Miss Chippendale’s smile dripped with faked concern. “Which is?”
“I’m not as fetching as I once wasss … I wouldn’t mind a little refurbishing… .”
The temporary commissioner took a long sip, studying the manifestation like it was a pinned bug. Then she leaned forward, patting Gossip’s hand. “My good, good friend, Gossip. You’ve been so helpful these last few years, I don’t want you wasting one golden wish on restoring yourself. The Black Grotto Spa seems just the ticket. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.” She smiled graciously. “Stay as long as you like. And put it all on my account.”
Gossip offered a simpering nod and recounted how Billy and Millicent trapped the commissioner with Pete’s help, and shared their new plans to contact Grim.
Miss Chippendale was silent for a moment, her brows a single ominous stroke. Then she swung her arms overhead and clapped. Two servants appeared. Bowing crisply, they lifted Gossip onto a cushion. Before there was time to offer any thanks, they had already paraded Gossip out of the temple.
“Cheers, my dear. I’m sure you’ll love every moment,” Miss Chippendale called out, and when the doors banged closed she added, “in Nevermore.”
Miss Chippendale sighed as she inspected the dazzling rings on her fingers. This boy, Billy, and that girl, Millicent: they had caused problems for the Investigative Branch before. And now it appeared they were behind Pickerel’s disappearance. If they could trap the commissioner, they could also choose to release him. Miss Chippendale had grown to like her new job far too much to let that happen.
Chapter 4
Uncle Mordecai
Billy’s first opportunity to ask Martha about her uncle came the next morning. “Oooooh, but it’s a gloomy morning. Looks like a storm’s brewing,” Martha said, sweeping open his curtains. “Certain as a nod bobs your noggin.”
Billy hesitated.
After all, one doesn’t usually ask, “Is your uncle going to die today?”— at least not first thing in the morning. Also, Billy had promised Millicent he’d wait for her. They needed a gentle way into the matter and would never dream of hurting their dear nanny’s feelings.
Martha continued around the room, picking up carelessly dropped clothing. She stopped mid-bustle and stared at Billy. “I sent you to bed clean and now you’re covered in dust.”
“Sorry, Martha, I’m afraid I had an awful nightmare. I took a little walk.”
“Oh you poor thing … I should have been up to help you. Had a sleepless night myself.” Martha plucked at Billy’s hair with a concerned squint.
A short time later, Billy, scrubbed spic-and-span, joined Millicent and Dame Biglum in the dining room. He was wearing navy blue shorts and a sailor shirt. Millicent had on a bright red corduroy jumper. The table was decked out with stacks of toast slicked gold with honey, platters of bacon, and several small mountains of pancakes.
After breakfast, Billy and Millicent looked for the right opening to ask Martha about her uncle. But it didn’t come right away. She proceeded through her day in her typical sunny manner, and the children watched, hoping for even a frown. They peered over their books during reading hour; stared at her through the deep-sea aquarium while she fed the giant squids; spied while she sprinkled Brazil nuts for the macaws in the aviary; and they dropped more than a few notes during violin lessons. They were paying more attention to the clicks of Martha’s heels than the metronome.
“Children!” Martha finally cried out. “You’re crowding me so close, it feels like I got three sets of bums in my bloomers!”
“We’ve been worried about you, Martha,” Millicent confessed. “Your poor uncle. How is he?”
Martha sighed. “Not well. Course it’s hard to feel too sad for him. None of the family can stand him.”
“He can’t be that bad.” Billy frowned. He couldn’t imagine anyone related to Martha having even the smallest flaw.
“He’s that bad and worse.” Martha nodded regretfully. “Still, he needs help. It’s a sad day when a whole family turns their back. I’m afraid, children, that’s what really got me so glum.” Martha sniffed.
Millicent glanced at Billy. “Maybe we can do something?” she suggested.
Martha’s eyes glistened. “I should have known you two dear hearts would lend a hand.”
“We should visit him straightaway, don’t you think?” Billy insisted. “It might help him feel better.”
