“Wonders upon wonders!” said Colonel Korsakov. “I don’t recall eating a small law firm.”
Jo squinted down at the building. Carved above the door were these words:
LODGE
ORDER OF ODD-FISH
“Order of Odd-Fish—that’s what is said on the package!” said Jo. “Aunt Lily!…Aunt Lily?”
Aunt Lily was gazing at the lodge with frozen eyes. Her hands clutched vaguely at her chest, and she turned away with a shiver. “Okay,” she said faintly.
Jo, Aunt Lily, Korsakov, and Sefino half climbed, half slid down the gorge, grabbing hold of fleshy knobs and pulsing protrusions, and finally dropped to the bottom.
The lodge loomed before them, dead and silent. Every window was dark. Its crumbling bricks were crabbed with gray, sickly ivy, and cold thin mist twisted around. The whole building looked as if it was sunk into a dreary hibernation.
Jo walked up the porch steps. She raised her hand to knock on the door—and she felt something familiar.
Back at the ruby palace, Jo would often go down to the small movie theater in the basement where Aunt Lily kept all her old black-and-white films. Jo would watch those movies alone, far into the night, trying to figure her aunt out. She felt that somewhere within all those old movies, there had to be some clue that would tell her where Aunt Lily had disappeared to for forty years, and where she had come from; and some hint as to why that note had said she was “dangerous.”
Jo fell asleep while watching the movies, but a story would take shape in her dreams, patched together from clips of the dozens of movies she watched—and for a moment she would know who she was. Jo always forgot the dream in the morning, no matter how she tried to remember it. But she did remember that feeling of knowing.
She felt it now. The feeling of knowing was in that lodge. It was so real that she almost imagined it as an actual physical thing, a black dot lurking somewhere in there. Maybe the black dot was hidden on top of a bookshelf, or tucked inside a drawer, or sitting under a dish; wherever it was, she would find it. She would tear the lodge apart to find that dot. It was the period at the end of her old life.
Jo knocked. There was no answer. But the heavy oak doors, laced with iron and copper, gave way when she pushed, and swung open into a musty darkness.
The foyer was a gloomy cave of high ceilings and ponderous decor. Smooth, dusty hardwood floors, overlaid with ratty rugs, spread down two corridors and up a gently swooping stairway. The walls housed rows of bookcases crammed with yellowed books and crumbling maps. A shattered chandelier lay crashed in the center of the room, glistening in frozen splashes of light.
“Hello?” called Colonel Korsakov. But nobody answered.
They made their way through the abandoned lodge. There were signs that the inhabitants had intended to return soon, long ago: wineglasses stained red with evaporated wine; a dusty half-finished card game lying on a table; a book cracked open and left on the ottoman; a pipe on a chair. All was veiled with dust.
“I remember this place,” said Aunt Lily.
Korsakov stopped. “Exceedingly strange. I, too, remember something about this place.”
“I used to live here,” said Sefino suddenly.
“So did I!” said Aunt Lily.
“I lived here, too!” said Korsakov, astonished.
“I didn’t!” said Jo, starting to feel left out. “I don’t remember this place at all!”
Korsakov opened a door, and they stepped into a large kitchen. A couple of pots bubbled on the stove. Some chopped vegetables sat on the counter, as well as a gentleman.
He was an elderly black gentleman, very tall, thin, and gangly. He wore a tattered three-piece suit and no shoes or socks. His face was freckled and lined, his hair gray, his eyes bright and clear. He hopped off the counter, adjusted his spectacles, squinted at his visitors, and smiled with mild surprise.
“An unusual place for a reunion,” he said.
“Reunion?” said Sefino. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Really? You’ve completely forgotten me?” The old man looked hurt. “Your old comrade in arms?”
“Oh, come now—this is too much!” said Sefino, waving his antennae. “Sir, I am a gentleman. Ordinarily at this hour you would find me enjoying an expertly mixed cocktail, or cataloguing my award-winning collection of Turkish cufflinks. Instead, my companions and I have spent the last twenty-four hours being shot at, insulted, blown up, tied up, tossed about, threatened, eaten, and forced into social contact with dubious persons. I, for one, shall have no patience for whatever whimsical tomfoolery you may have in store for us.”
