by Funaro, Greg
Coincidentally, as I was gazing around the library thinking about Mack’s animus, the old pocket watch began shaking in my waistcoat. I’d since traded my raggedy old clothes for an entire wardrobe that Mr. Grim—er, my father—had lying about since he was a child. If only my mates back in the North Country could see me now, I thought, they’d think me on my way to being a right proper gentleman.
I slipped Mack from my pocket and opened his red-and-gold-checkered case.
“What time is it?” he cried. His mechanical eyes flashed blue, and his thick, curved hands twirled to VIII and IV so they formed a mustache atop his smiling mouth.
“Quiet, Mack,” I whispered. “I’m in the midst of my lesson.”
“Sorry to disturb ya, laddie,” he said. “But if ya wouldn’t mind setting me next to me chronometrical cousin there, I’ll shut me gob so’s ya can carry on.”
I glanced over at Father. He was still playing up a storm out on the balcony, so I placed Mack beside the clock on his desk.
“Ten past eight!” Mack exclaimed, and he twirled his hands to the proper time. “I tell ya, Grubb, now that I always know what time it is, I feel like a lad of yer age. Why, I remember when I was—”
“You best quit your jabbering, or Father might ban you from the library again.”
“But passing the time with me clock cousins is me reward for helping ya escape Nightshade’s castle. Mr. Grim said so himself!”
“I don’t mean he’d ban for you good, Mack. Just until my lesson’s over. I’ve got to do this a hundred times, he says.”
Waving my hand over the Eye, I spoke the magic spell and the glass ball ignited.
“Well done, laddie,” Mack said. “Tell ya what. You do that ninety-nine more times and I’ll keep count for ya. After all, what good’s the chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock if he can’t help his best friend become a sorcerer?”
“Why, that’s a splendid idea, Mack. I should think it much easier to concentrate on what I’m doing if I don’t have to keep track of how many times I’m doing it.”
“All right, then, laddie. Off ya go!”
“Sumer te sulumor,” I said, waving my hand, and the Eye of Mars went out.
“That’s two,” Mack said. “Now try again.”
“Sumer te sulumor,” I repeated—but as the Eye caught fire, it floated out of my hand and hovered in the air just above my head!
“Aye, yer getting good at this sorcery business, laddie,” Mack said. “I didn’t know you could make things fly.”
“But I’m not doing that!” I cried. I rose to my feet and tried to snatch back the Eye, but it darted away from me and began floating toward the hearth—slowly now, as if daring me to follow.
“Father!” I called out in panic. Father ceased his playing at once and came in from the balcony.
“Done already?” he asked, when the sight of the Eye of Mars hovering near the mantel stopped him dead in his tracks. Father’s face grew dark and his fists clenched. A long, tense moment of only clock ticking hung about the library, and then Alistair Grim crossed fearlessly to the center of the room.
“Show yourself,” he commanded.
And to my horror, someone actually did.
Lorcan Dalach,” Father said, gritting his teeth, and the spirit smiled.
The young man floating before the hearth was a spirit, all right—and a banshee, to boot. I’d certainly spent enough time around Cleona to know a banshee when I saw one. The spirit had long snow-white hair and ivory skin like Cleona, but instead of a tunic robe he wore a blue cloak trimmed with a glowing white maze pattern. The cloak hung open about his bare chest, below which was a pair of white trousers tucked into a pair of high white boots. In one hand he held the Eye of Mars, and in the other, a length of glowing blue chain.
“Word travels fast in our realm,” said Lorcan Dalach. “But I must say I never expected to see you flying about Ireland so soon, Alistair Grim.”
“Let me guess,” Father said. “You managed to steal on board as we passed near Dublin. What’s it been, nearly an hour you’ve been sneaking about?”
“Nothing much gets by you, does it, Grim? Except for me. However, someone else knows I’ve been here the entire time.”
“Cleona,” I muttered.
“Very good, lad,” said Lorcan Dalach. “We banshees can sense each other. But don’t be cross with Cleona for not telling you. After all, had she warned you of my presence, she would’ve exposed herself to these.”
