Alistair Grim's Odd Aquaticum (16 page)

“That’s odd,” I muttered. “I wonder who it’s for.”

The sign let out a puff of shimmering sparkles, and then the words transformed themselves into,
YOU, DUMMY!

“Cor!” I gasped in amazement when I realized I’d just been insulted. “Hang on. It’s not polite to call people names.”

Another puff of sparkles, and the sign again said,
ENTER, PLEASE.

I must confess that I was tempted, but Father had been very clear in his instructions: under no circumstances was I to enter this room. True, I thought it very strange that no one, not even Nigel, would tell me what was inside. But as I’d quickly learned in my time at the Odditorium, Father had his reasons for everything. And, like it or not, those reasons were always sound. Well,
almost
always.

“I most certainly will
not
enter,” I said. “That’ll be the day I listen to an ill-mannered sign over Father.”

I was answered with a loud
thump!
on the door. Startled, I jumped back and waited for the sign to insult me again, but nothing happened. I hurried downstairs to report to Father what I’d seen. The clocks were just chiming ten as I stepped off the lift and into the parlor. A heated discussion was taking place in the library.

“But, Uncle,” Cleona said, “you assured us that you’d return Lorcan to Ireland after we left the circle of stones.”

Father mumbled something unintelligible, and I crept closer to the pocket doors, which were cracked open just enough for me to get a clear view of him reading at his cluttered desk. Cleona hovered above Father’s shoulder, staring down at him with her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed. I knew I shouldn’t spy on them, but I also knew I shouldn’t interrupt them either.

“Don’t change the subject,” Cleona said. “You know very well that Nigel connected the Sky Ripper’s induction unit to the flight sphere last night.”

“I’m sorry, love, but I simply don’t have the time to argue with you.”

“But surely—”

“Furthermore, this Aquaticum is sizing up to be my most dangerous quest yet, not the least of which has to do with our traveling underwater. Who knows how the interdimensional space jump will affect the Odditorium’s systems once we pass into Avalon. Therefore, I suggest you get some rest in the event you need to charge the reserves in a hurry.”

Cleona began gliding back and forth, pacing in midair. “That’s exactly my point. It’s too dangerous to have the Gallownog on board for the space jump. What if something
does
happen to the Odditorium’s systems? What if we have another animus drain like last time and Lorcan escapes?”

“If you’ll recall, both the flight sphere and Gwendolyn’s fairy dust were unaffected by our last space jump. Thus, I am quite confident that the Gallownog will be perfectly secure inside his prison.”

“Pshaw. Say your silly Aquaticum pans out and we do reach Avalon, what next? You don’t very well think you can just walk up to Queen Nimue and ask her to borrow Excalibur, do you?”

“Well, if you have a better idea, I’m all ears.” Father tossed aside the book he was reading and opened another.

“But, Uncle—”

Father pounded his fist on the desk. “Cleona, please!” he thundered. “Need I remind you that the prince and Mad Malmuirie are still on our tail?”

Cleona bowed her head and bit her lip. Father’s outburst had clearly winged her.

“Forgive me, love,” he said, softening. “But as far as I’m concerned this matter is closed until we gain possession of Excalibur.”

Cleona descended slowly to the floor so that her eyes were even with Father’s.

“I know why you want to keep him here,” she said. “Your little plan of rerouting the Sky Ripper’s induction unit—you’re thinking about using Lorcan’s energy to take you through Tir Na Mairg, aren’t you?”

I gasped, and my heart began to hammer. “Have you gone mad?” Father said. But from the way his voice went up in pitch, I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not he was bluffing.

“I’m not mad and neither are you,” Cleona said. “You know very well why our space jump didn’t work last time. You thought my love would transport you across Tir Na Mairg and into the Land of the Dead the same way it transported me across the ocean to wail Elizabeth’s death.”

