Abarat - Barker Clive (бесплатная библиотека электронных книг TXT) 📗

"That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair, Kaspar. You know that. You had a slave for—how long?"

"Twelve years."

"Did you treat him fairly ? No, of course not. You beat him when you were in a bad mood, because it made you feel better, and when you felt better you beat him some more."

"You think you're clever, don't you, Houlihan?" Wolfswinkel said, bitter tears of frustration and rage spilling into his eyes. "But let me tell you: the Hour of your undoing will come. If you don't let me track this girl down and kill her, she'll make such trouble for you—" He looked around at the ruins of his precious dome. "This is just the beginning, believe me."

Houlihan went to the door.

"You like playing prophet of doom, don't you? You always did, even back in school."

Wolfswinkel reached out for this last, fragile hope. "Ah, school. Otto, do you remember how close we were back then?"

"Were we?" Houlihan said. Then, considering the forlorn figure before him, he managed a scrap of compassion.

"I'll do what I can for you," he said. "But I'm making no promises. These are unruly times. Crazy times."

"All the better. In times like these a smart man profits."

"And which of us is the smart one?" Houlihan said, smiling. "The one standing in his underwear covered in mud, or the man with the Key to his Master's heaven in his pocket?

"Never mind, Kaspar," Houlihan said, walking away from the door, leaving Wolfswinkel in the filth and chaos, unable to cross the threshold without having tarrie-cats on his throat. "All you can do is hope your chance for revenge comes around again, eh?"

"That would be something to look forward to, at least," Wolfswinkel said.

"Then I'll leave you with this thought, Kaspar. If I do secure your freedom—"

Kaspar turned, the light of hope rekindled in his eyes.

"Yes?" he said. "What?"

"Then you must swear now that you will serve me. Be my cook, if I so desire. My knife washer, my floor scrubber."

"Anything! Anything! Just get me out of here!"

"Good. Then we understand each other," Houlihan said, turning away.

"Good night to you, Otto."

"Good night to you, Kaspar," said the Criss-Cross Man. "And sweet dreams."

T he trio of houlihan's glyphs came chasing after Candy and Malingo at considerable speed, but with a little maneuvering Candy left them behind in a bank of purple-blue cloud. Though she'd never driven a vehicle of any kind (besides her bike, which didn't really count), she found the task of piloting the glyph remarkably easy. The craft responded quickly to her will and moved with a grace that pleased her greatly.

Once she and Malingo were convinced that their pursuers were not going to put in another appearance, she slowed their frantic pace and guided the glyph down so that they were just skimming the curling waves. That way if anything unpredictable were to happen to the glyph—if, for instance, it were to decay for some reason—they would not have more than a few feet to fall.

It was time for a little mutual congratulation.

"The way you conjured this thing!" Candy said. "It was amazing. I had no idea—"

"Well, I wasn't really sure I could do it," Malingo said. "But I guess in a tight squeeze you find out you can do all kinds of things you didn't know you could do. Besides, I couldn't have done it without your help." He grasped Candy's hand. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Candy said. "We make a good team, you and me."

"You think so?"

"I know so. I'd be on my way to Midnight if it weren't for you."

"And I'd be a slave if it weren't for you."

"See? A team. I think we should stick together for a while. Unless of course you've something else you need to do?"

Malingo laughed. "What would I have to do, that was more important than keeping you company?"

"Well… I thought, now that you're free you'd want to go back and see your family."

"I don't know where they are. We were all split up when we were sold."

"Who did the selling?"

"My father."

"Your father sold you to Wolfswinkel?" Candy said, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

"No. My father sold me to a slave trader called Kafaree Skeller, and he sold me to Wolfswinkel."

"How old were you?"

"Nine and three quarters," Malingo said, with the precision of a child who'd been asked the same question. "I don't blame my father. He had too many children. He couldn't afford to keep all of us."

"I don't know how you can be so forgiving," Candy said, shaking her head. "I wouldn't be able to forgive my father if he did that to me. In fact, there are some things nowhere near as bad as that that I can't forgive my father for."

"Maybe you'll feel differently when you get back home," Malingo said.

"If I ever get back."

"You will if you want to," Malingo said. "And I'll help you. My first responsibility is to you."

