by Becket
“Margrave, my old friend,” said Mr. Fuddlebee, a hint of sorrow in his voice, “you are neither. You are only the Betrayer.”
Margrave Snick replied by incanting, “Manum suam misit hostis.”
Time energy shot out from the scepter towards Key once again. But instead of hurtling her across the room, it gripped her like a fist, lifted her up, and carried her over to the Doorackle Alleyway.
The sight inside there suddenly changed. It no longer looked like the place Key had come from. All the stars within it appeared to have snuffed out completely, replaced by the blackest of black holes, a vast void of emptiness. The sight filled her instantly with dread. The scepter’s grip held her so tightly that she could barely turn her head towards her mom and dad. For a very brief moment, they shared with one another helpless looks.
“Give me the Hand of DIOS,” Snick ordered the elderly ghost, “or I will drop this child into the Abyss of Time. And if I do, you and I both know her fate.”
“To my knowledge no one has ever escaped from the Abyss,” Mr. Fuddlebee softly admitted. “However,” he went on, resolve in his voice. “As usual, Margrave, you do not know what you’re talking about. If you went through this Doorackle Alleyway, then, yes, you would be scattered into eternity. But this child did not come here by chance. She was drawn here by love.”
Margrave Snick screwed up his face in disgust. “Love?” he spat, clearly baffled by the word.
“You do not understand time because you do not understand love,” Mr. Fuddlebee went on to explain. “Time is not a straight line from point A to point B. Time is one truth with countless possibilities. It is a design that adapts itself to love, and to failures in love. This moment that the child returned to, it is not a coincidence of time. It is a perfect circle of love.”
Margrave Snick laughed cruelly. “Foolish man with foolish old beliefs. Love has no control over time and space.”
“My old friend,” Mr. Fuddlebee continued, “you already know that there is only one thing that unites love and hate. I taught it to you at All Hallows University. It is a string as thin as a spider’s thread. It easily supports the weightier matters of the world. Do you know what that thread is?”
Margrave Snick responded with a scowl, as if the word tasted awful in his mouth. “Choice.”
“You can choose to hate,” Mr. Fuddlebee went on, “or you can choose to love, or you can choose to do neither and nothing at all. The choice to love over all other failures in love turns the tide of all time and all space. The choice to love topples histories of pride, just as the choice to hate destroys undeveloped futures.”
“Where is this choice of love now?” demanded Snick, gripping the scepter tighter and holding Key closer to the edge of the Abyss beyond the Doorackle Alleyway. “There are no choices here. There is fear, and there is hope – fear about what I am about to do, and hope that I will not do it.”
Mr. Fuddlebee shook his head. He looked sympathetically at Key as she struggled to break free. “No, my old friend,” the elderly ghost said softly, “there is a choice to love here; for life is never without choice. And if life is never without choice, then it is never without love. And tonight we are especially privileged because we have before us the greatest choice imaginable, so also the greatest love.”
“And,” said Snick, cautiously eying Mr. Fuddlebee, “is it the choice for me to lay down this scepter?”
“Not at all,” said the elderly ghost. “It is the choice to lay down your life for someone else.”
Margrave Snick laughed cruelly. “Who’s going to lay down their life? You, ghost? You can’t hurt me. You can only pester me like a poltergeist. Now give me the Hand of DIOS. You have no choice! You have no love! No one will sacrifice their life for this wretched fledgling.”
“We will,” came two voices from behind Mr. Fuddlebee.
Then through his ghostly form stepped forth Key’s mom and Key’s dad. They had never heard of Margrave Snick before, so they were unafraid of his vile reputation. All they had was pure love for their only daughter, Key, no matter what she had become, no matter if she was a vampire or witch or ghost. They would choose to love her beyond any fear that could grip them. And they both looked at her now with love – if you’ve felt that from someone who loves you, then you know it; and if you haven’t, then no word can describe how wonderful it feels.
