Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1)

by Catanese, P. W

  Umber stepped up beside Oates and spoke to the Creep. “Tell me your name, and what you want. And why don’t you take that cheesecloth off your head so we can know you better?”

  The Creep responded with a hiss. He pulled off one glove, and then the other, revealing bony hands with elongated fingers. He raised the staff over his head.

  “Hold! Don’t move!” called one of the guardsmen. They strode toward the Creep with the points of their sabers outstretched.

  The Creep tugged on the head of his staff, sliding out a long blade that was concealed inside. He flung the empty wooden sheath at the soldiers. It struck one of the young men at the waist, crumpling him. The Creep arched back as the other soldier charged. His long leg shot out and his clawed foot struck the second guardsman in the chest, flinging him backward into the crowd. People screamed and ran.

  “Oates,” Umber said coolly. Oates seized one end of the candle merchant’s wooden table and flung it. A hundred candles of every color and shape scattered in the air. The Creep turned too late; the table walloped him across the stomach. He was batted across the street, bowling through benches and tables as he flew, and hit the side of another small tent. The canvas swallowed him whole, and the tent collapsed in a heap.

  A silent pause followed. The crowd gawked, Oates picked a splinter out of his palm, and dozens of spilled candles rolled to a stop.

  Umber rubbed the side of his face. “Overkill, Oates? I hope you left something alive for us to talk to.”

  The guardsman who’d been hit by the staff limped toward the crumpled tent. The saber trembled in his fist. “What was that thing?” he asked, coughing. He prodded the canvas with the saber.

  “You ought to be careful,” Umber called, raising his hand. But he’d hardly gotten the words out when the guardsman screamed, stumbled back, and clamped a hand on his thigh. A blade had pierced the canvas of the fallen tent, and the silver tip was stained red. The blade cut a wide slit and the Creep bounded out, landing in a crouch. His head swiveled until the eyehole found Hap.

  Umber spoke with his hand covering his mouth. “Hap, remember what I said about not jumping or drawing attention? Disregard that. We’ll try to stop him, but run if you have to.”

  The remaining spectators had seen enough. They stampeded out of the market. Parents slung the youngest ones over their shoulders and dragged older children by the hand.

  Oates heaved a bench at the Creep, but this time the stranger was ready, and he ducked low. The bench shattered in the lane a hundred feet away. Before Oates could find another piece of furniture to throw, the Creep rushed at Hap. Sandar stepped in his path. Their blades clashed. The Creep’s clawed foot darted up again, and Sandar tumbled through the air. Umber made a vain attempt to trip the Creep by sticking out his foot. The Creep could easily have run Umber through with his sword, but his attention had locked onto his green-eyed prey.

  Hap whirled and ran, into a new group of five guardsmen who’d responded to the call of the horn. They let Hap through and spread out shoulder to shoulder. Hap stopped on the other side of the blockade and turned to watch.

  The Creep skidded to a halt in front of the guardsmen. He flashed his sword back and forth, whipping the air. Hap heard the terrible slurping sound again.

  “Drop that blade!” shouted the leader of the five. The Creep coiled and sprang. His tall, arcing leap cleared the heads of the five startled men. I’m not the only one who can jump, Hap thought. The middle guardsmen slashed upward with his sword, splitting open the bottom of the cloak but missing the Creep’s limbs.

  The Creep would have landed on Hap, but Hap responded with a leap of his own, his highest yet. Twin jolts of fear and exhilaration surged from his heart as he soared to the top of the nearest tent, his new hat flying off his head. If the Creep was surprised, he didn’t let it stop him. He gathered himself and bounded toward Hap’s perch. Hap left before the Creep arrived and touched down in the lane. Before he bolted, he heard one of the guardsmen call out: “It’s like a frog chasing a grasshopper!”

  Hap ran to where Umber knelt beside the wounded, groaning Sandar. Oates had pulled the long, thick support pole out of the fallen tent, and he stood ready to wield it as a club. “There—he disappeared between two tents,” Oates said, pointing.

  As Hap turned to look, he saw a flash of motion in the other direction. The Creep had shot down an alley, circled the tents with alarming speed, and emerged on the other side of them. A terrible realization dawned on Hap: He was putting his new friends in danger by staying near them.

