Land of Verne

by David H. Burton

  As a result, thick vapors emanated from the bottle. Grim tried to put it down in time, but it slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor. The Poison Slime slithered across the ground and made its way under the door as the room filled with a cloud of thick, blue-and-silver smoke.

  “Everyone, please remain calm, and listen,” instructed Master Galan through the haze. “Follow the sound of my voice. We’ll all leave together.” Grim groped towards the sound of Master Galan’s calling voice. He used the tables to guide him and heard Scarlet’s clicking sounds to his left. He put his hand out for her and then retracted it swiftly as pain surged up his arm. She’d bit him. Then he nearly tripped over something on the floor.

  “Ouch!” said a boisterous voice in the fog.

  He cradled his hand. “Sorry, Rudy.”

  Finally, when all of them were at the door, Master Galan guided them out the entrance and they practically tumbled out.

  The old man laughed. “Well, we’re fortunate that that wasn’t tincture of poppy or we’d all be sleeping for days,” he said, looking at Grim.

  He blushed, still holding his hand. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, quite all right, quite all right. These things happen. I’ll have to have the room aired out. We’ll try again tomorrow, shall we?”

  Grim nodded, but felt ridiculous.

  “Well, what shall we do now?” Treena asked as Master Galan disappeared back into the room.

  Quinn trailed behind, obsessed with wiping off his clothing.

  “I think I’m going to head back to my room,” said Rudy with a rather exaggerated yawn. One hand was in her pocket. “I’m feeling tired. All these late night chores have made me sleepy. I’ll see you when we clean the bathing rooms.” She strode off at an incredibly fast pace, back towards the orphanage.

  Treena had a look of suspicion in her eyes. It was matched by Grim’s.

  Finally, after Quinn finished adjusting his cap, he caught up to them.

  “Where’s your sister?” he asked.

  “She’s not my sister,” muttered Grim. “And she’s gone back to her room.”

  “Oh,” he said. “You know, you needn’t concern yourself with what happened back there. I’m sure many commoners make mistakes. Perhaps I should have pointed out to you where you were failing.”

  Then Grim saw Scarlet inch towards him along the floor. Her head was lowered, but he could see that the color of her eyes was slightly different — a darker red.

  “Stay away from me,” he said, and stormed away.

  The following day, just after a dinner that was referred to as brawn ― a gelatinous mixture made from boiling a pig’s head and feet and letting it cool into a jelly-like substance, Grim sat in Treena and Rudy’s room, relishing his respite from Quinn. It finally gave him the opportunity to mention what he had witnessed outside the orphanage with Madam Adelaide.

  “The bird sounds like a Razorbill,” Treena said, “but the color is wrong. They’re black. And if they have a mechanical eye, they’re used as watchers.”

  “Watchers?”

  “To keep the peace,” she said. “Each city has them to alert the constables. They’re even used as spies. Lord Victor has them all over. Really, it could be anyone’s. Even from the Southlands.”

  That reminded him. “We still need to learn more about these Southlands because we know little of the place we keep telling people we’re from.”

  “Actually,” said Treena, “it’s good that people think you’re from the south. They speak with a strange accent ― like yours.”

  “I speak with an accent?”

  Treena nodded. “You all do.”

  Rudy lifted her eyebrows.

  At that point Quinn paraded in and Grim struggled not to roll his eyes.

  “Indeed,” he said with the pompous tone he used when he was looking down his nose at them. “It’s a dialect rather typical of the Southlands.”

  How much had he overheard?

  “Have you ever been there?” Rudy asked.

  Quinn shook his head. “Travel to the Southlands? How absurd! We have servants for that.”

  “Well since you’ve never been there, you don’t know for sure, do you?” Rudy said in a manner that was far too polite.

  Quinn shrugged. “Well, I’ll just have to go and inquire about the Southlands,” he commented with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He marched out of the room.

  Treena got up and closed the door.

  “How much do you know about the Southlands?” she asked.

