Nor could Uncle Mordo’s books tell him what the glowing blue eyes that had appeared out of the mist might belong to. It was something fast—that was all Alex could tell. And it was rushing closer and closer to them.
The air above Emma seemed to explode with orange fireworks at the same moment that something large collided with the bandiloc. The wolf-headed snake released the brother and sister, howling as it slid away into the mist.
Emma sat down hard on the rocky ground, sucking in as much air as she could. Alex landed beside her, but Emma could not spare much attention for her brother right then. She could not take her eyes off the contraption that had scared away their attacker.
It was made of metal and glass and wire. It was mechanical, and yet it almost seemed alive.
It was also an alpaca.
The alpaca pawed the moss with a metal hoof, gears clicking and whirring inside its copper and steel frame. Then its legs folded up, one after the other, and it collapsed slowly to the ground as blue smoke spurted from its dented body.
The machine was tethered to a pear-shaped carriage, much too large to be pulled by a flesh-and-blood animal. A sign arching over the top of the carriage read GRUBIANS’ GRAND GUIGNOL. The alpaca chuffed more blue smoke and cranked its head in all directions, as if watching for the bandiloc to return.
“What is that thing?” asked Emma. She could not help smiling a little. The machine seemed so alive, she almost wanted to reach out and pet it.
“Pure awesomeness!” Alex was grinning. Of course her brother would love a machine like this, Emma thought. He was probably already figuring out how to build one of his own.
Emma watched as Alex got to his feet and came closer to the creature.
“Careful,” Emma warned. “It might spit.”
“Em, it’s a machine,” Alex scoffed. “They wouldn’t build it to—”
A wad of bluish oil spattered on Alex’s cheek. Emma couldn’t help dissolving into peals of laughter. One day her brother might learn to listen to her!
Then a door in the carriage creaked open. Emma’s laughter died. They had no idea who might be in there—or what. In every fantasy she’d ever read, a magical world had its perils.
“Alex! Watch out!” she called. It was so easy for her brother to get enthralled with some new mechanical contraption and forget anything else that might be going on. Like life-threatening danger.
Stairs covered in red carpet unfolded from the doorway. A huge, booted foot landed on the ground without touching any of the steps. The man attached to the foot straightened. Emma had to strain her neck back to look up at him. He was gigantic, eyes shadowed by the brim of his bowler hat.
“Whoa,” said Alex. “Uh, hi?”
“We should go find Pimawa,” whispered Emma.
“Pima who?” came a voice above them. A squat, barrel-shaped man hoisted himself out of a window to stand on the top of the carriage. “Well mighty, mighty mo, Clive! We have, I daresay, arrived in the nickiest nick of time.” His smile seemed to extend beyond the sides of his rotund face.
The short man used Clive as a human ladder, landing with a dexterous spring on the ground.
“I am Neil Grubian,” he said, smoothing back the greasy tuft of hair on his otherwise bald head. “This lamppost with ears is my brother, Clive.”
Clive tipped his hat.
Neil shot his hand forward. “And who did we have the pleasure of saving from a crushing death this fine day?”
“Jane and Roger,” said a firm voice from out of the mist. Pimawa limped into sight, his fur spiked with spots of dried blood. He placed himself between the children and the Grubians. “We are indebted to you, truly. However, we must be moving on.”
The short man sidled around Pimawa, squeezing himself between Alex and Emma. His stubby arms slipped over their shoulders.
“What I meant was,” said Neil, “what are your real names?” He fixed Alex with a semiserious glare. “We’ve known each other for three minutes and already we’re keeping secrets. My kind of people, Clive.”
To Emma’s surprise, Neil suddenly swung her away from Alex, holding on to her hand and spinning her like a ballerina. She wanted to pull away, but if she let go of his hand, she was afraid she’d fall, sprawling on the ground.
“They do not appear to be grateful, Clive,” Neil remarked cheerfully. “Perhaps we should leave them for the bandiloc.”
