by Will Mabbitt
Well. No good comes from such things.
Carruthers and Speke raced toward the ring, with Mabel, Jarvis, and Pelf right behind them . . .
Cut from the finest of diamonds.
. . . their arms outstretched . . .
A symbol of your undying love.
. . . their jaws hanging open . . .
How could she resist?
No one could . . .
Apart from Omynus Hussh.
For misplaced hatred beats dumb greed in the Top Trumps of emotion, and his thirst for revenge on Mabel Jones outweighed his desire to hold the diamond.
Just a single silent step into the light.
Just a tiny wicked glint in his saucery eye.
Just a little push!
And slowly, softly—silently—the safe door began to swing shut.
Chapter 25
The Dreaded Thunk
THUNK!
Chapter 26
Ramifications of the Dreaded Thunk
The sound echoed around the inside of the safe like the memory of a bad dream.
Mabel Jones and her companions were trapped! And this time there was no way out!
Mabel felt sick.
Then she had that other feeling. That feeling you get when you’ve done something wrong. Something really wrong. Like when you’ve forgotten someone’s birthday, or broken their favorite toy. This feeling was a similar flavor to that feeling, but much stronger. And it grabbed at her guts and it clawed at her throat, till finally it found its way to her mouth and burst out in a sound that was half cry, half sob.
“MAGGIE!
I forgot
about
Maggie!”
Mabel clawed at the door, her bitten fingernails scrabbling at the cracks.
“We must get out!”
She punched the lock.
“We must,
we must!”
But it was no good.
The others watched her in silence, for there was nothing that could be said.
They were trapped. Entombed forever. For the sake of a diamond.
Mabel Jones sat down and began to cry.
She cried for herself.
She cried for her mom and dad, who she might never see again.
And she cried for her sister, Maggie. Poor not-really-that-inconvenient, not-really-at-all-annoying Maggie Jones.
Then she stopped crying and began to think.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Tower
Join me on this elevated platform strung from the bamboo scaffolding that climbs beside the tower that grows from the burned and blackened jungle.
On the highest floor there is a single room, enclosed with glass walls on all sides. We can enjoy the panoramic view of the once-great city. And what a view! The ruins of New York lie all around, disappearing into the misty wet haze.
The room is bedecked with the finest scavengings from the deserted city: opulent furnishings from the best apartments, the finest art from the crumbled museums, and the worthiest of books from the city’s libraries.
A choking, sickly sweet smell hangs heavy in the air.
The odor of magic.
Dark magic.
This is the Witch Queen’s boudoir.
Ferret yourself away in the folds of the glamorous ballgown that hangs from that hook over there: a dress made hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago, found and claimed by the Witch Queen.
Nice, isn’t it?
Breathe in its elegant perfume. Feel the fine fabric between your fingers. Place your face against the lacy trimmings. It looks and feels as good as new!
You’d never guess it is riddled with an infestation of plague-bearing lice.
Or that the dress is to be worn for the foulest of foul deeds: an evil purpose beyond belief.
For this dress is to be worn tonight. At the ceremony where the Witch Queen finally sheds her dying and withered body and takes a new form: a hooman form.
Outside, the enslaved egret drummers drum a sacred beat. A storm has been summoned: see the black clouds spiral around the great tower like evil cotton candy. The reconstruction of the tower is complete. Once again it reaches high into the clouds, ready to harness the power of the storm. Only one thing is missing: the hooman body itself—Mabel Jones.
Footsteps!
She approaches! The Witch Queen is upon you!
Push yourself farther into the folds of the gown, and listen to a soft yet cracking voice, like the sad melody of a recorder carved from the timbers of a hangman’s rotten gibbet.
“The one called Mabel Jones is close . . .”
Hide silently beneath the fabric and pray. Pray to the gods of good fortune, the goddesses of fluke. Grip the lucky sausage of chance tightly and cross your fingers, for you must not be discovered.
Me?
Oh, I should be fine where I am. Luckily I popped off a few moments ago to find a bite to eat in preparation for the final chapters.
The Witch Queen speaks again.
“For years I have waited for this moment: for a hooman form to inhabit. And with that form I shall take my place in the hooman world, to live as she might have lived . . . Yes, thou art close. Thou art close indeed, Mabel Jones . . .”
She reaches out for the ballgown you have hidden yourself in. Dry, scaly hands brush down its fine silken folds; sharp, painted nails miss your face by the breadth of a mermaid’s chin-whisker.
Can you hear her fetid breath wheeze through her shriveled lungs and rattle her brittle ribs? Can you smell the smell of death upon her?
“It is time. Time to summon the fury of the spirits of the storm. Time to harness their rage from the angry clouds that gather overhead. Time for the demons who lurk deep within the bowels of the earth to rumble and shake the city, for great power is needed for the . . .
TRANSMOGRIFICATION OF MABEL JONES!
