Alistair Grim's Odditorium (22 page)

“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Lord Dreary.

“Being a land-dwelling spirit,” Mr. Grim began, “a banshee does not have the power to cross large bodies of water unless she is enclosed in something that protects her. The
Odditorium’s magic paint does just that, same as it protects us from the doom dogs. Without it, Cleona’s life force would drain away and she would cease to exist.”

“Good heavens,” said Lord Dreary.

“The same goes for Gwendolyn. Just one of many laws of the supernatural universe that I’m afraid is unalterable.”

“The magic paint is very powerful, Uncle,” Cleona said. “And really, I’m feeling quite myself again. Perhaps if I—”

“Out of the question,” said Mr. Grim. “Even if you were successful in dislodging the tracking mechanism, you’d be so drained afterward that it’d take you forever to
regain your strength and transfer the animus.”

“Wait a moment,” said Lord Dreary. “Are you saying that Cleona controls the source of the animus?”

“No, old friend,” said Mr. Grim. “Cleona is the source of the animus.”

Lord Dreary and I gasped.

“Hence,” Mr. Grim went on, “now that you have seen the conductor spheres for my other Odditoria, you understand in theory how I’ve been able to harness Cleona’s
supernatural essence to create the very spirit of the Odditorium itself.”

“Odditoria,” said Lord Dreary, thinking. “Used to classify any magical object that is living, inanimate, or
otherwise
. That is what you said, Alistair.
Otherwise
—as in something that is neither alive nor dead.”

“In Cleona’s case, yes,” said Mr. Grim. “So you see, Lord Dreary, without our banshee here, the Odditorium’s mechanical functions simply could not
exist—including the machine that facilitated the space jump.”

“But the space jump,” said Lord Dreary. “How does Cleona—?”

“A banshee, by her nature, is a bridge between our world and the Land of the Dead. And so I’ve invented a machine that harnesses that nature to create an interdimensional bridge of
my own. Unfortunately, the machine takes quite a toll on poor Cleona, and thus we find ourselves in our present situation.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, sir,” Nigel said. “But getting back to the tracking mechanism?”

“Thank you, Nigel,” said Mr. Grim. “Unfortunately, even if Cleona or Gwendolyn were successful in dislodging the tracking mechanism, it wouldn’t do us much good if there
are others flashing away out there.”

“You mean—?”

“If Prince Nightshade allied himself with more than one Siren, then it’s only logical to assume that he fashioned more than one tracking mechanism from their eggs.”

“I’ll do it,” Nigel said. “Tie a rope around my waist, and I’ll climb down and start looking for them.”

“A valiant proposition, Nigel. But it would take you much too long to make an adequate sweep of the Odditorium’s perimeter. Speaking of sweeping, even Broom wouldn’t have the
strength to pry off something like that tracking mechanism. And given the fact that Mrs. Pinch’s spectacles are smashed…”

Broom?
I said to myself.
Was Mr. Grim implying that Broom could fly as well as sweep? And what did Mrs. Pinch have to do with anything?

“No,” said Mr. Grim. “The most efficient way to embark on our search-and-destroy mission would be to use—”

“The wasps!” Nigel said.

“Very good, Nigel. My thoughts exactly.”

“The wasps?” said Lord Dreary, confused.

“Cleona,” said Mr. Grim, ignoring him, “do you think you’re strong enough to charge the energy panels in your chambers?”

“I think so, Uncle,” she said. “But since the space jump drained the Odditorium’s systems almost entirely, I won’t be able to give you much power for the reserves
until I get all my strength back.”

“Can you get the wasps going for us?”

“Yes, but if you’d like me to charge the rest of the Odditorium too, I should think I’d have only enough energy left over for one.”

“One wasp will be sufficient,” said Mr. Grim.

Just then we heard a loud screech above our heads. Lord Dreary let out a shriek and dove for the battlements, but the rest of us gazed upward and spied a cluster of tiny blue lights headed our
way.

“The bats!” I cried, and the entire colony screeched as if in reply.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Lord Dreary. “We’re under attack!”

“Don’t be afraid, old friend,” said Mr. Grim. “They work for us.”

The bats circled the roof once, formed a single line, and then swooped down through the porthole and into the garret—all except one, which broke off at the last moment and lighted on
Nigel’s shoulder.

“What do you have here?” Nigel said, reaching into the bat’s mouth. “Look, sir,” he said, handing it to Mr. Grim. “It’s a leaf.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Grim, examining it. “A red-oak leaf, to be precise. We must be closer to land than I thought.”

“Where to, child?” Nigel asked, and the bat extended its wing to point the way.

“Due west by my calculations,” said Mr. Grim, looking up at the stars. “Very well, then. Cleona, you return to your chambers and begin charging the panels.”

“Yes, Uncle,” she said, and sank at once through the roof.

“As for the rest of us,” said Mr. Grim, “to the engine room!”

B
y the time we arrived in the engine room, the wall sconces were burning bright again with blue animus. Everything else appeared to be normal too.
The red fires in the ring of furnaces burned as before, and the crystal sphere still glowed yellow with fairy dust. Gwendolyn—her eyes heavy, her face smeared with chocolate—sat
watching us from the front steps of her dollhouse.

“Is there something I can help you with, Pookie?” she asked.

Pookie?

“No thank you,” said Mr. Grim, heading for the talkback. “You just enjoy the rest of your chocolate.”

Gwendolyn smiled wide and popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth. I stood there gaping. Surely this was not the same Yellow Fairy I’d met before, what with her sunny disposition
and pet names for Mr. Grim.

