ordinary, as though giants passed by them every day. The Badly Dismembered Bedgoblins of Barbados were on their way to work at the Nightmare Factory. The Sort of Skinned-alive Specters of San Antonio were playing bingo at the local café. A family of ogres (with six kids and a dead dog) was having an argument about whose turn it was to wash the broken dishes. Leprechaun leechcrafters were offering one-hour blood letting, if you could survive that long. A barbershop quartet of Irish vampires was singing My Little Bloody-Cup to earn a few coins for the night. The City of the Dead was teeming with life.
As the MotorHog continued flying them onwards, Key thought about all that Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble had told her. The Eye of DIOS was hidden at the Grave of the Grim Goblin. It would unlock the Tower Tomb of Thomas à Tempus.
“Who is Thomas à Tempus?” Key asked Miss Broomble.
“He was —” the witch began to say, but reconsidered before correcting herself, “or I should say, is – or will be a time-traveling paradox.” Miss Broomble spat with annoyance in her voice. “Time tense is such a nuisance. Mr. Fuddlebee teaches a course on it at All Hallows University – most baffling class I ever took – paradoxically semi-imperfect tense – never got it.”
Key wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What is a paradox ?”
“I don’t understand it much either. The way Mr. Fuddlebee explains it to me is that a paradox deals with origins – the beginnings and ends of things in time.”
“Beginnings and ends?” repeated Key, not much understanding this either.
Miss Broomble pointed to the mechanical snake with its tail in its mouth, slung over her shoulder like a baldric. “It shows a circle, with seemingly no beginning or end, although we know it has a beginning and end because it has a mouth and tail. Traveling in time can be like that.”
Key nodded. She understood the witch so far.
“Remember when you got your Crinomatic?”
Key nodded again, recalling how a version of herself from the future – “Future Key,” she had called her – had come to her in the dungeon, on her one-hundredth birth-night, and had given her the Crinomatic as a gift. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with a paradox,” Key said over the MotorHog’s engine.
Miss Broomble suddenly swerved the MotorHog’s handlebars to avoid a collision with a flock of Living Gargoyles flying in formation. But she didn’t miss a beat as she explained, “You’ll have to become Future Key one day.”
“You mean,” Key said in alarm and wonder, “I’ll have to go back in time to give myself the Crinomatic in the Dungeon of Despair.”
Miss Broomble nodded affirmatively.
“When do I do this?” Key wondered aloud.
Miss Broomble shrugged. “That’s a part of the paradox. When does it begin? When does it end? In the past or in the future?”
Key felt very nervous now. If she never went back in time to give her past self the Crinomatic, would it ever happen?
Miss Broomble saw her worry. “Mr. Fuddlebee also teaches another course on time paradoxes,” she remarked, “and even he gets confused by such questions from time to time.”
But this did not comfort Key.
So the witch then asked, “Are you going back in time to give yourself the Crinomatic now?”
Key shook her head. “No,” she said meekly.
“Then don’t worry about it now,” Miss Broomble said with her usual confident tone as she turned back around in just enough time to swerve and narrowly avoid the Steeple Sepulcher of the Screeching Sorcerer of Sydney. “When the time comes,” she continued speaking from over her shoulder, “you’ll know when to end and begin the paradox of your self .”
Key decided that this was indeed the best advice. She could do nothing about that problem at the moment. Her only responsibility at present was helping Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble stop Old Queen Crinkle. “What will Thomas à Tempus do to help the Queen
As the MotorHog continued flying them onwards, Key thought about all that Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble had told her. The Eye of DIOS was hidden at the Grave of the Grim Goblin. It would unlock the Tower Tomb of Thomas à Tempus.
“Who is Thomas à Tempus?” Key asked Miss Broomble.
“He was —” the witch began to say, but reconsidered before correcting herself, “or I should say, is – or will be a time-traveling paradox.” Miss Broomble spat with annoyance in her voice. “Time tense is such a nuisance. Mr. Fuddlebee teaches a course on it at All Hallows University – most baffling class I ever took – paradoxically semi-imperfect tense – never got it.”
Key wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What is a paradox ?”
“I don’t understand it much either. The way Mr. Fuddlebee explains it to me is that a paradox deals with origins – the beginnings and ends of things in time.”
“Beginnings and ends?” repeated Key, not much understanding this either.
Miss Broomble pointed to the mechanical snake with its tail in its mouth, slung over her shoulder like a baldric. “It shows a circle, with seemingly no beginning or end, although we know it has a beginning and end because it has a mouth and tail. Traveling in time can be like that.”
Key nodded. She understood the witch so far.
“Remember when you got your Crinomatic?”
Key nodded again, recalling how a version of herself from the future – “Future Key,” she had called her – had come to her in the dungeon, on her one-hundredth birth-night, and had given her the Crinomatic as a gift. “But I don’t understand what that has to do with a paradox,” Key said over the MotorHog’s engine.
Miss Broomble suddenly swerved the MotorHog’s handlebars to avoid a collision with a flock of Living Gargoyles flying in formation. But she didn’t miss a beat as she explained, “You’ll have to become Future Key one day.”
“You mean,” Key said in alarm and wonder, “I’ll have to go back in time to give myself the Crinomatic in the Dungeon of Despair.”
Miss Broomble nodded affirmatively.
“When do I do this?” Key wondered aloud.
Miss Broomble shrugged. “That’s a part of the paradox. When does it begin? When does it end? In the past or in the future?”
Key felt very nervous now. If she never went back in time to give her past self the Crinomatic, would it ever happen?
Miss Broomble saw her worry. “Mr. Fuddlebee also teaches another course on time paradoxes,” she remarked, “and even he gets confused by such questions from time to time.”
But this did not comfort Key.
So the witch then asked, “Are you going back in time to give yourself the Crinomatic now?”
Key shook her head. “No,” she said meekly.
“Then don’t worry about it now,” Miss Broomble said with her usual confident tone as she turned back around in just enough time to swerve and narrowly avoid the Steeple Sepulcher of the Screeching Sorcerer of Sydney. “When the time comes,” she continued speaking from over her shoulder, “you’ll know when to end and begin the paradox of your self .”
Key decided that this was indeed the best advice. She could do nothing about that problem at the moment. Her only responsibility at present was helping Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble stop Old Queen Crinkle. “What will Thomas à Tempus do to help the Queen
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