“I have a question,” Cleona said, and Mr. Grim heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s for Lord Dreary, actually.”
“Er, uh—yes, miss?”
“Has Alistair Grim always had this annoying habit of talking about people in the third person when they are present?”
“Well, I…” Lord Dreary chuckled. “Why, yes, I believe he has, miss.”
“Peachy. I have a feeling you and I are going to get along quite smashingly, Lord Dreary.” Then Cleona turned to me and said, “And I have a feeling you and I are going to get along quite smashingly as well, Master Grubb.”
You know me, too? I wanted to say, but my voice got stuck in my throat. And as Cleona’s crystal-blue eyes met with mine, I felt a flutter in my stomach that said, Banshee or no banshee, Cleona the trickster is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
“And look,” Cleona said, pointing to my hand. “You still have the pocket watch I gave you!”
“Oh dear,” Nigel said.
“Of course,” said Mr. Grim. “I should have known!”
It was then my voice came back to me. “You mean you—?”
“That’s right, Grubb,” Cleona said, giggling. “This morning, I made myself invisible and slipped Mack inside your pocket while you were talking to Mrs. Pinch in the shop.”
“Then Mack was telling the truth,” I said—when suddenly I remembered my dream from the night before. “You!” I cried. “You asked to play a trick on me when I was asleep!”
“That sounds like her,” said Mr. Grim, and he leaned back wearily against the battlements. “Cleona only plays tricks on her family.”
“And quite an amusing trick this one was,” she said, giggling. “Especially when you went chasing after Mack in the library, Grubb.”
“So I did hear someone giggling in there!”
“Yes. I was in the library when Mack slipped under the door. I thought he might give me away, so I tapped him on his twelve to knock him out. Then I returned the book I borrowed and made myself invisible just before you came in.”
Mr. Grim stiffened. “Book, did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I know the rule about borrowing books, but I just wanted to read up on fairies in the event you and Gwendolyn teamed up to play tricks on me.”
Mr. Grim was silent, and Cleona gazed round at us.
“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she asked. “It was just a trick.”
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Grim. “Your little trick is what set this whole mess today in motion!”
“Whatever do you mean, Uncle?”
“Master Grubb?” said Mr. Grim, gesturing for me to explain, and I quickly related the events leading up to Prince Nightshade’s arrival in London.
“My apologies, everyone,” Cleona said, when I’d finished. “And especially to you, Master Grubb. I meant no harm by it.” Then she sank guiltily back down to the roof and said, “I’ll go clean off the mustaches and your spotty bottom now, Uncle.”
“Not so fast,” said Mr. Grim, crossly. “It seems that the prince’s Shadesmen have attached a tracking mechanism to the Odditorium. I don’t suppose you could find it in your heart to pass through the downstairs wall and dislodge it?”
Cleona steeled herself, as if she was summoning up the courage to honor Mr. Grim’s request. “I’ll do my best, Uncle,” she said.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Nigel said firmly. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Grim, but being that the Odditorium is over the ocean at present, if Cleona were to materialize beyond its walls, it would take nearly all her strength just to stay airborne, never mind trying to dislodge a tracking mechanism at the same time.”
Mr. Grim heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re right, Nigel. What was I thinking….”
“Perhaps if I hugged the Odditorium’s outer shell,” Cleona said, “I might be able to pry off the tracking mechanism without losing too much of my strength. At least I can give it a try.”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Grim, softening. “It’s too much of a risk in your present condition. Forgive me for even asking, love, and I thank you for your selflessness. As always.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Lord Dreary.
“Being a land-dwelling spirit,” Mr. Grim began, “a banshee does not have the power to cross large bodies of water unless she is enclosed in something that protects her. The Odditorium’s magic paint does just that, same as it protects us from the doom dogs. Without it, Cleona’s life force would drain away and she would cease to exist.”
“Good heavens,” said Lord Dreary.
“The same goes for Gwendolyn. Just one of many laws of the supernatural universe that I’m afraid is unalterable.”
