Alistair Grim's Odditorium (21 page)

“One of the prince’s Shadesmen, no doubt,” said Mr. Grim. “Must have attached it before I activated the Odditorium’s levitation shields.”

“It looks like a giant serpent’s egg.”

“A
Siren’s
egg, to be precise.”

“A Siren, did you say?”

“Yes. Those beautiful but dangerous sea witches whose songs lured ancient sailors to their deaths. The prince must have convinced one or more of them to join his evil menagerie of living
Odditoria.”

“Good heavens! You really think one of those singing sea witches could have allied herself with the prince?”

“I shall have to enter a sketch of the creature in my notebook,” said Mr. Grim, thinking. “Nevertheless, if a Siren has the power to lure, Prince Nightshade has no doubt
discovered a magical means by which to fashion a tracking mechanism out of her eggs—a tracking mechanism that will lure him straight to us!”

“But, Alistair!” cried Lord Dreary. “If the Siren’s egg is luring Prince Nightshade to the Odditorium, then surely it is only a matter of time before—”

“Time!” Mr. Grim exclaimed. “What time do you have, Lord Dreary?”

“Why—I—” he sputtered, removing his pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Hang on. Having a hard go seeing in this light…”

Without thinking, I held up Mack to assist him, and as soon as his blue light illuminated Lord Dreary’s pocket watch, Mack twirled his hands to ten and twelve.

“It’s ten o’clock!” he cried, spinning round in my hand and jumping for joy. “Look at me, laddies! I know what time it is! Just ask me! Why, it’s ten
o’clock! It’s ten o’—tick—tick—”

Mack crackled and flashed blue, and then his eyes went dark and his hands spun back to VIII and IV.

“Good heavens!” gasped Lord Dreary. “Is that the pocket watch that caused all the trouble?”

“Never mind that,” said Mr. Grim, gazing out over the battlements. “Does it look like ten o’clock in the evening out there to you, Lord Dreary?”

“Well, I—judging from the position of the sun, the time of year, I would say it’s closer to six o’clock.”

“Precisely. Therefore, if your watch reads ten o’clock London time, we cannot be in the London time zone.”

“Remarkable!” said Lord Dreary. “The space jump instantly transported us to a place four hours behind London time!”

“And yet
seven
hours have gone by on your watch.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’ll recall, we left London shortly after the preview began at three o’clock. That means
seven
hours have gone by on your watch—three o’clock plus
seven hours makes ten o’clock. However, by my calculations, only
two
hours have passed since we popped out of the sky wherever we are now.”

“You’re right,” said Lord Dreary, thinking. “And if only two hours have passed, regardless of wherever we are now, my watch should read five o’clock. Three
o’clock plus two hours makes five o’clock.”

“That is correct,” said Mr. Grim. “But since your watch reads
ten
o’clock—”

“We’ve lost five hours!” I cried, and both Mr. Grim and Lord Dreary started as if they had forgotten I was there.

“Very good, Master Grubb,” said Mr. Grim. “That would explain the power drain. Not only did the force of the space jump knock out nearly all of the Odditorium’s animus,
it also knocked out all of us for five hours!”

“Good heavens!” cried Lord Dreary.

“I should have realized this immediately,” said Mr. Grim, thinking. “Everybody’s heads had gone all loopy. But blast it! I didn’t think to check the
time!”

“But, Alistair, regardless of whether or not we were unconscious for five hours, how could a hole in the sky instantly transport us so far from London?”

“How should I know?” cried Mr. Grim. “I’m a sorcerer, not a physicist!”

“Yes, well—”

“Nevertheless,” said Mr. Grim. “I now realize that the strain of a space jump is much greater than I anticipated. This is something I will have to account for if we are to ever
try it again.”

“But, Alistair,” gasped Lord Dreary, panicking. “If you add on two hours to the five we were asleep, that means that—”

“Prince Nightshade has been tracking us for seven hours!”

“Oh dear,” Nigel said.

Mr. Grim rushed across the roof and jumped down into the gunnery. He flicked on the talkback and shouted, “Cleona, are you awake?”

“I am now,” Cleona yawned. “What is it, Uncle?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but you need to come up to the roof immediately!”

“Is this a trick? Payback for scribbling on your paintings?”

“I’ve already hidden your comb in retaliation for that,” said Mr. Grim. “Thus, as far as I’m concerned, we are even until the paintings are clean again.”

“Pshaw.”

“Now, please, Cleona. I need you up here on the roof immediately. It truly is a matter of life and death.”

“No tricks?”

“On my honor, Cleona.”

“All right, Uncle.”

Mr. Grim scrambled up from the gunnery and back to the battlements.

“Uncle?” said Lord Dreary. “Did I just hear that girl call you Uncle?”

“I’m afraid you did.”

“But who on earth could possibly call you Uncle? You’re an only child!”

Mr. Grim was about to answer, but was stopped short by the glowing blue figure of a girl rising up through the roof.

“Here I am,” she said.

Lord Dreary spun around and gasped.

The girl appeared to be a bit older than me, with delicate features wrapped in skin the color of ivory. Her hair was white and fell from her head in a pair of long braids that reached her knees.
She wore a simple white gown cinched at the waist, and on the hem and neckline was a square maze pattern that glowed bright blue like the halo of light surrounding her.

“Over here,” said Mr. Grim, indicating the battlements. And as the girl glided past me, I noticed that I could see straight through her to Lord Dreary on the other side.

Lord Dreary must have seen me through her too. And as the girl floated up and peered out over the battlements, the old man staggered back and cried: “A ghost!”

“I beg your pardon,” said the girl, turning round in midair. “I should think a gentleman of your breeding would know better than to go around calling people names, Lord
Dreary.”

“You—you know me, miss?” the old man sputtered.

“Only by sight, of course. But I must admit, I’ve found your constant bickering with Uncle over the years quite amusing.”

“My apologies,” said Mr. Grim. “I forgot the two of you have yet to be introduced. Cleona, meet Lord Dreary. Lord Dreary, this is Cleona.”

“A pleasure to officially make your acquaintance,” Cleona said. “I hope I didn’t startle you, Lord Dreary. After all, now that you know the true nature of the Odditorium,
I no longer thought it necessary to hide myself.”

“Hide yourself?” asked Lord Dreary, stunned.

“What Cleona is referring to,” said Mr. Grim, “is her annoying habit of making herself invisible in order to eavesdrop on our conversations in the library.”

“You mean like this?” Cleona said, and she vanished into thin air.

“Good heavens!” cried Lord Dreary, and Mr. Grim rolled his eyes.

“Darling, please, we don’t have time for this,” he said, but Cleona only giggled, seemingly from nowhere. “You see?” said Mr. Grim, exasperated. “This is what
I get for indulging her eccentricities over the years. Case in point: her fixation on calling me Uncle when she knows very well that I am no such relation. This has been going on for—well,
what’s it been, now, Nigel, ten years?”

“Twelve,” he said. “I’ve been here ten myself, sir.”

“Anyhow, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since Cleona’s arrival, the only way to neutralize a spirit’s mischievous nature is to beat them at their own
game.”

“Did you say
spirit
, Alistair Grim?”

“That I did. And like most spirits, Cleona is very fond of playing tricks on people. For instance, drawing mustaches and writing nasty comments on my family portraits.”

Again, Cleona giggled from nowhere.

“So you see,” said Mr. Grim, “in order to beat Cleona at her own game, I’ve hidden her comb and will only reveal its whereabouts when the portraits are clean. And
speaking of games, Cleona, as we now have an evil necromancer on our tail, I humbly request that you end this game of hide-and-seek at once.”

“Pshaw,” she said, and appeared again where I last saw her, hovering just above the battlements between Mr. Grim and Lord Dreary.

“Then she
is
a ghost!” cried Lord Dreary.

“Not a ghost, but a banshee.”

“A banshee?”

“Yes, Lord Dreary,” Mr. Grim said impatiently. “You’re familiar with the old Irish legends regarding such entities?”

