Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum

by Funaro, Greg

  “Very good, my young apprentice. If one of us could get inside the prince’s castle undetected, he could render it flightless from within, thus ensuring the castle’s destruction when it runs out of demon dust and plunges to the ground.” Father gazed up at the lion’s head above the hearth and began muttering to himself rapidly. “Yes, yes, Wortley’s Eye of Mars will no doubt be continuously activated. And when crushed under the weight of his falling castle, it should incinerate everything and everyone inside. The castle’s black paint should help contain the blast, but to be safe we’ll make sure we sabotage it somewhere remote—in the countryside where no innocent bystanders can get hurt. Consequently, Wortley, with nowhere to retreat, will be vulnerable to Excalibur….”

  Father trailed off, his mind racing with the beginnings of his plan. Lord Dreary dragged his handkerchief across his head. After a long silence, he cleared his throat with a loud “Ahem!” Startled, Father just looked at him as if he’d forgotten he was there.

  “But just how do you plan to do all this?” the old man asked.

  “I haven’t worked out all the details yet,” Father replied, “but it involves someone else Abel Wortley thinks is dead—someone very powerful who, quite literally, he let slip through his fingers.”

  Father pointed to my waistcoat pocket, which appeared to be alive from Mack’s shaking. I’d been so wrapped up in all the excitement that I hadn’t even noticed.

  “The time stopper!” I cried.

  And Father smiled.

  That evening at supper Father laid out his plan. Given our present location, even at full speed the earliest we could hope to arrive in London was just after midnight. Father calculated that Wortley, coming from Lake Ullswater, farther north, would arrive a little later, and so he planned to intercept his castle over the marshlands outside the city.

  “I understand the geography of it all,” said the professor. “However, regardless of whether or not Abel Wortley thinks you’re dead, he will no doubt be expecting an attack on his castle sometime soon—either by those of us left at the Odditorium or by the Avalonians themselves.”

  “I agree, old friend,” Father said, munching away. “But what the old devil will not be expecting is the demon catcher transported invisibly into his engine room. The Gallownog and his spirit shackles will make such an operation possible—virtually foolproof, in fact. You won’t even need the protection of the warding stones. The demons cannot possess you if you’re spirits.”

  “You?” the professor asked. “As in me too, you mean?”

  “Of course. Being that you’re a sorcerer, I’ll need you to operate the demon catcher. And while you and the Gallownog are busy crashing Wortley’s castle into the marshlands near Shepherd’s Bush, the rest of us will be waiting for him with the time stopper in London.”

  “But what if you’re wrong?” the professor pressed. “As Wortley is wounded, what if he sends one of his minions after the transmutation dagger instead? I should think a seven-foot, black-armored knight gadding about Scotland Yard would be sure to attract attention.”

  “Given that his very existence depends on it, Wortley would never trust the theft of the dagger to anyone else.”

  “And his demons? What do you suggest we do after we catch them?”

  “Well, since you’ll be meeting us in London, dump them off in the River Thames on your way back. That will destroy them just as it would any other spirit.”

  “But, Alistair,” Lord Dreary said, “I still don’t see how you can be certain that Wortley is headed for London in the first place. How do you know he didn’t steal the dagger back years ago?”

  “A simple matter of calculated risk,” Father said with a swig of ale. “Although Abel Wortley had no idea about my interest in Odditoria until fairly recently, he would nevertheless assume that the theft of his murder weapon, were it made public, would arouse my suspicions. Besides, if Wortley had thought the transmutation dagger would be of use to him after his murder, he would never have left it for the authorities to find.”

  “In the stables where William Stout had been employed,” said Lord Dreary.

  “That’s correct. Not to mention that Wortley did take some of his other magical objects along with him. Objects that, to the average eye, appeared to be worthless, but to one with a knowledge of Odditoria…well…If only I’d recognized that dagger, I might have been able to put a stop to all this before it began.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” said the professor. “It really does look like just an ordinary dagger. Not to mention that it’s much easier to frame someone for murder when you’ve got the weapon to show for it.”

