Alistair Grim's Odditorium (28 page)

“Run, Grubb!” Kiyoko called from somewhere behind me, but my legs would not budge. And as the Black Fairy stood up to his full height and spread his wings, I lost all sight of the
tower’s silhouette behind him.

“Shinobi!”
the Black Fairy hissed, turning his eyes toward the stables, and then he arched back his head in preparation to spit.

“Leave her alone!” I cried. And I ran straight for him.

“No, Grubb!” Kiyoko screamed, but I was already swinging for the Black Fairy’s legs. My knuckles exploded with pain as if I’d punched an oak tree, but the Black Fairy
only laughed and swatted me away like a beetle, sending me tumbling head over heels in the dirt until I came to a stop on my bottom.

Suddenly Kiyoko shot out of the stables and galloped past him.

The Black Fairy screeched and spit his black fire, striking the ground and causing a spray of rubble only inches from Phantom’s forelegs. The great steed reared and whinnied, but Kiyoko
quickly gained control of him and sped off across the courtyard in the opposite direction.

Now the Shadesmen were coming—their armor clanging, their glowing red eyes bobbing to and fro in the shadows as they poured out of the barracks.

I scrambled to my feet, searching for Kiyoko amidst the gloom, and caught sight of her galloping away on the far side of the yard.

The Black Fairy arched his head back and spit another bolt of black fire straight for her—but at the last moment Phantom flew up into the air and carried Kiyoko over the castle walls. I
saw them outlined briefly against the early morning sky, and then the Black Fairy’s fire slammed into the battlements in an explosion of smoke and stone.

“No!” I cried—but as the dust quickly began to settle, Kiyoko and Phantom were nowhere to be found.

Did they make it over the wall in time? I wondered in horror.

The Black Fairy arched back his head, spread his wings, and screeched up at the sky in frustration. Then he whirled his empty eyes on me and bared his teeth.

“Take him to the prince!”
he hissed.
“The shinobi is mine!”

And with that the Black Fairy took flight and disappeared over the castle walls.

“Fly, Phantom!” I screamed. “Carry Kiyoko away as fast as you can!”

But then a host of bony hands clamped down upon me, and I was dragged away kicking and screaming, amidst a sea of glowing red eyes.

F
or a long time afterward I was made to kneel before the prince’s throne with my nose pressed against the Great Hall’s cold stone
floor. If I dared so much as breathe, it seemed, the Shadesmen would poke me in the ribs with their ax handles and growl at me to stay down.

But that didn’t stop me from hearing.

The first thing that caught my attention was the distant toll of a church bell, followed by the sounds of the castle coming to life outside. Doors slammed and footsteps echoed all around. There
was a swelling sense of everything drawing closer, and then all at once the Great Hall was filled with the din of an angry mob.

Hooting and jeering came at me from every direction, along with grunts and growls and words I didn’t understand. The chamber took on a putrid stench of livestock and rotting trash, making
me sick to my stomach. I raised my head, seeking relief. There was no poke from the Shadesmen this time, and as I gazed about the Great Hall, I understood why.

I was surrounded by a horde of horrible monsters, all of them pushing and shoving to get a look at me. The Shadesmen had formed a line to keep them at bay, but through their ranks I spied a
group of short, fat creatures scuffling for position at the fore. I recognized their enormous heads and wide slobbering lips from the drawings in Mr. Grim’s notebook. Trolls. And upon their
shoulders? Dozens of green, yellow-eyed fiends with toadlike mouths and snapping tongues. I recognized them, too. Goblins.

The sickness in my stomach was promptly replaced with ice-cold terror. Scores of other creatures had gathered around me too, but before I could take them all in, I was startled by the loud clang
of an iron door. The crowd fell silent, and a dozen more of the troll creatures spilled out onto the dais. Each carried a large, animal skin–covered drum, and as they lined up on either side
of the throne, they began a slow, steady beat like a death march.

The drums echoed low and ominous throughout the chamber, and whereas before the only fear I had felt in the Great Hall had been my own, I became aware of a growing apprehension amongst the
crowd.

A loud cranking began overhead, and I gazed upward to find one of the massive iron grates sliding open in the ceiling. The entire hall seemed to grow darker, the air thick with fear, and then a
black-armored figure in a billowy black cape emerged from between the rafters.

My whole body froze in terror. It was Prince Nightshade.

Like an enormous spider on an invisible thread, the prince descended slowly from above. And when his boots lighted on the dais, the trolls stopped their drumming, and a pair of goblin attendants
caught the corners of his cape. The Great Hall was deathly silent, the fear pounding in my ears as Prince Nightshade’s burning red eyes stared down at me from beneath his spike-crowned
helmet.

“Welcome,” said the prince, sitting down on his throne. The red gash that was his mouth broke apart in jagged strands as he spoke, and his voice was deep, at once both near and far
away as it echoed forth from the empty black pit of his face.

“You may rise, young Grubb,” said the prince—but I was too frightened to move. “Go ahead, lad. You have nothing to fear.
Yet.
”

The monsters snickered and snarled behind me.

Slowly—knees aching, my legs like jelly—I rose to my feet.

“How old are you, boy?” asked the prince.

“Twelve or thereabouts, sir.”

“Impressive. A boy of twelve or thereabouts who at once proves himself more useful than any of my subjects here.”

The monsters grumbled crossly, but the prince raised a hand to silence them.

“Turn around, Grubb,” he said. “Turn around so your admirers can look at you.” I obeyed, and the prince shouted: “Behold the bringer of the animus!”

