Abarat: The First Book of Hours a-1

by Clive Barker

  Those waters soon became very much more turbulent, as McBean’s little vessel left the Straits and headed out into the open sea. There were thunderheads moving down from the heights of Hap’s Vault, and Hemmett had already warned his passengers that the storm was going to be ferocious. The clouds were now moving over the sea, spitting lightning down at the seething water.

  The girl, Tria, seemed completely unperturbed by the way the Belbelo rode the increasingly violent waves. She simply gazed out toward the darkened islands ahead, and now and again whispered something to Geneva. The girl’s instructions were in turn passed to McBean, who was piloting the vessel in whatever direction Tria’s instincts indicated.

  As they traveled, Two-Toed Tom, who boasted a fine array of spiral tattoos, sat on the starboard side of the boat, with a yellowed and much-folded map in his hands, studying its contents with a large magnifying glass. Geneva Peachtree stood in the center of the boat, occasionally giving orders, but most of the time scanning the horizon. Now and again she would go over to consult the map with Two-Toed Tom.

  The Johns were far too curious not to wander across and ask what was so interesting about the document they were studying. As soon as they approached, Two-Toed Tom hurriedly began to fold the map up. Then Geneva said:

  “It’s all right, Tom, I know the brothers.”

  “You do?” said John Pluckitt.

  “By reputation only,” Geneva Peachtree replied with a smile so lovely that the Johns all fell a little in love at the same moment.

  “Then if you know us,” said John Moot, “you probably don’t trust us.”

  “No. Quite the reverse,” Geneva said to Moot. “The only people I really trust are those who have nothing to lose.”

  “Ah,” said John Pluckitt. “Then that’s us.”

  “Nowhere left to run,” said Fillet, rather wearily.

  “Here’s my promise to you, brothers,” Geneva said. “If things go well on this expedition, I will give you a home where I promise you the law will never touch you. A place where you can start a new life.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the Isle of the Black Egg,” Geneva replied. “It may not look like the most inviting of places. Four in the Morning is a dark time. The moon’s gone down and the sun’s nowhere near showing its face. But there’s more to my island than darkness and death.”

  “Really?”

  “Believe me. Sometimes when life looks to be at its grimmest, there’s a light, hidden at the heart of things.”

  She looked away as she spoke, and John Mischief knew that she wasn’t just describing the mysteries of her island. She was talking about the here and now: this voyage and its purpose.

  This seemed as good a time as any to ask exactly what that purpose was.

  “What have you got planned for us?” John Fillet asked. “Why do we need a digger, for one thing?”

  “Tell them, Tom,” Geneva said.

  Two-Toed Tom looked a little reluctant.

  “Go on,” Geneva urged.

  “I don’t want to frighten them off,” Tom said.

  “I don’t think John Mischief is the nervous kind somehow,” Geneva replied. “Nor are his brothers.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so,” Geneva replied. Her words, however gently delivered, were indisputably an order. And having given it, she left Tom and the Johns to talk, and went to consult with Tria again.

  The Johns watched her go.

  “It happens quickly, huh?” Two-Toed Tom said.

  “What?”

  “Falling in love with Geneva. One look, really. That’s all it takes.”

  The Johns all looked back at Tom. Sallow, Drowze and Pluckitt were blushing.

  “Don’t worry, she has the same effect upon everybody. Even me. Do you have a lady?”

  “No,” said Mischief. “You?”

  “I have a strange household,” Two-Toed Tom said. “Do you want to see?”

  “Please,” said Mischief.

  Two-Toed Tom took out a much-thumbed photograph of five individuals. One was Tom himself, with a two-headed Idjitian Jenga curled up at his feet. Beside Tom stood a big, scarlet-skinned man with long braided hair, who had a miniature blossom pig in his arms.

  “I see what you mean,” Mischief said. “A strange household indeed. Do you miss them?”

  “Of course; all of them. We’ve been together a long time. But this mission is important to me. They understand that I had to come.” He very carefully put the picture away. “And they know I might not come back.”

