Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (14 page)

“Exactly. So unless you plan on growing a pair of gills, would you care to explain just how you intend to embark on this Aquaticum of yours?”

“I should think that’d be quite obvious,” Father said, and he made a sweeping gesture indicating the Odditorium.

“Great poppycock!” Lord Dreary exclaimed. “You mean to tell me this mechanical wonder of yours is capable of traveling underwater?”

“In theory,” Father said, more to himself. “And with some slight modifications. Then again, we won’t know for certain until we give it a go, now will we?”

Lord Dreary gulped and dragged his handkerchief across his head. The Odditorium was now flying above the clouds at full speed, shields up with the helm set on “autopilot,” as Father called it. Nigel and the others were busy somewhere making the final preparations for our journey, but Father insisted that I be present in the library for what he called “a lesson in magical cartography.” I had no idea what that meant but, what with everything else going on, thought it odd that he should be worried about my studies.

Then again, if there was one thing I’d learned during my brief residence at the Odditorium, it was that the odd was the ordinary at Alistair Grim’s.

“Ah, here we are,” Father said, snatching a book from its shelf. “
The Legend of Excalibur
by Oscar P. Bricklewick. Wonder what that
P
stands for. Prickly, perhaps?”

“Very funny,” the professor said, and Father tossed him the book.

“You’ll be sure to sign it for me at some point, won’t you?”

Father slid down the ladder where he was perched and crossed to his desk, on top of which was an old map of England belonging to Professor Bricklewick. I’d spread it out earlier for him at his request—a strange coincidence that, given Mr. Smears’s phony map story, was not lost on me.

“Now, Oscar,” Father said, scanning the map, “would you be so kind as to open that book of yours to the chapter on Avalon?”

Professor Bricklewick obliged. And as we all gathered round Father’s desk, I noticed that the page to which the professor had turned bore a map similar to the one spread out before us.

“If memory serves me,” Father began, “this map of England was passed down to you from your father. At least, that’s what you claim in your book. Am I correct?”

“I’m surprised you read it,” the professor said dryly. “But in answer to your question, that was a bit of a fib. The map was actually given to me by none other than our old professor at Cambridge, Doctor Shamus O’Grady.”

Lord Dreary’s eyes darted apprehensively to Father.

“Come again?” Father asked.

The professor cleared his throat. “Knowing my obsession with Arthurian legend, Elizabeth’s father gave me the map as a gift upon our engagement. The Map of Merlin, he called it. From what she told me, he’d won it years earlier in a wager with none other than Abel Wortley. Curiously, for all his knowledge of antiquities, it appears old Wortley had no idea what it was.”

“An intriguing turn of events,” Father said, looking quizzical. My mind too was spinning. There was that name again: Abel Wortley. The man whom Nigel had been framed for murdering. His presence always seemed to be lurking in the background of our adventure like a specter in the dark.

“I beg your pardon, Professor,” said Lord Dreary. “Notwithstanding this map’s connection to our dearly departed friend, are you implying that it also once belonged to Merlin the Magician, the legendary wizard and mentor of King Arthur?”

“According to the legends,” the professor began, “Merlin the Magician drew a map showing the location of the Gates of Avalon. To the untrained eye, the map before you appears to be just a crude, ninth-century rendering of Britannia and its surrounding waters—valuable in its own right as an antiquity, yes—but to someone with a knowledge of Odditoria, it is nothing short of a key to another world.”

“Well, other than its age, I see nothing out of the ordinary with this map,” said Lord Dreary.

“I needn’t remind you that the most powerful Odditoria are often things that appear to be ordinary,” Father said, and Lord Dreary rolled his eyes. “Go on, Oscar.”

Professor Bricklewick pointed to the map in his book. “As you can see, there are a number of theories as to where the magical realm of Avalon is located. I’ve highlighted many of them here in my book. Curiously, the one thing that all these theories have in common is that Avalon is always referred to as an island. However, as I conveniently fail to mention in my book,
my
theory is that Avalon is not an island at all—at least not in the physical sense—but another dimension floating amidst our own. Thus, in order to get there, one would need the ability to space jump.”

