Alistair Grim's Odditorium Read Online Free PDF Page A

said Mrs. Pinch, “they’re in here somewhere. Got a speck of dust in my eye as I was laying out the linens, got distracted and—well, blind me if my head
doesn’t need oiling.”
    “You’re sure it was you who misplaced them and not—”
    “Oh, no, Cleona knows better than to play her tricks on me.”
    This Cleona seems awfully fond of tricking people, I thought, and Nigel shrugged again. “Right-o, then, mum,” he said, setting down the trunk. “Off to the stables, I
am.”
    “Head needs oiling, I tell you,” Mrs. Pinch muttered distractedly.
    “Good night, then, mum.”
    The coachman’s heavy footsteps trailed away as Mrs. Pinch set about the room in search of her spectacles, all the while huffing and puffing and mumbling, “Blind me,” when her
search came up empty.
    The tickle in my throat returned. I swallowed hard, but the tickle only seemed to get worse. That’s it, I was going to cough, no remedy for it now, so I pressed my face into Mr. G’s
clothes and let out a muffled, “Kipff!”
    The tickle left me at once, but as I cocked my ear to listen, I noticed that all the huffing and puffing and blind me–ing outside had stopped. I waited, my heart pounding in terror, and
then Mrs. Pinch began to hum pleasantly.
    Dodged her for now, I thought. Yes, from the sound of things, it seemed as if Mrs. Pinch had set about the room again in search of her spectacles. Indeed, I’d just begun to entertain
thoughts of an escape—when much to my surprise the trunk flew open and Mrs. Pinch screamed:
    “
Rat!
”
    Then she swung her broom and caught me square atop my head.
    “Ow!” I cried.
    Puzzled, Mrs. Pinch leaned cautiously over the trunk, her broom ready to strike.
    “What on earth?” she said, squinting down at me. Then she slowly lowered her broom and exclaimed: “Why you’re not a rat at all!”
    “I’m afraid not, ma’am,” I said, rubbing my head. “Though I must admit you’re not the first person to call me that lately.”
    “Well, what on earth are you doing inside the master’s trunk?”

    I explained in short the circumstances surrounding my present situation, including how I came to live with Mr. Smears, as well as my apprenticeship as a chummy. Oftentimes I’d get ahead of
myself, and Mrs. Pinch would become confused and ask me to go back. Her wrinkled face and squinty eyes seemed to soften when I told her about Mrs. Smears. However, when I got to the part about the
trunk, her lips drew together so tightly that her nose nearly kissed her chin.
    “Blind me!” she said. “You mean to tell me you’re here by
accident
? A stowaway chimney sweep?”
    I was about to reply, when I noticed the dimly lit room for the first time. The floors and walls were black, but at the same time glistened like polished coal. There were strange pipes of all
shapes and sizes running everywhere, as well as curtains of purple and red velvet draped from floor to ceiling. The trunk had been set down at the edge of a fancy rug, and the furnishings, peppered
about with knobs of silver and brass, were finer than anything I’d ever seen on jobs with Mr. Smears. There were statues and vases and all sorts of objects of which I didn’t know the
names. And at the center of it all, a grand four-poster bed. This, too, was draped in red and purple velvet, and emblazoned on the headboard, just like on the door to the coach, was a large silver
letter
G
.
    “Well?” Mrs. Pinch demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
    It was then that, glancing at the bed, I spied Mrs. Pinch’s spectacles wedged between the coverlet and the bedpost.
    “Spectacles,” was all I could manage.
    “Come again?” said Mrs. Pinch, squinting, upon which I reached out and gingerly retrieved them with my pinky finger.
    “Humph,” said Mrs. Pinch, snatching the spectacles from my hand. But once she slipped them on and saw how dirty I was, she opened her eyes wide and screamed.
    “My apologies, ma’am.” I