Alistair Grim's Odditorium

by Gregory Funaro

  “Oooh!” Gwendolyn said, and Mr. Grim flicked off his talkback.

  “Oooh, indeed,” he said to me. “Never met a fairy who didn’t like chocolate.”

  I was just about to ask if Cleona was a fairy too, but then Lord Dreary called out, “Alistair! Where the devil are you, Alistair Grim?”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr. Grim, and I followed him into the library to find Lord Dreary, still in his samurai helmet, entering with Mrs. Pinch.

  “Great poppycock!” the old man shouted. “Would you mind telling me what in blazes all that was about?”

  “What in blazes was what all about?”

  Lord Dreary pointed frantically at the balcony. “That! Out there!”

  “Just an interdimensional space jump. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

  “A what?”

  Mr. Grim crossed to the table that held the pitcher and silver goblets.

  “Mrs. Pinch,” he said, righting one of the goblets, “after you take Gwendolyn her chocolates, would you mind bringing up that bottle of Asterian nectar I’ve been saving? I’d like to make a toast in honor of the Odditorium’s maiden voyage.”

  “If I can find it amongst all your other bottles,” said Mrs. Pinch.

  “A toast?” asked Lord Dreary. “Maiden voyage, did you say?”

  “And when you see Nigel,” Mr. Grim continued, ignoring him, “please be sure he inspects the gunneries for leaks before the two of you join us down here for a drink.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Pinch, and she was gone.

  “Made only a bit of a mess,” said Mr. Grim, picking up his spinning top from the floor. “Nothing broken, as far as I can tell.”

  “Nothing broken?” Lord Dreary said, storming over to the desk. “Flying all over London with skeletons and black fairies! An armored devil trying to whip us to shreds, and you say nothing’s broken? How about your word, man?”

  “My word?”

  “Maiden voyage, indeed!” Lord Dreary thundered with his fists on the desk. “I heard what you said. All your talk of drills! You’ve been planning to leave London all along. You swindled me you—you—charlatan!”

  “How dare you, sir!” cried Mr. Grim, aghast.

  Lord Dreary’s cheeks huffed and puffed like a blacksmith’s bellows, and then he collapsed into a chair. He made to drag his handkerchief across his brow, but upon finding the black samurai helmet still on his head, he jumped and sputtered and flung the helmet across the room.

  “Please try to understand,” said Mr. Grim, sitting on the edge of his desk. “After discovering what I’m about to tell you, I had no choice but to make a temporary change of plans.”

  “Oh, Alistair,” sighed Lord Dreary, fingering his collar. “Alistair, Alistair, what have you done?”

  “To be sure, I never meant to swindle you. And you have my word as a gentleman that I shall pay back every cent I owe you. You must believe me, old friend.”

  Lord Dreary dragged his handkerchief across his head. “After what I’ve seen today, I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Grim began, crossing to the fireplace. “As you know, for some time now I have been traveling the world collecting Odditoria. What you do not know, however, is that the word Odditoria, at once both singular and plural, is used to classify any object living, inanimate, or otherwise that is believed to possess magical powers.”

  “Did you say magical powers?”

  “That I did.”

  “Then the rumors are true,” said Lord Dreary in astonishment. “You are a mad sorcerer!”

  “Madness notwithstanding, I suppose I am deserving of such a title. But my interest in Odditoria has been mostly scientific. After all, when one understands the science behind a magical object, one can harness its power for practical use.”

  Mr. Grim pressed a button on the mantel, and the lion head with the glowing red eyes immediately swung open to reveal a hidden compartment behind it. At the center of the compartment was a miniature version of the glass sphere contraption down in the engine room. However, instead of a fairy, inside the sphere floated a glowing red orb about the size of a billiard ball.

  “Behold the Eye of Mars,” said Mr. Grim. Standing on his tippy-toes, he opened a small porthole and removed the orb from the glass sphere.

  My eyes grew wide and my jaw gaped. The lightning from the gunnery cannons, the fires in the ovens and engine room furnaces, even the soot in the chimneys had nothing to do with the lion’s head. All of it had come from this little, glowing red ball!

