Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (21 page)

“Your Majesty, allow me to present Alistair Grim and company,” said Fox Tail, kneeling, and the rest of us followed suit.

“Thank you, Captain,” said Queen Nimue. “Please rise. All of you. For surely our guests of honor mustn’t spend their time in Avalon upon their knees.”

As we rose to our feet, the Avalonians in the field behind us rose too. Captain Fox Tail joined his mates in the crowd, and the ladies on the dais sat down. Each one of them was lovelier than the next, and, like the queen, they all wore gold ribbons in their hair and golden scarves about their necks.

“Your Grace,” Lord Dreary said with a bow. “Allow me to introduce—”

“I know who you are, Harold Dreary, as I do your companions.” The queen called the rest of us by our full names too—Oscar Bricklewick, Penelope Pinch, Gwendolyn the Yellow Fairy, and, much to my surprise,
William
instead of Nigel Stout—and by the time she got to me, I felt as if I could barely breathe under the power of her all-knowing gaze. “And yet,” she said, glancing around, “unless I am mistaken, it appears that one of your party is missing. The banshee called”—Queen Nimue began snapping her fingers, trying to remember—“oh, what’s her name again…?”

Father stiffened and shot a nervous glance at Professor Bricklewick.

“You needn’t worry, Alistair Grim,” said Queen Nimue. “My subjects and I have no intention of boarding that big black ship of yours in search of her. I ask merely out of curiosity. However, if you wish not to tell me, I shall respect your desire for secrecy.”

“You must excuse her absence, Your Grace,” Father said. “Cleona is still recovering from our journey.”

“Cleona, that’s it!” said the queen, tapping her forehead. “Is she ill?”

“Why no, Your Grace. You see, it is Cleona who provides the Odditorium with its power for interdimensional travel. I call this power animus, and the means by which I harness Cleona’s exhausts her so completely that she must sleep to regain her strength.”

“Impressive, Alistair Grim. Your powers of sorcery are greater than I imagined.”

“As are your powers of prophecy, Your Grace. And so I hope you shall pardon me for assuming that you already know why we’re here?”

The queen nodded. “All that Nightshade business, yes. But first things first. May I have a look at the time stopper, please?”

Father handed her McClintock. Queen Nimue studied him closely for a moment, then smiled and wiggled his case. “Poor Dougal. How strange after all these years to see you shine so blue. And yet I must say the color suits you.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Mack said, “but have we met before?”

“A long, long time ago, when the world was young, and the smiths of Avalon forged swords for kings and watches for wizards.”

“Watches for wizards?”

“Many years ago I commissioned you as a gift for the wizard Merlin in exchange for his tutelage in sorcery. You were just an ordinary pocket watch back then—the first of your kind, as far as I can tell—until Merlin gave you the power to stop time.”

Professor Bricklewick gasped, and Nigel and I looked at each other in amazement.

“However,” the queen went on, “as Merlin was in love with me, he attempted to use his time stopper for—how shall I put it?—less-than-honorable purposes. As payback, I imprisoned him in a tree and secreted you away to Scotland, where I entrusted your care to the clan McClintock. And so they kept you hidden for centuries until, somehow, you wound up in the hands of Alistair Grim.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” said the professor, “but nowhere in my scholarly research have I ever read anything about a pocket watch for Merlin.”

“Then I am pleased to learn the McClintocks kept their secret well.”

The professor made to reply, but then, seeing the sense of it, shut his trap again.

“But how can this be, Your Majesty?” Mack asked. “I have no memory of anything ’cept me old master’s clock shop. And even that has gone a bit hazy.”

“With the blessing of time comes the curse of forgetting,” the queen said, and swiveled her eyes to Father. “This blue light is your doing?” Father looked confused. “Forgive me, Alistair Grim. Since my gift of prophecy was bestowed upon me by Merlin himself, there are details of your coming here that I have forgotten, or perhaps never knew in the first place. So do tell, was it you who gave McClintock his blue light?”

Father bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Your Grace. McClintock was damaged during my battle with the witch Mad Malmuirie, who stole him from the old clockmaker and destroyed his clan in Scotland. I tried to repair him with the animus, but could never get his time stopper working again.”