  “What did he say?” John Pluckitt asked.

  “I heard what he said,” John Drowze replied. The whole horn on which Drowze grew leaned forward as he addressed Tom. “Let me get this straight,” John Drowze said. “Are you saying we could get killed?”

  “Oh, hush, all of you,” John Mischief said, embarrassed by his brothers’ show of cowardice. “We signed on for this trip and we’re going to see it through to the bitter end.”

  “It would be nice to know exactly what all this was about, however,” Sallow said, with his usual aplomb. “You know, just so that we can be prepared.”

  “Of course,” said Tom, his earlier reserve now set aside. “Where do I begin? Well, let me start with Finnegan. Do any of you remember a man called Finnegan Hob?”

  “Of course,” said John Slop. “He was the poor fellow—”

  “—who was going to marry the Princess Boa,” said John Moot.

  “But didn’t get the chance—” said John Swallow.

  “—because the Princess,” said John Mischief, “was taken by a dragon at the altar.”

  “You have it right,” said Tom. “Finnegan was a fine man. Indeed I believe he would have been a great man if he’d married the Princess and had a chance to come to power. Together they would have healed a lot of old wounds around the islands. Feuds that go back to the war between Night and Day.”

  “He wasn’t of royal blood, was he?” said John Serpent.

  “Well, that’s the interesting thing about Finnegan,” Tom went on. “His father was a Prince of Day. His name was Maffick Hob. His mother was of lowly birth, but had some extraordinary powers of her own. And she was a child of the Night. Her name was Mariah Capella, and she lived on Speckle Frew—”

  “Interesting mix,” Mischief observed. “Finnegan was quite a hybrid.”

  “That’s an understatement,” saidTom. “It was a forbidden union, this marriage between Maffick and Mariah. A Prince of Day and a witch from the Nightside; it was unheard of. So Finnegan was a rare man, in every way. I had the great honor of knowing him for a few months during his courtship with the Princess Boa. I was in charge of her stables, and I would arrange for them to go out riding together. It was a secret courtship, at first, of course. But it didn’t stay secret for very long.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the love she felt for him poured out of her. Love that deep couldn’t be hidden, not from people who knew her well, like her father. He soon saw through our little arrangements.”

  “And what did King Claus say when he found out?” John Moot asked.

  “At first he was in a rage about it. How could the Princess contemplate falling in love with a man of such questionable birth? ‘Half this and half that,’ I remember him saying. But that all changed very quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he met Finnegan.” Tom made a small, sad smile. “You couldn’t know Finnegan for more than two minutes and not see how good a man he was. How gentle. How compassionate. So certain in his opinions and so profound in his feelings…” He sighed heavily. These memories were obviously bittersweet. “So anyway, King Claus sanctioned the union and a wedding was announced. It was to be held on the Nonce, in the Old Palace of Bowers. Believe me, there was never a woman as happy as the Princess in those months leading up to the ceremony. Her love for Finnegan illuminated everything she said and did.” Tears welled in Tom’s eyes and, brimming, ran down h
is cheeks. “I have one consolation,” he said, his voice raw with sorrow. “That she was the happiest soul in creation, until the last moment of her life.”

  “So you were there in the Palace when it happened?” Sallow said.

  “Oh yes,” said Tom. “I’m afraid I was. I was standing perhaps ten yards away from her when the dragon’s tongue took her.” He fell silent, as a picture of this horror entered his mind’s eye. “It dragged her out through the Palace door before we even knew what was happening. Finnegan was the first to go after her. But he was too late. She was dead by the time he got outside. Ten, twelve seconds maybe, from standing at the altar with Finnegan at her side, to lying out in the dirt, gone from us. Even now as I think of it, after all those years, it scarcely seems believable.”

  A great roll of thunder shook the boards of the boat, and the first drops of icy rain started to splatter against their faces, mingling with the tears on Tom’s face.

