But at least he could move his limbs again—the frozen sensation had melted away. He flexed every joint to make sure. “What was that?” he asked himself aloud, and realized that he could speak once more as well.
The fever was gone, leaving his clothes drenched with sweat. He pulled them off and slipped on a simple nightshirt that Umber had left for him. As he stuck his head through the neck-hole and pulled the shirt across his body, he saw something strange in the air.
At first he thought it was a length of spider-silk, floating sideways in the middle of his room. It was directly in front of him, with the near end at his chest and the far end at his door. He leaned over and blew on it, but the thread didn’t move. With his brow furrowed, he reached out with a finger. “What?” he said, as his finger passed through the thread without disturbing it. When he looked closely, he could see pulses of colored light moving within the strand. He let the thread pass through his palm, and thought he could faintly hear something: a whispering voice or distant music.
Hap’s hands shook. He choked out a quiet, bewildered laugh, wondering what this apparition could be. Was something making it happen, or was it happening because of him? Did it end at his chest, or begin there? His brain buzzed as he recalled the words in the note: … you will observe certain skills arising.
He followed the thread, intending to walk beside it, but a strange thing happened: It drifted sideways across the room until it pointed to his chest again. He shuffled sideways and the thread moved with him.
Shaking his head, he followed the thread to where it ended on the surface of the closed door. Or is that really the end? he wondered. He turned the knob and eased the door open. The hinges made only the slightest squeak. The thread emerged on the other side and drifted to the far end of the corridor, as far as Hap could tell. When he stepped out and turned to close his door, he noticed another remarkable thing: The thread was vanishing behind him as he followed it.
I have to see where it goes, he thought. But curious as he was, he didn’t want to get caught breaking one of Lady Truden’s rules. He would have to pass her door along the way. But it’s dark, and she won’t be able to see me. I hope.
Hap eased his door shut and padded barefoot down the hall. He stayed on the narrow woolen carpet to soften his steps.
The door to Lady Truden’s room was an inch ajar. Hap peered through the gap to make sure she wasn’t lurking. He was relieved to see that her side was turned to him as she sat on the edge of her bed. She was holding a painting that wasn’t much bigger than her hand. It was a remarkably accurate portrait of Umber. Something Sophie painted? Hap wondered. Lady Truden’s free hand came up, and she brushed the backs of her fingers across the painted face. Her shoulders heaved, and Hap heard a heavy sigh.
Hap cringed. He didn’t know what was worse: the shame of witnessing such a private moment, or the fear of being caught spying. With his breath held to keep the smallest sound from betraying him, he moved past the door.
The thread dipped into the arched opening of the staircase. He stepped off the carpet and moved cautiously down the stairs, feeling cold stone under his feet. As his gifted eyes pierced the darkness, he wondered what it was like for the others, who always needed a candle or lantern to find their way so they didn’t blunder into a wall or tumble down stairs.
The steps curled smoothly to the left, and the thread spiraled with them. It’s leading me, he thought, and the notion made him stop and bite his lip. He wondered if this could be a trap of some kind—if the thread would lure him outside, to where Occo the Creep was waiting to pounce. But when he touched the thread again and heard those distant sounds, he dismissed the idea. No, some instinct told him. This has nothing to do with the Creep. But where is it taking me?
Hap approached the landing slowly. He edged his head around the final curve. No lanterns burned in the grand hall, but there was a tiny source of light coming from somewhere. He leaned out a little farther.
Next to the hearth, the wall was riddled with fractures. One of those cracks widened at the floor, where a dim glow shined from within. The thread floated across the room, directly toward that crack. Strange, thought Hap. He thought he saw a small dark shape move across the glow.
Hap squinted to sharpen his sight as he traced the thread’s path. But as he watched, it flickered and vanished. Hap reached for the space where it had hung. He felt and heard nothing. What just happened?
Something caught his eye from the other side of the room. A small form, sleek and short-legged, scurried from under a bureau. The rat, Hap thought, remembering how Umber released it when they arrived.
