“Do you know how to get out of here?”
They nodded. “These tunnels are easy. It’s the deeper ones that are harder.”
Down the corridors they traveled, the twins guiding him through the dark once more. Their footsteps hurried when moaning and a mad laughter echoed behind them. Benny kept muttering about Ogrim and Mechs in the darkness until they finally reached the final staircase. Barny waved his glowing watch in front of the two glass circles. The painting slid open and the three of them spilled out into Madam Malkim’s. They all exhaled a sigh of relief as it slid closed once more with a loud click.
“Thanks,” Grim said. “Good thing you were down there. Not sure I would have made it back up. Let’s find the others.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, Eevenellin stood outside of Rudy’s doorway. She looked suspiciously at Grim and the twins.
“I will come back and check on you later to see if you have the same signs of illness. Ellen is with Madam Zelna for now.” She took one last look at the three of them before heading down the corridor to her own room.
Inside they found Rudy, Quinn, and Treena, all looking worried.
“What’s going on?” Grim asked.
The three spoke up in unison. “Ellen’s sick.”
“I know. What happened to her?”
Treena shrugged. “She collapsed while assisting Madam Phoebe. She has brown splotches all over her.”
“Just like Sam?”
Rudy nodded.
Grim mentioned what he found in the catacombs.
“So we were wrong about Dorian,” Treena said.
“And Rudy was right about Eevenellin,” Grim added, looking at his sister.
She nodded. “They must have turned Valeria to stone and started this sickness. But what is it, and why?”
Grim shook his head, wondering the same thing himself. But he was determined to find out.
Later that evening, Grim strode into the kitchens rather late and found Orlanda Kennelworth waiting. She tapped her fat foot on the floor and her face was puckered.
“Where’s Veerasin?” Grim asked, surprised to see the Madam of the Kitchens. At this hour, she usually took a nap. And at this hour the grumpy old woman, with the bags under her eyes, looked like she needed it.
“Humph,” she muttered. “She didn’ show up. I’ll be speakin’ to Madam Malkim about dis.” She poked her head out the door as if expecting Veerasin at any moment. Grim didn’t mention that the frail woman might be sleeping somewhere under the city.
“Here ya go,” said the Madam of the Kitchens, and handed him a brush. “Back in a bit.”
After spending two hours elbow-deep in suds, Grim stepped out into the moonlight, almost full and round, for a breath of fresh air and made his way back to his room. He found Quinn waiting for him, swilling the last of his green elixir. Yet before he could mutter a word, Helia dropped by their room to inform them of bad news.
What now?
“Treena has taken ill,” screeched the Pixie in her airy little voice. “She’s in the Infirmary with the others. Madam Malkim is calling a meeting right now. The orphanage has been infected with some form of plague.”
“Plague?”
Helia gave a swift shake of her head, from which faint particles of dust sprinkled the ground. “The Infirmary is now off limits. You might get infected.” Grim said nothing and let the Pixie keep squealing. “The orphanage and even the Academy is sealed shut. No one is allowed to leave. We are quarantined, and the Anniversary has been cancelled.”
Grim’s heart dropped to the cold floor. He would not see his dads now. And he would not be able to get out of this blasted, tilted, good-for-nothing, heat-forsaken orphanage any time soon. He was stuck. He wanted to scream.
Helia left them and Grim slammed the door closed.
What else could possibly go wrong?
“Convenient that Festrel left when he did,” muttered Quinn. “Just in time, it would seem.”
Grim nodded, and rubbed his hands together for warmth. He paced, wondering if the boy had any connection to Eevenellin or Dorian. Although he had been an alleged witness to Dorian’s attack on Valeria.
Had Festrel actually been telling the truth?
Something was not right about any of this, and it sat in Grim’s stomach like bad octopus.
He headed to the kitchens with Quinn in tow. They parked themselves at a table with Rudy and the twins. Hushed voices and murmurs filled the space and the students looked completely unsettled. Gorkin and Jackmeister blubbered in the corner. They all glared at the orphans as if it was their fault that this was happening. And Grim quickly learned that two of the students were sick ― Halriette and Oslo.
Typical, the nice ones.
Madam Malkim waited for the onlookers to settle.
“Things have taken a grave turn,” she said. She spoke through a silk scarf that was wrapped about her entire face. “A plague has afflicted a number of our servants, err … I mean orphans and a few of our students. So far, we do not know the cause. What we do know is that it is contagious, and we are taking precautions to ensure that it does not spread. The City of Harkness does not want anyone slipping out and infecting the residents of the city. They have ordered that you must now be confined to the Library where we can keep an eye on all of you. That includes the serv — … err, orphans.”
All of the students screamed and protested. They accused the orphans of starting the plague, that they were all of bad blood and lower birth, and that it could only be commoners who could have started this.
Gorkin stood up and shouted. “At least keep the orphans separate!”
Madam Malkim waved down the crowd with her gloved hands. “The conditions of the …err… orphanage are such that one might slip out too easily. It is being sealed as we speak.”
There were further complaints.
