Hap’s mouth opened, but only a silent stutter emerged.
“You don’t have to say it,” Sophie said. “I know it’s true. And that’s why I want to show you how I feel.” She leaned close and put her lips against his. Hap’s eyes flew open wide, and then they closed, until she pulled herself away an eternal moment later, leaving a cool, soft feeling that lingered on Hap’s mouth.
Hap’s brain spun like a top inside his head. His knees buckled underneath him. “I . . . I feel the same way about you.”
Sophie tried to smile, but the curve of her mouth faltered and fell flat. “It doesn’t matter. Because you’re going to leave. But at least we said it.” She touched the corner of her eye with her fingers, and walked into her room, closing the door behind her.
It took Hap a moment to remember how to breathe again. His heart felt like it was swelling and shrinking, healing and breaking all at once, and he suddenly felt weary. Behind him he heard a throat being cleared.
Umber stood awkwardly at the landing, as if he could not decide whether to advance or retreat. Something in his expression made Hap think he’d been there for a while. “Uh. I was on my way to see if Willy was awake,” Umber said, pointing at the door where the stricken Meddler lay.
“Oh,” replied Hap, with his eyes downcast.
Umber stepped to the door and gripped the handle. “Come with me?”
Hap felt dizzy and befuddled, with no will of his own. “All right.”
The sisters had left Willy by himself for the moment. The Meddler looked ghastly, lying with his head sunken into his pillow and his mouth hanging open. But at least the white cloth that covered his eyes no longer had twin stains of blood.
“Willy?” Umber asked softly, putting two fingers on the Meddler’s shoulder. There was no response. Umber sank into the chair by the bed, and Hap took the second seat, still preoccupied by his moment with Sophie. The sensation of her lips on his haunted him like a ghost. He touched his mouth experimentally, then looked sideways to see Umber smiling at him.
“First kiss, obviously,” Umber said.
Hap felt his face redden. He squirmed in his seat.
“You really care about her,” Umber said.
“Well . . . yes.”
“You have a fine heart, Hap. Your feelings run deep.”
“I . . . I guess,” Hap said. At the moment his feelings were running amok.
“No,” came a rasping voice from the bed.
Umber’s head snapped toward Willy, and he popped out of his chair. “Willy, it’s Umber. And Happenstance. We’re both here.”
Willy wriggled his shoulders and lifted his head, and Umber tucked another pillow behind his neck. He raised a glass to Willy’s mouth and tipped in a sip of water.
“Why did you say no, Willy?” Umber asked.
“Now I understand. The boy feels. He cares. This is why
he . . . fails,” Willy said faintly.
“Because I care? What is that supposed to mean?” Hap cried. His anger had always been quick to rise in the presence of his murderer and creator. Now the emotions that Sophie had sent spinning suddenly oriented themselves, pointing straight to fury.
“Meddlers are not meant to care,” Willy said. The words leaked out with little breath to shape them. “We pass . . .
blithely . . . through the years . . . indifferent to whatever suffering or . . . joy our machinations bring . . . entertaining ourselves and giving those we torment or reward no more thought than . . . a chess master gives his pawns . . .”
“Why would I want to be like that?” Hap said. His words dripped with venom. “You sicken me.” He felt Umber’s hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off. Umber patted the air with his hand, urging Hap to calm down.
“Willy,” Umber said. “Are you saying that the reason Hap is not seeing the filaments the way he should is because of his feelings? His attachments to the rest of us?”
Willy nodded. “He remains too human. I don’t . . . understand. Signs told me he would be strong . . . more powerful than me, and perhaps any Meddler who ever
was . . . skilled enough to fix that world. . . . I must have misread the filaments . . . never should have chosen a child, that was the flaw . . . emotions too raw, too unrefined . . .”
“You don’t even make sense,” Hap said. He shoved himself off his chair and paced to the middle of the room. “If you’re so indifferent to the fate of humanity, then why do you care about Umber’s world? You created me to save all those people. Why bother if you don’t even care?”
