Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (23 page)

“What’s that, Alistair?” asked Lord Dreary, but Father ignored him and flicked on the talkback again.

“Nigel, how are things coming along with that steering damper?”

“It’s worse than we thought, sir,” the big man replied. “The outside casings are gone and its animus line is leaking and needs to be replaced. I’ve got Number One supervising that job herself. The rest of the wasps are working on the upper gunnery, but I wager it’s going to take them some time to fashion a new cannon.”

“That’s the least of my worries right now. What’s going on with the Avalonians?”

“Still reveling and gawking about as before. The wasps have been giving them quite a show, and when I opened the hangar doors, one of them knights flew up on his dragon and looked inside. The samurai blocked his view of the demon buggy, but since then they’ve been itching to have a go at one another.”

“They may very well get their chance,” Father muttered under his breath. He flicked off the talkback and scooped up Mack from my shoulder. “Tell me something, Dalach. Would it be possible for Mack to accompany you on your mission? After all, you’ll need to keep track of the time.”

Dalach held up the free end of his spirit shackles. “Aye, but I’d have to hook him onto this wrist cuff here.”

“But I’m a
pocket
watch, not a wristwatch!” Mack cried. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend,” Father said. He tossed Mack to the Gallownog, who immediately hooked the watch’s single crown link onto his shackles. Mack flickered for a moment and then his form dissolved into the transparent, glowing blue light of a spirit.

“Ach!” Mack cried. “I’ve gone blue again!”

“Shut your gob,” Dalach said, and he closed Mack’s case. Mack rattled and shook, but the Gallownog ignored him.

“Now listen very carefully, son,” Father said. “You do exactly as Dalach says. He’s an expert at this sort of thing, and I wouldn’t entrust him with your care if I didn’t think you’d be safe. He’s right, you know. Should the queen try anything before the banquet, you’ll be better off out there than stuck inside the Odditorium with us.”

“But, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary, “if Queen Nimue meant to be deceptive, why would she allow you time to get your affairs in order? Indeed, why not just dispense with the banquet altogether and get on with the tournament?”

“I don’t know, old friend, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years about fairies and prophecies, it’s that neither of them are ever what they seem.”

Father jerked his thumb at Gwendolyn, and then Professor Bricklewick’s voice crackled over the talkback. “Hello, is this thing on?”

Father flicked the switch on his end. “Go ahead, Oscar.”

“That chap with the foxtail on his helmet has asked to speak with you. Sounds serious, from what I can tell.”

“Any luck with your research?”

“Some basic defenses against curses, some Odditoria and whatnot, but I can’t see how any of it will protect us from the queen’s magic.”

“Wonderful,” Father said, rolling his eyes. “I’m on my way.” He flicked off the talkback and hugged me tight. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise, sir,” I said. As we parted, Dalach slapped his shackles, along with Mack, onto my wrist. My body flickered just as Mack’s had done, and then all at once I dissolved into the form of a glowing blue spirit.

“Cor blimey!” I gasped, holding out my free hand in front of me. I could see right through it, but at the same time I felt no different than when I was solid. Mack, on the other hand—on the other
wrist
, I should say—would not stop shaking.

“If your friend doesn’t settle down,” Dalach said, “the queen will hear us coming long before we ever set foot inside her castle.”

I opened Mack’s case. “What time is it?” he cried, and then, catching himself, gave a chuckle and said, “Whoops! No need to ask that anymore….”

“Listen here, Mack,” I said. “I’m a spirit now too, but we need to keep quiet so we don’t get caught.”

“Say no more, laddie,” Mack whispered. “Dougal McClintock is the man for this mission. And I must say, ya look a lot better in blue than that numpty standing next to ya.”

Dalach sneered, and again Father put his hands on my shoulders.

“You’re going to be fine, you hear?” he said, and I nodded.

“We better get moving,” Dalach said, and he deliberately blinked his eyes. Our color changed from blue to white, and Father’s hands passed right through me.

“Grubb?” he called, gazing round. “Are you still here, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’m standing right in front of you.”

Father and Lord Dreary turned their heads in my direction, but still they couldn’t see me.

“The lad sees as I do,” Dalach said. “As long as we’re bound together by the spirit shackles, we appear white to each other and invisible to everyone else.”

“Very well, then,” Father said. “Make sure you stay no longer than a couple of hours. Good luck, all of you.”

“You can count on me to have us back on time, sir,” Mack said.

And with that the Gallownog dragged us down through the floor. A blurry tangle of pipes and gears rushed past my eyes, and then we were outside, flying unseen over the heads of the Avalonians and heading straight for the castle walls.

O
ver the last few weeks, I’d come to think of myself as quite the expert on flying, thank you very much. In fact, I wagered I’d done more flying than any other lad in the whole wide world. There was the coach that brought me to London in the first place, and all the flying I did in the Odditorium itself. Then there were the rides I took on Number One, the Thunderbird, and in the demon buggy. And this was certainly not the first time—nor the second, for that matter—that I’d been dragged through the air behind a spirit.

