Alistair Grim's Odditorium (18 page)

“What have you done?” Lord Dreary cried.

“Just an ancient Roman spell,” said Mr. Grim, taking the sphere back to the fireplace. “You see, in its deactivated state, the Eye of Mars appears to be nothing more than a
worthless glass ball. Then again, I’ve found that the most powerful Odditoria are usually things that, on the surface at least, appear to be ordinary.”

Mr. Grim placed the Eye of Mars back inside its conductor, pressed the secret button, and the lion’s head swung back into place. Its eyes had gone black again.

“But how—where did you find it?”

“To make a long story short,” said Mr. Grim, “I tracked down the Eye of Mars to a dormant volcano on the Italian peninsula where, shall we say, I
persuaded
the dragon
who lived there to give it to me.”

“
Dragon
, did you say?”

“Well, naturally when one travels around the world collecting magical objects, one stands a good chance of running into the magical creatures who guard them. However, early on in my quest
for Odditoria, I realized that
someone else
was traveling around the world collecting Odditoria too.”

“Prince Nightshade!”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Grim, fetching his notebook from his desk. “On more than one occasion, in fact, it appeared as if the old prince had snatched my Odditoria right out from
under my nose—and in some cases, the magical creatures who guarded them, too.”

Mr. Grim opened his notebook and handed it to Lord Dreary. I could not see the page from where I was standing, but the fear in the old man’s eyes made it clear which one of Mr.
Grim’s drawings had caught his attention.

“The Black Fairy,” Lord Dreary said weakly.

“The prince’s second in command,” said Mr. Grim. “You’ll find many other nasty creatures in there too—all of whom have allied themselves with the
prince.”

Lord Dreary scanned a few more pages and then quickly closed the notebook and handed it back to Mr. Grim, out of fright.

“But who
is
this Prince Nightshade?” asked Lord Dreary.

“I’m afraid I don’t know
who
he is,” said Mr. Grim, returning his notebook to his desk. “But it is clear to me
what
he is: a master of the Dark Arts,
someone who has learned to harness the power of Odditoria much as I have. And to make matters worse, it appears this Nightshade character also has the power to absorb magical energy into his body.
The more energy he absorbs, the more powerful he becomes.”

“Great—”

“Poppycock, yes,” Mr. Grim said quickly. “And judging from the armor worn by the prince’s Shadesmen, I am convinced that he used his Eye of Mars to resurrect the ancient
armies of Romulus and Remus.”

Lord Dreary gasped. “You mean those blasted bone bags are actually dead Latin soldiers?”

“Precisely,” said Mr. Grim. He snatched a book from one of the shelves and began flipping through its pages. “It makes sense that the Eye of Mars could
only
resurrect
the armies of Romulus and Remus. One brother could not possibly conquer the other if he could not destroy his army, and thus they would always be equal in power. Or at least that’s what Mars
thought.”

“So those Shadesmen cannot be killed?”

“Oh no, they can be killed with the right weapons,” Mr. Grim said absently, reading. “A blast of red energy. A swipe from an animus-infused samurai sword…”

Mr. Grim flipped a few more pages and then, unable to find what he was looking for, tossed the book onto his desk and raked back his hair in frustration.

“So that is why Prince Nightshade has come after you?” asked Lord Dreary. “Because you possess the other Eye of Mars?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Mr. Grim. “Although Prince Nightshade has been even more successful than I in his quest for Odditoria, it appears there is one magical entity that has
continued to elude him: a source of the animus.”

“A
source
of the animus?”

“Yes, old friend,” said Mr. Grim, thinking. “Judging from the eyes of the lads that led Prince Nightshade to the Odditorium, it appears that Nightshade has discovered a magical
means by which to combine the red energy from the Eye of Mars with the animus residue from our escaped pocket watch. Red and blue make purple, you see—”

“And the lads who led him here,” Lord Dreary exclaimed, “their eyes glowed purple!”

“Correct. If the Eye of Mars can only resurrect the ancient armies of Romulus and Remus, then the number of red-eyed Shadesmen the prince can gather for his army is limited. However, if he
were to get his hands on a source of the
animus
—”

“Then the number of
purple
-eyed Shadesmen he can gather is
unlimited
!”

“Correct again, Lord Dreary,” said Mr. Grim. “Prince Nightshade wants the animus so he can create a purple-eyed army of the dead.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Noah and his gang, but just the thought of an entire army of those moaning purple-eyed devils gadding about the world
sent a shiver up my spine—not to mention that I had almost become one of them myself.

“So, this pocket watch,” Lord Dreary said finally. “Is
that
the magical object from which you harness the animus?”

“Good heavens, no!” cried Mr. Grim, laughing, but then he abruptly stopped and gazed about the room. “Come to think of it, where
is
old McClintock?”

“Nigel has him, sir,” I said, and Mr. Grim started as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“Thank you, Master Grubb,” he said, smiling wryly. “However, I must admit that your knowledge of Mack’s whereabouts would have been much more useful to us about an hour
ago.”

Mr. Grim shot me a wink, but it did little to ease my guilt. In all the commotion, I’d nearly forgotten that this whole mess was entirely my fault.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” I said, looking down at my shoes, at which point Mrs. Pinch’s broom unexpectedly swept past me into the room. Lord Dreary cried out in surprise, but
the broom ignored him and began tidying up the hearth. Evidently, more of the sandy red soot had fallen out of the flue during the battle.

“Not now, Broom,” said Mr. Grim, and the broom gave a quick curtsy and disappeared into the parlor. “Odditoria,” said Mr. Grim with a shrug, and Lord Dreary sighed and
fingered his collar.

