by Clive Barker
There was sudden consternation on board the Lud Limbo. Mrs. Hagen was quite prepared to throw herself overboard rather than take a one-way trip to a country she’d never heard of, and was only dissuaded from doing so when Candy said: “Ropes! Everybody help me!”
“What are we going to do?” said Geneva.
“We’ll hitch the ship to the chimney of our house till the water goes down a little—”
“That’s risky!” said Finnegan.
“What else do you suggest? These people don’t want to go to the Abarat.”
“I do,” said Ricky, glancing at his father. “That’s where you went, right, Candy?”
“Yes, that’s where your sister went,” Melissa said. “But she had special reasons to be going. You belong here with your family.”
“Aw, Mom—”
“Don’t even try it, Ricky. You’re not going anywhere.”
While this exchange was going on, Candy, John Mischief, Geneva and Tom had all found ropes. Finnegan scrambled up the roof to the chimney stack and caught the ropes as they were flung to him, while they secured the other end to the mast of the Lud Limbo. None of the Chickentowners lifted a finger to help with this labor. They kept their distance from the Abaratians, as though only now—with the distracting spectacle of battle over—had they begun to realize what incredibly alien company they were in. Only Bill Quackenbush spoke up; and it was to make the most idiotic of complaints.
“I built that chimney!” he said, pointing his finger at Finnegan. “You’d better not do any damage—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Bill,” Melissa said. “You didn’t build it.”
“It’s still my chimney,” he raged.
“Got no choice, sorry,” said Mischief, leaning forward so that he and all his brothers’ faces were inches from Bill.
“It’s either that—” said Moot.
“—or you and your family—” said Slop.
“—get swept away—” said Fillet.
“—to places—” said Drowze.
“—you would not want—” said Pluckitt.
“—to end—” said Serpent.
“—up,” said Sallow.
“They’d eat you,” Mischief added. “Beginning with your nostrils.”
All the brothers were most amused at this last remark.
“Nostrils, good one!” Drowze remarked amid the guffaws.
“Are you laughing at me?” Bill Quackenbush said. “You freaks!”
Bill threw a punch at the brothers, but somehow he missed all eight targets. Mischief put out his foot behind Bill and gave him a quick push. He stumbled backward and would have slid off the roof into the water had Ricky and Don not caught him.
“Let it go, Dad,” Ricky said.
“We need some help here!” Candy said. “Everybody lend a hand.”
Bill glowered and muttered to himself while everybody else put their efforts into hauling on the ropes and helping Finnegan secure them around the chimney. It wasn’t an easy task. The receding water was exerting a powerful grip on the boat, and it took everybody hauling together to keep the vessel from being swept away. But with the combined strength of Chickentowners and Abaratians, the Lud Limbo was successfully moored to the Quackenbushes’ house, at least for a while. As folks wiped the sweat from their brows or leaned over to catch their breaths, Tom said: “There’s a sight,” and everyone, either on the roof or on the deck, looked up to see the Wormwood, its structure weakened by the fire and magic and nightmares, now unknitted by the very tide that had carried it here. Its back broke in two places, and the forward section started to slide into the water, dragging the mast on the midsection with it. The mast came crashing down, rolling off the deck and into the sea, its rigging in turn dragging down the mast beside it.
“Can you see Mater Motley?” Finnegan asked Candy.
“She’s there at the stern. See her?”
The only victor of today’s battles wasn’t alone. A few of her seamstress sisters had survived the engagement and, along with the stitchlings who had disposed of Carrion’s body, were gathered around her. An ugly music was coming from the women: a chorus of unharmonious voices singing a song of power. Its purpose soon became plain. The sound produced a nimbus of skittering energies, which proceeded to cloak Mater Motley from head to foot.
“She’s getting away,” Finnegan said. He then let go a stream of Abaratian, for which Candy needed no translation. He was cursing.
The song spell was steadily growing more discordant. The veil of transport now eclipsed the old woman entirely.
Finnegan glanced at Candy: “Can’t you stop her somehow?”
“Me?”
“You’ve got magic. Stop her escaping.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Damn her,” Finnegan said, as though he were genuinely wishing the Hag to hell, deep in his heart.
“She doesn’t escape unscathed, if that’s any comfort,” Geneva said. “I saw wounds upon her. Carrion left his mark.”
The seamstresses’ song spell suddenly stopped dead. And on the instant that it ceased, the flux it had summoned up folded into itself and disappeared. Mater Motley had gone with it.
“If there’s any justice, her wounds will be the end of her,” Mischief replied grimly.
“I doubt that they will,” said Geneva. “But we can hope for the worst, I suppose.”
Chapter 56
Down and Down
WITH MATER MOTLEY GONE, the remaining portions of the Wormwood now succumbed to the receding tide. What little remained of the deck collapsed, bringing down the final mast; and as it fell the once mighty vessel shuddered and folded upon itself, timber on timber, the waters of the Izabella extinguishing the flames as the ship sank and receiving the sad remnants into her embrace with something like a sigh. In a matter of a minute or so, the Sea had claimed the vessel’s bones and carried them away, leaving only a dark scum of Todo mud, ash and splinters to mark the spot where the Wormwood had sunk.