The queen narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “This…
witch
—Mad Malmuirie, you call her—is she still alive?”

“Very much so, I’m afraid,” Father said. “A bit of a recluse, from what I gather, who, fortunately for us, has no interest in joining with Prince Nightshade.”

The ladies on the dais exchanged a knowing glance, and then Queen Nimue removed a long pin from her hair and touched it to Mack’s XII. “This might sting a bit,” she said, and then Mack flashed and began to howl in pain. Impulsively, I rushed forward to protect him, but Nigel grabbed me by the arms and held me back.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” I cried. Queen Nimue smiled and turned Mack to face me. He began to shake and talk in gibberish, and then beams of brilliant red light shot out from his Roman numerals. Blinded, I turned away, and in the next moment the light faded and Mack was quiet.

“What the—? What happened?” he said after a long silence. Queen Nimue handed him back to Father. His eyes were no longer blue, but glowed as red as those of the lion’s head inside the Odditorium.

“Dougal McClintock has been restored to his former self,” she said. “However, I must caution you, Alistair Grim. As Avalon exists in a dimension outside your own, the time stopper will not work here. On the other hand, should you someday choose to use him in your world, take care to use him wisely.”

“Ach!” Mack cried. “You mean…?”

“Yes, old friend,” said the queen, but she never took her eyes off Father. “Your time stopper is repaired, and thus no longer shall you require Alistair Grim’s animus to keep ticking.”

Father held the queen’s gaze, wherein something seemed to pass between them, while Mack, barely able to contain his excitement, sputtered and flashed with his new red light. “Oh, thank you, Your Majesty! How can I ever repay you?”

“The fulfillment of your destiny is payment enough,” the queen said. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but as we were now on the subject of payment, I remembered the queen’s gift.

“The egg, sir,” I whispered, tugging on Father’s coat.

“Ah, yes,” he muttered. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but on behalf of all of us, my son here wishes to present you with a small token of our friendship.”

Father gently pushed me forward, and I slipped Moral’s egg from my pocket and held it out for the queen.

“Your gesture is much appreciated,” she said. “But I cannot accept your gift. As it regards your destiny, this golden egg must serve another purpose. What that purpose is, I cannot say.”

“The prophecy?” Father asked, and the queen nodded. “Then, if I may be so bold, does this prophecy tell whether or not we shall have Excalibur?”

“Once again, I cannot say.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but do you mean cannot or
will
not?”

“The decision is not mine to make, Alistair Grim. For you see, just as our two worlds have crossed paths, so too have we come to a crossroads in time. The outcome of your quest remains unclear, and so, like the gears of your pocket watch, your destiny depends on a delicate balance of everything working together in your favor.”

“I see,” Father said. “Well, then, if it is not your decision to lend us Excalibur, would you think me bold for asking whose it is?”

“Why, yours, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“You will shortly,” said the queen. “But until such time, allow me to play the humble host; join us in our castle. We have arranged a banquet in your honor.”

Lord Dreary stepped forward and bowed. “The honor is indeed all ours, Your Majesty.” The queen nodded, and one of the ladies seated beside her smiled at Professor Bricklewick—who began to blush.

“We are most grateful, Your Majesty,” Father said. “However, there are matters inside the Odditorium that require our immediate attention. We sustained significant damage during our journey, and Gwendolyn needs to recharge our flight systems.”

Gwendolyn let out a moan and shook her head. Her eyes had returned to normal—a clear sign that the chocolate was wearing off.

“I’m afraid I’ve come down with a bit of a headache,” she said. “You girls wouldn’t happen to have any chocolate at this banquet, would you?”

“I should think you’ve had enough,” hissed Mrs. Pinch, and she turned to the queen. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I’ve got just the thing for this one in my kitchen.”

“Very well, then,” said Queen Nimue. “I will send an envoy to fetch you at six o’clock. Will that give you enough time to tend to your affairs?”

“You are most generous, Your Grace,” said Lord Dreary, bowing again, and the rest of us followed suit.

“And yet,” said the queen to herself, “I feel as if I’m forgetting something.”

