Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1)

by Catanese, P. W

  Hap felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He followed close behind as Umber ducked into the hatch. “Why? Why won’t it do to stand on deck?”

  Umber raised a finger, telling Hap to wait. “Balfour! Out with the fires! Everyone, we’re going to submerge. Now, Hap, what were you asking? Oh, you wanted to know—”

  “Submerge?” cried Hap. “Under the water?”

  Umber scratched his chin. “Does the word submerge have another meaning? Not in this context. Yes, Hap, under the water. But it’s nothing to fear.” On the other side of the galley doors there was a hiss of steam as water was poured over hot coals. “The leviathan barge is made for this. She was submerged when you met her, don’t you recall? And wasn’t Balfour downstairs the whole time, dry as a bone?”

  “Fire’s out!” called Balfour.

  “Sophie, tell Nima we’re ready,” Umber said. Sophie ran up through the hatch. “Now, Hap, I know you’re not fond of the water, but … Hap?”

  Hap was sure the bones in his legs were dissolving. He staggered to the table and slumped onto a chair. Sophie came down the stairs again. Behind her, the hatch slammed shut.

  Umber put a hand on Hap’s shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Boroon will make a sharp turn underwater, where this pursuer can’t see us. He’ll swim seven miles or so—that’s farther than that stranger can see in the open water.”

  Hap shuddered. Underwater for seven miles! He seized the edge of the table as the barge lurched forward. The room tilted, and the lanterns swayed diagonally on their chains. An apple that had been left on the table rolled off and tumbled to the front of the cabin. Hap opened his mouth, forcing himself to breathe.

  The others had taken seats elsewhere in the cabin. Umber sat next to Hap and clasped his arm. “We won’t dive too deep. It wouldn’t be healthy for us,” Umber said. The words failed to reassure. The foaming sea rose over the portholes, and a roar enveloped the cabin from every direction. Hap sensed the weight of the water pushing down on the barge and felt a ringing pressure in his ears. When he worked his jaw up and down, the ringing ended with a hollow pop.

  “Almost forgot,” Umber said. “Watch this, Hap. You’ll find it interesting.” As the floor leveled off again, he stood and went to the side wall where nine hourglasses were mounted in a row. Each glass was smaller than the one on its left. Umber spun the fifth glass, and its sands poured into the empty half below. “I turn the fifth because we have five passengers,” he said. “It tells how long we can stay under before the air is used up. But it really isn’t necessary in this case. Nima will bring us up long before the sand runs out.”

  “Nima?” cried Hap, leaping up. “Nima never came down!”

  “No, she didn’t,” Umber said. “But, Hap—”

  “We have to help her!” Hap shouted, pointing at the hatch.

  “She’s fine, Hap. Nima is … different from most people.”

  “Part fish,” said Oates.

  “Now, Oates,” Umber said sharply, “I’ve warned you about interjecting your blunt self into conversations. The point, Hap,” Umber said, turning back to Happenstance, “is that Nima is perfectly comfortable under the waves. You saw that yourself when she sewed up Boroon’s fin. Nima is … well, she’s …” Umber glared at Oates again, and then whispered in Hap’s ear. “She’s part fish. On her mother’s side, to be precise.”

  The barge heaved to the left as Boroon made his turn. Hap heard a rhythmic whoosh amid the roar of water, certainly the sweep of the leviathan’s great tail. He slumped onto the bench again and took the deepest breath he could manage. Water splashed his shoulder, and he looked up and saw drops raining down from at least a dozen places, and squirting in a fine spray at the edge of the hatch. His heart tried to climb into his mouth.

  “Oh, never mind the few tiny leaks, Hap,” Umber said, sliding a goblet under one of the falling streams that splattered the table. “That’s to be expected. Although a better sealant would be a handy invention; yes, I think it’s time for progress there. Oates, remind me to make a note of that.”

  “Doesn’t anything frighten you?” Hap asked in a strangled voice.

  “Of course, Hap. Hoyle, for one. The name alone freezes my spine. You’ll meet Hoyle all too soon, I’m sure.”

