Grim Tuesday by Garth Nix Read Free Book Online Page A

Grotesque walked around from the other side of the boiler. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was one of the two he’d seen before. Whoever it was, it was no longer disguised in a modern suit. Its leather apron had what looked like scorch marks all over it, and numerous tools were sticking out of the pockets on the front.
    Arthur ducked down behind some fallen bricks and froze. The Grotesque sang to itself as it picked up a huge pair of long-handled tongs from the floor and went over to the dark bottles.
    “Double, treble, quadruple bubble, watch the stock market get into trouble…”
    Using the tongs with much grunting and shuffling, the Grotesque picked up one of the huge bottles and slowly maneuvered it over to the boiler. It put the bottle down for a moment to open a hatch almost at ground level directly below the smokestack. Then it drew out gloves, a tightly fitting hood, and goggles with smoked quartz lenses from inside its apron. It put these on, picked up the tongs again, and used them to lever thebottle into a position where its neck fitted into the opening in the boiler.
    Then it spoke. Three words in a language that Arthur did not know. Words that sent a shiver through the soles of his feet and up his spine. Words that caused the heavy wax seal on the bottle to shatter and release the contents into the boiler.
    The contents were Nothing. Arthur saw a dark, oily waft that was both liquid and smoke at the same time. Most of it poured into the boiler, but a few tendrils escaped, winding back towards the Grotesque, who stepped smartly back. It dropped the tongs and drew a glittering blade of crystal that crackled with electric sparks.
    The Nothing that had escaped began to eddy and spiral, taking a definite shape. At first it looked like it would become some sort of animal, something tigerlike, with clawed paws and a toothy mouth. Then it changed to become a human shape, but one with bunched tendrils instead of hands.
    A Scoucher!
    The Grotesque sheathed its crystal blade and eased one of the many rings it wore off its middle finger. As the Scoucher’s shape became definite and it lunged forward, the Grotesque flicked its ring. It struck the Scoucherin the face, and once again Arthur heard the sizzling sound. A moment later, the Scoucher was gone, and the ring bounced on the floor with the clear bell-like sound of silver.
    The Grotesque laughed and bent to pick it up. Arthur chose that moment to run to the next pile of debris. Instantly, the Grotesque swung around, its crystal blade in its hand once more. Arthur instinctively flinched, but the Grotesque did not rush over to attack. Instead it smiled and flourished its hand at the machine.
    “So the Master of the Lower House has come to see my strange device. I presume you require a demonstration? A little foretaste of what is to come at twelve o’clock?”
    The Grotesque strode to the side of the machine and turned a large bronze wheel. A shriek came from the boiler, rising in intensity with each turn of the wheel. Smoke suddenly poured out of the smokestack. Weird smoke that was gray and slow and thick, pitted with tiny specks of intense blackness. As the smoke rose and the shrieking grew louder, the arms of the machine rose high in the air and began to jerk and jitter from side to side.
    Arthur looked around frantically. Whatever the machinedid, it would be bad. He had to find the way into the House!
    “Oil up fifteen percent!” shouted the Grotesque and it spoke another word that made Arthur feel suddenly ill. In response, the spider-arms stopped for a moment, then began to dance in a rhythmic, mesmerizing pattern. As they moved, sparks fountained out of the pointed ends of each limb, leaving luminescent aftertrails across Arthur’s eyes. Bright trails that were vaguely reminiscent of mathematical formulae and symbols, though not ones that Arthur recognized.
    On the plasma screen, the graphs suddenly disappeared, replaced by a spinning BREAKING NEWS logo. It was