The rat craned its neck left and right, pulling its lips back to bare slats of yellow tooth. It moved across the floor in furtive bursts, wriggling its nose before advancing again. The rat saw a crust of bread on the floor and it scuttled over and seized the morsel between its jaws.
The yellow glow in the crack dimmed again, as if something had stepped before it. Another rat? wondered Hap. He edged his head a little farther from the stairs to watch. The rat was cramming the bread into its cheeks. It turned to keep an eye on the larger expanse of the room. Hap stopped breathing when he saw a tiny silver point emerge from the crack, a few inches off the ground. As the point eased silently out, he saw that it was a kind of spear. And it was being held over the shoulder of a man.
A man no bigger than a mouse.
Hap covered his mouth with his hand. He watched as the miniature man crept toward the rat.
The bread wasn’t left there by accident, thought Hap. It was put there for bait. And Umber brought the rat here so it could be hunted!
Some keen sense alerted the rodent to the attack. It craned its neck and spotted its stalker. But before the rat could even poise to run, the spear flew and sunk into its shoulder. The rat squealed, spun, and writhed. It seized the spear in its jaws and plucked it out. With a hiss, it ran back toward the bureau. But its first steps were clumsy, and it slowed to a crawl. The tiny man retrieved the spear and jogged after his prey.
The hunt ended quickly. After two more thrusts of the spear, the rat fell onto its side. The hunter drew a knife from his belt, circled the rat, and crouched behind its neck. Hap closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see the fatal slice. When he opened them again he saw the hunter step back, away from the dark spreading pool, and wipe the blade on his thigh as he waited for death to take the rat.
Hap took a closer look, thankful for the sharpness of his vision. The little man was dressed in a leathery coat with a furry collar that looked like the hair of the rat he’d slain. His leggings were black and velvety—moleskin, Hap figured. He had sandals on his feet, and a broad belt at his waist.
The rat twitched one last time, and the hunter prodded it with the spear to make certain it was dead. When it didn’t move, he plunged the spear into its side, spat on his hands and rubbed them together, seized the hairless tail with two fists, and dragged his kill toward the dimly lit crack.
Hap saw the cat too late to prevent the attack. A flick of her tail finally caught his attention. It was the black cat that had squirmed out of Dodd’s grip earlier that evening. She must have slipped inside before Umber closed the door, Hap thought. And while Hap had watched the rat meet its doom, the cat had waited for her turn to kill. She was poised with her chin low and haunches high, on a long shelf above the hearth.
“Look out!” Hap cried as the cat leaped.
The tiny man’s head turned toward Hap, and then upward as he sensed the attack from above. He rolled to one side as the cat landed. As he sprang back to his feet, a black paw lashed out. The edge of one claw caught in his shirt and spun him. He pulled the knife from his belt, but another swat of the paw sent the knife flying. The little man grunted and clutched his wrist. The paw swiped again and sent him sprawling. The cat’s mouth came down on his shoulder, and her ears went flat as the jaws squeezed.
It all happened in the time it took Hap to cover the distance. He seized the cat by the loose
skin on the back of her neck. “Let him go!”
The cat growled in protest and glared at Hap. She brought her back claws up to rake at the little man’s gut.
“No!” shouted Hap. He lifted the cat by the scruff of her neck, and the man with her. There was a table nearby, and he carried the cat there and lowered her head to the surface so the little fellow wouldn’t fall to his death. “Drop him!” He pushed his thumb into the corner of the cat’s mouth and pried the jaws open. The hunter gasped and fell onto the tabletop, pressing a hand on the spot where the jaws had clamped. Hap let the cat go, and she slunk away with her belly scraping the ground, heading for the stairs.
“Are you hurt?” Hap asked. He kept his voice low because he thought it might hurt those tiny ears.
The little man pushed himself to his knees. His chest heaved, and he prodded himself on the shoulders and ribs, searching for wounds. “Go away,” he said. The voice was faint, like someone speaking from a distance, but deeper than Hap expected.
