by Funaro, Greg
“Yes, sir.”
“What your father here has neglected to tell you is that Elizabeth O’Grady and I were once engaged to be married. And that Alistair Grim, my closest and most trusted friend, stole her from me behind my back. Now, you look like a fairly intelligent lad. You tell me. If that doesn’t qualify as betrayal, what does?”
Speechless, I turned to Father, expecting him to protest, but he just stood there, arms folded and eyes on the floor.
“And now,” Bricklewick said, “nearly a decade and a half later, this same Alistair Grim has the audacity to barge into my place of employment asking for my help. You’ll have to forgive my lack of objectivity on the matter, but does anyone else see a problem here?”
“I do not wish to rehash old rivalries, Oscar,” Father said quietly. “Nor do I wish to pour salt on old wounds.”
“Oh, but you’re a sanctimonious little twit, aren’t you?” Professor Bricklewick said bitterly. “How dare you come here trying to make amends, after all these years.”
“I didn’t come to make amends. I came seeking help.”
“Grubbing for money, no doubt—pardon the expression, lad,” he added, and then made for the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me while I alert the authorities of your presence.”
“I can get you Excalibur,” Father said quickly, and Bricklewick froze with his hand upon the doorknob.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. Excalibur, the legendary sword of King Arthur, and perhaps the most powerful weapon ever created. I can get it for you, but I’ll need your help in return.”
Of course! Excalibur! If there was one Odditoria I’d heard of before my arrival at Alistair Grim’s, it was the sword Excalibur. In fact, I’d have wagered that every lad in Britain had at some point or another played at King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. And as I gazed round again at the countless books and manuscripts, all of which had something to do with Arthurian legend, I felt foolish for not having realized why we were here sooner.
“Have you gone mad, Alistair?” Bricklewick said, but the bitterness was gone now from his voice, and in its place a sort of cautious wonder.
“You see, Grubb,” Father said, “despite what he told The Times, what very few people know about Oscar Bricklewick is that he was once a sorcerer like me, but abandoned the art soon after the love spell he cast on Elizabeth O’Grady wore off.”
Professor Bricklewick’s eyes became like saucers behind his spectacles. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
“And since that time,” Father went on, “in addition to his academic endeavors, Oscar Bricklewick has devoted his life to the search for Excalibur. Thus, out of professional courtesy, as well as a lack of necessity on my part, I never pursued Excalibur for myself. Until now, that is.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Bricklewick said contemptuously. “You’re an expert on that, aren’t you? Stealing things from your friends? Why should Excalibur be any different?”
“Nevertheless,” Father said, ignoring him, “as any quest for Odditoria takes significant preparation, given our present state of affairs, there is simply no time for me to carry out the proper research. Fortunately, Professor Bricklewick knows the precise location of Excalibur already. Problem is, he doesn’t have the means to get there. I, on the other hand, have the means but not the location. You see where this is going, Oscar?”
“You really have gone mad, haven’t you?” Bricklewick said. “Even if I believed you, which I don’t, after everything you’ve done, how could you possibly think that I would turn over my life’s work to my most hated rival?”
“Because, like it or not, we’ve run into something much bigger than you and me—something so dangerous that, if you refuse to help me, the world as we know it will cease to exist.”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“An evil, magic-absorbing necromancer bent on world domination. His name is Prince Nightshade, and he is more powerful than anything you could possibly imagine—so powerful, in fact, that only Excalibur can defeat him.”
The professor’s mouth hung open, and Father proceeded to give him a brief summary of the events leading up to our arrival in Cambridge, including Nightshade’s attack on the Odditorium, his quest for the animus, and his plan to create an army of purple-eyed Shadesmen. And when he’d finished, a stunned Professor Bricklewick sank down into an armchair and rubbed his forehead.
“Good heavens, Alistair,” he said weakly. “What have you done?”
