by Becket
She watched the other vampires eating and talking and sometimes making plots. They weren’t talking about her, or about causing much malevolence anywhere else, which surprised Key. They were simply talking about the under-weather, or about Welkin City, or about the latest Pundicle match, or about the newest lights carved out by the Dwarves of Morrow. None seemed to know anything about her; none seemed to care at all about her suffering in Despair. Yet none of the Necropolis Vampires could sense Key or Miss Broomble in the hidden passageways; they could only sense the scent of the dungeon, which to them smelled like mousetraps and cheese.
That same night, Old Queen Crinkle gave orders that Miss Broomble was not allowed back inside the Necropolis Castle, unless she had a written authority from SPOOK or a Warlock’s Warrant from the Ministry of Injustice. Disregarding this completely, Miss Broomble remained in the castle for as long as she liked. Pega the ghost maid prepared a bedchamber for her, next door to the Labyrinth Library. The ghost maid knew Miss Broomble would be very safe in there because Necropolis Vampires rarely ever visited the Library, perhaps only once a century, and then only in direst need; for the Library itself could be quite perilous without guidance from the Lycan Librarian, or without proper knowledge of the Dumbly Decimal System, as books like Malik Mumford’s Magical Monsters & Other Household Pets or Gilda Ghast’s Gory Grocery Shopping were known to cause internal bleeding. The most popularly feared book was The 1342 War of Warhag vs. Toags – author unknown.
Miss Broomble had meals in the grand dining room during the day. She visited Key every night. She would sleep in the dungeon when Key was saddened by thoughts of her mom and dad. The witch would stroke her long fingers through Key’s hair. For Key, those were some of the pleasantest nights she ever had in Despair. Miss Broomble was quickly becoming a good friend.
— CHAPTER NINETEEN —
Glowing Flowers
One night Miss Broomble decided she would show Key that there was much more to life than darkness and emptiness and loneliness. So the witch went out into the Necropolis and brought back for Key some of the more mystical facets of the afterlife, saying, “If you can’t go out into the City of the Dead, then its life will come in to you.” So she brought back enchanted earth from the Vault of Aboretus Oakenax, which sparkled with green and red stones. Next, she brought a spark of Living Firelight from the Sepulcher of Salama the Fire Elemental, which flickered blue and white colors whenever it laughed. Miss Broomble also brought flowers and plants from the Garden Gravesite of Ivy Greenthumbs, which softly glowed all sorts of colors in the darkness.
Some glowing flowers looked like roses while others looked like lilies. Yet the ones Key thought really marvelous had stranger shapes, and some made sounds! Some looked like sapphires while others looked like butterflies. Some looked like mirrors while others looked like books. She particularly liked the glowing flowers that looked like rainbows and musical notes while she marveled at the one that looked like a treasure map. Key adored all these flowers inexpressibly. She loved the beauty of their shapes and colors. Most of all, she loved how they glowed warmly in the darkness.
“Let’s plant them,” she said with an eager smile, realizing how much she actually liked smiling, and how she had not done so in a long time, though she used to be very good at it.
Even though much of the dungeon’s floor was wobbly cobblestone while the rest was dirt, Key and Miss Broomble sprinkled the enchanted earth all throughout the dungeon, because the witch explained that, “Just one grain of this enchanted earth will enrich the soil. Just one grain could help a whole crop grow tall and strong.”
Key thought this was truly amazing as she scattered the enchanted earth across the dungeon’s cold floor, wondering if its green and red stones could help anything grow in Despair, and thinking about how her dad could have used some of this earth to help his wheat crops grow beautifully.
Once the enchanted earth had been spread out across as much of the floor as possible, Key and Miss Broomble then planted various glowing seeds. Pega helped them, being apparently as skilled with a spade as she was with a feather duster. Together the three of them planted glowing vines near the walls, glowing roses and tulips in the dirt, glowing daisies and orchids between the cobblestones, glowing violets and petunias in the dungeon’s nooks and crannies. They planted glowing seeds wherever they found the shadows of darkness in Despair.
