Doane ambled around the grand hall with his hands clasped behind his back, inspecting the artifacts with a doubtful eye, but admiring the great carved pillars and the machinery of Umber’s lift. Hap heard the clatter of utensils and pots in the kitchen, as Balfour brewed a pot of coffee. Half of the armed men had stayed downstairs, while the rest were in the grand hall, spread out and watching in every direction, protecting their leader from any threat. When Oates and Sophie came downstairs, rifles swiveled in their direction. Oates glared back, irritated, and his fists bulged. Umber waved them over to the table. Sophie sat down with her eyes wide and mouth pressed tight.
“Oates, listen carefully,” Umber said quietly. “I know you think you could throttle every one of those men, but believe me: Those things they’re holding are deadly weapons that would slay you in an instant. And they can kill you from a great distance. So hold your temper and don’t do anything rash. Understand?”
Oates stuck his jaw out and nodded. “Should I put on my muzzle?”
Umber sucked on his teeth, and then shook his head. “I can’t imagine you saying anything that would make the situation worse. But . . . I’ll tell you what. Take Sophie to the archives and wait until you hear from me.”
Oates wrinkled his nose. “The archives? With Smudge?”
“Yes, with Smudge. You can stand his company for a short while. Sophie, tell Smudge what’s happening. Go on, both of you.”
Doane stepped in front of Sophie’s latest painting, an enormous canvas depicting the massive sea-giants at rest in their watery cavern. He squinted and snorted. “Brian. You’ve developed the strangest obsession.”
Umber forced a smile. “Yes . . . it seems that coming here had a curious effect on my mind.”
Doane gave Umber a sideways glance. Then his expression brightened as Balfour pushed the kitchen door open with his elbow and came out holding a silver tray cluttered with mugs and a steaming pot.
“Is that . . . ?” Doane asked hopefully.
“The world’s finest coffee,” Umber said. “I know I could use some. Join me.” He pulled out the chair at the head of the table, and Doane settled into it. Doane grinned when he saw a bowl with lumps of sugar on the table, and dropped a pair into his mug while Balfour poured. He didn’t raise the mug and drink, Hap noticed, until Umber had taken a sip.
Doane raised his chin and closed his eyes as he savored the coffee. “I’d almost forgotten the taste,” he said with a sigh.
Umber cupped both hands around his mug. “We need to talk, Jonathan.”
“We certainly do,” Doane replied over the lip of his mug.
Umber dropped his voice to a whisper. “You must know that you aren’t the man you used to be.”
Doane smiled back, as if given a compliment. “I won’t contradict you.”
“It’s something that happens to us when we cross between worlds,” Umber said. He pushed his mug aside and leaned closer. “It changed me, too. It seems to induce a kind of mania. Look at us, Jonathan. I run around this world like a madman, hardly aware of the danger I’m plunging into. I was never such a thrill-seeker back home. And my emotions—I was always plagued by mood swings, but nothing like the lows that strike me here. And you . . .”
Doane’s contented smile settled into a horizontal line. “And me?”
Umber took a deep breath and stretched his neck. “Jonathan. My friend. Back home you saw where the wrong kind of technology might lead us. That’s why you started Project Reboot. Don’t you remember? We did it to preserve the good things, against the possibility that humanity’s misguided ingenuity might bring it all crashing down. But now look what you’ve done. You’ve leapfrogged five hundred years of military science. And for what?”
Doane sat quietly for a moment. Hap stared at his face, but Doane’s emotions were impossible to decipher. Umber’s old friend spread his fingers over his heart and spoke theatrically. “‘Is it not worthy of tears that, when the number of worlds is infinite, we have not yet become lords of a single one?’ That’s an extraordinary quote, Brian. Do you know who said it?”
Umber’s fingers drummed on his mug. “I do not.”