  “Good heavens,” said Lord Dreary. “You mean to tell me that is—”

  “The source of the Odditorium’s firepower,” said Mr. Grim. “You see, according to a little known legend, Mars, the Roman god of war, was said to have given a magical weapon to each of his twin sons, Romulus and Remus, so that they would always be equal in power. These weapons were known as the Eyes of Mars.”

  “And by Romulus and Remus, you mean the legendary founders of Rome?”

  “Very good, Lord Dreary. However, according to the legend, Romulus still managed to kill his brother Remus, steal his Eye of Mars, and name the city of Rome after himself. Incensed by this treachery, Mars took back both his Eyes and buried them separately somewhere deep within the Earth. Just another Roman legend, scholars thought. I, on the other hand…”

  Mr. Grim smiled modestly and offered the orb to Lord Dreary, but the old man hesitated to take it.

  “Go ahead,” said Mr. Grim. “I assure you that, even in its activated state, the Eye of Mars is quite harmless unless one knows how to use it.”

  Lord Dreary tentatively took the Eye of Mars in his hands, his face instantly glowing red as he stared down at the orb in amazement. “It’s warm.”

  “Quite an effective source of heat on a cold London evening,” said Mr. Grim, nodding. “And so you see, Lord Dreary, the Eye of Mars is only one of three magical entities for which I have built conductors to harness their power.”

  “You mean there are other conductors here inside the Odditorium? Contraptions with which you harness the yellow and blue energy, too?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Hang on,” Lord Dreary said. “Your trip to the North Country—Gwendolyn, the girl you told to get into the sphere—you can’t possibly mean—”

  “You are correct, old friend. The legendary Yellow Fairy. Her magic dust, harnessed in one of my conductor spheres, gives the Odditorium its power to fly. I’ll introduce the two of you shortly.”

  Stunned, Lord Dreary again dragged his handkerchief across his brow. I could tell the old man’s head was spinning, but it all made perfect sense to me. Different kinds of Odditoria gave you different kinds of energy. Yellow flying energy came from Gwendolyn. Red blasting energy came from the Eye of Mars. And blue mechanical energy came from…Well, that was the question now, wasn’t it? Where did the blue energy come from?

  Mr. Grim waved his hand over the orb, and upon uttering a strange incantation, the glow from the Eye of Mars went out.

  “What have you done?” Lord Dreary cried.

  “Just an ancient Roman spell,” said Mr. Grim, taking the sphere back to the fireplace. “You see, in its deactivated state, the Eye of Mars appears to be nothing more than a worthless glass ball. Then again, I’ve found that the most powerful Odditoria are usually things that, on the surface at least, appear to be ordinary.”

  Mr. Grim placed the Eye of Mars back inside its conductor, pressed the secret button, and the lion’s head swung back into place. Its eyes had gone black again.

  “But how—where did you find it?”

  “To make a long story short,” said Mr. Grim, “I tracked down the Eye of Mars to a dormant volcano on the Italian peninsula where, shall we say, I persuaded the dragon who lived there to give it to me.”

  “Dragon, did you say?”

  “Well, naturally when one travels around the world collecting magical objects, one stands a good chance of running into the magical creatures who guard them
. However, early on in my quest for Odditoria, I realized that someone else was traveling around the world collecting Odditoria too.”

  “Prince Nightshade!”

  “Indeed,” said Mr. Grim, fetching his notebook from his desk. “On more than one occasion, in fact, it appeared as if the old prince had snatched my Odditoria right out from under my nose—and in some cases, the magical creatures who guarded them, too.”

  Mr. Grim opened his notebook and handed it to Lord Dreary. I could not see the page from where I was standing, but the fear in the old man’s eyes made it clear which one of Mr. Grim’s drawings had caught his attention.

  “The Black Fairy,” Lord Dreary said weakly.

  “The prince’s second in command,” said Mr. Grim. “You’ll find many other nasty creatures in there too—all of whom have allied themselves with the prince.”

  Lord Dreary scanned a few more pages and then quickly closed the notebook and handed it back to Mr. Grim, out of fright.