They grew wonderfully by the Living Firelight from the Sepulcher of Salama, but they did not need much light. Once the first bud rose up from the enchanted earth, and once its petals blossomed, the light that shone from them helped all the other glowing flowers to grow, because all glowing flowers grew by the light of their neighbors. By the light of one glowing plant, ten more grew. Soon all sorts of glowing flowers and plants and vines bloomed in the dungeon’s gloom.
Partly Dead Brownie Folk came by and applauded because they loved the light. But the Toags and the Grimbuggle Bedbugs did not like it at all; Bosh hissed at the glowing flowers while Mr. Humbug churlishly kicked dirt at them. The light not only chased away the darkness, but also the things that liked its lightlessness.
And as the plants and flowers grew taller, and as their petals glowed brighter with each passing night, the darkness began to fade away, and Despair quickly became a place of light and hope.
And with each passing night, Key liked Miss Broomble more and more. The witch was fearless and confident, clearly a rule breaker. And Key wished she could be more like her. She wanted to be less “like myself,” she said to herself.
Each night Key, Miss Broomble, and Pega planted more seeds. And each night, the darkness was pushed back by the light now filling Despair.
One night, as Key and Miss Broomble continued planting glowing flowers, while their conversation paused, Key’s mind started to wander. Yet of all the topics her mind could have wandered to, it happened to fall upon the time she overheard Raithe and Crudgel’s treacherous conversation about Margrave Snick and the Hand of DIOS.
Pausing briefly from planting, Key now turned to Miss Broomble with an inquisitive look. “Do you know what DIOS means?” she asked.
For the first time, Miss Broomble appeared as if she did not know what to say. Glancing at Key through the corner of her eye, she asked quietly, “Where did you hear about DIOS?”
Key explained how she had overheard Raithe and Crudgel talking about it. She also mentioned how she could remember Mr. Fuddlebee mentioning it. “The Hand of DIOS took away Margrave Snick’s power,” Key remarked.
“It made Margrave mortal,” Miss Broomble confirmed. “But he is still powerful.”
This surprised Key. Margrave Snick had been turned back into a mortal over one hundred years ago. Mortals rarely live longer than that. “Is Margrave still alive?” Key asked.
Miss Broomble dug a hole and planted a seed.
Key could hear the witch’s heart beating a little faster. She could feel her body heat increase. She could smell the witch begin to sweat with stress.
“Yes,” Miss Broomble said at length and with a tone of worry in her voice. “Margrave Snick is still alive.”
“How is that possible?” Key wondered.
“In all my years,” Miss Broomble said, “Margrave Snick was the most powerful immortal I ever encountered. So I’m not too surprised that, although he’s been a mortal for over one hundred years, he’s managed to stay alive and strong.”
Key’s wandering mind still wandered further, and suddenly landed upon a recollection of Miss Broomble saying how she had not been in the City of the Dead for over a century. Now a new idea came into Key’s mind, and she realized something she had never thought of before. Staring at the witch in astonishment, she asked, “Are you immortal, too?”
Miss Broomble smiled modestly and nodded. “Over two hundred fifty years old,” she said.
Key was amazed. “You don’t look a day over two hundred twenty.”
Miss Broomble’s cheeks blushed.
“Are all witches lik
e you?” Key asked.
Miss Broomble shook her head. “No, only a few witches learn the secret spell of immortality. I was the last.”
“Will the Hand of DIOS make you mortal again?”
“Yes, it will. It turns every immortal back into a mortal.”
“Do you want to become mortal again?”
Miss Broomble thought before she responded. “I want to do what DIOS wants me to do,” she said at last.
“I want to be mortal again,” Key said. “I hate what I am.”
Miss Broomble shook her head. “You can’t say that.”
Key felt angry. “Is that forbidden also?” she demanded.
Miss Broomble held Key’s hands and smiled kindly at her.