“The magic paint is very powerful, Uncle,” Cleona said. “And really, I’m feeling quite myself again. Perhaps if I—”
“Out of the question,” said Mr. Grim. “Even if you were successful in dislodging the tracking mechanism, you’d be so drained afterward that it’d take you forever to regain your strength and transfer the animus.”
“Wait a moment,” said Lord Dreary. “Are you saying that Cleona controls the source of the animus?”
“No, old friend,” said Mr. Grim. “Cleona is the source of the animus.”
Lord Dreary and I gasped.
“Hence,” Mr. Grim went on, “now that you have seen the conductor spheres for my other Odditoria, you understand in theory how I’ve been able to harness Cleona’s supernatural essence to create the very spirit of the Odditorium itself.”
“Odditoria,” said Lord Dreary, thinking. “Used to classify any magical object that is living, inanimate, or otherwise. That is what you said, Alistair. Otherwise—as in something that is neither alive nor dead.”
“In Cleona’s case, yes,” said Mr. Grim. “So you see, Lord Dreary, without our banshee here, the Odditorium’s mechanical functions simply could not exist—including the machine that facilitated the space jump.”
“But the space jump,” said Lord Dreary. “How does Cleona—?”
“A banshee, by her nature, is a bridge between our world and the Land of the Dead. And so I’ve invented a machine that harnesses that nature to create an interdimensional bridge of my own. Unfortunately, the machine takes quite a toll on poor Cleona, and thus we find ourselves in our present situation.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, sir,” Nigel said. “But getting back to the tracking mechanism?”
“Thank you, Nigel,” said Mr. Grim. “Unfortunately, even if Cleona or Gwendolyn were successful in dislodging the tracking mechanism, it wouldn’t do us much good if there are others flashing away out there.”
“You mean—?”
“If Prince Nightshade allied himself with more than one Siren, then it’s only logical to assume that he fashioned more than one tracking mechanism from their eggs.”
“I’ll do it,” Nigel said. “Tie a rope around my waist, and I’ll climb down and start looking for them.”
“A valiant proposition, Nigel. But it would take you much too long to make an adequate sweep of the Odditorium’s perimeter. Speaking of sweeping, even Broom wouldn’t have the strength to pry off something like that tracking mechanism. And given the fact that Mrs. Pinch’s spectacles are smashed…”
Broom? I said to myself. Was Mr. Grim implying that Broom could fly as well as sweep? And what did Mrs. Pinch have to do with anything?
“No,” said Mr. Grim. “The most efficient way to embark on our search-and-destroy mission would be to use—”
“The wasps!” Nigel said.
“Very good, Nigel. My thoughts exactly.”
“The wasps?” said Lord Dreary, confused.
“Cleona,” said Mr. Grim, ignoring him, “do you think you’re strong enough to charge the energy panels in your chambers?”
“I think so, Uncle,” she said. “But since the space jump drained the Odditorium’s systems almost entirely, I won’t be able to give you much power for the reserves until I get all my stren
gth back.”
“Can you get the wasps going for us?”
“Yes, but if you’d like me to charge the rest of the Odditorium too, I should think I’d have only enough energy left over for one.”
“One wasp will be sufficient,” said Mr. Grim.
Just then we heard a loud screech above our heads. Lord Dreary let out a shriek and dove for the battlements, but the rest of us gazed upward and spied a cluster of tiny blue lights headed our way.
“The bats!” I cried, and the entire colony screeched as if in reply.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Lord Dreary. “We’re under attack!”
“Don’t be afraid, old friend,” said Mr. Grim. “They work for us.”
The bats circled the roof once, formed a single line, and then swooped down through the porthole and into the garret—all except one, which broke off at the last moment and lighted on Nigel’s shoulder.
“What do you have here?” Nigel said, reaching into the bat’s mouth. “Look, sir,” he said, handing it to Mr. Grim. “It’s a leaf.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Grim, examining it. “A red-oak leaf, to be precise. We must be closer to land than I thought.”
