Abarat: The First Book of Hours a-1 Page 7

  “Good,” said John Sallow. “Then we can get moving.”

  “Wait!” said Mischief. “She’s only just—”

  “Sallow’s right!” said John Fillet. “We haven’t got time to wait. That damnable creep Shape is going to be down here in a few seconds.”

  Shape! The sound of his name was enough to make Candy seize Mischief’s arm and haul herself to her feet. The last thing she wanted was Mendelson Shape’s claws around her throat a second time.

  “Where are we off to?” she wanted to know.

  “We’re going home, lady,” Mischief said. “You’re going to yours. And we’re going to ours.” He put his hand into his inside pocket. “But before I go,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as he spoke, “I wonder if you could possibly do something for me—for us all—until we meet again?”

  “What do you need?” Candy said.

  “I just need you to carry something for us. Something very precious.”

  From the interior of his jacket he brought an object wrapped up in a little piece of coarsely woven cloth and secured with a brown leather thong that had been wrapped around it several times.

  “There’s no need for you to know what it is,” he said. “In fact, if you don’t mind, it’s better you don’t. Just take it and keep it safe for us, will you? We’ll be back, I promise you, when Carrion’s forgotten about us, and we can chance the return trip.”

  “Carrion?”

  “Christopher Carrion,” John Serpent said, his voice laden with anxiety. “The Lord of Midnight.”

  “Will you take it for us?” said John Mischief, proffering the little parcel.

  “I think if I’m going to carry something,” Candy said, “I should at least know what it is. Especially if it’s important.”

  “What did I tell you?” Serpent said. “I knew she wouldn’t be content with that ‘It’s better if you don’t know’ line. She’s entirely too inquisitive, this one.”

  “Well, if I’m going to be a messenger girl,” Candy said, addressing John Serpent, “I think I have a right—”

  “Of course you do,” Mischief said. “Open it up. Go on. It’s all yours.”

  Curiously enough the little parcel seemed to have almost no weight, except for that of the wrapping and the cord. Candy pulled at the large knot, which although it looked hard to undo seemed to solve itself the moment she began to pick at it. She felt something move in the parcel. The next moment there was a rush of light out of the bag, which momentarily filled her gaze. She saw several points of brightness appear before her, joined by darting lines of luminescence. They hovered for a moment, then the lights sank away into her unconscious and were gone.

  The whole spectacle—which couldn’t have taken more than three seconds—left her speechless.

  “You have the Key now,” John Mischief told her gravely. “I beg you to tell nobody you have it. Do you understand? Nobody.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replied, looking at the empty bag, mystified. Then, after a moment: “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what door this key opens?”

  “Truly, lady; better not.”

  He kissed her hand, bowing as he did so, and began to retreat from her. “Good-bye, lady,” he said. “We have to go.”

  Candy had been facing the tower throughout this conversation. Only now, as Mischief retreated from her, did she realize what a change had come over the world in the brief time in which she’d been unconscious.

  A ramshackle jetty had appeared out of the ground, and at its far end large waves were breaking, their weight sufficient to make the structure creak and shake down its entire length. Beyond the breaking waves the Sea of Izabella stretched off toward a misty blue horizon. Minnesota—at least as Candy had known it—had apparently disappeared, overwhelmed by this great expanse of invading water.

  “How…” Candy said, staring at the panorama slack-jawed with astonishment. “How is this possible?”

  “You called the waters, lady. You remember? With the cup and ball?”

  “I remember,” she said.

  “Now I must go home on those waters,” Mischief said. “And you must go back home to Chickentown. I’ll return, I promise, when it’s safe to do so. And I’ll claim the Key. In the meanwhile, you cannot imagine what service you do to freedom throughout the islands by being the keeper of that Key.”

  He bowed to her again and then—politely but firmly—he nodded toward Chickentown.

  “Go home, lady,” he said, like a man attempting to send home a dog that didn’t want to leave his side. “Go back where you’re safe, before Shape gets down from the tower. Please. What you carry is of great significance. It can’t be allowed to fall into Shape’s hands. Or rather, into the hands of his master.”

  “Why not? What happens if it does?”

  “I beg you, lady,” Mischief said, the urgency in his voice mounting, “ask no more questions. The less you know, the better for you. If things go wrong in the Abarat and they come looking for you, you can claim ignorance. Now there’s no more time for conversation—”

  He had reason for his urgency. There was a loud noise from out of the tower behind them, as Shape attempted to clamber back down the broken staircase. Judging by the din from within, it wasn’t an easy job. His weight was causing yet more of the structure to collapse. But it would only be a matter of time, Candy knew, before he navigated the remnants of the staircase and was out through the door in pursuit of them all.

  “All right,” she said, reluctantly conceding the urgency of her departure. “I’ll go. But before I go, I have to have one proper look.”

  “At what?”

  “The sea!” Candy said, pointing off down the jetty toward the open expanse of bright blue water.

  “She’ll be the death of us,” Serpent growled.

  “No,” said Mischief. “She has a perfect right.”