The Witch Queen strikes her warped and wicked staff upon the floor—and the city begins to
shake. . .
Chapter 28
Bad News
Back in the safe, there was nothing to do but wait.
Mabel took the paper bag of gummies out of her pocket.
One left.
Her last piece of candy ever.
She looked around the reinforced room.
Carruthers was staring at the diamond ring, wondering how to get it out of its glass box.
Speke sat in the corner, completing the final entry in his diary.
Jarvis was studying the lock, trying to see if there was any way he could pick it.
Pelf tugged at his beard and frowned. “There’s not much air down here, snuglet. If we don’t get out soon . . .” He lit his pipe and blew out a thick cloud of toxic smoke. “What good are diamonds to a dead pirate?”
Speke smiled sadly. “I have but one regret, Mabel, and that is Veronica. For I fear that she will wait a lifetime for me to return.”
Mabel grimaced. Being trapped in an inescapable doom for the sake of something sparkly seemed like a lot of effort just to impress a girl.
“You’ll understand love one day, Mabel,” sighed Speke, patting her on the head. “But, until you do, allow me to share my feelings in the form of a poem . . .”
Mabel cringed in embarrassment as Speke began to read from his notebook.
“The memory of thy furry face fills me with feelings
Deep as the flavor of a fine Stilton cheese . . .”
Mabel frowned. Speke was right. She didn’t understand. No one was worth this amount of struggle and pain.
Then she remembered why she was here.
“Without thee I am like that cucumberless sandwich,
My crust removed but left rejected . . .”
Maggie.
Maggie was worth it.
“You are the jam in my sponge cake,
To moisten an otherwise joyless existence.”
So, Mabel thought, maybe she did understand what love was, after all. She loved Maggie. And she would do anything to save her.
“For what point is a picnic alone, Veronica?
What point is a life without . . . love?”
Speke’s voice faded into a sad silence. He wiped a tear from his furry face.
A short sob escaped from his mouth. “Oh, Veronica! Forget your darling Timothy. He has been lost, tragically young and before really getting the recognition for his art that he truly deserved. I implore you, cast off your mourning and find another (albeit less artistic and poetic) suitor. For I am dead!”
He sighed. “If only there were a way to get her a message—a letter, for example. Anything.”
The word “letter” bounced around Mabel’s head for a moment. Then it settled in the part of the brain where forgotten memories are stored, and dislodged a thought.
A letter?
Oh goodness! The letters!
She reached into her pajamas, pulled out the letters she had pocketed all those days ago in the Hotel Paradiso, and handed them to Speke.
“I forgot about these. They’re addressed to you and Carruthers.”
Speke gasped and pointed to an embossed wax seal bearing an elaborate coat of arms. “By crikey! It’s Veronica’s seal!”
He held the envelope to his nose and took a deep breath. “That scent! Oh, the sweet fragrance of POLECAT MUSK. I’d recognize it anywhere.”
Taking out the pâté blade on his Wilkins PicnicmanTM, he neatly opened the envelope and slid out a pink card. He read it to himself, smiling at first, but then slowly his brow creased and his lip began to quiver.
Mabel tensed. “What is it? Bad news?”
“Oh, Mabel. It is the worst news. I feel my heart might break!”
He held the card out for Mabel to see.
Speke looked at Mabel, tears rolling down his face.
“How . . . could . . . she?” He screwed up the invitation. “And to Cribbins of all people! I knew he was a rotten egg.”
He sighed. “Awfully rich, though . . .”
Carruthers looked up from the diamond. “What’s that about boring old Cribbins?”
Quickly Speke hid the letters.
“Oh, nothing. Just remembering our days together back at school. I think the bad air is bringing on delusions,” he lied.
Carruthers nodded sagely. “Indeed. It is a grave situation we find ourselves in. With every minute that passes, the air gets ever thinner.”
“Aye. If only we could do something that would make it last longer,” mused Pelf, and he pulled out his reserve pipe and lit that in preparation for when his main pipe went out. He put down the sack full of diamonds and sat on it dejectedly.
Speke looked at Mabel, holding a paw to his mouth to stop a sob escaping. “You must promise not to tell Carruthers, Mabel. It would break him. It is too much for his heart. He has never loved and lost before . . .”
Mabel nodded. She thought of Maggie, lost somewhere in the city. A prisoner of whoever had snatched her from their bedroom. Lost forever, unless a miracle happened.
And, with that thought ringing in her head, there was an almighty rumble and the room began to
shake. . .
Chapter 29
Earthquake
Mabel was thrown to one side of the room.
Then she was thrown to the other side.
Then they were all into one of the corners.
Mabel looked at Pelf. “What was that?”
“An earthquake,” he muttered, staring up at a giant crack that had appeared in the ceiling. “It’s going to bring the roof down upon our heads, snuglet!”