  “Poor Nigel,” said Mrs. Pinch. “To think that Abel Wortley would allow a gentle soul like him to hang for murder—to leave his little girl without a father—oh, blind me, what a cruel, cruel man!”

  Mrs. Pinch began sobbing into her napkin. Father had broken the news about Prince Nightshade’s true identity to Nigel earlier, upon which the big man asked to be left alone in his quarters. All of our hearts were breaking for him, but Mrs. Pinch seemed to be taking it harder than anyone.

  “There, there, Penelope,” said Lord Dreary, patting her hand. “We need to be strong for him now.”

  “Begging your pardon, Father,” I said, “but if it’s all the same with Mrs. Pinch, might I be excused to bring Nigel his supper? He hasn’t had a bite since this morning, far as I can tell.”

  “Good idea, son. He’ll need a full stomach for what’s coming.”

  “Speaking of which,” Kiyoko said, “do you not think it wise to test the time stopper before confronting the prince?”

  “Queen Nimue wasn’t being cryptic when she cautioned me about using him, for I’m afraid old McClintock is good for stopping time only once every few hours, and even then only for a minute or so. He’s over a thousand years old, after all. And should we test him now, there’s a good chance he won’t have the strength when we need him.”

  “But, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary, “how can something speed up time for one person and virtually stop it for another?”

  “It’s quite simple, really, given the laws of interdimensional physics,” Father said. I too was still a bit confused about all that time stopper business, but I didn’t care to listen again to Father’s explanation. My thoughts had been on Nigel ever since he’d heard the news about Abel Wortley. And as Father blathered on with a load of big words that I didn’t understand, I slipped into the kitchen, fixed Nigel a plate, and hurried up the lift to the third floor, where I met Lorcan Dalach in the hallway.

  “Oh, hello, sir,” I said. “We missed you at supper.”

  “I am a spirit, and thus have no need for food.”

  “Oh, I know that, sir. I just thought that…well…being as you’re on our side now, I just expected to see you there, is all. Cleona almost always joins us for supper.” Dalach stared at me blankly. “She’s still asleep, I take it?”

  The Gallownog nodded and an awkward silence passed between us.

  “Er—uh—I never got a chance to thank you, sir,” I stammered. “For looking out for me, of course, but for everything else too. Father’s right, you know. We couldn’t have done all this without you.”

  “Your father is right about a lot of things,” Dalach said. “Tell me, lad, is he right to trust me with his plan instead of sticking me back in that sphere?”

  “You gave him your word that you’d help us defeat Prince Nightshade.”

  “I also gave my word to the Council of Elders that I’d bring back Cleona for trial. Do you know what happens to a Gallownog who breaks his word? That’s right, lad. Eternal torment amongst the doom dogs in Tir Na Mairg.”

  I swallowed hard. I hadn’t forgotten the Gallownog’s offer to take me to the Land of Sorrow. But whereas before I could chalk up his proposal to desperation, now that I knew him to be honorable, the possibility of seeing my mother, of getting the answers to all my questions from her myself, suddenly weighed upon my mind like
a mound of soot.

  Dalach read my thoughts. “I told you the truth about your mother. I did see her once, but only from a distance, through the mists of Tir Na Mairg. I’d hoped to learn more about what happened the night Cleona tried to save her, but your mother didn’t heed my call.” I stared back at him, confused. “How all that works is a story for another time, but unfortunately, I found out nothing to help Cleona. Or you, for that matter.”

  “And after everything that’s happened, you still believe Cleona is bewitched by Father? You still believe you must take her away from him?”

  Lorcan Dalach’s eyes flitted to the floor. “What I believe matters not. I swore an oath to the Council of Elders to bring Cleona back, but I also swore to prove her innocent and keep her from Tir Na Mairg.”

  “But even if you convinced your Council of Elders that she had been bewitched, if you took her away from her family here, do you really believe she could ever love you again the way she does now?”

