Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl and the Dungeon of Despair (9780989878531) (11 page)

Now in the palm of Key’s hand, the circular device was no bigger than a large, thick coin. Turning it over, Key saw more swirling lines, like curlicue symbols, and she got the impression that it was some sort of strange language. But as she studied the back of the device more closely, she actually did see words engraved in beautiful gold lettering:
The GadgetTronic Brothers, Est. ∞
.

“What is this?” Key asked, holding the device toward Future Key.

“It’s called,” Future Key said, “a Crinomatic.”

“It makes clothes?” Key asked.

“You’ll see,” Future Key replied with a cheeky grin as she leaned forward and lightly touched the sapphire in the center of the Crinomatic.

The device suddenly opened, like a compact mirror, and a bright white light shone out from within. The light completely surrounded Key, reminding her of the way the light from the Hand of DIOS had shone from between Mr. Fuddlebee’s fingers and surrounded her on her ninth birthday. If anyone in the dungeon could have seen Key at that moment, the light now radiating out from the open Crinomatic would have blinded them briefly. Not even Key could escape this temporary blindness, although the light did allow her to watch while her clothes marvelously changed.

She was enthralled watching her old birthday dress suddenly scatter in a swirl of ashes, right before it was funneled directly into the Crinomatic. Next, out from the small device came teeny-tiny robotic creatures, each one as small as a drop of mist. Key’s very acute vampire sight observed that they bore a striking resemblance to tiny black widow spiders. She knew that normal black widows have a red hourglass shape on their backs, but these robotic spiders had instead only one word, which was much, much smaller than the spiders, so much smaller in fact that she had to narrow her eyes just to read it.

“Gossamingles,” she read aloud.

She understood then that Gossamingles must be what these tiny robotic spiders were called. And as Key tried to study them a little more closely, one soared right past her nose, and she happened to read more words underneath its black abdomen:
The GadgetTronic Brothers, Est. ∞
.

Before Key could look for any more writing on the tiny robotic spiders, the Gossamingles gathered all over her body, tickling her from head to foot so much that she could not stop laughing. It felt good to laugh again; she hadn’t done so in a long time.

Then the Gossamingles linked themselves together like thread as they wove themselves into new clothes. They coordinated the color of their metallic skin to appear pleasing. Perhaps the most amazing part of it all was that they did all this in mere seconds. When they finished weaving themselves into Key’s new outfit, the Gossamingles fell fast asleep. And if Key listened hard enough, she could just barely hear them snoring like sleeping children.

Key studied her new clothes. They were wonderful! She had never worn clothes that fit her so perfectly. They were like nothing she had ever seen before. She was now wearing a dove gray jacket, white shirt, black gloves, leather corset, leather boots, and black and white striped pants.

Also, little copper gizmos were strapped all over her clothing, with wiring sticking out every which way. Strapped to her sleeves were pewter plates with switches. Fastened to her boots were brass boxes and buttons. Affixed to her corset were three gauges. Above one gauge were the words
Body Temperature Regulator
. Above another gauge were the words
Boredom Driver-Outer
. Above another gauge was the word
Custard
.

The Gossamingles had even woven themselves together under her shackles, as her ankle was still chained to the wall, which saddened Key a little, even though she was so delighted with these new clothes. They may have fit quite comfortably, but she was still a prisoner in Despair.

Key looked up for Future Key, to thank her immensely, but Future Key was nowhere to be seen. “Wait,” Key called out into the darkness of Despair, suddenly thinking of a very important question. “What happened to mom and dad’s gift? What happened to my – I mean,
our
birthday dress?”

An answer came back to her, sounding like an echo among leaves rustling in a breeze, and it was Future Key’s voice speaking in this strange echo, very faintly, as if she was responding from far, far away. “Don’t worry,” were her parting words to Key. “The dress is stored safely in the Crinomatic’s core processor. Besides, mom and dad’s last gift wasn’t their best.”