“Cleona—”

“But you miscalculated. My love was too strong, and so we were cast out of Tir Na Mairg at once. A Gallownog, on the other hand, can remain there as long as he pleases. You think that if you were to use Lorcan’s energy in the Sky Ripper instead of mine, you could stay in Tir Na Mairg long enough to find a way to Elizabeth!”

Father fixed his eyes on Cleona’s, and a heavy silence hung between them. “Well?” Cleona asked. “Am I right?”

“Go to bed,” Father said, and Cleona dropped to her knees.

“I beg of you, Uncle. It’s called the Land of Sorrow for a reason—a realm of unspeakable torment and pain. The Gallownog can negotiate its horrors because they are a different breed entirely—fierce warriors who are trained from birth to endure severe hardship and suffering. Without one of them to protect and guide you through Tir Na Mairg, your spirit will become just another one of the damned walking between this world and the next.”

“Listen to me, Cleona,” Father said, taking her hands. “I am engaged at present on one mission and one mission only: to find Excalibur and defeat Prince Nightshade. Until then, everything else is irrelevant.”

“Promise me, then, will you? Promise me you’ll never journey into Tir Na Mairg.”

Father heaved a heavy sigh. “I promise,” he said quietly, and a wave of relief washed over Cleona’s face.

“Thank you,” she said, hugging him. Without a word more Cleona floated upward and disappeared through the ceiling. Father sighed and removed the Black Mirror from its case.

“Will you show me now what I wish to know?” he asked. The mirror flashed ever so briefly and Father frowned. “Temperamental as always.” He tossed the mirror back into its case and hung his head in his hands.

My heart sank in pity, and yet I just stood there watching, searching for a sign that Father’s promise to Cleona had been insincere. I hated myself for being suspicious of him; but more so, I hated myself because, despite everything I’d heard about Tir Na Mairg, part of me hoped that Alistair Grim was planning on traveling there after all.

I gazed up at the portrait of my mother above the hearth and a sea of questions began tossing about in my head.
Why did you run away and leave me with the Yellow Fairy? Why didn’t you tell Father of my birth? Didn’t you realize what both our lives might have been like had I lived with him instead of Mr. Smears?

“Tir Na Mairg, lad,”
I heard Lorcan Dalach say in my mind.
“All your questions shall be answered in Tir Na Mairg.”

Just then, the secret panel to the spiral staircase opened in the wall beside the lift. I darted back into the shadows, and a pair of samurai stepped out—coming down from the roof, I knew, to make their nightly report. Since our flight from London, the samurai had been keeping watch round the clock in the event the prince should try to sneak up on us—not to mention Mad Malmuirie and Mr. Smears and anyone else who might be looking for Alistair Grim now that his likeness had been in the papers.

I moved aside to let them pass, and the samurai marched into the library without acknowledging me.

“Everything all right?” Father asked. I could not see them from my new position, but the samurai must have nodded yes, for a moment later they marched back through the parlor and out the secret panel.

“You may enter, Grubb,” Father called. My stomach lurched—the samurai must have told him that I was waiting outside. “Please, son, I haven’t got all night.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” I said as I stepped into the library. “But I thought it best to inform you that the sign on the door across from Cleona’s room bade me enter.”

Father looked up from his work. “Come again?”

“After checking in with Professor Bricklewick, I noticed that the ‘Silence Is Golden’ sign had changed to ‘Enter, Please.’ I wondered aloud who it might be for, and the sign said, ‘You, Dummy,’ and again bade me enter.”

Father’s face flickered with alarm. “And did you?”

“Why no, sir. I didn’t want to disobey your wishes.”

“An intriguing turn of events,” Father said, and he seemed to become lost in thought.

“Something the matter, sir?” I asked after a moment. Father looked startled, as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“Very well, then,” he said, rising. “I suggest we take her up on her offer before she changes her mind.”

“Take up who, sir?”

