Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (30 page)

“Forgive me, Oscar,” Father said. “That little outburst was more about me than you. I’ve played over Elizabeth’s disappearance a thousand times in my mind and watched her in the Black Mirror a thousand more. This revelation about Wortley being alive changes nothing—at least not at present. After all, it was my preoccupation with my own troubles that blinded me to all this transmutation business in the first place.”

Professor Bricklewick adjusted his spectacles. “My apologies, Alistair. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”

“Stuff and nonsense. You’ve been nothing but the good friend you’ve always been.” Father gave him a pat on the shoulders and then began rummaging through a nearby cabinet. “But now on to more pressing matters, the first of which is surprising Wortley before he can get to the transmutation dagger.”

“The transmutation dagger?” asked Lord Dreary. “You mean the very same weapon that he used to transfer his spirit into the Black Knight’s armor?”

“That I do. Ah, here we are.” Father removed a large rolled document from the cabinet and unfurled it onto his desk. It was a map of London.

“But why do you think Wortley will go after the transmutation dagger?” Lord Dreary pressed.

“I’m surprised at you, old friend. Given your knowledge of Arthurian legend, I should think the answer would be as plain as the sword in the good professor’s hand.”

“Of course,” said Professor Bricklewick, examining the blade. “Although Excalibur has the power to heal, anything it cuts cannot be mended—neither armor nor the flesh beneath it.”

“Sir Lancelot!” Lord Dreary exclaimed, the light dawning. “Arthur wounded him with Excalibur, and as I recall, his wound never healed!”

“Very good, old friend,” Father said. “And now that the Black Knight’s armor is damaged, Abel Wortley will once again need the transmutation dagger to transfer his spirit into another solphylax that will protect it.”

“Another suit of magical armor?” asked Professor Bricklewick.

“Perhaps. But after seeing those mechanical sharks firsthand, who knows what other nasty tricks Abel Wortley has up his sleeve. Which is why we need to get to him before he gets to the transmutation dagger.”

“And where is this dagger?” Kiyoko asked.

“The same place it has been ever since William Stout’s murder trial ten years ago.” Father pointed to a spot on the map. “In the evidence room at Scotland Yard.”

Lord Dreary gasped. “Good heavens, man! You’re not saying you intend to break into Scotland Yard, are you?”

“No, but I intend to prevent Wortley from doing so. After that crack from his whip back in Avalon, the old devil will think I’m dead—our little chess game, over—and thus he’d never expect me to counter his next move. After all, in chess, the best defense is a good offense, which is why I intend to first attack Wortley where he lives—in his castle in the clouds.”

Lord Dreary gasped. “Great poppycock, Alistair! Have you gone mad?”

“Forgive me, Alistair Grim,” said Kiyoko. “I know the prince’s castle well. It is fortified with lightning cannons powered by his Eye of Mars, not to mention an entire army of Shadesmen and evil creatures ready to do his bidding. Should you choose to attack with your Odditorium, I fear the prince will prevail.”

“I have no intention of attacking his castle head-on, Miss Kiyoko—quite the opposite, actually. In fact, I should think a clandestine, targeted strike inside the castle’s engine room would prove much more effective.”

“The demon buggy!” I exclaimed. “You said Prince Nightshade’s engine room runs on a flight sphere filled with a hundred demons. He uses their dust just like we use ours for the demon buggy!”

“Very good, my young apprentice. If one of us could get inside the prince’s castle undetected, he could render it flightless from within, thus ensuring the castle’s destruction when it runs out of demon dust and plunges to the ground.” Father gazed up at the lion’s head above the hearth and began muttering to himself rapidly. “Yes, yes, Wortley’s Eye of Mars will no doubt be continuously activated. And when crushed under the weight of his falling castle, it should incinerate everything and everyone inside. The castle’s black paint should help contain the blast, but to be safe we’ll make sure we sabotage it somewhere remote—in the countryside where no innocent bystanders can get hurt. Consequently, Wortley, with nowhere to retreat, will be vulnerable to Excalibur….”

Father trailed off, his mind racing with the beginnings of his plan. Lord Dreary dragged his handkerchief across his head. After a long silence, he cleared his throat with a loud
“Ahem!”
Startled, Father just looked at him as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“But just how do you plan to
do
all this?” the old man asked.

“I haven’t worked out all the details yet,” Father replied, “but it involves someone else Abel Wortley thinks is dead—someone very powerful who, quite literally, he let slip through his fingers.”

Father pointed to my waistcoat pocket, which appeared to be alive from Mack’s shaking. I’d been so wrapped up in all the excitement that I hadn’t even noticed.

“The time stopper!” I cried.

And Father smiled.

T
hat evening at supper Father laid out his plan. Given our present location, even at full speed the earliest we could hope to arrive in London was just after midnight. Father calculated that Wortley, coming from Lake Ullswater, farther north, would arrive a little later, and so he planned to intercept his castle over the marshlands outside the city.

“I understand the geography of it all,” said the professor. “However, regardless of whether or not Abel Wortley thinks you’re dead, he will no doubt be expecting an attack on his castle sometime soon—either by those of us left at the Odditorium or by the Avalonians themselves.”

“I agree, old friend,” Father said, munching away. “But what the old devil will
not
be expecting is the demon catcher transported invisibly into his engine room. The Gallownog and his spirit shackles will make such an operation possible—virtually foolproof, in fact. You won’t even need the protection of the warding stones. The demons cannot possess you if you’re spirits.”

“You?” the professor asked. “As in
me too
, you mean?”

