The troll’s claws raked the air in front of Umber’s face. Umber barely moved. He had sized up the troll’s arms, and seemed sure that he was out of reach. The troll snorted and grunted as it struggled in vain to grasp him.
“Come on out, Hap, and meet Charrly,” Umber said. Hap took a deep, fortifying breath and stepped out from his hiding place. He nearly dove back when the troll’s face swiveled his way and it hissed. The appearance of a second person seemed to worry the beast. It looked around for more intruders, and then it pulled its arm back from between the bars and loped into the caverns beyond the portcullis, with a single fierce glance over its shoulder before it vanished. From the depths of the passage, its voice rumbled out again:
Charrrr.
“Well. What do you think of that, Hap?”
“I think these bars better be strong.”
“No worries there,” Umber said. “They can’t be broken down. And they can’t be raised, except by that winch in the alcove. The winch can’t be turned unless it’s unlocked. And I have the only key.” Umber tapped the magical key he wore around his neck.
“There are other creatures in those caverns, aren’t there?” Hap asked, staring into the dark passage.
Umber nodded. “Yes. Foul flesh-eating things. When Turiana ruled here, she summoned them from the depths to be her servants.”
“But you sent them away, didn’t you? When you stole Turiana’s talismans.”
“That’s right. I sent them back to the depths. And let’s hope that’s where they’ve stayed.”
Hap was in the kitchen with his hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea that Balfour had brewed. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.
“Feeling all right?” Balfour asked.
“I was thinking about the sorceress,” Hap said. “It scares me just knowing she’s down there.”
Balfour snorted. “She’d give a snake the creeps.”
Hap heard a familiar pounding of feet come downstairs and approach the grand hall, and he braced himself. “This can’t be good,” he muttered.
The kitchen door burst open and Umber charged inside. It was hard to tell if he was panicked or delighted. “Where’s Oates?”
“Asleep in his room, if I had to guess,” Balfour replied.
Umber capered in place. “Hap, get Oates, wherever he is, and meet me on the terrace. Tell him to bring an ax!” And then Umber was gone, and his feet assaulted the stairs once more.
Hap and Balfour looked at each other with both their mouths curving sharply down at the corners. “Trouble at the palace, trouble below, trouble above,” Balfour said. “My dear boy, we are surrounded.”
Hap’s fist thumped on Oates’s door. “Mister Oates! Umber needs you on the terrace! Bring an ax!” He heard a mumbled reply, followed by a clatter of iron: Oates reaching into the stack of weapons he kept standing in the corner of his room and knocking them all over. The big man opened the door with such violence that the hinges nearly tore loose. In his hand was an ax that no ordinary man could lift.
Balfour stood back so that Oates wouldn’t trample him, but Hap sprinted ahead of them both and took the stairs seven steps at a time with his powerful legs. At the top of the landing he saw a sky filled with inky gray clouds that looked ready to weep. With a final stride he soared onto the terrace.
Umber stood there with one hand plowed into his unruly hair, staring at the tree that had sprouted from the thorny nut. The tree was already twice his height. It looked as if it were twisting as it grew—its pale green bark was grooved like a towel being wrung dry. Inch-long thorns jutted from the trunk and the leafless branches that spread wide and loomed overhead.
“How?” Hap said. “How could it grow so fast?”
Umber shook his head and laughed. “Quite a specimen, isn’t it? But those roots have me worried.” Already two of Umber’s finest plants had been strangled in their planters by the roots of the thorny tree. Now another root was closing in on Umber’s beloved tree of many fruits—it had slithered up the side of the planter, and its tip was at the edge like a crooked finger.
“I tried moving it myself, but it’s strong,” Umber said.
They heard Oates’s heavy steps, and a clang of metal as his ax struck the stone wall. He reached the top with the ax poised in two hands, ready for assault. “What?” he cried, still blinking away his sleepiness. “What is it? Oh!” He spotted the thorny tree, and as he stared at the spreading branches and wandering roots, the head of his ax drooped until it rang against the terrace floor.
