Alistair Grim's Odditorium (5 page)

“Blind me!” she said. “You mean to tell me you’re here by
accident
? A stowaway chimney sweep?”

I was about to reply, when I noticed the dimly lit room for the first time. The floors and walls were black, but at the same time glistened like polished coal. There were strange pipes of all
shapes and sizes running everywhere, as well as curtains of purple and red velvet draped from floor to ceiling. The trunk had been set down at the edge of a fancy rug, and the furnishings, peppered
about with knobs of silver and brass, were finer than anything I’d ever seen on jobs with Mr. Smears. There were statues and vases and all sorts of objects of which I didn’t know the
names. And at the center of it all, a grand four-poster bed. This, too, was draped in red and purple velvet, and emblazoned on the headboard, just like on the door to the coach, was a large silver
letter
G
.

“Well?” Mrs. Pinch demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

It was then that, glancing at the bed, I spied Mrs. Pinch’s spectacles wedged between the coverlet and the bedpost.

“Spectacles,” was all I could manage.

“Come again?” said Mrs. Pinch, squinting, upon which I reached out and gingerly retrieved them with my pinky finger.

“Humph,” said Mrs. Pinch, snatching the spectacles from my hand. But once she slipped them on and saw how dirty I was, she opened her eyes wide and screamed.

“My apologies, ma’am.” I closed my eyes and braced myself for the flurry of blows that I was sure would follow.

“Chin up, lad,” Mrs. Pinch said after a moment. “A good thrashing is the least of what you need to fear here.”

I opened my eyes to find the old woman standing before me with her broom tucked beneath her arm like a musket, the handle aimed straight at my heart.

“Now listen carefully,” she began. “You’re to step out of that trunk and march straight for the door. Once you’re in the hallway, you’re to turn left and keep
marching until I tell you to stop. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re to keep your eyes straight ahead at all times. No peeking or ogling about, but straight ahead
at all times
no matter what. You hear me, lad?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you best mind my instructions, or blind me if you don’t feel my broomstick on your bottom. Now march!”

And so I hopped from the trunk, turned left at the door, and set off down the hallway. Mrs. Pinch followed close behind, the tip of her broomstick lodged in the small of my back as if I were her
prisoner. And I did try to obey her instructions, I truly did…but out of the corners of my eyes I couldn’t help but notice a number of peculiarities.

The walls appeared to be of the same polished black as Mr. G’s chambers, but they were lined with ornate sconces that burned with an eerie blue flame. Between some of the sconces were
doors; between others hung large, gilded portraits that reminded me of ones I’d seen on jobs with Mr. Smears.

However, unlike the portraits in the manor houses, someone had marred the subjects with a bunch of swirly chalk mustaches. Even worse, on a portrait of a grim-faced little boy, someone had
written:
A.G. has a spotty bottom!

“That’s far enough,” said Mrs. Pinch. We’d come to a large, oaken door at the end of the hallway. The old woman scooted around me to give the brass handle a twist, and
the door opened to reveal an iron gate behind it. Mrs. Pinch slid the gate sideways with a clang, and then scooted behind me with her broomstick at my back.

“Inside,” she commanded.

The narrow chamber into which I’d stepped resembled a jail cell, the walls from top to bottom made of long iron bars. The cell itself appeared to be suspended inside a vast chimney, and as
Mrs. Pinch closed the door and the gate behind me, I discovered the same eerie blue light shining down on me from higher up the shaft.

“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Pinch. “You may turn around now.”

As I did, the housekeeper shifted a large lever, which in turn set off the same cranking noise I’d heard earlier on my trip with Nigel. However, instead of moving upward, this time we were
moving down!

Mrs. Pinch must have mistaken the expression of amazement on my sooty face for one of fear, for she stared down her nose at me and said, “Come, come now. It’s only a mechanical lift.
Surely you’ve seen something of the sort in your line of work.”

“Only when they sank a down-shaft in the coal mines, ma’am,” I replied. “And that lift had to be cranked by a pair of blokes, each one bigger than Mr. Smears!”

“Well, we won’t be traveling far down as any coal mines. Although blind me if I shouldn’t just move the master’s bed down here, what with his nose always buried in his
books.”

The lift came to a stop, and Mrs. Pinch ushered me into a small parlor.

“Although you deposited most of your soot on the master’s clothes,” she said, pointing her broomstick again at my heart, “you’ll stand here by the hearth without
touching anything until the master says you may enter. That is,
if
he says you may enter. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Once I introduce you, don’t speak unless spoken to. Be sure to speak clearly and to the point, and do not say anything casual, obvious, or irrelevant.”

“Irr-
elephant
, ma’am?”

“The master is a very proper man,” the old woman said, ignoring me. “And while he’s very fond of children, you’ll do well to at least pretend you have some breeding
in you. So let’s start with that spine of yours and leave off slouching!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and stood up straight as a pencil.

