Abarat: The First Book of Hours a-1 Page 8

  “Red?”

  “The creatures in the Izabella leave the color red alone. That’s why all the ships and boats and ferries on the Sea of Izabella—every single one—are painted red.”

  Candy was listening to this, but in truth she was only half hearing it. The flurry of events on the jetty hadn’t given her time to properly think through the consequences of what she was doing. Now she had committed herself to the waters, and there was no way back. Perhaps she might never see her family again.

  What would it be like in the house, when the family realized that she’d gone? They would surely assume the worst: think she’d been abducted or simply run away.

  It was her mother she was most concerned about, because she’d take it the hardest. Hopefully there’d be some way to get a message to her when she reached their destination.

  “You’re not regretting that you came, I hope?” Mischief said, his expression suggesting he was feeling a little guilty for his own part in this.

  “No,” Candy replied firmly. “Absolutely not.”

  The words had no sooner escaped her lips than a big wave lifted her up and wrenched her away from the John brothers. In just a couple of seconds, she and Mischief were carried away from one another. She heard three or four of the brothers yelling to her, but she couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. She caught sight of them in the dip between the waves, but the glimpse was brief. The next moment they were gone.

  “I’m over here!” she yelled, hoping that Mischief was a stronger swimmer than she was and would be able to make his way back to her. But the words were no sooner out of her mouth than another wave of substantial size came along and carried her even farther away from the spot where they’d been parted.

  A little twitch of fear clutched her stomach.

  “Don’t panic,” she told herself. “Whatever you do, don’t panic.” But her own advice was hard to take. The waves were getting larger all the time, each one carrying her a little higher than the one that preceded it and then delivering her into an even deeper trough.

  However much she told herself not to be afraid, there was no escaping from the facts. She was suddenly alone in an alien sea, filled with all kinds of—

  Her panic stopped in its tracks, shocked out of her by a sight of such peculiarity all other concerns were forgotten.

  There, squatting around a small table at the bottom of the next wave were four card players. The table around which they were sitting was apparently floating freely a couple of inches above the surface of the water, and the players were squatted around it, the very picture of nonchalance.

  Candy just had time to think, I’ve seen everything now.

  Then another wave caught her, and she was carried down its steep blue slope into the midst of the game.

  11. The Card Players

  The four players were a mixture of species. Their skin was scaly and had a silvery-green gleam to it, while their hands, in which they held fans of very battered playing cards, were webbed. Their faces, however, possessed all the features of a human face but seasoned with a hint of fish. The game they were immersed in seemed to be demanding their full attention, because not one of the four noticed Candy until she came barreling down the flank of the wave and all but collided with their table.

  “Hey! Watch out!” a female among the quartet complained. “And keep your distance. No spectators!”

  Three of the players were looking up at Candy now, while the fourth took the opportunity to take a surreptitious peek at the cards held by the players to his left and right. As soon as he’d done so, he concealed his cheating by feigning a great deal of interest in Candy.

  “You look lost,” said the cheat, who was a male of this hybrid species. His accent seemed vaguely French.

  “Yes, I suppose I am,” said Candy, spitting out water. “Actually, I suppose I’m very lost.”

  “Help her, Deaux-Deaux,” the cheat casually said to the player on his left. “You’re going to lose this game anyway.”

  “How do you know?”

  It was the fourth player, a female, who offered up the answer. Because you always lose, my dear,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Now go and help the girl.”

  Deaux-Deaux glanced at his hand of cards, and seeming to realize that he was indeed going to lose, tossed them down onto the table.

  “I don’t see why we can’t play water polo like everybody else,” he complained, with more than a hint of piscatorial pout.

  Then he drained the liquor glass that was sitting on the table in front of him and did something that defied all expectation. He got up from the table, and using his enormous feet, he skipped over the water to Candy, then squatted down again in the sea beside her. The smell of his breath was potent, and he seemed to have some difficulty fixing his focus on her.