  “You underestimate me if you think that will sway me from my duty.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe that. You’re at the Odditorium, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about all the magic round here, it’s that love truly is the most powerful of them all. I reckon not even your Council of Elders could stand up to that.”

  Dalach’s expression softened. “You’re a good lad, Grubb, and a brave one at that. Were you in the Order of the Gallownog, I should be proud to call you brother.”

  “Well, should you change your mind and join our family here, I’d be proud to call you the same.”

  Dalach smiled at me fondly. “Your friend’s supper is getting cold.” He held my eyes for a moment longer, as if he were contemplating saying more, and then sank down through the floor and out of sight.

  I crept over to Nigel’s chamber and tapped on the door. He bade me enter, whereupon I found him in a chair reading some papers by the hearth. The grate was ablaze, the entire room alive in a flickering dance of red and shadow, and as I approached him with his plate, the big man crumpled up one of his papers and tossed it into the fire.

  “I brought you some supper, Nigel.”

  “Thank you, Grubb,” he said, his goggles never leaving the flames. “You can leave it on the desk there and I’ll get to it later.”

  I did as he asked, and noticed that all his books and the newspaper articles about Abel Wortley were gone. My heart sank. So that’s what he was burning.

  I slipped round the demon buggy and the evil spirit’s eyes flashed hatefully at me from the engine. I shivered. How Nigel could spend so much time in here with that thing was beyond me. The room felt unusually cold too, despite the fire, and I could hear the wind whistling through the Odditorium’s steelwork outside.

  “Did you come to gawk at our friend there in the buggy?” Nigel asked.

  “Er—no, sir,” I said, and was about to leave when I spied the miniature portrait of Maggie on a small table by his chair. “I’m sorry about the news, Nigel,” I said after a long silence, and he crumpled up another paper and tossed it in the fire. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I don’t know what I’m feeling, to be honest,” Nigel said blandly.

  I stared down at the portrait of his daughter. Nigel told me once that he sometimes would see her from a distance when he drove Mrs. Pinch out to the country bearing gifts from Father. He also told me that he sent out the bats regularly to check up on her. Unfortunately, being on the run as we were, he’d been unable to do so for some time now. I imagined he’d been missing her something terrible long before he knew it was Abel Wortley himself who had kept him from seeing her all these years.

  “You should have seen the way her face used to light up when she saw me,” Nigel said, touching Maggie’s portrait. “Used to call her Bright Eyes, I did. I ever tell you that?” I shook my head. “Bright all around, she was. Only three years old and she could write her name. That’s more than I could say before I come here.”

  “Chin up, Nigel. Remember what you once told me? You said that, perhaps when Abel Wortley’s murderer was brought to justice, it might be safe for you to see Maggie again as her uncle Nigel. Well, now that we know Prince Nightshade is actually Abel Wortley himself—”

  “And just who’s going to explain all that to the authorities?” Nigel said bitterly. “Me? You? The boss? You forget, the lot of us are fugitives now, wanted dead or alive for all that trouble we caused back in London. And even if we succeed in sending Wortley’s spirit to hell, you really think anyone’s going to believe our story about magic daggers and sorcerers and whatnot?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “For ten years I’d thought to clear the name of Stout, but now I know any hope of that is lost.”

  “Don’t say such a thing. I just know in my heart that you and Maggie will be reunited someday. I just know it.”

  “I know you mean well, Grubb, but my cards have been dealt. I’ll never be able to see my daughter again.” Nigel tossed another wad of paper into the hearth. “You run along now and rest up a bit. We’ve still got hours to go before London, and you’ll need your wits about you come midnight.”

  I left Nigel there by the fire and traveled down in the lift to the shop. Somehow, someday, I would make it right for him, I swore to myself, but for now my heart was so heavy that all I wanted to do was sleep.

  “Why the long face, Grubb?” Mack asked from the worktable.

  “Just a bit tired, I suppose. If you’d be so kind as to wake me in a couple of hours, I’d be much obliged to you, Mack.”