However, unlike all those other flights, there was something noticeably different about being chained to a Gallownog. I could feel no wind rushing through my hair or cold battering my cheeks—just a sense of weightlessness, as if I weren’t flying at all. So this is what it’s like to be a spirit, I thought. Light as a feather and one with the air.

But then, as we zoomed straight for the towering stone battlements, I recoiled in horror—we were going to crash! I braced myself for the impact, when in the blink of an eye the Gallownog led us safely through the wall and out the other side.

“You needn’t fret, lad,” he said. “As spirits the two of you can go where even the light cannot reach.”

We were now flying across the castle’s outer ward, an immense courtyard of crisscrossing pathways and rows of cherry trees. The blossoms swirled like snow behind us as we soared over the branches and headed up a wide cobblestone road that led to the castle drawbridge. It was then that I spied the moat.

I gasped. Spirits like the Gallownog, like
Mack and me
, could not fly over water.

“It’s narrow enough that we’ll be all right,” said Lorcan Dalach. “But it’ll be painful, so steel yourselves and don’t cry out.”

The drawbridge was down, but it did little to protect us from the water below. And as soon as we entered the space above it, I felt as if I were being crushed by dozens of giant boulders. The pain was excruciating, but thankfully short-lived, and as we passed through the gatehouse and into the castle’s bustling inner ward, the crushing sensation quickly subsided.

Dazed, the Gallownog and I fell to our knees. “Let’s take a second to recover,” he said. The pain had all but left me now, but as I gazed back at the drawbridge, my thoughts drifted to Cleona. It had taken us no more than a second to fly over the moat, and so I could only imagine how Cleona must have suffered when she flew over the ocean to save me from Prince Nightshade’s Sirens. My heart grew heavy with shame.

“All right, then,” Dalach whispered. “Keep your wits about you and take heed: not only must we fly and disappear together, but also you must go solid when I do.”

“What’s that?” Mack asked. “Go solid, did you say?”

“Aye. It takes concentration and energy for a spirit to grab on to things. Fortunately, you won’t have to learn how to do all that because you’re chained to me.” Dalach picked up a small pebble just high enough off the ground so that all the knights and servants milling about wouldn’t notice. “Go ahead, try it, Grubb.”

I picked up my own pebble, and then the Gallownog made both our stones drop through our fingers at the same time.

“So you see?” Dalach said. “As long as we are bound together by the spirit shackles, you have to do what I do
when
I do it. Any questions?”

Mack and I said no, and the three of us took a moment to get our bearings. The inner ward was surrounded by high battlements and towers and crammed with a sprawling assortment of wooden buildings. Grooms tended to dragons and horses amidst a massive complex of stables, servants hurried in and out of storehouses, and a regiment of knights marched up the central road toward the gold-domed castle overlooking it all.

“The humble abode of the queen herself,” Dalach whispered—when a knight trotted his horse straight through our party as if we weren’t there. The horse reared and whinnied, but the knight quickly gained control of the beast and made for the stables.

“Certain animals can sense a spirit’s presence,” Dalach said.

“You mean like crows do the doom dogs?” I asked.

“Aye, lad. Thus, I suggest we get moving before we attract any more attention.”

We took to the air again along the central road, past an entire village of barracks, blacksmith shops, smokehouses, and kitchens. Finally, the Gallownog led us up a steep ramp and into the castle itself. We passed through a series of dimly lit antechambers and then through a pair of high oaken doors, whereupon we found ourselves in a dazzling throne room leafed with silver and gold. Tall stained-glass windows shone brightly amidst a soaring tangle of pillars and archways, all of which converged upon a domed ceiling that was painted to look like the sky. At the far end was a stepped dais lined with golden thrones; and on the wall behind it, a massive golden sun. The place was completely deserted.

“Why is this one so special?” Dalach asked, and he dragged me toward one of the stained-glass windows.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Its light is much brighter than the others.”

Now I understood. The window appeared almost
too bright
, as if the glass itself were glowing. I counted six of the lofty windows on either side of the vast chamber, for a total of twelve in all, and each was cut to resemble a woman holding a sword. Their towering forms, like giants standing guard over the throne room, were dim compared to the stained-glass lady before us.

“Strange,” Dalach said, gazing about. “The other windows have dates between the ladies’ feet.” I quickly took in some of the numbers—
A.D.
816,
A.D.
1107,
A.D.
1645. “All of them except this one.”

“I don’t know about you lads,” Mack said, staring at the window in question, “but lookin’ up at this lass is makin’ me dizzy.”

Suddenly, a large wooden door opened beside the dais. Startled, I made to flee, but shackled as I was to the Gallownog, I only got a few steps before he yanked me back. Dalach raised his finger to his lips and casually moved us behind a pillar.