Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (8 page)

“What I do, I do of my own free will. Just as you do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Order of the Gallownog doesn’t know you’re here, do they?” Cleona asked, and Lorcan Dalach bowed his head. “I know your heart better than anyone. You came for me of your own accord, but the question is will you tell the Order you found me when I refuse to return with you?”

“Cleona, listen to me!”

“Quiet, you’ll wake Gwendolyn!”

Dalach lowered his voice, but it grew tight with anger. “What I do, Cleona, I do out of honor for us both. I am a captain of the Gallownog first, and your one true love second. You best remember that should you seek to test me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cleona said, stepping away from him. “I am not bewitched now and I never was. And should the Council take me at my word, would you really risk losing me again to eternal banishment? Could you live with yourself knowing it was you alone who sent me there?”

Lorcan Dalach was silent for a long time. “You underestimate both my love for you and my resolve,” he said finally. “But hear me, Cleona of Connacht: By hook or by crook you
will
come back with me, upon which I shall prove that you are just another victim of Alistair Grim’s sorcery.”

Cleona was about to reply, but then Gwendolyn poked her head out of her bedroom window.

“What’s all that jabbering down there?” she called. From where the dollhouse was hanging, she could not see Cleona on the other side of the prison sphere, but just to be safe Cleona made herself invisible. “You better shut your gob, Gallownog,” Gwendolyn said, “or I’ll come down there and shut it for you!”

I didn’t stick around to hear any more, and quickly padded back down to the shop. I climbed into bed and pretended to be asleep just in case Cleona decided to check up on me. My mind was spinning, however, and I lay awake for hours, consumed by what I’d just witnessed. More than the revelation of the banshees’ betrothal, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to Dalach’s tale. Was my mother really a sorceress? And if so, had both she and Father bewitched Cleona into helping them?

If sleep came to me at all that night, it came dreamless and only for minutes at a time. And in the morning, when Mrs. Pinch summoned me for breakfast on the talkback, I quickly dressed, slipped Mack into my waistcoat, and joined the grown-ups at the dining room table, happy to be free from the prison of my thoughts.

“Expecting another demon, are we?” Father said, and he pointed to the warding stone about my neck. I hadn’t even realized I was still wearing it.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” I said. “Should I take it off?”

“Not if it makes you feel safer. In fact, I’m happy to see it finally getting some use. The demon catcher and its contents have been in storage for—What’s it been, Nigel? Four, five months since our last trip to Scotland?”

“Six, actually,” Nigel said, nibbling at his sausage. “Nasty business, that quest. Never forget it. Neither will that daft witch from what you stole—er, uh—
acquired
all them things.”

“Now, now, Nigel, you know very well I won the demon catcher fair and square. Besides, Mad Malmuirie was up to no good with it anyway.”

“Mad Malmuirie, sir?” I asked.

“A beautiful but deadly witch who lives in a cave along the North Sea. Stumbled upon her quite by accident, if you want to know the truth. The demon catcher was merely the price she paid for picking a fight with me.”

“You fought a lady, sir?”

“A battle of wits is more like it. Riddles, dueling spells—that sort of thing. It’ll all be second nature to you by the time we’re done with your training.”

Father winked and sliced into his sausage.

“Just be thankful your Father goes about his quests incognito,” said Mrs. Pinch. “Had Mad Malmuirie known it was Alistair Grim who took her Odditoria…Well, I shudder to think what might have happened had she tracked him back to London.”

“Who knows?” Father said, munching away. “Should Prince Nightshade pay her a visit, she may yet have her revenge.”

“Cor blimey, sir,” I said. “You don’t think that witch might’ve joined up with the prince, do you?”

“I sincerely doubt it, Grubb. Even though the old devil has managed to gather about himself quite a menagerie of Odditoria, Mad Malmuirie doesn’t strike me as the sort who’d share her power with anyone. Not willingly, that is. Come to think of it, you didn’t see any highly fetching, mentally imbalanced ladies during your captivity in Nightshade’s castle, did you?”

“Only goblins and trolls and whatnot. And all of them were quite ugly, sir.”

Father chuckled. “Well there you are, then. Nothing to worry about, see?”