Jo murmured, “You are a three-foot-tall talking cockroach.”
“Not terribly whimsical, once you get used to it,” said Sefino. “But all this—it’s too much!”
“Sefino, you haven’t changed a bit,” said the old man.
“What? No!” Sefino pounded the table. “How do you know my name before I’ve told you? More nonsense! This entire day has become too fantastical for my taste.”
The old man turned to Jo. “And you must be Jo Hazelwood.”
Jo looked up, startled. “What? Oh…but my name isn’t Hazelwood.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose you’d think that.” He held out a bony hand, and Jo, bewildered, shook it. “I’m Mulcahy.”
Aunt Lily said, “Oliver Mulcahy?”
Colonel Korsakov started. “Sir Oliver Mulcahy! I remember—”
Sefino stood up angrily. “No explanation, sir, can justify such ludicrousness!”
“What are you doing here?” said Colonel Korsakov.
“Napping in this fish’s duodenum,” said Sir Oliver. “Very snug. Ah! I was wondering where my scarf had gone. Thank you.”
Korsakov was carrying the scarf that had been coughed out of the box along with his furry cap and Sefino’s pipe. Sir Oliver took the scarf and nonchalantly wrapped it around his neck.
Aunt Lily looked at the man with mounting puzzlement. “I know you—I know this place—but I can’t quite remember who you are—why can’t I remember?”
“That’s easy,” said Sir Oliver. “You’ve all lost your minds. Fortunately, I have them right here, in jars.” He rummaged in the icebox and took out three glass jars. Each contained brainy clumps floating in yellow fluid. “Your memories were confiscated when you were exiled from Eldritch City. I held on to them for sentimental reasons. Never thought it would come to this…. You first, Korsakov.”
Sir Oliver sprang up and seized Colonel Korsakov’s nose. Jo was stunned—violence was the last thing she expected from the kind-looking old man. The colossal Russian bellowed in outrage, but the lanky gentleman held fast, even as Korsakov staggered around the kitchen, crashing over tables and breaking chairs, waving his arms and trying to pry the man from his nose. Sir Oliver, still firmly grasping Korsakov’s nose, clambered onto his back and opened a jar with his teeth, grabbing a twitching bit of brain; with the other hand he pulled Korsakov’s nostrils apart and stuffed the brain up his nose. Halfway in, the wormlike strand of brain took on a life of its own and squirmed with furious energy up into Korsakov’s nostrils until it had disappeared.
This was all very shocking for the spectators.
Korsakov, dazed, stood still for a few seconds. Then he grinned at Sir Oliver as though he was an old friend and not a stranger who had just pushed something questionable up his nose.
“Why all the trouble, old chap?” said Korsakov. “I would have consented to do that myself.”
“Perhaps,” said Sir Oliver. “But it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”
“Er, quite,” said Sefino.
With much less fuss, Sir Oliver handed the other two jars to Sefino and Aunt Lily. Sefino distastefully eyed the contents of his jar but opened it with a sigh, poking at the swirling clumps. Aunt Lily wrenched the lid off and grabbed at the brains, stuffing them up her nose with gusto.
“Has everyone gone nuts?” said Jo.
“Just the opposite,”
said Aunt Lily, brains dangling from her nostril. “I’ve been waiting for this for years! Do you know how frustrating it is, not to remember half of your life? For the past thirteen years I’ve wondered about those missing forty years. Now, if it had been anyone other than Sir Oliver who suggested I put this crap up my nose, I would’ve hesitated. But if there’s anyone I trust, it’s Sir Oliver. Although I still don’t quite remember who he is…”
“Perfectly normal. It’ll take a few minutes for all the old memories to kick in,” said Sir Oliver. He turned to Jo. “I’m sorry I don’t have any for you, Miss Hazelwood, but you were too young to remember anything.”
“That’s quite all right,” said Jo. “And my name isn’t Hazelwood. I have her ring, though.”
“Ah! But you see—”
The entire building lurched.
“Whoa!” said Colonel Korsakov, grabbing on to the counter. “What was that?”
Sir Oliver said something, but Jo couldn’t hear—the lodge shook again and everyone yelled as tables and chairs slid across the room and plates crashed to the floor. For a moment, Sir Oliver stood motionless; then he ran out the door, calling over his shoulder.
