The voice carried across the water, and everyone fell still. “People of Kurahaven. You have seen only a hint of what this ship can do. Do not tempt us to show the Vanquisher’s true might. Our envoy is on the boat that approaches. Send your highest authority to meet him. Do as he says, or countless more of you will die.”
By the time the small craft was rowed to the docks, most of the people had fled. Hap heard the last door of the harbor wall slam shut. It seemed like a waste of time to him; the Vanquisher’s weapons could blow those wooden doors into sawdust if they desired.
The men from the Vanquisher stepped onto the dock. A small group was there to meet them: Hap saw one fellow who must have been an officer in the king’s navy, and another man who looked like a knight.
“Stay here and hide among the crates,” Sandar said, and he headed for the dock. Hap and Sophie ignored his orders and followed, earning a stern backward glare.
Someone else was approaching the dock where the meeting would happen. Hap felt a flush of anger when he recognized the whistling spy. He saw Sandar’s hands turn to fists. The spy was many paces ahead of them, and he reached the group first. There he was greeted by the thick-chested, black-bearded envoy, who seemed to know him well.
Sandar stopped a short distance away, behind a stack of barrels. They were close enough to hear every word, and Hap could see what was happening through a gap in the cargo.
The naval officer stepped ahead of the others to address the envoy. His throat bobbed up and down, and he dabbed sweat off his forehead with his fingertips. The envoy waited, looking disinterested and picking at the fingernails of one hand with his thumbnail. Behind the envoy, the rest of the men watched with wolfish looks, holding those strange long objects. If they were clubs, Hap thought, they were unwieldy ones, with narrow metal rods at the top fused to thicker wooden handles at the bottom.
“Tell me your name,” the envoy finally growled, barely glancing up.
“Admiral Horner,” said the officer.
The envoy sniffed. “Admiral? Not exactly the highest authority, are you? Here is what you’re going to do, Horner. Tell your king to come to this very spot, within the hour.”
“Within the hour?” cried Horner.
The envoy stared without expression. “If he is not standing on this very spot by then, we will do to his palace what we just did to that ship.”
Horner looked over his shoulder at the palace, looming at what appeared to be a safe distance. He turned back, and disbelief colored his expression.
“I can see you doubt me,” the envoy said. He raised his fingers and snapped them. Behind him one of the men raised a flag and waved it high in the air to signal to the Vanquisher. A moment passed, and then another deafening roar and a cloud of smoke shot out from the ship, this time from the great cylinders of metal on its deck. Sophie screamed and clapped her hands across her ears. Something whistled high overhead. After a moment of silence, when even the gulls ceased to cry, there was an eruption of fire and smoke in the building next to the palace. Hap knew the place: It was a theater that Umber had designed and funded. Half of it had been reduced to rubble.
Horner stared with his jaw hanging slack. “I . . . I shall go at once,” he said. He cleared his throat. “May . . . may I ask why you require the king’s presence?”
“Of course not,” the envoy said. “And tell the king to leave his entourage behind; he may bring one servant or advisor only. Also, bring his crown and scepter with him.” The spy stepped up beside the envoy, who bent his head to allow the spy to whisper in his ear. The envoy nodded and turned to Horner again. “One more thing. Make sure the king brings Lord Umber with him. Do you know the man I speak of?”
Sophie gasped and clutched Hap’s arm. Sandar turned back with goggling eyes, and mouthed the name Lord Umber.
“Every man, woman, and child in Kurahaven knows of Lord Umber,” Horner said.
The envoy yawned and examined his fingernails. “Then you’ll have no trouble bringing the right man.” He waved Horner away, and the admiral walked toward the palace as fast as a man could walk without breaking into a run, signaling for the men on the harbor wall to open a door so he could pass through.
Hap saw the spy talk quietly to the envoy again. Hap fumed, touching the tender ear where he’d been struck. The envoy nodded, and to Hap’s dismay he glanced in the direction of the cargo they’d hidden behind.
The spy stepped to the front of the group and called out between his hands. “Happenstance! Come out from hiding!” Hap and Sophie stared at each other, and then the spy called out again, guessing their thoughts. “Yes, I know your name. I’ve been observing you for many weeks. Now get out here, and bring those two with you. That’s right—I saw the three of you hiding there.”