The banshee rattled his glowing blue chain.
“I am quite familiar with the Gallownog’s spirit shackles,” Father said. “All you need to do is touch Cleona with them and she’s your prisoner, is that it?”
“Aye. But Cleona has always been good at hiding”—Dalach tossed the Eye playfully—“which is why I’ve had to resort to more drastic measures to flush her out.”
“Give that back!” Mack cried. “That’s Odditoria what belongs to Mr. Grim!”
“All in good time,” said Dalach, and he snickered contemptuously. “That is, if you can keep track of it, watch.”
“What’s that, neep?” Mack said. “Having a laugh at my expense?” Without warning, Mack leaped from the desk. “MCCLINTOCK!” he cried, flying straight for the banshee. But Mack passed straight through him, bounced off the mantel, and fell to the floor. Mack sputtered and flashed, and then his bright blue eyes blinked out.
“Mack!” I cried, rushing toward him, but Father held me back.
“You must believe me, Grim,” said Lorcan Dalach. “I don’t want Prince Nightshade to acquire Mack’s animus any more than you do. Both our worlds would suffer greatly should he succeed in creating his army of purple-eyed Shadesmen.”
The banshee kicked McClintock across the floor to me. I quickly scooped him up and slipped him back into my pocket.
“Then what do you want?” Father asked. “Cleona is now attached to our family here at the Odditorium and thus is no concern of yours.”
“You know very well that banshees are forbidden to interfere in the destinies of the living. And so Cleona must once again stand trial before the Council of Elders.”
I understood. Cleona had tried to save my mother from drowning all those years ago. But as banshees are land spirits, they cannot stay over water for very long unless they are protected, and so Cleona failed. Nevertheless, she had broken her clan’s sacred law of noninterference and was sentenced to roam the earth in exile. But Alistair Grim rescued her with a magic spell, upon which Cleona attached herself to his family and had since interfered in his destiny heaven knows how many times.
“Cleona is not going anywhere,” Father said. “The same law of noninterference that you claim she’s broken prevents you from interfering with our destiny here.”
Dalach sighed. “You had no business freeing Cleona from exile, Alistair Grim. And so for you that law no longer applies. Therefore, I ask that you command Cleona to go with me. As you are her family’s patriarch, she must obey you. However, if you refuse my request, I shall make things very unpleasant for you in England.”
“England?” I gasped in astonishment. “You mean we’re going back to—”
“Never mind that,” Father said. He sat down and turned off his desk lamp. At the same time I noticed him surreptitiously flick the switch to the desk’s talkback. I’d helped him install it myself just the day before as part of my technical lesson.
“No, what’s more important,” Father continued, “is that Gallownogs like yourself cannot fly over large bodies of water. We will be arriving at the English coast within the hour. And so you’ll need the protection of the Odditorium’s magic paint to get you back across the sea to Ireland. With or without your prisoner.”
“Magic paint, eh?” Dalach said, glancing about. “So that’s how you keep us land spirits from disintegrating over the sea. Silly me. And I thought you just painted everything black to match your morbid sensibilities.”
“The Odditorium has many secrets, Lor
can,” Father said, and he leaned back in his chair. “And since I have no intention of transporting you back to Ireland with Cleona, what say you join our happy family here? We could use a banshee of your cunning in our fight against the prince.”
Lorcan Dalach sneered. “Have you gone touched in the head, Grim? I’ve learned much about your Odditorium since I stole on board. It’s only a matter of time before your animus reserves are empty and Cleona has to recharge them. And when she does…”
The banshee rattled his chain again, but Father appeared unmoved.
“It appears you’re the one who’s mad, Dalach,” he said. “Even if you do capture Cleona, you won’t be able to get her back to land without my help. So, what then? You intend to let the Odditorium drift aimlessly over the sea until Prince Nightshade catches up with us? That would mean your end as well as mine.”
“And your son’s,” Dalach said, and his cold blue eyes swiveled to look into mine. “Twelve years ago you lost someone you loved. That’s right, Grim. I know all about Elizabeth O’Grady. And so I’m wagering you’d do anything to prevent such a tragedy from happening again.”
