by Funaro, Greg
“You mean Prince Nightshade is coming?” I asked.
“Along with Mad Malmuirie.”
Kiyoko dashed over to the temple entrance. “The three of you will be able to travel faster without me,” she said, glancing outside. “Tell Alistair Grim what we’ve found, and I’ll try to learn more about this prophecy.” I was about to protest, but Kiyoko cut me off. “Go now. We may not have much time before we meet Prince Nightshade again.”
We wished each other luck, and with a blink of the Gallownog’s eyes we were invisible again and flying across the garden. Rather than travel back through the castle this time, Dalach darted upward and zoomed along the battlements. The castle grounds, as far as I could see, were deserted; the once bustling courtyard had grown eerily silent, and the drawbridge was up.
“Brace yourselves,” Dalach said as we approached the moat. “The pain will be worse without the drawbridge.”
I did not think it possible, but then Dalach flew us over the gatehouse and proved me wrong. As before, the pain abated as soon as we crossed the moat, but the Gallownog did not pause this time to recover, and took off across the courtyard like a wayward gunshot. The cherry trees flew past us in a smear of swirling blossoms, until finally we passed through the outer gates and landed in the field.
What I saw there made my heart freeze.
The festival had been completely abandoned. Banners and empty tents flapped in the breeze, fires still smoldered, and the ground lay strewn with rubbish, as if the Avalonians had simply dropped everything and ran.
But worst of all, the Odditorium was gone.
Father!” I cried out in a panic, and the Gallownog took flight—up, up, up into the air until we were high enough to see the entire kingdom. In one direction lay the thick swath of ancient forest, the port city, and the colossal statue in the sea; and in the other direction, the castle, the rolling farmland and valleys, and the forest that stretched to the horizon.
There was no sign of the Odditorium anywhere.
“What’s happened?” I asked. The Gallownog, his face straining, surveyed the scene a moment longer, and then dropped us back down into the field.
“The higher I go,” he said, panting, “the quicker I lose my strength when shackled to a human. Give me a moment, and we’ll try again.”
Presently, a loud shriek shattered the silence, and from out of the forest flew Captain Fox Tail on his dragon. Dalach raised his finger to his lips—we were still invisible, of course—and the knight swooped past us and disappeared over the castle walls. The Gallownog, Mack, and I gave chase, my heart pounding so furiously that I barely felt the pain of crossing the moat again. And before I knew it, we’d followed Captain Fox Tail straight into the throne room.
The vast chamber was crowded with the Royal Guard and their dragons. The queen and her sisters sat on their thrones upon the dais, and there, standing on the steps before her, was Father.
I sighed with relief—and was about to call out to him—but Dalach clamped his hand over my mouth and flew us up onto a narrow catwalk high amongst the pillars. “Patience, lad,” he whispered. “Remember, things may not be what they seem.”
“I can do nothing to change your destiny, Alistair Grim,” announced the queen. “For, like Excalibur itself, my gift of prophecy is also a double-edged sword. I can see the future and yet cannot remember it.”
“You have my word as a gentleman, Your Grace,” Father said. “I will do everything in my power to help you and your lost princess. All I ask in return is to borrow Excalibur so that I might defeat Prince Nightshade.”
Dalach and I exchanged an uneasy glance. Perhaps we would learn for certain whether or not Mad Malmuirie was this lost princess after all.
“Over a thousand years ago,” the queen began, “the bond between humans and Avalonians was forged by the very sword you seek. And although it was I who bestowed Excalibur upon the line of Pendragon, it was the lost princess who returned the sword to Arthur after his pride had broken it forever.”
“You mean when he battled Sir Lancelot?”
“Excalibur was forged for the defense of truth and goodness, and thus cannot be wielded by one who is evil. However, even the noble Arthur was not immune to ill will. He used Excalibur in anger, and wounded Sir Lancelot after he bested the king in single combat. Ashamed, Arthur tossed the broken sword into a lake, upon which my sister, the lost princess, restored it and returned it to him. She was my apprentice, a budding sorceress who would one day rule in my place. Her name was Malmuirie of Avalon.”