  She was familiar with people in this condition, and it irritated her, but she was happier to have company in the water than to be alone.

  “I’m Deaux-Deaux,” the creature said.

  “Yes, I heard,” Candy said. “I’m Candy Quackenbush.”

  “You’re from the Hereafter, aren’t you?” he said as they bobbed up and down together.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “If you’re thinking of going back, it’s going to be a long trip.”

  “No, no, I don’t want to go back,” Candy said. “I’m headed for the Abarat.”

  “You are?”

  At the mention of the Abarat, there was a show of interest from the rest of the table. Two of the three other players threw in their hands, leaving the cheat protesting that this was unfair because he had the winning hand.

  “That’s because you cheated, Pux,” one of the females said, and getting up in the same casual fashion as Deaux-Deaux, skipped over to Candy. Unlike her partner, she was not drunk. Indeed she studied their human visitor with a curious intensity, which put Candy in mind of the look Mischief had first given her.

  “Are you by any chance responsible for this occurrence?”

  “Which occurrence would that be?” Candy said.

  “You are, aren’t you?” the female said. “I’m Tropella, by the way.”

  “I’m very pleased—”

  “Yes, yes,” Tropella said impatiently. “You called the Izabella, didn’t you?”

  Candy saw no reason not to tell the truth. “Yes,” she admitted. “I called the sea. I didn’t realize what I was doing when—”

  Again, rather rudely, she was cut off. “Yes, yes. But why? It is forbidden.”

  “Oh, let the girl alone,” Deaux-Deaux said.

  “No, but this is not to be taken lightly. The waters were never to go back to the Hereafter. We all know that. So why—”

  “Look,” said Candy, interrupting her questioner with the same curtness she’d received from Tropella. “Can we have this conversation later? I have a friend somewhere in the sea. And I’ve lost him.”

  “Oh Lordy Lou,” said Deaux-Deaux. “What’s his name?”

  “Well, there’re eight of them. He has these brothers and they live—”

  “On his head?” Deaux-Deaux said, leaning closer to Candy, his eyes wide.

  “Yes. You know him?”

  “That can only be John Mischief,” Tropella said.

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  At the mention of John Mischief’s presence hereabouts, the remaining card player abandoned their table and skipped over to Candy. She had all their attention now.

  “You know John Mischief?” Tropella said.

  “A little.”

  “He’s a master criminal,” Pux chimed in. “Wanted on several Hours for grand larceny and the Lord alone knows what else.”

  “Really? He didn’t seem like a criminal to me. In fact, he was very polite.”

  “Oh, we don’t care if he’s a criminal,” said Tropella. “The laws of the land aren’t like the laws of the sea. We don’t have courts and prisons.”

  “We don’t have a lot of thieves,” Pux said, “because w
e don’t have much to steal.”

  “We’re all Sea-Skippers, by the way,” Deaux-Deaux explained.

  “And you?” Tropella said, still studying Candy with that odd intensity of hers. “You were not wanted there, perhaps?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You weren’t wanted in your world. Your business is in the Abarat.”

  Tropella didn’t seem to require Candy to confirm or deny this; she was simply informing her of something she’d already decided.

  “I wonder if we could do something about finding Mischief?” Candy said, looking from face to face.

  “Deaux-Deaux,” Pux said, “you have the largest voice.”

  “Oh. My pleasure,” said Deaux-Deaux.

  He clambered somewhat unsteadily onto the surface of the water and skipped up the side of the next large wave. Having reached the top, he stood there and hollered, confirming the fact that he did indeed have a voice of operatic proportions.

  “Mister Mischief!” he yelled. “We have your girlfriend and we will eat her in two minutes with a small side salad, unless you come here and save her.” He grinned at Candy. “Just kidding,” he said. “Well, Mister Mischief,”he yelled again. “Where are you?”

  “He is joking?” Candy said to Pux.