Sandar stood up first, and the men with those strange metal-and-wood clubs did a strange thing: They leveled the narrow ends directly at Sandar. Hap and Sophie stood on either side of the captain.
The spy put his hands on his hips and looked at them with his head angled to one side. “Come over here, my green-eyed friend. We’re curious about you; you always seem to be at Umber’s side. But your friends must go; I don’t like the way that tall one is looking at me. Hurry, you two, while that gate is open. And don’t loiter here, or that will be the end of you.”
Hap looked up at Sandar, whose chest swelled with barely contained fury. “Captain Sandar, go on. Take Sophie back to the Aerie. Please.”
Sandar heaved out a breath. “I don’t like leaving you.” Sophie whipped her head from side to side. But Sandar knew what had to be done, and he took her firmly by the hand. “Take care, Hap,” Sandar whispered. “Get back to the Aerie somehow. I’ll get you all safely away.”
Hap walked onto the dock. His steps were awkward, and it felt like he was pushing through water. Every man from the Vanquisher, and the spy as well, was staring at him. He saw some of them nudge each other and whisper. One of them spoke louder, and Hap heard him say, “Those eyes!”
He stopped when he was a few paces away and stood before them. The envoy gazed at him and talked out of the side of his mouth, toward the spy. “There is something special about this boy?”
“It is rumored that he possesses some magical abilities. A seer of some kind,” the spy replied. “And it’s said that he can leap great distances.”
Hap dipped his head and stared at his feet. His face had reddened, he knew; he could feel the warmth in his cheeks. They were speaking about him as if he wasn’t even there.
“His eyes are unnatural,” the envoy said.
“Yes. At any rate, I thought the Supremacy might be interested,” the spy replied.
“He’ll be here soon. You men—make sure this area is safe.” At the envoy’s command, most of the soldiers trotted past Hap and searched the docks.
The Supremacy, Hap said to himself. He supposed it was that silver-haired man. When he looked back at the Vanquisher he saw a second small boat being carefully lowered to the water. Like the first it was filled with men armed with those strange clubs. But sitting among them was the silver-haired man himself. He wore a black tunic that fell to his ankles, and carried a tall, silver staff. There was something around his waist that looked, from that distance, like a cluster of large metal rings. They glittered when the sunlight struck them.
The boat lingered beside the great ship for a long while. Hap wondered why, until he heard hooves and rolling wheels behind him, and turned to see the royal carriage rumbling through the only open gate in the harbor wall. The king was approaching, and these invaders were making certain that it would be the king, and not their Supremacy, who would wait on the dock for the other party to arrive.
As the carriage approached, the driver stared, owl-eyed, at the Vanquisher. He stopped the carriage at the foot of the road, right before the wooden planks of the dock. Hap watched, trying to keep his legs from visibly shaking, as the door opened, wondering if Umber was really inside. His stomach soured as Larcombe stepped out, lo
oking frightened and angry. Next, to Hap’s great relief, came Umber, who gaped at the beastly ship with his mouth hanging open. Umber normally would have looked at an extraordinary thing with pure delight, but he seemed to regard the Vanquisher with dread and even a terrible recognition.
Loden stepped out last, looking ten years older. His face was the color of the oldest parchments in Umber’s archives. He gripped the carriage door to steady himself.
“Come here at once,” commanded the envoy. Loden and Larcombe hesitated, but Umber gave them a disdainful glance and marched briskly down the dock. Loden was in a daze, but Larcombe tugged his elbow, and they followed.
“Happenstance?” Umber said, with a sudden loopy grin. Hap managed to smile back, and Umber clapped his shoulders with both hands. “My boy. What are you doing here?”
Hap paused while Loden and Larcombe passed by. Loden moved like a sleepwalker, but Larcombe’s gaze darted everywhere, and he licked his lips without pause.
“Stop there and remove your weapons,” the envoy said. Larcombe sneered at the envoy, but he drew his sword from its scabbard and his knife from his hip and let them clatter to the planks. Loden hadn’t moved, and so Larcombe took his sword from him.