  Grim and Rudy shook their heads. “Nothing.”

  Treena scowled. “That’s not good. You need to get some books from the Library. There might be something there. And you better get there before Quinn starts asking questions that you can’t answer.”

  “How am I going to get in there?” Grim asked. “That’s for the students.”

  “Doesn’t Master Cobblepot send you in there?”

  He pulled out a small piece of paper that the old man had given him. It was written permission to let Grim in to take out books. “Yes.”

  “Then if anyone asks, tell them you were told to get some books for him.”

  Grim looked out the window at the setting sun. “How long do we have?”

  Treena joined him. “Long enough to at least find some books and bring them back here. I’ll help.”

  Rudy nodded and yawned. “I’ll stay here. I don’t want to go anywhere near the Library. Madam Tyne has been looking for me since I mixed up the titles on some of the books. How was I supposed to know that Poy Son’s Lime and Its Pickled Juices belongs in the alchemical section.” She paused. “But pickled limes might not be right. It’s kind of disgusting.” Rudy stuck out her tongue.

  “Wait a minute,” Grim said. “Say that again.”

  She looked at him and shrugged. “Poy Son’s Lime and Its Pickled Juices,” she repeated.

  Grim repeated it to himself.

  Poy Son’s Lime and Its Pickled Juices. Poy Son’s Lime and Its Pickled Juices.

  He swapped in the letter ‘F’ for ‘P’ in pickled. Rudy was infamous for that.

  Poy Son’s Lime and Its Fickled Juices.

  He looked at Rudy. “You mean Poison Slime and Its Fickle Uses?”

  She puckered her lips. “Ah, that might be it! I was hungry at the time, so maybe that’s why I thought of pickles. Madam Tyne has wanted me to dust out the entire Library since, including the basement. It’s creepy down there.”

  “We’re going to have to work on your reading,” Grim said and left with Treena.

  They swept through the halls to the Library. The corridors were mostly deserted, with the exception of Dorian and Valeria whispering as they strolled ahead of them. They waited for them to pass into another hallway before they continued.

  The Library, too, was deserted, with the exception of beak-nosed Madam Tyne; Keeper of the Books. She eyed them through a glass monocle that appeared as if it were a permanent part of her face, as was her scowl.

  “Orphans,” she muttered.

  Before she could say anything further, Grim held up Master Cobblepot’s pass.

  “You just be sure to stay where I can see you,” she said. “And stay away from the east wall.” With her long, dirty finger she pointed to the far side of the Library where a massive oak door stood. That was supposed to be Madam Malkim’s private study.

  Grim and Treena kept a swift pace, darting through aisles and shelves. The room was immense. He’d heard rumor that the cityfolk even came to this Library. Madam Malkim apparently kept some rare books.

  There were books about the various races, tomes on the Dominions, scrolls with maps, volumes of history, a smattering of grimoires on Jinns, and books about sinth and the making of various devices. Grim paused at the latter, but Treena dragged him along.

  Finally they came upon a shelf, tucked away in a corner that was covered in dust and cobwebs. Grim sneezed as Treena skimmed the titles. She found four books.

  “You wa
nt these,” she said.

  Grim eyed the titles. Old Man Fredegar’s Children’s Tales, The Evils of Summoning, Songs and Folklore from the Southlands, and Absinth for Imbeciles. Treena grabbed all four books.

  Grim opened the book with the children’s tales. His mouth dropped open as he read the following aloud.

  “Kobold, Pixie, Troll and Fawn

  You can cook this evil spawn

  Put them o’er a fire so big

  Roast ‘em up like suckling pig.”

  Grim stammered. “Who writes this kind of stuff?”

  Treena closed the book. “How else are you going to learn what the Southlands are like? Master Avon says that through song and rhyme, people teach their children how to behave. This is the kind of thing that Quinn will ask you. Something a kid would know.”

  “But this is terrible.”

  Treena shrugged.

