Alistair Grim's Odditorium (25 page)

“Why did the Black Fairy take you prisoner, sir?” I asked cautiously.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. But I must admit I was happy to see you come tumbling out of that barrel. Was afraid I’d go mad spending another night down here alone.”

In my mind I saw myself again being surrounded by the Sirens. And although I couldn’t remember anything that had happened after we were captured, I somehow knew that Cleona had gone inside
the barrel with me, safe and sound.

But how could that be? I wondered. After all, there was no way Cleona could have survived over the ocean without the protection of Number One’s magic paint.

Unless, of course, the barrel in question was no ordinary barrel.

“Cor,” I gasped, the light finally dawning. “The barrel was painted black—just like Number One.”

“What’s all that about the barrel, lad?”

“Er, uh,” I sputtered. Prince or no prince, I certainly wasn’t about to tell Judge Hurst how magic paint could protect a spirit from water. “The Sirens, sir,” I
said quickly. “They used that barrel to capture Cleona and me.”

“You mean to tell me those hideous women were Sirens?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. They work for Prince Nightshade.”

“What’s next?” said the judge, rubbing his forehead. “Evil fairies that spit black fire, Sirens with snake faces, and skeletons who like to take cheap shots. Any other
fantastical delights of which I should be aware, Mr. Grubb?”

“I’m sure there are, sir. But begging your pardon, sir. You didn’t happen to see anyone else come tumbling out of that barrel along with me?”

“I’m afraid not, lad. The Sirens only dropped you in here.”

I frowned and looked at my shoes—I needed to find Cleona.

“And who is this Cleona, anyway?” asked the judge.

“Er, uh,” I sputtered again, “Cleona is my friend, sir.”

“Another resident of the Odditorium, I assume?” I nodded. “Ah well, I should have known something like this would happen. That Odditorium has been nothing but trouble since the
start. But rest assured, if I ever get out of this dungeon alive, Alistair Grim is going to pay dearly for what he’s done.”

“Oh please, sir, don’t blame Mr. Grim. It’s partly my fault we’re in this mess. In fact, had I not popped down the wrong chimney and stowed away in Mr. Grim’s
trunk, Prince Nightshade would never have known about the Odditorium in the first place.”

“What on earth are you talking about, lad?”

I gave the judge a brief account of my life, including how I arrived at the Odditorium and the events leading up to my capture. Of course I dodged around the bits about the animus, the doom
dogs, and anything having to do with Odditoria. But still, at the end of my tale the judge eyed me suspiciously and said:

“You’re not telling me the whole story, are you? Particularly, why this Nightshade character would be interested in Alistair Grim’s Odditorium to begin with.”

My heart hammered—surely Judge Hurst would know if I tried to lie to him—but as I fumbled for a reply, he gently placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled.

“Let us speak plain, lad,” he said. “Given my history with Mr. Grim and the Stout brothers, I can understand why you’d be disinclined to trust me. However, as you and I
are now pickles in the same jar, I should think that we’d have a better chance of getting out of here alive if we worked together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, but my mind was spinning. If Judge Hurst was shrewd enough to murder Abel Wortley and get away with it—or even worse, if he was Prince Nightshade
himself—I would not be able to dodge his questions for much longer. At the same time, even if I was wrong, and the old judge was as blameless as a newborn babe, I still couldn’t trust
him—not to mention that I was Mr. Grim’s apprentice and would never reveal to
anyone
the secrets of his Odditorium.

“Well, what do you say, Mr. Grubb?” asked the judge. “You have my word as a gentleman that this conversation shall remain confidential. And so I’ll ask you again: why
would a devil like Prince Nightshade want the Odditorium for himself? If you tell me its secrets, I might be able to bargain with him for our release.”

I was just about to explain how I’d been sworn to secrecy, when a woman’s voice cried out: “Hold your tongue, Grubb!”

“What the—?” said the judge, gazing around. “Did you hear that, Mr. Grubb?”

“Yes, I did, sir,” I said, gazing around too.

