The End of Time (18 page)

Hap followed a few paces behind as Umber walked down the stairs with his head hung low and his hands clasped behind his back. Dodd, Sophie, and Oates followed. The lift clattered into motion, and Balfour rode a platform down to spare his rickety knees.

The small door to the gatehouse was open, but Umber raised his black ring and spoke the enchanted word that caused the wide door of magical black stone to part and swing open. “A little showmanship,” he whispered to Hap from behind his hand. He stepped into the gatehouse, and Hap and the others arranged themselves behind him. Only Oates stayed inside, because he feared a question directed his way by Larcombe.

Larcombe stood beside the royal carriage. Behind him was a dense crowd of soldiers on foot, fully armed and armored, filling the breadth of the causeway.

“Larcombe. I thought you weren’t coming until after the king’s wedding,” Umber said.

“Things have changed,” Larcombe said. “The king was most unhappy when I reported your insolence. Now you must surrender yourself at once.”

Umber shook his head. “Impossible. I need time to make my preparations, and say my good-byes. Come back in two days.”

Larcombe’s stare was cold and reptilian. “The king is wise, and predicted your reluctance.” He raised his hand over one shoulder and snapped his fingers. Behind him, a man standing beside the carriage opened the door. A short, heavy woman in a plain blue dress stepped out, muscled along by a guardsman who gripped her by the wrist. As she squinted at the sunlight, Hap recognized her scowling face. He had met her several times; most often when he ventured into the headquarters of Umber’s shipping company.

Umber shook his head. “Hoyle,” he said quietly, and he bent his head forward until it touched the bars of the gate.

Hoyle tugged her arm out of the man’s grip. She rubbed her wrist with the other hand and sneered left and right at the men who surrounded her. “Took all of you to bring me here, did it?”

Larcombe stepped close to the gate. He reached for the long knife at his hip and slid it out halfway out of its sheath, making sure that Umber saw it. His voice fell to a thin, grating whisper. “Surrender now, Umber. Or I will spill her blood on your doorstep. And then we will find more of your friends and bring them here.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Umber said. He began to pull the rings off his fingers, starting with the ring that commanded the black door.

“Don’t you
dare
,” cried Hoyle, stomping her foot. “Let them kill me, Umber! They’ve seized your shipping company—all our enterprises! Is this the sort of king that rules us now? I’d rather be dead than under the rule of such a thug!”

“Silence her,” Larcombe said from the side of his mouth, still giving Umber his predatory stare. The guardsman who had wrestled Hoyle from the carriage clapped his hand across her mouth, and was bitten for his trouble. He yanked his hand away and Hoyle spat on the ground. “Ugh! The sickly taste of vermin!”

“Hoyle, be calm,” Umber said. He held his rings out to Balfour, who took them reluctantly with shaking hands.

“Our world is crumbling,” Balfour said thickly. Hap felt a lump form at the bottom of his throat, and he saw Sophie with her fist pressed against her mouth. Welkin, Barkin, and Dodd stared grimly, with hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to fight the hundred men if Umber gave the word. Oates stepped from hiding with his muzzle back in place, and he glared at Larcombe with every muscle tensed. Hap was sure that if Larcombe moved within reach of the bars, he would soon be missing an arm or two.

“I need all of you to hold your tongues and tempers,” Umber told his friends. He turned his back to Larcombe, pulled a chain up from around his neck, and dropped his magical key into Hap’s palm. “Listen, all of you,” he whispered. “I’ve said this before, and it remains the most important thing: Happenstance must be protected at all costs.”

Hap bowed his head. “But I still can’t do the thing you need me to do.”

“
Now
, Umber,” Larcombe called out. “I will count to ten, and then she dies. One. Two. Three.”

“Balfour,” Umber said quickly. “I’ve told you about a journal in my tower that you must read if anything happens to me. Now is the time to read it.” Balfour gulped and nodded.

“Four. Five.” Larcombe pulled his knife out again and took a step backward with every count, moving closer to Hoyle. Two guardsmen restrained her, each seizing an arm. “Six. Seven.”

“Oates, unbar that door,” Umber said, pointing to the small, sturdy door that bypassed the barred gate. “And all of you: Get out of here, to safety, and soon. Go to Captain Sandar and ask him to take you to Nima.”

“Eight. Nine.” Larcombe was beside Hoyle, who was frothing with rage and kicking the guardsmen in the shins.

