Alistair Grim's Odditorium (11 page)

“Right-o, then,” Nigel said. Two more samurai stood guard at the front door. Nigel saluted them and unlocked the bolt. “Ready, Grubb?”

I took a deep breath and nodded, and then we stepped outside.

The sunlight blinded me for a moment, but still I was struck by the sense of bustling activity beyond my squinting—the clip-clopping of horses, the rattle of carriage wheels, the voices of
people in the street. However, as Nigel and I descended the Odditorium’s front steps, the street sounds began to die down. Indeed, by the time we reached the bottom, my eyes had adjusted well
enough for me to see that everyone—including the horses and pigeons, it seemed—was staring at us.

Instinctively I turned around.

Gazing up at the Odditorium for the first time, I could hardly believe my eyes. There was an open-air balcony, on top of which stood an enormous pipe organ—its pipes twisting and
stretching all the way up the front of the bulbous black building. A large silver letter
G
had been emblazoned on the door, and along the sides of the Odditorium four tall iron buttresses
folded back on themselves like a quartet of mechanical legs.

“Any relation to Mr. Grim, young man?” a voice asked, and I whirled round to find a lady and a gentleman staring down at me. Londoners, I thought, looked just like people back home,
only they were better dressed and spoke as if they were in a hurry.

“Have you been inside the Odditorium all this time?” the gentleman asked.

“Direct all questions to the man in the goggles,” I said, looking up at Nigel. He smiled and gave me the stack of handbills.

“Start passing these out,” he whispered. And in a flash, he sprang up the steps, spun round, and threw up his arms dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted.
“May I have your attention, please!”

A crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk, but I was able to gaze past it to the wonder of my surroundings. I had never seen such buildings, nor had I ever seen so many of them packed so
tightly together. Most were as tall as the Odditorium itself, but some appeared even taller. Wrought-iron lampposts dotted the street in both directions, and the cobblestones themselves seemed to
sprout people and coaches.

This whole place is magical, I thought, and decided at once that London was indeed the proper place for Alistair Grim’s Odditorium.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Nigel repeated. “Today, and only today, comes the moment you’ve all been waiting for! At promptly three o’clock this afternoon, Mr. Alistair
Grim shall present to you a sight unlike any other. A sensational and spectacular preview of his mechanical wonder, the Odditorium!”

A murmur of excitement spread among the crowd, and I took it upon myself to pace back and forth along the bottom step, waving my handbills.

“That’s right,” Nigel said. “Take a handbill! Take two, and give one to your neighbor! And be sure to tell your family and friends. Today, and only today, a sensational
and spectacular preview of Alistair Grim’s Odditorium!”

“What sort of preview?” a woman asked me.

“Is this another delay, lad?” asked another.

“Direct all questions to the man in the goggles,” I said proudly. The crowd had grown thicker, everyone stepping closer and reaching for a handbill.

“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen,” Nigel shouted. “This afternoon’s spectacular display will not only amaze you, but is also a preview of what to expect when the
Odditorium opens exactly one month from Friday!”

“One month from Friday?” a man shouted. “You mean we can’t come inside?”

“Not until the Odditorium’s grand opening!” Nigel shouted. “Only one month from Friday!”

“But we’ve been waiting for over a year!” the man replied.

“We’ve been waiting over
five
years!” another man shouted.

“That’s right,” said someone else. “First it was the screens and curtains blocking the construction, and then that awful racket at all hours of the night—and still
none of us has any idea what this blasted Odditorium is!”

The crowd grumbled in agreement. All the traffic in the street had stopped now, and I noticed for the first time a tall, well-dressed lad jostling for position only a few feet away from me.

“Let me see,” he said, but a pair of gentlemen stepped in front of him and elbowed the lad back into the crowd.

“Now, now, ladies and gentlemen,” Nigel said. “Your patience has been much appreciated. And believe me when I tell you that it shall be rewarded this afternoon! At promptly
three o’—”

“Enough of this!” someone cried, and a small man with a top hat and a neatly trimmed beard stepped forward from the crowd.

“Why, if it isn’t Judge Mortimer Hurst,” Nigel said. “Retired city official and newly appointed director of the Queen’s Museum Board of Trustees.”

The judge sneered. “Oh, don’t give me your pleasantries, Nigel Stout. Your boss knows better than anyone that such public displays require the proper permits. This is just another
one of Alistair Grim’s stall tactics—a trick to shift the blame for another delay onto city officials!”

As the crowd grumbled its displeasure, I felt a tug at my elbow. It was the tall, well-dressed lad I’d seen before.

“May I have one of them fancy papers, please?” he asked, and I slipped him a handbill from the top of my stack. “Thanks, chum,” he said, and disappeared back into the
crowd.

“I don’t know nothing about no permits,” Nigel said. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with the boss. You know I only work for Mr. Grim.”

“Oh yes, I know your kind well, Nigel Stout,” the judge said through clenched teeth. “I sentenced your brother William to hang for the murder of Abel Wortley, did I
not?”

“That you did, Judge,” Nigel said blandly. “That you did.”

Abel Wortley,
I said to myself. I had heard that name before in Mr. Grim’s study. And to think that Nigel’s own brother had murdered him!

“And furthermore,” said Judge Hurst, “don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten how you appeared in London so soon after your brother went swinging.
Doesn’t take a market gardener to know that where one weed is pulled its twin will soon sprout.”