“I suppose so, lambs.” Martha dabbed her eyes and then tucked her hanky into her sleeve. “But it won’t be pleasant, I can promise you. Sure you still want to go?”
Both children nodded.
Dame Biglum was quick to allow this visit, so Billy, Millicent, and Martha threw on their raincoats and went out into the gathering gloom.
Mr. Colter, the coachman, drew the carriage to the front of the manor. The children clambered up and wedged in next to Martha. Mr. Colter nodded to his passengers, and when his gaze got round to Martha, he blushed. Martha’s cheeks were red, too—the brightest things going on this dreary day.
Billy watched the two adults, baffled by their behavior, but Millicent wore a quiet smile.
In a half hour’s time, the carriage drove down into a small valley. Stonehamm was a most appropriate name for the rock-strewn fields and misshaped cottage.
The children followed Martha as she stepped up the fieldstone stoop. She knocked timidly on the front door, then knocked harder. When no one responded, she sighed and let them all in.
There was a secrets-closet at Stonehamm Farm cottage, as there is everywhere people call home, tucked into the shadows behind a wardrobe. Unlike the Boneses’ snug closet, here, trunks were overflowing, their documents scattered everywhere. Among the mess lay the snoring Liam Slackbones, skeleton master of this rundown outpost.
For the last few days Slackbones had been celebrating the imminent arrival of Grim and the departure of Uncle Mordecai’s soul. But most of all, he looked forward to a nice holiday without the responsibility of looking after Uncle Mordecai’s lies.
Liam Slackbones slept through the sharp knock at the front door.
The front door complained loudly as Martha and the children stepped inside.
The dark cottage smelled of wood rot. Martha’s nose wrinkled as she lit a runty candle, then lifted it high. The room contained only a few sticks of rough-hewed furniture. Flies circled the unwashed bowls overturned on the table.
The children held on to Martha’s skirts as they crossed to the bedroom door. The room contained an old wardrobe and bed—both poorly made, as if the carpenters had thrown their lumber together and fled. A few heart thumps later, they noticed a gnarled old man in bed. His eyes were closed. He held a dry bean clamped between his finger and thumb.
Martha brought the candle to her uncle’s face and gasped. “Looks like we’re too late, children. Uncle Mordecai has passed on.” She lowered the candle and her voice.
She stood, head bowed in respect, then reached down with her free hand and drew a grubby gray sheet over the old man’s body. But as she was about to cover his head, his eyes snapped open. They were yellow as runny yoke.
Martha shrieked.
“Trying to take my last bean!” His voice was gravelly as his barren fields. “I know you are. But I’ll take it to the grave with me!”
Martha whipped the candle back. Uncle Mordecai’s glare narrowed. “And you want my farm, I’m thinkin’. Well, too late for that. I’ve locked the deed away. No one gets it,” he finished, chest heaving in a rough coughing fit.
Billy frowned and stepped forward. “That’s a nasty way to talk to our Martha.”
Millicent was right behind him. “You should apologize.”
Martha gasped. The vicious light in Uncle Mordecai’s eyes bore in on Billy. Then he snapped a gnarled hand around the boy’s neck. Billy’s eyes nearly popped from his head as Uncle Mordecai dragged him toward his flinty shard of a nose. Millicent screamed and lunged forward, aiming to pry open the old man’s grip
.
Billy recoiled with shock. His bones glowed bright beneath his flesh as dark sparks danced around his body.
Uncle Mordecai’s hand dropped. His eyes rolled up. And in that instant—in the tiny gap between a tick and a tock—everything froze:
Martha’s candle locked in flickerless flame. A shout of warning stuck to her lips.
Millicent hung in the air, caught in the midst of her rush to save Billy.
Chapter 5
Shadewick Gloom
Anyone who spends time in the Afterlife is sure to see Government Hall spanning high overhead. And those who travel the length of this great corridor will notice that one end of the building looks much like the other. Light Side or Dark: polished stone floors lined with offices stretch to forever. But on the Dark Side, the lights are set lower and the heat is set much higher.