“Here I am,” Umber shouted. He swung the door open and jogged onto the causeway, hurrying to Hoyle’s side. The guardsmen released her, and Umber kissed her on the cheek, whispered in her ear, and directed her toward the gatehouse with a gentle push. She entered and told Oates to bar the door behind her.

Umber waved to them, and with a smile, he stepped into the carriage before the guardsmen could force him inside. Larcombe gave his knife a look of mild disappointment.

Hoyle wrapped her little fists around the bars of the gate and forced her pudgy face between them to shout at Larcombe. “You have no cause to take Lord Umber prisoner!”

Larcombe lowered his brow, casting a shadow over his eyes. “Of course we do. It’s not merely his insolence. Umber has to answer for the death of King Tyrian.”

Hap’s jaw fell slack, and he heard Sophie gasp. “Death of the king?” cried Balfour. “What are you talking about?”

“Tyrian died shortly after Umber’s visit,” Larcombe said. “Some say that poison ended his life. And it seems that the king was brought his meal while Umber was there.”

“That’s a lie!” cried Hap.

Larcombe used his knife to point at Hap. “You were in there as well, little green-eyes. An accomplice, perhaps? We’ll have to think about that.” His glance swept from Hap to the rest of the group gathered behind the gate, and he chuckled. “How charming you all look with those expressions! Someone really ought to paint your portrait.” He stepped into the carriage, closing the door behind him. The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage creaked and jostled away with the guardsmen surrounding it on foot.

 
CHAPTER
23

When Hap trudged up to the grand hall,
he met Laurel and Lily on their way down. Hap noticed that Laurel carried her medicine bag with her and that Lily had the rest of their things in a satchel. “Are you leaving?” he asked.

Laurel nodded with her eyes downcast. “He is gone.”

“We know,” Hap said. He heard Oates’s heavy footsteps behind him and the soft scuffle of Sophie’s feet on the stairs. The clattering lift brought Balfour and Hoyle to the grand hall as well.

Laurel looked up, with one eye squinting at Hap. “You know? How could you know?”

Hap pointed toward the gatehouse. “We just saw Umber taken away. Wait . . . who are you talking about?”

“The patient,” Laurel said.

“Willy Nilly? He’s gone? You mean . . . he’s dead?”

Laurel nodded. Beside her Lily gave a heavy sigh. “He simply gave up at the end,” Laurel said. “He told us he was tired. And he said the strangest things. He asked me to tell you something, Happenstance, and so I will, though it makes no sense to me.” Hap looked at her, but his vision swam, and her face was blurred. “He said a Meddler must always keep the vow he has made,” she said. “And so you must do what you promised to him and to Lord Umber. Or a world of blood will be on your hands.”

Hap turned halfway around and threw an arm across his face. His mind felt like it had left his body to go careening off the walls. He wobbled in place, until he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. When he looked up he saw Balfour staring into his eyes.

“Balfour,” he moaned. “I’m lost. I don’t know what to do.”

Balfour nodded. “I do. Oates, we need to prepare tombs in the caverns, for Lady Truden and Willy Nilly. Have Welkin and Barkin help you. Happenstance, go with Sophie and Hoyle and find Captain Sandar to arrange our passage from Kurahaven. After Dodd drops you off by the harbor, tell him to go find out where Umber is being held. I’ll be in Umber’s tower, reading the journal as he instructed. We’ll meet back here at sunset. And if by then anybody has a notion of how to help Umber escape, I’m sure we’d all like to hear it.”

Hoyle stuck her beefy head out the window as they rode down the causeway. “Ha! They hardly saw that coming.”

“Saw what?” asked Hap.

Hoyle leaned back so Hap and Sophie could look past her, at the harbor. “See all those empty berths, where Umber’s ships should be?” Hap and Sophie nodded. “They all sailed away,” Hoyle crowed. “Captains and crew alike!”

“So Captain Sandar is already gone?” Hap said. He and Sophie shared a worried glance.

“The
Bounder
is gone, so he must be too. But not far, I think,” Hoyle said. Her jowls shook as she brushed them with her fingers. “When I was taken, they must have decided to get out of the harbor before the wretched king appointed new captains. I’ll say this about Lord Umber: He’s not much of a businessman, but he certainly inspires loyalty.” She patted Sophie’s knee. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll get you out of here, safe and sound.”

