Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl and the Dungeon of Despair (9780989878531) (12 page)

So she was not too surprised when the goblet remained silent, not even a hint of a chime. She also knew (from a recent visit from Skulk who had surprised her with blood tea and cookies) that Lunet the First Ghost had not escaped her coffin. Even so, Key could not help but be hopeful that the reports were untrue, that Lunet had escaped and had been with her ever since. That was Key’s wild imagination acting even wilder than before. But she didn’t mind, and neither did the ghost.

“All right, I’ll guess again,” Key stated, regaining a little more excitement for the possibility of correctly guessing the ghost’s name. She chewed her lower lip as she thought and thought and thought, until her thinker felt thought out. Finally, she recalled a name from her little book, in the chapter titled,
Pundicle – A Sport for Poor Sports
. Although Key’s little book explained to her that Pundicle was a sport similar to chess, but for the Dead, she could not figure out how to play, or what the rules were, because they never seemed like the same rules for each Pundicle match. But one ghost happened to win the Necropolis Pundicle Tournament seven and two-thirds times. The name of that Pundicle champion had seemed quite lovely to Key when she first read it, so she thought it a good idea to suggest the name now, which she did with gusto. “I think your name is Ravëna.”

Still, the goblet was silent. Still, no chime.

“Still not close,” Key said. She liked this game, even if she wasn’t winning, and even if it was taking forever – forever seemed to be the one thing Key had plenty of these nights.

Yet right before Key was about to make a third guess, a Grimbuggle Bedbug happened to be passing by (it was Mr. Humbug) and he offered a typically unpleasant suggestion that made Key cringe and shake her head in dismay. “I think you should just go ahead and call her Eldry Dimplebottom,” Mr. Humbug gurgled out in his hideous voice.

The goblet shook wildly through the air, as if to shout:
“NO!”
But then the goblet lowered to the ground and rested. Beside it the ghost’s invisible finger wrote four letters in the dirt. P-E-G-A.

“Pega?” Key read aloud.

She looked up at the invisible air. “Your name is Pega?” she said to the ghost.

The goblet rose up and the ghost’s invisible fingers began flicking it so vigorously that Key might have easily assumed Pega had twenty fingers. The goblet began floating all around the dungeon, happily spinning and swirling and twirling.

Key laughed and clapped her hands. “Pega is a wonderful name!” she exclaimed as her laughter echoed throughout the dungeon.

But just then, catching both Pega and Key completely by surprise, a voice suddenly spoke from the stairs leading up to the castle. “What are you laughing about?”

Key and the floating goblet whirled around together to see that there was now, standing on the stone stairwell that led up to the castle, watching them both, was a beautiful witch.

— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —

Miss Broomble the Witch

The witch on the stairwell appeared to be quite a young woman, tall with brown skin, long curly black hair, and a wide mouth with a bright smile. Her eyes seemed to shimmer several different colors in the darkness.

Key knew she was a witch? Of course she did – except she couldn’t say how. The more Key looked at this witch, the more she had a sneaking suspicion that she had seen this witch before. But where? When?

Pega the ghost held the goblet perfectly still in the air, not budging an inch. Key wondered if the ghost maid was nervous, perhaps, because she herself certainly felt quite worried. What did this witch want? Would she chain up Key’s hands the way Raithe and Crudgel had chained her ankle?

The witch approached Key and then sat down beside her on the stone floor. The aroma coming from her was the loveliest scent of midnight jasmine. She was wearing a beautiful violet dress, high-heel dress boots, and a large top hat with black goggles around the rim. She was also covered hat-to-boot in strange devices. She had a long spyglass down her forearm while on the other arm were copper plates covered in cogwheels. She wore a chest plate upon which was a tangle of wires, copper pipes, and canisters filled with golden ink. Sometimes the chest plate gushed out spurts of steam, which made the witch resemble something like a machine.

For a long tense moment Key did not speak, not quite knowing what to say, and not quite sure she could trust this witch, whoever she was. Had the witch come to visit? Had she come to cast a spell on Key? Or was she in trouble? Had she been thrown into the dungeon, too? “Or am I in more trouble because I laughed,” Key asked herself. Was laughter forbidden, too? “Undoubtedly,” she told herself.