I nodded, but my mind began to wander. There was something familiar in Father’s tale—something that made me think back on my dreams from the night before—but all I could see were flickering images of Mr. Smears and the banshees in the engine room. Yes, all that business with Cleona and Dalach was beginning to seem like a dream too—the whole night was becoming just one big blur of confusion.

“Now eat up, Grubb,” said Mrs. Pinch, startling me from my thoughts. “Blind me if I should heat your sausages only for you to eat them cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and I dug in.

“Now see here, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary. “Before we leave the subject of Mad Malmuirie’s demon catcher, what say you make good on your promise from last night?”

“Very well, then.” Father rose from his chair and spoke into the talkback beside the dining room’s massive, china-filled breakfront. “If you’re within the sound of my voice, Cleona, please join us in Nigel’s quarters at your earliest convenience, will you?” Father switched off the talkback and sat back down at the table. “Eat up, then, all of you,” he said. “You’ll want a full stomach for the day I’ve got in store.”

We quickly finished our breakfast and followed Father upstairs into Nigel’s chambers. Cleona was there waiting for us, hovering beside the heap in the center of the room. But when she smiled and wished me good morning, I could hardly meet her eyes. I felt guilty about spying on her the night before, but I also felt suspicious. Was Cleona really bewitched? And if so, would she ever leave if Dalach broke Father’s spell?

Rubbish,
I told myself. Father loved Cleona, and he would never bewitch her into doing anything against her will.

“Isn’t that right, Grubb?” Father asked, and I shook off my thoughts to find everyone staring at me.

“Er, uh,” I stammered. “Isn’t what right, sir?”

“I was explaining the events of last night, and looked to you for confirmation.” My heart froze and I just stood there gaping. Did Father know about my spying on the banshees? “You
do
remember helping me catch a demon, don’t you?” he added.

I sighed with relief. “Oh,
that
—yes, sir.”

“You feeling all right, Grubb?” Nigel asked. “Your head’s been in the clouds all morning.”

“Still a bit shaken, I suppose. Nasty business, that demon catching.”

“Speaking of clouds,” Father said. “Nigel, would you care to do the honors?”

And without further ado, Nigel tore off the sheet, exposing his secret project underneath. The old folks gasped, and my jaw nearly hit the floor.

There in the center of the room was a black open-air carriage with a small crystal conductor sphere attached to its back end. Inside the sphere, a cloud of black smoke churned violently; outside, pipes connected in all directions to steering mechanisms and exhaust vents similar to the Odditorium’s. Attached to the front of the carriage was some sort of furnace contraption loaded with gears and pistons, and from which a long cable plugged into Nigel’s charging station.

“Behold my latest invention,” Father said. “I call it a demon buggy. Named, of course, after its main power source.”

“Great poppycock!” Lord Dreary cried. “You mean the demon you captured last night is inside that sphere?”

As if in reply, the conductor sphere began to tremble and a pair of glowing orange eyes snapped open amidst the smoke within. I jumped back in fear.

“The demon buggy works exactly the same as the Odditorium,” Father said. “Under the protection of my magic paint, Cleona’s animus safely controls its mechanical functions, while the dust harnessed from our demonic friend enables the buggy to fly.”

Lord Dreary gulped and fingered his collar, and Mack began to rumble in my waistcoat. “What time is it?” he cried as I opened him, but upon seeing the demon in the conductor sphere, he let out a loud
“Ach!”
and closed his case again. Cleona, on the other hand, was unafraid, and drifted over to the demon.

“I should think it’d go mad in there,” she said sadly.

“Unfortunately, madness and evil often go hand in hand,” Father replied.

“It’s just that, evil spirit or not, I can’t see taking part in torturing it.”

Father raised his voice. “Any discomfort this servant of evil might experience in the conductor sphere pales in comparison to that which it would inflict upon mankind. And once the foul creature has served its purpose, we shall send it into oblivion over the sea, thus ridding the world of untold pain and suffering. I should think, however unjust you find its temporary imprisonment, you’d be happy to have a hand in that. And so this discussion is closed.”

Frowning, Cleona heaved a heavy sigh and floated from the room. I felt sorry for her, but at the same time couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t on her way to see someone else who she thought had been unjustly imprisoned—someone who, only a matter of hours ago, called himself her one true love.

