by Becket
“Someone who looked like me gave it to me,” Key said.
The witch appeared shocked and confused for a brief moment, but then her expression changed to mild amusement. Smirking and raising an eyebrow, she said, “I can only presume that another Key gave this to you.”
“I’m Key,” Key blurted out.
The witch grinned. “And there’s no one like you.”
“I mean,” Key said, quickly realizing how confusing it was to talk about Future Key and frozen moments of time. “I mean,” she stammered, “the Key who came to me is me, from a time that hasn’t happened yet.”
“She’s a wily one, that Key,” the witch replied with a wink. “I can’t wait till you grow into her.”
Key stared at the witch inquisitively. “Do you know me?” she asked, meaning to ask if the witch knew Future Key.
“I know that you’ve been in this dungeon for over a hundred years,” the witch said.
“How do you know that?” Key asked.
“You could call me a traveler,” the witch said. “I’ve traveled all over the world, the underworld, the netherworld, and one world run by hedgehogs – which isn’t my favorite. I’ve scaled the Black Cliffs, I’ve combed the Sands of Time, I’ve sailed across the Sorrowful Sea, and I’ve ridden on the Winds of Woe. In fact, I’ve just returned from the Ends of the World, and I was just passing by Morrow Mountain when I said to myself, ‘Self, it’s been over a century since you last visited the Necropolis to put a burning bur on Old Queen Crinkle’s throne.’ And so on a whim, I decided to park my mansion and stay for the night.” The witch now looked a little more intently at Key. “You were not in the dungeon the last time I was here. You were not in Despair a century ago.”
Key opened her mouth to speak, but countless questions had begun to flood her mind and she didn’t know where to begin. What did this witch mean by “park my mansion”? And how had the witch been here over a hundred years ago? Was she immortal, too? Key sat for so long with her mouth open and nothing coming out that she was greatly relieved and surprised when a third voice began speaking. Key did not recognize the voice at all. She liked the voice, though, as it had a kindly, grandmotherly quality to it, speaking out of thin air, saying, “Hello, Miss Broomble. It’s good to see you again.”
The witch’s smile broadened with delight. Clearly she not only knew the speaker, but was also on very good terms with her. “Pega!” the witch (whom Key now understood was called Miss Broomble) exclaimed. “It’s been far too long, my dear Pega,” Miss Broomble the witch went on. “How are you?”
“Oh, quite well for a ghost, thank you, Ma’am,” Pega said. “And you look as lovely as ever.”
Key was shocked at hearing the ghost’s voice for the first time, yet she was also a little hurt that Pega had spoken with the witch, but not with her. “Pega,” Key said incredulously, “why have I never heard your voice before?”
“Miss Broomble,” said Pega to the witch, “would you please be so kind as to communicate with my Mistress that, for as much as I would love to sit and have a lovely chat, castle rules forbid me from doing so.”
Miss Broomble turned to Key and explained, “Ghost servants, according to the rule of this madhouse, are not allowed to speak with vampires, as you’ve no doubt already learned. However, they are perfectly allowed to speak with anyone else – witches, goblins, other ghosts. As long as Pega does not speak with you, she is free to speak with me.”
Key understood all too well why Miss Broomble the witch would call the Necropolis Castle a madhouse – such a name was more apt than an insult. Key had experienced in this place a marriage of madness with meanness. Yet this Miss Broomble, along with Pega the ghost, had begun to feel like a calm center to a storm that Key could not see, only feel, a storm that wrapped around her like the darkness of the dungeon. Yet for all that, Key could not help but wonder at the witch’s name. Miss Broomble. Yes, it sounded very lovely. But it was just as familiar as the witch’s face. Where had Key heard it before? Where had she seen this witch before? She could not put her finger on it; the answer felt on the tip of her tongue.
Miss Broomble reached out and held up Key’s chain again. The chain rattled, firmly locking Key’s ankle to the dungeon wall. Miss Broomble then handed the chain to Key, and said matter-of-factly, “Break it.”
