Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl and the Tower Tomb of Time (9781941240076) (18 page)

“Only DIOS can see that.”

Something suddenly began burning inside Key’s chest. It was not a burning that hurt her; rather, it was one that filled her with the warmth of a great love – a love that Key did not yet understand – a love that had come from someone else’s choice to love her.

“I should have sacrificed myself for them,” she reproached herself.

“I would feel the same,” the elderly ghost replied. “However, it is the role of loving parents to sacrifice everything, even their lives, so that their children might have a better life.”

“I want to die,” she said in a piteous tone. “Will you use the Hand of DIOS on me? Will you make me mortal again?”

“One day, when you’ve come of age, yes, someone will, but not I.”

“Why not now?”

“You are too young.”

“But I’m in pain.”

“Time heals all wounds —”

“— and wounds all heals.”

“Yes, it does that, too.”

“I don’t want to be immortal anymore.”

“Just take it one night at a time,” Mr. Fuddlebee said. “Persevere a little while longer – only for tonight, I beg you – let’s see how you feel tomorrow.”

Key repeated the word to herself. “Persevere.” Her mom and dad had taught her its meaning long ago. She’d almost forgotten it in the Dungeon of Despair. Although it was a difficult word for her to hear at that moment, it was also quite welcome, for she had not heard it spoken aloud in a long time, and it was good to hear it again. And despite her sorrow, she smiled.

“What do you say,” Mr. Fuddlebee said. “Will you choose to persevere, the way your parents would have wanted?”

Key hung her head. “I don’t know.”

“Who you are, my dear, is indeed quite powerful,” the elderly ghost encouraged, “and I’d like to see your power increase.”

“How do you know I’m a powerful vampire?”

“I didn’t say
vampire
, my dear. You are quite a powerful young lady. The true power of a creature is not merely the gift she shows outwardly, but also the self-worth she possesses inwardly.”

Key looked down. “I’ve lived in the dark for so long. I have so much to learn about myself.”

Gliding around her now with his ghostly trails swirling all about them like dusty mist, Mr. Fuddlebee led her to the front door. “I would like to help you learn, if you’d be willing to let me.”

This surprised Key, as she walked beside him. “What do you want to teach me?”

“Have you ever heard of SPOOK, my dear?”

“You told me about it already.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, when you took me to the City of the Dead. You told me that SPOOK is the Subcommittee Preventing Oddly Odious Kerfuffles.”

“My dear!” Mr. Fuddlebee huffed in exasperation. “Please, the paradoxes, let’s keep them at a minimum.” But his color changed, though, brightening to a lighter shade of green, when in the next moment he said in a more cheerful tone, “Well, I am at least delighted that you have heard of us. Yes, indeed, I work for SPOOK.”

“You turn immortals back into mortals,” Key said.

Mr. Fuddlebee waved his hand dismissively, as if this were a common misconception. “Oh, my dear, we do so much more than that! Miss Broomble has been a wonderful assistant for many decades; she’s learned enough and needs a promotion. In such a case, I’ll be in need of another assistant.” He lowered to a whisper. “Besides, the GadgetTronic Brothers just opened a new shop in Welkin City and Miss Broomble has been spending an awful lot of time there lately. Perhaps she’s seeking new employment on their Eek Squad.”

Key smiled. She never knew that freedom from the Dungeon of Despair meant finding someone who seemed to be a good friend.

“I’d like to be a part of SPOOK, Mr. Fuddlebee,” she said with some hesitation in her voice, “but I’d also like to search for my mom and dad, too.”

Mr. Fuddlebee nodded with a hint of sympathy in his solemn expression. “No doubt. I would do the same. I think searching for your parents could quite easily fall under the purview of SPOOK. Let us help you. We’ll launch a thorough investigation once we return to Welkin City.”

Key had never been to Welkin City, but having read much about it (mostly in the footnotes of
Wanda Wickery’s History of the Necropolis
), she fancied it to be a rather grand place. But she could not inquire on it further, for right at that moment, the passage of time started up again, like the gears of an ancient train slowly spinning into motion.

Miss Broomble, who had been frozen mid-stride in the doorway, started moving again, too, and she dashed into the room, ready for a good fight. However, when she quickly assessed that the fighting seemed to have ended without her, and that there was no Margrave Snick, she regarded her ghostly companion with a puzzled expression.

