Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl and the Dungeon of Despair (9780989878531) (16 page)

In the nights that followed, Tudwal was at first a little timid about the dungeon. The immortal puppy stayed close to Key, following her everywhere, always looking up at her, to see what she was doing. He would sleep in her coffin during the day, lying curled up on her chest. And he would stay up all night, barking and yipping and playing, like any good puppy, yet never changing, always staying the same puppy size with the same puppy playfulness.

Key dungeon-trained him, she played fetch with him, and she even taught him some tricks. Tudwal’s favorite games were jumping ten feet in the air, barking loud enough to shatter stone, and crawling on the ceiling.

But Tudwal was not a werewolf, as the word
were-
in werewolf means
man
, and Tudwal was not a man, but a puppy. Winifred the Witch Wolf had made him a puppy-wolf, an immortal who would stay the same puppy size for the rest of his life. Yet while most werewolves changed from person to wolf under a full moon, Tudwal the immortal puppy-wolf was different because Winifred was half werewolf. So Tudwal would only change from puppy to wolf during the
half-moon
.

His change was very impressive. He did not merely change into a wolf. He changed from a puppy into a twelve-foot tall wolf-monster, walking on thick hind legs, with shoulders as wide as his height, foot-long fangs, and paws with claws larger than Key’s head.

The only thing that did not change was his puppy playfulness. Tudwal the Wolf loved to play fetch. He loved to play Hide and Seek. He loved it when he and Key chased each other across the dungeon ceiling.

The only creatures who showed no respect for Tudwal the Wolf were the Toags – as Toags respect nothing. And Tudwal the Wolf soon became their worst victim. Every half-moon, the Toags took a break from not cleaning the dungeon to clamber all over this twelve-foot tall wolf-monster, to mercilessly tickle him with their purple turkey wattles.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE —

Explosions in the Dungeon

Key and Tudwal lived together in the dungeon for the next one hundred fifty years. To Key, Despair seemed less lonely now that she and Tudwal did everything together. Pega was always with them too, never talking to Key, but always cleaning up behind them, especially Tudwal, whom she was constantly reprimanding for being “too puppyish!” she’d exclaim.

When he turned ten years old, Pega would say, “You’re older than most dogs, so stop being such a puppy!” And when he turned one hundred ten years old, even if he had transformed into a wolf, Pega would still say, “You’re the oldest puppy that’s ever lived and died and become a half wolf. When are you going to stop being so puppyish?” He never did; Tudwal was, after all, an
immortal puppy
.

One night, Key gathered glowing berries and glowing petals from the glowing plants, and she crushed them into glowing inks, making glowing colors like red and blue and yellow. Then she cleared away vines from one dungeon wall and she drew on it with the inks she had made. Some pictures were of her mom and dad; some pictures were of Miss Broomble, Pega, and Tudwal; and one dark picture was of Margrave Snick. Key asked Pega to draw on the dungeon walls also, but Pega feared being in trouble with Old Queen Crinkle a little less than she feared making a mess. However, after Key begged and pleaded with her to attempt at least one drawing, Pega finally relented, and drew a picture of herself, so that her Mistress might know what her maidservant looked like. And so, with her invisible ghostly fingers reluctantly dipping into the glowing inks, Pega drew the image of a round woman in servant’s clothes. Unfortunately, not long after this, Tudwal, thinking this was all a game, walked through the red glowing ink, then walked up the walls and across Pega’s drawing, right before scurrying across the ceiling and leaving glowing red paw prints everywhere. Key had never heard Pega scream so furiously.

In time, Key’s two hundred fifty-ninth birth-night came and went. So did her two hundred ninety-ninth, along with her three hundred nineteenth, her three hundred twenty-ninth, her three hundred thirty-ninth, and her three hundred forty-ninth birth-night. And in all that time, Key grew older, but she never grew up.

Finally Key turned three hundred fifty nine years old as a vampire, and as an immortal who could not escape living at the bottom of Despair. Yet this was the birth-night she had been hoping for. This was the night Old Queen Crinkle would turn seven hundred seventy seven. This was the night Mr. Fuddlebee would return. This was the night that the Hand of DIOS would take away the Queen’s vampire power and make her mortal again. This was the night Key might be released from prison. This was the night she might be free from Despair.