“Alexander the Great himself! Can you believe it? More than two thousand years ago they imagined the existence of other worlds. And Alexander wept because even he, the greatest general of them all, could not realize his dream: one world, one conqueror, one ruler.” Doane raised his fist and slammed it down. “But I can! Brian, my friend, it cannot be coincidence that I’ve been given this chance to forge a legacy that will ring through the ages. I had the knowledge, I was given the materials, and this new life has galvanized my brain and granted me the ambition! This is what great men live for: to seize their moment, when it arrives, so that the world still speaks their name with awe two thousand years later!”
Umber stared with his mouth agape. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “But you’ve lost your better self, Jonathan. You’ve killed innocent people. Sunk defenseless ships. The Jonathan Doane I knew would never have done that.”
Doane sat back. A sly smile appeared, and then slowly vanished. Doubt and confusion blossomed on his face, as if he’d exhausted himself with his ravings. He sat in silence for a long while as Umber watched, keeping very still. Finally Doane’s fingers came up and tapped against his lips. “The Jonathan you knew. He . . . he wouldn’t have, would he?”
Umber clasped his hands and raised them. “Jonathan, you should try it my way—it is deeply satisfying. I’ve made my impact on this world without hastening its demise. We can do this together—make this the kind of world we both dreamed about. You have so much more to offer than guns and warships!” His chest heaved, and Hap wondered if Umber’s heart was thumping as fast and hard as his.
Doane sagged a little in his seat. With his lower lip jutting, he stared at the crowns that hung from his waist. “It doesn’t hurt to consider the possibility, I suppose. Let’s presume that you are right, Brian. What do you think I should do?”
Umber looked at Doane’s armed men on the other side of the room and spoke more quietly still. “We need to undo what you’ve done, as much as possible. Erase the engineering.”
Doane’s unruly eyebrows rose. “Erase it? How?”
Umber’s knee bounced to a frantic rhythm as his excitement grew. “First, destroy the Vanquisher.”
A twitch appeared at the corner of Doane’s eye. “Destroy it?”
“Yes! Send it to the bottom of the sea. It would be easy. The hold must be full of explosives, correct?”
Doane’s forehead wrinkled, and he nodded. “Stuffed like a Christmas turkey. Crate after crate of artillery, rockets, bullets, and bombs. Enough to reduce seven Kurahavens to rubble and dust.”
Umber wiped his palms on his thighs. “Order most of the crew to disembark. You and I will take a skeleton crew and steer the ship into deep water, and set a fire. One of my smaller ships will get us all away before the Vanquisher explodes.”
“And then what?”
Umber rocked in his seat. “Where did you build it? Are there any more like it?”
Doane leaned forward. “I have a shipyard, factories, and refineries in the Land of Doane. The whole area is walled off and heavily guarded, to protect its secrets. A second ship, identical to the Vanquisher, is under construction there, and half complete. It will be called Destroyer.” Hap saw the fingers in Doane’s clasped hands clenching tighter, turning white and red.
“There is hope, then,” Umber said, struggling to keep his voice from rising. “The second ship can be dismantled. The factories and refineries too. All the records and evidence destroyed. We can reverse this, Doane, as best we can!”
“You’re forgetting something,” Doane said. “The men who build the ships. The engineers I’ve trained. Would you have me send their brains to the bottom of the sea too?”
Umber slumped sideways on one elbow. “That’s the trouble with ideas, isn’t it? When they are out, they are out. Nobody knows that better t
han me.” He rubbed his temple and squinted, concentrating. Then he straightened again and made a circle with his arms. “Wait. But you keep those men inside the walls of your shipyard, don’t you? The same way you keep others outside the walls!”
Doane nodded. “That’s exactly what I do. Nobody leaves and nobody enters. I want my secrets to be mine alone.”
Umber’s eyes shone. “We could isolate those men—take them to an island somewhere, banish them. I’ll make sure they’re treated well, fed and comfortable. It’s mildly cruel, but nothing compared to the suffering we can avert.” Umber stood, too excited to stay seated anymore. “Jonathan, it’s not too late. We can reverse much of what you’ve done. It’s not a perfect solution—but it can delay the inevitable.”