“Very well. Who’s up for a little jaunt about town?” Father asked, lightening the mood, and he disconnected the cable from the buggy’s front furnace—which, judging by its location and its coating of magic paint, I understood to be charged with animus.

“You mean you’re going to fly that thing
now
?” Lord Dreary cried.

“My entire plan to defeat Prince Nightshade hinges upon it,” Father said. He threw a nearby lever and the Odditorium’s outer wall split apart like a set of jaws preparing to chomp the sky. A cold wind swirled through the chamber and rustled the newspaper articles on the wall above Nigel’s desk. Father climbed into the demon buggy and, donning a pair of goggles, sat down behind the steering wheel and cranked on the ignition. The buggy’s engine roared to life, and tendrils of black and blue smoke began seeping out of the rear exhaust vents.

I shivered. The blue smoke was obviously expelled animus. And if Father was planning on taking the buggy outside, unprotected by the Odditorium’s magic paint, the doom dogs would most certainly pick up on it.

Father read the fear on my face. “You needn’t worry about the doom dogs!” he hollered above the din. “The demon’s dust renders the animus harmless, just like Gwendolyn’s! Who’s with me?”

Father held up another pair of goggles, and before I realized my feet were moving, I tossed Mack onto Nigel’s desk and sat down next to Father with the goggles over my eyes. Nigel strapped a large leather cowl onto his head and climbed into the seat behind us, but Lord Dreary and Mrs. Pinch remained where they stood.

“Blind me if I ever set foot in that thing!” Mrs. Pinch shouted. “Your heads need oiling, the lot of you!” Lord Dreary nodded in agreement.

“We should be back by noon!” Father called. “Have the hangar doors open and lunch waiting, will you, Mrs. Pinch? We won’t have time to dillydally!”

And with that, Father threw the demon buggy into gear.

In one moment we were rolling toward the opening in the wall, and in the next the sky was all around us—the cold wind whipping at my hair as we plummeted toward an endless blanket of sun-frosted clouds.

My heart leaped into my throat. The demon buggy wasn’t flying, it was falling—and falling fast!

I screamed and grabbed hold of my seat.

“Not to worry!” Father shouted. He pressed some buttons on the buggy’s instrument panel, but still we continued to drop like a stone. Finally, Father pushed and pulled a collection of levers that stuck up between our seats. Gears clanked and dampers flapped, and then the demon buggy leveled off and began soaring upward into the air.

“It works, sir!” Nigel cried out behind me, and I gazed past him to find a massive plume of black and blue smoke billowing out of the buggy’s exhaust. The demon inside the conductor sphere was spinning madly, its eyes and black-fanged mouth just a blur of orange amidst its whirling black dust. Father tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a bright red button on the instrument panel.

“This knob releases itching powder into the conductor sphere!” he shouted. “Just one pull will keep that demon back there churning out dust for hours!”

I nodded, speechless, and Father plunged the buggy into the clouds. A thick gray fog enveloped us at once as beads of water rippled across my goggles and chilled my cheeks. I could barely see the buggy’s controls in front of me. It seemed as if our descent would go on forever—when finally we emerged from the clouds high above the countryside. Rolling patches of farmland dotted the landscape in every direction, and in the misty distance I could see a large, rambling town of majestic stone buildings.

Father flew straight for it, descending quickly and landing the demon buggy on one of the outlying country roads. He flicked some switches and pulled some levers, and soon we were rolling along, kicking up dust and drawing strange looks from people we passed.

“Aren’t you afraid we’ll be spotted, sir?” Nigel asked. “After that scene in London, lots of people will be looking for us, not to mention Prince Nightshade.”

“The town you see before you is Cambridge, home to the esteemed university of the same name and some of the most brilliant minds in the world. Residents in these parts are used to seeing mechanical wonders, and will undoubtedly think our demon buggy just another one of those steam-powered carriages that have become so popular of late.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Nevertheless, your point is well taken, Nigel.” Father pulled a yellow knob on his instrument panel and a metal canopy folded down over the rear conductor sphere, shielding the entire contraption from view. “We’ll find a place to hide the buggy too. Hope you don’t mind standing guard over it until Grubb and I return.”