Land of Verne

by David H. Burton

  And during that time it was as if someone had flipped a weather switch turning it suddenly to autumn. A coolness settled in and the drafts in the orphanage were enough to leave a bit of a constant chill on the place. Grim dreaded getting out of bed every morning. The floors were freezing.

  Yet one morning, he finally had his chance to speak with Master Galan alone.

  “Good morning,” Grim greeted the old man as he sat in his laboratory, reading a large book titled Potions: Cures and Antidotes.

  “Well, good morning to you. Please have a seat,” Master Galan said, gesturing to the bench across from him.

  Grim sat down and Master Galan closed the brittle pages.

  “What can I do for you, child?” His face looked saggy and worn, like he hadn’t slept well in days. The preparations for the Anniversary was taking its toll on the Tutors as well.

  “I want to know about the creatures that came to our house on Earth. What are they? And how did they get there?”

  The old man adjusted the frills of his cuffs. He hemmed and hawed for a time. “Well, I suppose you were bound to ask that question sooner or later. I know you’ve had a lot to cope with since your arrival here? Are you homesick for your world?”

  “Some days are harder than others,” Grim said. The old man seemed to wait for Grim to add to that, but he left it alone. “Anyhow, I just wanted to know who they were.”

  “The Ogrim? Well,” he said, and sighed, “they were once Ogres, but were twisted into foul creatures using absinth. They are bent to the will of the person that transformed them. The sun burns what little skin they have left so they remain cloaked in the daylight. They are disfigured, or so they say, for almost no one has ever seen the face of an Ogrim and lived.”

  “How did they get to Earth?”

  “Your uncle discovered that your family had escaped to Earth — someone must have betrayed us. I came through to warn you, but they arrived too quickly. Somehow they knew how to find you.”

  Grim thought of his own trip through the portal, wondering if perhaps he had led them there.

  “Do you know who did it?”

  The old man shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say. It could be anyone.”

  “It was lucky that Sam knew to put the stones out to get us out of there in time,” Grim muttered.

  Master Galan’s eyes widened in interest. “So, Sam has the gift of Sight, does he?”

  Grim shrugged. “Maybe.”

  They were interrupted as Quinn and Sam approached them, Sam carrying a burgundy sack in his hands. Quinn coughed and sniffled. Master Galan put his old, spotted hand upon Quinn’s forehead.

  “You don’t appear well. I will make you an elixir.”

  Sam plopped the sack on the table.

  “What have you got there?” Master Galan asked.

  Quinn fidgeted as Sam opened it. In the bag were the portal stones.

  Master Galan took the sack and examined the stones hastily.

  “I’ve been missing these. I thought I misplaced them, but was starting to think they had been stolen. Where did you get them?”

  Sam covered his mouth and giggled.

  “Festrel.”

  One week later, with the smell of autumn emanating throughout the city, Grim walked with Rudy, Treena, and Quinn to their chores. They kept a slow pace, not too eager to get there. The walls of Madam Malkim’s needed scouring and getting the black soot off the stone took every ounce of strength they had. On this particular autumn morning, with its crisp chill in the air, there was only one thing that could make it any worse ― Festrel and Gorkin. The two charged across the grounds and practically ploughed through the lot of them.

  Grim ignored them, and gulped down the sickening bile that he could taste in his mouth every time he looked upon Festrel’s smarmy grin. He had plenty he’d like to say to the two of them, but a scream in the distance caught their attention. All four bolted in the direction of the ruckus. They rounded the corner and stopped in their tracks.

  A statue stood in the alley and Dorian knelt in front of it, wailing. His wings were spread wide. The statue appeared lifelike, and upon closer inspection it looked exactly like Valeria, with one exception ― it appeared like she was half-Sylph and half-monster. Her face looked furious and seething, but that part was still normal. It was her lower half and her hands with the long claws that were out of place. Even the mechanical parts of her took on a sharp and menacing look. She was half-Banshee, but turned to stone.

