Abarat. Clive Barker

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      “Yes. You know him?”

      “That can only be John Mischief,” Tropella said.

      “Yes, that’s him.”

      At the mention of John Mischief’s presence hereabouts, the remaining card player abandoned their table and skipped over to Candy. She had all their attention now.

      “You know John Mischief?” Tropella said.

      “A little.”

      “He’s a master criminal,” Pux chimed in. “Wanted on several Hours for grand larceny and the Lord alone knows what else.”

      “Really? He didn’t seem like a criminal to me. In fact, he was very polite.”

      “Oh, we don’t care if he’s a criminal,” said Tropella. “The laws of the land aren’t like the laws of the sea. We don’t have courts and prisons.”

      “We don’t have a lot of thieves,” Pux said, “because we don’t have much to steal.”

      “We’re all Sea-Skippers, by the way,” Deaux-Deaux explained.

      “And you?” Tropella said, still studying Candy with that odd intensity of hers. “You were not wanted there, perhaps?”

      “I’m sorry?”

      “You weren’t wanted in your world. Your business is in the Abarat.”

      Tropella didn’t seem to require Candy to confirm or deny this; she was simply informing her of something she’d already decided.

      “I wonder if we could do something about finding Mischief?” Candy said, looking from face to face.

      “Deaux-Deaux,” Pux said, “you have the largest voice.”

      “Oh. My pleasure,” said Deaux-Deaux.

      He clambered somewhat unsteadily onto the surface of the water and skipped up the side of the next large wave. Having reached the top, he stood there and hollered, confirming the fact that he did indeed have a voice of operatic proportions.

      “Mister Mischief!” he yelled. “We have your girlfriend and we will eat her in two minutes with a small side salad, unless you come here and save her.” He grinned at Candy. “Just kidding,” he said. “Well, Mister Mischief?” he yelled again. “Where are you?”

      “He is joking?” Candy said to Pux.

      “Oh yes,” said Pux. “We wouldn’t eat an important person like you. Sometimes we’ll take a sailor, but—” He shrugged. “—so would you if it was always fish. Yellow fish, green fish, blue fish. Fish with funny little eyes that go pop in your mouth. It gets so boring, eating fish. So yes, we eat a sailor now and then. But not you. You we will see safely to your destination. On that you may rely.”

      Deaux-Deaux was still hollering, running up waves like a man running up a down escalator so as to stay at the top.

      “Hey, Mischief! We are very, very hungry.”

      “I think the joke’s—”

      Candy was about to say over. But she never finished the sentence. Before she could do so, John Mischief erupted out of the water behind Deaux-Deaux and grabbed him around the waist. Deaux-Deaux toppled backwards, and the two of them flailed wildly in the water for half a minute—the brothers hollering all manner of threats—until Pux and Tropella were able to skip over and bring the altercation to a halt.

      “Hey, hey,” Deaux-Deaux said, climbing back onto the water to retreat from a furious Mischief. He held his webbed hands up palms out, to keep his attacker at bay. “It was a joke. A little joke. I was just trying to get your attention. We mean your cutie-pie no harm. I mean, what kind of fish-folk do you think we are? Tell him, Candy.”

      “They’ve all been very kind to me,” Candy confirmed. “Nobody’s laid a finger on me.”

      The Johns were not convinced. They were all exchanging fiercely suspicious glances.

      “If it was a joke,” John Drowze said fiercely, “then it was an extremely asinine joke.”

      “I would have drowned without their help,” Candy said, attempting to cool the situation down. “I swear. I was starting to panic.”

      “But you’re right,” Pux said. “It was an imbecilic stupid joke. So, please, in the name of peace let us carry you both to the Abarat. The Izabella can be rough, and we would not wish to see two such significant personages drown.”

      “You would carry us?” said John Mischief, smiling his unruly smile. “Truly?”

      “Truly,” said Tropella. “It’s the least we can do.”

      It certainly sounded like a good idea to Candy. Despite the fact that she’d done as John Mischief had suggested, and relied on Mama Izabella to bear her up, she was still extremely tired. The icy water and the pummeling of the waves—not to mention the pursuits that had preceded this aquatic adventure—had taken their toll.

      “What do you think?” Candy said to the Johns. “Should we accept the ride?”

      “I think it’s up to you,” Mischief said.

      “Good,” Candy said. “Then I say yes.”

      “Yes?” Pux said to Mischief.

      “If the lady says yes, then yes it is,” Mischief replied.

      “Splendid,” said the fourth card player. “I’m Kocono, by the way. And I just want to say what a delight it is to meet Mr. Mischief. Tropella was right, we don’t care about the law of the land. So they say you’re a criminal, so what? You’re a master. That’s what counts.”

      The Johns erupted into a chaotic din of denials and explanations at Kocono’s little speech. Candy only caught fragments of their defenses in the uproar, but they sounded distinctly contradictory. She was very amused.

      “Is it true?” she said, laughing, as the protestations grew wilder. “Are you all master criminals?”

      “Put it this way …” John Slop began.

      “Be careful now,” John Moot warned his brother.

      “We’re not saints.”

      “So it is true,” Candy replied.

      Mischief nodded. “It’s true,” he conceded. “You’re in the company of eight world-class thieves,” he said, not without a little touch of pride. “Saints we are not.”

      “But then,” said Deaux-Deaux, “who is?” He thought on this. “Besides saints.”

      With this matter settled, Candy and Mischief were each lifted up between two СКАЧАТЬ