Abarat 2: Days of Magic, Nights of War. Clive Barker
I guess that’s what happens when you let the crazy folks out,” Malingo said with forced brightness.
“What was he seeing?”
“He was crazy, lady.”
“No, he really seemed to be seeing something. The way he was staring at me.”
Malingo shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. He had his copy of the Almenak open and used it to nimbly change the subject. “You know I’ve always wanted to see Hap’s Vault,” he said.
“Really?” said Candy, still staring at the rocks where the man had fled. “Isn’t it just a cave?”
“Well, this is what Klepp says—” Malingo read aloud from the Almenak. “‘Huffaker’—Hap’s Vault’s on Huffaker, which is at Nine O’clock in the Evening—‘Huffaker is an impressive island, topographically speaking. Its rock formations—especially those below ground—are both vast and elaborately beautiful, resembling natural cathedrals and temples.’ Interesting, huh? You want to go?”
Candy was still distracted. Her yes was barely audible.
“But listen to this,” Malingo went on, doing his best to draw her thoughts away from the old man’s talk. “‘The greatest of these is Hap’s Vault’…blah, blah, blah…‘discovered by Lydia Hap’…blah, blah, blah…‘It is Miss Hap who was the first to suggest the Chamber of the Skein.’ ”
“What’s the Skein?” Candy said, becoming a little more interested now.
“I quote: ‘It is the thread that joins all things—living and dead, sentient and unthinking—to all other things—’”
Now Candy was interested. She came to stand beside Malingo, looking at the Almenak over his shoulder. He went on reading aloud. “‘According to the persuasive Miss Hap, the thread originates in the Vault at Huffaker, appearing momentarily as a kind of flickering light before winding its way invisibly through the Abarat…connecting us, one to another.’” He closed the Almenak. “Don’t you think we should see this?”
“Why not?”
The island of Huffaker stood just one Hour from the Yebba Dim Day, the first island Candy had ever visited when she’d come to the Abarat. But whereas the great carved head of the Yebba Dim Day still had a few streaks of late light in the sky above it, Huffaker was smothered in darkness, a thick mass of clouds obscuring the stars. Candy and Malingo stayed in a threadbare hotel close to the harbor, where they ate and laid their plans for the journey, and after a few hours of sleep they set out on the dark but well sign-posted road that led to the Vault. They’d had the foresight to pack food and drink, which they needed. The journey was considerably longer than they’d been led to expect by the owner of the hotel, who’d given them some directions. Occasionally they’d hear the sound of an animal pursuing and bringing down another in the murk, but otherwise the journey was uneventful.
When they finally reached the caves themselves, they found that a few of the steep passageways had flaming torches mounted in brackets along the cold walls to illuminate the route. Surprisingly, given how extraordinary the phenomenon sounded, there were no other visitors here to witness it. They were alone as they followed the steeply inclined passageway that led them into the Vault. But they needed no guide to tell them when they had reached their destination.
“Oh Lordy Lou…” said Malingo. “Look at this place.”
His voice echoed back and forth across the vast cavern they had come into. From its ceiling—which was so far beyond the reach of the torches’ light as to be in total darkness—there hung dozens of stalactites. They were immense, each easily the size of an inverted church spire. They were the roosts of Abaratian bats, a detail Klepp had failed to mention in his Almenak. The creatures were much larger than any bat Candy had seen in the Abarat, and they boasted a constellation of seven bright eyes.
As for the depths of the cavern, they were as inky black as the ceiling.
“It’s so much bigger than I expected it to be,” Candy said.
“But where’s the Skein?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll see it if we stand in the middle of the bridge.”
Malingo gave her an uneasy look. The bridge that hung over the unfathomable darkness of the Vault didn’t look very secure. Its timbers were cracked and antiquated, its ropes frayed and thin.
“Well, we’ve come this far,” Candy said. “We may as well see what there is to see.”
She set a tentative foot on the bridge. It didn’t give way, so she ventured farther. Malingo followed. The bridge groaned and swayed, its boards (which were laid several inches apart) creaking with every step they took.
“Listen…” Candy whispered as they reached the middle of the bridge.
Above them they could hear the chittering of a chatty bat. And from far, far below the rushing of water.
“There’s a river down there,” Candy said.
“The Almenak doesn’t—”
Before Malingo could finish his sentence, a third voice came out of the darkness and echoed around the Vault.
“As I live and breathe, will you look at that? Candy Quackenbush!”
The shout stirred up a few bats. They swooped from their roosts down into the dark air, and in doing so they disturbed hundreds of their siblings, so that in a matter of a few seconds countless bats were on the move; a churning cloud pierced by shifting constellations.
“Was that—?”
“Houlihan?” Candy said. “I’m afraid it was.”
She’d no sooner spoken than there was a footfall at the far end of the bridge, and the Criss-Cross Man stepped into the torchlight.
“Finally,” he said. “I have you where you cannot run.”
Candy glanced back along the bridge. One of Houlihan’s stitchling companions had appeared from the shadows and was striding toward them. It was a big, ill-shapen thing, with the teeth of a death’s head, and as soon as it set foot on the bridge the frail structure began to sway from side to side. The stitchling clearly liked the sensation, because it proceeded to throw its weight back and forth, making the motion more and more violent. Candy grabbed hold of the railings, and Malingo did the same, but the frayed ropes offered little comfort. They were trapped. Houlihan was now advancing from his end of the bridge. He had taken the flaming torch from the wall and held it ahead of him as he advanced. His face, with its criss-crossed tattoos, was gleaming with sweat and triumph.
Overhead, the cloud of bats continued to swell, as events on the bridge disturbed more and more of them. A few of the largest, intending perhaps to drive out these trespassers, swooped down on Candy and Malingo, letting out shrill shrieks. Candy did her best to ignore them: she was much more concerned with the Criss-Cross Man, who was now no more than seven or eight feet away.
“You’re coming with me, girl,” he said to her. “Carrion wants to see you in Gorgossium.”
He suddenly tossed the torch over the railing, and with both hands free he raced at Candy. She had nowhere left to run. “What now?” he said.
She shrugged. Desperate, she looked around at Malingo. “We may as well see—”
“What is there to see?” he replied.
She smiled, the tiniest smile, and then, without even glancing up at their pursuers again, they both threw themselves headfirst over the rope railing.
As they plunged into the darkness, Malingo let out a wild whoop of exhilaration, or perhaps fear, perhaps both. Seconds passed, and still they fell and fell and fell. And now everything was dark around them and the shrieking of the bats was