Together, as one love, husband and wife, Key’s mom and dad, they ran towards Margrave Snick. And with all their force, they thrust the scepter from his hand and knocked him backwards. In an instant Key was released from its grip. She fell to the floor and looked up just in time to see her parents dive with Margrave Snick through the Doorackle Alleyway, and go tumbling into the Abyss.
With a gentle flickering away, the light of time snuffed out, like the last candle flame of the universe, and the Doorackle Alleyway closed. And all that remained was silence and darkness and sorrow.
Then, gathering all her horror, all her outrage, like a perfect storm gathering together all its forces, Key’s heart broke open. And at her great loss for a second time, she screamed.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —
The Subcommittee Preventing Oddly Odious Kerfuffles
For a very long time, Key did not move. The sheer confusion of what had just taken place bound her to her spot, as if she were once again shackled to the wall of Despair. All she could do was stare in complete disbelief at the empty place where the Doorackle Alleyway had been, watching, hoping that it would return, that it would open, and that her mom and dad would step through it and into her arms. But the more time passed, the more Key came to realize that the Doorackle Alleyway was not coming back, and that she might never see her mom and dad again.
Mr. Fuddlebee floated patiently beside her. He did not urge her to move, or to move on. Instead he kindly encouraged her to mourn. “A good cry, my dear, releases many ghosts,” he said softly.
She was too shocked for tears, though, too shocked to accept the possibility that she had lost her mom and dad for a second time.
Finally, after a few minutes of solemn silence had passed, Key mustered enough courage to ask a very brave question, even though the tone of her voice was riddled with doubt, as if she already knew the answer to it.
“They are gone forever, aren’t they?”
“No,” Mr. Fuddlebee replied matter-of-factly.
Key looked at him in astonishment.
“In a way, they are here with us forever,” he went on, placing his ghostly hand on her shoulder. “They are spread across every moment, in every place, at every time.”
“Does DIOS know where they are?”
Mr. Fuddlebee nodded. “Yes, she knows.”
“How?”
“It is impossible to know how DIOS works; we know so little. However, we do believe that the Eye of DIOS sees all moments of all times as one moment. In a way, you could say that your parents are quite safe, for they are with DIOS.”
“Are they dead?”
“No, I do not believe so.”
“Then where are they?”
“Not where, my dear, when. They are everywhen – at all times, at all places. They are looking at time through the Eye of DIOS, which could be compared with looking through a telescope not merely at one moon or one star, but at every moon and every star that has ever been, and all at once.” He paused to reconsider this. “That being said,” he added, “I’m not entirely sure they would understand whatever it is they’re seeing; I do not understand it much myself. I just trust.”
“Are they in pain?” Key asked in a weak voice.
“Were you in pain when you went through the Doorackle Alleyway?”
Key thought about this. The only answer she could give was, “No. It wasn’t painful at all. Actually it was kind of peaceful.”
The elderly ghost smiled on her. “You should let that good experience be a comfort, my dear.”
“Will I ever see them again?”
“Only DIOS can see that.”
Something suddenly began burning inside Key’s chest. It was not a burning that hurt her; rather, it was one that filled her with the warmth of a great love – a love that Key did not yet understand – a love that had come from someone else’s choice to love her.
“I should have sacrificed myself for them,” she reproached herself.
“I would feel the same,” the elderly ghost replied. “However, it is the role of loving parents to sacrifice everything, even their lives, so that their children might have a better life.”
“I want to die,” she said in a piteous tone. “Will you use the Hand of DIOS on me? Will you make me mortal again?”
“One day, when you’ve come of age, yes, someone will, but not I.”
“Why not now?”
“You are too young.”
“But I’m in pain.”
“Time heals all wounds —”
“— and wounds all heals.”
“Yes, it does that, too.”
“I don’t want to be immortal anymore.”
“Just take it one night at a time,” Mr. Fuddlebee said. “Persevere a little while longer – only for tonight, I beg you – let’s see how you feel tomorrow.”