“Hello?” the judge called. “Is there someone here? Who said that?”

“I did,” said the woman. Her voice—gentle but firm, and marked by a strange accent—seemed to come from just outside our cell. Judge Hurst and I scrambled over to the
door. The barred porthole was too high for me, but the judge peered out and said:

“There appears to be someone in the cell across the way.” He pressed his face between the bars. “You, there, who are you?”

“Someone who knows better than to talk to judges.”

“I beg your pardon!” Judge Hurst exclaimed. “What kind of talk is that?”

“Take care in whom you confide, Grubb,” the woman said, ignoring him. “Your secrets are your only advantage here.”

Judge Hurst gasped. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been listening to our entire conversation?”

“Your secrets are your only advantage, Grubb,” the woman repeated.

I stretched up onto my tippy-toes in an attempt to see out the porthole, but Judge Hurst elbowed me away from the door.

“Now see here, woman,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but I assure you that I have nothing but this boy’s best interests in mind.”

“The Black Fairy was wise to take you hostage, eh, Judge?” the woman said. “A man like yourself who knows the Odditorium inside and out. Isn’t that what you told
him?”

My mouth dropped open in shock.

“What the—?” said Judge Hurst. “How did you hear that?”

“I also heard you bargaining with the prince,” the woman said. “Heard you offer to help him find Alistair Grim in exchange for your life.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“Hold your tongue, woman!” the judge shouted, kicking the door. “You heard nothing of the sort!”

“You said you’d help destroy the Odditorium. Said you’d been inside and knew its secrets.”

“That’s a lie!” I cried, backing away. “Mr. Grim would never allow Judge Hurst inside the Odditorium!”

The judge whirled from the door. “You keep your mouth shut! You hear me, boy? Keep it shut!”

“You lied!” I shouted. “You knew all along why the Black Fairy took you here. He thought you belonged with us at the Odditorium!”

“I told you the truth! I had no idea why—”

“The best liars mix the truth with fiction,” the woman called from across the passageway. “It’ll serve you well to remember that, Grubb.”

“Shut your trap!” the judge screamed through the porthole.

“That’s why you wanted me to be quiet,” I cried. “You were afraid I’d blow your cover!”

And with that the judge came for me, screaming at the top of his lungs and flailing his hands in the air. He knocked me down to the ground, straddled my belly, and was about to pummel me, but
then the door swung open and a pair of Shadesmen rushed into the cell.

“Let go of me!” the judge cried, struggling, and the Shadesmen pulled him off me. “Tell them I’m Alistair Grim’s friend! Tell them I’ve been inside the
Odditorium!”

My mouth froze in terror, my heart in my throat.

“Tell them, Grubb!” the judge screamed as the Shadesmen dragged him out. “Tell them I’ve been inside! Tell them I’ve been inside!”

The Shadesmen slammed the cell door and locked me in, the judge’s screams trailing off as they dragged him down the passageway.

I ran to the door and listened. But then the slam from another door echoed loudly through the dungeon, then all was silent.

“Do not feel sad, Grubb,” the woman said after a moment. “He would have betrayed you in the end. It’ll do your conscience well to remember that.”

I grabbed hold of the porthole’s iron bars and pulled myself up. The porthole to the cell across the passageway was dark, but still I could make out the woman’s eyes staring back at
me. They were almond-shaped and sparkled with an almost feline intelligence.

“Your strength is impressive,” the woman said. “Being a chimney sweep has made you stronger than you realize. Both inside and out.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Kiyoko, and I am a prisoner here like you.”

“Do you know what’s going to happen now to Judge Hurst?”

“I suspect the prince will keep him alive until the banshee’s animus is extracted.”

“You know about Cleona?” I asked, and Kiyoko nodded. “Where is she?”

“She is resting in another part of the castle. Doing fine, from what I gather.”

“What about Mr. Grim and the others?”

“They were not brought here, but the banshee was very weak when she arrived. And so the prince must wait until she regains her strength before he can extract her animus. Do you know why he
wants her animus, Grubb?”