“Yes, well, if I remember correctly, a banshee is said to be a harbinger of death, is she not? Known for her excessive wailing just before someone is about to die?”

“Just before or just afterward. In addition, banshees often attach themselves to a specific family, and are thus seen as messengers from the beyond—a bridge, if you will, between our
world and the Land of the Dead. However, when not in mourning, banshees are actually quite playful. Now, if there are no more questions, I’d like to move on to the matter at hand.”

“I have a question,” Cleona said, and Mr. Grim heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s for Lord Dreary, actually.”

“Er, uh—yes, miss?”

“Has Alistair Grim always had this annoying habit of talking about people in the third person when they are present?”

“Well, I…” Lord Dreary chuckled. “Why, yes, I believe he has, miss.”

“Peachy. I have a feeling you and I are going to get along quite smashingly, Lord Dreary.” Then Cleona turned to me and said, “And I have a feeling you and I are going to get
along quite smashingly as well, Master Grubb.”

You know me, too?
I wanted to say, but my voice got stuck in my throat. And as Cleona’s crystal-blue eyes met with mine, I felt a flutter in my stomach that said,
Banshee or no
banshee, Cleona the trickster is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

“And look,” Cleona said, pointing to my hand. “You still have the pocket watch I gave you!”

“Oh dear,” Nigel said.

“Of course,” said Mr. Grim. “I should have known!”

It was then my voice came back to me. “You mean you—?”

“That’s right, Grubb,” Cleona said, giggling. “This morning, I made myself invisible and slipped Mack inside your pocket while you were talking to Mrs. Pinch in the
shop.”

“Then Mack was telling the truth,” I said—when suddenly I remembered my dream from the night before. “You!” I cried. “You asked to play a trick on me when I
was asleep!”

“That sounds like her,” said Mr. Grim, and he leaned back wearily against the battlements. “Cleona only plays tricks on her family.”

“And quite an amusing trick this one was,” she said, giggling. “Especially when you went chasing after Mack in the library, Grubb.”

“So I did hear someone giggling in there!”

“Yes. I was in the library when Mack slipped under the door. I thought he might give me away, so I tapped him on his twelve to knock him out. Then I returned the book I borrowed and made
myself invisible just before you came in.”

Mr. Grim stiffened. “
Book
, did you say?”

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I know the rule about borrowing books, but I just wanted to read up on fairies in the event you and Gwendolyn teamed up to play tricks on me.”

Mr. Grim was silent, and Cleona gazed round at us.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” she asked. “It was just a trick.”

“On the contrary,” said Mr. Grim. “Your little trick is what set this whole mess today in motion!”

“Whatever do you mean, Uncle?”

“Master Grubb?” said Mr. Grim, gesturing for me to explain, and I quickly related the events leading up to Prince Nightshade’s arrival in London.

“My apologies, everyone,” Cleona said, when I’d finished. “And especially to you, Master Grubb. I meant no harm by it.” Then she sank guiltily back down to the roof
and said, “I’ll go clean off the mustaches and your spotty bottom now, Uncle.”

“Not so fast,” said Mr. Grim, crossly. “It seems that the prince’s Shadesmen have attached a tracking mechanism to the Odditorium. I don’t suppose you could find it
in your heart to pass through the downstairs wall and dislodge it?”

Cleona steeled herself, as if she was summoning up the courage to honor Mr. Grim’s request. “I’ll do my best, Uncle,” she said.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nigel said firmly. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Grim, but being that the Odditorium is over the ocean at present, if Cleona were to materialize beyond
its walls, it would take nearly all her strength just to stay airborne, never mind trying to dislodge a tracking mechanism at the same time.”

Mr. Grim heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re right, Nigel. What was I thinking….”

“Perhaps if I hugged the Odditorium’s outer shell,” Cleona said, “I might be able to pry off the tracking mechanism without losing too much of my strength. At least I can
give it a try.”

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Grim, softening. “It’s too much of a risk in your present condition. Forgive me for even asking, love, and I thank you for your selflessness. As
always.”