Again, she waved them down. “The City Magistrates have made their decision to seal the Academy until this passes. Food, clothing and bedding will be made available for all. Further instructions will come as required. That is all.”
She departed the Dining Hall, nearly running out as some of the students chased after her, insisting they be kept in separate quarters. Grim shuffled back to his own room, but found the corridors had already been sealed.
They then made their way through the halls of the Academy towards the Library as curses and insults were spat at them.
The Library had never been so busy, and Madam Tyne had never had her hands so full scowling at all the children running about, orphans and students alike. It was never impeccable, but now it was littered with makeshift beds and blankets. The woman’s usually neat hair appeared as if a windstorm had blown through it, and she ran through the aisles shooing children hither and thither.
Grim didn’t know what to do with himself as the hours passed. He thumbed through some books about the Southlands to distract himself. And as the days passed, people were taken one by one to the Infirmary. All had the brown splotches that his siblings had, except much larger and the children were collapsing at points with no warning. There was still no word of Sam and eventually Benny was taken which devastated his twin.
Grim found Quinn searching through books of antidotes and healing. “Looking for a cure?”
Quinn nodded and focused on his reading. Ninnipence and two others glided by them as they sat.
“We’re all going to die because of you filthy orphans,” she sneered.
Grim just ignored her, resisting the overwhelming urge to put out his foot and trip her. Instead he grabbed a dusty book from the pile, examining countless cures for things like bites, stings, and other minor ailments. A number of pages were ripped from the books, and although there was mention of some plagues and diseases, there was nothing about this one. He closed the book in front of him. So did Quinn.
They pored over seven more, all covering the same types of cures and elixirs. Still nothing. Grim gazed about the Library. Some of the nobles huddled
together and murmured in whispered voices. At first, they snickered at the outfits and paltry belongings of the orphans, or argued over who wore the better suit and hat, but as the days passed they grew quiet. Everyone was afraid, but none of the students, who were actually trained to read and write, were searching through the books to find a cure.
Grim looked at the page in front of him. It was from an aged, worn book titled: Simple Solutions. There was no author listed, only the initials M.N. One line on the page jumped out at him:
The cause determines the cure.
That’s it!
Grim slammed the book closed and Quinn leapt from his seat.
“We’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” Grim said. “We should be looking at how to create a sickness instead. Once we know how it started, we can figure out how to cure it.”
Quinn rubbed his eyes and yawned. He’d been reading for hours on end. “Interesting idea. We’ll have to look for those.”
They inched through the shelves, searching. Books were not ordered like on Earth, so it took them some time to sort through the endless maze of shelves. Eventually they found a spiraled stairwell leading downwards. They took it and found a lower room with even more dust and fewer shelves. But these were filled.
They edged into the dim room, cautious of what might be awaiting them. It was dry like parched earth, and cold. It was as if they had stepped into a crypt. Grim’s skin turned to gooseflesh and he rubbed his arms. Quinn did the same.
“All right, let’s do this quickly,” said Grim. “I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to.”
“Where do we start?”
“Let’s start here and work our way back,” he said and turned his attention to the rows of ancient books that lined the shelves. These had all been hand-written, unlike the printed books from the room above.
They scanned for anything to do with curses and hexes, and found too many to count. Everything in the room was centered on things dark. Finally, after searching through a number of titles, Grim came upon a book about half-way through the room that caught his attention.
“Here,” he said, and grabbed it. “Plagues.”
They rifled through the pages, and found what they were looking for. Grim read it aloud.
“The Scourge: a deadly and painful plague of brown sores that will extract the life from its victim. One who is afflicted with the blood of a Changeling makes an ideal carrier. They will pass the Scourge to all they touch. The disease can be easily brought about by mixing Marmorite Blue with the hair of a Changeling. ”
Quinn looked rather pale. “I don’t want to be in here any longer.”
Grim nodded and tucked the book under his armpit. “It was good that Aunt Patrice didn’t let me touch Sam. Otherwise I might be sick as well.”
They shuffled back up the staircase and made their way to a remote corner.
“Where would anyone get the hair of a Changeling?” wondered Grim.
He had not heard of any rumors of Changelings.
“Veerasin,” Quinn said, quite matter-of-factly. “She changes under the full moon. Although she’s probably a half-breed. They don’t have full control over it.”
“Veerasin? How do you know that?”
He paused. “Ugh,… Treena told me. Her father used to capture them, you know.”
The answer suddenly seemed so simple. “Wait a minute. Around the time of the full moon, Veerasin always rushed me out the door early. She’d let me off without doing much work. Then she would take off.”
Quinn crossed his arms in front of him and harrumphed.
“Well, it makes sense,” continued Grim. “But who knows she’s a Changeling, and who would make such a thing? Who would want to kill everyone here? Wait a minute,” he said, thinking. “Remember those books Festrel had? He had one on Changelings.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “If he knows who we are, maybe he tried to have us killed. He couldn’t do it openly, but would have to find a more subtle way to do it. And Veerasin hasn’t been well lately. Maybe he infected her with the elixir and is using her as the carrier.”
