Alistair Grim's Odditorium (13 page)

I shivered at the thought of how close the black hound’s paw had come to my face—and then it dawned on me.

“It’s because of Mack’s animus,” I said. “That’s what Mr. Grim meant when he told Lord Dreary it was dangerous for his animus to leave the Odditorium.
That’s why those dogs came after me.”

“You know about the animus?” Nigel asked in shock.

“I’m afraid I do.”

I told Nigel the whole story—how Mack ended up in my pocket, how I chased after him into the library and eavesdropped on Mr. Grim and Lord Dreary, and finally how I accidentally got him
lifted. And when I’d finished, Nigel glared down angrily at his pocket.

“Oh, please don’t be cross with Mack,” I said. “He was only afraid you’d come looking for him because you’d found him missing from Mr. Grim’s
shop.”

“What would I be doing in Mr. Grim’s shop?”

“Well, since that’s the place for Odditoria—”

I stopped.

“The place for
what
?” Nigel said, turning to me, and I saw my terrified face reflected in his goggles. Now I’d really gotten Mack into a pickle, I thought.

“Well?” Nigel pressed.

“Well,” I sputtered, “I know it’s not proper to repeat things, but Mack told me the shop is for Odditoria what’s giving Mr. Grim trouble. And, well…silly as it
may sound, Mack said that you were Odditoria too.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Nigel said, glaring down again at his pocket.

“Please try to forgive him, Nigel. He was only afraid Mr. Grim would scrap him for wanting to be with his clock family in the library. And I suppose you can’t blame him for that. I
know if I had a family, even a family of clocks, I’d want to be with them too.”

Nigel’s whole body sagged, and as he stared off at the cathedral, his face grew even sadder than it had looked outside the Odditorium. I suspected he was thinking about his brother William
again, but I did not think it proper to pry.

“Did I say something wrong, Nigel?” I asked after a moment, but the big man appeared lost in thought. “Nigel?”

Startled, Nigel smiled. And just as before, he instantly became his cheery old self again. “Right-o, then. All’s forgiven on my part. As for Mr. Grim, I suppose you’ll have to
cross that bridge later. Come to think of it, what I wouldn’t give for a bridge to throw you off.”

Nigel’s comment winged me, and I looked down sadly at my feet.

“No, no, Grubb,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t mean it like that. Just wish I had a bridge over a river in which I could wash your scent off.”

“There’s the fountain,” I said, relieved.

“It’s against the law to wash in there. And the last thing we need is the law on our backs, what with Judge Hurst looking for any excuse to make trouble for Mr. Grim.”

The two of us sat there thinking hard amidst the clamor.

“May I ask you a question, Nigel?”

“Go ahead, Grubb.”

“If the doom dogs can sniff out Mack’s animus, how come they can’t sniff out the animus inside the Odditorium?”

“Because the Odditorium is protected by the boss’s magic paint.”

“Magic paint?”

“The Odditorium is just a big machine powered by the animus—like Mack, only more complicated and without all the jabbering. However, it’s safe to use the animus inside the
Odditorium because the whole place is protected by Mr. Grim’s magic paint. Mack, unfortunately, is not. Understand?”

“So that’s why everything is black! The magic paint blocks the doom dogs from sniffing out the blue animus!”

“That’s right. A concoction of dragon scales, troll’s blood, that sort of thing. With great power most often comes danger, and one always has to be mindful of
danger.”

Made sense to me. I was used to being mindful of things that were dangerous. Fire, soaring heights, and crumbling old flues—not to mention Mr. Smears and the Crumbsby twins.

“I’m sure the boss will explain it to you someday—”

A rumble of thunder, barely audible above the din of the marketplace, stopped Nigel cold. He bounded up to the top of the fountain steps. “Oh dear,” he said, staring off at the sky.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

“What is it, Nigel?” I asked, rushing up to him, and I spied a thick swath of black clouds rolling in behind the cathedral.

“He was closer to London than we thought.”

“Who?”

“The prince,” Nigel said weakly.

Another rumble of thunder—this one a bit closer—and then Nigel grabbed my arm and dashed off with me into the crowd.

M
aybe that was the last of them,” Nigel said, gazing about. “Or maybe they’ve lost track of our scent and are roaming about
someplace else for us.”

There had to have been over a dozen streets and alleyways that branched off from the marketplace, some so narrow that not even a single ray of sunshine managed to find its way to the ground.
However, even down the darkest, narrowest passages, we could spy no sign of the doom dogs anywhere.

“What are we going to do?” I asked, beginning to panic. “What if there are more of those horrible hounds out there waiting for us?”

We’d stopped in front of a shop at the edge of the maketplace, trying to determine the safest way back to the Odditorium. The black clouds were quickly closing in on the great dome, the
thunder rumbling more frequently now. And as the marketgoers whirled about their business in anticipation of the coming storm, Nigel squatted on his haunches so that his mouth was level with my
ear.

“Now calm yourself, lad,” he whispered. “And try not to let your fear get the better of you. After all, there’s a natural balance of both good and evil in our world, and
the doom dogs are only doing their job.”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, sometimes spirits what belong in the Land of the Dead escape into our world, and it’s the doom dogs’ job to bring them back.”

“But what does that have to do with the blue animus?”

“When the animus is used in a machine what’s unprotected by Mr. Grim’s paint, the doom dogs think it’s an escaped spirit and come into our world to fetch it.”