"Malingo, you don't have any responsibility to me."

"But I owe you my freedom."

"Exactly," said Candy. "Freedom . No more being ordered around, by me or anybody else."

Malingo nodded, as though the notion was very slowly beginning to make sense to him.

"Okay," he said. "But what if I want to help you?"

"That would be nice. As I said, I think we make a very good team. But it's your choice. And I think I should warn you that it isn't always safe being around me. Ever since I arrived in the Abarat, it's been one thing after another."

"I won't let anything happen to you, lady," Malingo said. "You're too important."

Candy laughed. "Me? Important? Malingo, you don't understand. A few days ago I was a lost schoolgirl from a place called Chickentown."

"Whatever you were back there, lady, it's not what you are here. You can make magic…"

"Yes. That is strange," said Candy, bringing back to mind her strange familiarity with the working of spells. "So many times on this journey I've felt as though… I don't know… almost as though I'd been here before. Yet I know that's impossible."

"Maybe it's in your blood," Malingo suggested. "Maybe a relative of yours came here, in the distant past?"

"That's a possibility," Candy replied.

She pictured the faded photographs lined up on the wall of the Almenak Press: the old jetty of Hark's Harbor, with its row of stores and the great vessel moored at the quayside. Was it possible that one of the people in that crowd had been a relative of hers?

"Wolfswinkel's grandfather used to trade with your people all the time. He made a fortune from it."

"Selling what?"

"Abaratian magic. Copies of Lumeric's Six . That kind of thing."

"Surely that must have been forbidden?"

"Oh certainly. He was selling some of the most precious secrets of the Abarat. Anything for profit."

"Which reminds me," Candy said. "What was it with the hats? Magic doesn't always come in the form of headgear, does it?"

Malingo laughed. "No, of course not, it can be in any form: a thought, a word, a fish, even in a glass of water. But you see it was a tradition of the Noncian Magic Circle that you kept most of your power in your hat. I don't know how it started; probably as a joke. But once it began, it stuck. And then when Wolfswinkel killed all the other magicians and he wanted to transfer their power to something more convenient, he couldn't. They'd all put their power in the hats when they were a circle, and once the circle was broken—"

"He was stuck with the hats."

"Exactly."

"How very undignified for Ol' Banana Suit."

"Oh yes, he was in a fine state when he found out. He went crazy for a week."

"Changing the subject—"

"Yes?"

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

They had entered a patch of dense shadow, cast by mountainous peaks of clouds that were passing overhead. In the sea below them an enormous shoal of fish, possessed of some exquisite luminescence, moved into view. Their brightness seemed to turn the world on its head: light spilling up from below, while darkness was cast down from the sky.

"Where did you intend to take us?" Malingo asked Candy.

"Back to the Yebba Dim Day. I know a man at The Great Head called Samuel Klepp. He could give us some advice about how to—"

Before she could finish speaking, the glyph, which until now had been proceeding forward effortlessly, did a very peculiar thing. It made a sideways motion, as though something was tugging on it. For a moment it zigzagged wildly, and Candy had to use all her willpower to stop it from veering off in another direction.

She finally brought it back on course, but the swerve had unnerved her.

"What was that?" she said. "Is the glyph deteriorating?"

Malingo slapped the side of the vehicle with the flat of his hand. "I don't think so," he said. "It feels solid enough."

"Then, what— oh no, Malingo, it's happening again!"

The glyph veered a second time, much more violently than it had the first, and for a moment it seemed that they were about to be pitched into the sea. Malingo slid from his seat, and would have fallen had Candy not caught hold of him at the last possible moment and hauled him back to safety.

The glyph, meanwhile, was gathering speed. It seemed to have elected a new destination and was simply racing toward it, all previous instructions forgotten. All Candy and Malingo could do was hang on for dear life.

"Can't you slow it down?" Malingo yelled to Candy over the rushing of the wind.

"I'm trying!" she hollered. "But it doesn't want to listen to me. Something's got hold of us, Malingo!"

She glanced over at her companion, who had an expression of raw astonishment on his face.

"What?" she said.

"Look ." His awed voice was so low she didn't hear the word; she only saw its shape replied on his lips. She saw too the shape of the words that followed: