Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum

by Funaro, Greg

  Even though he was reckless by nature, Mr. Smears could be crafty when he put his mind to it—especially when off the drink. He was buying time, which is exactly what I needed to do too, because now that Mad Malmuirie had McClintock, she most certainly would kill us both if I exposed Mr. Smears’s deception.

  McClintock, I said to myself, glancing down at him—he was still in Mad Malmuirie’s hand. He should be waking up any moment now, I thought. But if the witch opens him outside the Odditorium, unprotected by its magic paint…

  I shivered at the thought of the doom dogs coming for Mack’s animus, but at the same time an idea began bubbling in my brain.

  “How dare you question my word, Smears!” said Mad Malmuirie, her emerald-green eyes flashing with fury.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” said Mr. Smears, “but look what your word’s got Alistair Grim: a stolen watch and a son what’s about to get himself kidnapped.”

  “I should have known better than to trust a ruffian such as you,” the witch said, and she readied her wand to strike. Without thinking, I leaped between them.

  “I know where it is!” I cried.

  Mad Malmuirie lowered her wand and bore her eyes into mine. “Where?” she asked, and I glanced at Mr. Smears. His face was all puckered with confusion.

  “Er—well—I can’t be certain,” I said, lying, “but I know where Mr. Smears hides things what’s valuable. I can show you, ma’am—but you must promise not to hurt him.”

  Mad Malmuirie smiled. “But you’re a curious lad, aren’t you? Why on earth would you want to protect a man bent on kidnapping you?”

  “Well, ma’am, if you kill him, what use would you have for me?” Mad Malmuirie chuckled at my candor. “Besides, I should think this map must be very valuable should a lady of your breeding traffic with the likes of Mr. Smears.”

  “Indeed,” said the witch. “And I suppose that, if you have a hand in delivering the map, you’ll want something in return?”

  “Just my life, ma’am, if you please. And Mr. Smears’s. And perhaps a ride on that broomstick of yours back to the Odditorium.”

  “How about I just kill him now for you? From what I gather, this blackguard didn’t show you much kindness over the years.”

  “No, he didn’t, I’m afraid. But please don’t kill him, ma’am. He can’t help what he is no more than a rat can. If you spare us both, I’ll lead you to his hiding place. I can’t promise the map will be there, but if you kill us, I can promise you’ll never find it.”

  Mad Malmuirie eyed Mr. Smears suspiciously. “You’re awfully quiet, Smears, given that the lad is campaigning on your behalf.”

  Mr. Smears scratched his scar. “Never you mind about him,” he said. “I believe the boy’s genuine now. Hand him over and I’ll bring you to the map myself.”

  Mad Malmuirie laughed. “Not on your life, villain,” she said, mounting her broomstick. “Now climb aboard, fetch me the map, and the two of you shall live.”

  My eyes dropped again to McClintock. Why wasn’t he waking up?

  “Er, begging your pardon, ma’am,” I said, thinking quickly. “If I’m to help you, I should probably know what this map is. Mr. Grim never mentioned a stolen map, but then again he’s quite fond of keeping secrets from me.”

  “Especially secrets about swords,” whispered Mad Malmuirie, and my heart nearly stopped. She knew about Excalibur. Of course she did. I had been wearing the warding stone in Professor Bricklewick’s study. And hadn’t he asked me if it was glowing?

  “You needn’t worry, lad,” said the witch. “I have no use for silly swords. But maps, on the other hand…” She flitted her eyes at Mr. Smears. “Your former master claims he stole Alistair Grim’s map at the Lamb’s Inn. But poor Mr. Smears can’t read—not to mention that he was much more interested in finding you.”

  Mad Malmuirie smiled, and I glanced over at Mr. Smears. He just stood there silent and stone-faced, but I could see in his eyes that his mind was racing a mile a minute. Mine was too. Even if Mad Malmuirie was telling the truth about having no use for Excalibur, should she alert Prince Nightshade to our quest…

  I needed to escape straightaway and tell Father—but before I could do that, I needed to wake up Mack!

  “You see, Grubb,” the witch went on, “I too am a seeker of Odditoria. And from what little I know of Alistair Grim, this map of his must lead to a magical object of great power—something useless to a chimney sweep, but priceless to a lady of my talents.”