“Put the ax down for now, Oates,” Umber said. “Can you can pull that root away from my fruit tree? I can’t bear to lose that one.”
Oates grimaced and laid the ax on the ground with obvious reluctance. “I think I ought to toss the whole infernal tree off the roof.” He spat on his hands and rubbed them together.
Hap heard wheezing behind him. Balfour had just made it to the terrace, and he stood with his chest heaving. He reached for Hap’s shoulder to steady himself.
Oates wrapped his meaty hands around the root and pulled. Hap had rarely seen Oates struggle with a feat of strength, but the big fellow’s face turned purple as he strained. He braced his foot against the planter and heaved. Spittle flew from his gritted teeth. Slowly he was able to bend the root backward. He took three deep breaths, freshened his grip, and tugged again. Suddenly his face turned into a mask of pain, and he cried out, pulling his hands off the root.
“It stung me!” Oates shouted. He held his hands up for Umber to see. Hap saw dots of blood on his palms. Umber’s mouth puckered and he stepped closer to examine the root.
“Thorns,” he said, pointing at the place where Oates had gripped the root. “But only here.”
“They weren’t there a minute ago,” Oates said.
“No, they weren’t,” Umber said. His eyes gleamed with avid curiosity. “It defended itself! You’re all right, though, aren’t you?”
Oates pressed his lips to the wounds. His reply was muffled. “It stings.”
At the solemn pace of a slug, the root bent back toward the planter where the tree of many fruits stood. The tip began to burrow into the dirt.
“The ax, then,” Umber said, with a touch of apprehension.
“My pleasure,” Oates replied. He seized the ax and held it just above the length of the root that was flat on the terrace floor. Umber watched intently with his fingers interlaced and his thumbs tapping together. Hap felt Balfour’s hand tugging on his shoulder, and he gladly retreated a step. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but his stomach had knotted nevertheless.
Oates brought the ax down in a blur. It bit deep, nearly severing the root. When Oates yanked the blade free, liquid boiled from the wound—thick, glistening, yellow and pink, like something infected and poisonous. A sharp odor stung Hap’s nose a moment later. Oates smelled it too, and he cried out in disgust: “Eeww!”
Umber pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover his nose and kept observing. The wounded root rose slowly off the ground, with its nearly severed end dangling, and hovered waist-high. Umber’s eyes traced the root back to the trunk, and his mouth fell open.
The whole tree shuddered and wriggled. The trunk untwisted a fraction, and twisted back again. The bark squealed and the branches quaked.
A stiff wind washed over the terrace. Hap heard a rushing sound, and realized that it was rain sweeping across Kurahaven Bay, far below. The storm arrived moments later, a few fat drops that turned to a downpour. The deluge had a soothing effect on the thorn tree. The writhing of the trunk and the quivering of the limbs ended, and the wounded root slumped to the ground and fell still.
The rain soaked their clothes, but nobody moved. Hap felt it dripping from the end of his nose. Umber turned and grinned widely, with his thumb pointing back over his shoulder. “Now that was interesting. Looks like the show’s over for the moment, though.”
Hap shook his head and raised a finger, pointing at the nearest horizontal branch. Near the
end, a bulge had appeared, growing out of the smooth bark until it was the size of a fist. It split open, and a blossom unfolded within a minute. Its petals were the color of bruised skin, with edges like torn paper, and they surrounded what looked like a mass of dead worms.
“That,” said Oates, “is the ugliest flower I’ve ever seen.”
Umber went up on the tips of his toes and put his nose close to the blossom. “Doesn’t smell any prettier,” he reported. Hap’s stomach soured, as the stench reached his nose. Remarkably, Umber went back for a second whiff. “Smells like rot, actually.”
More flowers began to emerge on other branches. The rain fell harder, splattering the stone, and the wind whistled through the stony corners of the terrace. Dimly, amid all that noise, Hap heard another sound that made him turn an ear to the city. “Listen,” he said, raising his voice.