They stepped out of the carriage near the Umber Shipping Company. Twenty of the king’s soldiers were standing between the tall marble columns of the great building. Hoyle sneered up at them. “Rodents,” she said.

Hap looked at Sophie and saw her mouth drop open and her eyes grow wide, staring at something over his shoulder. He whirled around to find a tall figure dressed in dark clothes coming at him. The stranger had a wide-brimmed hat, and he kept his head tilted so that the brim obscured his face. A rush of prickly panic course through Hap’s limbs, and a scream erupted inside his mind:
The Executioner!
But before he could bend his legs to leap, the man raised his head just enough to reveal his face.

“Captain Sandar,” Hap whispered, remembering at the last moment not to shout the name. He had never seen the commander of the
Bounder
out of his bright blue captain’s coat and snowy white shirt.

Hoyle seized Sandar by the sleeve. “Captain! Where is the
Bounder
? What has become of our ships?”

Sandar grinned down at his stubby but formidable employer. “All moored out of sight, not far from the bay. When the king’s guard took you away, we thought the whole fleet might make a good bargaining chip to get you back.”

Hoyle snorted. “It’s not me we need to retrieve. It’s Umber.”

“Lord Umber?” Sandar’s handsome smile vanished. “What’s happened?”

“Taken prisoner by Larcombe, the king’s henchman. Loden wanted Umber out of his way. Now he’s done it.”

“We’ll find a way to get him back,” Hap said. Sophie linked her arm with his.

Sandar cocked one eyebrow. “Master Happenstance, after what I’ve seen and heard of you, I believe you will.” He looked toward the marketplace, between the harbor and the great palace. A noise like the hum of insects had begun to rise, and Hap could see movement in the crowd—a flow of bodies in the direction of the palace.

“What’s going on over there?” Sophie asked.

“Let’s find out,” Sandar said.

“You go,” Hoyle told them. “I’m going to find some of our business partners and see if I can divert our funds from the king’s greedy clutches.” She stomped off with her dress swishing violently from side to side.

Sandar led them toward the crowd, and when he saw one man heading in the prevailing direction, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, friend—do you know where all these people are going?”

“To the palace,” said the man. “Haven’t you heard? Lord Umber has been imprisoned by the king!”

Hap glanced at Sophie’s face and saw the same surprise that he felt. “But what will you do at the palace?” Hap asked.

The man looked baffled by the question. “I . . . I guess I don’t know. But it doesn’t seem right. After all Lord Umber has done, I mean. I suppose we’ll ask the king to let him go.”

Hap felt tiny bumps sprout down his arms. Near them, dozens more were on the move, and people gathered in small crowds to exchange the news. “Did you hear about Lord Umber?” a woman called as she walked by.

Sandar’s mouth tightened and a fierce look came into his eye. Beside him was a stack of barrels lashed together, and he climbed onto them and shouted to the gatherings. “How dare the king take Lord Umber prisoner! People, think what Umber has done for you. His medicines have saved your children. His inventions have improved your lives. Look at the wonders that grace our city! Remember the music he brought you that stirred your souls. Think of the ships he designed that cut like dolphins through the waves, bringing prosperity to us all! And now Loden wants all that to end—and why? Because of petty jealousy. This cannot be! Umber believed in the worth and the power of every one of you. Not only noble folk but commoners like you and me. And now it is up to us to save Umber. To the palace, everyone—if every citizen cries for Umber’s freedom, the king will have no choice!”

Heads nodded. The buzz grew. Some who were sitting stood. Some who stood began to walk. And some who walked began to run. Merchants hurried to put away their wares and close up their tents so they could join the crowd.

Sandar hopped off of the barrel and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s join them, shall we?”

They paused near the end of the marketplace, where the lane led to an open space with the soaring palace just ahead. “I’m afraid for the people,” Sophie said. Hap nodded. He could see a vast crowd gathering outside the walls, grower denser by the minute, converging from the market, the shipyards, and the surrounding streets. They lined the edge of the moat and filled the bridge in front of the mighty oak doors that were clapped shut like an oyster. Guardsmen appeared atop the wall that loomed over the moat, scanning the crowd and whispering to one another. They had bows across one shoulder, but their arrows were still inside their quivers. Voices rose in the crowd, crying, “Free Lord Umber!” and “Let him go!” A scowling officer leaned over the wall and ordered the crowd to disperse at once or suffer the king’s displeasure. But nobody moved, and the noise only grew in response.