“I might be William Stout’s twin, sir,” Nigel said, “but I’m not my brother. Been an upstanding citizen, I have. Besides, William’s done paid his debt. Done
paid it and then some.”

“All right, break it up!” a constable shouted, and he elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. “What’s the trouble, Your Honor?”

“Hear, hear!” came another voice, and Lord Dreary emerged from the crowd too.

“Very good,” said Judge Hurst. “Your timing is impeccable, Lord Dreary. I was just about to have that villain there hauled in for disturbing the peace.”

“Disturbing the peace?” said Lord Dreary. “Have you gone mad, Hurst?”

“This Odditorium has been nothing but trouble from the start,” said Judge Hurst. “An eyesore, a disgrace—and only two blocks from Her Majesty’s museum!”

“There are no city ordinances against passing out handbills,” Lord Dreary replied. “Mr. Stout cannot be blamed if these people stop and ask questions of their own
accord.”

“But this!” Judge Hurst exclaimed, holding up his handbill. “The laws are quite clear as to where such spectacles can occur!”

“Which is why I’ve personally filed all the proper permits on Mr. Grim’s behalf.”

“Call his bluff, Judge!” cried a voice from the crowd.

“Let Alistair Grim have his preview!” cried another.

More and more people began chiming in. Judge Hurst frowned and looked suspiciously at Nigel. The big man appeared sad—he just stood there, slouching at the top of the steps with his
goggles turned down toward his enormous feet. Poor Nigel, I thought. All that talk about his brother William must have really winged him.

“What shall I do, Your Honor?” the constable asked. “That bloke’s brother might’ve been a murderer, but I can’t haul him in just for passing out
papers.”

“Very well,” Judge Hurst said, crumpling his handbill into his pocket. “We shall see what Mr. Grim has in store for us after all.”

The crowd cheered.

“Move these people along, constable,” Judge Hurst said. “Life on our street needn’t stop every time Alistair Grim spits.”

The constable barked out his orders, and the men and women quickly dispersed, taking the remainder of my handbills along with them.

“Yes,” said Judge Hurst, sneering up at the Odditorium. “We’ll see what Alistair Grim has in store for us. And then Alistair Grim shall see what
I
have in store
for
him
.”

And with that, Judge Mortimer Hurst disappeared into the crowd.

“I was afraid of that,” Lord Dreary said. Then he looked down at me and asked, “And who might you be, young man?”

“I, uh—Direct all questions to the man in the goggles.”

“It’s all right, Grubb,” Nigel said, stepping down. He seemed his cheery old self again. “The lad here is just following orders, Lord Dreary. You see, sir, Grubb here
works for Mr. Grim now too. Took him on last night, he did.”

“Did you just call this boy a grub, Nigel?”

“Called him by his name is all. Ain’t that right, Grubb?”

“That’s right, sir. No first or last name, sir, just Grubb. Spelled like the worm but with a double
b
. In case you plan on writing it down, sir.”

Lord Dreary narrowed his eyes at me. “Then you’ve been
inside
the Odditorium?”

“Yes, sir,” I began, but then I remembered my discussion with Mr. Grim from the night before. “My apologies, sir. Mr. Grim told me not to talk about the Odditorium with anyone
ever.”

Lord Dreary chuckled. “That sounds like Alistair Grim, all right.” He pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat and wound its knob. “Very well,” he said. “If you
wouldn’t mind escorting me inside, Nigel?”

“Right-o, sir. Come along, then, Grubb. Our work’s done here.”

Lord Dreary returned his pocket watch to his waistcoat, and as I followed the men up the Odditorium’s steps, I reached inside my chummy coat to check on Mack. In all the excitement,
I’d completely forgotten about tapping him out in the chimney.

But when I felt inside my pockets, I discovered Mack was gone!

I spun on my heels, patting myself all over as my eyes darted down the steps to the sidewalk. There was no sign of Mack anywhere.

“What’s the holdup, Grubb?” Nigel asked, and I turned back to see him and Lord Dreary staring down at me from the Odditorium’s doorway.

My outsides froze, but my insides began spinning every which way—my heart racing as my brain frantically tried to retrace my steps. I knew at once Mack couldn’t have leaped from my
pocket somewhere inside the Odditorium. It was much too quiet in there and I would’ve felt him shaking.

But
outside
the Odditorium?

Yes, things had certainly been noisy enough—especially with all the yelling from Judge Hurst. But still, wouldn’t I have felt Mack shaking inside my pocket?

Unless somebody snatched him, I realized in horror. Mack wouldn’t need to shake himself free if someone else did the freeing for him.

Yes, that had to be it!

Thanks, chum,
I heard the well-dressed lad say again in my head.

And all at once I knew what had happened.

A pickpocket!
I said to myself.

“You all right, Grubb?” Nigel asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Come on, lad,” said Lord Dreary, annoyed. “I don’t have all day.”

Mr. Grim’s words echoed in my head.
If my blue energy should fall into the wrong hands…

And with that I bounded down the steps and took off down the street.

“Grubb!” Nigel cried.

“I’ll come back!” I called over my shoulder. “I promise!”

“Grubb!” Nigel cried again, but I didn’t stop to look at him.

At once I was swallowed up into the stream of pedestrians. I wasn’t sure if I was headed in the right direction, nor did I know what Mr. Grim thought would happen if his blue energy should
fall into the wrong hands.

Only one thing was certain: Mack had been right about me.

I was trouble after all.