Quinn shook his head. “Then why aren’t you sick?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a matter of time.”
Quinn twisted his lips, unsure of what to say.
“What about Eevenellin?” he asked. “The book she signed out said that Marmorite Blue could be used for turning people to stone.”
Grim nodded. “And causing plague.”
“All right,” Quinn said, pacing in the aisle. “So we think we know the cause, but the question is, who did it, and how do we undo it?”
Grim scoured the book and found another section.
“Listen to this: Marmorite Blue is a rare elixir that is extracted from the Marmorite Tree. Its uses include the Scourge when mixed with the hair of a Changeling, The Elixir of Stone when mixed with Gargoyle’s hair, and poison when mixed with fish liver. It is also known to heal breathing ailments among the Unseen. To create an antidote, mix these with Jinn’s blood.”
Grim grunted. “Well, that won’t help us. The blood Treena found is long washed away by the rain.”
“So what do we do?”
There was only one thing he could do.
“I have to find a Jinn. They’ve been seen in the city recently.”
Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “Are you mad?! Have you lost your mind?! What do you think you’re going to do, summon one and ask: ‘Excuse me, Master Jinn, sir, but may I extract some blood from your beastly body?’ You’ll be killed!” His voice was shrieking.
Grim shushed him. “Quiet or everyone is going to know. What other choice do we have?”
“But you can’t summon them. Only the Darksworn can.”
“Unless you have a sinth device that can summon one.”
Quinn looked doubtful. “Only devices that have a circular symbol on the bottom of it can summon a Jinn. The only ones left in existence are owned by Hyperia DeLay.”
“A symbol?” Grim asked. That reminded him of something. He yanked the little figurine out of his pocket and flipped it over. “You mean like this?” he asked. Two circles with symbols along the edges were stamped on the bottom.
“Where did you get that?” Quinn asked.
“My dads gave it to me,” he said. “Up until now I thought it was just some dumb figurine. I don’t know how to use it.”
“You have to know the name of the Jinn it summons.”
“How am I going to find that out?” he asked.
Quinn looked closer at the woman, flipping it around in his hands. “Sometimes there’s a clue how to summon it.” As he opened the umbrella, a click sounded. The little stand opened and a slip of paper fell out.
On it was written words that Grim read aloud.
“In the City of Harkness, the words you shall find,
To summon the Jinns from across the divide.
At the Green Fairy on Absolution Street,
Ask for Arabus — a friend you shall meet.”
“The Green Fairy?” Quinn said. “Never heard of it.”
“Sounds like it’s in the city somewhere.”
“But you need to get out of the Academy.”
“I’ll need a diversion,” Grim said. “I need Lord Quinn,” he said with a sly smirk.
“But I am Lord Qui― oh…,” he said, “I understand. You need Lord Quinn.”
The two of them rose.
“Please be careful,” Quinn said. “You’re the first friend I’ve ever had. Or, the first real friend anyway.”
Grim smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back,” he said. “In the meantime, I need you to find out who did this, Festrel or Eevenellin. And once I’ve left, tell my sister where I’ve gone and why. Maybe she can figure out some way to help. Give me five minutes and then start.”
Quinn nodded and Grim left him there.
Grim skidded through the aisles and remained close to the entrance of the Library. Within moment
s, he heard what he was waiting for.
“I am Lord Quinn of Owen Manor!” Quinn yelled. “I cannot accept these living arrangements any longer. I demand to speak to Madam Malkim about this!”
A few city constables who had been posted in the Library ran to the commotion with Madam Tyne leading them. The coast was clear and Grim pushed open the side door and slipped out into the fresh air. He sucked it in, feeling almost refreshed.
The streets were bare. The lampposts gave off a bluish-white light that reflected off the slickened streets. The moisture in the air settled into Grim’s bones. There were no moons or stars in the sky. The thick cloud cover had taken care of that. Yet despite the lack of life on the street, Grim couldn’t help but feel that there was something there, watching him. He looked for the strange bird that he had seen across the street, or the cloaked man.
There was nothing.
He stopped. A couple of sewer rats scampered across the road behind him. An alley cat, or maybe it was Pringles, was perched upon a steel railing. It paid him no heed, more interested in the rats.
Grim moved on, determined to make haste. He pulled his jacket about him to ward off the night’s chill. Three small dirigibles sped overhead.
He looked at the street signs, one at a time, yet none were Absolution Street. And none of the buildings had signs that read The Green Fairy.
Grim ducked into an alley at the sound of something coming up the street. One pair of boots and a walking stick that tapped the ground at a hurried pace. He stuffed himself between some old crates that smelled like bad cabbage and waited.
The footsteps turned into the alley towards him, and Grim shuffled back, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was coming. All he could see were shiny boots and a pointed walking stick.
Grim turned and ran, twisting and winding through alleys. The footsteps continued behind him.
The passageways funneled Grim between large buildings, yet never seemed to lead him anywhere, or at least not to any street. It became a maze of darkened laneways and slippery cobblestone corridors. He tried various doors.
All locked.
Land of Verne Page 14
