Abarat 2: Days of Magic, Nights of War. Clive Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ is all real, isn’t it?” Candy said to Malingo. “I mean, it isn’t a mirage or something?”

      “Your guess is as good as mine, lady,” Malingo said. “I mean, I’ve always assumed it was perfectly real, but I’ve been wrong before. Oh…speaking of that…of being wrong, if you’re still interested in learning whatever magic I got out of Wolfswinkel’s books, I’d be happy to teach you.”

      “What made you change your mind?”

      “What do you think? The Word of Power you uttered.”

      “Oh, you mean Jass—”

      Malingo put his finger to Candy’s lips. “No, lady. Don’t.”

      Candy smiled. “Oh yes. That might spoil the moment.”

      “You see, what did I tell you in Tazmagor? There are laws to magic.”

      “And you can teach me those laws? At least some of them. Stop me from making a bad mistake.”

      “I suppose I could try,” Malingo conceded. “Though it seems to me you may know more than you think you know.”

      “But how? I’m just—”

      “—an ordinary girl from the Hereafter. Yes, so you keep saying.”

      “You don’t believe me?”

      “Lady, I don’t know any other ordinary girls from the Hereafter besides you, but I’d be willing to bet none of them could take on three zetheks and come out the winner!”

      Candy thought of the girls in her class. Deborah Hackbarth, Ruth Ferris. Malingo was right. It was very hard to imagine any one of them standing in her shoes right now.

      “All right,” she said. “Supposing I am different, somehow? What made me that way?”

      “That, lady, is a very good question,” Malingo replied.

      After much maneuvering through the flotillas of boats and ferries and people on water bicycles that thronged the harbor, Skebble brought the Parroto Parroto in to dock at Babilonium. Though the catch had been dumped in the straits several miles back, the stink of the zetheks had permeated their clothes, so their first task before they ventured onto the crowded walkways was to purchase some sweeter-smelling outfits. It wasn’t difficult. Over the years a number of enterprising clothes merchants had set up their stalls close to the dock, realizing that many of the visitors would want to shuck off their workday clothes as soon as they arrived on Babilonium and buy something a little more appropriate to the air of the Carnival. There were perhaps fifty or sixty establishments in this chaotic little bazaar, their owners all singing out the virtues of their wares at the tops of their voices. Shoemakers, boot makers, cane makers, breeches makers, petticoat makers, bodice makers, suit makers, hatmakers.

      Needless to say, there were a lot of very garish and outlandish outfits for sale—singing boots, aquarium hats, moonbeam underwear—but only Charry (who did buy the singing boots) gave in to the merchants’ relentless salesmanship. The rest all chose comfortable clothes that they could wear without embarrassment when they eventually moved on from Babilonium.

      The Carnival Island was all Candy and Malingo had hoped it would be, and more. It attracted people from right across the archipelago, so there were all kinds of shapes and faces, garments, languages and customs. The visitors from the Outer Islands, for instance—from Autland and Speckle Frew—were dressed simply and practically, their sense of Carnival limited to a new waistcoat or a little fiddle playing as they walked. Celebrants from the Night Islands, on the other hand—from Huffaker and Jibbarish and Idjit—were dressed like escapees from a magician’s dream, their masks and costumes so fantastic that it was hard to know where the audience ended and the entertainment began. Then there were the travelers from Commexo City, who favored a certain cool modernity in their outfits. Many wore small collars that projected moving images up around their faces—masks of color and light. More often than not it was the Commexo Kid whose adventures were playing on the screens of these faces.

      Finally, of course, there were those creatures—and there were many—who, like Malingo, needed neither paint nor light to make them part of this prodigious Carnival. Creatures born with snouts, tails, scales and horns, their forms and their voices and their behavior a fantastical show unto itself.

      And what had all these Carnival-goers come to see?

      Whatever, in truth, their eager hearts and spirits desired. Mycassian Bug Wrestling in one tent, subtle-body dancing in another; a seven-ring circus, complete with a troupe of albino dinosaurs, in a third. There was a beast called a fingoos, who put its snout right through your head to read your mind. Next door to that, a thousand-strong choir of mungualameeza birds were singing excerpts from Fofum’s Bumble Bees. Everywhere you looked there were entertainments. The Electric Baby, who had a head full of colored lights, was on display here, as was a poet called Thebidus, who recited epic poems with candles perched on his pate, and a thing called a frayd, which was billed as a beast that had to be seen to be believed: not one but many creatures, each devouring the other to make a “living testament to the horrors of appetite!”

      Of course, if you didn’t wish to go into the tents, there was plenty to do in the open air. There was a dinosaur on display—“lately captured by Rojo Pixler in the wilds of the Outer Islands”—and a hoofed beast the size of a bull delicately walking a high wire, and of course the inevitable roller coasters, each claiming to be more heart-stopping than the competition.

      The air was filled with the mingled smells of a thousand things: pies, caramel, sawdust, gasoline, sweat, dog’s breath, sweet smoke, sour smoke, fruit nearly rotten, fruit beyond rotten, ale, feathers, fire. And if happiness had a smell, that too was in the air of Babilonium. In fact, it was the fragrance that hovered behind all the other fragrances. Nor did the island ever seem to exhaust its surprises. There was always something new around the next corner, in the next tent, in the next arena. Of course, any place that boasted such brightness and wonderment had its share of shadows too. At one point the group made a turn off the main thoroughfare and found themselves in a place where the music wasn’t quite as upbeat and the lights not quite so bright. There was a more sinister, serpentine magic at play here. There were colors in the air, which made half-visible shapes before dissolving again; and music coming from somewhere that sounded as though it was being sung by a choir of irate babies. People peeped out from behind curtains of booths to the right and left, or flew over them, their shapes changing as they somersaulted against the sky.

      But they’d come to the right place, no doubt of that. Right up ahead was a large canvas sign that read FREAK SHOW, and under it a brightly colored row of banners on which a variety of outlandish creatures had been crudely painted. A creature with a fringe of arms and tentacles around its huge head; a boy with a body of a reptile; a beast that was a bizarre compendium of pieces thrown together carelessly.

      Seeing all of this, Methis the zethek quickly realized what was being planned on his behalf. He began to fling himself around his cage, cursing obscenely. The crudely made cage looked as though it might break beneath his assault but proved stronger than the creature’s fury.

      “Should we feel a little sorry for him?” Candy asked.

      “After what he did?” said Galatea. “I don’t think so. He would have murdered you in cold blood if he’d had the chance.”

      “I suppose you’re right.”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