That evening the sun set the way it always did. Vampires began rising from their coffins the way they usually did. Tudwal licked Key’s face the way he usually did.

But then there was a terrible explosion, which made dust drizzle down from the ceiling.

Key sat up in her coffin with a start and she looked desperately around in search of what could have caused it, wondering if it was a Grimbuggle or a Toag, or maybe Warhag had finally begun her war.

More explosions shook the castle, and the dungeon rocked as if struck by an earthquake.

Tudwal leaped from the coffin, scuttled over to the dungeon wall, and barked up at the small window.

Melancholy Moat started leaking through the dungeon walls. Pitch-black water pooled on the ground like oil.

Ghost servants hurried to plug up the leaks in the walls, bringing whatever they could find to stuff into the holes and mop up the floor. There were of course the usual mops and buckets; yet there were also things like candlesticks and cabbages, sealing wax and thimbles and stockings and balls of string.

Another explosion shook the castle even harder.

Melancholy Moat’s black water now poured in even faster. The moat water drowned the glowing flowers. It washed away the vines. It destroyed the garden that Key had made out of her dungeon.

But Tudwal was having a wonderful time, springing between the leaks and the rushing water, barking and yipping merrily while Pega kept nervously chiding him, “You’re one hundred fifty years old; this is no time to act so puppyish!”

Tudwal leaped back into the coffin and shook the moat water from his coat, drenching Key in its foul blackness.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, as the water had a sharp odor of rotting eggs and marmalade.

Another terrible explosion shook the castle.

A huge hole burst through the dungeon wall. Looking through it, Key could see the wide dark world of a thriving city in an underground cave, yet filled with tombs and crypts and barrows and graveyards.

“The Necropolis,” Key whispered in an awestruck tone. Through her prison window, she had barely been able to see it during her long stay in the dungeon. The last time she’d had such a clear view of it was with Mr. Fuddlebee, on the night he brought her to this horrible place. And now that she was seeing it again so freely after all these years, she almost couldn’t quite believe the sheer scope and scale of the City of the Dead.

However, before she could think on this further, Key then glimpsed the thick legs of a giant standing on the other side of her dungeon wall. After having lived in the Society of Mystical Creatures for so long (if you can say she
lived)
, Key was less surprised at seeing a giant than she was at seeing how one of his giant legs was flesh and bone while the other leg was robotic.

Right before another explosion shook the castle, Key noticed the giant’s legs move. And she began to understand what was happening. “It’s the giant,” she said to Tudwal. “The giant is striking the castle.”

With that last strike from the giant’s fury, there followed another explosion. Melancholy Moat came rushing into the dungeon like a wild river. The black water snatched up Key’s coffin and sailed her from one side of her cell to the other.

The coffin banged against the dungeon walls. Key hugged Tudwal close. She looked into the black water and she feared leaping into it, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to molten glurp. But soon Key would have no choice. The water was beating her coffin so badly against the dungeon walls that it might break apart at any moment.

So, hesitantly, Key, preferring to leap into the water than to sink with her coffin, stood up in it, balanced, and took a deep breath, preparing to take that awful step into the flood.

But right before she did, Mr. Fuddlebee floated down from the ceiling. “Good evening, my dear,” he said to Key in his calm, soft, elderly voice. “I hope you’re not considering a plunge into that ghastly water.”

Key had not heard Mr. Fuddlebee’s voice in centuries, not since she was made a vampire, not since she had lost her mom and dad, not since Mr. Fuddlebee had brought her to the Necropolis Castle where she had to live in the Dungeon of Despair. And as she looked at him now, Key saw that Mr. Fuddlebee had not aged a night. He still looked exactly the same.

Floating over the old stone stairs that led up to the castle, the elderly ghost was still wearing his three-piece pinstriped suit, his dark rectangular spectacles, his bright bowtie, his bowler hat with goggles around the rim, and a dandelion pinned to his lapel.

Mr. Fuddlebee gestured for Key to come to him. “Perhaps you should consider leaping to safety,” he said. “I fear that the Kraken might have swum into the dungeon by now. His name is Killjoy, by the way, although some just call him Dennis.”

Tudwal stood on Key’s lap. He placed his front paws on the edge of the coffin and he began barking wildly at the elderly ghost.