Having just met this witch, Key could not tell if she was joking, but she guessed she must be, because Key had decided long ago that she could not break her chains. So she now smiled and tilted her head in confusion. “I can’t break that,” she confessed good-humoredly.
“It’s your chain,” Miss Broomble said. “You’re the only one who can break it.”
Key looked at the chain worriedly. She was beginning to realize that this witch was not joking at all. She shook her head in protest. “No, I’m telling you, I can’t. Besides, you’re a witch. Don’t you have a spell that could break the chain?”
Of course Miss Broomble had a spell. But why should she use her magic? “You can break your own chains,” she told Key, not coldly, just sisterly.
Key’s mom and dad had taught her to trust herself, but the Necropolis Vampires had taught her to distrust her self, and now Key felt like the knot in the middle of the rope of a tug-of-war. All the same, Miss Broomble reminded Key that her mom and dad had been her first teachers, giving her good lessons about kindness and patience. They taught her not to be envious or boastful, not to be prideful or rude or angry or resentful; they taught her to be selfless, not selfish, and they taught her how to protect others, how to trust others, how to hope in others, how to never surrender, and how to calmly work through difficult problems. And now Miss Broomble seemed to be trying to teach Key another lesson.
Tears pooled in Key’s eyes as Miss Broomble also said, “Your mom and dad were indeed good people. They taught you by the way they lived. They cared for sheep like children. They cared for wheat fields like guests. Your mom and dad saw dignity in all things, even in an evil vampire and his two henchmen. But they could not teach you how to break the chains holding you back because, with them, you were never truly in a hopeless place, like you are now, in Despair, for that’s what Despair means – hopelessness.” Miss Broomble thrust Key’s chains forward again. “Break your chains.”
Key was stunned to silence. She just stared at the witch in disbelief for a long while, unable to regain the power of speech. Finally, at long last, she managed to stammer out in a quiet voice, “How do you know my mom and dad?”
Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. “I know you,” she replied. “And in knowing you, I’ve come to know them.”
Key shook her head in confusion. “How do you know me?”
“More people than you realize know that you’re in Despair,” the witch said.
Key instantly thought of Mr. Fuddlebee, and she had a feeling that the witch knew him, that she was somehow connected with him and his work with the Hand of DIOS.
Miss Broomble now pressed Key’s chains into her hands again. “You’ve lived too long in the prison of a lie,” she told Key. “You do not know the freedom of truth. You do not know how powerful your mom and dad made you in your heart. No one ever showed you how to turn the bad thing Margrave did to you into great power.”
Key gripped the chain as Miss Broomble let it go. Its length coiled along the filthy stone floor. It had locked Key to Despair for a century and she did not believe she could do what this witch wanted. It did indeed seem much easier said than done.
Miss Broomble leaned close to Key’s ear. “Break. Your. Chains.” Her tone was complete confidence. She had no doubt about Key’s power.
Key wished she had as much confidence in herself. She held her chain with one hand now. She had imagined countless times what it would be like to break her chains and be free, but she had never truly thought about it, for thinking about it instead of dreaming about it meant that Key would be, in some small way, making plans to do it. And now that she was thinking about it, did she have a plan? “Yes,
” she told herself, and then she told herself what that plan was, for it was the only plan she could have had at the time: “Squeeze.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Key tightened her grip on her chains, tighter than she had ever squeezed before – but truthfully, she did not have to squeeze that hard, as she had much more strength than she realized. The iron chain bent easily. So Key squeezed a little harder and the iron chain began to crack in her grip. Now Key squeezed as tightly as she could, putting into her grip all her pressure, all her might, all her anger at having been abandoned and alone all these years.
Then the iron chain crumbled to powder in the palm of her hand.
Miss Broomble smiled broadly. She leaned closer to Key’s opened hand and she blew the powder from Key’s palm. The two watched as the remains of the chain scattered into the air, like pluming smoke, before it dissipated in the darkness.
“Ashes to ashes,” Miss Broomble said. “Dust to dust.”
Key sat still, marveling at a power she never realized she had.
