The Road to Nevermore Read online

Chapter 18

  The High Council

  As Billy and Pete were sorting out the state of emergency, members of the High Council were planning actions of their own. Their chamber floated in a place of honor, well above Celesdon. It was the shape of a glowing orb, covered in a network of silver supports and crystal windows. For many years it had been the Afterlife’s symbol of truth, but lately its sheen had dulled.

  Inside the vast dome, council members’ desks were set in a ring, and a circular opening in the middle gave a spectacular view of the skyline below. Marble benches rimmed the room. This gallery was usually packed with civic-minded citizens, but now the seats stood silent.

  Miss Chippendale and her supporters favored one side of the chamber. Oversecretary Underhill and a wrinkled old wraith—the only other honest soul left on the council—sat on the opposite side. The wraith stared at Miss Chippendale with unwavering disdain.

  Behind the council members, their assistants busily scribbled notes and passed them to waiting cherub pages. The pages buzzed through the dome, dispensing and retrieving council messages. Air traffic was especially thick on Miss Chippendale’s side of the room.

  “All rise,” said the Sergeant at Arms.

  Everyone stood as a blindfolded woman in sheer white robes materialized in a throne. This was Justice. Her hair and robes wafted about her as if stirred in a cup of ghostly tea. She hung her scales on the side of the throne and nodded almost imperceptibly to the Sergeant at Arms. “Be seated,” he intoned.

  “First order of business.” Miss Chippendale jumped to her feet.

  “The council member from the Investigative Branch is recognized.” The Sergeant solemnly banged his staff.

  “I move the chambers be sealed for a members-only secret session,” Miss Chippendale proclaimed.

  Oversecretary Underhill instantly clacked up on his bony feet. “I move that the chamber remain open! How can Justice be served behind closed doors?” Council members looked away; some even snickered up their sleeves. “How?” His shouts echoed around the chamber.

  In a voice neutral as a line down the middle, Justice answered the skeleton. “I cannot pretend that I am happy by the direction that some in this chamber have taken lately”— the manifestation turned to Miss Chippendale’s side of the room —“but these decisions are arrived at through a vote of the majority. Lord Underhill, while I laud your intentions, I am powerless to oblige you.”

  Justice sat back and the proceedings continued. The chamber was emptied of all assistants and pages; then the crystal dome dimmed—obscuring any view of Celesdon.

  When the Sergeant at Arms pounded the council back to order, Miss Chippendale stood for her next bit of business. “Today we are faced with an almost inconceivable danger! Earthly time has made an unscheduled stop, threatening the very foundation of the Afterlife itself. We’ve been caught unprepared. Small power outages are already dotting Celesdon.” A murmur echoed through the chamber. “Eternal energy, the source of all Afterlife magic, has been cut off by this traitor”— Miss Chippendale scowled at Underhill —“and his chief field agent, Grim!”

  “LIES!” Underhill slapped his bony hands on his desk.

  “Isn’t it true that time has stopped on Earth?” Miss Chippendale smirked.

  “Yes, but —”

  “Isn’t Grim Bones the only one with the proper credentials to stop time,” Miss Chippendale thundered on, “and isn’t the length of this time stoppage unauthorized?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “Isn’t he under your direct command? And didn’t he, under your command, contact Glass-Eyed Pete, a known anti-Afterlife operative?”

  Lord Underhill stood in stunned silence.

  “I have proof. Several letters with Grim Bones’s private address were found by my agents at Endmoor Castle.” Miss Chippendale held up the parchments in a victorious fist.

  “Where is your warrant? You broke into his castle without one!”

  “There’s a state of emergency. I don’t need one! We must issue a subpoena immediately!” Miss Chippendale urged her side of the council. “If Grim Bones doesn’t appear before this council within the half hour next, we should brand him an outlaw along with his ill-bred master—Oversecretary Underhill!”

  Chapter 19

  Millicent’s Crypt

  For the longest time the skeleton gravedigger kept to his business and paid Millicent no mind. Inside the crypt, Tongs stood, paws up, on the window ledge, staring through the bars. Every so often, a drop of his shadowy drool plinked on the stone floor.