  “But who is this Prince Nightshade?” asked Lord Dreary.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who he is,” said Mr. Grim, returning his notebook to his desk. “But it is clear to me what he is: a master of the Dark Arts, someone who has learned to harness the power of Odditoria much as I have. And to make matters worse, it appears this Nightshade character also has the power to absorb magical energy into his body. The more energy he absorbs, the more powerful he becomes.”

  “Great—”

  “Poppycock, yes,” Mr. Grim said quickly. “And judging from the armor worn by the prince’s Shadesmen, I am convinced that he used his Eye of Mars to resurrect the ancient armies of Romulus and Remus.”

  Lord Dreary gasped. “You mean those blasted bone bags are actually dead Latin soldiers?”

  “Precisely,” said Mr. Grim. He snatched a book from one of the shelves and began flipping through its pages. “It makes sense that the Eye of Mars could only resurrect the armies of Romulus and Remus. One brother could not possibly conquer the other if he could not destroy his army, and thus they would always be equal in power. Or at least that’s what Mars thought.”

  “So those Shadesmen cannot be killed?”

  “Oh no, they can be killed with the right weapons,” Mr. Grim said absently, reading. “A blast of red energy. A swipe from an animus-infused samurai sword…”

  Mr. Grim flipped a few more pages and then, unable to find what he was looking for, tossed the book onto his desk and raked back his hair in frustration.

  “So that is why Prince Nightshade has come after you?” asked Lord Dreary. “Because you possess the other Eye of Mars?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Mr. Grim. “Although Prince Nightshade has been even more successful than I in his quest for Odditoria, it appears there is one magical entity that has continued to elude him: a source of the animus.”

  “A source of the animus?”

  “Yes, old friend,” said Mr. Grim, thinking. “Judging from the eyes of the lads that led Prince Nightshade to the Odditorium, it appears that Nightshade has discovered a magical means by which to combine the red energy from the Eye of Mars with the animus residue from our escaped pocket watch. Red and blue make purple, you see—”

  “And the lads who led him here,” Lord Dreary exclaimed, “their eyes glowed purple!”

  “Correct. If the Eye of Mars can only resurrect the ancient armies of Romulus and Remus, then the number of red-eyed Shadesmen the prince can gather for his army is limited. However, if he were to get his hands on a source of the animus—”

  “Then the number of purple-eyed Shadesmen he can gather is unlimited!”

  “Correct again, Lord Dreary,” said Mr. Grim. “Prince Nightshade wants the animus so he can create a purple-eyed army of the dead.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Noah and his gang, but just the thought of an entire army of those moaning purple-eyed devils gadding about the world sent a shiver up my spine—not to mention that I had almost become one of them myself.

  “So, this pocket watch,” Lord Dreary said finally. “Is that the magical object from which you harness the animus?”

  “Good heavens, no!” cried Mr. Grim, laughing, but then he abruptly stopped and gazed about the room. “Come to think of it, where is old McClintock?”

  “Nigel has him, sir,” I said, and Mr. Grim started as if he’d forgotten I was there.

  “Thank you, Master Grubb,” he said, smiling wryly. “However, I must admit that your knowledge of Mack’s whereabouts would have been much more useful to us about an hour ago.”

  Mr. Grim shot me a wink, but it did little to ease my guilt. In all the commotion, I’d nearly forgotten that this whole mess was entirely my fault.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” I said, looking down at my shoes, at which point Mrs. Pinch’s broom unexpectedly swept past me into the room. Lord Dreary cried out in surprise, but the broom ignored him and began tidying up the hearth. Evidently, more of the sandy red soot had fallen out of the flue during the battle.

  “Not now, Broom,” said Mr. Grim, and the broom gave a quick curtsy and disappeared into the parlor. “Odditoria,” said Mr. Grim with a shrug, and Lord Dreary sighed and fingered his collar.

  “Speaking of which,” said the old man, “if the red energy comes from the Eye of Mars, and the yellow energy comes from Gwendolyn the Yellow Fairy, from what Odditoria do you harness the blue animus?”

  “Now, now,” said Mr. Grim, smiling, “what kind of mad sorcerer would I be if I went about revealing everything in my bag of tricks at once?”

