Gustav Gloom and the Cryptic Carousel

by Adam-Troy Castro

  Lemuel’s shadow looked a little perplexed. “Isn’t that her name?”

  “Why would you think that was her name?”

  “She told me that was her name, back at the crevice, back when I was still a little out of my mind from being cooped up for so long.”

  Gustav was really baffled now. He turned to Fernie: “Why on earth would you tell him your name was Fernie Whatsir?”

  Despite everything that still needed to be done, Fernie couldn’t help enjoying their shared confusion. “I never said that my name was Fernie Whatsir. I said that my name was Fernie What, and then I called him sir.”

  Lemuel’s shadow blinked so many times that his eyelids might have been windshield wipers trying to clean a little dirt off his pupils. After several seconds he said, “Yes, I suppose that you could have been trying to say that.”

  “I was.”

  “I give you credit, Fernie What. It was a very polite form of address to use on a great big scary cloud-thing sharing a cramped space with you. I thank you for that, Fernie, and I apologize for being a little crazy when we first met. Being trapped in a little box for all those years isn’t really the best thing for anybody’s peace of mind.”

  Fernie found herself liking this version of Lemuel Gloom. “That’s okay. You made up for it. I think we can be friends.”

  “And you.” He turned to Gustav. “I know I’m not your grandfather, not really, but I loved him like the flesh-brother he was. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you as a member of your family, but you must have been born well after I was imprisoned. I know your dear father and was there, alongside your late grandfather, at the wedding where we welcomed dear Penny into the family. What a lovely bride she made! Please tell me that she and your father are doing well. I can’t wait to see them again.”

  What followed was a moment of terrible silence as Gustav and Fernie met each other’s eyes, each debating who would be the one to tell him.

  “Penny’s dead,” Gustav reported finally.

  Lemuel’s shadow looked like he’d just been struck with a heavy object. If nothing else could have persuaded Gustav and Fernie that this was a shadow who could be trusted, it was that look on his face, which gave the impression that he would have rather remained a prisoner in the tool chest than have to bear such terrible news. “Oh, no! How?”

  “She was murdered.”

  “I’m so sorry! And your father? Please tell me he’s still alive, at least!”

  “He’s supposed to be,” Gustav declared, hurrying through the essentials as quickly as he could in order to get to all the questions he had for the horrified shadow before him. “The last thing we heard, my dad was being held prisoner in the Dark Country by an evil shadow who calls himself Lord Obsidian. Fernie’s father and sister are stuck there, too, as of last night. We’re on the carousel because we plan to go to the Dark Country and rescue all of them. It’s all a really long story, and I promise we’ll get into it on our way there, if you agree to come with us, but right now it’s your turn. I remember you shouting something about revenge when we first let you out. You certainly seemed very mad at somebody. How did you ever get stuck in that chest in the first place? Who betrayed you?”

  Lemuel’s shadow darkened in the way that shadows do when they remember past crimes committed against them. His eyebrows met, and for just a second the friendly adult Fernie and Gustav had met went away, replaced by a more enraged soul, growing stormy at the edges when he considered what had been done to him.

  He said, “A shadow your grandfather had every reason to consider a friend. A shadow who had turned out to be anything but: a liar, schemer, and monster, interested in nothing but his own vile dreams of power.”

  Just as he was about to speak the name, Gustav and Fernie both discovered that they already knew what he was about to say. Boy, girl, and shadow all spoke it together:

  “Hieronymus Spector.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Sneer of Hieronymus Spector

  It was a couple of minutes later. Gustav, Fernie, Harrington, and Lemuel’s shadow had returned to the control room, where Lemuel’s shadow had just performed a full inspection to make sure that there had been no further damage from the recent crash landing. Gustav and Fernie had taken the time to reshelve all the fallen books yet again, and Fernie had spared another mournful glance for the black lettering and black paper of the several she would have wanted to read, but likely couldn’t without Gustav’s eyes.

