Alistair Grim's Odditorium (20 page)

“All that, yes, but also a couple of other items that were
not
found in the coach. Items that appeared ordinary—unless one had knowledge of Odditoria.”

“Ordinary,” I whispered.

“What’s that you say?”

“Ordinary. Mr. Grim said that the most powerful Odditoria are usually those things that, on the surface, appear ordinary.”

“He’s right. And so Mr. Grim knew that Abel Wortley’s killer had to have knowledge of Odditoria too. Why else would a thief steal such ordinary objects and leave the more
valuable ones behind? And since William didn’t seem the sort to be familiar with Odditoria, Mr. Grim suspected he had been framed by someone who was.”

“Good heavens!”

“But you have to remember that, back then, no one knew Mr. Grim was gadding about the world collecting Odditoria. Consequently, if he spilled the beans about the missing objects, he would
endanger his entire quest.”

“Because he would have to reveal that the objects were magical?”

“That’s right, Grubb. Not to mention that he would risk revealing his knowledge of Odditoria to the real culprit too.”

“So what happened, Nigel?”

“Well, when Mr. Grim visited William in the clink, he told him that he not only thought William was innocent, but also that he thought he’d been set up by someone.”

“Judge Hurst!” I exclaimed.

“Right-o, Grubb. But Mr. Grim had no proof, you see. And there was also Maggie to think about. Mr. Grim did offer to take her in, but even he had to admit that the kind of life he could
provide for her was nothing compared to the life she’d lead in the country—what with all his quests in search of Odditoria and whatnot.”

“That would be a problem,” I said, but I was thinking about Cleona the trickster. She lived at the Odditorium, didn’t she?

“But besides Judge Hurst,” Nigel continued, “Mr. Grim had plenty of reasons to suspect that one of his other society friends might recognize Odditoria too. And without the
proof of the stolen items…well, you see poor William’s predicament?”

I stared down sadly at my shoes. Poor William, indeed. Not only had he been hanged for something he didn’t do, but also the sister of the very man who hanged him was raising his daughter.
On the bright side, however, at least William was at peace and no longer missed her. But what about Maggie? How dreadful all that must have been on the child—and she being just shy of four
years old. At least I was six or thereabouts when Mrs. Smears died. But even if Maggie missed her father half as much as I missed Mrs. Smears, well…

The tears began to rise in my throat, but I quickly swallowed them down.
Chin up,
I told myself
. This is no time to get all gobby eyed and gloomy. Nigel needs a friend, and if
I’m going to be Mr. Grim’s apprentice, I need to be strong about such things.

And so I forced myself not to cry. “So that’s when you came to London, Nigel?” I asked finally. “After your brother was hanged?”

“Yes and no, Grubb. You see, just before William was led to the gallows, Mr. Grim offered him a bargain.”

“A bargain?”

“That’s right. A bargain in which Mr. Grim offered to bring William back from the dead.”

I gasped.

“Of course,” Nigel went on, “William thought Mr. Grim had gone touched in the head. But then again, what did he have to lose? So he listened carefully as Mr. Grim laid down the
terms of his bargain. One, that upon his resurrection, William would come work for him. Two, that he would always keep his work secret. And three, that he would never reveal his true identity to
anyone until Abel Wortley’s killer was found.”

“And did William agree to Mr. Grim’s terms?”

Nigel grew silent. And looking back, I suppose I should’ve put it all together much sooner. But only when he lifted his goggles and stared at me with his animus-filled eyes did the nub of
Nigel’s story finally hit home.

“You!” I cried. “You’re William Stout!”

“That’s right, Grubb. And as I’m sure you’ve guessed, there never was a brother Nigel. Nigel was the name I took after Mr. Grim brought me back from the dead. Played the
role of William’s twin, I did, so as to keep the terms of my bargain.”

Nigel replaced his goggles, and a long silence passed in which his secret gradually sank in. A million questions raced through my mind at once, and as I searched among them for the proper one to
ask, for some reason I settled on perhaps the silliest question of them all.

“So if you were brought back from the dead,” I said, “does that mean you’re a Shadesman, too, Nigel?”

The big man laughed heartily. “Don’t worry, Grubb,” he said. “Unlike those bone bags, people what’s been brought back with the animus wind up much as they were in
life—except for their bright blue peepers, of course. In fact, Mr. Grim says the animus is the closest one can get to the scientific recreation of the human soul.”

“Cor blimey,” I said. “But, Nigel, if you’re really William Stout, that means that Maggie—”

“Is really
my
daughter.”

Nigel’s words stopped me cold, for despite everything I’d learned about him that day, I never imagined my new friend might have a child.

“So you see, Grubb?” he said after moment. “When I’m looking sad, it’s because I’m missing Maggie.”

“Have you seen her since…well…since you came back from the dead?”

“Only from a distance. Mr. Grim sometimes sends Mrs. Pinch to the country with gifts for her, and I hang back in the coach hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Sometimes I do, sometimes I
don’t, but I send out the bats nearly every night to check up on her. The judge was true to his word, Grubb, and Maggie’s been growing up quite happy. There’s comfort for me in
that.”

“But, Nigel, if everyone thinks you’re William’s brother, wouldn’t Maggie think so too? I mean, couldn’t you visit her in the country as her Uncle Nigel?”

“Being that everyone fancies me the brother of a murderer, her new family thinks it best she not associate with my sort. Besides,” Nigel added, pointing to his goggles, “what
sort am I, anyway? Not alive, not dead, but a freak in between what can’t even look at his daughter with his own eyes.”

