“It won’t survive another,” Hap said. “At least, that’s what the little man said.”
Umber’s jaw unhinged. “You saw Thimble? And he spoke to you?”
So that’s his name, Hap thought. He looked from Umber to Balfour. “We talked, but only because I saved him. From that cat.”
The cat meowed as if in reply, and her tail twitched. “You saved Thimble from this cat?” Umber said, mostly to himself. The cat squirmed out of his grip, and Umber let her drop. With the kitchen door closed, she had nowhere to go.
Hap nodded. “The little man—Thimble—killed the rat. He didn’t see the cat coming.”
Balfour poured some cream into a saucer and put it down for the cat to drink. He winced when he bent his knees. “And you just happened to arrive at that exact moment, to save Thimble?”
“Um. Yes.”
Umber and Balfour stared at each other. “What were you doing downstairs?” Umber asked.
“I’m sorry,” Hap said, shrinking back in his chair. “I just came down to—”
“No, my boy!” cried Umber, fanning the air. “I’m curious, not angry! Who am I to scold anyone who wants to explore? I just want to know how you came to be there at the right moment, and what Thimble said to you. That little ruffian hasn’t spoken to anyone in ages! I want to know everything that happened. But hold on—I think I smell coffee, and the story can wait till there’s a mug in my hands!”
When Hap reached the part about the thread of light, he saw Umber’s fingers begin to drum on the side of the mug.
“Bewildering,” he said when Hap was done. “But you’re feeling all right now, after that chill and fever?”
“Yes,” Hap said. “It scared me, though. What do you think it was, Lord Umber?”
Umber shook his head. “No idea. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you saw the thread a moment later.” He raised the mug for another sip. “And speaking of that, did that thread mean anything to you, Hap?”
The question was meant to sound casual, but Hap saw the avid look in Umber’s eyes over the arc of the mug. Hap remembered the note, and its hint of skills arising, and wished again that they could talk openly about it. “I don’t know. It seemed like … a path or something.”
“Hmm. I wonder if anyone else could have seen it,” Umber mused. “Something tells me no. Hap, if you see another thread, pay close attention. It might be important.”
“Seems to me it was important,” Balfour said. “Thimble would have died if Hap didn’t follow it.”
“But who is Thimble?” Hap asked. “Where did he come from?”
“Thimble doesn’t talk about his origin,” Umber replied. “When I found him while visiting the kingdom of Meer, he’d been living in a cage for years, enslaved by a loutish fellow who showed him for profit. I offered that man a fortune to purchase Thimble’s freedom. And the cretin refused! So we … er … liberated Thimble through other means.” Umber looked at Balfour, who covered his mouth and coughed to disguise a grin. “I brought Thimble here and told him he was free to go where he wanted. He stayed, but he’s chosen to keep to himself. By then he was disgusted with big folk, as you can understand.”
Umber slapped the mug on the table with gusto, and cracked his knuckles. “But we have other business to attend to now. Are you ready, Hap?”
Hap blinked up at Umber. “Ready for what, sir?”
“Exploration! Illumination! First, I’ll show you our caverns. And then it’s off to the archives. With any luck, we’ll know more about you before the day is done.”
CHAPTER
18
With a lamp held shoulder-high, Umber led the way down a corridor that plunged deep into the rock behind the Aerie. Oates trudged behind them. This time he bore a battle-ax that looked too big for Hap to lift.
They veered right as the passage divided and came to a great door that blocked the corridor. It was barred on the near side by a thick beam. Umber put the lamp on the ground and pushed his sleeves past his elbows. “Don’t trouble yourself, Oates. I can handle this.” He put his hands under one end of the beam and heaved up, straining every modest muscle in his arm and grunting with the effort. Oates smirked and shook his head.
“Got it!” Umber said, staggering under the weight before the beam slipped from his hands and clattered onto the floor. He danced back to keep his toes from getting mashed. “That was as light as a feather to me.”
When he followed Umber past the open door, Hap was amazed by the vast space on the other side. The corridor widened into a natural cavern with a high, arching ceiling crowded with mineral fangs. There were thousands of tiny lights around and above, clinging to the stone and twinkling like stars in pale shades of every color. A closer look showed what they were: glimmer-worms, like the ones Umber had in Alzumar.