  Hap couldn’t take his mind off the notion of a finite amount of air trapped inside with them. He felt as if there were a belt squeezing his ribs and an invisible hand clapped across his mouth and nose.

  Think about something else, he ordered himself. And he turned to another matter that preoccupied his mind. With his legs soft as jelly, he walked to where Umber stood, gazing at a chart on the wall. “Lord Umber,” he said.

  “Hmmm?” Umber replied, lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

  “I would really like to know what that note said. Even if it was just for your eyes.”

  Umber turned to look at Hap. His face was a blank. “I don’t think I ought to do that, Happenstance.”

  Hap’s nerves were already on edge, and somehow that made his temper quick to rise. His fingers curled and squeezed. “But—did it say who I am? Did it say where I came from?”

  Umber stiffened. “No. It doesn’t say those things. I can tell you that much.”

  “But what did it say? Why won’t you tell me?”

  A harder, darker expression appeared on Umber’s face. He shut his eyes for a moment. “In time, maybe. But no, not yet. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Hap’s voice rose, drawing the stares of the others. “But I don’t know anything! Not who I am, or where I came from, or what I’m supposed to do!”

  Umber put a hand on Hap’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hap. I won’t tell you.”

  Hap shrugged off the hand and stepped back. “It was in my pocket! It was about me!”

  Umber shook his head. “It wasn’t just about you, Hap. It was about me, too.”

  Hap stared at Umber, unsure what to say next. The floor shifted under his feet and he heard a thumping sound. The apple that had rolled to one end of the cabin was tumbling back the other way.

  “Ah. We’re surfacing,” Umber said, relieved by the interruption.

  The tilt of the barge increased, prow up, and then came the sound of water churning into air. With a groan of metal, the hatch was tugged open. Nima’s head, dripping wet, appeared before a backdrop of stars. “Let the boy come on deck and see.”

  “Go on, Hap,” Umber said.

  With his jaw clenched, Hap climbed the stairs and joined Nima at the stern rail. “I don’t see that ship anymore,” he muttered.

  Nima’s chest heaved as she gulped down deep drafts of air. Hap had observed this the last time she came out of the water. It seemed as if she was getting used to breathing air again. “Good,” she said, panting. “Tell the others it is time to sleep now. Boroon will rest soon as well.”

  When Hap went back into the lower deck, he found the others settling down for the night. There were quarters in the rear, with a private berth for Umber, a small berth that Sophie took, and a larger room with cots and hammocks for more passengers. Hap chose a cot in the farthest corner of the big room. Balfour and a thunderously snoring Oates were asleep before a minute passed.

  Umber’s head angled into the threshold. “Tired, Hap?”

  Hap answered without looking. “Not really.”

  Umber arched his back and yawned. “No? Well, it might be the excitement of the day. As for me, I could doze for a week. But I’ll see you bright and early. We’ll reach Kurahaven by noon, I believe. Try to sleep, all right?”

  “I will,” Hap mumbled. He watched Umber close the door. Then he put his head on the cot and shut his eyes. It was no use; he wasn’t the least bit tired, nor could he imagine what the sensation felt like. He tried lying on his back like Oates, and curling up his side like Balfour, but no position brought sleep any closer. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he stood quietly, careful not to waken the others, and opened the door to the central cabin.

  The
only light in the room was from a candle on the desk where Umber sat with his back to Hap. Umber’s shoulders rose and fell slowly, and his head was down. Hap could hear his deep, tranquil breathing.

  The hatch was still open. Hap wondered if Nima was on deck. He was about to mount the stairs to see if the pursuing craft was still out of sight, but froze in place when he took another look at Umber.

  From this angle, he could see that Umber had fallen asleep on his arms. A pen and jar of ink were on the desktop, along with a few sheets of paper.

  The note burned, Hap thought. Was he writing down what it said, while he could still remember? His mouth went dry at the thought. He crept toward the desk, stepping as softly as he could with his heels off the floor, praying that Umber’s head wouldn’t pop up. When he made it to the desk, he watched Umber’s face. The man’s eyes moved under their lids, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if unpleasant thoughts were loose in Umber’s mind. Hap wondered if that was what deep sleep looked like.