“The prince wants to make purple-eyed Shadesmen. His army is limited right now to the ancient legions he’s brought back from the dead with the Eye of Mars. But with the animus,
he’ll be able to mix it with the Eye’s red energy to make as many purple-eyed Shadesmen as he desires. Red and blue make purple.”

“This Mr. Grim has taught you well. I should like to meet him someday. If we ever get out of this dungeon alive.”

“How did you get here?”

“The prince captured me the same as the others.”

“Others?”

“The magical beings that serve him. Some, like the Black Fairy and the Sirens, do so willingly. While others, well…even the unwilling are forced to serve him in the end.”

“Then are you a magical being, too, Miss Kiyoko?”

“No, I am human like you, Grubb, but a fierce warrior. The prince brought me here to help him capture a spirit, but I refused. The prince needs animus from a spirit that is pure and
uncorrupted by its own selfish intentions.”

“A banshee—Cleona!”

“Yes. Banshees exist only to serve those to whom they are attached. Fortunately, the prince has been unsuccessful in capturing one—that is, until he found Cleona.”

“We’ve got to rescue her!”

“I agree, Grubb. Now that Prince Nightshade has acquired a source for his animus, he won’t have much use for you and me anymore.”

“But how shall we escape?”

“I’ve been thinking about that for ages. The prince’s fortress is impenetrable. The keys to the dungeon are kept in a room at the end of this passageway, but we have no way of
fetching them.”

Suddenly I felt a rumbling in my chummy coat.

“Mack!” I cried, and dropped to the floor.

“Mack? What is Mack?”

“Mr. Grim’s pocket watch,” I said, fishing him from my coat—when a bolt of terror shot through my body. If I opened him, Mack’s animus, unprotected by Mr.
Grim’s magic paint, would surely summon the doom dogs.

“Hang on,” I said, scanning the prison cell walls. They were painted black like the Odditorium’s. Of course! If the prince planned on using the animus—and if, as Nigel
said, the doom dogs work on their own and show allegiance to no one—then Nightshade would need to protect himself just like Mr. Grim.

“Is everything all right over there, Grubb?” Kiyoko called from her cell.

“Yes, miss,” I said, and I took a deep breath and opened Mack.

“What time is it?” he cried.

“We need your help, Mack.”

“What the—?” Mack said, spinning around in my hand. “Where are we, Grubb? This doesn’t look like the Odditorium to me.”

“We’ve been captured by Prince Nightshade. We’re in his dungeon.”

“Prince Nightshade?”

“There’s no time to explain. We need you to get us out of here!”

“We? Who’s we?”

“I’ve made a new friend in another cell. My plan is to slip you under the door so you can sneak down the passageway outside, fetch the keys, and set us free.”

“Keys?” Mack said, chuckling. “Ya silly bam. Who needs keys when you’ve got ol’ McClintock?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hold me closer to that keyhole, will ya, laddie?” I did as he requested. “A little more to the left and—ah yes, that’s it. Just as I suspected.”

And with that Mack shot a bolt of animus from his eyes into the keyhole.

The door unlocked at once.

“You did it, Mack!” I whispered—but then I saw his eyes had gone dark. “Mack,” I said, tapping his XII, and he immediately crackled to life again.

“What the
buh duh-buh
,” he moaned in a daze, his eyes fading in and out.

“Are you all right, Mack? You opened the door but then fizzled out again.”

Mack wobbled his case and shook himself until his eyes glowed normally again.

“Ach,” he said. “I forgot how much shootin’ me animus knocks me for a loop.”

“Do you think you’ve got one more in you?”

“Of course, laddie! I didn’t get to be the chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock because of me looks!”

“All right, then,” I said, cracking open the door. “But we’ve got to be quiet. When I hold you to the lock, you’ll know what to do?”

Mack wobbled his case to say yes, and I slipped my head outside. Checking both ways down the dimly lit corridor, I spied a red burning sconce at each end, as well as more cells running along the
sides of the passage.