  A number of children milled about them. Then, two city constables ran forth and grabbed Dorian. He hung his head and the usually bright light in his eyes dimmed as they led him away.

  “He turned her to stone,” Quinn breathed.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Rudy said. “Dorian would never do such a thing.”

  “Gargoyles have been known to turn others to stone,” said Treena. “My grandmother said it’s an evil power. That’s why they’re not trusted. Gravenhurst sits well into the Shadowlands.”

  Grim looked at Rudy. “I think you’re right. Dorian would never do such a thing.”

  “But I know someone who would,” Rudy muttered. Her face contorted as she stared off towards the entrance to Madam Malkim’s. Eevenellin stood just on the verge of the shadows, watching. The Grundel noticed them gaping at her and she slipped further back.

  Rudy put her hands on her hips. “She’s involved in this and I’m going to find out how.”

  She stormed off after Eevenellin.

  Grim studied Valeria’s stone form. “So what does this mean?”

  Treena shook her head. “I don’t think there is a known cure for petrification, unless the Gargoyles know of one.”

  “So is she dead?”

  Quinn shrugged. “No one knows. It’s whispered that they remain alive as stone, never able to move or speak for all eternity.”

  Four more constables arrived and took up places around Valeria’s stone body. Madam Adelaide arrived and waved the children off. She glared at Treena and the others.

  “Go! There is nothing to see here!”

  Through the gathering crowd Grim tried to catch a further glimpse of Valeria.

  “But,―”

  “I said go!” she snarled. “And for your impudence, all of you can go clean the sewers. We will see to the walls tomorrow.”

  Grim blinked.

  “But,―”

  “Now!”

  Treena took Grim by the arm. “Let’s go before we end up cleaning the crappers as well,” she said.

  Grim sighed and simply followed the others off to the sewers.

  After spending the entire afternoon in refuse, Grim’s arms and back ached. He strode in to the kitchens to find Veerasin looking more haggard than the previous day. The frail-looking woman worked away industriously on the pots, elbow-deep in suds.

  Most of the dishes were already clean.

  “Good evening,” Grim said.

  “Well, hello there, honeycakes.” Veerasin wiped her hands on her darkly stained apron. “The octopus has stuck something awful to the pots tonight. The cookers need repair. I got an early start.”

  Grim rolled up his sleeves. “I suppose you’ve heard about Dorian.”

  She stopped and looked up. “What about him?”

  Grim explained what had happened and how Dorian had been found with Valeria’s stone body.

  Veerasin remained silent for a moment. “Well,” she said finally. “I can’t imagine any such thing. Dorian is…well, that’s not something I should be sharing with you. That was spoken in confidence, but I can tell you that Dorian would never have done any such thing.”

  Grim grabbed a rag. “I don’t believe it either.”

  “Then you’re a good judge of character,” Veerasin said. She leaned over the sink and cleared tentacles out of the drain so the washwater could run out.

  Grim joined her and worked away at the pots. He had to use his fingernails to scrape the purple scum from the metal surface.


  Octopus. If it had tasted good, he could live with cleaning up the mess, but it was wretchedly chewy and flavorless. He moved from one pot to the next, all the while wondering about Festrel.

  So if Dorian didn’t do it, did Festrel have anything to do with Valeria’s condition?

  Grim wiped the sweat from his forehead. The kitchens were hot. And then a thought struck him. “What do you know about the Lord of Harland Manor?” he asked.

  A grimace crept across Veerasin’s face, making her appear even uglier than usual.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but I will say this,” she whispered. “There are rumors flitting about him. You should be careful what you ask and of whom.” She searched the kitchens for any other presence and then sniffed at the air. She crouched low, listening, before she lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. “Some say he is connected with Jinns and the Darksworn. Be careful around Festrel. He’s just as malevolent as his father.”

  Veerasin peered out the window. The dark blanket of night settled on the City.