“Speaking of which,” said the old man, “if the red energy comes from the Eye of Mars, and the yellow energy comes from Gwendolyn the Yellow Fairy, from what Odditoria do you
harness the blue animus?”

“Now, now,” said Mr. Grim, smiling, “what kind of mad sorcerer would I be if I went about revealing everything in my bag of tricks at once?”

“Great poppycock, man, don’t play games!”

“I assure you, Lord Dreary, it is not my intention to be evasive. However, I should think any attempt to explain the source of my blue energy without an accompanying demonstration would be
futile. And given the state of the Odditorium’s systems, such a demonstration is impossible at the moment.”

“Yes, but Alistair, I—”

“Besides,” said Mr. Grim, rising, “it looks as if Mrs. Pinch and Nigel have arrived with our Asterian nectar.”

Lord Dreary and I turned to find them standing in the entrance to the library. The old woman held a tray, on top of which rested a slender black bottle and five small glasses.

However, I could not help but stare at Nigel. He was Odditoria too, was he not? Odditoria powered by the animus just like Mack. But Nigel most certainly wasn’t a machine. Which meant that
people
could be powered by the animus too. Maybe Nigel was the
source
of the animus. After all, odder things had happened at Alistair Grim’s, even though I had yet to come
across a sphere big enough to hold a man like Nigel Stout.

“Allow me, Mrs. Pinch,” said Mr. Grim, and he took the tray and set it on his desk. “Don’t want you pouring this without your spectacles.”

Mrs. Pinch furrowed her brow and drew her lips together tightly.

“Asterian nectar,” said Mr. Grim, holding up the bottle. “A rare delicacy I picked up in Greece.” Mr. Grim popped the cork and filled each glass with the thick, black
liquid. “Gather ’round,” he said. “You too, Master Grubb.”

All of us took our glasses.

“Alistair, I—” Lord Dreary began, but Mr. Grim quickly cut him off.

“There’ll be plenty of time for show-and-tell later,” he said. “Let us now enjoy the peace and quiet of this moment with a toast to the Odditorium.”

Mr. Grim raised his glass. Nigel and Mrs. Pinch followed suit, but both Lord Dreary and I hesitated.

“Are you not going to join us, Lord Dreary?” asked Mr. Grim.

The old man looked back and forth between Mr. Grim and the others—then heaved a heavy sigh and said, “When in Rome.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, since we were nowhere near Rome as far as I could tell. But nonetheless, when Lord Dreary raised his glass I did the same.

“To the Odditorium,” said Mr. Grim.

“To the Odditorium!” replied the others.

“You, too, Master Grubb,” said Mr. Grim.

“To the Odditorium,” I said, and we all sipped from our glasses.

I had never partaken in a toast before, nor had I ever tasted anything as delicious as Mr. Grim’s nectar. And as a salt-scented breeze blew in from the balcony, I gazed out past the pipe
organ to the clear blue sky and understood at once that what I had tasted was adventure.

A
fter our toast, Lord Dreary continued to press Mr. Grim to reveal the source of his animus, upon which Mr. Grim once again insisted that, until
the Odditorium’s systems were recharged, such a revelation would be impossible. Besides, he explained, there were more pressing matters at hand now that Prince Nightshade was on our tail. The
first order of business: to find out where the space jump had taken us.

“Right-o, then,” Nigel said. “Come along, Grubb.”

“Just a moment, Nigel,” said Mr. Grim. “If you and Lord Dreary would care to step into the parlor, I’d like to speak to Master Grubb for a moment.
Alone.
”

I swallowed hard and my heart began to hammer. For a while there I thought Mr. Grim was going to let me off the hook about McClintock.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Nigel said. “As far as I can tell, this whole Mack business was an honest mistake.”

“Yes, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary. “Try not to be too hard on the lad, will you?”

“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” said Mr. Grim, ushering them out. But as Nigel and Lord Dreary retreated to the parlor, Mrs. Pinch lagged behind.

“May I help you, Mrs. Pinch?” asked Mr. Grim.

“Well, sir, I…”

The old woman’s eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Grim and me.

“Yes, Mrs. Pinch?”

“Well, sir,” she began again. “I may not have my spectacles, but I know a good lad when I see one. And blind me if I’m going to stand by without putting in a word for
Master Grubb here.”

“Your word is duly noted,” said Mr. Grim, and he motioned for her to leave.

“Humph!” said Mrs. Pinch. And with that the old woman picked up the tray of dirty glasses and stormed out of the library.

“Well now, Master Grubb,” said Mr. Grim, closing the pocket doors. “Looks like your little jaunt with McClintock has brought us a bit of trouble, has it not?”

“I’m afraid it has, sir,” I said guiltily.

“Nothing to be afraid of just yet,” said Mr. Grim, and he crossed to his desk. “Turn your back, please,” he said.

“Sir?”

“Turn your
back
.”

I gulped. Here comes a beating for certain, I thought, and I slowly turned round to face the door. However, as I braced my bottom for his blows, I caught sight of Mr. Grim’s reflection in
the silver water pitcher on the table. He reached into the wooden box on his desk, took out the Lady in Black’s mirror, and stared at it for a long time.

“What’s to become of him?” he whispered into the mirror—and I could have sworn I saw it flash—but then Mr. Grim frowned. “Temperamental trinket,” he
muttered, and quickly returned the mirror to its case.

“You may turn around now,” he said, and I obeyed. “Very well, then, no more suspense. All is forgiven, Master Grubb.”