by Funaro, Greg
Plates in hand, Father and Professor Bricklewick set off on their tour of the Odditorium. And after a quick lunch there in Nigel’s quarters, the big man and I delivered the professor’s bags across the hallway as instructed. Nigel had known about all that Excalibur business for weeks now, he confessed, and was visibly relieved when I told him that I was now in on the plan. It felt good to have no secrets between us again. However, as we were leaving Father’s room, I noticed a large pistol and holster under Nigel’s coat. I’d never seen them before.
“Cor blimey, Nigel, since when did you start carrying a barker?”
“Since we all became wanted men,” he replied. “However, this is no ordinary gun, Grubb.” Nigel slipped the pistol from its holster. The brass barrel and cylinder were much wider than any I’d ever seen, and sticking up from the top of the pistol was a tangle of thin copper tubing. “This here’s called an egg blaster. One shot, and your target is stuck in a mess of goo.”
“An egg blaster, did you say?”
“That’s right.” Nigel flipped open the gun’s cylinder, revealing four chambers, each containing a different colored egg. “And just as this is no ordinary pistol, these are no ordinary eggs.” The big man stifled a giggle. “The orange ones are the messiest. I’ve got four more in my ammo case.” Nigel pulled back his coat to reveal a square leather pouch attached to his belt.
“Are those eggs Odditoria, then?”
“I suppose they are in a way, but…” Nigel glanced back cautiously over his shoulder, and then, with a mischievous smile, whispered, “Care for a bit of fun?”
“Fun? But shouldn’t we be preparing to search for Excalibur?”
“I’d say this qualifies as preparation,” Nigel said slyly. “I should think knowing how to use the egg blaster might come in handy on our quest, wouldn’t you?”
“Very well, then—fun it is!”
“Right-o! You fetch Cleona and meet me on the roof. I’ll see about getting us some more ammo.”
I rushed down to Cleona’s quarters while Nigel stopped at the door directly across the hallway—the door with the SILENCE IS GOLDEN sign hanging from its knob. Nigel made to enter, but then snatched back his hand upon remembering Father’s instructions.
“Oh dear,” he said. “You’re not supposed to know what’s inside here, are you?”
“No, but if I’m to inherit the Odditorium someday, I don’t see why not.”
“It’s a bit complicated to explain, but—”
Thump! went the door, and Nigel jumped.
“Er—uh,” he stammered. “Eight eggs should be more than enough.” Nigel twisted a nearby sconce, and a secret panel opened to reveal a spiral staircase hidden in the wall beside the lift. “Right-o, then. See you on the roof!”
The big man shot me a nervous smile and then hurried up the stairs. The panel closed again behind him—so much for there being no secrets between us, I thought—and my eyes wandered back to the door. What’s hiding in there? I wondered. And why can’t I know what it is?
“Is someone there?” Cleona called from within her quarters. I announced myself and was given permission to enter.
The large porthole in the wall opposite me stood open, and Cleona’s mirror-paneled chamber shone brilliantly in a bright mosaic of reflected blue sky. Hanging from a mechanical arm near the porthole was Father’s Sky Ripper—a massive, somewhat intimidating contraption that looked like a giant silver egg sawed in half lengthwise. Pipes and wires zigzagged from it in every direction, and sticking out from the egg’s belly was a wide, stubby cannon.
“Well, what do you want?” Cleona asked. She was sitting up in her bed, which was similar in appearance to the Sky Ripper, but much smaller and minus a cannon. A mechanical arm connected it to the wall on one side, while a dozen or so pipes connected it to the wall on the other. It was from this strange-looking bed that Cleona charged the Odditorium with her animus, and the mirrors on the wall held the reserves.
“Sorry to bother you, miss. But Nigel asked me to fetch you.”
“What for?”
“A bit of fun with the egg blaster, I think.”
“Pshaw,” Cleona scoffed, and I noticed her gift of colored chalk on the floor beside her bed. “Don’t tell me Uncle’s showing off again for his friend? Professor Ticklewick, is it?”
“Bricklewick, miss,” I replied. “And as a matter of fact, Mr. Grim doesn’t know a thing about it. Looks like a bit of mischief, if you ask me.”