  Hap leaped again, to the top of the candle seller’s tent. His feet slipped when he landed and he sprawled on the canvas, seizing the tent pole so he wouldn’t slide off.

  Hap looked back with his breath caught in his throat, expecting to see the Creep swooping down upon him. But Oates had swung the club, splintering it on the ground as the Creep stepped back. The Creep’s foot came down on a candle, which rolled underneath him, and he stumbled wildly before catching his balance. One of his feet kicked high in the air, and Hap saw most of the Creep’s legs through the tear in his long cloak. Hap nearly lost his grip when he realized why the Creep’s gait was so strange. His knees bent the wrong way: backward, like a long-legged bird’s. “He’s not human!” cried Hap.

  “I know! I saw it too!” shouted Umber, grinning widely. Sandar looked at Umber as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Stand still so I can hurt you,” Oates said to the Creep, waggling what was left of his club. The Creep sprang again. Hap’s feet slipped as he tried to find purchase on the slick canvas. When he glanced over his shoulder he saw the pale figure soaring up toward him with the torn cloak flapping in the wind.

  The roof of the tent bounced underneath him. Hap looked down and saw the Creep clinging to the tent with one hand, just below his feet. The Creep’s sharp fingernails punctured the canvas, holding him in place. In the other hand, the Creep still had the long blade, which cut the air with a whoosh, right at Hap’s legs.

  Hap drew his legs up. He felt the tip of the blade strike the heel of his shoe and sting his flesh. The Creep dug into the tent with his sharp toenails, and lunged closer. The hand groped for Hap’s leg. Hap opened his mouth to scream.

  The Creep suddenly bent sharply at the waist and flew off the roof of the tent, letting out a loud, hoarse OOF! A huge fist had punched through from inside the tent.

  Hap heard Oates shout from below. “Got you! Wait, that wasn’t Hap, was it?”

  “No, it was him,” Hap said in a quivering voice. A small, glittering sphere fell out of the sky, hit the roof of the tent, and rolled toward Hap. It was one of the Creep’s green marbles. How strange, Hap thought as he watched something that resembled one of his own eyes roll by.

  The Creep crashed to the ground in the lane. He shook his masked head and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled and nearly fell, as if one of his strangely jointed legs had been broken.

  Three more guardsmen arrived, armed with bows. They kneeled and fired, and a trio of arrows whistled through the air. One missed, one snagged in a loose fold of the Creep’s robe, and one lodged in his shoulder. He grunted, plucked the arrow out, and flung it to the ground. As the archers prepared to fire, the Creep threw his head back and let out a harsh, piercing cry. Hap would have clapped his hands over his ears if he hadn’t needed to hang on to the tent pole.

  The Creep was trapped between the archers and the swordsmen, and Hap heard the stomp of more boots approaching.

  Umber stepped into the street and raised both hands, palms out. “Wait! Don’t fire!” He pressed his hands together and turned to the Creep. “Your name is Occo, isn’t it?”

  The Creep had been staring up at Hap with his shoulders heaving, but his head snapped toward Umber when the name was spoken. It’s him, Hap thought.

  Umber spread his arms wide. “Look, Occo—you’re surrounded. And you’re wounded. Surrender and let us talk! Before more blood is spilled!”

  Occo replied with a hiss. T
he archers drew back their bowstrings, but turned to look over their shoulders as a dark swift shape approached from behind. It was a horse of some kind, but with a ridged, hairless hide. There was a bit in its mouth and reins, but no saddle. The archers leaped aside to keep from being trampled.

  The strange horse barely slowed as Occo grabbed its reins, swung awkwardly onto its back, and rode away. An instant later, a band of mounted guardsmen thundered down the lane in pursuit.

  “Stay up there, Hap!” cried Umber. “You have eyes like an eagle—tell me what’s happening!”

  Hap pulled himself to the peak of the tent and watched the chase with one hand shading his eyes. “I don’t—wait, now I see them again! They’re right behind him—he’s heading for the harbor.”

  Occo hurtled toward one of the gateways in the harbor wall. The guardsmen stationed there scrambled, but couldn’t shut the doors in time to stop the horse.

