupted by its own selfish intentions.”

  “A banshee—Cleona!”

  “Yes. Banshees exist only to serve those to whom they are attached. Fortunately, the prince has been unsuccessful in capturing one—that is, until he found Cleona.”

  “We’ve got to rescue her!”

  “I agree, Grubb. Now that Prince Nightshade has acquired a source for his animus, he won’t have much use for you and me anymore.”

  “But how shall we escape?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that for ages. The prince’s fortress is impenetrable. The keys to the dungeon are kept in a room at the end of this passageway, but we have no way of fetching them.”

  Suddenly I felt a rumbling in my chummy coat.

  “Mack!” I cried, and dropped to the floor.

  “Mack? What is Mack?”

  “Mr. Grim’s pocket watch,” I said, fishing him from my coat—when a bolt of terror shot through my body. If I opened him, Mack’s animus, unprotected by Mr. Grim’s magic paint, would surely summon the doom dogs.

  “Hang on,” I said, scanning the prison cell walls. They were painted black like the Odditorium’s. Of course! If the prince planned on using the animus—and if, as Nigel said, the doom dogs work on their own and show allegiance to no one—then Nightshade would need to protect himself just like Mr. Grim.