Umber stared at Hap, looking both impressed and worried. He turned toward Willy, just as curious to hear the answer.
“Ah,” Willy said. “The child is clever, at least. You are right, Happenstance. I found something to care about. And that has been my downfall. See what it has cost me.” He touched a fingertip to the cloth on his eyes. “But . . . I didn’t make you to save all those people. I made you . . . to save one.” His trembling hand went to his chest and touched his shirt. A look of horror contorted his mouth. “This . . . not what I was wearing!”
“Calm yourself,” Umber said, patting his arm. “We bathed you and gave you a clean set of clothes, for the good of your health. But the tunic and leggings you wore are here.”
Willy breathed out a deep sigh. “And did you . . . go through my pockets, Umber?”
“Of course not,” Umber said, but he shrugged and nodded toward Hap, looking genuinely embarrassed.
“There is a lining in the tunic,” Willy whispered. “Something hidden within . . . you can reach inside through a slit, here.” His hand quivered as he tapped a spot near his heart.
Umber took the tunic from a peg on the wall, near the door. It was a strange, silvery material, something like silk, marred by dirt and caked with dried blood across the chest. The inner lining was black. Umber’s finger fumbled and probed until he finally slipped his hand into the space between. Hap watched Umber’s face—there was a frown of concentration as he searched within, and then his eyebrows rose and his mouth formed a circle at the moment of discovery. The hand came out clutching a flat rectangle of some otherworldly, transparent material. It looked like liquid glass, and surrounded a torn square of paper.
Umber held it up, regarding it with wonder. “Well. Haven’t seen one of these for years,” he said. He smiled at Hap and held the object up for him to see. “It’s a bag made from what we called plastic. Seals tight to protect whatever you keep inside. In this case . . .” Umber turned the clear bag around, showing Hap the other side of the ragged-edged paper. “A photograph.”
Photograph, Hap thought. He had seen photographs before, on Umber’s remarkable computer. It was an image of perfect fidelity—not a painting by an artist, but the object itself, captured and reproduced by a technology that did not exist in this world. This photograph showed a woman’s face and shoulders. He stared with his nose just inches from the picture. The woman was beautiful, but underneath the beauty Hap could sense an aching sadness.
“Yes . . . photograph,” Willy said. “Of her. The only one I cared for.”
Umber’s eyebrows contorted, and he turned the picture to look at it again. “This woman? You knew this woman?”
Willy shook his head weakly. “Never knew her. Learned of her. Later, when it was too late to save her. That is the joy of your world, Umber . . . memories live forever, preserved in your photographs and films, newspapers and magazines . . . and your computers. I did not know her, but I learned to love her, just the same. Umber . . . do you know who she was?”
Umber looked sideways at Hap with an expression that shouted this is crazy. “Of course I knew of her. She was famous. Everyone did. And a lot of them felt the same as you. They loved her from afar. And pitied her.”
“Her life . . . her death . . . such tragedy.”
“Yes, it was. But what does this have to do with us, Willy?”
Willy reached up, groping at air. Umber offered his hand, and Willy grasped it. “This is
what I ask,” Willy said. “All I ask. If the boy saves your world . . . save her as well. Give her . . . a better life.” Willy raised his other hand toward Hap. Hap stared at it with his lip curled on one side.
Willy reached farther, groping toward Hap. “Happenstance, how can you refuse? I offer the chance to save billions. To head off unspeakable death and destruction, starvation, murder, and madness. This . . . the only thing I ask in return. One small thing. Take my hand, Happenstance. Vow that you will save that woman when you save the rest. Umber will tell you who she is, how to find her. Make your vow.”
Umber drew in a great breath and held it. He raised his free hand to Hap, offering to complete the circle. Hap stared at the hand, and kept his own by his sides. “Fine. I vow to save her. But what’s the point? I can’t even do what you’re asking.” He turned and left the room, without bothering to slam the door.
