Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (31 page)

Dalach smiled at me fondly. “Your friend’s supper is getting cold.” He held my eyes for a moment longer, as if he were contemplating saying more, and then sank down through the floor and out of sight.

I crept over to Nigel’s chamber and tapped on the door. He bade me enter, whereupon I found him in a chair reading some papers by the hearth. The grate was ablaze, the entire room alive in a flickering dance of red and shadow, and as I approached him with his plate, the big man crumpled up one of his papers and tossed it into the fire.

“I brought you some supper, Nigel.”

“Thank you, Grubb,” he said, his goggles never leaving the flames. “You can leave it on the desk there and I’ll get to it later.”

I did as he asked, and noticed that all his books and the newspaper articles about Abel Wortley were gone. My heart sank. So that’s what he was burning.

I slipped round the demon buggy and the evil spirit’s eyes flashed hatefully at me from the engine. I shivered. How Nigel could spend so much time in here with that thing was beyond me. The room felt unusually cold too, despite the fire, and I could hear the wind whistling through the Odditorium’s steelwork outside.

“Did you come to gawk at our friend there in the buggy?” Nigel asked.

“Er—no, sir,” I said, and was about to leave when I spied the miniature portrait of Maggie on a small table by his chair. “I’m sorry about the news, Nigel,” I said after a long silence, and he crumpled up another paper and tossed it in the fire. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling, to be honest,” Nigel said blandly.

I stared down at the portrait of his daughter. Nigel told me once that he sometimes would see her from a distance when he drove Mrs. Pinch out to the country bearing gifts from Father. He also told me that he sent out the bats regularly to check up on her. Unfortunately, being on the run as we were, he’d been unable to do so for some time now. I imagined he’d been missing her something terrible long before he knew it was Abel Wortley himself who had kept him from seeing her all these years.

“You should have seen the way her face used to light up when she saw me,” Nigel said, touching Maggie’s portrait. “Used to call her Bright Eyes, I did. I ever tell you that?” I shook my head. “Bright all around, she was. Only three years old and she could write her name. That’s more than I could say before I come here.”

“Chin up, Nigel. Remember what you once told me? You said that, perhaps when Abel Wortley’s murderer was brought to justice, it might be safe for you to see Maggie again as her uncle Nigel. Well, now that we know Prince Nightshade is actually Abel Wortley himself—”

“And just who’s going to explain all that to the authorities?” Nigel said bitterly. “Me? You? The boss? You forget, the lot of us are fugitives now, wanted dead or alive for all that trouble we caused back in London. And even if we succeed in sending Wortley’s spirit to hell, you really think anyone’s going to believe our story about magic daggers and sorcerers and whatnot?”

“Yes, but—”

“For ten years I’d thought to clear the name of Stout, but now I know any hope of that is lost.”

“Don’t say such a thing. I just know in my heart that you and Maggie will be reunited someday. I just know it.”

“I know you mean well, Grubb, but my cards have been dealt. I’ll never be able to see my daughter again.” Nigel tossed another wad of paper into the hearth. “You run along now and rest up a bit. We’ve still got hours to go before London, and you’ll need your wits about you come midnight.”

I left Nigel there by the fire and traveled down in the lift to the shop. Somehow, someday, I would make it right for him, I swore to myself, but for now my heart was so heavy that all I wanted to do was sleep.

“Why the long face, Grubb?” Mack asked from the worktable.

“Just a bit tired, I suppose. If you’d be so kind as to wake me in a couple of hours, I’d be much obliged to you, Mack.”

“That’ll be a piece of cake, laddie,” Mack said proudly. “And being that I’m such an important part of Mr. Grim’s plan, he wants me to rest too. No telling how long after he uses me time stopper that I’ll be able to do it again. It’s been a while, and I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty.”

Mack chuckled and I rolled over on my side. Half of me wanted to ask him more about his time stopping, but the other half just wanted some peace and quiet. The latter won out, and soon I was asleep.

The clocks in the library were chiming half past eleven as Mack and I joined Lord Dreary and Kiyoko round Father’s desk. They were studying his map of London.

“Great poppycock, Alistair,” cried Lord Dreary. “You mean you intend to confront Wortley along the River Thames?”

“Wortley would be a fool not to use those submarine sharks of his. Thus, the most likely spot at which he’ll land is this wharf here”—Father pointed to the map—“just a hop, skip, and a jump from Scotland Yard.”

“But, Alistair, the River Thames has become a cesspool of filth and disease, not to mention home to some of the worst cutthroats in London!”

“The perfect cover for Wortley and his minions, wouldn’t you agree? And so I believe the old devil will attempt to slip into London under cover of the Thames, retrieve the transmutation dagger as inconspicuously as possible, and then slip away downstream along with the rest of the filth.”

Lord Dreary dragged his handkerchief across his head. “Well, I shudder to think what might happen if you’re wrong. And should Oscar and the Gallownog fail in their mission—”

It was then that I realized Lorcan Dalach and Professor Bricklewick were gone.

“They shall not fail,” Father said, studying a book of tide tables. “Number One will get them to the proper altitude, and once they’re on the castle grounds, shackled together and invisible, the rest will be child’s play.”

“Cor,” I said. “You mean they’ve left already?”

“We dropped them off near Hammersmith while you were resting,” Father said. “And after Oscar and the Gallownog capture and dispose of Wortley’s demons, Number One will fly them back to the Odditorium here in London.”

