Gustav Gloom and the Inn of Shadows

by Adam-Troy Castro

  Gustav studied him for a long time, spared the briefest of glances for the handful of other shadows trailing close behind, and then shrugged it off before once again turning his attention back to their descent.

  As they reached the bottom of the mountain and with it the land known as the Rarely, the path widened and they were able to spread out a little, Gustav scouting up ahead and the two girls keeping each other company about twenty steps behind him. They didn’t have to walk far before Fernie found herself able to spot the burning light Gustav had mentioned. It flickered, like a distant star, and seemed as forlorn and out of place in all the darkness surrounding it as a fish would be in the center of an empty grocery store parking lot. Fernie didn’t know whether whatever cast that light would turn out to be a good thing or a bad thing, but found that her eyes were so starved for real light of any kind that she could barely wait to draw near and take comfort from whatever it illuminated.

  The hooded Caliban drifted close to the girls and said, “I must confess, you’ve survived a lot longer than I ever imagined.”

  “No thanks to you,” Pearlie muttered.

  The slightly brighter dot that was the tip of Caliban’s nose bobbed in the impenetrable darkness under his hood. “If that was supposed to sting, I assure you that it failed. I can’t feel guilty over failing to provide help when I have not yet promised to do so . . . and the dangers that still lie between you and the lair of Lord Obsidian are so great that the chances of your surviving much longer are, really, quite poor. Still, I thought you’d appreciate the compliment, for what it’s worth.”

  “It’s not worth much,” Fernie said, “but thanks all the same.”

  Cousin Cyrus drifted by on Fernie’s other side, his weathered features curling into a nasty scowl. “You’re wasting your time with the likes of her, Caliban. Her kind never appreciates what we do for them.”

  “That’s not true,” said Fernie. “I’ve made friends with my shadow. I like her.”

  “Mine’s a little harder to know,” Pearlie said, “but I’ve made friends with her, too.”

  “So you claim,” Cousin Cyrus sneered, “and yet I note that neither of them seem to be anywhere around the immediate neighborhood. You ask me, I don’t think they’re lost. I think they just got sick and tired of you and abandoned you, the way I abandoned the mean old man whose shadow I was all those years ago.”

  Fernie said, “You know what I think?”

  Cousin Cyrus grumbled, “I couldn’t care less what you think.”

  Fernie told him anyway. “I think the only reason you’re so mean and miserable all the time is that you think it’s less work than being nice. You don’t get anything out of it. It doesn’t make you any happier. But you’re too lazy to try anything else.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Cousin Cyrus. “I’m mean and miserable because I don’t find anything about other people that’s worth the trouble of liking. I enjoy being mean and miserable. It’s what I’m good at. Like you’re good at being annoying.”

  Olaf hastened to catch up, swinging his shadow sword before him as if already battling monsters that only he could see. “Come, now! There’s no need for us to snipe at one another like that. We’re companions, embarking on a great adventure. We should be singing songs and trading tales of our past acts of derring-do.”

  “You don’t have any past acts of derring-do,” Cousin Cyrus snarled. “You’re just the shadow of a person who did, and from what you say the only heroic thing about him was his stench.”

  Olaf’s face fell. “True, but I was with him all that time, and I do remember some of the battle songs and all of the more interesting stories. What about you, dear Fernie? What songs do you know?”

  The only song that came to Fernie’s mind at the moment had to do with a boy named Jimmy who cracked corn for some reason, an act that even the song admitted was not worth caring about. As for tales of past acts of derring-do, she’d accumulated a few since beginning her adventures with Gustav Gloom, but wasn’t in any mood to share them at the moment. Still, Olaf did seem to be the only one of the party’s shadow companions interested in making an honest effort to be both helpful and pleasant, so she answered politely, “Do you have any in mind?”

  The shadow knight grinned happily, displaying teeth uneven enough to make his mouth look like one of those ancient cemeteries where all the tombstones are in danger of falling over. “Why, of course. When I traveled with my human, the warrior known far and wide for his unbearable stench, I saw him defend the bridge over the River Tepid! I helped him capture the Donut of Fate! I—”

  But they were never to hear the no doubt amazing saga of the Donut of Fate, because that’s when, ten steps up ahead, Gustav cried, “Everybody down!”

  The two girls fell to the ground at once. The shadows were slower to follow Gustav’s direction, probably because none of them—not even Olaf—had yet agreed to take his orders. But after a moment of studying the landscape ahead for some clue to Gustav’s reason for suddenly requiring stealth, they also sank to the gray earth and flattened to the thickness of area rugs, hugging the dirt as if trying to keep it warm.

  Long seconds of silence later, Cousin Cyrus declared, “This is stupid.”

  “I disagree,” said Olaf.

  “That’s because you’re stupid,” said Cousin Cyrus.

  “And you’re a cad and a bounder,” Olaf retorted.

  “I don’t even know what those words mean, but I think I take offense anyway.”

  Anemone shushed them. “Be quiet, you. The young man’s returning.”

  Gustav’s pale white face bobbed like a glow-in-the-dark ball bouncing in a darkened room as he scrambled back on all fours to rejoin them. “It’s a house.”