Queen Nimue racked her brain for a moment, and then, with a smile, shrugged and rose from her throne. The ladies rose from theirs, and with a flourish of trumpets the entire royal procession paraded their way through the crowd and disappeared behind a large gate in the castle walls. The Royal Guard and their dragons encircled the Odditorium to keep everyone at bay, and as the festivities resumed around us, we climbed back up onto the balcony. The glowing white staircase vanished and the balustrade became solid again.

Father passed me Mack and then scurried up one of the library ladders, where he began searching the bookshelves. “All right, listen up, everyone. Nigel, you get down to the engine room and set the wasps to work on that steering damper. See if you can’t do something about the upper gunnery too. Mrs. Pinch, you take care of Gwendolyn’s headache and get her back into the flight sphere as soon as possible. Chop-chop, all of you, we’ve no time to waste.”

As Nigel and Mrs. Pinch hurried out with Gwendolyn, Father snatched a large leather-bound book from the shelf and slid with it down the ladder.

“What the devil are you up to, Alistair?” asked Lord Dreary, but Father ignored him and dashed over to his desk.

“Look here, Oscar,” he said. “See if you can’t find something in this book that might guard us against the Lady of the Lake’s magic. Merlin got out of that tree somehow. Perhaps there’s a clue in here as to how he broke her spell.”

Professor Bricklewick took the book. It was old and tattered, but the title on its cover was clear.
Protective Charms for the Necromancer.

“But why this sudden paranoia?” the professor asked. “Queen Nimue has been exceedingly gracious since our arrival. She even fixed your pocket watch.”

“Aye, sir, that she did,” Mack said happily, and spun his hands to the proper time.

“That’s precisely my point,” Father said, and he reached for his notebook and began to sketch. “Given all the trouble that Merlin caused her, do you really think Nimue would trust complete strangers with a time stopper? I’m afraid the Avalonians are indeed a race of fairies after all. And as Lord Dreary so aptly pointed out, fairies have little regard for humans.”

“But they don’t look like fairies to me, sir,” I said.

“Given your recent encounters with Prince Nightshade’s second-in-command, I should think you, of all people, would remember that there are different kinds of fairies.”

I shivered. Of course I hadn’t forgotten that the winged demon known as the Black Fairy was just that, a fairy, but it never occurred to me that there might be other kinds of fairies too—as in, ones
without
wings.

“I’m afraid I’m with the boy on this one,” said Lord Dreary. “To be sure, I didn’t see a pair of wings among them.”

“Of course not, because the Avalonians are
water
fairies, amphibious by nature, and thus capable of breathing both on land and under the sea. After all, why else would they wear such ornate scarves if not to hide their
gills
?”

Father showed us the page on which he’d been sketching. It was a perfect rendering of Queen Nimue in profile, but instead of a golden scarf around her neck, below her ear he’d drawn three cascading curves to represent her gills.

“Good heavens,” Lord Dreary said weakly, and he fingered his collar.

“And despite her cryptic comments about the future,” Father said, “I believe our Lady of the Lake has no intention of giving us Excalibur—at least not without making us fight for it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Professor Bricklewick.

“All that hullabaloo out there is no mere welcome celebration, but the opening festivities of a tournament.”

“A tournament?”

“Yes, Oscar. The armored knights with their lances, the jousting lists, the makeshift blacksmith forges, all of it indicating a medieval tournament of some sort—one in which I suspect our champion, whoever that may be, shall fight the queen’s.”

“Why of course,” said Professor Bricklewick, his eyes wide. “What the queen said about the decision being yours—whether or not you shall wield Excalibur depends on
your decision
—as in a decision awarded you by means of battle!”

“Very good, old friend.” Father took out the Black Mirror from the case upon his desk and, gazing into it, said, “Show me our champion.” But nothing happened. Father heaved a frustrated sigh and slipped the mirror into his inside coat pocket.

“There, you see, Alistair?” said Lord Dreary. “It’s quite possible you are mistaken about this tournament after all.”

“Perhaps,” Father said. “However, since the Black Mirror can only play back the last reflection of someone who has gazed into it, I submit there’s an even stronger possibility that our champion has never done so.”

“Great poppycock, what do you intend to do?”