Miss Broomble leaned closer to whisper a precious secret into Key’s ear. “The prisons enchaining us are usually made by others. They’re often more fragile than we realize, until we find the right key to freedom.”
— CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —
World in Despair
Miss Broomble the witch stayed with Key for the rest of the night, and Key liked having company. Together they talked about steam and teakettles, about the invention of the clock, about sunrises and sunsets, and about many more topics that kept Key entirely riveted. For many hours they talked, until the sun rose over Morrow Mountain.
Key felt the sunrise, as all the Necropolis Vampires did. Younger vampires like Key fell asleep quickly while older vampires stayed awake just a little longer. But none could resist the sunrise, and soon all were fast asleep, snoring soundly in their coffins.
The Crinomatic had made for Key a lovely nightgown of white lace, spotted with violet tulips. Pega tucked Key into bed and Miss Broomble watched Key sleep for a time. As she slept, the witch could not help but fancy that, while Key was one hundred years old, she still looked as young as a nine-year-old girl. Already the witch liked Key very much; but now she felt she loved her with a sister’s love and devotion.
After that, Miss Broomble decided to extend her stay in the Necropolis for a little while. It felt like the right time to do so, as a friend was in need – and for the witch that was always the right time for kindness.
At the end of the day, when the sun went down somewhere beyond Morrow Mountain, the Necropolis Vampires rose sleepily from their coffins, some yawning, some stretching, some stumbling, some happily because they loved rising early in the evening.
Ghost servants brought the elder vampires blood tea and the younger vampires blood coffee. Elders had blood honey and blood cream with their tea while the young had their blood coffee red. And soon all were as bright-eyed as a vampire can be in the City of the Dead.
At midevening, the Necropolis Vampires gathered in the court of Old Queen Crinkle to discuss the night’s activities. Goblin scouts who patrolled the Necropolis during the day returned to the castle and reported problems to Galfridus Fish, the Queen’s secretary – who had years earlier sent Key a list of things she was forbidden to do. And now Galfridus, who was a sly, round vampire, reported to the Queen about dead uprisings in the Dragon Quarter, about Zombie Trolls invading the Garden Labyrinth, about Toags causing mischief with Killjoy the Kraken at the bottom of Melancholy Moat, and about numerous other problems plaguing the Necropolis. Old Queen Crinkle loved hearing these nightly reports because she loved dealing out punishment and misery, and she did so now with no small amount of enthusiasm.
“Show them no mercy!” she commanded while thirteen vampire scribes hurriedly copied down the Queen’s command for the almost official record books, which would one day be compiled as a slightly inaccurate history of the Necropolis Vampires.
Galfridus was indeed the Queen’s right hand vampire, as he did everything the Queen commanded him to do. But he was always secretly plotting to overthrow the Queen and become the first King of the Necropolis. That night he did his job with his usual cutthroat manner, assigning particularly merciless vampire patrols to ride into the Necropolis on their zombie steeds and punish anyone misbehaving. And, as those vampire patrols rode from the castle, Galfridus also extended his thick hand to accept bribes from those vampires who preferred staying in the castle to play Pundicle.
Miss Broomble watched all this happen from a distance. She was not surprised by the more underhanded dealings she observed, as she herself was no stranger to double-dealing – but only in her younger days, before she found her calling in her immortal life. That night she was tempted to depend on her old ways of doing things, but she would not, because she also knew that Key would only gain her freedom from Despair with fearless honesty. So, when the Royal Court of the Queen finished its evening proceedings, Miss Broomble bravely approached the throne.
Old Queen Crinkle and Galfridus Fish saw her coming and they eyed her with complete distrust, recalling the last burning bur that Miss Broomble sneaked onto the throne. Yes, indeed, they knew her, and they did not like her one bit. Miss Broomble could see this by the way their eyes narrowed and their lips trembled with fury the closer she approached the Queen of Spoons – which was what the Queen with her Crown of Spoons was called behind her back, and usually by Galfridus Fish.
