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
“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
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