“Er—uh,” Father stammered, and he grabbed a samurai helmet that was lying nearby. “You know the saying. Silence is golden and all that. Come along then, Grubb.”

I followed Father back upstairs. The sign still said,
ENTER, PLEASE.
Father took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and was about to enter when, in a puff of sparkles, the words transformed into,
NOT YOU, DUMMY!

Father snatched back his hand and moved me in front of him. The sign immediately changed back to,
ENTER, PLEASE.

“I thought as much,” Father muttered, and he plopped the samurai helmet on my head. “All right, then. You’re on your own now, Grubb. Remember, silence is golden, so don’t speak unless spoken to. Should you feel the need to run for the door, by all means see if you can grab a half dozen or so eggs on your way out, will you?”

I gulped. “Sir?”

“Carry on, then—I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

Father smiled nervously, opened the door, and pushed me inside. My fear, pounding in my ears, was all but deafening inside the helmet, but as soon as I saw what lay before me, I was overcome with wonder.

The room into which I’d stepped looked like an ancient forest. Large, knotted trees stretched from the floor to the ceiling, their leafy branches twisting about so thickly that barely a single patch of blue-painted sky was visible between them. The walls themselves were textured and painted to look like trees too—so expertly, in fact, that I couldn’t tell where the real trees ended and the painted ones began.

As Father closed the door behind me, I noticed that it too was fashioned to look like a tree. Rocks and splinters lay scattered about on the floor nearby, and were it not for the gouges and chips in its bark, I would have lost the door completely amidst its lifelike surroundings.

So that’s what all the thumping was about,
I said to myself.
Whatever lives in here fancies throwing rocks at this door!

Moving farther into the room, there were even more rocks—large moss-covered boulders, some of which were draped with tree roots, while others glistened with rivulets of water that trickled down into a pond filled with water lilies. Across the pond was a path of stepping-stones that led to a grassy grove. In the middle of the grove was a giant bird’s nest, on top of which sat the largest goose I’d ever seen—a truly magnificent creature, with bright golden feathers that glowed like a halo of sunshine.

The goose honked and flapped her wings. I took this to mean that I should come closer; and as I stepped across the pond and into the grove, I noticed a silver tray of colored eggs resting on the edge of the goose’s nest.

So this is where Nigel gets his eggs, I thought, and the goose honked again.

“Everything all right?” Father called from outside in the hallway—when quick as a flash, the goose dipped her bill into her nest, snatched up a rock, and hurled it at the door—
thump!

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,”
I heard Father cautioning in my head. But then again, I wondered, how else would a goose speak if not by honking?

“I’m fine, sir,” I called back, and the goose bobbed her head at the tray of eggs. “Begging your pardon—er, uh—ma’am, but do you mean for me to take those eggs?”

The goose nodded and flapped her wings, and as I bent down to pick up the tray, I noticed that one egg was different from the others.

“It’s gold,” I muttered, holding the egg in my hand—it felt much heavier than the other eggs—and all at once I understood. “Odditoria!” I gasped, and the goose cocked her head and blinked her eyes quizzically. “What I mean, ma’am, is that you’re magical. You’re the goose what laid the golden eggs, aren’t you?”

The goose sighed, turned her back on me, and, with a quiet honk, settled down into her nest to sleep—my cue to exit, I assumed. And so, with the tray of colored eggs in hand, I left the goose in her forest lair and stepped back out into the hall.

“Well, well,” Father said, examining the golden egg. “Silence
is
golden after all.”

“Cor blimey, sir. You found the goose what laid the golden eggs!”

“
That
laid the golden eggs,” Father corrected me. “And so you’re familiar with the story?”

“Mrs. Smears told it to me once. A farmer had a goose what—I mean, that—laid one golden egg every day. He reckoned there must be even more gold inside her, so he cut her open for it, only to find the poor bird was no different than any other goose.”

“Thus, the Moral of the story,” Father said, jerking his thumb at the door.