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s best for everyone if things stay as they are now. At least until Abel Wortley’s murderer is brought to justice. Who knows? Now that
Prince Nightshade has finally reared his ugly head, we might end up killing two birds with one stone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s entirely possible that the first time the prince got to his Odditoria before Mr. Grim was ten years ago at Abel Wortley’s. Meaning, Abel Wortley’s killer and
Prince Nightshade might be the same person.”

Cor!
I was about to exclaim, when something occurred to me. “I saw Judge Hurst with the Black Fairy!”

“What?”

“When the Black Fairy attacked, he snatched up the judge and carried him off. Not long afterward Prince Nightshade appeared from the clouds.”

“Hm,” Nigel said, thinking. “An intriguing turn of events. Especially since Mr. Grim could never prove that Judge Hurst framed me. Then again, after seeing this Prince
Nightshade for the first time today, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Presently, McClintock began rustling in his pocket, and as Nigel made to take him out I cried, “Don’t, Nigel! The doom dogs will come after us again!”

“No need to worry about them,” Nigel said. “The Odditorium’s magic paint is powerful enough to protect us even up here.”

“What time is it?” Mack asked as Nigel opened him. But as soon as he caught sight of those big goggles staring down at him, Mack let out a terrified,
“Ach!”

He crackled and flashed, gave a quick
tick-tick,
and then his eyes went dim.

“Don’t try that on me,” Nigel said. “I know your fizzling-out routine all too well, you coward!”

“Coward?” Mack cried, lighting up immediately. “You calling the chief of the Chronometrical Clan McClintock a coward?”

“Just as I thought. Playing possum again! Why, I’ve got a good mind to toss you off the roof and be done with you!”

“Well, if yer gonna scrap me, then yer gonna have to fight for it!”

Mack leaped for Nigel’s nose—
“McClintock!”
he cried—but Nigel caught him just in time. “Let me go!” Mack shouted, and Nigel made to tap him on
his XII.

“Don’t!” I cried.

Nigel and Mack stopped their scuffling and turned to me.

“There’s no sense in fighting about it now,” I said. “After all, it was I who accidentally brought Mack outside. So I suppose if you’re going to toss him off the
roof, you’ll have to do the same with me, Nigel.”

“Hang on,” Mack said, spinning round. “What are we doin’ on the roof?”

“A lot has happened since you got pinched, Mack,” I said. “Nevertheless, I should think it more sensible for Odditoria to stick together rather than fighting all the time.
Especially now that Prince Nightshade is after us.”

“Prince Nightshade?” Mack asked. “What’s a Prince Nightshade?”

“I’ll explain it to you later. But what do you say, Nigel? Do you think you and Mack can be friends?”

“Grubb’s right,” Nigel said, sighing. “We Odditoria have to stick together. Sorry I said I was going to scrap you, Mack. You know I’d never go through with
it.”

“And I’m sorry I tried to bite yer nose,” Mack said. “Especially since you know I
would
go through with it.”

Nigel laughed. “Gentlemen’s shake on it, then,” he said, wobbling Mack’s case.

“Odditoria and friends to the end,” Mack said.

“Right-o,” Nigel said, and then he extended his hand to me. “You too, Grubb.”

“Me?”

“Of course,” Mack interjected. “Yer Odditoria and a friend, ain’t ya?”

“A friend, yes, but—”

“Then stop yer jabberin’ and put it there, laddie!”

Mack wobbled his case, and rather than arguing with him about being Odditoria, I shook Nigel’s hand and Mack’s case at the same time.

“Friends to the end, lads!” Mack cheered.

“Friends to the end!” Nigel and I repeated.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flash on the far side of the roof. “Look!” I said, pointing.

“One of my bats come back already?” Nigel asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, searching. All I could see now was the toothy outline of the Odditorium’s battlements against the twilight skies. And for a moment I thought
my eyes had been playing tricks on me, but then—

“There!” I said as the light flashed again. “Did you see it?”

“Yes, I did!” Nigel said, scrambling to his feet. “Looks like it’s coming from the other side of the battlements. Come on!”

The three of us dashed across the roof, and the light flashed again.

“I see it now too!” Mack exclaimed. And upon reaching the opposite battlement, Nigel leaned out over the side of the Odditorium.

“Oh dear,” he said.

“What is it?” Mack and I asked.

Nigel didn’t answer right away, but the look of terror on his face told me we were in big trouble just the same.

“We’ve got to find Mr. Grim,” he said finally.

And then we ran for the gunnery.

W
hat is it?” asked Lord Dreary, out of breath. “An explosive of some sort?”

Fortunately there was enough animus left in the Odditorium’s reserves to power the talkbacks, so all Nigel had to do to summon Mr. Grim was hop down into the gunnery. Nigel reached him in
the engine room with Lord Dreary, and when the gentlemen arrived on the roof moments later, I could tell by the old man’s disposition that his introduction to Gwendolyn had done little to
ease his bewilderment.

“Not an explosive, old friend,” said Mr. Grim, peering over the battlements. “No, judging from its shape and size, I would suspect that the object down there is some sort of
tracking mechanism.”

“A tracking mechanism?” asked Lord Dreary.

“Yes,” said Mr. Grim, turning around. He leaned with his back against the battlements and folded his arms. “Have a look for yourself.”

Lord Dreary did so, his face flickering red as the mysterious object flashed again beneath him. “Great poppycock!”