  “Oh yes,” said Pux. “We wouldn’t eat an important person like you. Sometimes we’ll take a sailor, but—” He shrugged. “—so would you if it was always fish. Yellow fish, green fish, blue fish. Fish with funny little eyes that go pop in your mouth. It gets so boring, eating fish. So yes, we eat a sailor now and then. But not you. You we will see safely to your destination. On that you may rely.”

  Deaux-Deaux was still hollering, running up waves like a man running up a down escalator so as to stay at the top.

  “Hey, Mischief! We are very, very hungry.”

  “I think the joke’s—”

  Candy was about to say over. But she never finished the sentence. Before she could do so, John Mischief erupted out of the water behind Deaux-Deaux and grabbed him around the waist. Deaux-Deaux toppled backwards, and the two of them flailed wildly in the water for half a minute—the brothers hollering all manner of threats—until Pux and Tropella were able to skip over and bring the altercation to a halt.

  “Hey, hey,” Deaux-Deaux said, climbing back onto the water to retreat from a furious Mischief. He held his webbed hands up palms out, to keep his attacker at bay. “It was a joke. A little joke. I was just trying to get your attention. We mean your cutie-pie no harm. I mean, what kind of fish-folk do you think we are? Tell him, Candy.”

  “They’ve all been very kind to me,” Candy confirmed. “Nobody’s laid a finger on me.”

  The Johns were not convinced. They were all exchanging fiercely suspicious glances.

  “If it was a joke,” John Drowze said fiercely, “then it was an extremely asinine joke.”

  “I would have drowned without their help,” Candy said, attempting to cool the situation down. “I swear. I was starting to panic.”

  “But you’re right,” Pux said. “It was an imbecilic stupid joke. So, please, in the name of peace let us carry you both to the Abarat. The Izabella can be rough, and we would not wish to see two such significant personages drown.”

  “You would carry us?” said John Mischief, smiling his unruly smile. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” said Tropella. “It’s the least we can do.”

  It certainly sounded like a good idea to Candy. Despite the fact that she’d done as John Mischief had suggested, and relied on Mama Izabella to bear her up, she was still extremely tired. The icy water and the pummeling of the waves—not to mention the pursuits that had preceded this aquatic adventure—had taken their toll.

  “What do you think?” Candy said to the Johns. “Should we accept the ride?”

  “I think it’s up to you,” Mischief said.

  “Good,” Candy said. “Then I say yes?

  “Yes?” Pux said to Mischief.

  “If the lady says yes, then yes it is,” Mischief replied.

  “Splendid,” said the fourth card player. “I’m Kocono, by the way. And I just want to say what a delight it is to meet Mr. Mischief. Tropella was right, we don’t care about the law of the land. So they say you’re a criminal, so what? You’re a master. That’s what counts.”

  The Johns erupted into a chaotic din of denials and explanations at Kocono’s little speech. Candy only caught fragments of their defenses in the uproar, but they sounded distinctly contradictory. She was very amused.

  “Is it true?” she said, laughing, as the protestations grew wilder. “Are you all master criminals?”

  “Put it this way…” John Slop began.

  “Be careful now,” John Moot warned his brother.

  “We’re not saints.”

  “So it is true,” Candy replied.

  Mischief nodded. “It’s true,” he conceded. “You’re in the company of eight world-class thieves,” he said, not without a little touch of pride. “Saints we are not.”

  “But then,” said Deaux-Deaux, “who is?” He thought on this. “Besides saints.”

  With this matter settled, Candy and Mischief were each lifted up between two of the Sea-Skippers, their legs propped up on the creature skipping ahead of them, and supported by those skipping behind. If it wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel, it was certainly preferable to being immersed in the cold water, in fear of drowning or being nibbled at by Great Green Mantizacs.

  “Which island are you going to?” Pux asked Candy.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “This is my first visit.”

  The Sea-Skippers looked at the Johns for an answer.

  It was John Drowze who replied. “I say we go to the Yebba Dim Day, in the Straits of Dusk.”