  Hap lost sight of the Creep for a moment as the wall blocked his view. “I can’t see—hold on, there he is!” Occo steered his horse onto a narrow pier that jutted into the harbor. The horsemen in pursuit cut off any hope of escape. “He’s trapped!” Hap shouted. Then he squinted, trying to see better, because something was happening to Occo’s horse. He wasn’t sure what to tell Umber next. What he saw didn’t seem possible.

  The horse was transforming as it raced to the end of the dock. The neck stretched and stiffened. The ridges on its hide grew more pronounced. At the end of the planks, the horse took a great leap over the water. The transformation continued as it soared. The front legs folded against the body and vanished. The hind legs clapped together and fused, and the hooves broadened into something like a fish’s tale.

  The creature hit the harbor and threw up a foaming wave on either side. It churned forward and submerged a moment later. The mounted guardsmen pulled back on their reins at the edge of the dock, and their horses pranced nervously on the planks.

  Hap looked down at Umber with his mouth hanging open. “He got away.”

  “Got away? But how?” asked Umber.

  “The … the horse … it turned into a … a … sea horse.”

  “Turned into a sea horse? You mean, by magic?” Umber stamped the ground with his boot. “Bloody bells, I can’t believe I missed it!”

  CHAPTER

  12

  “How did the Creep follow us, anyway?” Oates asked as the carriage clattered over the causeway. “You said we lost him at sea when Boroon dove.”

  “So I thought,” said Umber. “Perhaps he guessed our destination.”

  “Humph,” said Oates. He turned to Hap. “Well. At least you bleed like a normal person.”

  Hap sat with his bare foot propped on the bench, pressing a cloth against his heel. The fabric was dark with blood, but the flow had slowed to a trickle. His hands still trembled from the encounter. “Will those guardsmen be all right?” he said to Umber.

  “I suppose,” Umber said, shrugging. Hap wished that Umber would show more concern. While Sandar seemed all right, the fellow who’d been kicked by Occo was in a terrible state and had been carried away on a litter. But Umber was preoccupied; he hummed to himself as he pulled his notebook out of a vest pocket and scratched out words.

  “How did you know his name, Lord Umber?” asked Hap.

  Umber stopped writing and turned his gaze slowly toward Hap.

  “That’s right,” said Oates. “You called him Occo. How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess,” Umber said without a hint of humor. He went back to scribbling.

  Hap wanted to shout, It was in that note! But he just leaned back and sighed. Won’t I be allowed to know anything? Then he recalled a promise Umber had made a while ago, that might offer some answers. When the tension of the moment had passed, he spoke again. “Lord Umber, you told me you might be able to help me remember. You said you’d try something when we got to the Aerie.”

  Umber smiled and put the notebook away. His moods were like the weather, Hap observed. There might be a momentary darkness, but soon the clouds would pass and the sun would shine again. “That’s right,” Umber said. “I was working on that when you suddenly popped up outside my window. We’ll give it a whirl after the party, if you’re willing. It’s called hypnosis. Do you know the word?”

  Hypnosis, Hap repeated to himself. There was nothing familiar about the term. “No, sir,” he said.

  “You don’t know that word? Interesting—I wonder … Hap, tell me if these mean anything to you: microwave. Baseball. Thermonuclear.”

  Hap shook his head at each strange word.

  “You made those up,” said Oates.

  “I did not.” Umber sniffed. “But now I understand the boundaries of your vocabulary, Hap.” Umber interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes—hypnosis. That means I will relax your mind and induce an altered state of consciousness. Something like sleep, but not exactly. If I succeed, you might recall what happened before Alzumar. It’s not as scary as it sounds, Hap. You might even enjoy it. Would you like me to try?”

  Hap nodded. He was starving for answers. “Yes. I would. But … do I really have to go to the palace tonight? I’d rather stay in the Aerie, if that’s all right.”

  Umber patted Hap’s knee. “I know you’ve had a scare. But I want you to join me. Don’t worry, you’ll be well guarded. Besides, a prince’s birthday is a grand event!”

  Hap tucked his head between his shoulders. He tried to put his unease into words. “Ever since I … woke up … I’ve rushed from one place to another. I feel as if I don’t belong anywhere. It would be nice to stay in one spot for a while. And besides, didn’t the clothier say I had the clothes of a country boy? Maybe I don’t belong with all the royal folk.”