  Come on, Mack, wake up! I screamed in my head, but my mouth said, “Er, uh, speaking of chimney sweeps, ma’am, how did you wind up with Mr. Smears here?”

  “Word of Alistair Grim’s Odditorium and its mysterious disappearance traveled fast. I recognized your Father’s likeness in the newspapers and came to London with the hopes of tracking him down. Mr. Smears did the same.”

  “Put two and two together, I did,” he said. “Only way you could’ve escaped from us that night was in that fancy black coach. Of course, Grim used a phony name at the Lamb, but when I saw his mug in them papers, I knew I had my man.”

  “Our paths crossed purely by chance while making inquiries in London,” said Mad Malmuirie. “Mr. Smears told me he was in search of a boy who Alistair Grim had stolen from him. And once the warding stones confirmed his tale, I agreed to an even trade for your father’s map.”

  “My livelihood is ruined on account of you, Grubb,” said Mr. Smears. “And so I’ve taken up life as a villain. My first offense? Holding you for ransom. I wager a man like Alistair Grim would pay handsomely to have his son back. And if he refuses? Well, I needn’t mention what’s in store for you then.”

  Mr. Smears cracked his knuckles.

  “Tut-tut, Smears,” said Mad Malmuirie. “On second thought, I’ve decided to amend our deal. You shall not lay a finger on the lad. I’ve grown fond of him.”

  Mr. Smears gasped. “But you gave me your word!”

  “Your reward in exchange for the map shall be your life. Count yourself lucky you’re getting that.”

  Mr. Smears’s face flushed red, and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles grew white.

  “As for you, young Grubb,” said the witch, “now that Prince Nightshade is onto your father, I should think the sooner we get moving the better. Wouldn’t want him to get his dirty little hands on Excalibur, would we?”

  Mad Malmuirie chuckled, slipped McClintock into her robes, and donned her hood. Despite everything that was happening, I was relieved to learn that, as Father had suspected, the witch was not in league with Prince Nightshade. At the same time, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer for Mack to wake up on his own. I needed to act fast.

  “Begging your pardon again, ma’am,” I said. “What Father said back there on the balcony—about McClintock having changed and whatnot—well, you may want to look for yourself. He’s prone to fizzling out from time to time.”

  “Fizzling out?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid he just stops ticking now and then for no reason.”

  “Well of course he does. He’s a time stopper, is he not?”

  “A time stopper, ma’am?”

  “A watch that stops time. You mean your father never told you?” I shook my head. “McClintock has the unique ability to freeze time for as long as one full minute, enabling whoever holds him to move about undetected by others. Why else would your father want a magical pocket watch on his quests if not to freeze the beings from whom he stole his Odditoria?”

  The witch’s explanation made perfect sense to me, and yet now I was confused. How come Mack never told me he could stop time? We certainly could have used such a trick during our escape from Nightshade’s castle. And furthermore, if Father had planned on using Mack on his quests, surely he would have needed to coat him with magic paint to conceal his animus.

  Unless, of course, Mack didn’t have animus until he came to the Odditorium.

  That’s it! I said to myself. Mad Malmuirie didn’
t seem the least bit concerned about the doom dogs, so she must be unaware of Mack’s animus. Perhaps that’s what Father meant when he said Mack had changed. Could he have broken McClintock and then tried to repair him with the animus? Could that be the reason why Mack was always in the shop—because Alistair Grim was trying to mend his time stopper?

  “Your doubts are in your eyes, Master Grubb,” said Mad Malmuirie. “However, because I’ve grown fond of you, I shall show you how the time stopper works.”

  The witch removed McClintock from her robes and my heart began to hammer. I’d been lucky once playing with fire—during my escape from Nightshade’s castle, when I opened Mack and sicced the doom dogs on the prince’s minions. My present plan was something similar. However, being as it was cloudy today, there was no sunlight to protect me. Meaning, when Mad Malmuirie opened Mack and summoned the doom dogs, I would have to snatch him back immediately and make a run for it through the forest. I’d spotted a narrow river on our flight here. If I could reach it in time, I thought, I might be able to wash off my scent and lose the doom dogs on the other side.