“What did he say?” shouted Jo.
“It was something about a good view!” said Sefino, ducking a flying chair.
They all dashed after Sir Oliver as he bounded barefoot down the twisting, tilting hallways. The building tipped on its side, and then it turned upside down, and then it righted itself again, and yet Sir Oliver managed to sprint down the walls or ceilings as if they were the floors, his scarf billowing behind. The others struggled after him through the tumbling rooms, where bookshelves poured out rivers of books, couches slid around as though possessed, and chairs bounced off the walls at frightening velocities.
“Marvelous!” said Sir Oliver. “Just up these stairs! Watch your step! Come on now!”
Jo glanced out a window. The lodge was surging forward through a fleshy tunnel, swerving, bucking, and jolting. A yellow-orange foaming liquid had engulfed the bottom of the lodge, sweeping the entire building along—to where?
“No time!” called Sir Oliver. “Up the stairs! Come on, let’s go!”
He leaped, sprinted, tore up the stairs, and burst out the trapdoor on top.
“Grab on to something! There you go! Wooo!”
Aunt Lily pointed ahead: “Look!”
At the end of the tunnel a hole was opening up, getting wider every second—and outside were pale stars, the twilit sky, a plump white moon—
The lodge burst out of the mouth of the fish and crashed onto a sandy beach. Jo was astonished to see hundreds of torches, a crowd of people; a great cheer went up; fireworks exploded, and a chant started all around them. Through it all, Jo heard two words in the din, again and again, though she could hardly believe it:
“LILY LAROUCHE! LILY LAROUCHE!” they shouted.
People swarmed the bottom of the building. Jo looked back, flabbergasted; the giant fish was still on the shore, its wide mouth gasping.
“All together now! LIFT!”
The building lurched again. Jo looked down: the people below had lifted the lodge.
“FORWARD!”
Grunting, sweating, shouting, the people heaved the great building forward.
“MARCH!”
Jo looked out onto the mad scene. They had landed on a sandy beach, thick with mossy trees twisted in weird shapes; she glanced back and saw the fish wriggle backward into the water and disappear; looked forward again, at the campfires on the beach amid the jumbled rocks, and in the distance, beyond the forest, a city—a mountain that climbed straight into the sky, covered with a maze of glittering buildings and crowned by a great golden tree. Terraced streets spiraled down the mountain, with little lights and fires and flickering torches and crowds of people looking out from windows and bridges, waving, pointing, and shouting.
The sun was dipping below the lavender ocean, tinting the clouds purple in a sky like a wall of dark gold. Even in the desert, Jo had never seen anything like this sunset; it looked like the sky at the end of the world.
Singing songs and waving torches, the crowd carried the lodge up the beach, through a jungle of crooked trees, over a foaming river, and through the city gates. A whoop went up from all sides as the crowd carried the lodge up the mountain, pitching and tilting through the streets.
Aunt Lily smiled. “I’m finally home. We’re home.”
“You make quite an entrance,” said Jo.
Aunt Lily flinched and turned to Jo with panicked eyes.
“What…what’s wrong?” said Jo.
Korsakov and Sefino gasped and backed away from her.
Sir Oliver said sharply, “I would’ve expected more from you, Korsakov. After all you’ve been through, that’s how you’re going to treat her?”
Colonel Korsakov seemed to be looking at Jo for the first time. “I’m sorry, Oliver.” He averted his eyes. “It’s that I just now remembered.”
“Should we hide her?” said Aunt Lily.
“LILY LAROUCHE! LILY LAROUCHE!” shouted the crowd.
“No. Follow me,” said Sir Oliver.
Jo ran after them. “What are you talking about, hide me?”
Reeling and tilting from side to side, the lodge staggered forward, aloft on a parade of torches, chants, and songs. More fireworks exploded overhead, and a marching band led the building through the winding boulevards, booming and trumpeting. The crowd carried the lodge up the circling streets, scraping buildings on either side; sometimes the lodge almost tilted too far, nearly tumbling off the mountain entirely; but the crowd held on.
Jo, Sefino, Korsakov, and Aunt Lily followed Sir Oliver downstairs to a small library. The lodge bucked and jounced all around them as the city jerkily passed outside the window.