“All right,” she said in a gentle voice, “you can say that you hate things about your life; you’re allowed to. In fact, Despair encourages you to do so. But you should not do it. You do not know what it means to be anything but a prisoner in a place of darkness. Once you have a little light, once you find true freedom, you’ll think differently.”
Despite the fact that Key had only known Miss Broomble for a short time, the witch had always been kind, always patient, never envious or boastful or proud. She seemed more human than most humans. She was like Key’s big sister.
Key gave a long sorrowful sigh. “I’ll be glad when Old Queen Crinkle is changed back into a mortal,” she said. “The next queen might give me my freedom.”
Miss Broomble nodded encouragingly. “Old Queen Crinkle has another two centuries to go before the Hand of DIOS changes her back into a mortal.”
“The Queen will be mortal in two hundred years?” Key asked, astonished by this news.
“When she turns seven hundred seventy seven years old, to be precise,” Miss Broomble said.
Key suddenly recalled something Mr. Fuddlebee had said about Margrave Snick, when the elderly ghost brought her to the castle. He was supposed to be changed back into a mortal when he turned seven hundred seventy seven years old. Key turned and looked questioningly at Miss Broomble. “Must all immortals be turned back into mortals once they reach that age?”
“It’s our law,” Miss Broomble said.
“Why?” Key asked.
But the witch did not have an answer for her. She could only say, “It’s a very old law, perhaps as old as Skulk.”
“Skulk?” asked Key, wondering if the old undertaker was immortal, too. He had certainly been around long enough. If he was immortal, why hadn’t he been changed back into a mortal?
“He’s neither mortal nor immortal,” Miss Broomble said. “He’s dead.”
“Mostly dead, thank you very much,” came a mumble from Skulk, who happened to be passing by at that moment, but he disappeared back down into the darkness of the Old Catacombs before Key could ask him anything further.
There certainly seemed to be many confusing rules to this Society of Mystical Creatures, which Key was now finding herself to be more a part of the older she grew. And as she thought about her age, getting older and being a part of the Society, she could not help but wish that she too were turning seven hundred seventy seven years old. She did not want to be a vampire anymore. All she really wanted was to be mortal again, for she still believed that, if she could be mortal once more, she could somehow go back to the way life had been with her mom and dad – simple, innocent, carefree.
Pega the ghost whispered in Miss Broomble’s ear. “The Queen is already getting nervous about becoming mortal again, Ma’am. She doesn’t want to be a human again. She’s afraid it might make her more humane.”
Key dug another hole and planted another glowing seed. “How does the Hand of DIOS take away power?” she asked.
Miss Broomble also continued planting. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Fuddlebee,” she replied. “He’s the expert on DIOS.”
“That reminds me,” Key said. “You still haven’t answered my first question.”
Miss Broomble looked inquisitively at Key.
“What does DIOS mean?” Key asked.
Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. “DIOS means more than the meaning of its words,” she said.
Key’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means that the more we get to know DIOS,” Miss Broomble responded, “the more we realize that we don’t know her at all.”
“Is DIOS a her?” Key asked in some amazement.
“I’m not sure,” Miss Broomble admitted. “But for now she doesn’t mind us referring to her as a her.”
“Her name is DIOS?”
“It is what she allows us to call her,” Miss Broomble said, and then added, “for now.”
“Does DIOS stand for something?”
“I can tell you that DIOS herself stands for kindness and honesty and gentleness and humility. She also stands for surrender and love and sacrifice. But her name stands for something else.”
“So,” Key said, eager to hear more, “what does the name DIOS stand for?”
“DIOS spells out D-I-O-S,” Miss Broomble said, “and D-I-O-S stands for Dimensionally Intelligent Operating System.”