  That was my plan, anyway. And yet, now that the moment of truth had arrived, the whole lot of it suddenly seemed quite daft.

  Mad Malmuirie opened Mack, gave him a quick shake, and then frowned when his face remained dark. “Odd. The time stopper is supposed to awaken when opened.”

  “If you tap him on his twelve, ma’am, that usually does the trick.”

  Mad Malmuirie obliged, and with a crackle and a flash, Mack came alive at once. Mr. Smears let out a gasp, and the witch smiled wide.

  “What time is it?” Mack cried, mustache twirling, his eyes bright with animus. But when he saw who was holding him, he let out a shriek and said, “Ach! Not you!”

  “Welcome back, old friend,” said Mad Malmuirie, and Mack began struggling to break free.

  “Let me go, ya barmy witch!” he cried. “I belong to Mr. Grim now!”

  “Tut-tut, is that any way to greet your old mistress? And what’s with this blue light of yours?”

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. I’m of no use to ya anymore. Me time stopper is broken. Been that way ever since Mr. Grim rescued me!”

  “Rescued you?” Mad Malmuirie laughed. “Alistair Grim has taught you well. If you were broken, you couldn’t go on jabbering such. And now I’ll show your friend Grubb just what a little liar you are.”

  Mad Malmuirie thrust McClintock out before her and pressed her thumb down on his winding knob—but nothing happened.

  “I tried to tell ya!” Mack cried. “Me time stopper’s broken!”

  “It can’t be!” Mad Malmuirie hissed, instantly furious. She pressed down on Mack’s knob again, and again nothing happened.

  “I’m afraid Father was telling the truth, ma’am. Mack’s never been able to stop time as long as I’ve known him.”

  The witch began to tremble, her eyes lolled in their sockets, and her lips curled back from her teeth.

  “Uh-oh,” Mack said, and Mad Malmuirie let out a shriek that shook the very walls of the tumbledown church.

  “Take, take, take, that’s all you humans do!” she cried, wheeling on me. “And now I shall take something from Alistair Grim!”

  Mad Malmuirie raised her magic wand to strike, when without warning Mack leaped from her hand. “MCCLINTOCK!” he cried, and slammed hard into the witch’s brow. Mad Malmuirie yelped and tumbled off her broomstick into the dirt. Before I had time to fathom what was happening, out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Smears swinging for my head.

  “Why, you little worm!” he growled. But the clumsy brute was as slow as ever and I easily ducked his blow. Mack flew up from the ground just in time and smacked Mr. Smears between the eyes, then bounced off right into my hands. Dazed, Mr. Smears staggered back and plopped down heavily onto his bottom.

  “Nothin’ like a good brawl now and then, eh, mate?” Mack chuckled.

  Just then I saw the first of the doom dogs taking shape in a darkened corner of the church—only a billow of black smoke at first—but I didn’t stick around to see any more. I closed Mack’s case, slipped him into my pocket, and dashed for the nearest opening in the crumbling ruins.

  “Stop him!” cried Mad Malmuirie. I was already halfway down the hill when I spotted the glowing red eyes of another doom dog blinking open in a hollow nearby.

  My breath froze in my chest, but thankfully my legs kept moving, darting this way and that down the craggy slope until finally I reached the edge of the forest. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw a series of bright white flashes coming from inside the church. A doom dog leaped out from the entrance. Mad Malmuirie appeared close behind it, and with a lightning blast from her magic wand, she reduced the beast to a scattering cloud of thick black smoke.

  Despite my fear, I couldn’t help but gape in wonder at Mad Malmuirie’s power—the daft enchantress could destroy doom dogs. But more were coming. The hound I’d seen taking shape on the hill tore off after me.

  I ran through the forest as fast as I could, my feet barely touching the leaf-covered ground. The crunch, crunch, crunch of the shadow hound’s paws drew closer and closer behind me. I dared not look over my shoulder again. The river was just beyond the rise ahead of me, I remembered, and in no time I reached its banks and splashed across to the other side. The doom dog howled, and I whirled round to find the beast pacing frantically back and forth along the opposite bank.

  Why wasn’t it coming after me?