Umber shrugged. “I’m not much for weapons myself,” he said.
The envoy stared back with narrowed eyes. “Stand here, all of you.” He pointed to the space directly before him. Umber put his arm across Hap’s shoulder and they walked there together, taking their place beside Loden and Larcombe.
The second boat had reached the dock. Two dozen men climbed out first and stood facing one another in opposing lines, forming a corridor that ended where Umber and the others had assembled.
“Say something,” Larcombe said to Loden, nearly hissing the words.
Loden had been gaping at the Vanquisher, seeming to barely comprehend the sight. But his eyes cleared and focused on the envoy. “I . . . I am the king here,” he stammered. “You have no—”
“Shut your mouth,” the envoy said. The men near him raised those strange clubs, pointing them at Loden, who clamped his mouth audibly. Larcombe’s face went purple, and he trembled with rage.
The envoy, the spy, and all of the others swiveled in place, clapped their hands to their sides, and stared straight ahead. Hap saw the tall, silver-haired man step up from the boat. He climbed the rungs of the short ladder and stood at the end of the corridor of men. There was a smile on his face, and then he laughed and clapped his hands together. Hap realized that he was staring directly at Umber, and he turned to see how Umber was reacting to this unexpected attention.
Umber stared back, goggle-eyed. His legs wobbled and buckled, and he clutched Hap’s shoulder to keep from falling. “This can’t be,” Umber said. “It can’t be true.”
CHAPTER
25
“Who is he?” Hap asked. The silver-haired man strode toward them. Now Hap could see that the circular things that hung at his waist were crowns: at least seven glorious crowns, no two alike, made from precious gold and silver, and studded with jewels.
“It’s my friend,” Umber said thickly. “Jonathan Doane.”
It was Hap’s turn to be stunned. Doane was the man from Umber’s world who had decided to gather that civilization’s vast knowledge of science, engineering, medicine, music, architecture, and more, and store it all on the wondrous machine that Umber had brought with him. And now Doane stood before them, another refugee from a lost world, weeping with joy as he pulled Umber into an embrace.
“Brian! Brian Umber! I wouldn’t believe it till I saw you with my own eyes!” Doane took Umber by the shoulders and looked him up and down. “This is the finest day of my second life, seeing you again! Can you believe it?”
Umber shook his head like a dog throwing off water. Hap could see emotions colliding on his face: shock, worry, confusion, and surprise. Umber blinked and choked out a laugh. “I . . . no. I can’t believe this at all. To think, you were brought here, just like me.”
Doane gave Umber a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s not say too much about that, eh?” he whispered. He gazed at the scene around him, from the sleek ships to the handsome buildings. His deep, thunderous voice boomed out again. “Look at what you’ve accomplished with all your knowledge. Yes, I’ve heard about everything you’ve done.”
Umber’s dazed grin faltered as he looked past Doane to the hulking ship that loomed in the harbor like a thunderhead. “I’ve tried to be useful. But . . . what have you been up to, Jonathan?”
Doane peered over his shoulder at the Vanquisher. His chest puffed, and he flashed his teeth. “Isn’t she stunning? But look at your sailing ships—how quaint! Clippers, I think? No, schooners! You’ll have to explain why you stopped at such a primitive design, with all the information you possessed at your fingertips.” Umber’s shoulders twitched at that remark, and Doane’s shaggy eyebrows rose and fell twice. “Surely, Umber, you could have constructed something just as formidable as the Vanquisher, artillery and all!”
“What?” cried Loden, straightening out of his slouch. He pointed at Umber, stabbing the air. “You could have made something like that ship—with those weapons—to safeguard this kingdom from such an invasion? My father begged you to use your ingenuity for our defense! You had that power, and you did nothing?”
“I saw no need,” Umber said.
Doane turned toward Loden and angled his head. His voice grew cold and stern. “Mind your tone when you speak to my friend.”