“Mr. Fuddlebee. What’s happened? Where’s Margrave?” She looked at Key cautiously, like one stranger to another. “Who’s this?”

Key was not accustomed to seeing the witch’s eyes study her with such doubtful scrutiny.

“It seems, Miss Broomble,” explained Mr. Fuddlebee, “that the snake has bitten its own tail.”

“Really?” the witch asked with irritation in her voice. “Again?”

“Indeed!” the elderly ghost said with increasing excitement. “We have come to the very beginning and end of a rather intriguing paradox, one in which we are thoroughly entangled! I can’t wait to observe how it all turns out. It will make a fine chapter in my book – which my editor wants to title
Tempus Annulus
– a term I totally disagree with – I rather prefer calling it
The Gordian Time Knot
– sounds much more fantastic, doesn’t it!”

Miss Broomble whispered to Key wryly, “It’s as if he’s found the end of a rainbow.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Broomble,” the elderly ghost chuckled, “we both know that the Princess of the Rainbow Kingdoms would never allow such a thing —”

But before he could go on, the two zombie henchmen rose from the sheepfold and came charging back inside the house. There was confusion for a second or two, as they scrambled about wildly, both starving for flesh and searching for Margrave Snick. They recognized Key immediately and ran straight towards her with their hands grasping and their mouths biting.

Old Queen Crinkle’s scepter was lying by her feet. She picked it up and aimed it at them. She tried to fire it intuitively, but nothing happened; its time energy had drained away when the Doorackle Alleyway closed.

Miss Broomble began drawing a steam-pistol from her holster, but one of the zombie henchmen dashed up to her and knocked it from her hands. Then he gripped her throat with his decomposing hand and he opened wide his rotting mouth to feast.

Key noticed the spyglass strapped to Miss Broomble’s forearm. Quickly snatching it off, she intuitively commanded it, “Dynabow.”

As though never having witnessed this before, Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble watched with impressed expressions as the spyglass instantly began unfolding into the dynabow. Even the zombie henchmen watched in awe and wonderment. And once the transformation was complete, Key loaded an electric bolt, aimed, and fired it at him. The zombie’s dead-white eyes widened with delayed realization right before the electric bolt shocked him into senselessness.

The other zombie henchman moved fast and knocked the dynabow out of Key’s hand. It went sailing across the room. He started to make a lunge at Key when, suddenly, a deafening roar shook the whole house.

The fireplace that had become a heap of rubble now started to rumble. Its many stones burst apart, like dozens of little meteors hurtling in all directions. Everyone turned to look at it, even the zombie henchman. For a moment or two, soot and ash from the fireplace gathered like fog in the room, making it difficult even for a vampire to see through. Despite this, everyone could hear the heavy breathing of a monstrous beast.

All of a sudden a massive paw reached through the black billows, grabbed the zombie henchman by the neck, and yanked him back into the fog. The sound of a window breaking followed this, which was immediately followed by the howl of the zombie henchman who had been rocketed through it.

From the fog of soot and ash, there stepped an enormous wolf monster, standing on his hind legs, over twelve feet tall, with fangs like daggers. He was so big, his shoulders so wide, his arms and paws so thick that he barely fit inside the room. His panting was like the rumble of thunder. His eyes were black, shiny and wet, and as impenetrable as black stones, yet alive with love for Key. Looking into those eyes you would have naturally assumed that the gigantic beast was rearing to swallow you in one great gulp. But Key had no fear of him and she called out to him now with joy in her heart.
 

“Tudwal!”

Her sooty face beamed a sooty smile as she ran to him and hugged his great leg. Tudwal the wolf hummed with gladness when he saw that she was safe. Key wondered briefly how he had transformed into his wolf form, but then she happened to spy through the broken window that silvery moonlight was shining in. A half-moon was shining across the valley – the only phase of the moon that could change him from puppy to wolf.

— CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE —

The Floating Mansion

Mr. Fuddlebee glided over. Miss Broomble followed. By the expression of sheer amazement on his ghostly face, Key recalled that he had not seen Tudwal before.