“Very well, then.” Mrs. Pinch made to leave, but then stopped short of the door. “It just occurred to me. To whom shall I say the master is being introduced?”

“Grubb, ma’am.”

“Grubb?”

“Yes, ma’am. No first or last name, just Grubb. Spelled like the worm but with a double
b
. In case the master would like to write it down.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Pinch, her wrinkles softening. “And judging from the tale you told me upstairs, I assume it was Mr. Smears who bestowed this title upon you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Or so his wife told me, ma’am.”

“And how old are you, lad?”

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.”

“Humph,” said Mrs. Pinch, looking me up and down. “To the untrained eye, your small stature and malnourished frame would suggest a boy of nine or ten. However, judging from
your tale, I would guess your age to be twelve or thereabouts. So twelve or thereabouts is what I’ll tell the master.”

And with that Mrs. Pinch disappeared through a pair of pocket doors at the far end of the parlor. Gazing around, other than the coal-black walls and eerie blue light, to my eyes the parlor
appeared no different than others I’d seen on jobs with Mr. Smears. However, stepping out from the hearth, above the mantel I spied a life-size portrait of a lady that, unlike the portraits
upstairs, had not been defaced.

The lady’s hair was black and done up beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and she was dressed in a flowing black gown. She sat at a dressing table with a silver-handled mirror in her hand, as if
she were admiring the large, blue-stoned necklace that hung about her neck. But her black eyes seemed to stare past the mirror with an expression of deep sadness. I thought this odd at the time,
but I also thought the woman to be the most beautiful I’d ever seen.

Presently I heard muffled voices coming from the next room, and I stepped back onto the hearth and stood up straight. I tried hard to hear what the voices were saying, but when I could make
nothing out, I began to go over Mrs. Pinch’s instructions again in my head. I so badly wanted to make a good impression.

But little did I know that nothing could have prepared me for what was waiting beyond the door.

T
he master will see you now,” said Mrs. Pinch, standing in the doorway. But as I made to pass her, she held me back by the shoulder and
whispered, “Not so fast, lad. Remember what I told you.”

We stood at the entrance to an enormous library. Books filled the walls from floor to ceiling—ceilings so high that rolling ladders had to be used to reach the upper shelves. More books
lay tossed about on the furniture, while others were stacked on the floor as high as my head.

As in the upstairs chamber, there were statues and vases and curtains of purple and red velvet, but also clocks and swords and other weapons that I couldn’t name. To my right I spied a
large hearth with a pair of plush armchairs; above the mantel, a fierce-looking lion’s head with glowing red eyes. The remainder of this wall was taken up by more bookshelves, some containing
mechanical objects the likes of which I’d never seen.

“Master Grubb,” Mrs. Pinch announced, pushing me forward with her broomstick. “Twelve years old or thereabouts and very dirty, sir.”

As I stepped into the middle of the room, I noticed for the first time a large desk behind the stacks of books on the floor. On top of the desk were more books and mechanical objects, as well as
a large lamp burning with the same eerie blue light.

“You may leave us now,” said Mr. G, unseen behind the books on his desk.

“Very well, sir,” said Mrs. Pinch.

And with that I heard the pocket doors close behind me.

“Now then,” Mr. G began. “From the brief account given me by Mrs. Pinch, I take it you’ve had quite a journey. You’ll find a pitcher and a goblet on the table there
beside you. Please pour yourself some water and drink.”

I hesitated. The pitcher and goblet were finer than any I’d ever touched.

“No need to stand on ceremony, Master Grubb. You’re welcome to it.”

As I drained my goblet, I searched unsuccessfully for Mr. G between the books on his desk. On the wall behind him, however, I spied a wide row of polished steel pipes running from the floor to
the ceiling. These were bookended on either side by oaken doors, which in turn were bookended by a pair of knights. Each wore a red, bell-shaped helmet with a horned crest and a scowling black face
mask. Their body armor was painted to match, but was plated in such a manner that they looked like a quartet of big red beetles standing on their hind legs.

“Ah, you’ve noticed my samurai,” said Mr. G. “Just a little something I acquired in my travels. They stand guard in case any busybodies try to get inside from the
balcony. The pair behind you is merely a second line of defense.”

I glanced round at the pocket doors and discovered two more suits of armor behind me, each holding a long spear.

“The samurai are from Japan and are considered amongst the fiercest warriors in the world. Congratulations, Master Grubb. You are the first person to have ever gotten past them
alive.”

I swallowed hard, and the ticking of Mr. G’s many clocks seemed to grow louder.

“So, you’re the troublemaker from the Lamb’s Inn, eh? The lad about whom the owner and that chap with the scar were making all that fuss?”

“Yes, sir,” I said guiltily.

“And am I correct in concluding that you slipped into my trunk during their pursuit of you? Perhaps only moments before our departure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“An intriguing turn of events,” said Mr. G, more to himself than to me. “Tell me, Master Grubb, at any point between your departure from the Lamb and your arrival here, did you
happen to peek out from your hiding place?”