“I’m glad to have you back in Eldritch City,” said Sir Oliver. “It’s been rather dull since you left.”
“It’s awkward, though, isn’t it?” said Aunt Lily. “We were exiled, after all.”
“Why are you exiled?” said Jo.
“Uh, it’s a long story,” said Aunt Lily. “It has to do with you.”
Jo stared. “You were exiled because of me?”
“No time to explain. Oliver, we have to think of something, quick.”
“Are we going to tell everyone who Jo is?” said Colonel Korsakov.
“Absolutely not,” said Sir Oliver. “We would be run out of town.”
“Are you going to tell me who I am?” said Jo.
“She can be my squire,” said Aunt Lily.
“Capital idea. That should divert attention from her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Jo. She was starting to feel less like a person and more like an unspeakable medical condition.
Aunt Lily turned to Jo. “Give me your ring. Quick now!”
“Why?” said Jo—but Aunt Lily grabbed her hand and wrenched the ring off her finger. Seconds later, a man’s face appeared at the window.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” puffed the man, running alongside the lodge. He had a handlebar mustache and a crooked smile and wore a suit of armor of mismatched brass and silver plates. “Fantastic, wonderful to have you back in town!”
“Sir Festus!” Aunt Lily pocketed Jo’s ring and stood up. “Is it really you?”
“We’re all here!” panted the man. He was having a hard time keeping up. “Isabel said Oliver wouldn’t be back in time for the feast, but I just said, you wait and see! But we didn’t expect this! And—good gravy, is that old Korsakov? And Sefino? Korsakov, old boy!”
Korsakov grinned. “You seem in fine fettle, Festus!”
“My fettle has never been finer!” puffed Sir Festus; then he ran out of breath and fell behind.
“Who was that?” said Jo, clutching her finger; it rather hurt.
“Sir Festus Bartleby,” said Sefino. “One of the knights of the Order of Odd-Fish. Lily, Korsakov, and Sir Oliver—they’re all knights, too. Just like your parents wer
e.”
Jo shouted, “You knew my parents?”
“Shush! You’ll give us all away!” said Aunt Lily.
“What’s the big secret?” said Jo.
“We’re almost there. We don’t have any time,” said Aunt Lily.
Sir Oliver said, “If those people knew that we were bringing the Hazelwood child back into Eldritch City, this parade would turn into a riot.”
The lodge careened around the final corner, and with a loud shout and a final heave the crowd dropped it down between two other buildings. The applause outside was tremendous.
“A riot over me?” said Jo.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! Jo heard a hammering at the front door, and people streamed into the lodge, whooping and hollering.
“Yes,” said Aunt Lily. “You’re the reason we were in exile.”
“Wait!” said Jo. “Does this have something to do with that note? That said I was…”
“Dangerous? Yes,” said Sir Oliver. “Actually, I wrote that note.”
Jo gaped at Sir Oliver.
“But for now, the less you know, the better,” said Aunt Lily quickly. “Don’t worry—it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
Silence fell. It became clear to Jo that it was as bad as it sounded; maybe worse than she could guess.
“What…what happens now?” she said.
There was a mounting tumult in the lodge: the clomp of boots, the screech of grinding metal, laughter and carousing, coming closer. Aunt Lily, Sir Oliver, and Sefino brightened, and a deep, pleased rumble came from Korsakov’s digestion.
“The Grand Feast of the Odd-Fish,” said Aunt Lily. “And I, for one, intend to stuff myself until I can’t move.”
BEFORE Jo knew what was happening, Aunt Lily, Korsakov, and Sir Oliver all disappeared upstairs to dress for the feast, and Sefino hustled her off to the lodge’s banquet hall.
The hall was empty when they arrived, and homelier than Jo expected: a cramped, narrow gallery filled up by a long oak table and twenty-four chairs. An arched brass ceiling housed pots overflowing with vines, and dirty mirrors and old photographs in cracked frames crammed the walls. The table was crowded with candles, bowls of sauce, and plates of unidentifiable fruit, but none of the cups, bowls, or silverware matched; it was as if they had all been stolen from different places.
The Order of Odd-Fish Page 7