Loden swallowed, audibly, and struggled to maintain a regal air, but the quiver in his voice betrayed his fear. “Y-your friend? That man is my subject, and a traitor at that. I am k-king here, and will speak as I see f-fit.” Larcombe was watching the scene with his eyes narrowed and his glance darting from man to man. His tongue slid across his lips again, and he crossed his arms, putting a hand inside the opposite sleeve.
Doane shook his head and smirked at Loden. “Poor little man. You are only king until I take your crown and add it to these.” He ran his fingers across the glittering crowns he wore at his waist. Loden gasped and clutched his own throat.
Umber cleared his throat. “Jonathan. You mean to depose this king?”
Doane winked again and pointed at the men assembled with their strange clubs. “Unless he prefers the alternative.”
Hap thought that Umber shivered as he glanced at the oddly shaped clubs. Umber blinked and fidgeted, as if some inner struggle was manifesting itself in his hands and feet. But he forced a fragile smile. “May I approach my king for a moment, while he still reigns?”
“Why not?” Doane said, shrugging.
It took Umber five steps before he stood nose to nose with Loden. He stared unflinching into Loden’s brown eyes as Loden glared back with sweat on his brow. “I want you to know,” Umber told him, “I have never struck a man in my entire life.” His hand came up in a flash, and he slapped Loden. Loden’s head snapped to one side, and he rocked backward, pressing a hand to his cheek. Umber grimaced and shook his hand. “That was for the murder of my friend Galbus. And Argent before him, you unworthy toad.”
“Umber!” cried Hap, as Larcombe leaped forward, raising a dagger that he’d concealed in his sleeve. Umber turned to see the blade slashing through the air, and he flung himself backward. The blade missed, whipping through the air, and Larcombe stumbled, expecting resistance when the dagger met Umber’s flesh. Umber fell on his back and rolled away as Larcombe caught his balance and came again with the dagger high over one shoulder, spitting with rage.
There was a sound, or many sounds, from nowhere, from everywhere, like cracks of thunder. Larcombe was in the air, leaping toward Umber, and suddenly was pushed aside as if a gust of wind had taken him. He thumped on the dock, as limp as a rag doll, with staring glassy eyes. His mouth moved without making a sound. A leg jerked. And then he was still.
Hap’s ears rang from the sound. Umber gaped toward the men with those strange clubs. Some still had their weapons leveled, poin
ting toward Larcombe. Smoke hung in the air before them, and Hap caught a sharp chemical scent that reminded him of volcanic fumes.
“What . . . what foul magic is this?” Loden moaned. His hands clutched his stomach.
Doane tipped his head back and laughed with a merriment that chilled Hap’s blood. “Magic? My boy, those are rifles that fire bullets, just as your old bows fire arrows. It’s not magic at all—it’s invention!”
Loden stared at Umber with a child’s disbelief. Hap was amazed to find himself feeling pity for their enemy. And then Hap saw blood gush from between Loden’s fingers. Loden eased down to one knee, and laid himself slowly on the planks, facing the sky.
Doane frowned at the king, and then at the men and their rifles. “Who’s the one with the terrible aim? I’ve told you, make sure of your target before you squeeze the trigger!” He clucked his tongue. “Still, I suppose he brought it on himself.” Doane strode to where Loden lay with his mouth open, gasping. He bent down and took the crown from Loden’s head. Loden’s hand rose weakly up and gripped one side of the crown. Doane tugged back. “Really, Loden, this is pointless.” He yanked hard, and Loden’s fingers slipped free. There was a crimson smear on the side of the crown.
Doane placed the crown on his head, purposefully askew. “King me!” he said, chuckling. He gave Loden another glance. “As for you, dear Loden, you are gut shot and doomed. Hours of agony and eventual demise lie ahead. So trust me when I say I’m doing you a favor.” He crooked a finger and beckoned one of the men with the rifles.
Umber had gotten to his knees, and he raised a hand and screamed. “No—wait!” But another dose of thunder rang out, and Hap was glad that he turned away and saw nothing.
Doane helped Umber rise. Umber trembled from head to foot and looked like a ghost as he searched his old friend’s face. “Jonathan . . . we . . . I . . . have made progress with medicine. We might have saved him.”
The End of Time (Books of Umber #3) Page 20