The monsters gasped and looked at each other in amazement. Then the lot of them drew closer, teeth bared, their eyes bulging with hatred behind the line of Shadesmen that held them at bay.

Prince Nightshade chuckled—a guttural, menacing chuckle that sent a chill down my spine. “That will do, Grubb,” he said. “You may turn around again.”

I obeyed, and the prince leaned forward on his throne.

“Tell me, lad,” he said, “does Alistair Grim know why I want the animus?”

“Yes, sir—”

“Yes,
sire
,” said the prince, gently correcting me, and I gulped.

“Yes, sire,” I said. “Mr. Grim says you want to mix the blue animus with your red Eye of Mars energy to make an army of purple-eyed Shadesmen.”

“Your candor is much appreciated,” said the prince with a smile. “And so I will assume that Alistair Grim also knows about our archaeological rivalry these last ten
years—a rivalry of which I had been entirely unaware until the unexpected discovery of the animus in London. Alistair Grim has you to thank for that little mishap, does he not?”

I looked down guiltily at my shoes.

“How deliciously ironic,” said the prince. “Alistair Grim covers the walls of his Odditorium with magic paint, just as I have done my castle, then has me gadding about the
world chasing doom dogs—all the while the animus was right there under my nose!”

The prince chuckled loudly, and the monsters mumbled and grumbled behind me.

“And as if that wasn’t enough,” the prince went on, “who would’ve thought Alistair Grim a collector of
magicalia
, too? He never gave the slightest indication
that he was interested in such things. Then again, knowing Alistair Grim, I’m certain he would never use an ordinary word like
magicalia
.”

I swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably. But despite my terror, the prince’s comments about “knowing Alistair Grim” were not lost on me.

Nigel was right, I thought. Whoever this Prince Nightshade was, not only had he murdered Abel Wortley ten years ago, but he must also have been one of Mr. Grim’s society friends from
London!

“Magicalia,”
the Prince muttered to himself. “No, no, no, Alistair Grim would think a word like that too ordinary, indeed. And given the name of his establishment,
let’s see…how about
Odditoria
? That seems like something Alistair Grim might say.”

I gazed up at him in disbelief.

“Ah yes,” said the prince. “The answer is in your eyes, young Grubb. Odditoria it is then. Has a pleasant ring to it, I must admit. Odd-ih-
tor
-ee-ahhh…”

The prince’s eyes dimmed slightly, as if he was lost in thought. A heavy silence fell over the hall, and then one of his goblin attendants whispered something in his ear.

“But of course,” said the prince. “You see, Grubb, since for over a decade now I have been unsuccessful in acquiring a spirit that would give me its animus, I am thus forever
in your debt for bringing me something much, much better.”

The prince reached into his belt and pulled out McClintock.

“Mack!” I cried, rushing forward, but the Shadesmen immediately restrained me. “Give him back!” I shouted, struggling. “He belongs to Mr. Grim!”

“Not anymore,” said the prince. He opened Mack and tapped him on his XII.

“What time is it?” Mack cried, and the prince held him up for all his subjects to see. A chorus of gasps exploded behind me.

“What the—?” Mack sputtered when he saw me with the Shadesmen. “What are you bone bags doing to Grubb?”

“Behold the
animus
!” shouted the prince, and the monsters oohed and aahed.

Mack spun around in the prince’s hand. “Not you again!” he cried upon seeing who held him. “Run, Grubb, run! He’ll turn you into a purple-eyed Shadesman!”

Prince Nightshade chuckled and tapped Mack out on his XII.

“Extraordinary,” said the prince. “I suspected something like this when the doom dogs led me to the street urchins. But a pocket watch that radiates an unlimited supply of
animus? Even I dared not dream of such a device!”

“Don’t you touch him!” I cried, struggling against the Shadesmen’s grip. But the prince just ignored me, and upon returning McClintock to his belt, he shouted up at the
ceiling:

“Bring him!”

Something roared and hissed above my head, and then a Red Dragon emerged from the opening between the rafters. It appeared to be carrying something—or
someone
, I realized as it
swooped down toward the dais. The trolls made room for the beast, and as it landed with its quarry beside the prince’s throne, I gasped with horror.

The dragon was carrying Judge Hurst!

“Oh no,” I moaned, my heart sinking. The judge’s face was deathly white, his lips curled in a bloodred snarl. And his eyes, ringed with black circles, glowed a devilish purple.
Judge Mortimer Hurst had been turned into a Shadesman!

“A fitting end for the old judge,” the prince announced to his subjects. “In life, he made a career of turning people into corpses. Now in death he shall do the
same!”

The prince and the monsters howled with laughter—cheering and clapping as Judge Hurst, oblivious to it all, just stood there staring vacantly ahead.

“So you see, young Grubb,” said the prince, silencing the crowd, “this dragon and I owe you much gratitude. By bringing along Alistair Grim’s pocket watch, you have not
only guaranteed me my army of purple-eyed Shadesmen, but you have also secured this dragon here a promotion to general.”

The dragon lowered its head and growled at me.

“In addition,” the prince said, “you have saved me the arduous task of extracting the banshee’s animus by force. And for that I am most grateful.”

“Where is she?” I cried, rushing for the steps. “What have you done with Cleona, you devil!”

The Shadesmen pulled me back and forced me to my knees.

“Watch your tongue,” said the prince. “Remember to whom you’re speaking.”

Judge Hurst hissed at me and lurched forward, but the Red Dragon batted him aside and said, “Let me kill him for this impudence, Your Highness. He helped the shinobi slaughter my
brothers!”