Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (12 page)

“How do I put this?” Father said with a smile. “Dougal McClintock has…
changed
since last you saw him. You wouldn’t want him back, I assure you.”

“Tut-tut, you expect me to fall for a trick like that? You don’t know what you’ve got there, Alistair Grim.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

At that moment, one of the upper gunnery cannons locked into place above the battlements, the swell of its muzzle pointing straight at us. Behind the turret’s energy shield I could see Lord Dreary and Mrs. Pinch with Nigel slumped over behind them.

“We’ve got her in our sights!” Lord Dreary’s voice crackled from the organ’s talkback, and Mad Malmuirie pulled me close.

“Call them off, Grim,” she said, “or I swear I’ll snap his neck!”

“You heard her,” Father said into the talkback. “Pull back, Mrs. Pinch.”

The old woman complied, and the cannon retracted out of sight behind the battlements.

“Tut-tut, Alistair Grim,” said Mad Malmuirie. “I showed mercy to the others on the roof. They shall awaken from their slumber shortly. However, if you don’t return my pocket watch, I’ll put your son to sleep
permanently
.”

“If I give you McClintock,” Father said, “you shall return the boy unharmed?”

Mad Malmuirie smirked and raised her right hand in oath. “You have my word, Alistair Grim. I shall return the boy unharmed.”

“Very well,” Father said. “You’ll find what you seek in the boy’s waistcoat.”

“Father, no!” I cried—but Mad Malmuirie’s hand was already in my pocket.

“Ah!” she sighed, holding up McClintock in triumph.

“All right, then, Malmuirie,” Father said. “You’ve got what you came for, now keep your word and return the boy.”

“Oh, I
shall
return the boy, Alistair Grim,” she said. “I just won’t return him to
you
!”

And with that, Mad Malmuirie steered her broomstick away from the Odditorium and dove straight for the clouds.

“Grubb!” Father cried, but then everything went gray, and all I could hear was the witch’s laughter behind me.

A
thick forest canopy rushed up at us through the misty air, and then all at once we were swallowed up in a sea of yellow and orange branches. The witch flew close to the ground and wove her broomstick amongst the trees at frightening speed—the autumn leaves twisting after us like a fiery serpent’s tail. Soon, we emerged at the foot of a small hill, on top of which stood the walls of a tumbledown church.

Dismounting, Mad Malmuirie shoved me off her broomstick. With its tip lodged in my back, she marched me up the hill and into the heart of the crumbling ruins. A brooding figure dressed in black emerged from around a pile of stones inside. My feet rooted where I stood. I could hardly believe my eyes.

I gasped in terror. “Mr. Smears!”

The hulking man with the scar on his cheek sneered hatefully. “We’ve got a score to settle, Grubb,” he growled, lumbering toward me, but Mad Malmuirie drew her wand and stopped him in his tracks.

“Tut-tut, Smears,” she said. “I returned the boy as promised. Now you keep your end of the bargain and tell me where to find the map you stole from Alistair Grim.”

Mr. Smears smiled slyly and scratched his scar. My entire body was pounding with fear, but my brain felt nimbler than ever.
Map?
I said to myself.
Mr. Smears never stole a map from Alistair Grim.

And suddenly I understood what my old master had done. He’d somehow crossed paths with Mad Malmuirie and promised her a fictitious map in exchange for me. However, as Mr. Smears was rash and rarely looked beyond his next beer, I also understood that he hadn’t figured out yet what to do when it came time to make good on his promise.

“Well?” Mad Malmuirie said, and Mr. Smears narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You witches with your spells and trickery,” he said. “How do I know the boy is genuine? How do I know he’s not some demon what you conjured up to look like him?”

Even though he was reckless by nature, Mr. Smears could be crafty when he put his mind to it—especially when off the drink. He was buying time, which is exactly what I needed to do too, because now that Mad Malmuirie had McClintock, she most certainly would kill us both if I exposed Mr. Smears’s deception.

McClintock,
I said to myself, glancing down at him—he was still in Mad Malmuirie’s hand. He should be waking up any moment now, I thought. But if the witch opens him outside the Odditorium, unprotected by its magic paint…

I shivered at the thought of the doom dogs coming for Mack’s animus, but at the same time an idea began bubbling in my brain.

“How dare you question my word, Smears!” said Mad Malmuirie, her emerald-green eyes flashing with fury.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” said Mr. Smears, “but look what your word’s got Alistair Grim: a stolen watch and a son what’s about to get himself kidnapped.”

“I should have known better than to trust a ruffian such as you,” the witch said, and she readied her wand to strike. Without thinking, I leaped between them.

“I know where it is!” I cried.

Mad Malmuirie lowered her wand and bore her eyes into mine. “Where?” she asked, and I glanced at Mr. Smears. His face was all puckered with confusion.

“Er—well—I can’t be
certain
,” I said, lying, “but I know where Mr. Smears hides things what’s valuable. I can show you, ma’am—but you must promise not to hurt him.”

Mad Malmuirie smiled. “But you’re a curious lad, aren’t you? Why on earth would you want to protect a man bent on kidnapping you?”

“Well, ma’am, if you kill him, what use would you have for me?” Mad Malmuirie chuckled at my candor. “Besides, I should think this map must be very valuable should a lady of your breeding traffic with the likes of Mr. Smears.”

“Indeed,” said the witch. “And I suppose that, if you have a hand in delivering the map, you’ll want something in return?”

“Just my life, ma’am, if you please. And Mr. Smears’s. And perhaps a ride on that broomstick of yours back to the Odditorium.”