I glanced nervously at Father, and for the first time, I could tell the banshee’s words had winged him.
“So you see?” Dalach went on. “I’d wanted to give you and your son a sporting chance. After all, I should think a sorcerer such as yourself could find a way to defeat Prince Nightshade with or without the Odditorium’s main power source. And speaking of power sources”—Dalach tossed the Eye again in his hand—“we’ll begin by getting rid of this one.”
Alarmed, Father rose abruptly from his chair. “Don’t be silly, Dalach. The Eye of Mars is extremely powerful. Should you attempt to destroy it, you’ll incinerate us all.”
“Who says I want to destroy it? I was thinking more of tossing your precious Odditoria off that balcony there. You’d have a bugger of a time finding it at the bottom of the Irish Sea. Especially without its light”—Dalach passed his hand over the Eye—“Sumer te sulumor,” he said, and the Eye’s glow went out. “Now hand over Cleona, or the power source for your lightning cannons is gone forever.”
“You’re quite an expert on the Odditorium’s power sources, Dalach,” Father said. “But there’s one you’ve forgotten.”
“If you’re talking about that yellow-bellied fairy down in the engine room, I assure you she’s next on my list.”
“Who says she’s down in the engine room?”
Lorcan Dalach wrinkled his brow in confusion—when suddenly Gwendolyn zoomed in from the parlor and hurled a ball of sparkling fairy dust straight toward him. It exploded on impact, trapping the banshee inside a glowing yellow bubble—but not before the Eye of Mars tumbled from his hand and rolled out onto the balcony.
“The Eye!” I cried, and in a panic, dashed after it.
The banshee howled and whipped his chain at me, striking the insides of the bubble as I ran past. The bubble flashed and fizzled—and somewhere in the back of my mind I feared it might pop—but then I was out on the balcony, gaping in disbelief as the Eye rolled toward an opening in the balustrade.
I dove for it and reached out my hand.
“Sumer te sulumor!” I shouted. The Eye of Mars ignited, but I was still too far away to catch it, and in the next moment the glowing red ball dropped from the balcony.
My heart froze with horror, and before I realized what I was doing, I leaped over the balustrade and dropped from the balcony too.
The darkness rushed up at me, filling my lungs with icy air as the Eye of Mars plummeted into the black water below. A moment later, I plunged in after it. My entire body felt as if it had been pierced by a thousand red-hot needles, but somehow my arms and legs carried me downward through the frigid waters until finally I felt the Eye’s warmth in my hand—more than just my hand, I realized. My entire body was now warm, as if I’d fallen into a luxurious bath.
My lungs, on the other hand, were beginning to burn for want of air. I kicked myself upward. I could see the green glow of the Odditorium’s exhaust shimmering upon the surface. I kicked harder, the light so close and yet still so far away. My lungs felt on the verge of collapse—I was not going to make it, I thought—when out of nowhere Father dove into the water and pulled me to safety.
Gasping for breath, I offered him the Eye of Mars, but Father only pushed it aside and hugged me. “Thank goodness you’re safe!” he said, shivering as he held me tighter than ever before.
“Hold on to the Eye, sir,” I said, and I pressed it into his hand. His shivering stopped at once, and we began treading water with the Eye of Mars held between us.
“A job well done, lad,” Father said. “But you must promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”
I nodded, and Father gazed upward, his face aglow with the light from the Eye. The Odditorium was high above us now. And although I was plenty warm, a chill coursed through my veins when I discovered how far I’d actually jumped.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” I said, “but how shall we get back up there?”
At that very moment, Mrs. Pinch, the Odditorium’s housekeeper and resident witch, swooped down on her broom and hovered in midair beside us.
“You should have thought about that before you jumped,” she said. “Blind me if both your heads don’t need oiling!”
“Your advice is duly noted, Mrs. Pinch,” Father said. “What say you, Broom? Have you room for two?”
Mrs. Pinch’s broom—whose name, by the way, was just that: Broom—nodded her stick in the affirmative.