  They walked to the front of the Library to face Madam Tyne.

  “We would like to take these books out,” Grim said.

  The old woman glowered at the books and then at the two of them.

  “What does Master Cobblepot want with these?”

  Grim had to think fast. “Um, he’s researching the difference between children’s tales in the Southlands versus the Dominions.”

  “Hmm,” she muttered and wrote their names down in her ledger. “Please return them within seven days or extra chores will be imposed upon you. And I could use with some help dusting in the basement. I’ve gotten a little behind in my work.” She had an unpleasant grin on her face.

  The two nodded and hurried out the door. They nearly bumped into Festrel as they walked out. He hid his arms behind his back, but too late before Grim noticed he carried three large books himself.

  Grim and Treena each held their own close to their chest as he spat on the ground in front of them.

  “Get out of my way, wretch.” He stared at Treena with loathing.

  Grim stepped in front of her. “Watch your tongue.”

  He looked at Grim with disgust, but a sly grin crept across his face. He stepped back with a sweep of one arm.

  “But of course. After you,” he said with a mocking tone.

  Grim and Treena walked past him with care. Festrel turned around and headed into the Library, but not before Grim caught the title of the three books he carried: Talismans, Changelings, and Jinns.

  They rushed back to find Rudy pacing in her room.

  “What did you find?”

  They showed her the books and Grim mentioned the ones that Festrel carried.

  Rudy scowled. “What would he want with books about Changelings and Jinns?”

  Grim shook his head. “I don’t know. Quinn might be able to guess. But we can’t talk to him about it.”

  A sudden knock made all three of them jump. They hastily stuffed the books under the bed and Rudy answered the door.

  Aunt Patrice stood in the doorway with Pringles on her shoulder. The cat jumped down and inspected the room as the old woman glided in. The door closed softly behind her.

  “Greetings,” she said. “I trust you are all well and remaining far from trouble’s path?” She raised one eyebrow and stared at Treena and Rudy.

  Both girls blushed. “Yes,” they returned.

  Aunt Patrice grunted in disbelief. “I have news for you. Your dads will be attending the Anniversary celebration. I will let you know more of their arrival when the time gets closer.” She paused. “And they are concerned.”

  “About what?” Grim asked.

  “About a new visitor here. Perhaps you do not know this, but young Lord Festrel has come to Madam Malkim’s. You must avoid him at all costs. Do you understand?”

  Grim and Rudy nodded. He thought of their two encounters already.

  “He’s our cousin, isn’t he?” Grim said.

  Aunt Patrice sighed. She opened the window to let Pringles out on the ledge. “I suppose you were bound to figure it out. Your Poppa is the older brother of Festrel’s father, the one who stole the Manor. He would delight to see all of you dead, so you must be careful. Does he know the six of you are siblings?”

  “I don’t think so,” Grim replied. Festrel had not met them all together. “But he thinks Rudy and I are from the Southlands.”

  A cunning look settled in Aunt Patrice’s eyes. “Quite clever. I suggest you learn all you can of the Southlands.”

  Rudy dragged the books from under her bed.

  The old woman chuckled and strode towards the door. “Excellent! Well chosen, my dears. I can see I have little to worry about while I’m gone.”

  “Gone?” Rudy said. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m afraid I must leave tonight. There is some trouble with one of the orphans and Madam Phoebe and I must make for the Rowanwood posthaste.”

  As much as Grim begrudged having his meddling Aunt around, he didn’t like the notion of her leaving. What if they needed her?

  “When will you be back?” he asked.

  Aunt Patrice offered a reassuring smile. “As soon as I can. Please be sure to let the others know to avoid Festrel. It could be dangerous if he learns who you all are.” She looked out the window. “Well, I see that second moonrise is upon us. Proper young ladies and gentlemen require rest and it is now past your bedtime. Good evening,” she said and slipped through the door.

  Rudy and Treena both exhaled as if they’d been holding their breath the whole time.