  There were two pages that Hap could see. One was within easy reach, but blank. Another was pinned down by Umber’s elbow. There was writing on that, but it was mostly obscured by Umber’s arm.

  Hap took another look at the blank page. Hints of dark lines bled through from the other side. He reached for it slowly, grabbed a corner between his thumb and finger, and turned it over. The candle, which had burned to an inch-long stub in its holder, flickered a little.

  The parchment was covered with writing. Some of the lines had been crossed out and rewritten. Hap’s hands began to shake as soon as he read the first words.

  The original note from WN was consumed by some magical fire or chemical reaction. This is what it said, as well as I can recall:

  Greetings to you, Umber. First things first: Now that you’ve begun to read this, don’t put it back in anyone’s pocket. You’ll understand soon enough.

  You know me not, but I know of you. And you must attend to this message carefully, because everything you once held dear depends upon it.

  I leave this boy in your care. Call him Happenstance. Keep him with you always, and bring him on all your journeys. The boy needs to grow and learn; he must adventure, or he will not become what he must. As he is tested and challenged, you will observe certain skills arising. And then you will know what to do with him.

  Beware. Happenstance exists in violation of an ancient law, and

  The page ended. Hap’s mind swirled with everything the note had already said. But what about the rest? What was the ancient law, and why did he have to beware? He eyed the second page, trapped below Umber’s elbow. Part of him wanted to stop there and creep back to his bed. The thought of being caught in the act of spying horrified him. But he was desperate to know what the rest of the note said. He bit his lip. How can I make sure he doesn’t see me?

  Hap looked at the remaining stub of the candle, with its unsteady flame. Who would suspect that it didn’t go out by itself? He leaned toward it, puckered his lips, and blew it out. The wick mourned its passing with a wisp of smoke.

  Hap gave silent thanks that Umber hadn’t used his jar of glimmer-worms for light. He reached for the edge of the paper and nearly gasped aloud as Umber groaned and shifted in his seat. Umber’s arm lifted for a moment, and Hap slid the page out as far as he could before the elbow fell again, covering the last few inches. He read the visible words, poised to tug the rest out if the elbow lifted again.

  there are those who will search for him in order to destroy him. There is also a particularly nasty and persistent creature named Occo that has been on my trail for a while. It would not surprise me if he picked up the boy’s scent. That could cause you some grief, but you seem like a resourceful fellow. You’ll manage.

  By now you must be wondering: Why? Why do what this stranger asks? The reason is this: I know from where you came, Umber. I, too, know what happened to that world of yours. Quite a mess you folk made of that. I was there; I saw.

  What if I told you

  Umber’s shoulders jerked, and a snort interrupted his slow rhythmic breathing. His head sprang up and his eyes turned toward Hap.

  “Huh?” Umber said, squinting.

  Hap’s stomach lurched. He opened his mouth, ready to offer an excuse as soon as he could imagine one. Then he realized that Umber was looking through him, not focusing on anything. He can’t see me, Hap thought.

  Umber rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “What?” he slurred. “You fell asleep, you fool … candle went out.” A look of alarm crossed his face. He pushed his chair back and stood, and then patted his hands along the desktop, gathering up the pages as he found them. He turned and peered over Hap’s shoulder, wide-eyed and fully awake. “Is someone there?”

  Hap backed away, terrified to breathe, and still aching to know what the rest of the note said. Umber clutched the pages to his chest with one hand. As he fumbled his way toward his room he struck his hip on the corner of the desk and yelped.

  Rather than open the door to his quarters and make a sound, Hap edged toward the hatch and mounted the steps.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Hap was sure that Umber would dash upstairs soon, pointing and accusing, but he didn’t hear a sound from below. He must have gone to sleep, he thought, feeling a flush of relief.