Around one particularly dark bend was the office of Shadewick Gloom. His title was Ambassador for the Department of Injustice. Which meant he was an exceedingly powerful Dark Side muckamuck.
Gloom had not always worked for the Dark Side. Not so long ago, he held high office on the Light Side. Only one other Afterlifer had ever moved to the Dark Side from the Light—the fellow who runs the place. Both had fallen from grace, but one had fallen much farther—all the way to the Lower Realms.
Higher beings rule the Afterlife from the Realms Above, but they do give a certain amount of autonomy to the Dark Side. They put lower beings in charge of Lower Realms, so they don’t have to get their hands too dirty, and there’s none as low as the big boss himself.
Shadewick’s story was not as well known.
Except by Uncle Grim.
Shadewick Gloom used to escort souls to the Hall of Reception, everyone’s first stop in the Afterlife. For years, Grim had served as Gloom’s apprentice. But Shadewick truly enjoyed his time as the Grim Reaper, far more than he was supposed to. He had collected souls before they were due, and hid them for his own dark purposes. Which is why he’d created Nevermore.
How he created the place was another matter.
Years before Shadewick Gloom had been an exceptional student at Miss Spinetip’s School for Secrets-Keeping Skeletons. Any skeleton who is anyone studies there. Uncle Grim was one of Miss Spinetip’s stars. But no one could outshine Gloom’s ability in shadow stretching.
Working with shadows has always been a specialty among skeletons. They discovered a way of opening shadows using skeleton keys. Then they stretched them to create secrets-closets—a handy way to hide from the living.
Gloom really pushed the envelope when he discovered how to weave shadows together in an endless chain, using nightmares. He kept that bit of business to himself, though, as he stitched together every shadow in the Afterlife and created Nevermore.
To get back and forth to his private world, he fabricated a spidery network of shadow tunnels. They could take him wherever he liked, so long as he remembered his key. There were only two of these extraordinary keys in the entire universe.
But Gloom’s breakthrough left him with an unquenchable thirst for nightmares, and since then he hadn’t been shy about collecting them.
This secret undertaking really took off after Commissioner Pickerel stumbled onto it. Soon, Nevermore became Pickerel’s favorite dumping ground. It was a convenient way to get rid of misfits while avoiding a complicated court system. Pickerel took great care to never let on he was working with Gloom—that would have been frowned on, indeed. Even on the Dark Side.
When Grim found out about Nevermore, he raised the alarm. Shortly after, the High Council packed Shadewick off to the Dark Side. But there he flourished even more. The Council may have stripped him of his position, but they couldn’t take his ability. And he’d been gaining in strength ever since by mastering dark powers.
In all his splendiferous Dark Side surroundings, Shadewick’s most prized possession was his bell jar collection. The glass domes contained the heads of his enemies. He displayed them proudly throughout his palace and loved examining them.
That’s what Shadewick was doing when Hammer and Tongs rounded past him and then bounded down the hall. The shadow hounds were the size of Great Danes and black as dark intentions—the same shade as the robes shrouding Shadewick Gloom.
“Curious,” he murmured, following after them, his murky cloak wafting behind.
Just then, he heard Miss Chippendale shouting. “Ohhhh, you great lummoxes. Get off!”
Shadewick entered the laboratory he affectionately called his “darkroom.” Miss Chippendale lay sprawled on the floor as the two beasts licked her with slobbering tongues. Despite her high rank, Miss Chippendale couldn’t wish herself into the Dark Side. Even if she had been able to, she didn’t fancy leaving a financial paper trail by spending a golden wish. Gloom’s web of shadowports was a cheaper way to travel, and a safer way of getting around the convoluted terrain of the Dark Side.
“Off!” Gloom snapped. The hounds backed away, tails drooping as they cowered behind their master. He helped the temporary commissioner onto her feet. “Cornelia Chippendale. This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She hastily rearranged her cloak. “A favor among professionals, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Why so formal?” He glanced sideways at the twirling shadowport from which she had emerged and then back at his roundish guest. “You obviously feel comfortable enough to let yourself in. I gather you found Pickerel’s key amongst his private papers. Were you snooping?”