“But you also think there is an actual entrance into Avalon underwater?” Lord Dreary asked.

“I do not think, old friend, I
know
.”

With a wave of his hand, Professor Bricklewick uttered a strange incantation, whereupon the map flashed and exploded into a luminous blue mist that filled the entire chamber. A grid of white navigational lines stretched out to the walls, and hovering in midair among them was a colorful three-dimensional image of the British Isles. A glowing white compass floated nearby too—just east of London, from what I could tell.

“Good heavens!” Lord Dreary cried, and he steadied himself against Father’s desk. “Oscar Bricklewick is a sorcerer too!”

The professor shrugged, and Father gave him a pat on the back. “Glad to see you’ve still got it, old friend,” he said with a wink, and Professor Bricklewick began madly swiping his hands along the grid. The entire map scrolled through the air, while at the same time the British Isles grew larger, as if we were swooping down on them from above. I could see castles and farms, even the leaves on the trees, until finally the professor moved the map out to sea off the coast of northwest England. He parted the imaginary waters with his hands, and there before our eyes appeared a pair of sparkling blue gates bearing the letter
A
.

“Great poppycock!” cried Lord Dreary. “It’s the Gates of Avalon!”

“Yes, but watch closely,” said Professor Bricklewick. He swiped the map so that we were looking down over Great Britain again, and a dozen or so glowing stained-glass windows materialized above the same number of corresponding lakes in the North Country.

“As I suspected,” Father said. “There are other entrances to Avalon beside the main gates—shortcuts, if you will—that Queen Nimue must have used in her dealings with King Arthur. Thus the varying claims as to Avalon’s location.”

“And yet, as Avalon is located in another dimension,” said the professor, “not even a necromancer of Merlin’s power could travel there. Only an Avalonian could pass back and forth between our two worlds—most often, as you can see, through a handful of shortcuts located in shallower water throughout the old kingdom.”

“So, if I follow you, professor,” said Lord Dreary, “you think Merlin made this map so he could travel to Avalon?”

“I do. Merlin no doubt kept a record of where the Lady of the Lake appeared and then plotted those locations on his map, hoping in vain that one of them might lead him into Avalon. Unfortunately, legend has it that only the heart of an Avalonian can get you through these entrances—unless, of course, you have a Sky Ripper, eh, Alistair?”

“That’s the idea, yes,” Father said, and my mouth fell open. So that was it! Alistair Grim was planning on using his interdimensional Sky Ripper to get into Avalon. I’d seen the mechanical marvel in action only once—a few weeks earlier, when we escaped from Prince Nightshade through a hole in the sky over London—but I never imagined it might work underwater!

“But, Professor,” said Lord Dreary, “if memory serves me, after King Arthur was wounded in battle, didn’t the Lady of the Lake take him to heal in Avalon?”

“Bravo, Lord Dreary. Your knowledge of Arthurian lore is impressive. King Arthur
did
travel to Avalon. Which means that it is possible not only for a human to travel there with an Avalonian companion, but also for him to stay in Avalon for an extended period of time.”

“However,” Father said, “since the Lady of the Lake has no intention of taking us to Avalon herself, we must space jump there via the Sky Ripper.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as the gentlemen pondered this. I too was thinking about spending time in another dimension, but not Avalon. No, what occupied my thoughts at present was our brief excursion into the Land of the Dead when we used the Sky Ripper before. For some reason, unbeknownst even to Alistair Grim, the Odditorium had only been able to stay there for a few seconds before being spit out again like a cherry pit. If the same thing should happen to us in Avalon, then our entire quest for Excalibur would have been for naught.

Apparently, Lord Dreary was thinking the same thing. “But, Alistair, let’s say we can stay in Avalon without being expelled as we were during our last space jump. Will we need to use the Sky Ripper again to leave?”