  Even as Lemuel’s shadow worked, Harrington, who had taken quite a shine to him, performed endless loving figure-eights around his ankles, and sometimes—because he closed his eyes with pleasure and couldn’t know where the shadow began or ended—through the substance of his legs.

  Finally, Lemuel’s shadow announced, “Everything’s shipshape. Or carousel-shape, anyway. What was it you said Hieronymus told you? That it would be unsafe to fly directly to the Dark Country? That you have to go to Dim Land instead?”

  Fernie replied, “He said the place didn’t really have a name. Dim Land was just a name he made up.”

  “That’s okay. I know the place he meant.” He hesitated. “And you’re sure, the two of you, that he had pledged to tell the truth when he said that it was the safest way? For obvious reasons, I don’t trust him, but he always did set great store by pledges.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Lemuel’s shadow didn’t seem entirely convinced by this, but he set the dials and touched one of his transparent gray fingers to the red button and said, “Okay, then. We’ll pass over the Dark Country first, just to see if there’s anything we can learn from the air, but our next actual stop will be Dim Land.”

  He pressed the button, prompting the usual blinding flash of light.

  The expanse of pink ocean disappeared, replaced by . . . nothing. The view outside the carousel was now a blank, endless fog, a lot like being inside a dirty cotton ball, or maybe watching TV when the only signal was static. Fernie thought that something had gone terribly wrong, but then she noticed that the clouds were moving past the carousel’s edges at great speed, and that the carousel seemed to be flying in a specific direction, to whatever awaited on the other side.

  Just to be sure, Gustav asked, “Is it working okay?”

  “Oh, sure. It may need a little tune-up when we get home, because the controls seem a little more sluggish than they ought to be . . . but that either means we’re running a little heavy, or that the phlogiston generators and whatsem valves need a little of the anyflux goo mucked out of them. Nothing worth worrying about, I assure you. The Dark Country is just a little farther away than any of the destinations you’ve visited so far, so it will take a few days to get there.”

  Fernie was annoyed to find herself actually relieved at not getting to the Dark Country right away. She had to remind herself that it had already taken more time than she’d expected, and that there’d been an entire unfortunate, irrelevant interlude with a nasty spider-crone along the way. But she sighed and pulled up the stool, scooping up Harrington and hugging him tight while Lemuel’s shadow continued to fiddle with the controls.

  After a few minutes, he sighed the saddest of all possible sighs and said, “So. Hieronymus.”

  “Yes,” Gustav said. “We need you to finish telling us about him.”

  Lemuel’s shadow wiped at the corner of his eye. This startled Fernie a little bit, because she’d never imagined that shadows could weep, but there was actually something wet there, either a tear or that even rarer thing, the shadow of a tear.

  “Right. I’ll skip over how your grandfather built the carousel, and all the adventures he and I had looking for the proper route to the Dark Country, and how I helped him sign a treaty with its inhabitants, and how he came to make the deal that turned the Gloom home into a shadow house. I’ll also skip over how he managed to juggle all that with marrying his own lovely
bride, writing all his books, and being a good father to your own father, Hans. Those are all interesting stories, I assure you, but they’re not the story you want to hear.”

  “You better tell me those later,” Gustav said, with a warmth that made Fernie feel very happy for him.

  Lemuel’s shadow offered him a warm smile in return. “That’s a promise, dear boy. They’re stories that should never be forgotten.

  “But the one you want today took place the day after your poor grandfather died.” Lemuel’s shadow shook his head. “I knew he was mortal, but after all our years together, I never imagined he could die. He had survived so many dangerous experiences during all the adventures we had together that I suspect I imagined that he’d become half shadow himself and was going to be around forever just like one of my kind. Either that or that he’d die like the adventurer he was, doing something impossibly brave in a land far from home.

  “Instead, he did what so many of your kind do when they get old: He woke up one day and realized from the way he felt that something had gone wrong inside him.

