Abarat. Clive Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ jetty. She gazed out over the waters. Fish leaped up, silver and green; the wind carried sea birds the likes of which she had never seen or heard before.

      In just a few seconds Mischief and his brothers were going to be gone into these mysterious waters, and she was going to be left to return to her boring, suffocating life in Chickentown.

      Oh, God! Chickentown! After all this, these wonders, these miracles: Chickentown! The thought was unbearable.

      “When will you come back?” she said to Mischief.

      “Wait, lady,” Mischief replied.

      “What?”

      “Stay … very … still.”

      As he spoke, he went into the outer pocket of his jacket and he pulled out—of all things—an old-fashioned pistol. It was a small weapon, and it looked as though it was made of brass.

      “What are you doing?” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper.

      “Doing what I can,” he said softly, “to save our lives.”

      She saw his eyes flicker over his shoulder, in the direction of somebody on the jetty behind her.

      “Shape?” she murmured.

      “Shape,” he replied. “Please, lady. Don’t move.”

      So saying, he suddenly stepped to the side of her and he fired.

      There was a loud crack, and a plume of purple-blue smoke erupted from the barrel of the pistol. A moment later there was a second sound, much less loud, as the bullet struck its intended target.

      Candy knew immediately what John Mischief had done. He hadn’t shot Shape. He’d fired at the cup on the top of the pyramid, and the ball had jumped out of it. She could instantly sense the massive change in the air around them.

      “Nice shot!” said Sallow. “Though why you couldn’t have put a bullet through Shape’s eye defeats me.”

      “I take no pleasure in putting holes in living things,” Mischief said, pocketing the gun.

      Candy glanced over her shoulder. Shape was standing about halfway along the jetty, glancing back toward the tower. It was clear that he too knew what Mischief had done. How could he doubt it? The air was vibrating with the news.

      “The tide’s changing, lady,” Mischief said. “And I have to go with it. Shape will follow me, all being well, because he believes I have the Key.”

      “No, wait!” Candy said, seizing hold of Mischief’s arm. “Don’t do this!”

      “Don’t do what?” said John Moot.

      “I don’t want to go back to Chickentown.”

      “Where else can you go?” said John Sallow.

      “With you!”

      “No,” said John Serpent.

      “yes,” said Candy. “Please. I want to go into the water.”

      “You have no idea of the risks you’d be taking.”

      “I don’t care,” Candy said. “I hate where I live. I hate it with all my heart.”

      As she spoke she felt the wind change direction. The waters around the jetty had become highly agitated now; almost frenzied, in fact. The tide was turning on itself, and in the process making the antiquated boards of the jetty rattle and shake. She knew she only had a few seconds to persuade Mischief and his brothers. Then they’d be gone, into the water and away with the tide; away to Abarat, wherever that was.

      And what chance did she have of ever seeing them again, once they’d gone? Sure, they’d tell her they’d come back again, but what was a promise worth? Not much, in her experience. How many times had her father promised never to slap her again? How many times had she heard him swear to her mother that he was going to give up drink forever? None of it meant anything.

      No, once they were gone, she might very well never see them again. And what would she be left with? A memory, and a life in Chickentown.

      “You can’t do this to me,” she told Mischief. “You can’t leave me here, not knowing if you’ll ever come back.”

      As she spoke she heard the jetty creak behind her. She looked around, already knowing what she would see. Mendelson Shape was coming down the jetty toward them. For the first time she saw quite clearly why he limped (and perhaps why he hadn’t been quite agile enough to catch hold of her). He was missing his right foot. It was severed at the ankle, and he walked on the stump as though it were a peg leg. If it gave him any pain he didn’t display it. He wore his arrowhead tooth grin as he approached his victims, spreading his arms like an old-style preacher welcoming them into his lethal flock.

      Candy knew that she still had a chance to escape, but she had no desire to turn back.

      Even if it meant risking life and limb to stay here on the jetty with Mischief, it was worth the risk. She grabbed a fierce hold of Mischief’s hand and said:

      “Wherever you all go, I go.”

      Eight faces looked at her wearing eight different expressions. Fillet looked perplexed, Sallow blinked, Moot feigned indifference, Drowze laughed, Pluckitt sucked in his cheeks, Serpent scowled, and Slop blew out his lips in exasperation. Oh, and Mischief? He gave her a wide, but unquestionably desperate, smile.

      “You mean it?” he said.

      Shape was thirty yards from them, closing fast.

      “Yes, I mean it.”

      “Then it seems we have no choice,” he said. “We have to trust to the tide. Can you swim?”

      “Not very well.”

      “Oh Lordy Lou,” Mischief said, and this time all eight faces did the same thing: they rolled their eyes. “I suppose not very well will have to do.”

      “Then what are we waiting for?” Candy said.

      In the time it had taken them to have this short conversation, Shape had halved the distance between his claws and their throats.

      “Can we please go?” Drowze said, yelling louder than a head so small had any business yelling.

      Hand in hand, Candy and Mischief raced to the end of the jetty.

      “One—” said Fillet.

      “Two—” said Pluckitt.

      “Jump!” said Slop.

      And together they leaped into the air, committing their lives to the frenzied waters of the Sea of Izabella.

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