Indeed Chippendale had been, the minute she suspected Pickerel was lost. She had also found many secrets along with the key. The kind of secrets one can use against one’s enemies. She tried to cover her blush with a froglike “Harrumph!” but Gloom saw her twinge.
“Now, now, nothing to feel bad about. I do like snoops. Please call me Shadewick. Or better yet, Gloomy. That’s what my nastiest friends call me.”
Miss Chippendale blanched. “I’m here strictly on business.” She glanced around suspiciously and then she pulled her hood over her head. “I prefer to make this quick. I have a proposition for you.”
Gloom folded his arms.
“How would you like your old position back?”
Shadewick Gloom frowned. “I can only think of two things that would stand in the way of that. One is the Moral Authority’s High Council.”
“No worries there. As head of the Investigative Branch, I can take care of them.”
Shadewick circled around her, rubbing his fingertips together. “My goodness, you’ve grown powerful. The other obstacle would be my old apprentice, Grim Bones.”
Miss Chippendale’s smile was thin as a sliver. “There you have it. You get rid of him, and you will have your full rank back, plus all those other benefits you’re hungry for. I shall be glad to look the other way, so long as you’re discreet.”
Shadewick chuckled. “Well, hasn’t this day turned ducky!”
“Uhm, there are only two other tiny matters beyond taking care of Grim Bones.” Miss Chippendale clasped her hands behind her back.
Again, Gloom waited.
Chippendale’s effort at a casual smile shook her double chins. “I need two children brought over to the Afterlife. You can do whatever you’d like with them, so long as they disappear.”
Chapter 6
A Departing Soul
Time had stopped.
Billy knew only one hand that held that kind of power: Uncle Grim’s. He’d been granted that ability to help him with the impossible task of being in too many places in too short a time.
Suspended seconds later, a stallion with a starlight mane galloped through the tumble-down cottage wall. It was Fleggs, and the heroic skeleton sitting astride was Uncle Grim. The skeleton reined the horse to a stop. He wore his usual Cloak of Doom, and the grin of an uncle very happy to see his nephew. Grim’s bones danced with the same blue glow and black sparks of energy that had lit Billy up moments before.
As he dismounted, he said, “My boy, it’s so good t
o see you—quite unexpected, though.” Grim clapped a black-gloved hand on Billy’s shoulder. “You’re looking very healthy.” His eyes crinkled in a deeper smile.
Martha and Millicent were bathed in the glow that danced between Billy and his uncle. The plan worked, Billy thought, but Millicent’s going to fuss about missing the excitement.
Uncle Grim reached around Billy to pluck a dim orb out of Mordecai’s chest. Most souls glow with color, but this one was drab as sandstone. Grim flicked the ball into the air, transforming it into a ghostly version of the old man. But before it floated back down to the bed, Billy started in, “I trapped Pickerel. He’s in the magical vase. Now they’re after Pete and maybe Millicent’s parents, and —”
“Slow down, my boy. I can keep time stopped—there’s no hurry.” Interlocking his fingers at his waist, he gave Billy his full attention.
Billy led Grim through the story, one tangle at a time. When he was finished, Grim’s expression matched his name. “I’m afraid we’ll have to sort this out straightaway. Too many Afterlifers are paying for Pickerel’s disappearance.”
Billy looked away.
With a gentle caress to the chin, Grim turned Billy’s head to face him. “Don’t worry, you did right to trap Pickerel, and you’re doing right by telling me now.” He guided the boy away from the bed. “The best thing to do would be to tell my boss, Oversecretary Underhill. He’s a member of the Moral Authority’s High Council.”
Seeming to remember why he’d come in the first place, Grim glanced over his shoulder. Mordecai’s spirit had gotten out of bed and was drifting across the room. “Oh bother,” muttered Grim. Dark sparks of eternal energy trailed off his twirling finger, and an iridescent circle opened in the air. Grim floated the ghost toward the hole. Gripping the tunnel’s edge, the old man grumpily dropped through. The hole closed with a small burp as if it had digested something unsavory.
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