  “He didn’t suffer. I’m happy to report that. But there wasn’t anything any of your doctors could do, either. Over the next few months, he weakened and took to his bed and told me that when he was gone, there was one last thing I should do for him.”

  Lemuel’s shadow took a deep breath. “He wanted me to destroy the carousel.”

  Gustav and Fernie asked the same question together: “Why?”

  “He was an old, old man. His wife, your grandmother, had died of a sudden illness six years earlier. His only child, Hans, had decided to forego adventuring in other spheres to get to know his own world with the woman he loved. There was nobody Lemuel could give the carousel to, nobody human he thought he could trust with it.

  “Oh, he could have just sealed up the carnival room and hoped that nobody would ever find it . . . but there was at the time one odd fellow who kept writing him letters, who kept wanting to explore the Gloom house and see all its wonders for himself, who your grandfather said he didn’t trust at all.

  “He told me that the idea of that unpleasant little man ever worming his way inside, and using the carousel to find his way to the Dark Country—or worse, ever getting his vile hands on one dangerous item I haven’t told you about yet, the Nightmare Vault—was so horrifying that he knew he could not die in peace unless I promised I took steps to make sure that neither would ever happen.”

  Once again, Fernie and Gustav spoke at the same time: “Howard Philip October.”

  Lemuel’s shadow looked crestfallen. “You know him.”

  “He did get inside the house,” Gustav explained. “He arranged Penny’s car accident. He made it to the Dark Country and became this Lord Obsidian we told you about. He’s also the one responsible for holding my father captive all these years. So yes. We know what you’re talking about.”

  The shadow’s sad expression was suddenly replaced by one of extreme alarm. “And the Nightmare Vault—tell me he didn’t get the Nightmare Vault!”

  “We took care of that one ourselves,” Fernie assured him. “It’s safe for now.”

  Lemuel’s shadow remained silent for long minutes. Then he said, “You’re impressive children.

  “Anyway, October wasn’t the only person your grandfather was worried about. There was also Hieronymus Spector, the first shadow we met when Lemuel finally landed the carousel in the Dark Country. He was always a bit of a rascal, always somebody who tried to get away with anything he could get away with, but until just before these events I speak of, he was always someone the two of us thought we could trust. We had even shared some adventures with him.

  “But by the time your grandfather lay on his deathbed exacting that promise from me, Hieronymus had already proved his true nature and committed some terrible crimes against both humans and shadows. You don’t need to know exactly what they are, except that they made him notorious as one of the most evil shadows who ever lived. All shadows, everywhere, were terrified about what he would do next. Lemuel was frightened in particular of what would happen if he ever got control of the carousel himself.

  “So the day came when your grandfather died. Your father was already coming home with his bride, Penny, for the funeral. I didn’t wait for him to show up, but instead rushed down to the carnival room as quickly as I could to open the toolbox and begin the job of taking the carousel apart.

  “But as I opened the lid, another shadow stronger than myself grabbed me from behind, rolled me into a knot, and forced me into the box myself.”

  Lemuel’s shadow shuddered. “Children, the sneering, malignant expression on his face as he held me down was like no look I’d ever imagined I’d see from this shadow who I’d once mistaken for a friend. It made me realize that he’d never been a friend at all, but had instead been nothing more than a terrible enemy, biding his time for the best opportunity to destroy nothing he touched. I also remember what he said to me: ‘You won’t destroy the carousel, my friend. I may need it someday. Life is ever so much more interesting with it intact.’”

  For long seconds after that, Lemuel’s shadow said nothing, facing the control panel and fiddling with its various knobs and dials and levers in ways that did little, but provided him with an excuse to not face either of his new friends.

  Gustav and Fernie were afraid to speak.

  Then Lemuel’s shadow asked one question, very, very quietly: “And you say he’s in prison now?”