Noticing my surprise, Nigel whispered the word
chocolate
in my ear. I looked at him quizzically and he said, “How do you think Mr. Grim kept her from gobbling him up back there in
the Black Forest?”

“Chomp, chomp,” said the Yellow Fairy, and she began cooing—the same cooing I’d heard coming from Mr. Grim’s coach just before we took flight over the
countryside.

“Are you there, Uncle?” called Cleona from the talkback.

“Yes, love,” replied Mr. Grim. “How are things progressing in your chambers?”

“Very well, I think. All the systems are up and running, and I’ve charged the wasp in comb number one.”

Following Mr. Grim’s gaze, I noticed for the first time that the engine room’s ceiling resembled the inside of a wasp nest. All the combs were dark except for one, in which a pair of
bulbous blue eyes shone brightly.

“And you’ve instructed the wasp what to look for?” asked Mr. Grim.

“Yes, Uncle,” Cleona replied. “Its power should last you for quite some time—that is, unless you plan on trying another space jump.”

“I plan on no such thing. Now, get some sleep before you charge the reserves.”

“Pshaw. My strength is coming back just fine now.”

“Never mind that. You do as I say.”

“Oh, very well, then.”

Mr. Grim flicked off the talkback and then hurried over to a large panel near the furnaces. The panel itself was made up of rows of numbered buttons, and as Mr. Grim looked up at the ceiling, he
pressed the button labeled 1.

The eyes above us grew brighter, and then a giant insect crawled out from the comb and buzzed its wings—wings that, in the light from the crystal sphere below, flashed like plates of
sparkling yellow glass.

“Great poppycock!” Lord Dreary exclaimed. “It really is a wasp!”

“A mechanical wasp,” said Mr. Grim, “but a wasp nonetheless.”

As if on cue, the insect lifted off, buzzed around the engine room once, then slowly descended to the floor. Other than its large blue eyes, polished steel wings, and black metal frame, this
wasp was identical to a real wasp—but it was also bigger than me.

“So that’s how you built the Odditorium,” Lord Dreary said in astonishment. “The screens and curtains outside—that was why no one ever saw any workers going in and
out. You created these creatures to do the work for you!”

It was then that I spied the large hammer and chisel in the wasp’s front claws. And all at once I understood what I’d heard upon my arrival at the Odditorium. The loud
blacksmith’s hammering had been Mr. Grim’s wasps at work in the engine room.

“An excellent deduction, Lord Dreary,” said Mr. Grim. “You see, old friend, one of the unique properties of the animus is that, as it is being transferred into a machine, one
can instruct that machine to perform a specific task. And so this wasp and her deactivated sisters were charged with building the Odditorium.”

“Incredible!” said Lord Dreary.

Mr. Grim squatted down and spoke directly to the wasp. “You understand your mission, Number One?”

The wasp nodded its round head and batted its antennae.

“Very well, then,” said Mr. Grim, rising. “There is one problem, however.”

“What’s that?” asked Lord Dreary.

“The wasp is only a machine, unable to think for itself. Given the fact that Cleona, in her transference of the animus, instructed the wasp to find and remove the tracking mechanism, the
wasp in turn will only be able to recognize those things that Cleona recognizes.”

“The Siren’s egg, you mean?”

“Or
eggs
, yes. However, if something else is out there—another type of tracking mechanism or perhaps something even more nefarious—the wasp won’t be able to
distinguish such objects from, say, the battle damage caused by Nightshade’s minions.”

“So what shall we do?” asked Lord Dreary.

“Well, I should think that the only way to be certain that the outside of the Odditorium is clean is to have a set of human eyes riding along with the wasp’s.”

“Great poppycock! You mean, you actually intend to ride that thing?”

“I would if I could. However, I am much too heavy for the wasp to stay airborne. The same goes for you and Nigel. No, in order to make an adequate sweep of the outside, we would need a
much smaller rider.”

Without thinking, I raised my hand and said, “I’ll do it, sir.”

Mr. Grim stiffened. “No. Not you, Master Grubb. It’s much too dangerous.”

“I agree with the boss,” Nigel said. “Much, much too dangerous, Grubb.”

“Please, sir,” I said. “It’s the least I can do, being your apprentice and all.”

“Out of the question,” said Mr. Grim. “We’ll have to take our chances with just the wasp itself.”

“I’m not afraid, sir. I’m quite accustomed to high places, and I’m very good at climbing and holding on tightly to things. Besides, if the wasp should need some help, I
imagine that prying off a tracking mechanism couldn’t be much different than scraping off soot from a chimney.”

Mr. Grim studied me for a moment, and then, getting an idea, rushed over to the talkback. “Cleona, are you still awake?”

“I am now,” she replied sleepily.

“Would you be so kind as to drop down into the engine room?”

“What for?”

“A matter of the utmost urgency.”

“Has Gwendolyn had her chocolate?” Cleona asked. “I’m not in the mood for another quarrel.”

“I assure you, Gwendolyn is quite amicable at present. Aren’t you, Gwendolyn?”

The Yellow Fairy cooed.

“There, you see, Cleona?” said Mr. Grim. “You needn’t worry about a repeat of your introduction this morning. She did the same thing to Nigel before we left London, and
now the two of them are the best of friends. Isn’t that right, Nigel?”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Very well, then, Uncle. I’ll be right down.”

Mr. Grim flicked off the talkback and joined us again.

“But, Alistair,” said Lord Dreary, “surely you don’t intend to ask Cleona to ride that thing. You said that if she stays too long over the water she’ll cease to
exist.”

“I am well aware of that. And even though Number One’s magic paint would most likely protect her, it would still be too much of a risk to send her out there. Which is why I intend on
riding the wasp myself.”