  “That’ll be a piece of cake, laddie,” Mack said proudly. “And being that I’m such an important part of Mr. Grim’s plan, he wants me to rest too. No telling how long after he uses me time stopper that I’ll be able to do it again. It’s been a while, and I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty.”

  Mack chuckled and I rolled over on my side. Half of me wanted to ask him more about his time stopping, but the other half just wanted some peace and quiet. The latter won out, and soon I was asleep.

  The clocks in the library were chiming half past eleven as Mack and I joined Lord Dreary and Kiyoko round Father’s desk. They were studying his map of London.

  “Great poppycock, Alistair,” cried Lord Dreary. “You mean you intend to confront Wortley along the River Thames?”

  “Wortley would be a fool not to use those submarine sharks of his. Thus, the most likely spot at which he’ll land is this wharf here”—Father pointed to the map—“just a hop, skip, and a jump from Scotland Yard.”

  “But, Alistair, the River Thames has become a cesspool of filth and disease, not to mention home to some of the worst cutthroats in London!”

  “The perfect cover for Wortley and his minions, wouldn’t you agree? And so I believe the old devil will attempt to slip into London under cover of the Thames, retrieve the transmutation dagger as inconspicuously as possible, and then slip away downstream along with the rest of the filth.”

  Lord Dreary dragged his handkerchief across his head. “Well, I shudder to think what might happen if you’re wrong. And should Oscar and the Gallownog fail in their mission—”

  It was then that I realized Lorcan Dalach and Professor Bricklewick were gone.

  “They shall not fail,” Father said, studying a book of tide tables. “Number One will get them to the proper altitude, and once they’re on the castle grounds, shackled together and invisible, the rest will be child’s play.”

  “Cor,” I said. “You mean they’ve left already?”

  “We dropped them off near Hammersmith while you were resting,” Father said. “And after Oscar and the Gallownog capture and dispose of Wortley’s demons, Number One will fly them back to the Odditorium here in London.”

  “We’re in London already?” I asked, running out onto the balcony. Far below, through the wisps of scattering clouds, I spied a patchwork of tiny lights with a thin black ribbon through its center. London at night was certainly a beautiful sight to beho
ld, and yet all I could think about was the Gallownog and Professor Bricklewick in the bowels of Nightshade’s castle. During our escape, Kiyoko and I had not ventured into the engine room, but I could see it as clearly in my mind as if we had—a cavernous dungeon and an enormous flight sphere filled with a hundred churning demons. I shivered.

  Kiyoko stood beside me with her hand on my shoulder. “Do not fret, Grubb. As long as our friends are spirits, not even Prince Nightshade himself can harm them.”

  “And his castle?” I asked. “What will happen to all his minions when it crashes to the ground?”

  “The explosion from the prince’s Eye of Mars, crushed under the weight of his castle, will obliterate Nightshade’s army at once.”

  “Judge Hurst too?”

  I’d nearly forgotten about Alistair Grim’s old enemy these last few weeks, never mind the fact that the prince had turned him into a purple-eyed Shadesman. However, unlike the rest of the evil creatures that inhabited Nightshade’s castle, Judge Mortimer Hurst hadn’t chosen to ally himself with the prince. And even though he had tried to betray me while we were being held captive, I still couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old codger.

  “It is for the best, Grubb,” Kiyoko said with a hand on my shoulder. “I should think being a purple-eyed Shadesman is a fate far worse than death.”

  “Are you there, sir?” came Mrs. Pinch’s voice from the organ’s talkback, and Father and Lord Dreary joined us. “I’ve poured the professor’s potion in the prison sphere as you requested, but blind me if I can say it’ll work.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pinch,” Father said. “Now please take your station in the upper gunnery. What about you, Nigel? Did you adjust the levitation shield’s output settings?”

  “I did, sir,” Nigel replied on the talkback. “I rerouted everything to the Odditorium’s belly, but as for the invisibility mist, I can’t say how long it’ll last.”

  Invisibility mist? I had no idea what Nigel was talking about, and yet it did my heart good to hear him sounding like his old self again.