“The glimmer-worms thrive here,” Umber said. “We breed them throughout our caverns to light the way.”
“This is dull. Can we go back now?” groused Oates.
“Charming, Oates. Come along, Hap,” Umber said. He led them down a path between pillars of rock, bypassing smaller lanes that angled into adjacent chambers.
They soon arrived at an unexpected sight: a wide subterranean pond, filled by a steady and musical rain of drips from the rock above. In the middle of the water, something silvery-white leaped and plunked. “Crystal-fish,” Umber said. “Brought here by the dwarves—excuse me, by the Dwergh—who built the Aerie centuries ago. They’re blind, transparent, and delicious. The fish, I mean, not the Dwergh. Never call them dwarves, by the way, Hap, if you happen to meet them. They take great offense.”
A sharp slapping sound made Hap and Umber turn their heads. They saw Oates staring at his palm, which was covered with brightly glowing jelly. A similar smear was on his neck. He cast a sullen, guilty look at Umber. “I felt it crawling on me.”
“Don’t squish the glimmer-worms, Oates,” Umber said with a sigh. “They’re harmless and beneficial.”
“Says you,” Oates grumbled. He wiped the goop on his shirt, and they moved past the lake.
“Ah, this will impress you,” Umber said as they rounded a corner.
Just ahead, the throat of the cave was sealed with enormous blocks of stone. An opening in the center, wide enough for a wagon to pass, was barred. Hap had seen the stout portcullis in the Aerie’s gatehouse, and a sturdier one at the palace, but both were flimsy compared to the one before him now. An unsettling question formed in his mind. He opened his mouth to ask, but Umber anticipated his question again.
“You’re wondering what on earth is on the other side, that calls for such a barrier?”
Hap nodded.
“Nasty things,” said Oates. He had walked with the ax slung casually across his shoulder, but now he held it sideways with both hands gripping the handle tight.
“That’s the truth,” Umber said. “Those caverns plunge deep under the mountains. And there are some foul creatures down there. Hobgoblins. Cavern trolls. Other monstrosities.” There were sinuous pillars of stone on the other side, and the passage that twisted out of sight looked like a throat ready to gobble down whoever walked that way. Umber’s face turned grim, and he went on in a hush. “Sometimes if you stand here and are very quiet, you can hear noises from deep within. Grunts. Whispers.”
Oates exhaled loudly.
“Have you ever … gone down there?” Hap asked quietly.
“No need,” Umber replied. “I know what’s there, and I don’t care to see it again.” A smile replaced the shadow on his face, and he winked at Hap. “But there’s a winch in that alcove that we can use to raise the portcullis—would you like to take a stroll?”
Hap whipped his head from side to side.
“Ha! That’s quite all right, Hap. We have more important things on our agenda. It’s time to meet Smudge in the archives. Though once you’ve met him, you might decide that exploring that cavern was a better idea!”
CHAPTER
19
Hap
had been to this spot before. He and Lady Truden had been splattered by fruit when they showed their faces at this door to the archives.
“Don’t forget to ask,” Oates urged Umber.
“It’s easy to remember with you hovering like a thunderhead,” Umber replied.
Umber took a trio of old books from his pack. He pressed his back against the wall, reached sideways, rapped on the door with his knuckles, and called out, “Smudge! Smudge, good fellow! Can you hear me?”
Papers shuffled on the other side of the door. A froglike voice called back: “I’m busy! Leave me be!”
Umber rolled his eyes. He whispered to Hap, “Smudge is an odd bird, for sure. He burrows so deep into the archives that he never wants to be disturbed. Hard to handle at times, but he certainly knows his way around the collection. It’s almost worth the aggravation.”
“No it isn’t,” said Oates.
Umber cleared his throat and shouted toward the square opening in the door. “You’re always busy, Smudge! But I’m coming in, anyway. And I’m bringing someone new with me, so you’d better behave yourself!”
There was a furious slam. “No strangers!”