Only John Serpent, of all people, had anything good to say about this grim scene.
“She was a great ship,” he remarked. “Whatever terrible purposes she was put to. Mischief, salute her for us, will you? We should pay our respects. She was mighty in her way.”
Candy gave Serpent a sideways glance.
“Of course if you think not, lady . . .” he said, his tone distinctly more courteous than usual.
“No. Salute away. Personally, I’m glad it’s gone.”
“You’re young,” Geneva said softly. “Death doesn’t move you so much, because you can’t imagine it ever happening to you.”
Candy contemplated this for a moment. “I think I can,” she said finally.
Behind her, her father suddenly started yelling at the top of his voice. “Look at that! My chimney! I told you this would happen!”
Candy looked around to see that the chimney stack was beginning to crack under the pressure put upon it by the tugging of the Lud Limbo.
“It doesn’t matter, Dad,” Don said, quite reasonably. “We were going to move anyway.”
“Shut up! I didn’t ask your opinion!”
“I’m only saying—”
“And don’t talk back to me!” Bill hollered.
He lifted his hand as though he intended to strike his son. Don didn’t flinch, as he would normally have done. He just stood looking at his waterlogged father with a faintly amused expression on his face.
Bill suddenly seemed to realize that there were a lot of people watching him. He lowered his hand. Then he turned to Melissa.
“Are we going to get on this damn boat then?” he said.
She didn’t bother to look at him. She was staring at her daughter. “What are you going to do, Candy?” she said.
“Well, first we’re going to get you all to a safe, dry place, where you can stay till the water goes down. There’ll be help here soon.”
“Yes, I know. But after that, honey? What will you do after that?”
A smile of relief came onto Melissa’s face. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad. I’ve missed you. Lord, how I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ve missed you, Mom,” Candy said.
They put their arms around each other, as though they had only just been reunited, and hugged and cried, while everybody else on the roof tried to pretend they weren’t looking. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?” Candy said.
“I didn’t know how to,” Melissa replied.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Bill Quackenbush demanded.
“Forget it, Bill,” Melissa said.
“Oh no. Not this time. It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m the only normal one here.” He turned his rage on the Abaratians. “Look at these freaks.”
“They’re not freaks, Dad,” Candy said. “They’re my friends.”
“Friends? These things? They’re not even human.” He pointed at the brothers John. “How can you call that your friend?” Now at Finnegan. “Or that . . . abomination. What kind of screwed-up thing is that? Black skin! Red hair! Green eyes! That’s not natural. I’m warning you. All of you. You’d better get your sorry butts out of this state before the water goes down, because I’m telling you, this is Chickentown. We don’t mess around with weirdos like you here!”
“Stop it, Dad,” Candy told him.
She didn’t speak loudly, but she didn’t need to. Her voice carried a quality she’d heard in it before: her father wasn’t so dumb as to ignore it. He stopped his threats and looked at his daughter with a puzzled expression on his face. No, not puzzled. Frightened. For the first time in his life, Bill Quackenbush was a little afraid of his daughter. Candy could see the fear there in his eyes, and after all he’d said and done over the years, she couldn’t help but feel a little rush of pleasure.
“You listen to me,” she said to him. “One last time. These are my friends. They come from a place called—”
That was as far as she got. There was a sudden crash, and the chimney stack toppled, an avalanche of bricks and concrete tumbling down over the roof into the water. No longer moored, the Lud Limbo creaked and rolled as the receding waters tugged on it.
“This is it!” Finnegan yelled. “The boat’s going back to the Abarat whether we like it or not.”
Panic and confusion erupted, as everybody who’d been pulled aboard the Lud Limbo started to clamber off. They didn’t know where the boat was going; they only knew they didn’t want to be on it when it went. The roof of 34 Followell Street might be a shaky refuge, but at least they knew its address. People pushed, people cursed, people kicked.
Sickened, and a little ashamed of what her people were doing, Candy looked away, down into the water. Was there something down there, besides the ever-vigilant fish?
Yes, there was! A face, a human face, was looking up at her from the murk. She knew it too. The deep-set eyes, the mass of dark hair—
She started to retreat from the railing, but in the same instant the figure below her propelled himself out of the water, his hands reaching up to catch hold of her. The deck was wet and slick beneath her heel, and she lost her balance, falling forward. His hands grabbed her neck and shoulder. She let out a yell.
The creature smiled up at her for an instant, as though this was just some innocent game, and then she was dragged over the railing and into the fast-retreating waters of the Sea of Izabella.
Chapter 57
“Never Fear . . .”
HER ABDUCTOR WAS STRONG, and he carried her down and down, and though she fought him as best she could, his hold was too powerful for her to free herself. Once, just once, she managed to look up and saw the shape of the Lud Limbo far above her. The bullyings and persuasions of the tide were quickly carrying it away. Any hope of rescue was leaving with it.
She took her eyes off the dark shape of the vessel and looked down at her abductor again. It was Letheo, of course. She tried to signal to him that she needed to go back to the surface, but he shook his head. Was he crazy? Her lungs were ready to burst from the lack of air.