Mr. Fuddlebee, gripping the handle of his umbrella as if it were a cane, stared at Tudwal in a look of shock and confusion. But then a moment later, he covered his mouth to hide an embarrassed smile. “Why yes,” he chuckled at Tudwal, “this is a new umbrella. Thank you for asking.”

A sudden surge of anger overcame Key. She felt like she wanted to blame someone for all her misery in Despair, and right at that moment, seeing Mr. Fuddlebee again, she felt as though all of this was his fault. In her heart of hearts, Key knew this wasn’t true. But she was looking to lay blame, not to acknowledge the truth, even though she wanted to know the answer to a question that could provide the truth: “Why?” she demanded. Why had he come to her house? Why had he abandoned her to this place? Why did she have to suffer so much? Why did she have to be so lonely for so long? “Why should I trust you?” Key shouted, staring fiercely at the elderly ghost.

Mr. Fuddlebee looked with compassion into Key’s eyes. He was calm and patient. He was without fear and anger. “Yes,” he said, “this is all my fault.”

His response surprised Key. She had expected him to make excuses, to argue, to insist that he was right. She had expected him to behave like a Necropolis Vampire, acting selfish and cruel.

Neither selfish nor cruel, Mr. Fuddlebee was not someone who met other people’s expectations, but surpassed them, as he did so now with Key, for she was completely surprised that he was not surprised or alarmed by her anger towards him.

Yet Key was even more surprised when, from behind the elderly ghost, appeared Miss Broomble. “Don’t blame him,” the witch said. “This is all my fault.”

Key blinked with a bewildered expression, feeling more shocked than ever!

Miss Broomble was dressed like a warrior. Her long curly black hair was tied back. Covering her mouth and nose was a half-mask made of old brass. Over her chest and arms were plates of thick metal. Over her hands were gauntlets of copper and leather. Rising from behind her shoulders were two pewter smokestacks with steam billowing from them. Cogwheels ran from her shoulders down her arms. And over her heart was a seven-sided hole with bright blue light shining out.

Miss Broomble pressed a button on the side of her half-mask. Its old brass plates folded away. “I have been your friend for over one hundred years,” she said to Key, “but I never helped free you from this dungeon. I never helped free you from Despair. I wanted to do so, but I could not. It’s been eating away at me. I am so sorry, child.”

“As am I,” Mr. Fuddlebee added.

Key would not blame Miss Broomble since the witch became one of her dearest friends. No, her urge was to blame Mr. Fuddlebee. “You knew I’ve been locked in this dungeon all these years,” Key said, glowering at the elderly ghost, “yet you did not help me from Despair.”

“My dear,” Mr. Fuddlebee replied calmly, “I know that this is difficult to believe, but the Dungeon of Despair was the best home you could have had. The day I brought you here was the saddest of my afterlife, as I knew you would be poorly treated. However, alternative vampire homes would have been worse. Much worse.”

A shiver ran through his ghostly form.

“We could have sent you to the Vampire Mafia of Chicago,” he continued. “They would have entombed you in cement and dropped you in Lake Michigan. We could have sent you to the Vampire Gang of Brooklyn. They would have eaten you alive, figuratively and literally, and not necessarily in that order.”

Mr. Fuddlebee floated out over the black water, closer to Key.

“We could have sent you to the Orphanage for Mostly Mad Vampires,” he continued, “or to the Vampire Asylum in Biloxi, or to the Vampire Academy in Opelousas. We could have sent you to any number of places, even high school. In the end, Despair was where you had to be. It has given you the least amount of suffering and the most amount of knowledge.”

Pain stabbed Key’s heart. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What kind of knowledge has Despair given me?” she demanded.

Mr. Fuddlebee floated closer to her. “You now possess a greater knowledge about who you really are, my dear. You had to suffer what you have suffered now. So that, later, you will become the vampire I have come to know as a friend. Believe me, I know it’s all so confusing at the moment, but it will, I promise, make sense in time. Then you will explain it better to me than I have explained it to you. You have not yet learned everything about your
self.”

Key felt more confused than ever. How could she be a friend of this elderly ghost? She had only met him once before. Yet he was speaking with her as though he had known her for years. “What’s going on?” she asked herself.