Abarat: The First Book of Hours a-1

by Clive Barker

  He slowly shook his head.

  “Never,” he said.

  This spectacle of growth would have been extraordinary enough in itself; but there was more. The monsoon had awoken dormant elements in the greenery, parts of its blossoming anatomy that did not entirely resemble plants. Wasn’t that an eye surreptitiously opening in the head of a flower? And something uncannily like a mouth, gaping in the moisture-fattened bulbs of a plant that sat half in the earth and half out, like a bright green onion?

  On all sides there were signs of this uncanny life: cracklings and mutterings and stretching and yes, even something like laughter, as though the plants were hugely amused by the sight of their own protean lives.

  It was Tria who first said: “Where’s Mischief?”

  Everybody looked around. The John brothers were not to be seen. The Captain sent everyone in different directions, telling them to look quickly, as this was a matter of life and death.

  “If they’re lying facedown in water, they could be drowning right now!”

  His words gave urgency to everybody’s search. There were large, shallow pools of muddy rainwater at the bottom of the slope; they went through them from end to end on their hands and knees, desperately hoping to find Mischief before too much time passed.

  Meanwhile, the greenery continued to become more active and more fruitful around them, the buds bursting like popcorn, releasing the sweet fragrance of new flowers. Some of the plants were so eager to be fruitful that they were already releasing clouds of pollen that filled the air like soft golden smoke.

  The survivors, of course, noticed none of this. They were concerned about Mischief.

  Nothing was said, but everyone was beginning to fear the worst. Perhaps the force of the water had carried him down the slope of the beach and out to sea. If not, where was he?

  It was Tria—the ever-observant Tria—who pointed out what had happened to the rest of their belongings. The things that they’d attempted to save from the monsoon, and had successfully carried back up the slope, only to lose them again when they’d tumbled back down, were all in one spot. They had been gathered together, it seemed, by the large, serpentine tendrils of an enormous plant that sat in regal solitude at the bottom of the incline.

  They went to examine it. The plant was continuing to grow and thrive, its huge seedpods shiny green with health. They creaked as they grew, and gave off the pungent smell of all green growing things. The plant was like a little grove unto itself, its outer layer a knotted thicket of freshly sprung and interwoven flora. It was here that articles from their encampment had been brought by the water. Now they were part of the elaborate network of tendrils, as though some ambitious intelligence in the plant was attempting to turn them into bizarre blossoms.

  Beyond the thicket—at the heart of this miniature forest—the foliage grew considerably denser. So dense, in fact that it almost hid from sight an enormous seedpod, dripping with the juices of its recent creation.

  “Will you take a look at that?” said Tom, parting the veil of tendrils.

  “There,” Tria said. “He’s in there.”

  “Mischief?” Geneva asked her.

  Tria nodded.

  The other three exchanged confounded looks.

  “Here, Captain,” Tom said. “Lend me a hand, will you?”

  They began to pull at the outer layer of the thicket, and the tendrils uncoiled and wrapped around their hands and arms, around their legs too. They were too thin—perhaps too playful—to do any real harm, but they still slowed the men’s advance.

  “I wish I had a knife,” the Captain said.

  “Oh, let me at it!” said Geneva. “You two will be fighting that stuff all day!”

  She stepped between them and started to pull at the tangled mass. Now all three of them were in the midst of the green coils, and pieces of flora were flying in all directions.

  But Geneva was a better tactician than the other two. She ducked down under the great mass of thicket, and then—once she was on the other side—pushed it out, like two enormous doors, which Tom and the Captain grabbed hold of, creating a passageway into the heart of the grove.

  They were all breathless now, fragments of the leaves stuck to the sweat on their faces and caught on their eyelashes and in their hair.

  They stood aside as Tria entered through the opening they’d made and approached the pod that all this foliage had been protecting.

  “Be careful,” Tom said to her.