  “Yes,” Gustav said. “In the Hall of Shadow Criminals. They have him in a double cage of light, to make sure he’ll never break out.”

  “And he’s been there for years?”

  “Yes.”

  “It figures. Years rotting in a cage himself, with nothing to gain by keeping me imprisoned as well, and he never showed enough common decency to tell anyone where he’d left me. If you hadn’t come along, children, I might have been stuck there forever. Who caught him?”

  “I don’t know,” Gustav confessed. “I never asked.”

  “It must have been somebody very, very tricky. Hieronymus isn’t the kind of criminal who gets caught; he’s the kind of criminal who refuses to be taken alive. I tip my hat to that unknown hero, whoever he is. Maybe I’ll thank him someday.” He sighed, deeply and with more sadness than any being, flesh or shadow, should ever have to bear. “And maybe after this trip I’ll go visit old Hieronymus in his cell and ask him for the name.”

  He fell quiet after that. Gustav, no doubt aching for some closeness to the being who was the closest he would ever come to having a living grandfather, stood protectively by his side, watching him as he continued to pilot the carousel through the fog.

  Fernie realized after a few minutes that Lemuel’s shadow had told as much of the story as he was going to for now, and silently retreated to give Gustav and his new friend some privacy. She moved past the various frozen animals of the carousel to the pair of wooden benches, which struck her as a good place to get some rest before things got crazy again. She sat down, put her feet up, and curled into a little ball, not closing her eyes but not really staying awake, either. She thought of Pearlie and their father and again thought, Don’t worry, we’re still coming, we’re closer to you than you could ever possibly believe.

  This is how she happened to see one of Silverspinner’s long hairy spider-legs lower itself around the edge of the carousel roof and poke into the carousel proper.

  “Oh, no,” said Fernie.

  She remembered Lemuel’s shadow saying that the carousel was running a little heavy. No wonder it was. It had a giant spider-crone as a hitchhiker.

  Silverspinner’s face peered over the roof and peeked into the interior of the carousel, not seeing Fernie but—from the flaring of her nostrils—clearly smelling her. This was the closest view of that terrible visage Fernie had been granted yet, and it was every bit the combination of sour
old-lady face and multiple-eyed nasty spider face that it had been before, but it was even worse from this distance. Silverspinner’s wrinkles looked more like cracks in old pavement, and the pincers at either end of her pursed red mouth looked cracked and pitted in a way that suggested they’d gotten that way by slicing tree trunks in half. As the rest of her came into view—both her web-shrouded almost human upper half and her spidery bottom half—she licked her lips, and her pincers snapped together with a sound as sharp as the impact of a pool cue slamming the side of a table.

  “Silverspinner will be quiet,” the spider-crone whispered to herself. “Silverspinner will sneak aboard and Silverspinner will eat them all. Silverspinner will take their spinning toy to a new place where there are plenty of little things to eat.”

  Fernie had trouble picturing that last bit—among other things, she really had no idea how something Silverspinner’s size would ever be able to work the carousel’s controls—but it was not the part of Silverspinner’s plan she was most worried about. The “eat them all” part seemed entirely within the giant spider-crone’s capabilities.

  Her heart pounding, Fernie rolled off the bench and crawled on hands and knees toward the control room, afraid of shouting out an alarm. She crawled by the base of the leaping salmon and past the unicorn, freezing up when she saw one of Silverspinner’s spider-legs reach past her and probe the carousel floor, looking for the best possible way in. She missed finding Fernie by mere feet.

  When the leg swept past her, colliding with the pole anchoring the winged horse, Fernie scrambled on, seeing the opening to the control room just ahead and fearing that she’d never live to reach it in time to warn Gustav.

  Then the giant spider-crone cackled in triumph. “Silverspinner sees her! Yes, she does! The little thing from the crevice! Silverspinner will eat her first!”

  The curved claw at the end of her hairy leg flew at Fernie’s face.

  Fernie didn’t have time to scream.