“If you meet him, he won’t be a stranger!” Umber reached sideways, lifted the latch on the door, and poked his head into the room. He peered left and right, and motioned for Hap and Oates to follow.
Hap had only glimpsed the room before. Now he could see the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves extending into shadow. There were cluttered desks and tables near the door, lit by dozens of jars where glimmer-worms munched on mushrooms and leaves.
Smudge was nowhere to be seen. Umber huffed out a breath, folded his arms, and called aloud, “We need your wisdom, Smudge. Where are you?”
“Not over here,” came a sour reply.
Umber shook his head and walked to where he could peer between two of the shelves. He groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. “Smudge! Put on some trousers, man! How many times have we spoken about this?”
High-pitched giggles cascaded from behind the shelf. It was hard to believe that a voice so low could laugh so high. Hap heard feet padding on the floor and a scuffle of material. Smudge’s voice croaked again. “She’s not here, is she?” he asked, as if referring to a species of viper.
“Lady Truden? She is not,” Umber replied.
“Good. Can’t stand her,” the archivist said. His voice approached the end of the shelf.
“Not to break your heart, but she isn’t fond of you, either,” Umber said, brushing something off his sleeve. “Smudge, I want you to meet Happenstance. He has some unusual abilities, and I wish to know if our archives tell us about others like him.”
“What strange eyes he has,” the froglike voice said.
“Smudge, please stop spying from between the books and get out here,” Umber said.
“If you’ve got trousers on,” Oates added.
A moment passed, and then fingers appeared, curling around the end of a shelf. A shaggy head poked out next, with dark eyes set wide. Smudge was small and wiry, with wild dark hair and a tangled beard that partially covered his sunken, bony chest. He squinted at them, sniffed with contempt, and crept across the floor. He’d put trousers on, Hap was grateful to see, but they were filthy and torn.
“Your trousers have holes in them,” Oates said, pointing.
Smudge sneered back. “Of course they do! How else would I get my legs in them?”
“And you smell like compost,” Oates said, pinching his nose.
“That stuff between your ears, you mean?” growled Smudge.
“Oates is tactless but truthful, Smudge,” Umber said. “Your odor would offend a hobgoblin. You’ll need a bath after this.”
“No bath! Too busy!” howled the archivist, staggering back.
“You can pry yourself away for an hour, my friend,” Umber insisted. “But look, Smudge: See what I’ve brought you!” He held up the three moldy, ancient books.
Smudge’s eyes gleamed. “Books for me?”
“If you behave yourself,” Umber said, tucking them under his arm. Smudge turned his head sideways, trying to read the titles. Umber hid the words with his other arm. “First, I want to know—”
Oates tugged at Umber’s sleeve. “You said you’d ask about me first.”
Umber furrowed his brow. “And the question would be out already, if you didn’t interrupt. Smudge, have you turned up anything about Oates’s curse?”
A wicked grin oozed over Smudge’s face. “What, is the big brute tired of telling the truth all the time?”
“Yes,” Oates said.
Smudge chuckled and wiggled his fingers inside his beard. “Sorry! Nothing yet. But there are still so many texts to read and scrolls to decipher. It would help if the brute knew who cast the spell—”
Oates opened his mouth to speak, but Umber raised a hand. “We’ve been through that, Smudge. Oates has no idea.” Umber turned to Hap to explain. “Oates was a bit of a liar and a thief back then, and he probably aggravated some sorcerer in disguise.”
Oates’s shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor. Umber reached up to pat his back. “Don’t lose hope, my good man. Sure, Smudge despises you, but there’s nothing he likes better than digging up lore. And you know I’m making other inquiries far and wide. You trust me to cure you some day, don’t you?”
“Not really,” Oates mumbled.
“Nevertheless,” Umber said. “Smudge, kindly keep searching on Oates’s behalf. Meanwhile I have a new mystery for you.”
Smudge was already inspecting the new mystery. He stepped close to stare into Hap’s eyes. The stench of unwashed flesh and hair was so strong that Hap craned his neck back. “What strange thing has Umber found now?” Smudge said, fiddling with his beard.