“But … are you bleeding?” Hap brought his face as close as he dared to the tiny form. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. It was a perfect reproduction of a man, down to the delicate fingers and the long, fine, straw-colored hair on his head. The leathery coat was thick; it might have kept the cat’s teeth from piercing the skin.
The man glared at Hap with his lips pressed together. He stood and straightened himself to his full height. Three inches, maybe four, Hap thought.
“Leave me alone,” the fellow said, bunching his hands into pea-size fists.
“But …,” Hap sputtered. “How will you get down from the table? Let me help you.”
The fellow walked to the edge and stared at a floor that must have seemed a hundred feet down. “I’ll manage.”
No words occurred to Hap. He kept gaping.
“How can you see me, anyway?” the little man snapped. “It’s dark. I can hardly see you at all.”
“My eyes … they’re not like most people’s eyes.”
The hunter cocked his head to one side and squinted. “No. They ain’t.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You’re the green-eyed boy. I’ve seen you around.”
“My name is Happenstance.”
“I’ve heard them use your name. I ain’t deaf. Well, Happenstance, you’re supposed to leave me alone. Everyone is. That’s the agreement.”
“Agreement?” Hap said, blinking.
“Umber’s and mine,” the little man said. “The big folk leave me alone, and I don’t hurt nobody.”
Hap started to smile but quickly suppressed it. “But how could you hurt—”
“Deadly spears and arrows, that’s how,” said the hunter, jabbing a finger in Hap’s direction. “Tipped with spider’s poison. I don’t have any with me, lucky for you, or you’d be screamin’ in pain right now. Now get out of my sight!”
Hap took a step back and raised his hands. “Are you sure I can’t … ?”
The little man rolled his shoulder back and forth, loosening the muscles. His tiny jaw ground from side to side. “Where’s that filthy cat?”
“I think it went upstairs. It could be hiding, though.”
The little man spat and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Fine. I’ll allow you to help me down.”
Feeling a little giddy at the opportunity to hold the little man, Hap put his cupped palms on the table. The hunter stared at the hands with his lip curled up on one side. He walked past them and jumped onto Hap’s forearm instead, straddling the wrist and gripping the sleeve tight. “Go on.”
Hap lifted his arm gingerly off the table. With his knees slightly bent, he started to walk toward the crack in the wall in slow, smooth steps.
The little man punched Hap’s arm, with surprising strength. “Just put me down, you green-eyed goon! I can walk, can’t I?”
Hap dropped to one knee. Keeping his arm as level as possible, he eased it down. The hunter didn’t wait for him to get all the way to floor; he hopped off and dropped the last foot, landing on two feet and a hand with an acrobat’s grace. Without looking back, he retrieved his knife, grabbed the rat’s tail with two hands, and dragged it toward the crack in the wall.
Hap fought the urge to call out, You’re welcome. Instead, he said, “Wait! Did you see anything strange a few minutes ago—like a thread hanging in the air? It went right toward that crack where you live.”
The little man stared back. “Are you sick in the head or something?”
“What? No—I just wondered if you saw anything. I did. At least, I think I did.”
The little man shook his head and moved on. He called back over his shoulder. “If I see that cat again, I’ll kill it.” A few seconds later, he disappeared inside the crack, pulling his prey behind him.
CHAPTER
17
The hulking creature was at least twice the height of a man. It had scaly green skin and stringy hair tangled with bits of seaweed. Tusks curled from the corners of its wide mouth. It was climbing out of a jagged hole in the hull of a wrecked ship. Nearby, an exhausted sailor hauled himself onto a rock as the sea frothed around him. Less fortunate sailors bobbed lifelessly in the waves. There was a chest balanced on one of the creature’s shoulders, and for artistic effect the lid stood open to reveal the heaps of pearls inside.
Hap looked at the words engraved at the bottom of the picture frame: COASTAL TROLL. “Lovely,” Hap said, frowning to himself. The walls were crammed with images like that one, painted or engraved in myriad styles. There were pictures of stone trolls, mountain trolls, forest trolls, and cavern trolls. There was a barn-size boar with enormous tusks, about to gore a helpless knight. There was a wolf standing on two legs, with hairy arms shaped like a man’s, and intelligent, piercing eyes: The Wolf That Walks. There was a dragon with its wings spread wide, staring at a misty promontory where a robed figure stood, barely visible in the fog: The Dragon Lord.