  “What’s all this got to do with this little fishing trip we’re on?” John Mischief said.

  “I’ll tell you. For nine years after he lost his Princess, Finnegan went looking for the family of the dragon that had killed her. He needed answers, you see. He knew the murder of his beloved hadn’t been the actions of a rogue worm—”

  “Worm?” said John Serpent.

  “Yes, sir: worm,” Tom replied, with deep contempt. “Dragon is too noble a term for these things.”

  “Wait,” said Mischief. “I don’t think I’m quite following this. Are you saying that Finnegan was going after these dragons—these worms—to interrogate them?”

  “Worms have tongues,” Tom said. “And many of them are very eloquent. A few are poets.”

  “Really?” said John Sallow. “I never knew that.”

  “Any of it any good?” said John Moot.

  “Ordure, muck, excreta,” Tom replied.

  “Just wondering,” said Moot.

  “So, Finnegan assembled a band of folks who were ready to help him find these worms,” said Tom. “There were eleven of us back then. Twelve, including Finnegan. McBean, Kiss Curl, Geneva and myself are all that I know for sure are left of the band.”

  “Lordy,” said Slop.

  “Dragon hunting isn’t a job for the people who are interested in living long lives.”

  “I assume Finnegan had already killed the dragon that murdered his beloved?”

  “Oh yes. Finnegan killed it right outside the Palace. Climbed into its mouth and struck a sword blow to its brain. It was a famous worm too. Perhaps you heard of it? Gravainia Pavonine.”

  “That’s impressive,” said Mischief.

  “They’re entirely ridiculous creatures when you have them cornered,” Two-Toed Tom said. “All that din and self-importance, and they have not a breath of love or honor in them.”

  “But intelligent?” said Pluckitt.

  “Oh, certainly. Marvelously intelligent, some of them. But intelligence without love is an empty thing, I think.”

  “Well said,” John Sallow remarked.

  “Believe me, I’ve been nose to nose with several worms in my time, and they are a vicious, vain and cruel species. Even the crowned heads.”

  “You met royalty?”

  “Oh yes. Gravainia Pavonine was fourth in line to the Scaly Throne. Only his brothers, Nemapsychus and Giamantis, and his sister, Pijirantia Pavonine, were before him. And all still alive, I’m afraid to say.”

  “What about Finnegan?” said John Moot. “You were telling us about him and you got lost with all this wormy talk.”

  “Ah yes. Finnegan. That’s where she comes in,” Tom said. He pointed to the small girl still sitting in the bow of the Belbelo, braving the waves. Geneva had put a coat around Tria’s frail shoulders, but she seemed not to notice the downpour. “Our little friend Tria has an uncanny ability to find people; often people who’ve been missing a long time.”

  “And when did you all last see Finnegan?” Mischief asked.

  “About six years ago,” Tom replied. “He went off on his own.”

  “Why?”

  “Because his quest for the family of Gravainia Pavonine had taken such a terrible toll of lives. He didn’t want anybody else to die on his account, so he slipped away while we were on Efreet, leaving a note saying we should all get on and live our lives. Forget about him, he said. As if we could ever do that.”

  He glanced up at Geneva, who at that moment happened to be looking in his direction. She clearly knew by the expression on his face what tale he was telling, and with a little nod of her head encouraged him to finish it.

  So Tom went on.

  “We all tried to obey his instructions, for his sake as much as for our own. We went our separate ways and tried to live our lives. But Finnegan was never very far from our thoughts. How could he be? We had shared his quest and his company for years. We all knew he was out there somewhere among the islands alone.” Tom shook his head. “We hated to think of that. We listened for news of him, and sometimes we’d hear something—he’d been seen here, he’d been seen there—but never anything certain. And then, about seven weeks ago, Geneva met Tria. And apparently the child knew immediately that there was somebody Geneva wished to find.”

  “So she knows Finnegan’s alive?”

  “So she says.”

  “For certain?”

  “For certain. But she has a sense that wherever he is, he’s buried.”