Key repeated the word to herself. “Persevere.” Her mom and dad had taught her its meaning long ago. She’d almost forgotten it in the Dungeon of Despair. Although it was a difficult word for her to hear at that moment, it was also quite welcome, for she had not heard it spoken aloud in a long time, and it was good to hear it again. And despite her sorrow, she smiled.
“What do you say,” Mr. Fuddlebee said. “Will you choose to persevere, the way your parents would have wanted?”
Key hung her head. “I don’t know.”
“Who you are, my dear, is indeed quite powerful,” the elderly ghost encouraged, “and I’d like to see your power increase.”
“How do you know I’m a powerful vampire?”
“I didn’t say vampire, my dear. You are quite a powerful young lady. The true power of a creature is not merely the gift she shows outwardly, but also the self-worth she possesses inwardly.”
Key looked down. “I’ve lived in the dark for so long. I have so much to learn about myself.”
Gliding around her now with his ghostly trails swirling all about them like dusty mist, Mr. Fuddlebee led her to the front door. “I would like to help you learn, if you’d be willing to let me.”
This surprised Key, as she walked beside him. “What do you want to teach me?”
“Have you ever heard of SPOOK, my dear?”
“You told me about it already.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, when you took me to the City of the Dead. You told me that SPOOK is the Subcommittee Preventing Oddly Odious Kerfuffles.”
“My dear!” Mr. Fuddlebee huffed in exasperation. “Please, the paradoxes, let’s keep them at a minimum.” But his color changed, though, brightening to a lighter shade of green, when in the next moment he said in a more cheerful tone, “Well, I am at least delighted that you have heard of us. Yes, indeed, I work for SPOOK.”
“You turn immortals back into mortals,” Key said.
Mr. Fuddlebee waved his hand dismissively, as if this were a common misconception. “Oh, my dear, we do so much more than that! Miss Broomble has been a wonderful assistant for many decades; she’s learned enough and needs a promotion. In such a case, I’ll be in need of another assistant.” He lowered to a whisper. “Besides, the GadgetTronic Brothers just opened a new shop in Welkin City and Miss Broomble has been spending an awful lot of time there lately. Perhaps she’s seeking new employment on their Eek Squad.”
Key smiled. She never knew that freedom from the Dungeon of Despair meant finding someone who seemed to be a good friend.
“I’d like to be a part of SPOOK, Mr. Fuddlebee,” she said with some hesitation in her voice, “but I’d also like to search for my mom and dad, too.”
Mr. Fuddlebee nodded with a hint of sympathy in his solemn expression. “No doubt. I would do the same. I think searching for your parents could quite easily fall under the purview of SPOOK. Let us help you. We’ll launch a thorough investigation once we return to Welkin City.”
Key had never been to Welkin City, but having read much about it (mostly in the footnotes of Wanda Wickery’s History of the Necropolis), she fancied it to be a rather grand place. But she could not inquire on it further, for right at that moment, the passage of time started up again, like the gears of an ancient train slowly spinning into motion.
Miss Broomble, who had been frozen mid-stride in the doorway, started moving again, too, and she dashed into the room, ready for a good fight. However, when she quickly assessed that the fighting seemed to have ended without her, and that there was no Margrave Snick, she regarded her ghostly companion with a puzzled expression.
“Mr. Fuddlebee. What’s happened? Where’s Margrave?” She looked at Key cautiously, like one stranger to another. “Who’s this?”
Key was not accustomed to seeing the witch’s eyes study her with such doubtful scrutiny.
“It seems, Miss Broomble,” explained Mr. Fuddlebee, “that the snake has bitten its own tail.”
“Really?” the witch asked with irritation in her voice. “Again?”
“Indeed!” the elderly ghost said with increasing excitement. “We have come to the very beginning and end of a rather intriguing paradox, one in which we are thoroughly entangled! I can’t wait to observe how it all turns out. It will make a fine chapter in my book – which my editor wants to title Tempus Annulus – a term I totally disagree with – I rather prefer calling it The Gordian Time Knot – sounds much more fantastic, doesn’t it!”