Making a good, logical case before the Queen, Miss Broomble begged her to release Key from the Dungeon of Despair. But the Queen was in a very bad mood that night, and she liked being in bad moods because then she could be extra-specially cruel. And she wanted to be extra-cruel to Miss Broomble because the Queen liked the witch as much as she liked Blood Curdling Beetroot Soup – that is to say, not at all.
However, although Miss Broomble repeated Key’s name numerous times to the Queen, Old Queen Crinkle could neither recall who Key was nor the last time she threw someone in the Dungeon of Despair. “Key?” she asked Miss Broomble. “Key who?”
Miss Broomble tried jogging the Queen’s memory. “Key has bright red hair. Mr. Fuddlebee brought her here about one hundred years ago during your four hundred twenty-seventh birth-night party. You put her in the dungeon straight away.”
Yet for all Miss Broomble’s efforts, the Queen had no memory of “this Key creature,” as she called her, until Galfridus Fish scoured through the almost official record books from one hundred years earlier and found a slight mention of someone called “Dungeon Troll.”
“Ah, yes,” Old Queen Crinkle said, the corners of her mouth coiling in a cruel smile. “Now I recall the Dungeon Troll.” She recalled also that Key had interrupted her birth-night party and, more importantly, that she had been made into a vampire by Margrave Snick. It was at this last recollection that the Queen became even more adamant than before. “No,” she said, “the Troll will not be released from the dungeon. She will stay in Despair until the Hand of DIOS makes her mortal again, and then she will remain in there until she is just dust and bones.”
Miss Broomble argued and argued, but she could do little else, as Old Queen Crinkle had made her decision out of anger. And when the Queen began to feel that Miss Broomble had become an annoyance by constantly begging for Key’s freedom, the Queen summoned her Snooty Suits of Armor, who chased the witch from the Royal Court, hurling insults at her as she tossed back at them hexes and curses and Witch’s Ice.
Miss Broomble eventually lost her pursuers as she dove into the Wandering Scullery, which happened to be wandering by on its way to the dungeon – for that was on a late Wednesday evening.
The witch returned to the dungeon to find Key having already received a new change of clothes from her Crinomatic and ready to go exploring the dungeon, now that she was free of her chains. Miss Broomble related everything that had happened in her conversation with Old Queen Crinkle, how she had tried to win Key’s freedom, but that the Old Queen would not budge on her decision, an
d that Key would not be released from Despair any time soon.
Key was sad about this news, but her sadness could not last as the reality of her freedom set in, even if it was a limited freedom. Key was at least happy that she had broken her chains. For now, that was enough, because if Key was anything, she was someone who relished the small things in life. And now she was very eager to explore that darkness that had confined her for the past one hundred years.
So she and Miss Broomble set out and entered the darkness together, going along small alleyways and finding hidden passageways. Pega was always there with them, brushing off Key’s clothes when they dirtied, or giving her a Snuckle Truffle when it was time for a snack, as Key was so excited by her limited freedom that she practically forgot to eat.
Key soon came to discover just how gigantic the dungeon actually was. First, she visited the Partly Dead Brownie Folk in their factory under the Castle Kitchen. Then she visited the Beastly Barber whose barbershop was located under the castle Common Room. After that, she visited the Cackling Cauldron Makers who had a shop beneath the Grueling Gardens. She also visited the Hobgoblin Hex Bar, and the Leprechaun Laboratory, and the Skeleton School of Psychology, all of which were located near the Mystical Market under the Bewitched Ballroom. Key and Miss Broomble visited many more places and had many more conversations with several Mystical Creatures, whom Key found to be quite delightful and polite.
Next, Miss Broomble showed her hidden passageways that led from the dungeon up into the castle, behind the castle walls. Through peepholes, Key could see the Necropolis Vampires in the Grand Dining Room or in the Black Billiard Room, or in the Experimental Weapons Room, or in the Very Dangerous Visiting Room, or in the Eerie Entertainment Room, or in the Magic Lantern Room. While she did not like the idea of spying, Key’s curiosity got the better of her, and she could not help but take a peep through the peepholes at her jailers.