“Please, no,” said Emma dizzily, trying to tug her hand out of Neil’s. “We’re grateful. Very grateful. It’s just that—”
“What do you want?” demanded Pimawa.
Neil kissed Emma’s hand and released her. He placed both hands over his chest. “Heartbreaking, Clive. Are we suspected of wanting something beyond gratitude for saving two lovely lives?”
Emma glanced guiltily at Alex. It was true—these men had saved them from that terrifying snakelike creature. What were they called? Bandilocs? It didn’t seem fair to be suspicious in return, and yet…
Pimawa cleared his throat. He bowed. “Indeed. Our deepest thanks are owed to you both. And now—”
“Much appreciated,” said Neil. “Still, what should we make of two youths wandering the Mysts in the company of a half-naked Jimjarian?”
“Please, we mean no disrespect,” said Pimawa. He looked embarrassed as he tugged Emma’s sweater tighter around his middle. “Obviously we could offer an outlandish tale, which I am certain you would dismiss immediately. Let us leave it at this. We have important business in Conjurian City and would be further indebted to you for transportation. However, for everyone’s safety, we require anonymity.”
Neil scaled the side of the carriage and seated himself on the top. His stubby legs dangled over the edge as he rested his ample head on his fist. “Myee, myee, my, Clive, we have stumbled upon a demanding group. Now, Clive and I do really enjoy a good secret. We especially love how valuable it can be.” Neil opened his fist. Something bright and silver dangled from his fingers.
Alex’s pocket watch! Emma gasped. She knew how much Alex loved that watch.
Her brother lunged forward, but Pimawa grabbed the collar of his shirt and snagged him back. “You will take us to Conjurian City,” the rabbit said, holding Alex firmly. “And you will return the boy’s watch. In return, we won’t report you to the Circle.”
The Circle, Emma remembered, ruled this strange and wonderful place. Christopher Agglar was in charge of it. But why was Pimawa threatening to turn these two men in to the Circle?
Neil cocked his head, then burst out laughing. “The almighty Circle! All hail Christopher Agglar and his merry band of blowhard clowns.” Neil shook his head, then held his multiple chins high. “Why would you assume we fear the Circle?”
Pimawa kept a firm grip on Alex but craned his neck to peer into one of the rounded windows of the carriage. “Let us say Master Agglar has a keen interest in those who conduct business under cover of the Mysts.”
“In that case, we’d best stay here, then,” said Neil.
Emma didn’t like the way they were looking at each other. And Alex was no help, glowering at everybody. It wasn’t going to improve the situation to get into a big fight in the middle of this endless mist!
What if that horrible man with the scars on his face—the Shadow Conjurer—was following them? They needed to keep moving. And to keep moving, they’d need to do something about the metal alpaca now lying in a heap on the ground.
“Listen. None of us can go anywhere until we get this poor thing fixed,” Emma said firmly. She reached out to stroke the alpaca’s head.
“Ah, she does have a point,” said Neil. “Right. Clive, put my tea on for me. Looks like we’re having a holiday.”
“It’s not a poor thing, Em. It’s a broken machine. And I can fix it,” said Alex. He shook Pimawa’s hand off his collar.
“Her na
me is Gertie,” said Neil.
“I can help fix Gertie in exchange for a ride,” said Alex. “And my watch back. That’s a deal? You get your machine repaired, and I get my watch back, and nobody gets reported to the Circle.” He glanced up at Pimawa. “Everybody wins.”
Neil slid off the carriage. His brother caught him and placed him down in front of Pimawa. The shorter brother circled around the giant rabbit and handed the watch over to Alex.
Alex had just better be as good with machines as he always bragged he was, Emma thought. Or none of them would be going anywhere.
Alex
“She runs on magic?” Alex asked, prying a bandiloc tooth out of a gear that made one of Gertie’s knees bend.
“What else would power a mechanized alpaca?” Neil passed Alex an enormous wrench.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alex. He whacked the wrench against a bolt. “Gasoline, propane, electricity, solar, steam. Things that actually exist.”