  There was a general consensus from the brothers.

  “TheYebba Dim Day it is,” Kocono announced.

  “Wait,” Candy said. “Don’t forget your table.”

  “Oh, Mizza will find her own way home,” Kocono said. “Mizza!”

  A head with large, rather woebegone features—and a square cranium almost as flat as the shell on which the Sea-Skippers’ cards and liquor glass still stood—appeared from the water.

  “You want me to wait for you at Tazmagor?” the creature said.

  “Yes, please,” said Kocono.

  “It was nice playing on you,” Deaux-Deaux said. “As always.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” the Card Table replied, and paddled off through the swell.

  Candy shook her head. For some reason, out of the back of her skull came the memory of her beloved uncle Fred, her mother’s elder brother, who’d worked in a zoo in Chicago, cleaning up after the animals. Once, he’d been taking her around the place, pointing out his favorite animals, who were all oddities. The two-toed sloths, the anteaters, the mules.

  “If you ever doubted that God had a sense of humor, all you’d have to do is look at some of these guys,” he’d remarked.

  Candy smiled to herself, picturing Uncle Fred’s round, bald face as he looked fondly down at her. No doubt the sight of Mizza the Floating Card Table would have had him laughing until the tears trickled down his face.

  “What are you smiling at, lady?” Mischief asked Candy.

  But before she had a chance to explain, the Sea-Skippers took off at a breath-snatching speed, and they were on their way to the Yebba Dim Day.

  12. A Talk on the Tide

  It was a bizarre journey for Candy. For John Mischief too, she suspected. Even though the noise of the sea and the slap of the Sea-Skippers’ feet on the waters prevented them from conversing, Mischief and his brothers would occasionally erupt in laughter, as though they were revisiting their recent adventures and were suddenly hugely amused by the fact that it was ending in this comfortable but faintly absurd fashion.

  For her part, Candy found the rhythm of the travel quite relaxing after a while and was so lulled that she let her eyes close. Sleep quickly overto
ok her strangely fatigued body. When she opened her eyes, an hour and twenty minutes later, according to her watch, the sky was darkening overhead.

  She was by habit a great sky watcher, and she knew the names of many of the stars and constellations. But though a sprinkling of stars had appeared as the darkness deepened, she found she could recognize none of the configurations ranged above her. At first she assumed she was simply looking at the sky from a different angle, and so was failing to recognize what was in fact a perfectly obvious constellation. But as she continued to study the heavens as they darkened to night (an unnatural night, by Minnesotan standards: it was barely two in the afternoon), she realized that she was not mistaken. There were no recognizable arrangements of stars up there.

  This was not the same heaven that hung over Minnesota.

  For some reason she found this much more disquieting than the fact of the Sea of Izabella appearing from nowhere, or the prospect of some hitherto unvisited archipelago of islands awaiting her somewhere ahead.

  She had assumed (naively, perhaps) that at least the stars would be constant. After all, hadn’t the same stars she knew by name hung over all the other fantastic worlds that had existed on earth? Over Atlantis, over El Dorado, over Avalon? How could something so eternal, so immutable, be so altered?

  It distressed her, and yes, it made her a little afraid of what lay ahead. Apparently the Abarat wasn’t just another part of the planet she knew, simply hidden from the sight of ordinary eyes. It was a different world entirely. Perhaps it had different religions, different ideas about good and evil, about what was real and what wasn’t.

  But it was too late to turn her back on all of this. After all, something here had called her, hadn’t it? Wasn’t that why she’d been drawing on her workbook the same design she’d found on the ball in the lighthouse: because for some urgent reason the ball had been sending out a portion of its power (a power to summon seas), and her mind had been ready to receive it? She’d done so without any conscious thought: drawn, and redrawn the design in a dreamy state. She’d even walked away from the principal’s office without giving what she was doing any deep thought, simply going where her feet and her instincts had led her.