For the first time in their peculiar conversation, Key heartily disagreed with Future Key. Although she had no idea what a
core processor
was, her birthday dress was very important to her; she didn’t want to lose it now. It had been with her for so long, and she had preserved it as best as she could from fire, from dirt, from drippy Snuckle Truffles, that she truly believed her dress was indeed the best gift she ever received from her mom and dad.

Yet as was the case throughout the whole conversation, Future Key already knew what Key was thinking in her heart, and she called back now in that far off voice, “You, Key, are the best gift mom and dad gave the world.”

And then Future Key was gone for the present, leaving Key with something new to wear, and something newer to think about.

Then that moment became unfrozen and time started moving onward again. Zombie steeds started charging again and Goblins started protesting again. Trolls started tripping again and Poltergeists started scaring again. And Partly Dead Brownie Folk, carrying a box of one hundred delicious Snuckle Truffles, started celebrating again, singing to Key, “Happy Birth-night to you! Happy Birth-night to you!”

— CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

Pega the Ghost Maid

Each morning before Key fell asleep, the Gossamingles returned to the Crinomatic, and a new group poured out, covering her all over in a thick nightgown, and keeping her very warm during the day while she slept. And each evening after Key rose from sleep, the Gossamingles returned to the Crinomatic while another new group poured out, to wrap her up in a fresh new outfit.

No two outfits were ever the same, although some looked a little similar, while each was always new and exciting. Some nights the Gossamingles wove around Key and shaped into a dress with frills and lace. Some mornings they wove together into a nightgown as thick as a mattress. Some nights they wove together into an outfit of brown leather and brass. Some mornings they wove together into a nightgown as cozy as a down comforter. Key never worried about what outfit the Gossamingles wove into. They seemed to know her inside and out, so they always wove into clothing and gadgets that she thought were absolutely gorgeous!

Now, it cannot be said that there has never been a ghost who was never kind or compassionate, because I know one or two who could readily show you otherwise. Key would back me up! For, as she was still sleeping on the hard dungeon floor, and as her new clothes became completely filthy in no time, a ghost servant did indeed show her more kindness than one in a thousand Necropolis vampires ever did.

Key could not see this ghost servant because it would not break castle rules. It would not appear before her; it would not speak with her. Nevertheless, the ghost began doing little works for Key that a maid might have done, such as sprucing up the dungeon, brushing Key’s hair, wiping grime away from her cheeks and nose, and bringing her leftover blood treats from the kitchen – “because one can’t live on chocolaty blood alone,” Key thought to herself rather wryly, referring of course to those delicious Snuckle Truffles that she had almost every night. The ghost servant even brought Key a used coffin to sleep in, which was padded in plush pillows wrapped in satin. After her first day in that coffin, Key awoke feeling as though she had never had a better day’s sleep. And she was exceedingly glad and grateful for the ghost’s kindness to her.

It was in the ghost’s random acts of kindness that Key began to remember how, when Warhag had dropped her little book just out of reach, something had made that book move closer to Key’s hand. At that time, Key believed it was a ghost servant who had done this. And now she started to wonder if the ghost doing these acts of kindness now was the same ghost that did that act of kindness then. Key believed it was, and she tried to thank the ghost several times, but the ghost servant still refused to break castle rules by appearing or speaking.

“What’s your name?” Key often asked, thinking that it was rude of her to call this ghost merely “Ghost.” She hoped the ghost would at least speak her name, because that would help Key know it a little bit better – whether the ghost had been in life a man or woman, or perhaps a boy or girl. Or perhaps it was the ghost of a fairy or an elf, or the ghost of a kind ogre or a goblin. But no matter how much Key asked, the ghost would not utter a word.

Sometimes other ghosts joined in to help clean up the dungeon – since the Toags absolutely refused to do the work, or any work for that matter. So now all sorts of odds and ends started floating around Key, things like hairbrushes and hand mirrors, bowls and buttons and boots, lace and spoons and rings and spices and compasses and cameos, and more and more and more.

Key could often hear ghost servants singing in voices that were as soft and low as a warm, gentle wind. The ghosts always sang the same song – a song that Key came to call, “The Song of the Castle Servants,” which went something like this:

We have no idea what we’ll clean

When we clean this castle up.