She struggled to release herself from his hold, desperate now, and this time, much to her astonishment, he loosened his grip and pointed toward a doorway. It was not just any doorway. Though she’d become momentarily disoriented in the rush of gray-green water and all the trash that it contained, she now understood where they were. He had brought her down to the front door of number 34, her own front door. It opened and closed eerily as the vagaries of the current caught it. Letheo pushed it open, and they swam over the familiar threshold and into a very unfamiliar world. Yes, of course she knew it all: the pictures from the family’s visit to Orlando floating off the hallway wall, a school of beer cans floating past; the furniture and the threadbare rug. She knew all of it so well. But—as if in a dream—it had been made over by the waters: become a murky warren of rooms, and she floating through them, defying gravity.
Letheo was pointing upward now. Candy understood instantly what he was telling her, and she started to swim up the stairs. After thirteen or fourteen steps up, she broke surface. She drew a succession of gasping breaths, then climbed the rest of the stairs until she reached the top, where she sat, panting and coughing. Letheo had put his head out of the water now, and as soon as she’d caught her breath she said: “Were you trying to drown me?”
“No!”
“Well, why did you drag me off the boat like that?”
“Him.” Letheo pointed up the stairs.
Candy looked over her shoulder. The door to her parents’ room was open. She got to her feet, the water squelching in her shoes, and crossed the landing to the bedroom door.
She glanced back at Letheo, thinking he was going to accompany her. But he had stayed where he was, his chin just clear of the water. A box of cereal floated behind him, its soggy contents scattered over the water. Small silver eels picked at them.
“Go on,” Letheo said, nodding toward the door. “He won’t hurt you. He’s beyond hurting anybody now.”
She’d known the moment that Letheo had said him who he was talking about. She could hear a thin, whining breath from the bedroom. He was there. But was he really beyond hurting her, as Letheo claimed? She thought of her last sight of him, as he was thrown over the side of the Wormwood by the stitchlings. He’d been in no condition to harm anybody. She was safe from him. She pushed open the door a little wider and stepped inside.
This room had been her mother’s sanctuary, her place of refuge from the kids and from the man she’d married. There was a double bed in it, but her father hadn’t slept in it for five or six years. And now—how weird was this?—there was a man in that bed, and that man was Christopher Carrion. The Lord of Midnight was lying sprawled like a corpse in the middle of her mother’s bed.
He was a mess. He had pulled up a sheet to roughly cover himself, but his wounds were already bleeding through it. His collar was of course shattered, leaving just a few sharp fragments around his neck. His nightmares had gone, dead or forsaken him.
But it was his face that was the really shocking part. His skeletal look, that living death’s head of his, had always frightened Candy. But he was fearsome no longer. The battle on the Wormwood had cleansed all the venom from his expression; the cruelty had gone too; so had his intimidating stare. He didn’t even seem to know that she was in the room. Finally she said:
“Carrion?”
His yellow-gray lids flickered, and his pale, pale eyes slid in her direction.
“So. Letheo found you. Good.”
His voice was so small, so frail, that she could barely make sense of what he was saying.
“Come here . . .” he said to her. She didn’t move. He raised his hand, the fingers barely more than bone, and beckoned to her. “Please,” he said. “Come here.”
She took a
step toward the bed. Some ragged scrap of a thing that had been brought into the room attached to Carrion’s body crawled like a wounded crab away from her foot and took refuge under the bedside table. She shuddered. She was sorely tempted to leave now, before he spoke again. But then she’d never know what he had to say to her, would she? And she wanted to know.
He reached up, and very gently he took hold of Candy’s hand. His flesh was icy cold, and damp. His thumb moved across her palm and came to rest in the middle of her hand. Then he seemed to summon a little fragment of energy from somewhere, and two pinpoints of brightness appeared in his eyes, focusing upon her.
“Princess?” he said. “Are you in there? I want to talk to you.”
Candy started to pull her hand away. But for all his frailty, Carrion held it tight.
“Princess?” he said again. “Speak to me. I beg you.”
Candy shook her head. Tears had sprung into her eyes, and she felt an agonizing ache in her chest. The air in the room—pressed into this little space by the water—made her blood thunder in her ears.
“Please,” he said again. “All I want to do is speak to you one last time. Is that so much to ask?”
The reply came out of Candy without her even willing it to, her tongue shaping thoughts that her mind had not invented.
“I’m here,” she told him.
It was true too. She could feel the presence of the Princess in her, almost as though they were standing side by side. But the stranger thing was this: there was nothing new in the feeling. She realized in that moment that the Princess had always been there with her, right through life, but her presence had been so familiar to Candy, so much a part of what it felt like to be Candy Quackenbush, that she’d never questioned it.
“I . . . see . . . you,” Carrion said, his eyes narrowing. “By all the powers . . . I see you.”
There was a noise at the door, and for a moment Candy took her eyes off the Lord of Midnight and looked back. It was Letheo. There was something about the way he watched her that made Candy’s heart quicken with unease. You should get out of here, said a voice at the back of her head.