“How about I just kill him now for you? From what I gather, this blackguard didn’t show you much kindness over the years.”

“No, he didn’t, I’m afraid. But please don’t kill him, ma’am. He can’t help what he is no more than a rat can. If you spare us both, I’ll lead you to his hiding place. I can’t promise the map will be there, but if you kill us, I can promise you’ll never find it.”

Mad Malmuirie eyed Mr. Smears suspiciously. “You’re awfully quiet, Smears, given that the lad is campaigning on your behalf.”

Mr. Smears scratched his scar. “Never you mind about him,” he said. “I believe the boy’s genuine now. Hand him over and I’ll bring you to the map myself.”

Mad Malmuirie laughed. “Not on your life, villain,” she said, mounting her broomstick. “Now climb aboard, fetch me the map, and the two of you shall live.”

My eyes dropped again to McClintock. Why wasn’t he waking up?

“Er, begging your pardon, ma’am,” I said, thinking quickly. “If I’m to help you, I should probably know what this map is. Mr. Grim never mentioned a stolen map, but then again he’s quite fond of keeping secrets from me.”

“Especially secrets about swords,” whispered Mad Malmuirie, and my heart nearly stopped. She knew about Excalibur. Of course she did. I had been wearing the warding stone in Professor Bricklewick’s study. And hadn’t he asked me if it was glowing?

“You needn’t worry, lad,” said the witch. “I have no use for silly swords. But
maps
, on the other hand…” She flitted her eyes at Mr. Smears. “Your former master claims he stole Alistair Grim’s map at the Lamb’s Inn. But poor Mr. Smears can’t read—not to mention that he was much more interested in finding
you
.”

Mad Malmuirie smiled, and I glanced over at Mr. Smears. He just stood there silent and stone-faced, but I could see in his eyes that his mind was racing a mile a minute. Mine was too. Even if Mad Malmuirie was telling the truth about having no use for Excalibur, should she alert Prince Nightshade to our quest…

I needed to escape straightaway and tell Father—but before I could do that, I needed to wake up Mack!

“You see, Grubb,” the witch went on, “I too am a seeker of Odditoria. And from what little I know of Alistair Grim, this map of his must lead to a magical object of great power—something useless to a chimney sweep, but priceless to a lady of my talents.”

Come on, Mack, wake up!
I screamed in my head, but my mouth said, “Er, uh, speaking of chimney sweeps, ma’am, how did you wind up with Mr. Smears here?”

“Word of Alistair Grim’s Odditorium and its mysterious disappearance traveled fast. I recognized your Father’s likeness in the newspapers and came to London with the hopes of tracking him down. Mr. Smears did the same.”

“Put two and two together, I did,” he said. “Only way you could’ve escaped from us that night was in that fancy black coach. Of course, Grim used a phony name at the Lamb, but when I saw his mug in them papers, I knew I had my man.”

“Our paths crossed purely by chance while making inquiries in London,” said Mad Malmuirie. “Mr. Smears told me he was in search of a boy who Alistair Grim had stolen from him. And once the warding stones confirmed his tale, I agreed to an even trade for your father’s map.”

“My livelihood is ruined on account of you, Grubb,” said Mr. Smears. “And so I’ve taken up life as a villain. My first offense? Holding you for ransom. I wager a man like Alistair Grim would pay handsomely to have his son back. And if he refuses? Well, I needn’t mention what’s in store for you then.”

Mr. Smears cracked his knuckles.

“Tut-tut, Smears,” said Mad Malmuirie. “On second thought, I’ve decided to amend our deal. You shall not lay a finger on the lad. I’ve grown fond of him.”

Mr. Smears gasped. “But you gave me your word!”

“Your reward in exchange for the map shall be your life. Count yourself lucky you’re getting that.”

Mr. Smears’s face flushed red, and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles grew white.

“As for you, young Grubb,” said the witch, “now that Prince Nightshade is onto your father, I should think the sooner we get moving the better. Wouldn’t want him to get his dirty little hands on Excalibur, would we?”

Mad Malmuirie chuckled, slipped McClintock into her robes, and donned her hood. Despite everything that was happening, I was relieved to learn that, as Father had suspected, the witch was not in league with Prince Nightshade. At the same time, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer for Mack to wake up on his own. I needed to act fast.

“Begging your pardon again, ma’am,” I said. “What Father said back there on the balcony—about McClintock having changed and whatnot—well, you may want to look for yourself. He’s prone to fizzling out from time to time.”

“Fizzling out?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid he just stops ticking now and then for no reason.”

“Well of course he does. He’s a time stopper, is he not?”

“A time stopper, ma’am?”

“A watch that stops time. You mean your father never told you?” I shook my head. “McClintock has the unique ability to freeze time for as long as one full minute, enabling whoever holds him to move about undetected by others. Why else would your father want a magical pocket watch on his quests if not to freeze the beings from whom he stole his Odditoria?”

The witch’s explanation made perfect sense to me, and yet now I was confused. How come Mack never told me he could stop time? We certainly could have used such a trick during our escape from Nightshade’s castle. And furthermore, if Father had planned on using Mack on his quests, surely he would have needed to coat him with magic paint to conceal his animus.

Unless, of course, Mack didn’t have animus until he came to the Odditorium.

That’s it!
I said to myself. Mad Malmuirie didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the doom dogs, so she must be unaware of Mack’s animus. Perhaps that’s what Father meant when he said Mack had changed. Could he have broken McClintock and then tried to repair him with the animus? Could that be the reason why Mack was always in the shop—because Alistair Grim was trying to mend his time stopper?