  Treena checked the corridor and closed the door. “We need to be careful around Quinn. He might tell Festrel who you are if he overhears us.”

  “I don’t know,” muttered Grim. “There’s something he’s not telling us.”

  Rudy climbed onto her bed. “What makes you think that?”

  “Quinn mentioned that he fled here. Why would he need to flee if his lands are under protection. I think our uncle had something to do with the death of Quinn’s father.”

  Treena nodded her agreement. “And he likely confiscated Quinn’s lands. The same thing happened to my father. He stole our lands and we haven’t been back to our Manor since.”

  Grim stepped over to the window. There was movement in the shadows of the alley. As he leaned out for a closer look, Pringles slunk around the corner. The cat was being chased by Scarlet.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that Festrel arrived here just two weeks after Quinn?” he asked.

  The other two said nothing, but the same questioning look settled on their faces as well.

  The sewers were an awful set of pipes and underground tunnels that weaved under the city streets like a maze. Madam Malkim hired out her orphans to clean the tunnels and sewers at an affordable price. And since she was a city magistrate, no one objected.

  Grim was amazed at the items that sailed downstream — sinth replacements, mechanical parts, a few machines, and even some sinth-based servants. He would often rescue the latter when he thought no one was watching and then go back to unclogging the major waterways and pipes.

  After an afternoon of slogging knee-deep through stink and sludge, Grim walked back to the orphanage. He was shouldered by Festrel as the boy marched into the city. And with his slimy boots Grim swiftly lost his balance and fell face first to the pavement, scraping his hands and face on the ground.

  He grumbled to himself. This world was not what he had hoped for. This wretched orphanage was a terrible place for children, and all he wanted was to wake up from this nightmare and go back to his home. How could his dads have ever thought he’d be safe here?

  He watched Festrel march away and noticed something the boy had dropped. Grim inched over and saw that it was a small red stone with brass fingers encasing it. He sucked in his breath.

  What is he doing with that?

  He snatched it up and marched back to Madam Malkim’s, hoping Quinn would not be there. And lo, that was not meant to be. He was in the room, with Rudy of all people. And they were laughing like they were the best of friends. And to top it all off, Scarl
et was sitting on Rudy’s shoulder, purring.

  “Get out!” Grim yelled. He was still mad at her for biting him.

  The spider crept out the door, barely managing to avoid his foot as he kicked at her.

  Rudy gasped as she took one look at Grim’s scraped-up face and hands. And for the first time Grim saw actual concern in Quinn’s eyes.

  “What happened to you?” he asked as Rudy escorted Grim in.

  Quinn closed the door.

  “This place sucks,” Grim said. The stone fell from his pocket.

  Quinn bent to pick it up. “What is that?”

  Rudy stopped him and retrieved it herself. “There’s something we need to tell you,” she said to Quinn.

  Grim looked up. “Wait —”

  Rudy held up her hand to him with a single finger and he looked at the seriousness in her eyes. “No. I’m tired of lying to him. He’s my friend and we need help.”

  Grim closed his mouth.

  Then Rudy spoke, revealing everything to Quinn ― about Earth, about their dads, about Aunt Patrice, about Festrel and about the stone in her outstretched hand. She passed it to Quinn.

  “Interesting,” he muttered. “So you traveled from this place you call Earth.”

  Grim nodded.

  “And you are actually nobility in hiding? Interesting tale.”

  Grim eyed him with suspicion, wondering if they should have told the boy. Yet, despite how much Quinn irritated him, something in the boy’s eye said they could trust him.

  “If you don’t believe us,” Rudy said, “you can ask Treena, or Master Galan, or my Aunt Patrice.”

  Quinn smiled. “It is too fabulous a tale to make up,” he said finally. “I’m just trying to imagine another world, and it explains much about you. Although your claim to be from the Southlands had even me fooled.”

  “My sister is better at pretending to be someone else. I always let things slip,” Grim said, giving her a sidelong glance.