  Mischief grabbed hold of Candy’s hand and helped her up onto the jetty. It creaked and swayed beneath them. But having dared the tower’s stairs and balcony, Candy wasn’t in the least intimidated by a little rotten wood. The jetty shook violently with every wave that struck it, but she was determined to get to the end of it and see the Sea of Izabella for herself.

  “It’s amazing…” she said, as they proceeded down the length of the jetty. She’d never seen the sea before.

  All thought of Shape and his claws had vanished from her head. She was entranced by the spectacle before her.

  “I still don’t see how it can have happened,” she said. “A sea coming out of nowhere.”

  “Oh, this is the least of it, lady,” Mischief said. “Out there, far off from here, are the twenty-five islands of the Abarat.”

  “Twenty-five?”

  “One for every hour of the day. Plus the Twenty-Fifth Hour, which is called Odom’s Spire, which is a Time Out of Time.”

  It all sounded too strange and preposterous. But then here she was standing on a jetty looking out over a sea that hadn’t existed ten minutes before. If the sea was real (and real it was, or else why was her face cold and wet?), then why not the islands too, waiting where the Sea of Izabella met the sky?

  They had come to the end of the jetty. She gazed out over the waters. Fish leaped up, silver and green; the wind carried sea birds the likes of which she had never seen or heard before.

  In just a few seconds Mischief and his brothers were going to be gone into these mysterious waters, and she was going to be left to return to her boring, suffocating life in Chickentown.

  Oh, God! Chickentown! After all this, these wonders, these miracles: Chickentown! The thought was unbearable.

  “When will you come back?” she said to Mischief.

  “Wait, lady,” Mischief replied.

  “What?”

  “Stay… very… still.”

  As he spoke, he went into the outer pocket of his jacket and he pulled out—of all things—an old-fashioned pistol. It was a small weapon, and it looked as though it was made of br
ass.

  “What are you doing?” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  “Doing what I can,” he said softly, “to save our lives.”

  She saw his eyes flicker over his shoulder, in the direction of somebody on the jetty behind her.

  “Shape?” she murmured.

  “Shape,” he replied. “Please, lady. Don’t move.”

  So saying, he suddenly stepped to the side of her and he fired.

  There was a loud crack, and a plume of purple-blue smoke erupted from the barrel of the pistol. A moment later there was a second sound, much less loud, as the bullet struck its intended target.

  Candy knew immediately what John Mischief had done. He hadn’t shot Shape. He’d fired at the cup on the top of the pyramid, and the ball had jumped out of it. She could instantly sense the massive change in the air around them.

  “Nice shot!” said Sallow. “Though why you couldn’t have put a bullet through Shape’s eye defeats me.”

  “I take no pleasure in putting holes in living things,” Mischief said, pocketing the gun.

  Candy glanced over her shoulder. Shape was standing about halfway along the jetty, glancing back toward the tower. It was clear that he too knew what Mischief had done. How could he doubt it? The air was vibrating with the news.

  “The tide’s changing, lady,” Mischief said. “And I have to go with it. Shape will follow me, all being well, because he believes I have the Key.”

  “No, wait!” Candy said, seizing hold of Mischief’s arm. “Don’t do this!”

  “Don’t do what?” said John Moot.

  “I don’t want to go back to Chickentown.”

  “Where else can you go?” said John Sallow.

  “With you!”

  “No,” said John Serpent.

  “Yes,” said Candy. “Please. I want to go into the water.”

  “You have no idea of the risks you’d be taking.”

  “I don’t care,” Candy said. “I hate where I live. I hate it with all my heart.”

  As she spoke she felt the wind change direction. The waters around the jetty had become highly agitated now; almost frenzied, in fact. The tide was turning on itself, and in the process making the antiquated boards of the jetty rattle and shake. She knew she only had a few seconds to persuade Mischief and his brothers. Then they’d be gone, into the water and away with the tide; away to Abarat, wherever that was.

  And what chance did she have of ever seeing them again, once they’d gone? Sure, they’d tell her they’d come back again, but what was a promise worth? Not much, in her experience. How many times had her father promised never to slap her again? How many times had she heard him swear to her mother that he was going to give up drink forever? None of it meant anything.

  No, once they were gone, she might very well never see them again. And what would she be left with? A memory, and a life in Chickentown.

  “You can’t do this to me,” she told Mischief. “You can’t leave me here, not knowing if you’ll ever come back.”

  As she spoke she heard the jetty creak behind her. She looked around, already knowing what she would see. Mendelson Shape was coming down the jetty toward them. For the first time she saw quite clearly why he limped (and perhaps why he hadn’t been quite agile enough to catch hold of her). He was missing his right foot. It was severed at the ankle, and he walked on the stump as though it were a peg leg. If it gave him any pain he didn’t display it. He wore his arrowhead tooth grin as he approached his victims, spreading his arms like an old-style preacher welcoming them into his lethal flock.

  Candy knew that she still had a chance to escape, but she had no desire to turn back.

  Even if it meant risking life and limb to stay here on the jetty with Mischief, it was worth the risk. She grabbed a fierce hold of Mischief’s hand and said:

  “Wherever you all go, I go.”