  “What’s a house?” asked Olaf.

  “That light up ahead. It’s a house. And not a shadow house, either. It’s an actual, solid, three-story house, complete with sloping roof and brick chimney. The light is a lantern burning in the window, and I saw a man—not the shadow of a man, but a real flesh-and-blood human being—walking around the front yard before he went back inside. It’s all as out of place in the Dark Country as anything I can possibly imagine.”

  “What color is it painted?” asked Fernie.

  Gustav blinked. “Why is that important?”

  “I want to know.”

  “It’s gray, of course, like everything else around here. Why?”

  “Because if it were Fluorescent Salmon, I’d suspect a trap.”

  “Yes,” Gustav agreed. “You’re right. That would be a little too convenient.”

  Olaf peeled his flattened head from the dirt to glance from one face to the other in search of clues that might have clarified the conversation for him. “What kind of strange person has a Fluorescent Salmon house?”

  Gustav ignored him. “Question is, do we want to avoid the house or do we risk knocking on the front door to see who the man is and if there’s anything he can do to help us?”

  Pearlie nibbled on a finger. “He could be working for Lord Obsidian.”

  “Yes. That is one of the things we’d be risking. Or he could be a bad guy for any number of other reasons. But he could also be an ally, and frankly . . .” Gustav hesitated, glanced at their shadow companions, then bit the bullet and said it: “No offense, but so far we’re not doing as well as I’d hoped in the ally department. I think this is one of those decisions that need to be put up to a vote.”

  Anemone spoke for her fellow shadows. “Do we have votes?”

  Fernie considered that outrageous. “Why would most of you get votes when you haven’t agreed to help us?”

  Was that a flicker of hurt on Anemone’s face? “We are still seeing if you’re worth helping.”

  “When you decide we’re worth helping, then you get a vote.”

  Anemone lowered her head, saddened but n
ot showing any inclination to change her mind about being more than an uninvolved observer. “Fair enough. I believe I can speak for Caliban and the nameless ones when I say we’ll refrain from insisting on a vote. Besides, we should not participate in this next part, anyway. The inhabitants of that house might be friendly enough to provide you with information, but the barn might present dangers best avoided by my kind.”

  “Such as what?” Gustav asked.

  “The presence of many shadows carries a certain scent, which might . . . awaken sleeping dangers. I offer this advice: Go only to the house, keep the noise to a minimum, and you need never know.”

  The three nameless shadows didn’t offer even that much, but allowed their silence to speak for them. Together, the five shadows who had made their decision to hold off making a decision all stepped back, blurring into a gray mass that seemed to hover in place like a miniature rain cloud that couldn’t muster up enough ambition to drop water on something.

  “Good to have you along,” Fernie muttered. “You’re all turning out to be such a great help.”

  But just as she’d written off the idea of any shadow assistance, Olaf advanced, brandishing his sword and jabbing at his chest with his free thumb. “The lady does not speak for me, children. I’ll face the danger, if you see fit.”

  “And I suppose I’ll have to, as well,” Cousin Cyrus said with a grimace, “just to keep an eye on this moron.”

  He had pointed to Olaf, who bristled with indignation. “That’s an insult, sir.”

  “Good,” said Cousin Cyrus. “Then I still know how to make one.”

  Gustav clapped a palm against his forehead. “Enough! And you, girls? What do you think?”

  The What girls glanced at each other to indulge in one of the silent conversations that sisters can have when they’re lucky enough to be friends as well as siblings. Neither one needed words to point out to the other that their safety-expert father would not have been happy about their knocking on a strange door in a place they didn’t know. Nor did they need words to point out that it was the only door in sight and that they weren’t exactly drowning in a sea of other choices. On one hand, how could they take such a foolhardy risk with so much at stake? But on the other hand, how could they not?

  Then Pearlie said, “I have a suggestion.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A House of Bits and Pieces

  The ridiculously long list of community guidelines that dictated the proper look and colors of houses on Sunnyside Terrace would have curled up in a ball and shriveled had it ever been exposed to the structure Fernie and Pearlie now approached.

  The house was big enough to qualify as a mansion by some standards, but was dilapidated and ugly for reasons that went beyond its dull color. It looked like it had been built out of bits and scraps, scavenged from one pile of junk or another, and it seemed like a strong sneeze would have made the boards scatter like dandelion seeds. The house as a whole leaned so far to the left that it seemed to remain standing only out of stubborn habit. If so, it was a habit that it was also giving serious thought to breaking sometime soon.

  The house was three stories tall and wide enough in front to accommodate more than forty windows, though they were really just holes where the bits and scraps failed to meet and the only one that emitted any light was the one with the glass lantern on the sill. The barn, separated from the house by the width of one narrow alley, looked more ominous in that more care had been given to its construction and to securing the handles of its great front doors with heavy iron chains. It had a curved roof and was topped with a bell tower, which like the house leaned to one side and seemed about to collapse the first time anybody in the neighborhood stomped a foot. Maybe that was why Anemone had warned the girls to stay away from it. Fernie was still prone to stamping her feet on occasion.