  “Ah-ha!” said Mischief. “So that’s why you needed a digger!”

  “You won’t be alone, believe me,” said Geneva, breaking into the conversation. “We’ll all be digging beside you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Mischief.

  Geneva turned to Tom. “Will you try and persuade Tria to go below for a while? Maybe she’ll listen to you. At least until this storm is—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of something grating along the underside of the Belbelo. The vessel shook.

  “Have we hit something?” John Serpent said in alarm.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have come on this trip!” John Pluckitt muttered. “Crazy…”

  Mischief ignored his brothers and peered over the side of the boat, to see if they had struck a rock. But no; what they had struck—or rather, what had struck them—was moving through the thrashing waters. And it was no small object.

  Tom looked up at Mischief, an expression of profound concern on his face.

  “I think we found our first dragon,” he said.

  25. Mischief Undone

  A dragon it was; a worm of the seagoing variety. It rose up twenty feet above the seething waters, the back of its head spread like the hood of a cobra, and lined with foot-long spikes. Its very appearance rocked the Belbelo so violently that it nearly capsized.

  “A’zo and Cha!” Mischief said. “Look at that thing!”

  “Get the child!” Geneva yelled.

  Two-Toed Tom immediately raced up the length of the rocking vessel to claim Tria from the bow. Even the sudden arrival of the great serpent had not disturbed her from her meditations on Finnegan’s whereabouts. But she put up no protest when Tom took her from her vulnerable position and brought her into the little cabin.

  The dragon, meanwhile, was speaking.

  “These waters are mine,” it said, its voice deep and smooth; its tone quite equitable. “I demand a toll from anyone who sails through them” Its head swooped low as it scanned those upon the deck of the Belbelo. “Today, I will be generous. In return for your trespass here, I will only take… let me see, what will I take?” It sniffed, its head skimming the creaking boards of the boat. “I shall take a girl-child,” it said. “Where is she? Don’t hide her away.”

  The dragon’s head drew closer to the cabin door.

  “Bring her out!” the dragon demanded. “Come on! Let me have her and I will guarantee you safe passage.”

  He turned to Carlotti.

  “What is your destination, sir?” the worm said, all politeness.

&nbs
p; Carlotti shook his head.

  “Don’t deny me now” the dragon went on, its terrible teeth perilously close to poor Carlotti’s head, as though in an instant it would behead him.

  “You’ll get no answers from him,” said Geneva, glancing around to locate her sword. “He has no tongue.”

  “Ah,” said the dragon, turning to Geneva. “Then you tell me, woman. Where are you headed? To the Nonce is it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I can work up a current with my tail that will get you there in half the time.”

  “I’m sure you can,” said Geneva, pulling her sword out from the heap of garments where it lay.

  “Just give me the girl-child,” the dragon said, breathing so hard on the cabin doors they shook.

  “Not a chance,” said Geneva, poking the side of the dragon’s throat with her sword, drawing its attention away from the cabin.

  The beast threw its cadaverous gaze back toward her.

  “Now don’t incense me, woman,” the worm said. “Just let me have my toll.”

  “You heard me, worm,” Geneva replied. “Not a chance.”

  “Damn thee, woman,” the dragon said. “Take this!”

  It made a foul retching sound and suddenly regurgitated the contents of its five stomachs in a noisome torrent that struck Geneva with such force it threw her across the deck. Her sword went out of her hand and spun across the boards.

  Geneva pulled herself to her feet, her boots sliding in the slime of the dragon’s stomach juices. Twice she slipped, but on the third attempt, she succeeded in standing upright. She had picked a new weapon—one of the bigger bones the worm had spewed up. Racing back across the deck she beat the bone back and forth against the snout of the dragon, and when the bone shattered, she picked up another, continuing to strike at the thing until that bone, like its predecessor, was smashed to smithereens.

  “How long is this little game going to go on for?” the dragon said, putting on a show of weariness. “I’m getting irritated.”