Doane looked up at Umber, and then sideways at his armed men. He sniffed, and as Hap watched, his expression hardened once more. His lip curved into a sneer. “Sit down, Brian,” he said in a cold voice.
Umber’s color drained from his face, and he sank into the seat, casting a mournful look at Hap. It was suddenly clear that Doane had been playing along, pretending to entertain the idea.
“You think I’ve gone mad since I came here,” Doane said. “Has it occurred to you that this new Doane is the true man, and the other one was the fool?”
“Never,” muttered Umber.
Doane laughed. “You want me to help you. But, Brian, my boy, it is you who is going to help me.”
“I don’t want any part of what you’re doing,” Umber said.
“I only ask for one small thing.”
Umber stared back. “What, Jonathan?”
Doane put his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair. “Give me the computer.”
CHAPTER
27
Umber tried to control his reaction, but Hap saw the way his jaw tensed.
“Computer? I don’t know what you mean, Jonathan,” Umber said.
Doane leaned his head to one side, propped with two fingers to the temple. “Brian. Give me some credit. Of course you have the computer. You have a first-rate intellect, but you certainly did not produce an entire Beethoven sonata from memory. Or the blueprints for those sailing ships. Or the architecture, or the medicines, or any of your other marvels. It’s perfectly obvious that when you came to this world, you brought the Reboot Suitcase with you.”
Hap could hear the breath whistling out of Umber’s nose. “It stopped working about a year ago,” Umber finally said. “The hard drive crashed.”
“Really? Let me see it,” Doane said. The last trace of good humor vanished from his expression. He stared like a bird of prey.
“When I knew it was unfixable, I dropped it into the sea.”
“Brian, you don’t understand. My spy has been observing you for more than a year. Your innovations have never stopped coming. You are lying.”
Umber stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Even if it still existed, what good would it do you? Weapons were never the point of Project Reboot. That computer saved the best that our civilization had to offer. Not the worst.”
Doane puckered his lips. “Don’t be naive, Brian. Technology is technology, and perfectly adaptable from peacetime to wartime.” He reached into the fold in the front of his loose-fitting jacket. When he drew his hand out, it was wrapped around the handle of a small object that reminded Hap of the terrible rifles. “But really, at a moment like this, we must be straightforward with each other. History is counting on us.”
Umber looked down at the object with undisguised disgust. “Oh, Jonathan. A pistol, too?”
“Brian, I realize you want to be noble. But you’re getting in my way. Stop this nonsense and give me the computer. I know it’s here. And I know how to make you give it to me.” Doane turned the weapon until it was pointing directly at Hap’s chest.
Umber’s face trembled. “Jonathan, you wouldn’t dream of harming this boy if you knew what I know.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you know,” Doane said. “Right after you fetch the computer.”
There was a yelp of pain from the other side of the room. One of the armed men reached down and rubbed his ankle. Doane gave him a sideways glance and returned his gaze to Umber and Hap. “What’s the matter with that man?” Doane called out.
“Something stung me,” the man said. He sucked air through his teeth. “Aagh, it hurts!”
Another man, not far from the first, cried out in pain. He lifted one foot and hopped on the other. Hap realized that both of them were standing close to some bureaus near the side of the grand hall.
“Perhaps we have hornets,” Umber said. Doane stood up and backed away from the table, keeping the pistol leveled at Hap.
A third man screamed, even as the first two cried out as their pain grew. “I saw something under there,” said another man, pointing. “Get away from the furniture! There’s something under there—and it’s no hornet!”
“What is this, Brian?” shouted Doane.
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Umber said. When Doane glanced the other way, he looked at Hap and waggled an eyebrow. Hap knew perfectly well what was happening.
Two of the men grabbed the bureau and tipped it over. Hap winced as priceless artifacts crashed to the floor. “There!” cried one of the armed men. Hap saw Thimble at the base of the wall. His tiny feet were a blur as he raced along with a mad grin on his face and his poison-tipped spear at his side. Three of the men raised their rifles. Thimble reached a crack in the wall and darted inside as the rifles fired. Sparks flew and bits of stone were torn from the wall. Another man in the middle of the room dropped his rifle and fell, gripping his knee.
