Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure

Chapter 9

The following morning Grim dressed in his new clothes that arrived from Madam Sloan’s. It was similar dress as Dorian and the other boys. He decided it was acceptable.

It beats a blue frilly suit any day.

Grim stepped out into the darkened hall. The group made their way once more to the kitchens where they swallowed day old toast that scraped its way down his throat. He nearly gagged on the cold scrambled eggs that slithered behind it.

After breakfast, Dorian led Grim and the others through the Academy. Down one of the corridors, Aunt Patrice eyed them as they strode past. She nodded her head and returned to speaking to one of the other staff ― a crusty-looking old man who wore a helmet with various looking-glasses attached. On his belt were a plethora of tools. He looked like the maintenance person.

Dorian left them at a large room, wishing them good luck, and it wasn’t long before a very short man with a long coat walked in. He looked like a butler.

“Follow me,” he said, motioning towards Treena.

Grim wished her good luck as she left the room. Next up was Sam. He walked out with Toby. Ellen was next, then the twins. Then Rudy.

“What’s your name?” Grim asked when his turn came.

The man seemed a little surprised at the question. “Keltin,” he replied with a smile and a bow. “Finneas Keltin, at your service.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Finneas. I’m Grim. Grim Doyle.” He stuck out his hand. Finneas seemed hesitant and then shook it.

Grim followed him through a corridor and into another room.

A man that looked as old as the dusty books that surrounded him was perched behind a wooden desk. Grim could barely see his leathery face, round protruding ears, and wiry, unkempt beard. Half his face and one of his eyes were sinth. It protruded like a telescope and examined Grim before he said a word.

“Come, come, sit,” he croaked with a hoarse voice, and motioned to the single, cushioned chair in front of him. He coughed up a gob of something yellow and spit it into a little bowl at his side. “Going to have to get someone to clean that soon,” he mumbled, and gave Grim a nearly toothless smile. Grim sat in the chair and prayed that he not be asked to clean out the slime-covered bowl.

“My name is Halffast Cobblepot. I help to manage the finances of Madam Malkim’s. Your name is Grim, yes?”

Grim nodded.

“Good. I would like to ask you a few questions. First, can you read?”

“Sure.”

“I will require proof, of course.”

He pressed a button on his desk that released a pair of mechanical arms attached to a wheeled platform. It scooted along the loaded shelves and reached up to grab a thick book. It glided back and plopped the book on the desk in front of Grim.

“Please go to page two hundred and twenty-three,” the man said. “There you will find a passage circled in red ink.” Grim grabbed the book, and blew the dust off it.

He sneezed.

The book was titled: The Mystery of Jinns.

Grim flipped the brittle pages until he found a fine, ink circle surrounding a passage in the book.

He began to read: “ Jinns are untrustworthy, ethereal beings that command the elements. The powers for which they were once summoned are no longer required in a world where we can meet those demands with a little ingenuity and absinth. That’s not to say that there may not still be some use for them, but since the decline of the Mystics they will likely remain in obscurity, especially since the closing of the Tower of Celest.”