  The doom dog touched a tentative paw at the river’s edge and immediately shrank back, squealing in pain as if the water had burned it.

  “You’re like any other spirit, aren’t you?” I said, breathless. “You can’t travel over water!”

  The doom dog snarled and barked at me. Seconds later, Mad Malmuirie and Mr. Smears emerged from the forest on her broomstick, and the creature set its glowing red sights on them. The doom dog gnashed its teeth and leaped into the air, and once again Mad Malmuirie fired a bolt of lightning from her wand, reducing the beast to smoke.

  Panicking, I took to my heels, my lungs burning as I ran for my life. And yet, deep down, I knew there was no way I could escape. The witch’s broomstick was much too fast. And sure enough, when I looked back over my shoulder Mad Malmuirie and Mr. Smears were almost upon me.

  The witch, her eyes crazed with hatred, raised her wand and fired. I dove out of the way, and her lightning bolt streaked past me, missing my head by inches and striking the forest bed in a spray of dirt and burning leaves.

  Mad Malmuirie zoomed over me, circled her broomstick back through the trees, and then raised her wand again.

  “Now I’ve got you!” she hissed.

  But then, with a loud thwiiip, something whizzed across the air and splattered her from head to toe in a blanket of orange goo.

  “Argh!” she cried, losing control, and her broomstick veered sharply toward a large oak tree. Mr. Smears jumped off just in time, but Mad Malmuirie, covered as she was in orange goo, smacked into the tree with a loud splat! She was stuck there—out cold and halfway up the trunk—like a redheaded wasp caught in a glob of honey.

  I scrambled to my feet to find Nigel’s egg blaster hovering by itself in midair only a few yards away from me. My jaw dropped—I could hardly believe my eyes—when a glowing blue hand materialized around the egg blaster’s handle.

  “Cleona!” I cried, and the rest of her body quickly followed.

  “Sorry it took so long for me to find you,” she said. “I must say, however, this saving-your-life business is getting to be a full-time job.”

  My heart swelled with relief. “Thank goodness you’re all right,” I said. “And Nigel, the others…?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” Cleona said, when suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Look out, Grubb!” she shouted.

  Cleona fired the blaster again and the egg whizzed past my head. Spinning round, I found Mr. Smears falling backward onto the ground in a massive blob of purple goo. He had t
ried to sneak up on me.

  “I’ll get you for this, Grubb!” Mr. Smears growled, struggling. But the more he struggled, the more the forest bed stuck to him, and soon he looked like some enchanted leaf man that Alistair Grim might like to have at his Odditorium.

  “That should keep them both busy for a while,” Cleona said. “Now we best get you back home before Uncle sends everyone out looking for you.”

  “McClintock,” I said. “Mad Malmuirie opened him, which means—”

  Just then a crow cawed loudly above our heads, and I gazed up to find at least a hundred of the big black birds staring down at us from amongst the trees. Crows can naturally sense when doom dogs enter our world, and Prince Nightshade had trained his flock to alert him of their presence in the event they were tracking animus. It was impossible to tell whether or not any of these crows belonged to the prince, but one thing was certain: we needed to get away from them just in case.

  Caw! another of the birds called, and Cleona made a fist at it.

  “Caw yourself!” she called back defiantly. I threw my arms around her neck, and in a flash Cleona took flight, soaring up through the clouds and straight for the Odditorium with me hanging on.

  As we drew nearer, I discovered that Father’s mechanical wonder had been readied for battle. The blue energy shields were up, the gunneries engaged, and the wasps were buzzing round and round outside. The hangar doors to Nigel’s quarters were open, and as Cleona flew us inside, we found Father preparing to take off in the demon buggy.

  “Hold your horses,” Cleona said. “I told you I’d bring him back.”

  Father leaped from his seat and hugged me tight, upon which Cleona rushed over to the talkback and announced to everyone that I’d been rescued.

  “Are you all right?” Father cried. “Did Mad Malmuirie hurt you?”

  “No, sir, but she knows about Excalibur. The warding stone…She—”

  “I assumed as much, yes.”

  “And you were right, sir. She wants nothing to do with Prince Nightshade. But Mr. Smears, he’s in league with her too.”