The End of Time (Books of Umber #3)

by P. W. ; David Ho Catanese

  Hap’s heart ached for Balfour, and for another reason he could not understand. He noticed Dodd tugging at his small rectangular beard with his eyes rolled upward, and he knew what was coming. Sure enough, Dodd raised a finger and recited:

  “For peasants, soldiers, lords, and kings,

  Love’s a mighty messy thing.”

  “Stuff your poetry, Dodd,” Balfour grumbled, and he limped back into the Aerie, shaking his head.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Hap was at the table in the grand hall, absorbed in his translation, when he heard the thump of descending feet, heavier than usual. Umber’s voice echoed down the stairwell. “Oates. Put me down. This is humiliating.”

  Hap popped out of his chair, feeling a wave of relief. There was no singing, no mad laughter. Umber didn’t sound delirious or despondent, just cranky and weak.

  “You said you were dizzy and might fall,” Oates said.

  “But that didn’t mean you should scoop me up like an infant and—oh, never mind, we’re almost there.” Umber’s head appeared, and then the rest of him, cradled in Oates’s arms. When Oates took the last step down into the grand hall, Umber swatted the big fellow’s arms. Oates set him down on his feet, and Umber wobbled for a moment, and then yawned and stretched with his arms thrown wide. “Ah, Hap,” he said, raising his hand.

  Balfour eased the galley door open and peered out, before venturing into the room. “You look better,” he said.

  “I am better.” Umber plopped down at the table and took a pear from the bowl of fruit. “Apparently the elatia works.”

  Balfour grimaced. “There was a small problem with the dosage.”

  “Yes, Oates told me.” Umber chuckled, but then he winced and pressed his palm to his forehead. “It left me with a little headache. But can you believe it, Balfour? After all these years, I may have put those dark episodes behind me.” He rubbed the pear against his shirt. “You know, I have only the haziest memories of what I did during my, er, euphoria. It seems I planted the thorny nut, though. But I hope I didn’t embarrass myself in any way.” When a grim silence followed, he looked from Hap to Balfour. “What? Did I?”

  Balfour stared at the floor, and Hap bit the inside of his cheek. Umber’s alarm grew. “Oates?” he said, looking over his shoulder. Oates had made a hasty escape, and Hap saw just the heel of his boot as he fled upstairs.

  “Umber,” Balfour said hoarsely. He raised his hands, and they were trembling.

  “Good heavens, man, did I kill somebody?” Umber cried.

  Balfour shut his eyes and blurted out his reply in a high, tight voice. “You were laughing and singing like a madman, and you stripped off all your clothes.”

  Umber goggled, and then shook his head and chuckled. “Did I? I must have scandalized poor Sophie and Tru. Well, it’s just a body. Every person has one.” He raised the pear for a bite.

  “Fay was here,” Balfour said.

  There was the crunch of the pear, and then a splat as the bite flew out of Umber’s mouth and landed on the table. “She came back?”

  Balfour nodded.

  Umber breathed sharply in and slowly out. “And you let her inside, while I was . . . in that state?”

  “Well . . . Tru let her in. But we thought you were sleeping.”

  Umber stood up. The pear was still in his hand, and he raised it to his shoulder as if to dash it against the wall. Then he lowered his hand and let it roll onto the table, and hung his head. Hap glanced at Balfour, and the old man’s bleary-eyed, despondent expression made his heart dissolve.

  Finally Umber raised his face again. His mouth was small and tight, and his gaze drifted, unfocused. “To sum things up: She came to visit once, and I was hopelessly depressed. She came back a second time, and I was a naked singing lunatic. Well. I believe we have thrust a dagger deep into the heart of that possibility.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. His shoulders twitched, as if he was trying to shrug off the unhappy development. “It’s probably for the best. I’m an ill-suited suitor when it comes down to it. Hap, come upstairs with me, will you? We have some catching up to do.”

  “Umber?” Balfour called from behind.

  Umber turned. “Yes, Balfour?”

  Balfour’s bottom lip quivered. “May I . . . put up a pot of coffee for you?”