  “Umber just wants to show you off,” Oates said out the window.

  “Oates! Another word and it’s the muzzle for you!” snapped Umber. His face reddened with anger. “Hap, you know that Oates only says what he thinks is true. That doesn’t mean it is true. Or in good taste.”

  Oates stuck out his tongue and made an uncouth sound. Umber waved him off.

  “You don’t believe that, do you, Hap?” Umber asked. Hap shrugged. Umber leaned close. “Happenstance. Listen to me. I am not bringing you to the palace to display you like some exotic creature that I’ve acquired.”

  Hap wiped his cheek with his sleeve. “There will be more strangers, Lord Umber. They’ll stare at me and my eyes. Now more than ever, after what happened in the market.”

  “Let them stare!” Umber said, slapping the bench. “Be proud of those eyes! People gaze at me constantly, Hap—particularly the women—because of my unusual good looks. I’ve learned to deal with it.”

  Oates turned away and snorted.

  “I promise you, Hap, I’m not bringing you to show you off. You believe me, don’t you?”

  Hap sniffed and nodded. “But why do I have to go?”

  “Trust me, there’s a reason.”

  Hap covered his face with his hands. He knew exactly what the reason was. It was part of the note: Keep him with you always, and bring him on all your journeys. The boy needs to grow and learn; he must adventure, or he will not become what he must. “But why does the reason have to be a secret?” he asked, trying to draw out the truth.

  Umber took in a deep breath and held it for a long time. The carriage passed into the gatehouse and rolled to a stop, and he finally exhaled. “Oates. Out you go.”

  “So you can tell him something I’m not supposed to hear,” grumbled Oates. The carriage rocked as he stepped out.

  Umber waited until the big fellow stepped away, and then spoke quietly. “Hap. I don’t mean to be unkind, but I simply can’t answer all your questions yet. There are things going on that I don’t understand: events being set into motion and possibilities about to unfold like flowers. My instincts tell me to proceed cautiously. And the note advised me to follow my instincts. So I will keep my secrets, and I w
on’t apologize for that. When the time is right, I’ll tell what I can. And that’s that. Now, let’s get you changed for the prince’s party. I’m afraid what you’re wearing got roughed up by our adventure with the Creep.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Hap followed Oates up the stairs, toward the terrace, where they were to meet Umber. “Mister Oates, I’ve been meaning to thank you for saving me in the market,” Hap said.

  “It’s just Oates. And I only did it because Umber told me to keep you safe.”

  “Oh,” Hap said quietly. “Well, thank you, anyway.”

  Oates saw Hap hang his head, and he grimaced. “I don’t like being this way, you know. Hurting people’s feelings all the time.”

  Hap looked up at the big man. “Is there really a curse that forces you to tell the truth?”

  “Yes,” Oates grumbled. “Umber has been looking for a cure for years.”

  “Who did it to you?”

  “I have no idea. I made the wrong person angry, I suppose. Some witch or wizard.”

  “But if you don’t want to say the truth, why don’t you just keep quiet?”

  Oates rolled his eyes upward and shook his head. “You don’t understand. I can’t help saying it out loud. It just blows out of me, like a sneeze.”

  How strange, Hap thought. “Do you really think Lord Umber can fix it someday?”

  “I don’t know,” Oates said. “I don’t want to go on like this forever. But I’m worried about what would happen if he does.”

  “Worried? Why?”

  Oates groaned and slumped, as if he had dreaded the question. “I don’t think he’ll let me serve him anymore. He’ll send me away.”

  Hap’s eyebrows rose. Oates’s strength had saved Umber more than once. He couldn’t imagine why Umber would make him go. “What? Why do you think that?”

  Only then did Hap realize that Oates was growing angry. His enormous hands curled up into great fists, and he growled his answer. “I wasn’t a good man before this curse, all right? I was a thief. A bully. A liar. Umber trusts me only because I have to tell the truth. If I’m cured, I’ll be the man I was again, and I don’t know if he’ll let me stay. Does that answer your stupid question?” He bashed the wall with his bare hand. Bits of stone clattered on the stairs. “What’s the matter with you, boy?” he snarled. “Why do you ask these things when you know I have to answer?”