  He’d no sooner spoken than the pod—which was hanging from a great looping network of vines—began to move. Small tremors ran through it, as though something inside was having a little fit. Its seam began to split with a sound of tearing canvas, spitting gobs of sweet juice as it did so.

  Tria turned and looked at the adults.

  “See?” she said, an expression of delight on her face, a rare sight indeed.

  The top of the pod now flew open like the lid of a casket. And there, lying in a mess of mud and water, but cushioned by the leaves and the coiled tendrils that lined the pod, was John Mischief and his brothers.

  Their eyes were still closed, but something—perhaps the light suddenly falling on their upturned faces when the lid rose—now stirred them.

  John Moot was the first to open his eyes. He blinked hard. Then he frowned and let out a little laugh.

  “What happened?” he said.

  “You’re awake…”said Tom.

  John Drowze piped up next. “So am I!”

  It was like watching the stars come out at night, as now—one by one—the John brothers opened their eyes and the light of full consciousness returned into their puzzled faces.

  Mischief himself, however, remained comatose, even though in a short time every other one of his brothers was awake.

  “We should lift you out of here,” Tom said to them, “before the greenery thinks about swallowing you up again.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Serpent. “We’ll wake him, and then he can climb out himself.”

  “You might have difficulty,” said Geneva, peering closely at Mischief. “He’s showing no sign of stirring.”

  “Don’t worry—” said John Sallow.

  “—we do it all the time when he’s dozing,” John Slop said.

  Then, looking at his brothers, “Is everybody ready?”

  There were murmurs of affirmation from both antlers.

  John Serpent took the countdown:

  “Three. Two. One—”

  And as a single voice, the Johns all yelled:

  “MISCHIEF?”

  At first there was no response, absolutely none. They held their breath; Fillet, Sallow, Moot, Drowze, Pluckitt, Serpent and Slop included. Then there was the tiniest of twitches in Mischief’s left eyelid and a moment later his eye opened. His right eye followed a heartbeat later.

  “What am I doing lying in this plant?” was the first thing he said, and rolled out of it, onto the rain-sodden, root-covered ground. He winced as he fell.

  “Damn fool, Mischief,” John Serpent said. “Will you be more careful? This body of ours is wounded, remember?”

  “The dragon…”John Mischief said.

  “You remember?” said Geneva. Mischief nodded. “Well, that’s good.”

  “Of course we remember,” John Serpent said. “A thing like that you don’t forget.”

  ‘“I just don’t know how I got from there to here,” Mischief said.

  “Well, that’s for us to tell and you to listen,” Geneva replied with a smile.

  “Give me a hand up, somebody,” Mischief said, offering his arm to Tom.

  “I’ve got you,” Tom said, hauling the brothers to their feet.

  The greenery was still burgeoning on every side, so they all stumbled out of the grove together, picking pieces of tendril and shredded leaf out of their hair and from inside their clothes. The sun was bright and warm; there was not a cloud in the sky. Even the deepest of the puddles was rapidly soaking into the ground.
/>   “Welcome to the Nonce,” said Tom to the Johns. “You were as close to death as anyone could get and still come back.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” John Mischief said, carefully stretching in the warmth. “We’ve got a lot of adventuring to do. Dragons to fight. Finnegan to find.”

  “What is that music?” John Sallow said.

  “It’s the snakes of the Nonce singing,” Tom replied.

  A broad grin spread over John Mischief’s face. “See?” he said, making a tiny shake of his head. “That’s another thing we’ve got to do. We’ve got to listen to the snakes sing.”

  33. All Things in Time

  Candy ran, and kept running, without daring to look back over her shoulder at the Fugit Brothers. She didn’t need to. They kept up an almost ceaseless exchange as they came after her. “She doesn’t know where she’s going, Brother Tempus.”

  “Nor she does, Brother Julius, nor she does.”

  “She could trip at any moment, Brother Tempus.”

  “Flat on her face, Brother Julius, flat on her face.”