“A fine specimen!” he declared, glowing brighter with great admiration as he studied the immortal puppy-wolf, from claws to tail to snout. “Yes, a fine specimen indeed! Lupi-puppus.”

A rumbling came from Tudwal’s throat as he growled at Mr. Fuddlebee. The whole house seemed to shake. To anyone else such a frightful sound might have foreshadowed certain death. But the growl made Mr. Fuddlebee’s cheeks blush a deeper shade of green.

The elderly ghost chuckled to himself as he admitted, “Why, yes, those are crescent moons on my bowtie. I’m tickled you noticed.”

Key regarded her puppy-wolf with love, for she did indeed love him very much, whether puppy or wolf.

Miss Broomble bravely stroked his fur. “Where in the name of DIOS did you find him?”

“Actually,” Key began to say, “it was you who —”

“Wait,” interrupted Mr. Fuddlebee, raising his hand. “I’m sorry. I cannot allow this to proceed any further.”

He turned to Miss Broomble.

“This young one is from two hundred and fifty years in our future. And as you know, section forty-two, paragraph nine, sentence three-hundred-seventeen-and-five-eighths of the SPOOK handbook clearly states that we must avoid at all times, if at all possible, any knowledge of our future by means of paradoxes, for it will in itself create little paradox bubbles, which I will not abide. Popping them is madness.”

The elderly ghost then returned his attention to Key. “My dear girl, I do not mean to be rude, but however little you might think you saw of the progress of time from within your dungeon, you still possess certain knowledge of futures that Miss Broomble and I have not yet lived. So please share with me no more information about who I will be, what I will become, or whether I will eventually pass the tap-dancing round in Pundicle.”

Miss Broomble leaned behind his back. “I don’t mind,” she mouthed at Key. “You can tell me more about me later.”

Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble then approached Past Key. She was still lying helpless on the floor, drifting between wakefulness and sleepiness. They spoke about how she had become a vampire; about taking her to the City of the Dead; about the hard life ahead of her. And Key remembered all of it. She looked at the birthday dress that Past Key had on; it was the same wonderful birthday gift from her mom and dad. And she wept. She had not seen it in a long time. The last time she had, it bore some resemblance to a hundred-year-old rag. She looked down now at the clothes and the gears strapped all over her; they were completely covered in soot and ash, and utterly shorted out; nothing worked, not even the Crinomatic that Miss Broomble had given her. Yet as she hugged Tudwal’s leg, she knew what she had to do next. She had come to the end of one time paradox. She had become Future Key; and there was one more thing that Future Key did for her.

She remembered how Future Key had let go of Tudwal and drew near to her; so she did the same with Past Key. Then she remembered how Future Key had knelt and offered her kind words; so she did that now, too. She could not recall all the words that Future Key had spoken, yet she could hope that the words she offered now to Past Key would be comforting, and she could only trust that all things would somehow work out in the end. All she had to do was participate in the plan of DIOS in time. Finally, she recalled how Future Key had kissed her on the forehead; so she did the same with Past Key. Then she told her the words that she knew she would have liked to hear, and they were indeed the same words that Future Key had said to her centuries ago.

“You’re going to be all right, Key the vampire.”

Thus the paradox was complete.

Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble talked for a few moments more, and he told her about all that she’d missed while being frozen in time, how Old Queen Crinkle from the future had turned seven hundred and seventy-seven years old, how she had tried to escape the Hand of DIOS by using the Eye to return to the past, how Margrave had overpowered her, and how Key’s mom and dad had saved her by knocking themselves along with Margrave Snick into the Abyss of Time.

Then the elderly ghost cheerfully gave Miss Broomble a field promotion, from Assistant to Asylassin.

Miss Broomble stood a little taller, a little prouder with her new rank. And with an equally impressive mien of determination, she asked, “Where’s the Future Queen now, Mr. Fuddlebee?”

“I fear, Miss Broomble, that, just as she escaped our future selves, she has escaped us also. She was hurtled into the fields outside. Yet if you go and look for her now, you will find that she is no longer there. As the ranking Asylassin, it is now your responsibility to go after her.”

Miss Broomble’s hard attitude started to falter a little as her mouth grinned at the corners. “Really?” she said trying to control her eagerness. “By myself?”