Father stiffened with shock. I had been right all along. Mad Malmuirie was the Lady of the Lake!
“Well, I didn’t see that one coming,” Father said after a long, tense silence.
“Malmuirie was in love with Arthur,” the queen said. “However, we Avalonians are fairies from another dimension, and thus cannot remain in your world for long. So Arthur had Merlin transform my sister into a human so they could be together. The old codger was happy to do it—a devious attempt to lure me back into your world, no doubt.”
“Your Grace?”
“Merlin never stopped loving me, you see, and tried unsuccessfully for centuries to find a way into Avalon. Which is why, I suppose, I always felt partly to blame for what happened. For in the end, King Arthur spurned her for the lovely Guinevere. Ashamed and betrayed, unable to face her family, Malmuirie disappeared—driven mad by a broken heart, the story goes. After all, a magical sword is one thing, but a princess’s love is the most precious gift she has to give.”
The Princess’s Gift Denied, I said to myself, recalling the picture on the temple walls, but Father was silent, his mind clearly spinning with questions about what the queen had just revealed to him. My mind was spinning with questions too. Did Father know that the lost princess was supposed to have returned to Avalon today? Had Queen Nimue informed him about Prince Nightshade? And did he even know that the Odditorium was missing?
“So you see?” the queen said. “The true story of what happened has been lost to time—rewritten, rather, by those who wish to use history for their own selfish purposes. And thus, you humans are not only ignorant of the past, but also doomed to repeat it. You have proven yourselves incapable of wielding power without evil and corruption.”
“I see,” Father said quietly. “Then you have no intention of lending me Excalibur, even if I help you, Your Grace?”
“Again, that is not for me to decide, for although I am indeed the guardian of Excalibur, the end of my thousand-year reign draws nigh. Only the lost princess can take my place, and thus the fate of both our worlds hangs upon her return.”
“So the decision regarding Excalibur rests with your sister Princess Malmuirie?”
“Your decisions, both the ones you make and the ones made for you, shall determine whether or not you are worthy of Excalibur.”
“You speak in riddles, Your Grace.”
“I speak the truth. We Avalonians are not like other fairies. Your world and ours are linked in ways that even you cannot fathom at present.”
Father thought long and hard about this, and then sighed and raked back his hair. “Very well, Your Grace, but what about the others? I agreed to your plan because you assured me my companions would be safe. After a decision is reached regarding Excalibur, will you stand by that promise?”
“No harm shall come to your friends here in Avalon, and yet they are forbidden to interfere. When the moment arrives, you shall know why.”
So Father knew that the others were safe—that was a relief—but where could they be, I wondered, and what had become of the Odditorium?
Suddenly, the entire throne room began to rumble and shake. The dragons reared and the air grew thick with fear. Captain Fox Tail ordered his knights into some sort of battle formation, and they cleared a wide space in front of the brightest of the windows. The stained glass pulsed and flashed, lightning danced along its edges, and then from out of the window burst an enormous cigar-shaped contraption that resem
bled a black shark with wheels. It was dripping wet and sputtered with smoke, and as it spun out and skidded to a stop before the dais, a half dozen more of the contraptions, each one chained to the shark before it, burst through the window and skidded to a stop too.
The sharks revved and roared, and I noticed that mounted at the rear of each of them was a small engine, complete with a glass porthole through which I could see the glowing orange eyes of a demon. My guts twisted and my knees threatened to buckle. According to Father, there was only one other person besides himself who used demons in such a manner.
Prince Nightshade.
A hatch opened atop one of the sharks and out leaped the prince himself, his long black cape billowing behind him like a swollen thundercloud. I cried out in terror as he hit the floor with a thud, but there was so much noise in the throne room that no one heard me. More hatches began to open, and from out of the sharks poured the prince’s skeleton Shadesmen—axes ready and armor clanging as they positioned themselves in a wide circle around the room.
Catching sight of Father, Prince Nightshade raised the visor on his spiked helmet. His red eyes flared amidst the empty pit of his face, and the jagged red tear that was his mouth turned upward into a smile.