  “Tell you what, cookie,” she said. “My shift is over now, so why don’t you head on back to your room before that lovely Madam Kennelworth shows up?”

  “Thank you,” Grim said, and dropped the rag in the bucket.

  So Festrel was connected with Jinns and the Darksworn, was he?

  Maybe that would explain the book he borrowed.

  He paused at the entrance. Coming through the doorway was the sound of the Keeper of the Kitchens mumbling to herself as she shuffled through the corridors.

  Grim backed up and tiptoed through the kitchens towards the entrance to the Dining Hall instead. “Have a good night,” Grim said and slipped through the entrance. He wasn’t going to pass up the chance to miss out on chores.

  Inside, a few of the students gathered in clusters, some playing Mystic’s Switch and some playing a sinth board game called Thrunge. Grim didn’t stop to watch.

  Lingering at the entrance was Gorkin and Festrel. Among the crowd that surrounded them was Quinn.

  “Hi, Quinn,” Grim muttered as he passed them. Jackmeister tripped him and Grim tumbled to the floor. He tried to get up but a booted foot held him in place.

  “Well, if it isn’t the little Southerner,” said a voice and Grim cocked his head to see Festrel standing over him. “Quinn, how do you manage to live with such refuse?”

  The rest of the group laughed. Grim’s face reddened, but he clamped his mouth shut.

  “He’s like a little pig rolling around on the ground. Perhaps we should roast you, little swine.” The other children snorted and squealed like pigs. Festrel pulled out a sinth knife and flames slid along its length. He waved it in front of Grim’s face. It was hot.

  “Or maybe we should skewer the little pig instead,” he said.

  Grim inched back, watching the knife and the fire that licked at his hair. His own anger was now palpable, welling up inside him. Yet before he could say anything Quinn cut in.

  “That’s enough!”

  A sly grin crept across Festrel’s face. He rose to face him. “If your father knew what sort of gutter trash you’ve been associating with, he’d be shamed.”

  Quinn faced him. “Then go ahead and tell him, why don’t you?” The look on his face was fierce. “Ah, but you can’t, can you, because he’s dead. And your father likely had something to do with it.”

  Festrel’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Come on, Grim,” he said, pulling him up from the ground. There were whispers and snickers as they departed. Boisterous laughter followed. Quinn trembled, but with anger or fright, Grim couldn’t tell.

  “What about your mother?” Grim said as they scurried down the corridor. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said, and Grim knew not to discuss it further. He simply muttered “Thank you” and they strode through the drafty corridors of the orphanage.

  Treena and Rudy were huddled together by the fire of the Hearth Room when they arrived. They pored over a scattering of books.

  Grim and Quinn rushed to join them. The orphanage side of Madam Malkim’s was freezing and Grim groaned with the cold. He didn’t want to think about what the winter would bring. He could only hope he would get as many chores in the toasty warm Academy as possible.

  “What are you doing?” Grim asked, blowing on his hands and rubbing them for warmth. He held them up to the fire.

  Rudy looked up from a book. “I can’t read a blasted thing. How am I supposed to find it?”

  “Can I help?” Quinn asked, also warming his hands by the flames. “What are we looking for?”

  Rudy leaned over and whispered. “Do you remember the vial that went missing?”

  “The one you told me about from the storage room?” Quinn asked and coughed horribly.

  She nodded. “Do you remember when we were helping Master Galan and the whole room filled with smoke?”

  “How can I forget?” Grim muttered. He rubbed the spot where he’d been bitten by Scarlet. He hadn’t seen much of her lately, having given her the hint that he didn’t want her around. The bite still hurt sometimes.

  “Well, I saw the same colored bottle in the room. It was even labeled the same.”

  “I thought you couldn’t read it,” Grim said.

  His sister smiled shyly. “Quinn’s been helping me. I recognized the same letters, so I took it when the room filled with smoke.”

  Grim winced. “I don’t know if that was a good idea. Where is it now?”