A bell was tolling; the great bell in the palace tower; the largest bell with the deepest, gravest voice. It clanged slowly, with seconds passing before it boomed again and faded to a gloomy drone. Umber forgot the thorn tree and its foul blossoms. He drifted like a ghost across the terrace, his face unmoving except to blink away the rain, and stood at the balcony, staring at the palace. In the buildings that surrounded the city, flickering points of candlelight appeared.
Hap didn’t have to ask what the ringing meant. He’d heard it before, and not so long ago. That bell meant death—the death foretold by the filament he’d seen. And the news was doubly grim, because Prince Loden was going to be King Loden.
As he thought about that, the deep, solemn knell began to sound like a word.
Wrongggg . . .
Wrongggg . . .
Wrongggg . . .
CHAPTER
16
The rain ended but the gloom lasted the day and through the night and into the morning that followed, as criers and couriers on horseback clattered out of the palace gates and into the streets with the news. It was still dark a day later, when all of Kurahaven lined the harbor road for the funeral procession.
Hap stood with Umber and the others on the steps of the Umber Shipping Company, at the foot of the great columns that lined the building. He saw the procession approach with the king’s guard leading the way. The king’s favorite horse, a towering black beast with an empty saddle, was led by a grim young page on foot. A team of white horses came next, pulling a funeral carriage that had seen far too much use recently. Hap felt something roil deep in his gut when he saw Tyrian’s corpse, his body wreathed by flowers, and his gray face turned to the gray sky. He was dressed as a warrior, in mail and light armor, with sword and helmet by his side. Across his chest lay his shield with the four-part coat of arms: crown, sun, mountains, and seashell. As he passed, the people kneeled and lowered their heads, and men held their hats to their hearts. Mournful cries filled the streets, echoed by the gulls that wheeled above.
“Look at Loden—the perfect mourning son,” Balfour muttered. Umber peered sideways at Balfour with a finger tapping his lips.
Hap saw Loden walking behind the funeral carriage, leading his own horse. If the prince was not truly grief-struck, then he was playing his part to perfection. He trudged along, holding his trembling chin up bravely. There was a handkerchief bunched in one hand, and he used it to dab an eye.
As he walked, a ragged gap appeared in the clouds above. The rays of the sun beamed through the misty air and cast Loden and the procession in golden light. A murmur passed through the crowd. Loden turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes, accepting the warm rays with a sad smile.
“That’s no omen, you murderous swine,” Balfour whispered, his face twisted with contempt. Umber coughed and gave him a gentle elbow to the ribs.
Loden opened his eyes. He must have realized where the procession was, because he turned toward the shipping company and searched the steps until he spotted Umber. When their gazes met, one of Loden’s eyebrows lifted, and a smirk teased the corner of his mouth. Hap heard Umber take a deep breath and hold it. Finally Loden moved on, nodding solemnly at the people in the crowd who wept and called his name.
“So is Loden king now?” Hap asked, as Umber took a seat in the carriage.
“Not until the coronation,” Umber said.
“When is that abomination?” asked Balfour. He grabbed a handle to steady himself, because the carriage rocked as Oates climbed in.
“Tonight. And I wasn’t invited, by the way.” Umber rapped the side of the carriage. “All set, Dodd.” The carriage rolled, and soon Hap felt the familiar tilt of the causeway under their wheels, pressing him against the back of his seat.
Long before they reached the Aerie, Dodd called to the horses, and the carriage slowed. Hap leaned out to see why they’d stopped and saw a couple of boys, years younger than him, sitting in the middle of the causeway. They were beside a small cart filled with straw. It was harnessed to a donkey, but the beast had apparently suffered an unexpected death and was sprawled on its side, blocking the way. This circumstance had driven both of the boys to tears. They kneeled side by side, mashing their palms into their eyes, mouths open and bawling. Perhaps because the river was nearby, passing under the causeway and splashing thunderously into the bay, they hadn’t heard the carriage approach.
Dodd called down through the carriage window. “Mister Oates, I think we’re going to need you.”
Oates grumbled and stepped out.
A sharp exhalation whistled out of Umber’s nose. “I’m in no mood for delays after that procession.” He followed Oates out of the carriage.
Hap leaned out to watch. The boys finally noticed that someone had arrived, and the older boy punched the younger one’s shoulder to alert him. They wiped their tears and scrambled to their feet with chests heaving, and the younger one kicked the older one in the shins to repay him for the punch.
“Boys, what’s happened here?” Umber said. The boys looked up at him and gawked at the towering bulk of Oates.
“Our stupid donkey died,” the older boy said, pointing at the beast. “She just dropped right there.”
“I mourn with you,” Umber said. “But why are you on this road?”
The boys looked at each other. They grimaced and gulped and fidgeted from foot to foot. The younger one spoke next, and his words tumbled out, blurring together. “We were bringing something to that place up there, where a man lives, and he’s supposed to pay us for what we’re bringing.”
The older boy reached over and pinched the younger one’s arm. “You always say too much,” he said out of the side of his mouth. His eyes, big and bulging like a toad’s, were locked on the intimidating figure of Oates.
Umber scratched the tip of his nose. He spoke kindly to the boys, but Hap sensed a hint of impatience. “Who is this man you’re looking for?”
“His name is Hum-ber,” said the older boy, keeping an inch of his brother’s flesh between his thumb and finger. The younger boy lashed out with an elbow that jabbed his brother under the armpit.
“Well, that is me. I am Lord Umber, of the Aerie.” A duet of gasps was the instant reply. Umber looked at the hay sticking out of the cart. “But what are you bringing me? I don’t have a crying need for hay.”
The younger boy pulled his arm from his brother’s pinch and fired out a hailstorm of words. “The man told us you’d pay us, and so we took the cart without asking our dad, and came all these miles from our farm, and now you have to pay us, and plenty, too, because we need a new donkey, because our dad’s going to be so mad that we took it, and it dropped dead all of a sudden in the middle of the road!”
Umber groaned and rubbed his hand up the length of his face. “Right. And what a charming pair you are. Just answer this, will you: What is it you’ve brought me, and what man told you to bring it?”
The older boy covered his brother’s mouth with his palm. “Well . . . you see . . . Lord Hum-ber . . . the man is the thing.”
Umber’s mouth silently echoed the last five words. His brow contorted and s
napped up. He looked back at the cart.
The younger boy pried his brother’s hand off his mouth. “But we think he might’ve dropped dead too!”
Umber stepped to the cart and raked the straw with his fingers. Hap couldn’t see what was revealed beneath. Umber’s hand floated up and landed on the top of his head. “Happenstance,” he called. “Would you come over here, please?”
CHAPTER
17
Hap stepped out of the carriage with his heart thumping against his chest. He glanced up at Dodd in the driver’s perch. Dodd lifted his chin, a nod of encouragement, and returned his anxious gaze to the cart. He can see what’s inside from up there, Hap thought, and he gulped. Dreading every step, he approached the cart. When the younger boy got a closer look at Hap, he elbowed his brother in the ribs and whispered, “Lookit his eyes!”
“Is this who I think it is?” Umber said. He had pushed the straw aside to reveal the man who lay senseless in the cart. When Hap looked, his knees buckled, and Umber gripped his shoulder to steady him.
The man had a narrow strip of cloth tied across his eyes. The fabric was stained and crusted with blood. More blood had flowed from under the cloth and caked around his ears and nose. The long hair was a strange color—so white that it was almost clear. But a closer look showed flecks of brilliant color inside the hair. Hap had seen such hair only twice: in his own rapidly multiplying strands, and on the head of the one who’d created him.
“It’s him. It’s Willy Nilly,” Hap said, barely moving his lips.
“Are you sure?” Umber asked.
Hap looked again at the prominent but delicate nose and the cleft in the long chin. “I’m sure. Even the clothes are the same.” He leaned heavily on the side of the cart.
Umber turned to the boys, just as the younger one seized the older one’s earlobe and pulled it like taffy. “Stop that fighting at once, you imps, or this large, angry man will throw you into the sea,” Umber snapped. Their horror-struck faces turned toward Oates, who cracked his knuckles and flashed a menacing grin. The boys straightened and froze.
The End of Time (Books of Umber #3) Page 13