Carruthers bristled. “Nonsense! If you consider the density of the building material against the magnitude of the tremors, factoring in the torsional rigidity provided by the vault’s arched structure, it would take a far larger earthquake than that to—”
There was a loud snapping sound and the grinding of twisting metal. A vast and cavernous crack danced across the floor, mere inches from his feet. Pelf jumped up as his sack of diamonds toppled backward into the hole.
“My loot!” he cried.
Jarvis peered down into the hole. Deep within the chasm, molten rock flowed. Choking sulfurous smoke curled up into the room.
“It’s like the inside of a volcano down there!” he said.
There was another rumble and vast lumps of masonry started to fall from the ceiling.
“I say,” said Speke. “Look at this!”
The glass case had been smashed by a lump of falling rock, and the giant ring was at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. “It’s a smasher! Awfully heavy, though!”
Pelf sucked on his pipe. “Still more than enough treasure for all of us!”
Mabel sighed. She had more important things on her mind. She looked across at the other side of the room.
The force of the earthquake had buckled the circular safe door. A small gap had appeared at the bottom.
“If we can get across the chasm, then we might be able to make it out. This earthquake could save us!”
There was another rumble.
The safe door creaked and groaned under the pressure.
More rocks fell from the ceiling.
The chasm grew ever wider.
Mabel looked at the others and they nodded in agreement.
“Jump!”
And together the five of them ran for the crack.
Mabel landed first, and the momentum took her to the door. Turning around, she saw Pelf, Jarvis, and Carruthers leap and clear the chasm.
Only Speke remained on the other side, clutching the giant diamond ring in both hands.
“It’s no good!” he cried. “I can’t do it. It’s too far.”
Mabel looked nervously at the ceiling. The whole place was about to collapse.
Carruthers stepped forward calmly. “Listen, Timothy. You can do it. I know you can.”
“You think so, Carruthers? I mean, you really think so?”
The badger smiled. “Of course, Timothy. I believe in you.” He turned to Mabel, Jarvis, and Pelf. “We all believe in you.”
Speke nodded. He twisted his monocle tightly into place, then, stepping back, he took a small run up and jumped . . .
. . . plunging, several yards short of the edge, into the
deep,
dark
chasm.
Chapter 30
Within the Chasm
“SPEKE!!”
It was all Mabel could do to hold back Carruthers from jumping in after his friend.
As she peered into the chasm, a small tear fell from her eye, to sizzle and disappear into steam as it touched the molten lava that had engulfed Sir Timothy Speke.
Pelf joined them at the chasm’s edge.
“Alas, ’tis a grisly end. And an unfair one at that. He was a fine artist, if ye like that kind of thing. Which I don’t.”
He spat respectfully on the floor.
And a voice floated up from somewhere in the darkness of the chasm.
“I say, chaps, that’s terribly kind. I’m blushing, I really am, but would one of you mind awfully lending me a hand?”
Then, as the sulfurous fumes parted, Mabel could see him. Clinging to the wall of the chasm by a single paw, the other clutching the
giant ring.
Carruthers fell to his knees. “Oh, Timmy! Timmy, you’re alive! Hold on!”
“I’m awfully afraid I might have to let go,” replied Speke. “This ring is frightfully heavy!”
“Oh, Timmy. Drop the ring. We don’t need it. You’re more imp
ortant to me than any diamond . . . or even Veronica!”
“Really, Carruthers?”
“Really, Timmy!”
“I love you, Carruthers!”
“I love you too, Timmy!”
And, with that display of unusual affection, Speke dropped the ring and began to climb out of the chasm.
Mabel Jones watched the giant diamond as it disappeared into the molten rock.
“I hate diamonds,” she said. “They bring a whole lot of trouble.”
Pelf blew a sad smoke ring. “They’d have bought me a whole lot of pirate ship too, though.”
Mabel looked around the room.
“It’s about to collapse! Quick!”
They squeezed through the crack in the buckled safe door and ran up the stairs. Ducking and dodging falling chunks of masonry, they rushed out onto the pavement just as the ruined remains of the jewelry shop known once, long ago, as Tiffany and Co.® of New York, disappeared forever into the huge hole that had appeared beneath it.
Mabel drew her cutlass and swiped it through the air. “Now it’s time to rescue Maggie!”
But, just as she was about to start wondering how exactly they would do that, she noticed a sound that wasn’t coming from deep within the hole.
Not a rumble.
Not the hiss of broken building meeting molten lava.
Just silence.
A suspicious silence.
She peered over the edge of the hole, into the darkness.
A pair of saucery eyes blinked back at her.
“Omynus?”
The eyes scowled. “Leave me. I don’t needs help from a nasty snuglet. I hates you more than I hates . . . more than I hates . . . more than I hates the ache in my proper fingers on my proper handy that grips to this slippy rock.”
But Mabel didn’t even hear his cruel words. She had already started to climb down into the hole.