“You see, Oscar, although I’ve known about Prince Nightshade for quite some time, the old devil had been entirely unaware of my quests for magical objects until his discovery of the animus at the Odditorium last month. However, I am convinced that we first crossed paths a decade earlier—unbeknownst to one another, in the wake of Abel Wortley’s murder. You remember old man Wortley, don’t you?”
“Of course. He was my family’s friend as well as yours.”
“Well, it is my belief that Prince Nightshade murdered Abel Wortley all those years ago for his Odditoria. And since that time, not only has he managed to keep his true identity secret, but he’s also ensconced himself in a suit of magical armor that is virtually impenetrable to both conventional and magical weapons alike.”
“But, Alistair, if what you say is true and this necromancer is capable of absorbing magical power, I should think Excalibur would be useless against him.”
“Unlike most magical weapons, Excalibur does not require a spell to activate it. The sword’s power lies simply in the strength of the blade itself. Therefore, it would be able to cut through the prince’s armor without him absorbing its magical properties.”
Professor Bricklewick thought for a moment. “Indulge me. Let’s suppose that I agree to hand over my dreams to the man who betrayed me. Surely you must remember your history. Excalibur was forged for the Pendragons, the ancestral line of King Arthur, and thus, theoretically, can only be recovered by a descendant of the royal bloodline.”
“I am well aware of that, yes, but I thank you for the refresher.”
“So tell me,” Bricklewick said, leaning back in his chair. “Unless that cold black heart of yours beats with Pendragon blood, just how do you propose to get your grubby little hands on Excalibur?” Again, he added for me, “No offense, lad.”
“None taken, sir.”
“You know me better than anyone, Oscar,” Father said sincerely. “And given the substantial risk I’ve taken by coming here, do you think I’d put the success of my quest entirely in your hands if I wasn’t certain I could make good on my promise?”
Professor Bricklewick held Father’s eyes for a long time, wherein the air between them seemed to change. Then he rose from his chair and crossed to the study window.
“Tell me,” he said, gazing out at the courtyard. “Do you really still believe, after all these years, that I cast a love spell on Elizabeth O’Grady?”
“In truth, no,” Father replied. “But looking back, I suppose I wanted to believe it. Eased my conscience somewhat, made things simpler.”
“Why did she choose you over me?”
“Perhaps she didn’t see it as a choice, Oscar. After all, we’d only known her a short time. And once you told me of your feelings, I stepped aside so that you might court Elizabeth unburdened by the knowledge that I too had been in love with her from the beginning. How she found out, I never knew, for upon my honor I never spoke a word of it to her. But once she opened her heart to me…well…I hope someday you can forgive me, old friend.”
“I hated you so much,” Bricklewick said, thinking. “But more so I hated myself, in part because, somewhere deep down, I’d known all along that the two of you were better suited for one another. Ah, but this stubborn British pride, you see—honor and all that. Not to mention that I am much smarter than you.”
Father smiled wryly. “No argument there.”
Bricklewick turned from the window. “But you
must believe me: when I heard what happened, never once did I gloat or rejoice in your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Her leaving you like that—so unexpectedly, rumor had it—was it something you said, something you did?”
“I don’t know. All she left me was this.” Father produced the Black Mirror from inside his coat and handed it to Bricklewick. “Show me Elizabeth O’Grady,” Father said, and the Black Mirror flashed and filled the professor’s spectacles with sparkling swirls of reflected color. From where I was standing, I could not see the glass itself, but judging from Bricklewick’s stunned expression, I knew when the image of my mother appeared.
“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, her tearful voice far away; and then the glass in both the mirror and the professor’s spectacles went dark again.
Professor Bricklewick, deeply moved, swallowed hard and handed the mirror back to Father. “I want no part of your magic, Alistair Grim,” he said. “It has brought me nothing but pain and suffering.”
“I understand, old friend. However, if I am going to get Excalibur and defeat Prince Nightshade, I’m afraid you have no other choice but to endure it one last time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to go with me, of course. To find Excalibur and save the world.”