“Why would they think the animus is an escaped spirit?”

“Er, well, uh,” Nigel stammered nervously, “all that’s a bit complicated to explain right now. Suffice it to say that, once the doom dogs realize the animus is
not
a spirit, they still want a spirit to take back with them.”

“You mean—?”

“That’s right, Grubb. They snatch the spirit of the person what used the animus.”

I gulped.

“Doom dogs are very good at what they do,” Nigel continued, “so usually only a handful of them come over into our world at a time. There’s a good chance we’ve seen
the last of them.”

“Do the doom dogs belong to the prince?”

Nigel snickered and shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “Doom dogs work on their own to keep the natural order of things—ruthless and independent with allegiance to
no one. Even the prince can’t control the likes of them. Which is why I’m more worried about those crows.”

Nigel pointed up at the clouds, and I spied a large flock of the big black birds circling near the cathedral dome.

“Crows can sense when doom dogs have come into our world,” Nigel said. “And so the prince has trained himself a flock to follow them. Most of the time they only lead him to
doom dogs what’s tracking a spirit. But
today
—”

“The crows will lead him to
me
!”

“So you see? All the prince has to do is send out his flock to follow the doom dogs, and then they’ll lead him straight to you and the Odditorium.”

“And by ‘the prince,’ you mean Prince Nightshade?”

Nigel gasped and clamped his big hand over my mouth.

“Mind your tongue, lad!” he hissed, and for the first time that day I was terrified of him. “Mr. Grim has forbidden anyone to speak of him outside the Odditorium.” Nigel
removed his hand. “Now tell me,” he said, holding me by the shoulders. “How does a lad like you come to know the prince’s surname?”

I swallowed hard and promptly confessed to what I had seen in Mr. Grim’s notebook, including the drawing of the Black Fairy and all the question marks after the prince’s name. Nigel
pondered this for a moment, and then a smile hovered about his lips.

“Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for being curious,” he said. “However, I think it best we don’t tell the boss you’ve been admiring his artwork.
Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Thank you, Nigel,” I said, relieved, and the big man mussed my hair.

“Right-o, then. Let’s get moving.”

“But what about Mr. Grim’s preview?” I asked, pointing to the clock tower at the center of the marketplace. “It’s nearly three o’clock already.”

“Yes, we’ve got to get back to warn him about the escaped animus before everything starts. Come on, then. Stay in the sunlight, watch out for coaches, and tell me if you see any red
eyes lurking about the shadows.”

Nigel started off, but I didn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I just remembered that I saw only four doom dogs vanish in the marketplace.”

“That’s good. If only one is tracking you, he shouldn’t be too hard to shake.”

“But what if he’s not tracking
me
?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the doom dogs go after a person what’s used the animus, wouldn’t the doom dogs go after Noah and his gang, too?”

Nigel’s brow furrowed and his body sagged. “Oh dear. I’m afraid in all the excitement I forgot about those lads. Should one of those dogs catch hold of them—”

Nigel swallowed hard and quickly shook off the thought.

“Right-o. That’s another bridge we’ll have to cross when we come to it. On our way, then, Grubb.”

The two of us set off quickly—street after street, block after block—drawing angry words from pedestrians whose paths we abruptly crossed in order to remain in the sunlight. The
closer we drew to the Odditorium, however, the closer the thunder drew too. And by the time I spied the Odditorium’s big black chimneys above the rooftops, the skies had gone almost
completely dark.

The crows, however, were nowhere to be seen.

“If there were any doom dogs on your tail,” Nigel said, looking up at the sky, “I’d wager those crows would be following you too.”

“That’s a relief. But do you think those clouds might scare people away from Mr. Grim’s preview?”

“Not likely. Folks here in London have been waiting for years to see the Odditorium at work. A soak and a sniffle is a small price to pay, I should think.”

As we approached the street on which the Odditorium was located, Nigel and I were met with a wall of people—everyone pushing and shoving each other amidst a great racket of shouts and
police whistles.

“Stand back!” a constable commanded.

“Don’t push!” cried another.

“Up you go, then, Grubb,” Nigel said, and with one hand the big man scooped me up onto his shoulders. The Odditorium was clearly visible farther down the block, and the crowd in the
street stretched out in every direction as far as I could see.

“Make way, make way!” Nigel shouted. “We’re with Mr. Grim! Make way!”

Intimidated by Nigel’s size, the crowd quickly parted before us without a word of protest. However, upon reaching the Odditorium we discovered Lord Dreary and Judge Hurst in the midst of a
commotion. A handful of smartly dressed gents stood nearby (Mr. Grim’s backers, I assumed) while a line of constables barked at the crowd to stay back.

“Look!” someone shouted. “It’s Alistair Grim!”

All eyes turned upward, and there stood Mr. Grim, glaring down at us from the Odditorium’s balcony—his expression steely, his bony fingers splayed out like tree roots upon the
polished steel pipes of the balustrade.

The entire crowd immediately fell silent. Lightning flashed, and a loud clap of thunder exploded above our heads, but Mr. Grim gave it only a passing glance before he turned his back on us and
sat down at his pipe organ.

“We’re too late,” Nigel said.

And amidst another rumble of thunder, Mr. Grim began to play.

A shiver of excitement rippled through the crowd. Mr. Grim’s playing was magnificent, and after a quick series of expertly fingered flourishes, something strange began to happen. At first
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But once I heard the sound of creaking hinges and cranking gears, I knew it to be real.