CHAPTER
22
A familiar sound cut through Hap’s dark contemplation: carriage wheels rolling over the stone causeway, and the hollow applause of hooves. Every set of wheels had its own voice, and Hap had heard this one before. When he looked out his window he was not surprised to see the royal coach approaching the Aerie.
He wondered who was inside. Could it be Loden? The thought filled him with sharp, sour anger. Or could it be Fay . . . and Sable? That notion conjured up strangely mixed feelings, particularly where Sable was concerned. He was shocked to feel a surge of unease over wanting to see her again, and found himself touching the place on his lips where Sophie’s kiss had landed.
The carriage entered the gatehouse without offering a glimpse of its passengers. Curiosity propelled Hap down the stairs. He made it to the grand hall just as Dodd stepped in to announce the visitor—something Lady Truden would have done if she were still alive.
“Loden’s pet lizard, here to see you,” Dodd whispered to Umber.
Hap’s spirits curdled, and he retreated out of sight, a few steps up the curving staircase. Larcombe, he said to himself, picturing that sinewy, angular man with a perpetual look of disdain on his pale face. Larcombe was cold and ruthless, and he had certainly murdered at least once to help his master seize the throne. His arrival could hardly mean glad tidings.
Hap heard the clack of boot heels. Larcombe was not alone; there must have been two or three of the new king’s guard with him. It was easy to picture them, with the royal crests on their surcoats, short green capes hanging over their shoulders, and swords at their sides.
“Larcombe,” Umber said.
“Umber,” Larcombe replied, rudely omitting Umber’s title. “I bring news from His Majesty King Loden.”
Umber’s reply was cool. “I am eager to receive it.”
There was a rustle of parchment. “The king wanted me to read it aloud to you. And so I shall: ‘Whereas we have taken into consideration the best interests of the glorious nation of Celador and its loving subjects, we hereby declare it to fit our Royal Will and Pleasure: First, the Umber Shipping Company and all of its associated enterprises, and the full value of its treasuries, assets, profits, and holdings, are as of this day the property of His Majesty King Loden.’” The paper rustled, and Larcombe paused.
“The king is taking my ventures away from me,” Umber said. He sounded almost in awe.
“There is more,” Larcombe said, with thinly veiled pleasure. Hap had not heard him speak much before, and now the sound of his thin, grating voice made Hap want to plug his ears with candle wax. “‘Secondly, all of Lord Umber’s remaining movable-type printing presses shall be surrendered for immediate destruction, and any printed materials created by said presses shall likewise be delivered to the palace, where they shall be reviewed and, if the king so wishes, destroyed, so that the minds of the common folk and the young and unwary may not be contaminated by exposure to corrupting influences.’”
“Do you even perceive the irony, Larcombe?” Umber said while Larcombe paused. “That proclamation is printed on one of those presses, which was my gift to the previous king.”
Hap stepped back into the grand hall, barely aware that he was moving, but magnetically compelled to stand by Umber’s side. At the same time, he saw Balfour come out of the kitchen, moving likewise toward Umber with his jaw thrust forward, defiant. Sophie was already next to Umber, with her arm inside his elbow.
There were three guardsmen with Larcombe, all gawking at the soaring roof, mighty pillars, and endless curiosities on the shelves and walls of the grand hall. Larcombe was focused solely on his prey, Lord Umber. He slid his tongue across his lips and read on, smiling. “‘At Lord Umber’s urging, construction has begun on halls of education in the hinterlands of our nation, solely for the misguided aim of spreading unfortunate ideas among the common folk; these projects are hereby canceled, and those schools at an advanced stage of construction shall be converted to garrisons for the king’s expanded armed forces. The whole of Lord Umber’s other initiatives are likewise suspended, pending the review and approval of the royal court.’”
“Pathetic,” Umber said.
“Ah, but I’m not finished,” Larcombe said. “‘The court does not by these actions wish Lord Umber to think his talents are unappreciated. Rather, his ingenuity needs only to be properly channeled, and thus he will henceforth serve His Royal Highness under the direct supervision of the king’s appointed representative.’”
“And that is who?” Umber said.