  With his mind bewildered by what he’d read, it took a minute to notice that something was different about the craft. There was no rhythmic sensation of heaving forward with every sweep of Boroon’s tail, and no sound of water frothing against the prow. He looked over the rail. The leviathan was lying still in the sea, an island of dark flesh. Hap wondered if their pursuer—the nasty and persistent creature named Occo, perhaps?—might have caught up while Boroon rested. But when he ran to the stern to look, he saw nothing but a sprawling expanse of water. Far to the right, however, a rough edge rose over the horizon. Land, perhaps, if it wasn’t distant clouds.

  He didn’t see Nima anywhere. “Nima?” he called, to no reply. A lump formed in his throat. Had she fallen overboard and been left behind? He was about to wake the others when he heard a splash and saw the captain come to the surface of the inky sea, a stone’s throw away.

  Nima swept her arms and kicked her barefooted legs with grace as she swam toward Boroon. A rope hung from one of the leviathan’s sides, and she grasped it and climbed up. She stood over the plate-size hole on Boroon’s back and sang softly.

  Hap didn’t want her to think he was spying on her. Nor did he want to startle her. He cleared his throat, softly at first and then a little louder. She turned and squinted in the dim starlight.

  “Is that you, Hap?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “’Lo there. Would you like to come down?”

  Hap bit his bottom lip. “Um. I guess,” he said, but he didn’t move. Boroon’s back was bony and broad, but with no railings to hold, he would feel dreadfully exposed to the deadly ocean.

  “It’s all right,” Nima said. “I will come to you.” She climbed the stairs to the deck, sat on the top step, and patted the open space at her side.

  Hap sat next to her. He felt safe enough there, with his elbow clamped on a baluster. His thoughts had already turned back to the strange contents of the letter when her question broke the silence.

  “Why don’t you sleep like the others, Hap?”

  Hap shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel tired.”

  “All creatures must rest. Boroon is sleeping now.”

  Hap nodded. He wondered if the great leviathan dreamed.

  “Why are you afraid of the water?” Nima asked.

  Lord Umber must have told her, Hap thought. Or she can just tell. “I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason. But I don’t remember … what happened before.”

  Nima ran her fingers through her hair, squeezing more drops onto the stairs. “We are an interesting pair, you and I. You fear the water. It is the land that frightens me.” She stared at what might be the distant shore.

  “W
hy are you afraid of the land?” Hap asked.

  “I don’t belong there,” was all she said. Hap glanced at her sideways. She fascinated him. There were things he wanted to know but was too shy to ask. Who was her mother? Were there others like her? Did she need the sea to live? Did her webbed fingers draw the same stares as his green eyes, and was that why she was not at ease on firm ground?

  There was a long silence, broken again by her. “So the thing Lord Umber sought in Alzumar turned out to be you.”

  “I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Consider yourself fortunate to be in his company. Lord Umber is an exceptional man.”

  Hap looked back at the open hatch, thankful again that he hadn’t been caught stealing a glance at the note. “I don’t know anything about him. Who is he?”

  She leaned back and held one of her knees between clasped hands. “Who is Umber? I suppose he won’t mind me telling you. Umber is the first citizen of Kurahaven, the Lord of the Aerie, and perhaps the most powerful man in his kingdom after the king and the three princes. He is a merchant, wealthy beyond imagination. An architect. Inventor. Explorer. Patron of the arts. Enemy of the wicked and the greatest friend the common man ever knew. But his greatest joy is to explore the world and chronicle all things strange and magical. He writes about them in his books: The Books of Umber.”

  Hap wondered if that was how Umber saw him: one of his strange and magical discoveries. “How do you know Lord Umber, Captain?”

  “Umber has been a faithful friend to the Merinots—shipbuilders and sailors, every one of us. Years ago, the improvements he suggested to the sails and rudders of my family’s ships made them the fastest and finest in the world. And so we Merinots are sworn to serve him.” Nima stretched and yawned. “Are you tired now, Hap?”

  “Not really,” Hap said. He wondered how that could be. The others were exhausted at the day’s end. Shouldn’t his limbs ache like theirs? Shouldn’t his head nod, and his eyelids droop?

  “I have kept watch so far, but now I need sleep,” Nima said. “That brute Oates has the next turn. Would you wake him for me? He says things that make me want to strike him when I speak to him.”