The witch then took up the chain shackled to Key’s ankle and she spoke to Key in a voice like the melody of a beautiful song. “How long have you been down here?”

“A long time,” Key said in a small voice, taking the chain from the witch and dropping it sadly on the ground.

The witch ran her fingers along Key’s clothes. “It’s amazing,” she remarked, “how a prisoner in the Dungeon of Despair could acquire such nice, clean clothes.”

Key’s eyes widened with fear. Was this witch going to take away her Crinomatic? No more fresh clothes? No more clean nightgowns?

The witch smiled at Key reassuringly, seeming to sense Key’s worry. And so with slow movements, the witch reached into a pocket of her dress, fished around in it for a moment, and then took out her own Crinomatic.

Key stared in wonder at this second device. Did Future Key give this witch a Crinomatic, too?

The witch’s looked just like Key’s, except that hers was blood red steel and covered all over in scratches and dings, which made it look much older than Key’s.

The witch opened her Crinomatic and she spoke into it. “The 1885 Night Owl.”

Suddenly a bright light shone from the device, briefly blinding Key, though not hurting her eyes. And when the light diminished a second later, funneling back inside the Crinomatic right before the witch closed its lid, Key now saw that the witch was wearing an entirely new outfit – a red bolero jacket over a blue corset, a short black skirt with long black stockings, and tall dark brown riding boots. Even the witch’s gadgets and gizmos had changed as well – all except the spyglass strapped to her arm. Key wondered if it had some special purpose.

The witch winked at Key. “See? You’re not so alone after all.”

Key stared at this witch, completely astounded, and not quite knowing what to say.

The witch’s smile broadened. “You don’t have to show me your Crinomatic, but I am curious to know how you got it.”

Key could not explain how she knew this witch, but somehow she had seen her face and heard her voice before. Perhaps it was this strangely familiar presence of the witch that made Key feel confident enough to trust her. And so going against a base instinct to play dead, or at least play dumb, Key timidly took out her Crinomatic from her dress and showed it to the witch.

“Someone who looked like me gave it to me,” Key said.

The witch appeared shocked and confused for a brief moment, but then her expression changed to mild amusement. Smirking and raising an eyebrow, she said, “I can only presume that another Key gave this to you.”

“I’m Key,” Key blurted out.

The witch grinned. “And there’s no one like you.”

“I mean,” Key said, quickly realizing how confusing it was to talk about Future Key and frozen moments of time. “I mean,” she stammered, “the Key who came to me is
me
, from a time that hasn’t happened yet.”

“She’s a wily one, that Key,” the witch replied with a wink. “I can’t wait till you grow into her.”

Key stared at the witch inquisitively. “Do you know me?” she asked, meaning to ask if the witch knew Future Key.

“I know that you’ve been in this dungeon for over a hundred years,” the witch said.

“How do you know that?” Key asked.

“You could call me a traveler,” the witch said. “I’ve traveled all over the world, the underworld, the netherworld, and one world run by hedgehogs – which isn’t my favorite. I’ve scaled the Black Cliffs, I’ve combed the Sands of Time, I’ve sailed across the Sorrowful Sea, and I’ve ridden on the Winds of Woe. In fact, I’ve just returned from the Ends of the World, and I was just passing by Morrow Mountain when I said to myself, ‘Self, it’s been over a century since you last visited the Necropolis to put a burning bur on Old Queen Crinkle’s throne.’ And so on a whim, I decided to park my mansion and stay for the night.” The witch now looked a little more intently at Key. “You were not in the dungeon the last time I was here. You were not in Despair a century ago.”

Key opened her mouth to speak, but countless questions had begun to flood her mind and she didn’t know where to begin. What did this witch mean by “park my mansion”? And how had the witch been here over a hundred years ago? Was she immortal, too? Key sat for so long with her mouth open and nothing coming out that she was greatly relieved and surprised when a third voice began speaking. Key did not recognize the voice at all. She liked the voice, though, as it had a kindly, grandmotherly quality to it, speaking out of thin air, saying, “Hello, Miss Broomble. It’s good to see you again.”

The witch’s smile broadened with delight. Clearly she not only knew the speaker, but was also on very good terms with her. “Pega!” the witch (whom Key now understood was called
Miss Broomble
) exclaimed. “It’s been far too long, my dear Pega,” Miss Broomble the witch went on. “How are you?”