  “Great poppycock, man, don’t play games!”

  “I assure you, Lord Dreary, it is not my intention to be evasive. However, I should think any attempt to explain the source of my blue energy without an accompanying demonstration would be futile. And given the state of the Odditorium’s systems, such a demonstration is impossible at the moment.”

  “Yes, but Alistair, I—”

  “Besides,” said Mr. Grim, rising, “it looks as if Mrs. Pinch and Nigel have arrived with our Asterian nectar.”

  Lord Dreary and I turned to find them standing in the entrance to the library. The old woman held a tray, on top of which rested a slender black bottle and five small glasses.

  However, I could not help but stare at Nigel. He was Odditoria too, was he not? Odditoria powered by the animus just like Mack. But Nigel most certainly wasn’t a machine. Which meant that people could be powered by the animus too. Maybe Nigel was the source of the animus. After all, odder things had happened at Alistair Grim’s, even though I had yet to come across a sphere big enough to hold a man like Nigel Stout.

  “Allow me, Mrs. Pinch,” said Mr. Grim, and he took the tray and set it on his desk. “Don’t want you pouring this without your spectacles.”

  Mrs. Pinch furrowed her brow and drew her lips together tightly.

  “Asterian nectar,” said Mr. Grim, holding up the bottle. “A rare delicacy I picked up in Greece.” Mr. Grim popped the cork and filled each glass with the thick, black liquid. “Gather ’round,” he said. “You too, Master Grubb.”

  All of us took our glasses.

  “Alistair, I—” Lord Dreary began, but Mr. Grim quickly cut him off.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for show-and-tell later,” he said. “Let us now enjoy the peace and quiet of this moment with a toast to the Odditorium.”

  Mr. Grim raised his glass. Nigel and Mrs. Pinch followed suit, but both Lord Dreary and I hesitated.

  “Are you not going to join us, Lord Dreary?” asked Mr. Grim.

  The old man looked back and forth between Mr. Grim and the others—then heaved a heavy sigh and said, “When in Rome.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, since we were nowhere near Rome as far as I could tell. But nonetheless, when Lord Dreary raised his glass I did the same.

  “To the Odditorium,” said Mr. Grim.

  “To the Odditorium!” replied the others.

/>   “You, too, Master Grubb,” said Mr. Grim.

  “To the Odditorium,” I said, and we all sipped from our glasses.

  I had never partaken in a toast before, nor had I ever tasted anything as delicious as Mr. Grim’s nectar. And as a salt-scented breeze blew in from the balcony, I gazed out past the pipe organ to the clear blue sky and understood at once that what I had tasted was adventure.

  After our toast, Lord Dreary continued to press Mr. Grim to reveal the source of his animus, upon which Mr. Grim once again insisted that, until the Odditorium’s systems were recharged, such a revelation would be impossible. Besides, he explained, there were more pressing matters at hand now that Prince Nightshade was on our tail. The first order of business: to find out where the space jump had taken us.

  “Right-o, then,” Nigel said. “Come along, Grubb.”

  “Just a moment, Nigel,” said Mr. Grim. “If you and Lord Dreary would care to step into the parlor, I’d like to speak to Master Grubb for a moment. Alone.”

  I swallowed hard and my heart began to hammer. For a while there I thought Mr. Grim was going to let me off the hook about McClintock.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Nigel said. “As far as I can tell, this whole Mack business was an honest mistake.”

  “Yes, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary. “Try not to be too hard on the lad, will you?”

  “I’ll take your advice into consideration,” said Mr. Grim, ushering them out. But as Nigel and Lord Dreary retreated to the parlor, Mrs. Pinch lagged behind.

  “May I help you, Mrs. Pinch?” asked Mr. Grim.

  “Well, sir, I…”

  The old woman’s eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Grim and me.

  “Yes, Mrs. Pinch?”

  “Well, sir,” she began again. “I may not have my spectacles, but I know a good lad when I see one. And blind me if I’m going to stand by without putting in a word for Master Grubb here.”

  “Your word is duly noted,” said Mr. Grim, and he motioned for her to leave.