Hap shivered, but it wasn’t from his apprehension over the scene before them. A dull heat warmed his eyes from within. He shut his eyes and knew that when he opened them he would see the filaments again, for the first time in many days.
Hold on to them this time,
he told himself inwardly.
You have to get control
. He blinked his eyes open.

The filaments were there, brighter than ever: thousands of shimmering strands of light. There was one for every person in the crowd, tracing their steps, showing where they’d been and where they were going.
Destiny,
Hap thought.
Every one reveals a person’s fate
.

A cluster of filaments hung near his left hand, in the busy part of the lane. He raised his hands and drifted toward them.

He was vaguely aware of Sandar calling after him, “Hap—what’s the matter with you? What are you doing?” And Sophie responding, “Captain, let him be—he has to concentrate!”

Yes, concentrate,
Hap told himself.
Understand them
. He touched the filaments like the strings of a harp, listening to their strange song, which grew loudest when the light passed through his palms. Some of the threads were discolored. Hap’s jaw tensed. He found the darkest of the filaments and searched for its meaning. Words rolled unbidden off his tongue: “Suffering and death ahead.”

He heard Sophie whisper, only a step behind him. She had quietly followed him into the lane. “What is it, Hap? What will happen?”

Hap squeezed his lids nearly closed, staring at the filaments. “Not sure. These people . . . in danger. Not just from the castle. There is something else.” He looked closer at the bundle of threads that floated by. Even within the brightest were flecks of darkness. And the filaments would dim altogether from time to time, like a candle flickering in the breeze. He felt the urge to repeat the words of the sorceress.
A menace. Something unknown to me.

“Hap, are we in danger—you and I, and Sandar?” Sophie said. Her voice trembled.

Hap’s head snapped up. He could barely believe he was trying to understand the destinies of strangers when the filaments of his friends were right behind him. But as he turned to look, a sound from the crowd distracted his attention so completely that his vision of the filaments shattered into tiny glittering stars that faded from sight.

A man was whistling the tune he’d heard twice before: once here in the market, and once sung by Umber in his elatia-induced mania. The lyrics bubbled up from Hap’s memory:
Take me out to the ball game . . .

He saw a man with puckered lips ambling away from the palace, coming toward them. Hap stared at the whistler. He was a thin man of ordinary height, with a crafty face of pointed features and narrow-set eyes. He wore a tan tunic over a tan shirt and brown leggings—drab and ordinary clothes that wouldn’t draw the eye.

The whistler glanced their way. He looked at Sandar without alarm, but his lids snapped open and the tune stopped short when he met Hap’s green-eyed stare.
He knows me,
Hap thought. The whistler turned and bolted, heading for the nearest alley between two merchants’ tents, a maze in which he’d vanished once before.

“We have to stop that man!” cried Hap, and he sprang forward without waiting for the others, covering a dozen feet with his first stride. Just as his quarry darted down a narrow lane between tents, Hap landed behind him. And when the man’s heel rose up in midstride, Hap wrapped his arms around the calf. The whistler stumbled and fell. He struck his shoulder and rolled onto his back with Hap still gripping his leg, dragging behind him. The man looked at Hap with his teeth bared and spittle flying. He kicked Hap across the side of the head with his other boot, and Hap saw orange sparks as pain flared inside his skull. “Let go!” cried the whistler, and he drew the boot back again. The heel was poised in front of Hap’s eyes, ready to smash his face. But another boot appeared, stomping down on the ankle and pinning it to the ground. The whistler yelped and threw his arms in front of his face as Sandar’s strong hands reached for his neck.

Sandar grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and wrestled him into a seated position. His hand drew back, bunched into a fist. “I ought to knock your teeth out for kicking this boy!”

The whistler winced and turned his face away. “He’s the one that attacked me, you know!”

Sandar’s face twisted with barely contained rage. “Well, Master Hap?”

Hap stared at the whistler. There was nothing familiar about the man at all. “We just wanted to talk to you, but you ran. And you ran from Lord Umber once before. That song you were whistling: How do you know it?”

The man glanced at Sandar’s hand, clutching the material under his chin. He looked at Sophie, who eyed him back nervously, and then at Hap.

“Sandar, you can let him go,” Hap said.

Sandar released the man’s shirt, and the whistler rubbed his throat and brushed the dirt off his knees. He assumed an unconvincing expression of innocence, with his forehead wrinkled and mouth bowed downward. “Just a song I overheard. That’s all.”