  Millicent wished the big lug would get out of the way. He was blocking her view. She shoved her hands into her dress pockets as she drifted around the crypt’s small perimeter—thankful at least that in her semisolid state Gloom hadn’t been able to lock her in the vault below.

  Something rustled outside the door. Millicent called out, “Who’s there?” not altogether sure she really wanted to know.

  The tip of a pickaxe smashed through, sending splinters dancing across the floor. The next strike shattered the lock and the door creaked open. Standing outside was the gravedigger. The dread atop his head burbled and sparked. Its tentacles stretched greedily toward Millicent and Tongs.

  The skeleton dropped his pick and lurched forward. Tongs licked his chops and sprang, latching on to an arm bone. Burbling something that sounded like “yum!” the dread shot a mass of tendrils out, lassoing the dog. By the time Tongs hit the floor, the dread had pulled its gelatinous body over his head and was ravenously feasting.

  The skeleton tottered a few steps. His eyes slowly creaked open. “L-l-lucky dog is a delicacy in these parts.” He offered Millicent a thin smile, then leaned heavily against the door, examining his hands as if they’d been lost in the post and had just turned up on his doorstep. “Gosh it’s good to be free of that thing and under my own steam again!”

  Millicent bent down for the pickaxe; she could only lift it a few inches before her fingers slipped through the handle. “Bother!” she grumped. “Grab that pick and let’s go!”

  The skeleton groaned as he staggered over to the pick and dragged it out of the crypt. Millicent drifted behind him, wishing every second she could run.

  “Can you jam the door, to trap the dog?” she asked.

  The skeleton looked around. “With what? The pick?”

  “No, we’ll need that to free the others.”

  An ornamental statue stared down at Millicent from atop the crypt. It looked as if it wanted to escape the place as much as Millicent. Sorry, she thought sadly, but you’re needed here. “How about that statue? Can you tumble it down?”

  “Looks doable.” The skeleton gauged the angle of the roof, but after clattering topsides, he called down, “Got a bit of trouble heading our way!”

  Millicent spun around. Sure enough a group of dread-headed groundskeepers was a block away and stumbling closer.

  “Not much time for introductions,” he said, scuttling up to the roof’s peak. “But what’s your name? Mine’s Bartemis Brittleback.”

  The name sounded familiar to Millicent. She struggled to place it. “Mine’s Millicent Hues.”

  “Pleasure, Millicent. Say, I think I read about you in the Eternal Bugle last year.” He windmilled his arms, fighting to rebalance. “Something to do with Commissioner Pickerel. Grim Bones was involved … and a boy. Weren’t they?”

  Millicent was surprised by her notoriety in the Afterlife, and then remembered where she’d heard his name. “You’ve been in the paper, too. You’re in charge of the Skeleton Guild.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He chuckled as he latched on to the statue. “Although not altogether sure why I’ve been sentenced to this place.”

  “My mom and dad are here, too,” Millicent sighed. “We need to save them.”

  “So long as we save ourselves somewhere along the way.”

  Mr. Brittleback put his shoulder to work, rocking the statue on its base. It crashed to the ground. He scampered off th
e roof and then, with an effort that nearly popped off his shoulder blades, propped the statue against the door.

  Mr. Brittleback glanced at the closing groundskeepers. “I suggest we find someplace to hide, then sneak back when it’s safer to see about your parents.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Being sure would be a terribly good thing right about now.” He stopped and looked back. “They’re just about in our laps.”

  “You’re pretty handy with a shovel.” Millicent gestured to the grave. “I think we should make a stand.”

  “We?” Mr. Brittleback looked at her wispy form. “You mean me.”

  “I would love to have a whack at those things”— Millicent stamped a ghostly foot—“but you’ll just have to do with me cheering you on.”

  “You are a bossy little bee, aren’t you?” Brittleback grinned as he clattered over to the grave. “Dreads,” he said, limbering up with a few swings of the long-handled shovel, “prepare for the realms down under.”

  Chapter 20

  Diabolis

  The Gate of Darkness closed behind Billy. The squeal of its hinges sounded like cutting laughter, as if finding humor in his mission.