“How did such a young skeptic end up in the Conjurian?” asked Neil.
One look from Pimawa reminded Alex to keep his mouth closed.
Neil mimed zipping his lips shut. “Oh, right. That’s top-secret, apparently.”
Alex gave the bolt one more whack, then threaded an iron gear on top. He tightened the nut, locking the gear in place. Gertie rose up on all four legs, flexing her repaired joint. She hopped in place twice, then nuzzled the top of Alex’s head.
“Okay, okay, you’re welcome,” said Alex, patting Gertie’s cheek.
“Just a machine, huh?” Emma asked, poking her head out one of the carriage’s windows. She smirked at Alex.
“The second joint in her neck will need new bearings, but her leg should go for a long time,” Alex told Neil, ignoring his sister. “Where do we fuel her up?”
With a gleaming smile, Neil unlatched Gertie’s rib cage and lifted it open, exposing a glowing blue canister.
“Whoa.” Alex leaned in, face awash in the faint blue light. “What is that? Is that plasma?” He jerked his head back. “Is it radioactive?”
Emma jumped down from the carriage to look too.
“It’s magic,” said Neil. “But she’s a touch low. If we let her charge up for half an hour or so, it should be enough to get us to the city.”
“Magic,” Emma breathed, wide-eyed. “Wow.”
Alex gave her an impatient look. “By magic, you mean you don’t know how it works,” he said to Neil.
“Oh, I know how it works,” said Neil, swatting Alex’s greasy hand away from the canister. “See, we all have a bit of magic in us. Some of us more than others, but none very much, not these days. Soon enough, it will all be gone.”
“Where did you get that?” Pimawa jabbed a finger at the glowing canister. “The Circle has banned such devices!”
Neil closed Gertie’s chest. “You needn’t ruffle your cotton tail. Devices such as this one will soon be obsolete. No fuel, no go. Aces alive, it takes us several months to collect half a tank.”
Alex reached for the latch as Emma backed away. “Let me see it.” Whatever that blue stuff really was, he wanted to figure out how it gave Gertie her power.
Pimawa grabbed his wrist.
“Let go!” Alex twisted his arm. “Hey! I need to see how it works!” How was he supposed to keep Gertie running if he didn’t understand her power source?
“What we need,” said Pimawa, “is to be on our way to the Tower.” He lowered his voice. “Please, Master Alex. Remember who may be on our tail.”
Alex was quite prepared to argue some more, no matter how many villains with blue faces might be chasing them—but just then something orange exploded in the air over his head with a bang that hurt his eardrums. Gasping in alarm, Pimawa shoved him to the ground and fell on top of him.
Alex lay half under Pimawa, looking around for the new threat. What had made that noise? A gun? A bomb? And where was Emma?
“Whoops,” Emma said. “Sorry.” She was standing a few paces away, shamefaced, with a purple silk pouch in her hand.
“What was that?” Alex squirmed out from under Pimawa and sat up. His heart was still thumping.
Emma held up what looked like a pumpkin seed.
Pimawa sighed. “Really, Miss Emma. You do not quite understand—”
“Put that down!” Neil interrupted. “Clive, did you give those to her? You have the sense of a featherless parrot!”
With a guilty frown, Clive confiscated the pouch from Emma.
“You used these to scare the bandiloc,” said Alex, remembering. He’d seen that same orange flash right before Gertie had crashed into the wolf-snake monster.
“They’re called woofle seeds,” said Neil. “Clive, give them here before you lose a finger.” He snatched the pouch from his brother and tucked it into his vest. “Those aren’t to be trifled with, young Jane.” He wagged a finger at Emma. “They grow high in the mountains. Hard to come by. Back in the day, all the magicians used them. Quite common. These days, certain non-magic clients pay hefty fees for them.”
“Sorry,” said Emma. “I found them in the carriage. It wasn’t Clive’s fault. I just wondered what they’d do. If they were…you know, magic. Like Gertie. I’ve never seen real magic before.”