“Greetings, Black Knight,” said Queen Nimue. “How nice of you to join us.”
The queen’s sisters tittered, but Prince Nightshade ignored them and gazed about the room—sizing up the situation before he attacked, it seemed. I could feel myself starting to panic, and was about to ask the Gallownog what we should do, when from out of the prince’s shark climbed someone I’d never have expected in a million years.
I gasped. “Mr. Smears!” Dalach hissed at me to be quiet.
“What’d I tell ya, Your Highness?” said Mr. Smears, climbing down his shark. “Is that Alistair Grim in the flesh or is it not?”
“That it is,” Nightshade purred with delight. “At long last, that it is.”
Father stiffened, and I noticed that he was holding the Black Mirror by his side. He must have slipped it from his pocket during the chaos of Nightshade’s arrival.
“We meet again,” Father said flatly.
Mr. Smears hitched up his trousers and, cocking his top hat, swaggered over to the prince. It was instantly clear to me what had happened. The crows Cleona and I had seen in the forest had belonged to Prince Nightshade after all. He must have gotten to Mr. Smears while he was still stuck in Moral’s egg goo, and in turn Mr. Smears told him about Father’s quest for Excalibur. Mr. Smears knew about it from watching us in the warding stones with Mad Malmuirie!
“Looks like that daft enchantress is worth her weight in gold,” he said, gazing about. “Which, from what I can tell, there’s no shortage of in this place.”
“Patience, Smears,” said the prince. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
“So you’re the fiend who abused my son,” Father said to Mr. Smears. “I had thought to teach you a lesson when all this was over, but no time like the present.”
Mr. Smears sneered and scratched his scar. Father stepped forward to pummel him, but Queen Nimue raised her hand and stopped him where he stood. “Take heed, Alistair Grim,” she said. “Yours is a fight for another day.”
“Your son, did you say?” asked Prince Nightshade. “You mean the lad who stole my animus is your son?”
“Forgot to tell you that, I did,” said Mr. Smears. “Come to find out, the little grub worm is a Grim one at that.” Mr. Smears chuckled at his pun, but Nightshade’s demeanor had completely changed. He glanced furiously about the room and unhooked his whip from his belt.
“Where is he?” the prince howled. “Bring me the child of Elizabeth O’Grady!”
“How dare you soil her name with your tongue!” Father cried.
The prince roared and cocked his whip, but before he could let it fly, Queen Nimue waved her hand and froze his arm in midair. Prince Nightshade’s eyes flashed and he smiled.
“Extraordinary,” he said, his demeanor calm again. “So the legends are true. You are a most powerful enchantress.”
The prince lowered his whip, and with a wave of his hand, forced the queen to sit down in her throne.
“Please, use your magic on me again,” he said.
“No, Your Majesty,” Father said. “Nightshade is capable of absorbing magical power, and thus any spell you cast on him shall be turned back on you in equal measure.”
Queen Nimue and her sisters looked at one another in confusion, and for the first time since our arrival in Avalon, all of them seemed afraid.
“Well, well, Alistair Grim,” said Prince Nightshade. “It seems you know quite a bit about me.”
“Likewise, from what I gather. My son tells me you’re an expert on our family history, which makes me wonder why you’ve suddenly become so obsessed with him.”
The Prince chuckled knowingly. “Where is he? And where are the others from your Odditorium? I was so looking forward to seeing them again.”
“Thanks to the queen here, the Odditorium and its inhabitants are in a place where you cannot find them. You didn’t think I’d risk you getting hold of my animus, did you?”
“A wise move, Alistair Grim. And speaking of moves, still fancy the odd game of chess, do you?”
“When time allows. But I can’t say I’ve had much of that lately thanks to you.”
“The secret of all good chess players, as you know, is their ability to plan many moves ahead. However, your problem was always worrying too much about your own moves and not your opponent’s.” The prince turned round and shouted, “Bring forth the prisoner!”
A hatch opened in one of the sharks and out flew the Black Fairy. Last time I’d seen the foul creature he was trapped inside a bubble of Gwendolyn’s fairy dust. But now it was he who was doing the trapping; for there, struggling in the Black Fairy’s arms, was Mad Malmuirie!