“I should think traveling back to our own dimension would work roughly the same way as last time. Indeed, if we take the legend literally, one needs only the heart of an Avalonian to get in. It says nothing about needing one to get out.”

Lord Dreary sighed and dragged his handkerchief across his head.

“And yet,” Father went on, studying the terrain, “as this map is over a thousand years old, many of these lakes have either disappeared or are too shallow for the Odditorium to navigate—which means the only way for us to get to Avalon is through the main gates.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Professor Bricklewick, swiping the map back to its original position over the Irish Sea. “Perhaps there are other gateways into Avalon of which Merlin was unaware, but unless we find an Avalonian to accompany us, our surest bet is the main gates roughly five miles off the coast of Blackpool.”

Father raised an eyebrow. “Blackpool, did you say?” he asked, and the professor nodded. I knew what Father was thinking. Elizabeth O’Grady’s body had washed up on a beach near Blackpool. Cleona had told me so herself. What a strange coincidence….

“Hallo, hallo?” Nigel called from the talkback, startling us. “Are you there, sir?”

Father flicked the switch upon his desk. “What is it, Nigel?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but it appears we’ve got a bit of a jam in the lower gunnery—rotary gears, directly under the gyro-seat. Nothing major, but I’m afraid my hands are too big to reach it. Was hoping you could spare Grubb for a moment, otherwise the wasps will have to tear everything apart.”

“No need for that,” Father said. “You heard him, my young apprentice. Your presence is needed down below.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” I said, “but what about my lesson in magical cart…er, uh…cart—”

“Cartography,” Father said. “And I’m happy to report that you just completed it.”

I stood there, gaping in confusion, upon which Father winked and motioned for me to be on my way. I dashed from the library, through the parlor, and into the lift, where I threw the lever and began my descent. Cartography lessons aside, at this rate, I thought, I might never find out about Mack being a time stopper. Unless, of course, I asked the time stopper
himself
.

I slipped McClintock from my pocket and tapped him on his XII.

“What time is it?” Mack cried, flashing to life with animus. But upon seeing me, he shouted, “Run, Grubb! That scaffy witch’ll fry yer hide!”

Poor Mack, I thought. With all the commotion in preparation for Father’s Aquaticum, I hadn’t had the chance to inform him of our escape from Mad Malmuirie.

“It’s all right, Mack,” I said. “We’re home safe and sound now.”

Mack spun round in my hands. “Ah, so we are, laddie,” he said, glancing about. “How’d ya give that nut bag the slip?”

“I’ll fill you in about all that later. But first, you need to tell me about being a time stopper that once belonged to her.”

“I was telling the truth back there, laddie. Me time stopper’s been broken ever since I came to the Odditorium—just before ya arrived, come to think of it.”

“Nigel told me at breakfast you’ve been here nearly six months now.”

“Has it really been that long?” Mack asked in amazement. I nodded, and Mack sighed sadly. “Ah, laddie, what I wouldn’t give to keep me proper time again.”

“You mean there was a time when you didn’t fizzle out?”

“That’s right, Grubb. Ya see, I was made chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock because I never stopped ticking—never needed winding nor repairing neither. Those were the days when the Clan McClintock lived in Edinburgh—in a shop belonging to an old clockmaker what protected me. However, me time stopper was damaged during Mr. Grim’s battle with Mad Malmuirie. I’ve no memory of what happened, but from what I gather, Mr. Grim tried to repair me with his animus and…Well, ya get the idea.”

“So you really could stop time, Mack?”

“I suppose that’s a way of looking at it, but what I’m really doing is speeding up time for the person holding me.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Think of it this way, lad. If you were to use me time stopper, everything around you would appear to freeze because time is passing normally for the rest of the world while
your
time is ticking away faster—so fast, in fact, that you become invisible to everyone else. You can do things and go places without others seeing you, as if you’ve stepped out of time for a bit but haven’t left the world in which it’s ticking. Understand?”