— CHAPTER TWENTY —
Tudwal the Immortal Puppy-Wolf
In a month the glowing flowers and plants reached their full bloom. There were jazzberry jam colored roses and blizzard blue colored lilies. There were cotton candy colored orchids and camouflage colored daisies that were hard to spot if you didn’t know where to look. There were caramel colored dahlias and magic mint colored chrysanthemums that smelled divine. There were lemon yellow tulips and there were chocolate colored hydrangeas. There were almond trees with glowing almonds and fig trees with glowing figs. There were candy corn trees with glowing candy corns and jack-o-lantern trees with glowing jack-o-lanterns. There were croquet trees with glowing croquet mallets and balls and there were apple cider trees with glowing jugs of apple cider. Along the floor grew maroon-colored grass, which felt like silk beneath Key’s bare feet. Glowing vines grew everywhere, covering almost every inch of the dungeon, over dirt, over cobblestones, even over a Troll under a spell sleeping by a well. A flowering vine like morning glory dangled from the ceiling, with beautiful flowers that twinkled like stars and had a scent like the ocean. Another flowering vine like midnight jasmine grew along the walls, with flowers that glowed like Christmas lights and smelled like fresh snow and cherry tarts. There were so many flowers and plants that Key could not count them all. They grew into a grove, glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and stretching as far as Key’s eyes could see into the dungeon. Despair now seemed much brighter.
Pega started carrying pruning shears. She sheared the vines to balance the colors. “This might be a Dungeon of Despair,” Pega said to Miss Broomble, “but even hopelessness must have some order, Ma’am.”
Little by little, the dungeon became more and more beautiful, and more and more comfortable and livable. A little light in the darkness helped Key feel a little hopeful.
Yet it saddened Key to hear that Miss Broomble could not stay with her in the Necropolis. The witch had to return to her job, which she never quite explained, saying only that it was a very important job for the Society of Mystical Creatures in the Government Liaison Office Of Potions – which most Mystical Creatures simply referred to as “GLOOP.”
Miss Broomble said goodbye with several hugs and several more tears being shed, but before she left, the witch promised she would return as often as she could.
And as the nights passed, Key discovered that Miss Broomble was true to her word. Sometimes the witch visited once a month. Sometimes she visited once a year. Key was always happy to see her dear friend, and she was never upset that the witch’s visits could not be more regular. Key completely understood that, unlike herself, the witch was not a prisoner in the dungeon. She should come and go as she wished because Key’s imprisonment was hers, and hers alone, and she did not want anyone to suffer what she was suffering, especially a good friend like Miss Broomble.
; But the witch never failed to return to Key. And she always brought her gifts from various places of the world. One time the witch brought magic sand from the Sphinx of Egypt. Another time she brought golden spider thread from the rainforest of Peru. The time after that she brought a crate of robotic butterflies with crystal wings from the workshop of the GadgetTronic Brothers. It was little things like this that also helped lighten the burden of Key’s unjust imprisonment.
In this way the days passed, and the weeks, and the months and years and decades, until another hundred years went by, and Key still had not been released from the dungeon.
By the night Key celebrated two hundred years of being a prisoner in the Dungeon of Despair, she knew that Margrave Snick must have died long ago. She concluded that he would not be buried in the Necropolis for two reasons. First off, he was most definitely a mortal, and no mortal was allowed to be buried in the Necropolis – except for the questionable situation that Key read about in her little book concerning poor Berti Fundledink, who lived for so long that everyone assumed he was a Mystical Creature, although no one knew which, seeing as how Berti looked like a witch and a zombie, a werewolf and a vampire and a ghost, all rolled into one, yet no Mystical Creature took credit for making him any of those, seeing as how poor Berti lived the majority of his life as a merciless P.E. teacher.
The second reason that Margrave Snick would not be buried in the Necropolis was that he was neither Mostly Dead nor Partly Dead. He was completely, utterly, and absolutely dead as a doornail. He had to be. “Wasn’t he dead by now?” Key asked herself, knowing that she could not answer this for certain. Yet while her mind told her that he was dead, a cold feeling like a shiver down her spine whispered to her that Margrave Snick might not be so doornail-dead.
But before she could think more about that disturbing topic, she heard Miss Broomble’s voice sing out, “Happy birth-night to you, Happy birth-night to you,” along with a Partly Dead Brownie on her shoulder, and Pega, who was singing along in a whisper, still quite afraid of breaking castle rules.