  The What sisters approached the front alone, holding hands for reassurance. If there’s anything they could have said to each other to make the experience less frightening, anything about not being afraid or being in this together or not worrying as long as they were side by side, it either struck them as too inadequate to say or went without saying, because they covered the entire distance without saying a single word. Every once in a while, one sister faltered and the other sister gave her hand a squeeze, but they each needed that service the same number of times, so it wasn’t like either one proved herself any braver than the other.

  Then they reached the front door of the house—an imposing wooden slab bearing an iron ring that came equipped with the useful instruction KNOCK. Unfortunately, the ring was set too high in the door for either girl to reach it, an annoying design flaw that obliged Fernie to climb up on her big sister’s shoulders, stand on tiptoe, and still find herself unable to reach it. She used her sister’s shoulders as a springboard and jumped straight up, knocking Pearlie down in the process. She did manage to seize the bottom of the ring with both hands, but that just left Pearlie on the ground and Fernie dangling from an iron door-knocker she didn’t have the leverage to use for its intended purpose.

  Lying flat on her back, Pearlie pointed out, “Ow.”

  “Sorry about that,” said Fernie. “A little help, here?”

  Pearlie stood, grabbed Fernie by the ankles, and pulled her sister’s legs away from the door, finally holding them high above her head so that both Fernie and the iron ring she grasped hung from the wood at the same horizontal angle. Then she let go.

  Both Fernie and the door-knocker swung forward, striking the door with a thud that was half iron knocker and half dangling little girl.

  Hanging limply against the door, Fernie could only repeat her sister’s earlier observation. “Ow.”

  Fortunately, the girls didn’t have to go through that more than once, because the door swung inward with Fernie still hanging from the knocker.

  The resident of the house stood revealed, staring down at them. He was a large gap-toothed man the approximate height and shape of a candy vending machine, with massive shoulders, large arms, and a mop of unruly that dangled to his shoulders and mingled with the equally elaborate curls of the beard encircling his chin and jaw. He was as pale as one would expect a man living in the Dark Country to be, but made up for the lack of heavy pigment with the flushed complexion of one who’d just been carrying heavy objects.

  His clothes were frayed and worn through in places. It was impossible to see what color they might have been once upon a time, though it looked like horizontal stripes and a convict number might have been involved.

  By this time, both Fernie and Pearlie had been without their shadows for so long that it was odd to see a man who was still accompanied by one, even if that shadow didn’t drag along the ground as it would have back on Earth, but instead walked upright behind him, its movements staying close to, but not quite matching, his.

  “’Allo,” the man said, his voice gruff but his manner warm. “This is a nice surprise. Two young shadowless girls, new to the Dark Country.”

  Fernie released the ring and landed on her feet, backing up a step in case she needed to turn and run in a hurry. “How do you know we’re new to the Dark Country?”

  “That’s downright easy for one who’s played host to so many wandering travelers over the years. I can tell that neither one of you has seen any sun in a while, but you both still have the ghost of freckles, fanned out across those cute button noses. Freckles don’t last very long in these parts, I fear . . . and, unless they keep their wits about them, neither do little girls.” He frowned. “I’m almost surprised to not see a boy and girl instead, given how I hear so many of the evil one’s minions are looking for a pair of that description . . . but that doesn’t mean I won’t provide you with hospitality. Come in, if you’d like.”

  Neither Fernie nor Pearlie made a move.

  The big man didn’t take offense. “Come, now. I know nobody glued your little shoes to the ground. This
country’s known for its odd dangers, but that’s not one of them.”

  It fell to Pearlie to voice the question that had caused the girls to hesitate. “How do we know you’re, um . . .”

  There seemed no polite word that could be plugged into the empty space at the end of the sentence. But the man provided it. “You were about to say ‘harmless’? Well, I’ll assure you that it’s exactly what I am. I know I’m a stranger and you can’t take my word for it, but if you prefer, we can leave the door wide open and you can stay between it and me for as long as it takes you to make up your minds that I’m not about to bake you into any pies.”

  The man released the door handle and backed away, disappearing into the dim confines of the house. The two What sisters glanced at each other and had another of their silent conversations, admitting to themselves that following him any deeper into his home was a risk, but also conceding that a sensible retreat would amount to traveling this far to learn nothing.

  One winding hallway of scraps later they found the man perched on a tiny and wobbly homemade stool in what appeared to be the house’s largest room, a place built out of mismatched scraps that was so creepy it cried out for cobwebs, but was somehow even creepier because it didn’t have any. His shadow companion sat on a shadow stool beside him with crossed arms. The window with the lantern (not fire, but a little captured ball of sunlight, burning forever in a glass globe) dominated one wall. There were two other lopsided stools, a couple of tarnished rapiers serving as wall decorations, and a shelf bearing three battered hardcover books.

  At a loss for anything else to say, Fernie uttered the most untrue words imaginable. “Nice place you have here.”

  “No, it’s not, little miss. It’s the best I could do with the bits and pieces that I’ve been able to scrounge when all the best has to go to maintaining the barn, but it’s not a nice place. It’s never been a nice place. I do appreciate your saying so, though. How do you like the Dark Country so far?”

  “I’m not fond of it,” said Fernie.