  They were like a couple of bad comedians—all talk and no punch line. In fact, their chatter was so irritating she was half tempted to turn around and tell them to shut up. But then she thought of their vile unfixed features circling and circling and her appetite for confrontation faded. Better to just run. There had to be some way out of here. After all, she’d got in, hadn’t she?

  But no matter which way she looked, there was no sign of an exit. Just the same featureless darkness in all directions. And she was getting tired. Her chest was tight, and her throat was raw. Sooner or later, she knew, she was going to stumble. When she did her talkative pursuers would be on her in a heartbeat.

  “She’s slowing down, Brother Julius.”

  “That I see, Brother Tempus. That I see.”

  Just to prove the pair wrong, Candy put on an extra spurt of energy. As she did so she remembered the chaotic moments that had preceded her entrance into this dark place. How the glyph had turned over, flinging her out.

  Ah, she thought, maybe that’s the answer to my problem.

  Here she was looking for a door, assuming there was no way out except through a door. But she hadn’t come in that way, had she? Maybe her best escape route was to throw herself into the darkness, and trust to fate.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The brothers were no more than a few strides behind her. If she was going to try and escape them, it was now or never.

  She counted to three. “One—”

  “What did she say, Brother Julius?”

  “Two.”

  “I didn’t catch it, Brother Tempus.”

  “Three—”

  And with that she pitched herself forward, almost as though she were diving into a pool of water. It worked. The moment her body was free of the ground, the darkness around her seemed to convulse. She was instantly released from its grip, and she felt herself tumbling over and over. A moment later, there was light! And she fell heavily among the rocks on the shore of the Twenty-Fifth.

  She landed so hard that her breath was knocked from her. For a few moments she lay there gasping and bruised, listening to the sound of the waves and the din of the seabirds squabbling over some piece of fish that had been washed up.

  Then, from nearby, there came a reassuring voice.

  “Lady?”

  Seconds later Malingo’s face came into view, upside down.

  “You’re here! You’re alive!”

  Candy was still in a mild state of shock. She opened her mouth to answer Malingo, but at first all that would come out was a trail of disconnected words. “Running. Clocks. Faces. Tempus Fugit. And Julius. Horrible. Two. Horrible.”

  “Oh my poor lady,” Malingo said. “Did they make you crazy in there?”

  “I’m not crazy!” Candy said, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She took a deep breath and tried to construct a more coherent sentence. “I’ve got a few bruises,” she said. “But I’m sane. I swear I am. And I’m alive.”

  “Alive you are,” Malingo said, with a bright smile.

  Candy laughed. She’d done it! She’d actually escaped the Twenty-Fifth Hour!

  She got to her feet and embraced Malingo. “The things I’ve seen,” she said to him. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things…”

  “Such as?” said Malingo, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

  Candy opened her mouth, intending to describe her adventures inside the Twenty-Fifth. But then she decided against it.

  “You know what?” she said. “Perhaps it’s best not to do it here.”

  She stared at the wall of roiling mist that separated the beach from the secret world on the other side. Anybody could be on the other side, she reasoned. Listening; or worse, ready to pounce and drag her back in.

  “We should get out of here first,” she said to Malingo, “before the Fugit Brothers catch up with us.”

  “Who are the Fugit Brothers?” Malingo said.

  Before she could offer a reply, Candy caught sight from the corner of her eye of something emerging from a crack between the stones.

  She looked around and focused on it. The thing moved sideways, like a crab. But it was no animal. It was a mouth. A mouth with legs.

  “Oh no…” she said softly.

  “What’s wrong?” said Malingo.

  “Where’s the glyph?” Candy said.

  “The glyph?”

  “Yes, the glyph!” Candy said, as an eye with legs appeared from under the rocks and blinked up at her.

  This time Malingo followed her gaze. “What are they?”

  “They belong to the Fugit Brothers,” Candy said, catching hold of Malingo’s arm and pulling him away from the spot. If a mouth and eye were here, could the brothers that owned them be far behind?