  Eight faces looked at her wearing eight different expressions. Fillet looked perplexed, Sallow blinked, Moot feigned indifference, Drowze laughed, Pluckitt sucked in his cheeks, Serpent scowled, and Slop blew out his lips in exasperation. Oh, and Mischief? He gave her a wide, but unquestionably desperate, smile.

  “You mean it?” he said.

  Shape was thirty yards from them, closing fast.

  “Yes, I mean it.”

  “Then it seems we have no choice,” he said. “We have to trust to the tide. Can you swim?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Oh Lordy Lou,” Mischief said, and this time all eight faces did the same thing: they rolled their eyes. “I suppose not very well will have to do.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Candy said.

  In the time it had taken them to have this short conversation, Shape had halved the distance between his claws and their throats.

  “Can we please go?” Drowze said, yelling louder than a head so small had any business yelling.

  Hand in hand, Candy and Mischief raced to the end of the jetty.

  “One—”said Fillet.

  “Two—”said Pluckitt.

  “Jump!”said Slop.

  And together they leaped into the air, committing their lives to the frenzied waters of the Sea of Izabella.

  Part Two.

  Twilight and Beyond

  “Believe me, when I say:

  There are two powers

  That command the soul.

  One is God.

  The other is the tide.”

  Anon

  10. The Waters

  The sea of Izabella was considerably colder than Candy had expected. It was gaspingly cold; iced-to-the-marrow cold. But it was too late for her to change her mind now. With the ball knocked out of the cup by Mischief’s bullet, the Sea of Izabella was retreating from the jetty at the same extraordinary speed at which it had first appeared. And it was carrying Candy and the John brothers along with it.

  The waters seemed to have a life of their own; several times the sheer force of their energies threatened to pull her under. But Mischief had the trick of it.

  “Don’t try to swim,” he yelled to her over the roar of the retreating seas. “Just trust to Mama Izabella to take us where She wants to take us.”

  Candy had little choice, she quickly realized. The sea was an irresistible power. So why not just lie back and enjoy the ride?

  She did so, and it worked like a charm. The moment Candy stopped flailing, and trusted the sea not to harm her, the Izabella buoyed her up, the waves lifting her so high that on occasion she caught sight of the jetty and the lighthouse. They were already very far off, left behind in another world.

  She scanned the waters looking for Shape, but she couldn’t see him.

  “You’re looking for Mr. Shape?” said John Slop.

  He didn’t need to yell any longer. Now that they were a good distance from the shore, the waves were no longer so noisy.

  “Yes, I was,” Candy said, spitting out water every five or six words. “But I don’t see him.”

  “He has a glyph,” Mischief said, by way of explanation.

  “A glyph? What’s a glyph?”

  “It’s a craft; a flying machine. Well, actually it’s words that turn into a flying machine.”

  “She doesn’t understand what you’re saying, Mischief,” John Sallow said.

  Sallow was right. Candy was completely confused by what Mischief was telling her. Words that turn into vehicles? Despite the look of incomprehension on her face, Mischief pressed on with his explanation.

  “The better you are at magic, the more quickly you can conjure a glyph. For the really expert magician, someone who knows his summonings, it can be almost instantaneous. Two or three words and you’ve got a flying machine. But it will take Shape several minutes to conjure it. He’s not a bright fellow. And if you get the conjuration wrong, it can be very messy.”

  “Messy? Why?”

  “Because glyphs get you up in the air,” Mischief said, pointing skyward. “But if they fail for some reason—”<
br />
  “You fall,” said Candy.

  “You fall,” Mischief said. “One of my sisters died in a decaying glyph.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Candy said.

  “She was being abducted at the time,” he said rather matter-of-factly.

  “That’s terrible.”

  “We later found out she’d arranged it all.”

  “I don’t understand. Arranged to be abducted?”

  “Yes. She was in love with this fellow, you see, who did not love her. So she arranged to be abducted so that he would come after her and save her.”

  “And did he?”

  “No.”

  “So she died for love.”

  “It happens,” said John Fillet.

  “And what of you, lady?” said John Drowze. “Do you have any sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Brothers? Mother? Father?”

  “Yes. Yes. And yes.”

  “I don’t see you mourning the fact that you may never see them again,” John Serpent said, rather sharply.

  “Be quiet, John,” Mischief snapped.

  “She may as well hear the truth,” John Serpent replied. “There’s a very good chance she will never see her home again.”

  Something about the expression on his face suggested to Candy that he was taking pleasure in attempting to scare her. “We’re going to the Abarat, girl,” Serpent went on. “It’s a very unpredictable place.”

  “So’s the Hereafter,” Candy said, not about to be intimidated by Serpent.

  “Nothing to compare!” Serpent said. “A few tornadoes? A few poxes? Inconsequential stuff. The Abarat has terrors that will turn your hair white! That’s even assuming we reach the islands.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Mama Izabella contains a wide variety of beasts that will have you as an appetizer.”

  “Enough, Serpent,” Mischief said.

  “Does he mean sharks?” Candy said, not wishing to exhibit too much nervousness, but already scanning the waters for a telltale dorsal fin.

  “Sharks I’m not familiar with,” Mischief replied. “But the Great Green Mantizac would certainly swallow us whole. We’re not red, you see.”