  “Well done, me boy. Ye got us out of a real scrape.” Pete tossed his disguise behind a nearby boulder.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have shown quite so much ankle.” Roger chuckled.

  “I got me sword now. It would be a shame if all yer fine hair got a sudden trimmin’,” Pete cautioned.

  Roger’s chuckle bloomed into a hearty laugh.

  Billy didn’t hear any of this. He was too busy with the view before them. Diabolis.

  The capital city of the Dark Side—the place was horrifying and yet mesmerizing at the same time. It stood on the other side of a mile-wide pit. A narrow bridge, whose arcing supports were lost to darkness, stretched to the main gate.

  Behind city rooftops, the air was ablaze with flames, pouring into the sky as though they were illuminated curtains. The buildings were made of marble columns and low-pitched roofs, but there wasn’t a straight line to be found anywhere. Every angle was more wicked than the next.

  Billy kept his eyes focused ahead as they made their way across the bridge. Whenever he peeked over the rails it felt as if the depths were wrapping around his wobbling knees and pulling him toward the edge.

  From halfway across the bridge, the residents looked like insects, scurrying in and out of temples, shops, and hovels. Billy was pretty sure a number of them were insects, but much larger than the garden-variety bug.

  Diabolis proper (if one really can use that word) was a tumult of demons and lost souls. In general everyone paid little attention to anyone else—at least until they were hungry.

  Ned marched the conscripts through a narrow street. Temples dedicated to each of the seven deadly sins lined each side. Activity was particularly fierce around the temples dedicated to Wrath and Pride. All was quiet at the temple of Sloth. And the flabby souls at the temple of Gluttony looked tantalized when Billy and company marched by.

  Billy realized they wouldn’t have made it past the city’s threshold if it hadn’t been for Ned. The skeleton and his very busy staff had cut a path through every crowd.

  “Where are we headed?” Billy asked Pete as Ned’s staff sent another demon arcing over the crowd.

  The old pirate glanced at Government Hall overhead. At the point where it arched above the Dark Side wall, its unswerving architecture had changed into snaking shadowy curves. “The Receiving Department’s up that way. But first, we got to pass through that thing over there.”

  Billy traced Pete’s eye line from Government Hall to the place where it intersected the top of a mountainous building shaped like a demon head. It towered over the shopping district, about a quarter of a mile away. But the size of the thing made it feel much closer. The building’s stone eyes seemed particularly attentive, and Billy thought he saw the mouth grow a little wider.

  A tentacled demon with wiggly eyestalks tripped Billy. “Watch your step!” it burbled. “Maybe I should teach you some manners!”

  It changed its mind, however, when it saw Ned’s staff, and hastily skedaddled into a nearby deli. There were other eating establishments at hand, crawling with customers and even crawlier food. Inside, patrons enjoyed their victims with fine wine rather than grabbing a quick bite out on the street.

  Marshmallow shops were especially trendy here, as were roasting-stick shops. There were tourist traps, too. Billy was appalled to see some Lightsiders caught like flies on a huge sticky web.

  But it was a ghost family—a mother, father, and daughter—that drew Billy’s attention with their stares. Like the squirming tourists, it was clear they were from the Light Side. The father glanced at his copy of the Eternal Bugle and then at Pete. Before Billy could warn anyone, the father shouted, “I recognize you. You’re a traitor!” He corralled his wife and daughter and pulled them away. “I’m getting the authorities!”

  The daughter stammered, “C-come off it, Dad. Leave them alone!”

  In another situation and at another time, Billy thought he would have liked this girl. She was as spunky as Millicent in the way she stood up to her dad. But the thought of Millicent only made him worry more. Was he already too late to save her? Was Uncle Grim done for, too? As Billy tussled with these dark thoughts, the family disappeared in a shimmer of gold light. Looks like we aren’t the only ones sneaking wishes.

  Angry shouts ripped toward them from a half block away. Billy looked up. “Uhm … I think we should go.” He retreated, his boot clinking ever so slightly.

  Two sentinels were moving toward them, parting the crowd like seagoing steamers.