“Of course. Being that you’re a sorcerer, I’ll need you to operate the demon catcher. And while you and the Gallownog are busy crashing Wortley’s castle into the marshlands near Shepherd’s Bush, the rest of us will be waiting for him with the time stopper in London.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” the professor pressed. “As Wortley is wounded, what if he sends one of his minions after the transmutation dagger instead? I should think a seven-foot, black-armored knight gadding about Scotland Yard would be sure to attract attention.”

“Given that his very existence depends on it, Wortley would never trust the theft of the dagger to anyone else.”

“And his demons? What do you suggest we do after we catch them?”

“Well, since you’ll be meeting us in London, dump them off in the River Thames on your way back. That will destroy them just as it would any other spirit.”

“But, Alistair,” Lord Dreary said, “I still don’t see how you can be certain that Wortley is headed for London in the first place. How do you know he didn’t steal the dagger back years ago?”

“A simple matter of calculated risk,” Father said with a swig of ale. “Although Abel Wortley had no idea about my interest in Odditoria until fairly recently, he would nevertheless assume that the theft of his murder weapon, were it made public, would arouse my suspicions. Besides, if Wortley had thought the transmutation dagger would be of use to him after his murder, he would never have left it for the authorities to find.”

“In the stables where William Stout had been employed,” said Lord Dreary.

“That’s correct. Not to mention that Wortley did take some of his other magical objects along with him. Objects that, to the average eye, appeared to be worthless, but to one with a knowledge of Odditoria…well…If only I’d recognized that dagger, I might have been able to put a stop to all this before it began.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” said the professor. “It really does look like just an ordinary dagger. Not to mention that it’s much easier to frame someone for murder when you’ve got the weapon to show for it.”

“Poor Nigel,” said Mrs. Pinch. “To think that Abel Wortley would allow a gentle soul like him to hang for murder—to leave his little girl without a father—oh, blind me, what a cruel, cruel man!”

Mrs. Pinch began sobbing into her napkin. Father had broken the news about Prince Nightshade’s true identity to Nigel earlier, upon which the big man asked to be left alone in his quarters. All of our hearts were breaking for him, but Mrs. Pinch seemed to be taking it harder than anyone.

“There, there, Penelope,” said Lord Dreary, patting her hand. “We need to be strong for him now.”

“Begging your pardon, Father,” I said, “but if it’s all the same with Mrs. Pinch, might I be excused to bring Nigel his supper? He hasn’t had a bite since this morning, far as I can tell.”

“Good idea, son. He’ll need a full stomach for what’s coming.”

“Speaking of which,” Kiyoko said, “do you not think it wise to test the time stopper before confronting the prince?”

“Queen Nimue wasn’t being cryptic when she cautioned me about using him, for I’m afraid old McClintock is good for stopping time only once every few hours, and even then only for a minute or so. He’s over a thousand years old, after all. And should we test him now, there’s a good chance he won’t have the strength when we need him.”

“But, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary, “how can something speed up time for one person and virtually stop it for another?”

“It’s quite simple, really, given the laws of interdimensional physics,” Father said. I too was still a bit confused about all that time stopper business, but I didn’t care to listen again to Father’s explanation. My thoughts had been on Nigel ever since he’d heard the news about Abel Wortley. And as Father blathered on with a load of big words that I didn’t understand, I slipped into the kitchen, fixed Nigel a plate, and hurried up the lift to the third floor, where I met Lorcan Dalach in the hallway.

“Oh, hello, sir,” I said. “We missed you at supper.”

“I am a spirit, and thus have no need for food.”

“Oh, I know that, sir. I just thought that…well…being as you’re on our side now, I just expected to see you there, is all. Cleona almost always joins us for supper.” Dalach stared at me blankly. “She’s still asleep, I take it?”

The Gallownog nodded and an awkward silence passed between us.

“Er—uh—I never got a chance to thank you, sir,” I stammered. “For looking out for me, of course, but for everything else too. Father’s right, you know. We couldn’t have done all this without you.”

“Your father is right about a lot of things,” Dalach said. “Tell me, lad, is he right to trust me with his plan instead of sticking me back in that sphere?”

“You gave him your word that you’d help us defeat Prince Nightshade.”

“I also gave my word to the Council of Elders that I’d bring back Cleona for trial. Do you know what happens to a Gallownog who breaks his word? That’s right, lad. Eternal torment amongst the doom dogs in Tir Na Mairg.”

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t forgotten the Gallownog’s offer to take me to the Land of Sorrow. But whereas before I could chalk up his proposal to desperation, now that I knew him to be honorable, the possibility of seeing my mother, of getting the answers to all my questions from her myself, suddenly weighed upon my mind like a mound of soot.

Dalach read my thoughts. “I told you the truth about your mother. I did see her once, but only from a distance, through the mists of Tir Na Mairg. I’d hoped to learn more about what happened the night Cleona tried to save her, but your mother didn’t heed my call.” I stared back at him, confused. “How all that works is a story for another time, but unfortunately, I found out nothing to help Cleona. Or you, for that matter.”

“And after everything that’s happened, you still believe Cleona is bewitched by Father? You still believe you must take her away from him?”

Lorcan Dalach’s eyes flitted to the floor. “What I believe matters not. I swore an oath to the Council of Elders to bring Cleona back, but I also swore to prove her innocent and keep her from Tir Na Mairg.”

“But even if you convinced your Council of Elders that she had been bewitched, if you took her away from her family here, do you really believe she could ever love you again the way she does now?”

“You underestimate me if you think that will sway me from my duty.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t believe that. You’re at the Odditorium, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about all the magic round here, it’s that love truly is the most powerful of them all. I reckon not even your Council of Elders could stand up to that.”

Dalach’s expression softened. “You’re a good lad, Grubb, and a brave one at that. Were you in the Order of the Gallownog, I should be proud to call you brother.”

“Well, should you change your mind and join our family here, I’d be proud to call you the same.”