“Where to, child?” Nigel asked, and the bat extended its wing to point the way.
“Due west by my calculations,” said Mr. Grim, looking up at the stars. “Very well, then. Cleona, you return to your chambers and begin charging the panels.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said, and sank at once through the roof.
“As for the rest of us,” said Mr. Grim, “to the engine room!”
By the time we arrived in the engine room, the wall sconces were burning bright again with blue animus. Everything else appeared to be normal too. The red fires in the ring of furnaces burned as before, and the crystal sphere still glowed yellow with fairy dust. Gwendolyn—her eyes heavy, her face smeared with chocolate—sat watching us from the front steps of her dollhouse.
“Is there something I can help you with, Pookie?” she asked.
Pookie?
“No thank you,” said Mr. Grim, heading for the talkback. “You just enjoy the rest of your chocolate.”
Gwendolyn smiled wide and popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth. I stood there gaping. Surely this was not the same Yellow Fairy I’d met before, what with her sunny disposition and pet names for Mr. Grim.
Noticing my surprise, Nigel whispered the word chocolate in my ear. I looked at him quizzically and he said, “How do you think Mr. Grim kept her from gobbling him up back there in the Black Forest?”
“Chomp, chomp,” said the Yellow Fairy, and she began cooing—the same cooing I’d heard coming from Mr. Grim’s coach just before we took flight over the countryside.
“Are you there, Uncle?” called Cleona from the talkback.
“Yes, love,” replied Mr. Grim. “How are things progressing in your chambers?”
“Very well, I think. All the systems are up and running, and I’ve charged the wasp in comb number one.”
Following Mr. Grim’s gaze, I noticed for the first time that the engine room’s ceiling resembled the inside of a wasp nest. All the combs were dark except for one, in which a pair of bulbous blue eyes shone brightly.
“And you’ve instructed the wasp what to look for?” asked Mr. Grim.
“Yes, Uncle,” Cleona replied. “Its power should last you for quite some time—that is, unless you plan on trying another space jump.”
“I plan on no such thing. Now, get some sleep before you charge the reserves.”
“Pshaw. My strength is coming back just fine now.”
“Never mind that. You do as I say.”
“Oh, very well, then.”
Mr. Grim flicked off the talkback and then hurried over to a large panel near the furnaces. The panel itself was made up of rows of numbered buttons, and as Mr. Grim looked up at the ceiling, he pressed the button labeled 1.
The eyes above us grew brighter, and then a giant insect crawled out from the comb and buzzed its wings—wings that, in the light from the crystal sphere below, flashed like plates of sparkling yellow glass.
“Great poppycock!” Lord Dreary exclaimed. “It really is a wasp!”
“A mechanical wasp,” said Mr. Grim, “but a wasp nonetheless.”
As if on cue, the insect lifted off, buzzed around the engine room once, then slowly descended to the floor. Other than its large blue eyes, polished steel wings, and black metal frame, this wasp was identical to a real wasp—but it was also bigger than me.
“So that’s how you built the Odditorium,” Lord Dreary said in astonishment. “The screens and curtains outside—that was why no one ever saw any workers going in and out. You created these creatures to do the work for you!”
It was then that I spied the large hammer and chisel in the wasp’s front claws. And all at once I understood what I’d heard upon my arrival at the Odditorium. The loud blacksmith’s hammering had been Mr. Grim’s wasps at work in the engine room.
“An excellent deduction, Lord Dreary,” said Mr. Grim. “You see, old friend, one of the unique properties of the animus is that, as it is being transferred into a machine, one can instruct that machine to perform a specific task. And so this wasp and her deactivated sisters were charged with building the Odditorium.”
“Incredible!” said Lord Dreary.
Mr. Grim squatted down and spoke directly to the wasp. “You understand your mission, Number One?”
The wasp nodded its round head and batted its antennae.