“Up you go, then, Grubb,” Father said. “I’ll hold on to the Eye while Mrs. Pinch flies you to safety.”
Father took the Eye of Mars and instantly I was freezing again.
“Well, climb aboard,” said Mrs. Pinch. “I haven’t got all night.”
Shivering, I hoisted myself onto Broom behind Mrs. Pinch. She flew us up to the Odditorium and deposited me on the balcony. Father’s best mate Lord Dreary was there waiting for me, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping below his waxed white mustache. As Mrs. Pinch flew back down to get Father, the old man wrapped me in a blanket.
“Great poppycock, lad!” he exclaimed. “Have you lost your mind?”
I answered him with a click-click-click of chattering teeth. Lord Dreary sighed and ushered me into the library, where we found Gwendolyn lounging casually atop a stack of Father’s books. Lorcan Dalach, on the other hand, was now in the center of the room, still trapped inside the yellow bubble and struggling to break free. The bubble flashed and fizzled as if it might pop, but Gwendolyn only yawned and hurled another ball of fairy dust to strengthen it.
“You’re wasting your time, banshee,” she said. “I can go toe-to-toe all night.”
Lorcan Dalach growled with frustration.
“Here, lad,” Lord Dreary said, and he took off his apron and began drying my hair with it. He’d obviously been in the kitchen helping Mrs. Pinch again. The old woman had been having a hard go of it these past few weeks without her spectacles—which, I’m ashamed to admit, I accidentally squashed during our escape from London.
Father and Mrs. Pinch entered from the balcony with Broom floating in the air behind them. “Well done, everyone,” Father said, and he returned the Eye of Mars to its conductor sphere above the hearth. He pressed the secret button on the mantel and the lion’s head swung back into place, its eyes ablaze again with light from the red orb hidden in the wall behind them.
“Sorry we didn’t get here sooner, Alistair,” Lord Dreary said. “But when Mrs. Pinch and I heard you on the talkback, it took us a moment to put it all together.”
“Not me,” Gwendolyn said. “I know a bully when I hear one.”
“A bully, indeed,” Father said, locking eyes with the banshee. Then he pressed another button on the mantel and a roaring red fire flooded the hearth. Father motioned for me to join him there, and as soon as I did, my entire body was warm again.
“So what’s to be done with
this…this…bounty hunter?” Lord Dreary asked, and Gwendolyn flew off her stack of books and hovered close to the bubble.
“Push him out over the sea,” she said. “Leave the bully to the same fate that he would’ve left for us.”
“Come now, we’re not barbarians,” Father said. “Besides, holding a Gallownog prisoner might come in handy should his comrades come looking for him.”
Lord Dreary nervously fingered his collar. “You mean there are others of his kind out there?”
“Most certainly. Our friend Lorcan here is a soldier in the Order of the Gallownog, an elite fighting squad charged with enforcing the banshees’ strict code of behavior, as well as the assassination of their enemies.”
“Good heavens,” Lord Dreary said weakly.
“And speaking of banshees,” Father added, gazing round, “you can show yourself anytime now, Cleona.”
And with that, Cleona—eyes hard and fists clenched as if readying for a brawl—materialized just outside the doorway to the parlor.
“Nothing to fear, darling,” Father said. “You’re perfectly safe now that the Gallownog is trapped.”
Cleona drifted slowly into the library and Lorcan Dalach stiffened. “We meet again, Cleona of Connacht,” he said coldly. The banshees held each other’s gaze for a moment, wherein something seemed to pass between them, and then Cleona joined Father and me near the hearth.
“My presence here has compromised our safety,” she said.
“That’s hardly anything new,” Father chuckled. “For twelve years now I’ve endured the dangers of living with a banshee. I should think Lorcan here would be a stroll in the park compared to you.”
“You don’t understand,” Cleona said. “The Order of the Gallownog will stop at nothing to bring me back, and they don’t care who they hurt in the process. And so we need to turn around at once and return Dalach to Ireland.”
“I’m afraid we haven’t the time for that, love. We must arrive at our destination before midnight or my plan for defeating Prince Nightshade won’t work.”