  “My chores today were to go back in and dust the room again. So Quinn copied the name of it down for me and I put that bottle in the old storage room to replace the stolen one. It looks exactly like the bottle that Eevenellin took. Now we don’t need to get it back from her,” she said with a huge grin.

  Grim wasn’t sure of this plan, but it made sense, and it would keep Rudy from getting in trouble.

  “What’s it called?”

  “Marmorite Blue,” Treena said. She sat so close to the fire Grim thought the girl’s robes might catch flame.

  “So what are the books for?”

  Treena was about to answer, but then leapt up from where she sat. As Grim expected, the poor girl’s robes caught flame.

  “Ack!” Treena ran about the room and flapped her arms like a chicken.

  Quinn bolted up and whipped out his platinum cane. He pointed at the flames, flipped three switches and pressed a button.

  A fine mist of water doused Treena and snuffed out the fire.

  “Fast thinking,” Rudy said.

  Treena was now sopping wet like a soggy scarecrow. Her spiky hair was like a matted pile of purple straw.

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  Rudy picked up the books. “Maybe we should take these back to one of our rooms.”

  They gathered them up and made their way down the corridor to Treena and Rudy’s room.

  There was a faint howl in the distance and Quinn looked out the window. He began to cough and swigged on a green elixir that he pulled from his robes.

  “So what are we looking for? And how did you get them?” Grim asked as he looked at the stack of books. He thumbed through it with clumsy, frozen fingers.

  In the meantime, Treena changed clothes inside the wardrobe while Rudy rushed to light a fire in the hearth.

  “We’re trying to find out what Marmorite Blue is used for,” Rudy said. “And let’s just say that I’ll need to smuggle these back later.”

  “Any luck?”

  “Nothing yet. Grab a book,” came Treena’s muffled voice. She stepped out a few moments later and her hair stood on end once more.

  They continued sifting through the pile. Grim wished for a table of contents, or an index. Yet there was no such thing in these books. They searched page by excruciating page. Grim thought he should mention the notion to Master Cobblepot. He’d likely appreciate such a concept as the Dewey decimal system.

  “Here it is,” Treena said, after hours of
searching. In her lap sat a book called Potions: Cures and Antidotes. “ Marmorite Blue is a rarely used elixir, usually mixed in small concentrations to help in the curing of broken bones and breathing ailments in the Unseen. It has a number of improper uses, including poison when mixed with fish liver, plague when mixed with the hair of a Changeling, and, when mixed with Gargoyle’s hair, the Elixir of Stone ― a dark concoction that petrifies its victims.” She flipped the book over in her hands. “This book is really old, from before the time of sinth.” Then she gasped. “Look at the back.”

  All of their heads leaned in. There, written on the back, was the name of the last person to have signed it out.

  “Eevenellin Festwith,” Grim muttered.

  The next morning, Grim was so late waking he practically ran to the kitchens in time for breakfast. He had barely sat when Madam Malkim rose to speak to the Academy.

  “There was an attack on one of our serv —,…err,… orphans yesterday. An individual has been identified as the suspected attacker and we will ensure that he is tried. Two witnesses have stepped forward already. If anyone else has information concerning this attack, you must speak.”

  Grim had heard the rumors. The two witnesses were apparently Festrel and Gorkin.

  “Also,” continued Madam Malkim, “I would like to announce that, sadly, Lord Festrel must journey home. He is going to regale his father and the fine people of Harland Manor about our wonderful Academy and we hope he will rejoin us shortly for the Anniversary.”

  Festrel rose. The students clapped furiously and cheered, drawing from him a smug grin and a cocky wave. Festrel gave Grim and Rudy a prolonged glance and then sat down. Grim held his head high, looked Festrel right in the eyes, and refused to clap. He sat with his hands folded on the table. Rudy did the same.

  Madam Malkim left the room and those that finished breakfast departed; orphans to their chores, the students following Festrel out the door to his awaiting dirigible. It looked to be the same as the one Grim had seen flying overhead when he’d first arrived in this world.