  Umber lifted his chin, and Hap was glad to see a tiny smile on his weary face. “That sounds splendid,” Umber said. “Bring it up to the terrace when it’s ready, will you, my best of friends?”

  “I had the strangest dreams while I slept just now,” Umber said, as they stepped into the open air and the last rays of the setting sun.

  “About what?”

  “My former life. Do you mind hearing about them? I feel the need to talk.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Hap replied.

  “Ugh,” Umber said. He scratched the back of his head and looked at the mess on the terrace. Dirt was flung everywhere. He lifted up the uprooted tree and inspected it. The only sounds were distant and serene: the dash of waves, the cries of the gulls, the shushing of the wind. Then, amid those, Hap gradually detected an alien noise, much closer. Umber turned his ear—he’d heard it too. They glanced at each other, and their heads swiveled toward the source.

  The sound was coming from inside the enormous stone planter where the tree had once grown. Umber set the tree back on the ground and squatted low to put his ear against the planter’s side. “Something’s moving in there,” he whispered. The familiar twinkle returned to his eye.

  Hap heard something new: a faint squishing. He pointed at the inside of the planter. The rich black soil, a foot below the rim, was bubbling and falling, like oatmeal coming to a slow boil. “The . . . the nut?” Hap asked.

  Umber grinned. “What else?” He spread his arms wide, gripped the sides of the planter, and leaned in with his nose an inch from the soil.

  “There,” Hap squeaked. He pointed near Umber’s right hand, where something poked out of the dirt. It was pale, almost white, glistening and caked with dirt, and it moved with the slow, oozing patience of a slug. “What is it?” Hap said.

  “A root, I think,” Umber told him, eyeing it from inches away.

  They watched for a minute as it crept up the side, exposing more and more of its length. It reached the edge of the planter, curved over the lip, and started down again. “Amazing,” Umber whispered. “I wonder what it’s going to be.” Hap wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Tell you what,” Umber said. He sat on the terrace floor with his elbows on his knees. “Let’s stay right here and keep an eye on this new wonder while I tell you about my dreams.”

  Hap sat likewise beside Umber, but put a little more distance between him and the eerie root.

  “They weren’t dreams so much as memories,” Umber said. “I saw moments of my life replayed in my mind, as if I were there all over again. I haven’t remembered those days so clearly since I first arrived in this world. An effect of the elatia, I suppose. But then again, I wonder if hearing that mysterious whistler triggered the memories.” Umber leaned forward to where the root was nudging down the side of the planter, and gave it an experimental poke. His fingertip came away with a coating of slime, which Umber wiped off on his pant leg. The root paused for a moment, as a worm might when prodded, and then resumed its cautious journey.

  Umber’s inward journey resumed as well. “I dreamed about people I used to know. The friends I left behind. Saw their faces, heard their voices.”

  Hap looked at Umber, searching for any omens of the terrible sadness that might afflict him. But he saw none, and breathed easier. “Did you have a mother and father?”

  “I did once, of course. But they passed away when I was still a very young man.”

  “What friends did you see?”

  “One, most of all. And it’s funny you ask about my parents, because this man was like a father to me. His name was Jonathan Doane. Do you remember me telling you about him?”

/>   Hap looked skyward, searching the vault of his memory. “Yes. He was the man who asked you to help him with his idea.”

  “Right. Project Reboot . . . preserving all of humanity’s learning and achievements, and storing it all on the Reboot computer, so that people could rebuild civilization one day if they had to. That was Jonathan’s brainchild. And he chose me, out of all the people who could have led that mission. Hap, sometimes two people come together, and the bond is instantaneous. That’s how it was with Jonathan and me. What a genius he was. He spent his life studying the history of technology, especially military technology. He finally decided that it was all rushing forward too quickly. The ability to destroy, combined with the worst impulses of human nature, would some day result in global chaos and destruction.” Umber fell quiet and gazed at the evening’s first stars. “I guess he knew what he was talking about.” He tapped his knuckles against his chin, immersed in memory.

  “What happened to Jonathan?” Hap asked.

  Umber sighed and shrugged. “I told you before how I barely made it out alive from the place where we’d been working on Project Reboot. Doane was there too when the mob attacked and the fire started. I hate to imagine what became of him.”

  Balfour appeared at the top of the stairs with a pot of coffee, a pitcher of cream, and three mugs on a silver tray. “Coffee for you, cocoa for the boy, and—what on earth!” The tray came unbalanced in his hands. As the pitcher and mugs wobbled to a stop, he gawked, openmouthed, at the planter. Five more roots had wriggled down the sides, like enormous fingers gripping it from above.

  “Not wasting any time, is it?” Umber mused. Hap stood alongside him and looked into the planter. In the middle the soil rose like a small hill. A crack appeared, and something pale and gray pushed through the dirt from below. It rose, sluggish and arching, and Hap saw that it was the stem of a plant, as thick as his wrist. Its tip broke loose from the soil, and there was a dense cluster of infant branches at the top, all bristling with tiny thorns.

  Balfour shook his head and sighed. “It’s always something around here.”

  When Balfour returned to the kitchen, Hap followed Umber into his study, a room once forbidden to anyone but Umber. But there were no more secrets between them, as far as he knew. “Sit,” Umber said. Hap lowered himself into the padded chair on the other side of Umber’s desk.

  Umber went to the wall beside his desk and pushed a tapestry aside, revealing the round door of the safe where he kept the miraculous machine that belonged, like Umber himself, to another world. With his remarkable key that could magically alter its shape to open any lock at all, he opened the safe. The door gave a tiny kitten squeak as it swung wide.

  “You should know something,” Umber said. He lifted out the smooth, flat silver case with that word engraved on its surface: REBOOT. “My computer isn’t the only thing of value in this safe. There’s other stuff that could be even more dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  Hap coughed and squirmed in his seat.

  Umber laid the computer on his desk. He opened its lid and pressed a button, and it hummed to life. “Remember Turiana, the ‘guest’ we have locked away downstairs? What am I saying—of course you remember, she tried to scare the life out of you!”

  Hap nodded. He’d been through many frightening moments in his brief conscious life, but one of the worst was his encounter with the sorceress.

  Umber reached into the safe and pulled out a box made of a material that bore an unsettling resemblance to bleached bone. He took off the lid and showed Hap its contents: rings, pendants, bracelets, and enormous crystals and gemstones. Hap looked up at Umber with his head at a curious angle. “Jewels?”

  “Talismans,” Umber replied. He closed the box, shoved it deep into the hole in the wall, and closed the safe. Next he went to the hearth in the opposite wall and made a stack of twigs and wood.

  Hap’s thoughts turned inward, to something Balfour had once told him. “Those talismans—they used to belong to Turiana.”

  “That’s right,” Umber said. “Now, a warlock or sorceress has a certain amount of natural magical ability. Turiana can pull thoughts out of people’s heads, remember?”

  A shiver coursed through Hap’s shoulders. “I remember.”

  “But talismans are used to amplify those abilities. That’s true of Fendofel, too—he has a talisman for his botanical wizardry.”

  “The crystal around his neck,” Hap said.

  “Exactly. Turiana collected the objects in that box over many years, usually by seizing them from other warlocks and sorceresses. With every talisman she won, she grew more powerful. She could cast spells and call out the foul creatures that live deep underground and force them to serve her.”

  Umber took a burning candle from his desk and used it to light the finest twigs at the bottom of his pile of wood.

  “Why don’t you use the talismans yourself?” Hap asked.

  Umber flashed his black-stone ring at Hap. “I use this one, to open the black door downstairs. But the rest? Too dangerous. Remember what happened to Turiana when she amassed too much dark power: It drove her mad and turned her thoughts to evil. But really, Hap, I’m telling you this because those talismans must be destroyed if anything happens to me,” Umber said.

  “Nothing will happen to you,” Hap blurted. He wanted it to be true, and he also believed it. Umber had survived so many harebrained, reckless adventures already that it was hard to conceive of him actually coming to harm.