“Oh my, pie in the sky,” said Neil. “ ’Tis a show you want? We have a spot of time to kill while Gertie catches her breath. We can accommodate. No extra charge! Places, Clive! Hup to it!” The short man ushered them around to a large wooden cabinet protruding from the back of the carriage. The top half unfolded into a small stage with faded red curtains, flanked by two iron lanterns.
“Welcome to our humble theater!” Neil announced, flinging his arms wide. “The greatest show on…well, in the Mysts.”
Neil opened a door on the side of the carriage, and he and his brother slipped inside. Alex exchanged a glance with Emma, then shrugged and sat on the ground beside her. Pimawa fidgeted behind them, his ears swiveling as he listened for sounds in the mists.
Alex knew the rabbit was nervous and wanted them to be moving along—but if Neil was right, they couldn’t move along, not until Gertie was charged up. They might as well watch, he figured. Not much else to do.
It seemed that there was not much to watch, either. Nothing happened for several seconds. Then the faded red curtains parted.
Neil’s voice, slightly muffled, came from inside the cabinet as a plain wooden puppet, thin and knobby-limbed, danced onto the stage. “Dedi was the most powerful magician in all of Egypt. One day he performed his greatest feat for the Pharaoh. He removed the head of a goose and then brought it back to life!”
Alex squinted. He knew there must be strings attached to the puppet, but he saw none. Probably because of all the shadows created by the flickering lanterns.
A beautiful puppet with long black hair sashayed onto the stage as Neil’s narration continued. “Shortly after, the queen fell ill and died.” The puppet fell to the stage as if her strings had been cut, except that Alex could still see no strings.
“Pharaoh was devastated. He commanded Dedi to bring her back to life!” Neil announced. A tall puppet in a golden headdress confronted the frail form of the magician. The magician puppet shook its wooden head. “Dedi tried to explain that restoring the goose was merely a trick. He told the Pharaoh that using real magic to revive the dead would lead down a dark and dangerous path.
“The Pharaoh clapped Dedi into a prison cell,” declared Neil. The puppet in the golden headdress swept off the stage, and the smaller puppet huddled sadly on the floor. “Each day that Dedi refused to bring the queen back from the land of the dead, a member of Dedi’s family was thrown into a pit of vipers!”
A trapdoor in the middle of the stage slid open. Another female puppet and several smaller ones appeared, only to promptly van
ish down the trapdoor. Harrowing cries came from backstage. Emma winced. Alex rolled his eyes.
“Each night, in his cell, Dedi began transferring all his power into a single pebble. Several more days passed, until, finally, Dedi was ready.”
A very small puppet ventured hesitantly onto the stage and wavered on the edge of the trapdoor.
“Right before his youngest daughter was about to tumble into the pit, Dedi cast the stone down!” Neil cried dramatically. A plume of bluish smoke wafted up through the trapdoor, and when it had drifted away, every puppet was gone from the stage. “He vanished with his remaining family in a stream of blue light. Using the magic in that stone, Dedi had created a world far away. A world of magic. A sanctuary for Dedi and his family. With the stone, Dedi had created the Conjurian.”
A canvas screen painted with an image of a tree unrolled along the back of the stage as Neil’s voice wound up his narration.
“Dedi sacrificed all his power to build our world, and put whatever might remain of his magic in what we now call the Eye of Dedi so that other sorcerers could escape persecution. He planted a tree on the spot where he first set foot in the Conjurian. A living, growing reminder of why this world was created, and what our livelihood was worth.”
The curtains swept back over the stage. Clive rose from the top of the cabinet, holding his hat as he bowed. A panel below the stage slid open to reveal Neil, crammed into a compartment crowded with gears and pulleys. Alex would have liked to take a closer look at all the mechanisms, but Neil sprang out and shut the panel smartly behind him. Then he took a bow.
Emma jumped to her feet, clapping furiously. Of course she did, Alex thought. It was just the kind of story she liked—exciting, tragic, and completely implausible.
Rise of the Shadow Page 4