I gasped. “The lost princess!”
Terrified, the queen and her sisters leaped to their feet as the Black Fairy circled high above the throne room—his empty white eyes, oblivious to our invisible presence on the catwalk, passed only inches from our faces. Queen Nimue held up her hand to stop him, but her magic had no effect, and in return the Black Fairy blew apart a section of a pillar with a bolt of his thick black fire.
“You needn’t bother, Your Majesty,” said Prince Nightshade. “My second-in-command is immune to your magic. Therefore, if you want a fight, you’ll have to do it without Merlin’s trickery.”
Captain Fox Tail and his knights began to scuffle with the Shadesmen, but the queen quickly commanded them to stop. The Black Fairy swooped down and, with his massive claw clamped tightly over Mad Malmuirie’s mouth, landed beside the prince.
“Only an Avalonian could get Nightshade through that window,” Dalach whispered to me. “He must have captured Malmuirie after her battle with Kiyoko.”
“Mr. Smears,” I replied. “He told the prince where to find her. He betrayed her to save his own skin!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Prince Nightshade went on below us. “I too know something about Avalonians. The Black Fairies, of which our friend Bal’el here is the last, were once your mortal enemies. And so this is sizing up to be quite the homecoming, isn’t it?” The prince turned to Father. “But who’d have thought that Alistair Grim would join the party too? Something to do with Oscar Bricklewick, Mr. Smears tells me?”
Father smiled—but it was genuine, I could tell. Prince Nightshade did not know about the professor’s map and the gates off the coast of Blackpool. All that had been revealed after Father had disposed of my warding stone in the Cambridge sewers.
“So you’re acquainted with Oscar Bricklewick, are you?” Father asked. “Know him from way back when at university? An old family friend from London, perhaps?”
Father was baiting him, looking for a clue as to Prince Nightshade’s true identity. But the sly old devil didn’t fall for it.
“Nevertheless,” the prince said, ignoring hi
m, “once my crows tracked the doom dogs to Mr. Smears and I learned of your meeting with Bricklewick, I temporarily set my sights on acquiring another bit of Odditoria. One that you, being the fool that you are, simply overlooked.” He stroked Mad Malmuirie’s hair. “The Lady of the Lake, the lost princess of Avalon. After all, who needs a Sky Ripper when you have the heart of an Avalonian to get you here the old-fashioned way?”
Mad Malmuirie squealed and struggled in vain against the Black Fairy’s grip, but without her magic wand, she was no match for him.
“Dear sister, come to your senses,” the queen said gently. “You have returned to Avalon. The prophecy has been fulfilled and all is forgiven. There is no more shame, only the love of your family.”
Mad Malmuirie screamed something unintelligible behind the Black Fairy’s hand. Prince Nightshade chuckled menacingly.
“You were always so predictable, Alistair Grim,” he said. “And so I was not surprised to learn of your quest for Excalibur. However, who could have predicted that a thousand-year-old Avalonian princess would reveal her true identity to Smears here?”
“That she did,” said Mr. Smears. “I overheard Malmuirie jabbering on about it in her sleep. Talkin’ to herself like a regular loony, she was.”
“And so,” said the prince, “after Smears led me to her, the Lady of the Lake and I struck a bargain. Princess Malmuirie would bring me to Alistair Grim, and in return I would recover her stolen magic wand. A simple yet effective strategy on my part, wouldn’t you agree, Alistair, old boy? For as we both know, in the game of chess the most powerful weapon is not a sword but a queen.”
Father exchanged a nervous glance with Nimue.
“Go ahead, Your Majesty,” the prince went on. “Command Alistair Grim to give me the animus-powered pocket watch and I shall return your lost princess here. After, of course, we are safely back in our world.”
The Black Fairy removed his hand from Mad Malmuirie’s mouth. “My wand!” she cried, her eyes crazed and darting. “The shadow lady stole my wand!”
“Please, calm yourself, sister,” said Queen Nimue. “All will be well now that you’ve returned to Avalon.”