“Very well, then,” said Mr. Grim, rising. “There is one problem, however.”
“What’s that?” asked Lord Dreary.
“The wasp is only a machine, unable to think for itself. Given the fact that Cleona, in her transference of the animus, instructed the wasp to find and remove the tracking mechanism, the wasp in turn will only be able to recognize those things that Cleona recognizes.”
“The Siren’s egg, you mean?”
“Or eggs, yes. However, if something else is out there—another type of tracking mechanism or perhaps something even more nefarious—the wasp won’t be able to distinguish such objects from, say, the battle damage caused by Nightshade’s minions.”
“So what shall we do?” asked Lord Dreary.
“Well, I should think that the only way to be certain that the outside of the Odditorium is clean is to have a set of human eyes riding along with the wasp’s.”
“Great poppycock! You mean, you actually intend to ride that thing?”
“I would if I could. However, I am much too heavy for the wasp to stay airborne. The same goes for you and Nigel. No, in order to make an adequate sweep of the outside, we would need a much smaller rider.”
Without thinking, I raised my hand and said, “I’ll do it, sir.”
Mr. Grim stiffened. “No. Not you, Master Grubb. It’s much too dangerous.”
“I agree with the boss,” Nigel said. “Much, much too dangerous, Grubb.”
“Please, sir,” I said. “It’s the least I can do, being your apprentice and all.”
“Out of the question,” said Mr. Grim. “We’ll have to take our chances with just the wasp itself.”
“I’m not afraid, sir. I’m quite accustomed to high places, and I’m very good at climbing and holding on tightly to things. Besides, if the wasp should need some help, I imagine that prying off a tracking mechanism couldn’t be much different than scraping off soot from a chimney.”
Mr. Grim studied me for a moment, and then, getting an idea, rushed over to the talkback. “Cleona, are you still awake?”
“I am now,” she replied sleepily.
“Would you be so kind as to drop down into the engine room?”
“What for?”
“A matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Has Gwendolyn had her chocolate?” Cleona asked. “I’m not in the mood for another quarrel.”
“I assure you, Gwendolyn is quite amicable at present. Aren’t you, Gwendolyn?”
The Yellow Fairy cooed.
“There, you see, Cleona?” said Mr. Grim. “You needn’t worry about a repeat of your introduction this morning. She did the same thing to Nigel before we left London, and now the two of them are the best of friends. Isn’t that right, Nigel?”
“If you say so, sir.”
“Very well, then, Uncle. I’ll be right down.”
Mr. Grim flicked off the talkback and joined us again.
“But, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary, “surely you don’t intend to ask Cleona to ride that thing. You said that if she stays too long over the water she’ll cease to exist.”
“I am well aware of that. And even though Number One’s magic paint would most likely protect her, it would still be too much of a risk to send her out there. Which is why I intend on riding the wasp myself.”
Nigel and I gasped.
“You?” cried Lord Dreary.
“Yes, old friend.”
“But you just said that you’re much too heavy.”
“I am.”
“But that means—”
“The wasp will not be able to hold me.”
“Then you’ll most certainly—
“Fall into the ocean and drown, yes.”
“But, Alistair—that’s suicide!”
“Precisely!”
“But—”
“Quiet, Lord Dreary!” said Mr. Grim, gazing upward. “Here she comes.”
Cleona floated feet first through the ceiling and down to the floor. “Here I am, Uncle.”
“Thank you for coming, Cleona. I just wanted to inform you in person of my decision to ride Number One.”
“What?”
“At this moment, I fully intend to get on Number One’s back and fly around outside the Odditorium in search of more tracking mechanisms.”
“No tricks?” Cleona asked, amazed.
“What does your instinct tell you?” replied Mr. Grim.
Cleona began to tremble, and her eyes streamed with tears. She clawed at her hair and stretched her lips apart in a ghastly O, and from deep within her throat came a deafening wail of “AAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
Alistair Grim's Odditorium Page 15