“We’re in London already?” I asked, running out onto the balcony. Far below, through the wisps of scattering clouds, I spied a patchwork of tiny lights with a thin black ribbon through its center. London at night was certainly a beautiful sight to behold, and yet all I could think about was the Gallownog and Professor Bricklewick in the bowels of Nightshade’s castle. During our escape, Kiyoko and I had not ventured into the engine room, but I could see it as clearly in my mind as if we had—a cavernous dungeon and an enormous flight sphere filled with a hundred churning demons. I shivered.

Kiyoko stood beside me with her hand on my shoulder. “Do not fret, Grubb. As long as our friends are spirits, not even Prince Nightshade himself can harm them.”

“And his castle?” I asked. “What will happen to all his minions when it crashes to the ground?”

“The explosion from the prince’s Eye of Mars, crushed under the weight of his castle, will obliterate Nightshade’s army at once.”

“Judge Hurst too?”

I’d nearly forgotten about Alistair Grim’s old enemy these last few weeks, never mind the fact that the prince had turned him into a purple-eyed Shadesman. However, unlike the rest of the evil creatures that inhabited Nightshade’s castle, Judge Mortimer Hurst hadn’t chosen to ally himself with the prince. And even though he had tried to betray me while we were being held captive, I still couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old codger.

“It is for the best, Grubb,” Kiyoko said with a hand on my shoulder. “I should think being a purple-eyed Shadesman is a fate far worse than death.”

“Are you there, sir?” came Mrs. Pinch’s voice from the organ’s talkback, and Father and Lord Dreary joined us. “I’ve poured the professor’s potion in the prison sphere as you requested, but blind me if I can say it’ll work.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pinch,” Father said. “Now please take your station in the upper gunnery. What about you, Nigel? Did you adjust the levitation shield’s output settings?”

“I did, sir,” Nigel replied on the talkback. “I rerouted everything to the Odditorium’s belly, but as for the invisibility mist, I can’t say how long it’ll last.”

Invisibility mist? I had no idea what Nigel was talking about, and yet it did my heart good to hear him sounding like his old self again.

“Very well, then, Nigel,” Father said, flicking some switches. “I’m releasing the invisibility mist now. Load up the egg blaster and I’ll meet you in your chambers. Oh, and wake Cleona, will you? She should be more than rested by now.”

“Right-o, sir,” Nigel said.

“Invisibility mist?” Lord Dreary asked. “Good heavens, Alistair, what on earth is going on?”

“It seems the professor’s research wasn’t a waste of time after all. I had Mrs. Pinch whip up an invisibility potion that he found in the old protective-charms book. When released through the Odditorium’s levitation system, the potion should create an invisibility mist that will conceal our descent and subsequent surveillance in London.”

“You mean you actually intend to land the Odditorium in London?” Lord Dreary asked, aghast. Father nodded, and my jaw hung open. He hadn’t mentioned anything about taking the Odditorium itself into London! “But, Alistair,” Lord Dreary cried, “we’re wanted men! Should the authorities—”

“The invisibility mist will take care of all that,” Father said, cutting him off. “And should Wortley choose to make as grand an entrance as last time, we’ll need the Odditorium’s lightning cannons to take care of his army.”

“Great poppycock,” Lord Dreary said weakly, and he dragged his handkerchief across his head.

“Very well, then—here goes nothing.” Father flicked a switch, and the outsides of the Odditorium flashed, blinding all of us momentarily.

“Well?” Lord Dreary asked as our vision cleared. “Are we invisible?”

The answer was no, I thought. Everything looked exactly the same as before.

“Go ahead, Broom, have a look,” Father said, and she took off into the air. I’d been so bewildered by what was happening that I hadn’t noticed she’d joined us. Broom flew out a short distance then circled back, upon which she bumped into the outside walls a couple of times before landing again on the balcony. She gave a brief curtsy and then set about tidying up the library.

“Splendid,” Father said. “Although everything looks the same to us on the inside, from the outside we are entirely invisible. I’ve also managed to dampen the organ a bit, but let’s just say it’s a good thing we’ll be close to Westminster Abbey.”

Father played and we began our descent into London. The organ was noticeably quieter, but still, I could hardly imagine what anyone who heard it might have thought, what with this strange music seemingly coming from nowhere. However, as the thin black ribbon that was the River Thames grew wider and wider, my mind quickly shifted to the terror at hand. Father was taking us down into the river itself!

“I told you our Aquaticum wasn’t over,” he said, sensing my fear. “Luckily for us there’s hardly any traffic this time of night.”

And with that we touched down into the river with a splash. At the same time, the stench churned up by our entrance was almost unbearable. Father went on to explain how Nigel had rerouted the levitation shields to waterproof only the Odditorium’s belly, leaving us free to enter and exit through the upper floors, but I was trying so hard to keep from retching that I didn’t get it all.

Father changed his tune and we began to travel upstream. The lower part of the Odditorium was entirely submerged, the balcony just a few feet above the water, and had we not been invisible, I imagined we must have looked like an enormous fishing float that had broken free from a giant’s pole. And yet, I could hardly believe that any fish could survive in such a foul river; and as the city whipped past us in a jumble of lights and shadow, I remembered Father’s promise to take me fishing and prayed he would choose a different spot.

Soon, we passed beneath an archway to an enormous stone bridge—Waterloo Bridge, Father called it—and then, a short distance upstream, Father deployed the Odditorium’s spider legs and docked beside a tall, brick-pile buttress to another bridge that appeared to be under construction.