Hundreds of artifacts cluttered the shelves and bureaus. Hap didn’t open any drawers, not wanting to pry—or, at least, to be caught prying. So he looked at the stuff that was there for anyone to see. He picked up a curving piece of bone that ended in a sharp point. DRAGON CLAW. FOUND IN CHASTOR. DATE UNKNOWN, said its tag.
He was still picking his way through the collection when dawn crept into the narrow windows, and he heard someone on the stairs. He stepped into the middle of the room, pretending to stare at the great carved pillars that supported the ceiling. Balfour emerged from the staircase, still in his nightshirt. He was a little more bent over than usual, and when he arched his back it produced a symphony of gristly cracks and pops.
“Woke up more decrepit than normal,” Balfour yawned. “Morning, Hap.”
“Good morning,” Hap said.
“Hungry?”
Hap’s stomach rumbled. “A little.”
“Not surprised. I’ve seen the way you eat. Join me in the kitchen and I’ll whip something up. But first I’ve got to start the coffee. Heaven forbid Umber awakes and his precious black stuff isn’t ready.”
“Good, isn’t it?”
Hap nodded. Balfour had toasted an enormous slice of bread and slathered it with butter and honey.
“Umber says too much butter’s bad for you,” Balfour said, shaking his head. “Says it clogs the blood, if you can believe that. He’s got some funny ideas, that Lord Umber.”
The corner of Hap’s lip turned upward as he chewed.
“Well, look at that!” Balfour said. “You almost smiled. I was starting to wonder if you knew how.”
Hap sank in his chair. “I … I don’t know how to feel, most of the time.”
Balfour set a silver pot on top of the stove and brushed his hands. “I suppose you don’t. Tell me, Hap: What’s it like, not being able to remember anything before a few days ago? I can’t imagine.”
Hap slid his hands into the opposite sleeves and curled up in the seat. “It’s like being lost. I don’t know what to think. I wonder if I should be missing someone. I
wonder if someone is missing me. I … I don’t even know what kind of person I am.”
Balfour patted Hap’s arm. “A perfectly nice one, as far as I can tell.”
But I feel like a nothing. A nobody. A blank, Hap thought. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “What is it like for you—being able to remember? Do you remember some things, or all things?”
Balfour’s eyebrows went up, wrinkling his forehead. “What a question! I never considered it before. Well, I’ve been around for a while. I have plenty to recollect, for sure.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’d say that memory is like a book. It’s a long story that goes back to when you’re just a few years old. When I turn back to the very first pages, I can remember giggling when my dad tossed me up in the air. I can recall how light and dizzy I felt when I saw the first girl I ever loved. And I can remember how numb and heavy I felt on the day she died. Yes, Hap, I think memory is like a book.”
“If it’s a book, then mine is very short,” Hap said. “But it feels like something else to me: a box getting filled up with things. And some of the things, I don’t understand.”
“That might be a better way to look at it,” Balfour said. “A chest of stuff all jumbled together. Sometimes you dig in to search for one thing, but you find something else that was long forgotten. It’s strange how even the most trivial stuff can be preserved. A joke someone told; a meal you ate; a game you played. You can hardly believe it’s still there.”
“My memories were stolen,” Hap said. “I can’t find them, no matter how hard I try.” He licked a fingertip and used it to gather up the crumbs on his plate.
Balfour offered a sympathetic frown. “You’re still hungry, I’ll toast another. Never fear, Hap. You’re so young! Even if you don’t get your past back, you have years ahead to write your book and fill that box. All it takes is time.”
Hap was going to nod in reply, but the door to the kitchen clattered open and a pale-faced, bug-eyed Umber blew in like a storm. The black cat was in his arms. “How did this beast get inside? I can’t believe it survived the night!”
Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1) Page 13