Cleona’s eyes flickered with excitement—yes, I thought, if there was one thing she couldn’t resist, it was a bit of mischief behind Alistair Grim’s back—but then, much to my surprise, Cleona sighed and gazed gloomily out the porthole.
“You go on without me,” she said. “I’m afraid I won’t be much fun today.”
“If I may be so bold, miss, what’s bothering you? You haven’t been yourself since the Gallownog came on board.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Grubb.”
“I should think I would,” I said defensively, and before I realized my lips were moving, I blurted out what I’d overheard Cleona and Lorcan Dalach talking about in the engine room—that they still loved each other, and that the Gallownog believed Cleona was bewitched. Cleona’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Don’t worry, miss,” I said quickly. “I haven’t spoken a word of it to Father.”
“Oh, Grubb, you mustn’t! If Uncle thought for one moment that I was unhappy here…Well, I couldn’t bear the idea of him feeling guilty on my account.”
“Then you are unhappy here, miss?”
“Of course not!” Cleona cried. “Granted, I’m feeling a bit glum at present, but it’s not because I believe what Lorcan said. It’s because I don’t.”
“Miss?”
“He’s the one who’s bewitched, Grubb. He’s convinced himself that I’m under some sort of spell because he doesn’t want to believe that I can think for myself. How’d you like it if the person you loved thought so little of you? Not to mention that he was willing to risk my banishment all over again just to prove it to himself.”
“I suppose I never thought of it like that.”
“Pshaw,” Cleona said with her arms folded. “As if I’d want to go back to my clan anyway. Not after what they pulled. Banishment is not a pleasant experience, Grubb. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
“Well, I must confess that I’m relieved to hear that, miss. I was worried you were thinking about leaving us.”
“Me? Leave the Odditorium? What sort of banshee do you take me for? Why, I’d sooner go back into banishment than abandon my family.”
“I’m glad, miss. I mean, I know this whole family business is new to me, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have attached to mine than you.”
Cleona smiled. “Pshaw, look at us, talking nonsense. If this is what having an old flame on board brings you, I don’t mind saying that I’m looking forward to the day we’re rid of him.”
“Me too, miss.”
“Come to think of it, now that everything’s out in the open, I don’t feel nearly as glum as I did before.” Cleona raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. “A bit of mischief, you say? Behind Uncle’s back?”
“That’s right.”
In a streaking flash of blue, Cleona flew up to the porthole, slammed it shut, and then snatched her box of chalk from the floor. “Come on, then,” she said, beaming. “Let’s get to blasting!”
Cleona and I rushed down the hallway, through the secret panel, and up the spiral staircase that led to the garret. Inside, the porthole to the roof was open, bathing the cramped cluster of clockwork gears in a shaft of yellow sunlight, but still the farthest recesses of the garret were dark enough for us to see the beady blue eyes of Nigel’s bats glowing back at us. Cleona flew up through the porthole, and I clambered up the ladder and onto the roof behind her.
We found Nigel waiting for us beside the upper gunnery with his coat draped over one of the cannons, and farther away, propped up against the
battlements, was an enormous wooden shield.
“Glad you could join us, Cleona,” Nigel said. Cleona slipped out a piece of chalk from her box and flew over to the shield, where she drew two concentric rings and a bright red bull’s-eye in the center.
“So it’s a bit of target practice, eh?” I asked, and Nigel smiled.
“Should one of Nightshade’s minions ever come after you, an egg blaster won’t do you any good if you can’t hit him with it.”
Cleona joined us again by the gunnery. “Game’s simple, really,” she said. “Any eggs outside the bull’s-eye don’t count, and the person with the most bull’s-eyes wins. You’re up first, Nigel.”
Nigel leveled the egg blaster at the target, and after a long, tense silence, squeezed the trigger. Thwiiip! the muzzle rasped, and a bright pink egg whizzed across the roof and hit the outer ring with a splat! Bits of pink eggshell sprayed everywhere, and a load of pink goo covered half the shield. Nigel frowned—no bull’s-eye—so he handed the blaster to Cleona. A moment later, thwiip-splat! It was a purple egg this time, but her shot missed the target entirely and splattered the battlements behind it. Cleona sighed and gave me the blaster.