  “You never know,” Umber said, smiling. “Now, I’ve already told Balfour what to do in the event of a tragedy involving myself. But I want you to know as well. You’re to get this key from me, which I wear around my neck or keep in my pocket at all times. The Reboot computer should be tossed into the sea. The talismans must be melted down or smashed to pieces. Is that clear?”

  “Nothing will happen,” Hap echoed softly.

  “Nevertheless,” Umber said. And then he did another curious thing—he seemed to have an endless supply of unexpected things to do. He reached behind his desk and lifted a small statue. It was as tall as Hap’s knee, made of rough stone, and blackened by soot. The form was vaguely human, but also amphibian, with a froglike mouth opened wide and glittering white gems for eyes. One arm was broken off, and one leg was replaced with an iron peg. Umber laid it faceup on the burning wood.

  “What are you . . . ?” Hap began to ask.

  “Watch,” Umber said.

  The stone figure settled into the burning sticks. Flames lapped over it, and sparks crackled and flew. Hap leaned over with his hands on his knees, staring.

  The fingers on the statue’s only arm twitched. Then they curled into a half-formed fist. The elbow bent and straightened, and the statue flexed its knee and ankle.

  “You don’t look all that surprised, Hap,” Umber said. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost the ability to astonish you!”

  “There have been so many surprises,” Hap said. The statue used its one arm to turn itself over, exposing its face and belly to the flames. “What is this thing?”

  “It was a gift from the Dwergh. I returned some treasures of theirs that Turiana had hoarded, and this was their thanks. It’s called a Molton—an enchanted statue that’s animated by fire. It’ll perform whatever task you give it. They’re extremely rare. This one had been damaged, but it’s perfectly useful for the tasks I give it.”

  The Molton sat up with a burning stick in its hand. It opened its frog mouth and shoved the stick down its blackened throat. “What tasks are those?” Hap asked.

  Umber smiled. “Haven’t you wondered how I get it all done—the plans for ships and buildings, the music, the books of instruction, and all that other stuff? I have this Molton to transcribe them.” He pulled a stack of parchment from a drawer and set it beside the computer in two piles. One pile, Hap could see, was densely covered with musical notations. The second pile was blank. Umber swiveled the computer until the screen faced him and spoke a command. “Reboot: Sh
ow the score for Beethoven’s Third Symphony, beginning with the second movement.” The thing that Umber had summoned appeared on the computer screen: countless symbols, numbers, and slashes arranged across horizontal lines.

  The Molton rose up inside the hearth, unsteady at first on its one leg and the iron peg. It hobbled stiffly out of the fire and helped itself to a few lumps of coal in a bin that Umber kept nearby, tossing them into its gaping mouth.

  “Hello, Shale,” Umber said to the Molton. The creature turned its stone face up, expressionless except for the glitter of its gemstone eyes. Umber set a feathered pen and an inkwell on the desktop and pulled a stool out of the corner of the room. Hap hadn’t noticed that stool before, with rungs between its legs that made it easy for the Molton to clamber up. “You can pick up where you left off, transcribing this symphony. And keep feeding yourself coal so you don’t cool down, all right? That’s a good lad.” The Molton nodded, apparently understanding every word.

  “His name is Shale?” Hap asked.

  “I thought about changing it to Rocky, but kept the Dwergh name after all,” Umber said. He watched happily as the stone creature picked up the pen, dipped it into the ink, and went to work.

  Hap was in Sophie’s studio, watching her prepare an engraving. It was an illustration of the sea-giants: the enormous creatures they’d encountered on the rocky coast of Celador. She had depicted them just as Hap remembered, slumbering on the ledge of the sea-cave, with ocean-refracted light shimmering on their grotesque forms. The memory quickened Hap’s pulse. Umber could be reckless, but never more so than when he’d nearly woken those titanic beasts. After all, those were the same giants that had smashed Kurahaven into rubble more than a century before.

  “It really is remarkable,” Hap told her. “How do you remember what you see so well?” She smiled and shrugged. Sophie had a habit of looking away as soon as Hap’s eyes met hers. But this time she held his glance for so long that he felt his face turn warm.