Miss Broomble whispered to Key wryly, “It’s as if he’s found the end of a rainbow.”
“Oh, my dear Miss Broomble,” the elderly ghost chuckled, “we both know that the Princess of the Rainbow Kingdoms would never allow such a thing —”
But before he could go on, the two zombie henchmen rose from the sheepfold and came charging back inside the house. There was confusion for a second or two, as they scrambled about wildly, both starving for flesh and searching for Margrave Snick. They recognized Key immediately and ran straight towards her with their hands grasping and their mouths biting.
Old Queen Crinkle’s scepter was lying by her feet. She picked it up and aimed it at them. She tried to fire it intuitively, but nothing happened; its time energy had drained away when the Doorackle Alleyway closed.
Miss Broomble began drawing a steam-pistol from her holster, but one of the zombie henchmen dashed up to her and knocked it from her hands. Then he gripped her throat with his decomposing hand and he opened wide his rotting mouth to feast.
Key noticed the spyglass strapped to Miss Broomble’s forearm. Quickly snatching it off, she intuitively commanded it, “Dynabow.”
As though never having witnessed this before, Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble watched with impressed expressions as the spyglass instantly began unfolding into the dynabow. Even the zombie henchmen watched in awe and wonderment. And once the transformation was complete, Key loaded an electric bolt, aimed, and fired it at him. The zombie’s dead-white eyes widened with delayed realization right before the electric bolt shocked him into senselessness.
The other zombie henchman moved fast and knocked the dynabow out of Key’s hand. It went sailing across the room. He started to make a lunge at Key when, suddenly, a deafening roar shook the whole house.
The fireplace that had become a heap of rubble now started to rumble. Its many stones burst apart, like dozens of little meteors hurtling in all directions. Everyone turned to look at it, even the zombie henchman. For a moment or two, soot and ash from the fireplace gathered like fog in the room, making it difficult even for a vampire to see through. Despite this, everyone could hear the heavy breathing of a monstrous beast.
All of a sudden a massive paw reached through the black billows, grabbed the zombie henchman by the neck, and yanked him
back into the fog. The sound of a window breaking followed this, which was immediately followed by the howl of the zombie henchman who had been rocketed through it.
From the fog of soot and ash, there stepped an enormous wolf monster, standing on his hind legs, over twelve feet tall, with fangs like daggers. He was so big, his shoulders so wide, his arms and paws so thick that he barely fit inside the room. His panting was like the rumble of thunder. His eyes were black, shiny and wet, and as impenetrable as black stones, yet alive with love for Key. Looking into those eyes you would have naturally assumed that the gigantic beast was rearing to swallow you in one great gulp. But Key had no fear of him and she called out to him now with joy in her heart.
“Tudwal!”
Her sooty face beamed a sooty smile as she ran to him and hugged his great leg. Tudwal the wolf hummed with gladness when he saw that she was safe. Key wondered briefly how he had transformed into his wolf form, but then she happened to spy through the broken window that silvery moonlight was shining in. A half-moon was shining across the valley – the only phase of the moon that could change him from puppy to wolf.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE —
The Floating Mansion
Mr. Fuddlebee glided over. Miss Broomble followed. By the expression of sheer amazement on his ghostly face, Key recalled that he had not seen Tudwal before.
“A fine specimen!” he declared, glowing brighter with great admiration as he studied the immortal puppy-wolf, from claws to tail to snout. “Yes, a fine specimen indeed! Lupi-puppus.”
A rumbling came from Tudwal’s throat as he growled at Mr. Fuddlebee. The whole house seemed to shake. To anyone else such a frightful sound might have foreshadowed certain death. But the growl made Mr. Fuddlebee’s cheeks blush a deeper shade of green.
The elderly ghost chuckled to himself as he admitted, “Why, yes, those are crescent moons on my bowtie. I’m tickled you noticed.”