Bricklewick’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. After all, even a sanctimonious twit such as me wouldn’t expect you to take me at my word.”
“But, Alistair, my work here—my career, my students—”
“We’re not getting any younger, Oscar,” Father said with a hand on the professor’s shoulder. “Don’t you see? I’m giving you the chance to realize your life’s ambition: to not only hold Excalibur in your hands, but also to be part of something much greater—a quest worthy of King Arthur himself.” The professor’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Please, Oscar. Come with me. The future of mankind depends on it.”
Bricklewick fumbled for a reply, but then quickly turned his attention on me.
“That amulet about your neck,” he said. “Is it glowing?”
“Sir?” I replied, confused. The warding stone looked the same to me as it always had—milky green—but it did feel warmer to the touch. As to whether or not it had been glowing, well that was just silly, now, wasn’t it?
“Never mind,” said the professor, blinking. “Just a trick of the light, I suppose.”
“Yes, never mind,” Father muttered, eyeing the stone suspiciously; then he turned back to Bricklewick and, with a smile, said, “Well, Oscar, what do you say? Are we a team again or not?”
Bricklewick took a deep breath and adjusted his spectacles. “Very well, then. Give me an hour or two to prepare and gather my things.”
“Splendid!” Father exclaimed, and he looked at his watch. “We’ll rendezvous near the old Mill Pond at noon. Come along then, Grubb.”
Father and I took our leave and began our journey back through the town. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I was so bewildered by what I’d just learned—the least of which being our quest for Excalibur—that I couldn’t speak. Indeed, the surprise of the love triangle between my mother and father and Oscar Bricklewick weighed much more heavily on my mind—so much so that I found myself siding with the professor. Had Father really gone behind his best mate’s back and stolen his girl?
I must have been wearing my thoughts on my face, for out of the blue Father said, “I should think you’d be more interested in our quest for Excalibur than my rivalry with Oscar Bricklewick.” I stared down uncomfortably at my shoes. “Just remember, son, there are three sides to every story: yours, the other bloke’s, and the truth. Unfortunately, the latter is not always crystal clear.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Oscar Bricklewick was once my apprentice, you see. I was young, barely a competent sorcerer myself, when I took him under my wing here at Cambridge. A bit of a weed Oscar was back then, and perhaps it was out of arrogance that I made it my mission to change him. And I did, for that matter. Stiffened the space between his shoulder blades, built up his confidence and all that.
“At any rate, we met Elizabeth O’Grady in the fall of our final year—at a reception honoring her father, who was a professor here before he died. We both fell head over heels, of course, but when Oscar revealed his feelings to me, I suppressed my own so that he should carry the day. They courted for nearly a year before…well, before your mother confessed that it was I she loved all along.”
“Poor Oscar,” I said quietly.
“Your mother didn’t think so. She felt as if she’d been under some sort of love spell—her words, not mine—and would never have allowed things to go so far had she not been blinded so. Naturally, we both suspected the spell had come from Oscar. However, afterward I learned that the O’Gradys themselves came from a long line of sorcerers, and I began to wonder if the spell hadn’t come from one of Elizabeth’s relatives. Anyhow, that’s the nub of it. And once I learned of your mother’s love for me, I was helpless to resist my own heart. For as you know, love is the most powerful Odditoria of them all.”
I nodded, but my mind was racing. All this talk of sorcery surrounding the O’Gradys had got me thinking again about what I’d overheard in the engine room the night before. Did Father know that the Cleona was once betrothed too? And should I tell him that Dalach had accused him of bewitching her into joining him at the Odditorium?
If I do, I thought, Cleona might get into trouble. After all, she shouldn’t have been down in the engine room talking to the Gallownog in the first place.
“And speaking of Odditoria,” Father said, stopping me in the street, “let’s have another look at that warding stone.”