We might sweep up the Doomsley Spleen

Or the Perilous Blood Crucker Cup.

We might scour all night.

We might shine every boot.

We might have a great fright

Before the Great Grim Newt.

We might polish the brass.

We might mop away mud.

We might float very fast

From the Ravenous Flower Bud.

We might scrub the tubs.

We might beat the great rug.

We might hide behind shrubs

Before the Hideous Crumbly Pug.

We might wax the floors.

We might wash the walls.

We might peek around doors

For the Monstrous Murblemaul.

We might buff the big cars.

We might launder the cloaks.

We might get lost at The Odd Bazaar

And meet the cruel Meansly Chokes

We’re ghosts, not fools.

If there’s danger, we’ll flee.

We’re servants and tools.

Wouldn’t you agree?

One night, Key’s Crinomatic fashioned for her a lovely pair of thick black boots, a black sleeveless shirt, brown and black striped pants, and fingerless evening gloves with matching brown and black stripes. The Gossamingles then wove themselves into goggles with multiple lenses that could easily spy the sneaky approach of any Toag or Grimbuggle Bedbug.

The ghost servant who had been showing Key so much kindness was now weaving beautiful braids in Key’s hair. After that, the ghost brought Key a goblet brimming with strawberry blood nectar. Key thought it was absolutely delicious and she drank every drop.

“Thank you,” Key said, gulping down the delightful drink. But right at that moment, saying “Thank you” was not enough for Key, for she was overcome by an urge to say more, to express her complete gratitude for the ghost. So she tried yet again to coax the ghost to at least say her name. “A conversation with the ghost would be grand,” Key said to herself, hoping for more, yet happy to settle for at least a name, as with the sharing of a name, friendship usually follows thereafter. So Key cleared her throat and spoke in a controlled voice. “I know castle rules forbid you to speak with me. And I know you can’t tell me who you are. But I have been calling you ‘Ghost’ for a long time now, and I would very much like to call you by your name.”

The ghost servant, having observed that Key had finished her strawberry blood nectar, had picked up the goblet to bring it back to the kitchen; but when the ghost heard Key’s very good-natured request, something magical must have happened inside its transparent heart – something as magical as courage – because the goblet paused, floating in midair, as if in indecision about a very difficult choice.

“Do you have a name?” Key asked the ghost.

The goblet remained floating in the air. The ghost did not speak.

“I think you’re a female ghost,” Key suggested.

The goblet nodded.

“You must be a maid.”

The goblet nodded again.

“How long have you been here?”

The ghost’s invisible fingers flicked the goblet and its bowl sounded like a little bell, chiming twice.

“Does that mean you’ve been here for two years?” Key asked.

The goblet swirled through the air.

Key supposed that this was an indication for her to count higher. “Twenty years?” she now ventured to guess.

The goblet swirled faster and wider, indicating to Key that she should count higher still.

“Two hundred years?” Key now guessed, half in disbelief.

The goblet chimed again.
“Correct!”
it seemed to say.

Key was astonished. “You’ve lived in this place for two hundred years. Goodness! That is a long time to be invisible.”

The goblet nodded, a little sorrowfully it seemed.

“That’s a long time not to talk with anyone,” Key said.

The goblet nodded again, a little slower this time, and a little sadder it seemed, too.

“I’d like to try guessing your name,” Key said. “Chime the goblet once if I am close. Don’t chime at all if I’m not close.”

The goblet chimed once for Key, as if to say,
“All right, I’m in.”

“All right,” Key said, “let’s begin.”

Key thought for a moment, tapping her finger over her mouth, running through her head all the names she could think of, all those she knew when she was mortal, all those she knew as an immortal, which mostly came from Wanda Wickery’s little book. And so after a long tense moment, she at last guessed, “I believe your name is Lunet. She was the first ghost buried in the Old Catacombs.” After she said this, Key guessed that the ghost servant perhaps knew that already.