  “They live in the Twenty-Fifth,” Candy said hurriedly. “And if they get hold of us—”

  She didn’t have a chance to finish. The rocks nearby had started to shake, their motion gentle at first, but quickly becoming stronger. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on. Tempus and Julius had somehow burrowed out, under the stones, and they were planning a surprise attack from below. They would have succeeded in their surprise, too, if their wandering features hadn’t given their sneaky game away.

  “We have to get out of here!” Candy said.

  Malingo was still staring at the stones, which were rattling together.

  “Where’s the glyph, Malingo?” :

  “That’s an eye on legs!”

  “Yes. I know. Malingo. Where’s the glyph?”

  He pointed back down the beach, without looking at where he was pointing. She followed his finger, and yes, there was the craft, lying on the stones. It was overturned, but at least it looked to be intact. The impact of striking the wall of the Twenty-Fifth hadn’t smashed it to smithereens.

  “Come on!” she said to Malingo, pulling on his arm again. He didn’t move, however. The strange life-forms on the stones had him entranced.

  “We can’t wait around here,” Candy said. “Or we’re dead.”

  The rocks were being rolled aside now—the smaller ones thrown into the air—as the Fugit Brothers prepared to make their entrance.

  “I never saw anything like that before,” Malingo said, his voice filled with fascination.

  “Can we please go?”

  Before they could take a step however, a dark voice rose from the crevices between the rocks.

  “You won’t escape us, Candy Quackenbush,” said one of the brothers.

  “Not will your flap-eared friend,” said his sibling.

  The sound of the Fugits’ voices punctured Malingo’s curiosity. Now it was he who backed away from the spot where the rocks were shaking.

  “You’re right,” he said to Candy. “We should go.”

  “Finally.”

  There was no more hesitation. The two of them raced together over the slimy stones toward the beached glyph.

  �
��Let’s just hope it still works,” Candy said to Malingo, as they ran.

  “What do we do if it doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Candy said grimly. “We’ll worry about that if it happens.”

  They had reached the vehicle now, and they instantly got to work pushing it back into an upright position. Something rattled as the glyph rocked back into place, which didn’t sound particularly optimistic.

  “Get in!” Candy said.

  As Malingo slipped into his seat, Candy dared a momentary glance along the beach. One of the brothers—Candy didn’t know whether it was Julius or Tempus—had now dug himself clear of the stones. But there was no sign of the other. Still, she thought, one of them could do plenty of damage.

  He started to stride along the beach toward Candy and Malingo, pointing toward them as he did so.

  “You will not leave this island!” he yelled as he approached. “Do you hear me? You will not leave.”

  Even as he spoke he proceeded to pick up his speed, his stride quickly breaking into a run.

  Now it was Malingo who was urging Candy to get into the glyph. “Hurry!” he said.

  Candy put one foot into the glyph.

  As she lifted her other leg, an arm was thrust up out of the stones beside the glyph and seized hold of her calf.

  She let out a yelp of shock. The stones rolled away as the second Fugit Brother pushed himself out of the ground, using Candy to haul himself up.

  “Hold her, Brother Julius! “ Tempus yelled as he came racing down the beach.

  “Help me!” Candy yelled to Malingo.

  She reached down and tried to unknot Julius’ fingers, but his grip was cold and strong.

  Malingo put both his arms around Candy and pulled hard on her. Desperation gave him strength. Candy’s clothes tore, and Fugit’s grasping hands were left holding two pieces of shredded fabric.

  Freed of the monster’s grip, Candy looked straight down into Julius’ face. His crawling features had assembled now. His eyes were wide and hungry. His mouth wore the contented smile of a hunter who believed he had his prey trapped.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, and reached up to catch hold of Candy again. Without hesitation she put her foot down on the middle of Julius’ face, putting all her weight behind it. The creature let out a cry of rage and frustration, and slipped back down into the darkness.