He lifted the necklace off my neck and rolled the amulet between his fingers. “Nothing glowing as far as I can tell,” he said as he inspected it. “Nevertheless, best get this back into the demon catcher where it belongs.”
Father made to stow the necklace in his pocket when, unexpectedly, it slipped from his fingers and tumbled down through a sewer grate nearby.
“Oh no!” I cried. I dropped to my knees and peered down through the grate, but all I could see was a black pool of water far below.
The warding stone was gone.
“Oh dear, clumsy me,” Father said with a sigh. “Yet, not to worry. Should we encounter any more demons on our quest, I’m certain we can find something else back home with which to defend ourselves. Come along then, Grubb.”
As we set off again down the bustling street, Father began to whistle a happy tune. He certainly seemed to be taking the loss of his Odditoria quite well.
So well, in fact, that if I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he dropped the warding stone into the sewer on purpose.
Excalibur!
Just saying that name over and over again to myself quickly pushed all thoughts of Father’s rivalry from my mind, and soon I began peppering him with questions about his plan—Where was Excalibur? And how did he intend to get it?—but Father put an end to my interrogation almost immediately. We were not to speak of such things in public, he said. If word of our quest ever got back to Prince Nightshade, well that would certainly put a damper on things, now wouldn’t it?
And so Father and I spent the rest of our morning running errands about town. We bought some chocolates for Gwendolyn, a box of colored chalk for Cleona, some herbs for Mrs. Pinch, and an expensive cigar for Lord Dreary. A clock somewhere was just chiming noon when we returned to our hiding spot at the edge of town. Professor Bricklewick arrived in a hired coach soon after, upon which Nigel gave him a pair of goggles and loaded his bags into the demon buggy. A moment later, we were speeding off into the country.
Father tried to prepare the professor for our flight, explaining the technical aspects of his demon buggy as he drove along, but as soon as we took to the air, Professor Bricklewick’s entire body went rigid with fear. Sitting behind him
as I was, I could not see his face, but his ears flushed as red as his hair—not to mention that he hadn’t said a word since his introduction to Nigel. It was as if every wonder he encountered only made it harder for him to speak—so much so that, by the time Father flew us up through the clouds and back inside the Odditorium, I was convinced the poor professor would never speak again.
“Well, blind me if that isn’t Oscar Bricklewick!” said Mrs. Pinch, squinting as we piled out of the demon buggy. She and Lord Dreary were waiting for us in Nigel’s quarters with a serving cart full of food.
“Great poppycock!” the old man cried. “Don’t tell me Alistair Grim’s convinced you to come along with us too!”
Professor Bricklewick removed his goggles. He made to speak, but when he caught sight of McClintock smiling up from where I’d left him on Nigel’s desk, once again his tongue got stuck.
“Never heard of a Clan Bricklewick,” Mack said. “But any friend of the Grims is a friend of mine. So, as chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock, allow me to welcome you to—”
Nigel tapped Mack on his XII, knocking him out, and handed him to me.
“Don’t mind him, Professor,” Nigel said. “Never stops jabbering, that one.”
Professor Bricklewick swallowed hard and finally managed to speak. “Is that the—the pocket watch that caused all the trouble?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” I replied, and I slipped him into my waistcoat.
“Oscar comes bearing gifts,” Father said, and he handed the sack of herbs to Mrs. Pinch. “There’s something in there for you too, Lord Dreary.”
There was a brief round of “thank yous” and “good to see you agains” (in which I learned that Lord Dreary was best mates with Oscar Bricklewick’s uncle) and then Father passed the professor a plate of food.
“I don’t mean to be impolite,” he said, “but we need to take our lunch on the run. Lots to see and so little time. Oscar can have my room, and I’ll sleep on the sofa in the library. Grubb, if you wouldn’t mind helping Nigel with the professor’s things, I shall give our newest guest a brief tour of our humble abode.”