“That is me,” Larcombe replied. “The new Lord of the Aerie. Your lordship is to be revoked, but that is a matter for another proclamation. Yes, Umber, I’ll be taking possession of your beloved hollow rock very soon. In fact, I think I should like that rooftop tower of yours for myself; it’s quite charming. You will remain on these premises, where I can keep an eye on you. But as for the rest of this riffraff . . .” He grinned at Sophie, Balfour, and Happenstance, showing a row of small, widely spaced teeth. “They’ll have to go, of course. To make room for my retinue and my guard.”
Sophie gasped and tightened her grip on Umber’s arm. Hap looked up at his guardian, who gazed back at Larcombe with a pleasant expression, except for the flare of his nostrils.
“Unacceptable,” Umber said.
The guardsmen behind Larcombe stopped eyeing their impressive surroundings and stared, narrow-eyed, at Umber. Larcombe laughed. “Did you think you could get away with it, Umber? With your open disdain for King Loden? With your wild accusations, blaming him for the deaths of his brothers? Yes, we know you’ve been asking questions about the king.”
“Don’t be so modest. I blame you, too,” Umber said.
The mirth vanished from Larcombe’s face. “You are a man who doesn’t know when to close his mouth.”
“It’s time for you to leave,” Umber said. Hap wanted to hide behind Umber’s back, but he willed his trembling legs to stay where they were.
Larcombe’s men stepped forward. Swords whispered as they were drawn from their scabbards, and metal glinted in the light. “The fact that you believe you can order me to do anything is almost comical,” Larcombe said, giving his lips another reptilian lick.
Heavy steps on the stairs behind them drew the attention of Larcombe and his men. Hap looked over his shoulder and saw Oates lumber into the grand hall. Oates had strapped his muzzle across his mouth—probably, Hap figured, so he wouldn’t blurt out the news of Turiana’s escape. Oates had his enormous battle-ax in one hand. In the other was a mace, a club with a spiked head that looked as big as the full moon. Any other man would have struggled to lift either weapon, but Oates wielded both with the ease of a quill pen.
The men gave one another uneasy glances, and their swords wavered in the air. Larcombe looked at them with his nose curling, as if he smelled something foul. He turned to Umber and his grin returned. “A shame you had to be so rude, Umber. After all, I had an invitation for you.” He paused, waiting for Umber to ask the obvious question, but Umber refused the bait. “To King Loden’s wedding, of course,” Larco
mbe said. “Just three days from now. A king must have a queen. I think you know who the fortunate woman is. Despite your differences, the king would have loved for you to attend.”
Hap’s fists trembled with barely contained rage, and his head shook from side to side.
“How absurd,” Umber said. “He must know she doesn’t love him.”
“But you should have seen how she wept when he proposed,” Larcombe said. “Tears of joy, I’m certain.”
Umber’s face went crimson. “Get out,” he said. Oates clashed his weapons together, producing a gong that echoed through the grand hall. The guardsmen hopped back and widened their stances.
Larcombe held his ground and clucked his tongue. “Really, Umber. Is this how you choose to handle your fall from grace? With one brave moment that will cost you so dearly for years to come? Or are you only this foolhardy when that trained bear of yours is near to keep you safe? I would be more respectful if I were in your position.”
“Your position is about to be horizontal and airborne,” Umber said through his teeth.
Larcombe’s lips mashed together. “This will end on my terms, very soon.” He turned to the guardsmen behind them and gestured toward the door that led down the stairs to the gatehouse. The guardsmen exhaled, all at once, and tried to mask their relief with stoic expressions.
“Make sure they find the door, Oates,” Umber said. But Larcombe and his men hurried down the stairs before Oates could take a single step.
Around the long table in the grand hall, they gathered: Umber, Hap, Balfour, Oates, Sophie, and Dodd, who’d come up from the guardhouse to see why Larcombe had departed in such an agitated state. They exchanged uneasy glances until Umber broke the silence.
The End of Time (Books of Umber #3) Page 17