Grim would scrap him for wanting to be with his clock family in the library. And I suppose you can’t blame him for that. I
know if I had a family, even a family of clocks, I’d want to be with them too.”
Nigel’s whole body sagged, and as he stared off at the cathedral, his face grew even sadder than it had looked outside the Odditorium. I suspected he was thinking about his brother William
again, but I did not think it proper to pry.
“Did I say something wrong, Nigel?” I asked after a moment, but the big man appeared lost in thought. “Nigel?”
Startled, Nigel smiled. And just as before, he instantly became his cheery old self again. “Right-o, then. All’s forgiven on my part. As for Mr. Grim, I suppose you’ll have to
cross that bridge later. Come to think of it, what I wouldn’t give for a bridge to throw you off.”
Nigel’s comment winged me, and I looked down sadly at my feet.
“No, no, Grubb,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t mean it like that. Just wish I had a bridge over a river in which I could wash your scent off.”
“There’s the fountain,” I said, relieved.
“It’s against the law to wash in there. And the last thing we need is the law on our backs, what with Judge Hurst looking for any excuse to make trouble for Mr. Grim.”
The two of us sat there thinking hard amidst the clamor.
“May I ask you a question, Nigel?”
“Go ahead, Grubb.”
“If the doom dogs can sniff out Mack’s animus, how come they can’t sniff out the animus inside the Odditorium?”
“Because the Odditorium is protected by the boss’s magic paint.”
“Magic paint?”
“The Odditorium is just a big machine powered by the animus—like Mack, only more complicated and without all the jabbering. However, it’s safe to use the animus inside the
Odditorium because the whole place is protected by Mr. Grim’s magic paint. Mack, unfortunately, is not. Understand?”
“So that’s why everything is black! The magic paint blocks the doom dogs from sniffing out the blue animus!”
“That’s right. A concoction of dragon scales, troll’s blood, that sort of thing. With great power most often comes danger, and one always has to be mindful of
danger.”
Made sense to me. I was used to being mindful of things that were dangerous. Fire, soaring heights, and crumbling old flues—not to mention Mr. Smears and the Crumbsby twins.
“I’m sure the boss will explain it to you someday—”
A rumble of thunder, barely audible above the din of the marketplace, stopped Nigel cold. He bounded up to the top of the fountain steps. “Oh dear,” he said, staring off at the sky.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“What is it, Nigel?” I asked, rushing up to him, and I spied a thick swath of black clouds rolling in behind the cathedral.
“He was closer to London than we thought.”
“Who?”
“The prince,” Nigel said weakly.
Another rumble of thunder—this one a bit closer—and then Nigel grabbed my arm and dashed off with me into the crowd.
M aybe that was the last of them,” Nigel said, gazing about. “Or maybe they’ve lost track of our scent and are roaming about
someplace else for us.”
There had to have been over a dozen streets and alleyways that branched off from the marketplace, some so narrow that not even a single ray of sunshine managed to find its way to the ground.
However, even down the darkest, narrowest passages, we could spy no sign of the doom dogs anywhere.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, beginning to panic. “What if there are more of those horrible hounds out there waiting for us?”
We’d stopped in front of a shop at the edge of the maketplace, trying to determine the safest way back to the Odditorium. The black clouds were quickly closing in on the great dome, the
thunder rumbling more frequently now. And as the marketgoers whirled about their business in anticipation of the coming storm, Nigel squatted on his haunches so that his mouth was
know if I had a family, even a family of clocks, I’d want to be with them too.”
Nigel’s whole body sagged, and as he stared off at the cathedral, his face grew even sadder than it had looked outside the Odditorium. I suspected he was thinking about his brother William
again, but I did not think it proper to pry.
“Did I say something wrong, Nigel?” I asked after a moment, but the big man appeared lost in thought. “Nigel?”
Startled, Nigel smiled. And just as before, he instantly became his cheery old self again. “Right-o, then. All’s forgiven on my part. As for Mr. Grim, I suppose you’ll have to
cross that bridge later. Come to think of it, what I wouldn’t give for a bridge to throw you off.”
Nigel’s comment winged me, and I looked down sadly at my feet.
“No, no, Grubb,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t mean it like that. Just wish I had a bridge over a river in which I could wash your scent off.”
“There’s the fountain,” I said, relieved.
“It’s against the law to wash in there. And the last thing we need is the law on our backs, what with Judge Hurst looking for any excuse to make trouble for Mr. Grim.”
The two of us sat there thinking hard amidst the clamor.
“May I ask you a question, Nigel?”
“Go ahead, Grubb.”
“If the doom dogs can sniff out Mack’s animus, how come they can’t sniff out the animus inside the Odditorium?”
“Because the Odditorium is protected by the boss’s magic paint.”
“Magic paint?”
“The Odditorium is just a big machine powered by the animus—like Mack, only more complicated and without all the jabbering. However, it’s safe to use the animus inside the
Odditorium because the whole place is protected by Mr. Grim’s magic paint. Mack, unfortunately, is not. Understand?”
“So that’s why everything is black! The magic paint blocks the doom dogs from sniffing out the blue animus!”
“That’s right. A concoction of dragon scales, troll’s blood, that sort of thing. With great power most often comes danger, and one always has to be mindful of
danger.”
Made sense to me. I was used to being mindful of things that were dangerous. Fire, soaring heights, and crumbling old flues—not to mention Mr. Smears and the Crumbsby twins.
“I’m sure the boss will explain it to you someday—”
A rumble of thunder, barely audible above the din of the marketplace, stopped Nigel cold. He bounded up to the top of the fountain steps. “Oh dear,” he said, staring off at the sky.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”
“What is it, Nigel?” I asked, rushing up to him, and I spied a thick swath of black clouds rolling in behind the cathedral.
“He was closer to London than we thought.”
“Who?”
“The prince,” Nigel said weakly.
Another rumble of thunder—this one a bit closer—and then Nigel grabbed my arm and dashed off with me into the crowd.
M aybe that was the last of them,” Nigel said, gazing about. “Or maybe they’ve lost track of our scent and are roaming about
someplace else for us.”
There had to have been over a dozen streets and alleyways that branched off from the marketplace, some so narrow that not even a single ray of sunshine managed to find its way to the ground.
However, even down the darkest, narrowest passages, we could spy no sign of the doom dogs anywhere.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, beginning to panic. “What if there are more of those horrible hounds out there waiting for us?”
We’d stopped in front of a shop at the edge of the maketplace, trying to determine the safest way back to the Odditorium. The black clouds were quickly closing in on the great dome, the
thunder rumbling more frequently now. And as the marketgoers whirled about their business in anticipation of the coming storm, Nigel squatted on his haunches so that his mouth was
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