“Oh, quite well for a ghost, thank you, Ma’am,” Pega said. “And you look as lovely as ever.”

Key was shocked at hearing the ghost’s voice for the first time, yet she was also a little hurt that Pega had spoken with the witch, but not with her. “Pega,” Key said incredulously, “why have I never heard your voice before?”

“Miss Broomble,” said Pega to the witch, “would you please be so kind as to communicate with my Mistress that, for as much as I would love to sit and have a lovely chat, castle rules forbid me from doing so.”

Miss Broomble turned to Key and explained, “Ghost servants, according to the rule of this madhouse, are not allowed to speak with vampires, as you’ve no doubt already learned. However, they are perfectly allowed to speak with anyone else – witches, goblins, other ghosts. As long as Pega does not speak with you, she is free to speak with me.”

Key understood all too well why Miss Broomble the witch would call the Necropolis Castle a
madhouse
– such a name was more apt than an insult. Key had experienced in this place a marriage of madness with meanness. Yet this Miss Broomble, along with Pega the ghost, had begun to feel like a calm center to a storm that Key could not see, only feel, a storm that wrapped around her like the darkness of the dungeon. Yet for all that, Key could not help but wonder at the witch’s name.
Miss Broomble
. Yes, it sounded very lovely. But it was just as familiar as the witch’s face. Where had Key heard it before? Where had she seen this witch before? She could not put her finger on it; the answer felt on the tip of her tongue.

Miss Broomble reached out and held up Key’s chain again. The chain rattled, firmly locking Key’s ankle to the dungeon wall. Miss Broomble then handed the chain to Key, and said matter-of-factly, “Break it.”

Having just met this witch, Key could not tell if she was joking, but she guessed she must be, because Key had decided long ago that she could not break her chains. So she now smiled and tilted her head in confusion. “I can’t break that,” she confessed good-humoredly.

“It’s
your
chain,” Miss Broomble said. “You’re the only one who
can
break it.”

Key looked at the chain worriedly. She was beginning to realize that this witch was not joking at all. She shook her head in protest. “No, I’m telling you, I can’t. Besides, you’re a witch. Don’t you have a spell that could break the chain?”

Of course Miss Broomble had a spell. But why should she use her magic? “You can break your own chains,” she told Key, not coldly, just sisterly.

Key’s mom and dad had taught her to trust herself, but the Necropolis Vampires had taught her to distrust her
self
, and now Key felt like the knot in the middle of the rope of a tug-of-war. All the same, Miss Broomble reminded Key that her mom and dad had been her first teachers, giving her good lessons about kindness and patience. They taught her not to be envious or boastful, not to be prideful or rude or angry or resentful; they taught her to be selfless, not selfish, and they taught her how to protect others, how to trust others, how to hope in others, how to never surrender, and how to calmly work through difficult problems. And now Miss Broomble seemed to be trying to teach Key another lesson.

Tears pooled in Key’s eyes as Miss Broomble also said, “Your mom and dad were indeed good people. They taught you by the way they lived. They cared for sheep like children. They cared for wheat fields like guests. Your mom and dad saw dignity in all things, even in an evil vampire and his two henchmen. But they could not teach you how to break the chains holding you back because, with them, you were never truly in a hopeless place, like you are now, in Despair, for that’s what Despair means – hopelessness.” Miss Broomble thrust Key’s chains forward again. “Break your chains.”

Key was stunned to silence. She just stared at the witch in disbelief for a long while, unable to regain the power of speech. Finally, at long last, she managed to stammer out in a quiet voice, “How do you know my mom and dad?”

Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. “I know you,” she replied. “And in knowing you, I’ve come to know them.”

Key shook her head in confusion. “How do you know me?”

“More people than you realize know that you’re in Despair,” the witch said.

Key instantly thought of Mr. Fuddlebee, and she had a feeling that the witch knew him, that she was somehow connected with him and his work with the Hand of DIOS.

Miss Broomble now pressed Key’s chains into her hands again. “You’ve lived too long in the prison of a lie,” she told Key. “You do not know the freedom of truth. You do not know how powerful your mom and dad made you in your heart. No one ever showed you how to turn the bad thing Margrave did to you into great power.”