“Stop it, the bullets are bouncing off the walls, you idiots!” shouted Doane, waving the pistol. Umber and Hap stood, and Umber stepped in front of Hap as Doane whirled on them again. The pistol was shaking in his hand.
Hap looked around Umber’s side in time to see an arm appear in the opening of the ceiling, where the lift rose up to the third floor. The hand held one of Umber’s colored bottles. The bottle was dropped, and it shattered on the floor. Hap was never sure what would come out of one of those bottles—an illusion or a cloud of sleep-inducing smoke—but this one produced a thick purple mist that formed itself into a trio of huge, writhing serpents. Every man who could still stand raised his weapon and fired, but the bullets passed through the phantoms, tearing holes in the paintings and maps on the walls.
Two more bottles fell, smashing on the floor. A red mist billowed out, and as soon as it washed over the armed men, they wobbled and slumped to the ground.
When Doane turned toward his men, bellowing with dismay, Umber spun and grabbed Hap by the sleeve. They ran for the corridor that led to the archives and beyond.
Doane cried out behind them: “Stop!” Another crack rang out, and Hap heard a bullet ping off the wall of the corridor as they crossed the threshold. Umber grabbed the edge of the door and flung it closed. Before it shut, Hap saw Doane charging, leveling his pistol to shoot again. As the door slammed, a bullet struck the other side.
Umber leaned against the heavy door to keep it shut as Doane flung his body against it. Hap joined him, throwing his back against the door. Something hard hammered on the wood, and Doane screamed hoarsely. “I’ll kill you, Brian!
I’ll . . . kill . . . kill . . .” There was a cough, and then the sound of Doane’s body against wood, sliding down.
Umber looked with alarm at a thin wisp of smoke trailing under the door. “Don’t breathe that!” he said, putting his foot across the space and pulling his shirt over his mouth. Hap did the same.
“Was that Balfour who saved us?” Hap said through the fabric.
Umber nodded, and Hap could see his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Balfour indeed,” Umber said. “Our action hero! And little Thimble, of course.”
Oates and Sophie came down the hall from the archives. Sophie looked like a pale ghost, Oates like an angry bear. “What were those noises?” Oates a
sked.
“Something that doesn’t belong here,” Umber said. He uncovered his mouth and released the door.
Hap folded his arms tight against his chest. “What now?”
Umber paced in a tight circle, working his mouth from side to side. “I’m open to suggestions. We have a dozen invaders knocked out on the other side of this door, along with the most dangerous man in the world. There are another dozen enemy downstairs, wide awake and unhappy. Welkin, Barkin, and Dodd are in the gatehouse, hopefully out of harm’s way. Balfour is upstairs—he kept some of my trick bottles in his room, but I think he’s used all he had. Am I forgetting anything?” He came to a stop and scratched the top of his head.
Hap, Oates, and Sophie took turns giving one another worried, bewildered looks. We’re trapped, Hap said to himself. He stared down the hall, which led past the archives and plunged deep into the caverns behind the Aerie, where the sorceress had escaped. “Wait,” Hap said, even as the idea took shape in his mind. He turned to see Umber staring back with his mouth cinched tight.
“Let’s take him,” Hap said. “Before anybody wakes up. Just open the door and grab your old friend. You can put him in Turiana’s cell.”
Oates frowned at Umber. “Your old friend is the most dangerous man in the world?”
Umber ignored the question. “Hap, you’re a genius. That is where we keep our dangerous minds, isn’t it?” He put his hand on the knob of the door and dropped his voice. “The smoke should be mostly cleared by now. I’ll open the door for a peek. If it’s safe, I’ll throw it open—Oates, I want you to grab the man lying just outside and pull him back in. Ready?”
The End of Time (Books of Umber #3) Page 22