  “You better hope they pass,” Ned hissed, “or you’re on your own!”

  “Shouldn’t we run?” Billy squeaked.

  “Hold fast!” Pete ordered. “That’ll just get their attention.”

  “And the crowd’s, too,” Roger added.

  Pete traded nervous looks with Roger but didn’t let Billy see him. Uncle Mordecai and the rest of the conscripts huddled together, pulling as far away as their chains would allow. Even Ned bit a bony knuckle.

  “Criminy! Look at those two!” If Billy had been wearing his body instead of bones, his heart would have been thumping like a timpani drum.

  The sentinels arrived, riding on two gigantic spiders. The first demon must have stood a story tall, the second, a half a story taller. Each sentinel was covered in ruby-colored scales transparent enough to show pulsing organs beneath. Their domed helmets could have been from ancient Greece, and the leathery wings hanging from their backs could have made fine mainsails on the Spurious II. Billy tried to disappear into Pete’s coattails.

  The crowd jostled elbows as it pressed back. One spindly demon wearing a smoking jacket lost his cigar in the confusion. It bounced off paving stones and rolled to Pete’s boot. Billy untangled himself from coattails and looked down. And that’s when his good nature got the best of him. He picked up the cigar and handed it back. The demon snatched it, a look of confusion blinking in its button-sized eyes.

  “No man shall a good deed do,” rumbled the first sentinel in a voice so low it could have bubbled up from the earth’s bunions.

  “Nor woman, child, or demon, nor any creature fair or foul,” the second sentinel added. They spoke mechanically, as if every thing they said was by rote. “It is the first and only rule.”

  “Well I should say that covers just about everyone.” Roger eyed the guards with defiance. “Except for us. We’re Lightsiders.”

  Rules? Here? Billy scratched his head. His ivory finger sounded as if it were writing questions on a blackboard.

  They thumped down from their saddles, each holding a long spear with a crescent blade. “Silence, skeleton!” The smaller sentinel swung his spear blade an inch from Roger’s nose holes.

  “Hey, wait a minute!”

  Billy looked around, wondering who had said such an ill-advised thing. Then
he realized the words had leaped out of his own mouth. Splitting the air in a whoosh, the sentinels’ spears now pointed an inch from his nose holes.

  “Here’s the un-troublemaker.” The lead sentinel nodded to the bigger one. “Do we take him to the inquisitor for questioning? Or eat him here?”

  Billy stepped back nervously. His boot clinked. Such a tiny sound, but it was loud enough to send Billy’s fortune in the decidedly wrong direction. Starting with upside down. The bigger sentinel raised Billy high overhead and shook him like a piggy bank.

  Clinkety-tink. Billy’s golden coin danced on the cobblestones. His hope for escape spun on its rim and rolled away. The crowd surged forward. Uncle Mordecai’s eyes sparked green as he yanked the chained ghosts into the fray. But the smaller sentinel swept up the coin before anyone could get to it.

  The larger sentinel dropped Billy bottom-first and scooped up Pete and Roger. A few shakes later the sentinels had retrieved every coin. Billy scrambled to his feet, furious at himself for not doing a better job of hiding his wish. But there was nothing to be done about it—no going back now.

  The smaller sentinel clinked the coins in his palm as if trying to decide what to do with them, and then he rumbled, “We must take these Lightsiders below for interrogation.”

  “Sorry to be so disagreeable,” Roger piped in, “but that would be highly inadvisable.”

  Billy thought Roger seemed awfully cool about it, seeing as they were about to be introduced to the inner workings of a blast furnace.

  “Inadvisable?” the smaller sentinel asked. “And why would that be, skeleton?”

  “Because”— Roger stifled a yawn —“we’ve been asked to bring this fine new soul to Shadewick Gloom.” He gestured to Martha’s uncle.

  “Whaa?” Uncle Mordecai’s mouth dropped open.

  Both sentinel helmets turned robotically toward the old man.

  “Ye best get him to Gloom’s office straightaway. He’d be mighty sad to hear that ye delayed us.” Pete snuck a smile toward Billy.