“Perhaps you’ll have better luck, Grubb,” she said.
“I’ll do my best, miss.”
With a deep breath I aimed the egg blaster at the target, when out of nowhere a black-robed figure rose up on a broomstick and hovered in midair above the battlements. I couldn’t see the figure’s face, but assumed it was a lady by the ringlets of bright red hair tumbling out from under her hood.
I gasped, and my entire body froze.
“Defense! Defense!” Nigel cried, running for the gunnery. A load of samurai scrambled up onto the roof from the garret, but the hooded lady was already moving. She darted quickly over our heads and drew a magic wand from her robes.
“Run, Grubb!” Cleona screamed. She tried to disappear down through the roof, but the lady on the broomstick fired a blast of lightning from her wand and struck the banshee down.
“No!” I cried. Cleona’s eyes were closed, her glowing, transparent body motionless. More blasts of lightning rained down around me and I took cover on the opposite side of the gunnery. At the same time, I heard Nigel cry out from within. He didn’t get the gunnery’s shield up, I realized in horror. Four more blasts exploded unseen behind me, each accompanied by the sound of a samurai’s armor clunking heavily upon the roof. And then all was silent.
I sat there panting in terror. My only hope of escape now was the porthole to the garret, but that was on the other side of the gunnery. I gripped the egg blaster tightly with both hands, and without thinking, scrambled back around the turret, ready to fire. As I expected, Cleona and the samurai lay sprawled out across the roof, but the lady on the broomstick was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, I felt a rush of wind behind me. Before I could turn around, a strong hand clamped down on my collar and yanked me off my feet. I screamed, and in a panic, dropped the egg blaster as I was whisked away off the roof—my legs pedaling frantically at the air as the hooded lady flew me up and over the battlements.
“Let me go!” I cried. The lady plopped me down face-forward on the broomstick. With a viselike arm around my waist she pulled me so close that I could barely breathe.
We flew out from the Odditorium in a wide, swooping arc, doubling back and coming to a stop in midair only a few yards from the balcony.
“I know who you are, Alistair Grim!” the lady called out from behind me. “Show yourself or your son gets dropped!”
Father rushed out onto the balcony with Professor Bricklewick following close behind.
“Mad Malmuirie,” Father said, splaying his fingers upon the balustrade. His voice was calm, but his eyes were all fear. My captor’s grip loosened some and I turned to find a beautiful yet slightly crazed-looking young woman smiling back at me.
“The boy has your eyes, Alistair Grim,” she said. “And you have mine.”
“The warding stones,” Father said flatly, his face tight. “You’ve been watching us in your crystal ball ever since I removed them from the demon catcher, haven’t you?”
I gasped. Father had lost his warding stone at the hell mouth, but I’d kept mine around my neck—and in doing so, I had led the witch straight to us!
But there’s something else too, a voice said inside my head. Yes, it was all coming back to me now. The dream I’d had about the big green eye the night before. The woman’s voice I’d heard along with Mr. Smears’s—it had belonged to Mad Malmuirie!
“I arrived in London soon after I saw your likeness in the papers,” she said. “Indeed, I suspect other victims of your quests will be coming after you too, now that they know the identity of the man who robbed them of their treasures. But they’ve got to find you first. Fortunately for me, the enchantment I placed on the warding stones still worked. Too bad you didn’t take them out of the demon catcher sooner.”
“I won the demon catcher from you fair and square, Malmuirie. However, as a show of faith, if you return the boy I’ll give it back to you. No questions asked.”
Mad Malmuirie scoffed. “Keep it. A demon catcher is much too dangerous a toy without its warding stones. Besides, you have something else that belongs to me.” The witch affected a thick, Scottish brogue: “Something much more powerful, laddie. Ticktock, ticktock, ticktock.”
Mad Malmuirie cackled loudly and my heart leaped into my throat. The witch hadn’t come for the demon catcher at all. She had come for Mack!