“Mind your manners, please, and call him Hap,” Umber replied. He recounted what they knew so far: the discovery in Alzumar. The unseen stranger who was there when Hap awoke. Hap’s unusual abilities. The creature, Occo, who pursued them across the sea. Umber said nothing about the burning note except the initials of its author: WN.
Hap held his breath with anticipation, because Smudge was nodding at a faster and faster rate as Umber spoke. He blinked madly, and his fingers twiddled inside his knotty beard, causing it to ruffle as if a strong breeze was blowing. It seemed that, at last, they were on the verge of getting some answers.
“This is what we want to know, Smudge,” Umber finally said. “Who is WN? What is Occo, and what does he want? And most importantly, can you shed any light on Hap himself? I’m counting on your knowledge, Smudge. Can you tell us anything right now?”
Hap leaned forward with his fingers digging into his thighs.
Smudge licked his lips and finally spoke in a halting croak. “Brother Caspar had a … special interest in the green-eyed folk. Didn’t want me to talk to others about it.”
Umber’s eyes seemed to double in size. “Caspar never told me, that’s for certain. Why, Smudge? Why didn’t he want you to talk about it?”
Smudge tucked his shaggy head between his shoulders. “Brother Caspar would be angry if I said.”
Umber groaned and clasped his forehead. “Really, Smudge. Do I have to remind you that your brother left like a thief in the night, taking some of my archives without permission and leaving you behind? You owe him nothing. But now I need your help and your trust. This is more important than you can imagine, Smudge. Tell me!”
Smudge’s lower lip quivered like jelly. “Brother Caspar … he wanted to be powerful and important. Like you, Lord Umber. He was forever looking in the archives for hints of great treasures. Or spells of power. Once he found scrolls that told of green-eyed folk. He told me to look for more, but keep it secret.”
It was a good thing, thought Hap, that Smudge was staring at the floor as he spoke. If he’d seen the fury gathering on Umber’s face, his mouth would have clapped tighter than an oyster. Even Oates took a step back.
“I assume he took all those scro
lls with him,” Umber said through gritted teeth. “But what did Caspar learn, Smudge?”
“Well … Brother spoke of magical men with bright green eyes. They were called many things. Hoppers. Tinkers. But mostly Meddlers.”
Hap’s head felt light with excitement. Hoppers made sense, considering his ability to leap. He’d kept quiet until now, but he had to speak. “What’s magical about them? Why did your brother want to know about them?”
Smudge peered at Hap through narrowed eyes. “The green-eyed ones turn up when momentous things happen. Great disasters and great victories. Years apart, sometimes. Perhaps there are many of them, or a few. Perhaps they never die.” That thought sent an icy shiver through Hap’s bones.
“These green-eyed people—are they heroes or villains?” Umber asked.
Smudge squirmed, as if it were painful to remember his brother’s words. “Both. Or neither,” he said. “Brother Caspar said they’re never at the heart of history. Only lurking around the edges and bending the path of destiny the way they desire. They come and go quickly … people only notice them because of the eyes.” Smudge stole another sideways glance at Hap.
Umber’s anger faded, displaced by a look of burning curiosity. “Bending the path of destiny?” he asked. “How can they do that?”
“Brother told me a story,” Smudge said, while using his pinkie to scrape something from his ear. “Long ago, two armies lined up to battle. Their generals met on the field between them and agreed on a truce. But one general saw a serpent on the ground and drew his sword to kill it. When both armies saw the raised sword, they thought the battle was on and rushed at one another. A kingdom fell that day. Brother said, ‘Who do you suppose lured that serpent to the field? A Meddler,’ he said. ‘Tinkering with the fates of men.’”
Umber nodded. His thoughts seemed to be racing. “But how do the Meddlers know what to do? And why do they meddle? What do they want?”
Smudge’s shoulders rose and fell. “Nobody knows. Brother always wanted to learn how to find one, or summon one…. He thought one could steer his fate to give him what he desired.” He turned to stare at Hap with a forlorn look in his wide-set eyes. “If he only knew one would come to his door, he would not have left.”
Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1) Page 14