“I know he’s in there, Grim,” she said. “I saw him myself with the stone.”
My eyes darted down to my pocket. Mad Malmuirie had no idea that Mack was sitting right there on the broom in front of her.
Of course, I thought. The last time she could have seen him through my warding stone was before we left in the demon buggy, when I tossed him on Nigel’s desk. And as Father had since dropped my warding stone in the Cambridge sewers, Mad Malmuirie obviously thought Mack was still inside the Odditorium.
“How do I put this?” Father said with a smile. “Dougal McClintock has…changed since last you saw him. You wouldn’t want him back, I assure you.”
“Tut-tut, you expect me to fall for a trick like that? You don’t know what you’ve got there, Alistair Grim.”
“Oh, believe me, I do.”
At that moment, one of the upper gunnery cannons locked into place above the battlements, the swell of its muzzle pointing straight at us. Behind the turret’s energy shield I could see Lord Dreary and Mrs. Pinch with Nigel slumped over behind them.
“We’ve got her in our sights!” Lord Dreary’s voice crackled from the organ’s talkback, and Mad Malmuirie pulled me close.
“Call them off, Grim,” she said, “or I swear I’ll snap his neck!”
“You heard her,” Father said into the talkback. “Pull back, Mrs. Pinch.”
The old woman complied, and the cannon retracted out of sight behind the battlements.
“Tut-tut, Alistair Grim,” said Mad Malmuirie. “I showed mercy to the others on the roof. They shall awaken from their slumber shortly. However, if you don’t return my pocket watch, I’ll put your son to sleep permanently.”
“If I give you McClintock,” Father said, “you shall return the boy unharmed?”
Mad Malmuirie smirked and raised her right hand in oath. “You have my word, Alistair Grim. I shall return the boy unharmed.”
“Very well,” Father said. “You’ll find what you seek in the boy’s waistcoat.”
“Father, no!” I cried—but Mad Malmuirie’s hand was already in my pocket.
“Ah!” she sighed, holding up McClintock in triumph.
“All right, then, Malmuirie,” Father said. “You’ve got what you came for, now keep your word and return the boy.”
“Oh, I shall return the boy, Alistair Grim,” she said. “I just won’t return him to you!”
And with that, Mad Malmuirie steered her broomstick away from the Oddit
orium and dove straight for the clouds.
“Grubb!” Father cried, but then everything went gray, and all I could hear was the witch’s laughter behind me.
A thick forest canopy rushed up at us through the misty air, and then all at once we were swallowed up in a sea of yellow and orange branches. The witch flew close to the ground and wove her broomstick amongst the trees at frightening speed—the autumn leaves twisting after us like a fiery serpent’s tail. Soon, we emerged at the foot of a small hill, on top of which stood the walls of a tumbledown church.
Dismounting, Mad Malmuirie shoved me off her broomstick. With its tip lodged in my back, she marched me up the hill and into the heart of the crumbling ruins. A brooding figure dressed in black emerged from around a pile of stones inside. My feet rooted where I stood. I could hardly believe my eyes.
I gasped in terror. “Mr. Smears!”
The hulking man with the scar on his cheek sneered hatefully. “We’ve got a score to settle, Grubb,” he growled, lumbering toward me, but Mad Malmuirie drew her wand and stopped him in his tracks.
“Tut-tut, Smears,” she said. “I returned the boy as promised. Now you keep your end of the bargain and tell me where to find the map you stole from Alistair Grim.”
Mr. Smears smiled slyly and scratched his scar. My entire body was pounding with fear, but my brain felt nimbler than ever. Map? I said to myself. Mr. Smears never stole a map from Alistair Grim.
And suddenly I understood what my old master had done. He’d somehow crossed paths with Mad Malmuirie and promised her a fictitious map in exchange for me. However, as Mr. Smears was rash and rarely looked beyond his next beer, I also understood that he hadn’t figured out yet what to do when it came time to make good on his promise.
“Well?” Mad Malmuirie said, and Mr. Smears narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“You witches with your spells and trickery,” he said. “How do I know the boy is genuine? How do I know he’s not some demon what you conjured up to look like him?”
