The End of Time

  THE END

  OF TIME

  Also by P. W. Catanese

  The Books of Umber

  Book 1: Happenstance Found

  Book 2: Dragon Games

  The Thief and the Beanstalk

  The Brave Apprentice

  The Eye of the Warlock

  The Mirror’s Tale

  The Riddle of the Gnome

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,

  or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are

  the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events

  or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Aladdin hardcover edition February 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by P. W. Catanese

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  ALADDIN is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc., and related logo

  is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Mike Rosamilia

  The text of this book was set in Bembo.

  Manufactured in the United States of America 0111 FFG

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Catanese, P. W.

  The end of time / P.W. Catanese. — 1st Aladdin hardcover ed.

  p. cm. — (The books of Umber ; bk. 3)

  Summary: As young Hap prepares to reverse the global catastrophe

  on Lord Umber’s world, an evil prince and a destructive sorceress

  threaten the kingdom of Kurahaven.

  ISBN 978-1-4169-7520-5 (hardcover : alk. paper)

  [1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Fantasy.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C268783En 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010023808

  ISBN 978-1-4424-1955-1 (eBook)

  FOR MY BROTHER RICH.

  AND MY BROTHERS-

  AND SISTERS-IN-LAW:

  JUDY, GINA, MARC,

  JOE, AND ELLEN.

  THE END

  OF TIME

  CHAPTER

  1

  The book that Hap was reading slipped from his hands, and he sprang from his chair to the window. Afire with hope, and braced for disappointment, he pressed his face to the bars.

  Far below was Barkin on his chestnut-colored horse, trotting up the causeway to the Aerie, the carved pillar of rock that Lord Umber called home. Hap glimpsed the corner of a box lashed to the horse, behind the saddle. “I think he got it,” he said aloud, and his heart turned a cartwheel.

  He flew down the stairs, out the door, and into the gatehouse as Barkin rode in. The cargo looked like a strongbox: a little wider than it was tall, and made of wrought iron. There was a keyhole embedded in its side, and hand-size padlocks secured the thick chains wrapped around it, side to side and top to bottom. Barkin looked road-weary but proud, and he grinned when he saw Hap bouncing from foot to foot. “Hello, Master Happenstance. Something I can do for you?”

  “Don’t tease me, Barkin,” Hap begged. “Not about this.”

  Barkin’s devilish smile turned sympathetic. He dismounted and rapped the box with his knuckles. “Ah. Something important to you, inside this crate?”

  Hap’s nod was a blur. “Very.” He didn’t offer more; Umber preferred to keep these matters quiet. But that strongbox might hold all the lost secrets that Caspar, Umber’s former archivist, had stolen from the Aerie. Caspar was dead, slain by an arrow intended for Umber, on a faraway island. But he’d given the box to his cousin for safekeeping, and Barkin had retrieved it.

  Welkin and Dodd, Umber’s other guardsmen, came forward. Welkin had a mug of ale for Barkin, and Dodd a bucket of water for the horse. “Did you have much trouble?” Dodd asked.

  “Only a tad,” Barkin said, with his tongue pressing the inside of one cheek. “Caspar’s cousin wasn’t eager to part with it. In fact, he wouldn’t even admit to having it. Also, he didn’t fully believe me when I told him that Caspar was dead. He thought I was trying to trick him, even when I offered him Lord Umber’s bag of gold.” Barkin untied the strongbox and talked over his shoulder. “I could see he was tempted, but he asked me to come back the next day, after he’d thought about it.”

  “And what did he say the next day?” Welkin asked.

  “How should I know? I was long gone by then. I came back that same night, knocked the fellow out with Umber’s sleeper bottle—handy stuff that is—and searched his place until I found it.”

  “You stole it?” Hap cried.

  Barkin spread his hand on his chest in a parody of indignation. “I paid for it! Left the bag of gold in its place, with a note of heartfelt apology. Oof, heavy,” he said, hefting the strongbox.

  Dodd patted Hap’s back. “Don’t forget, Master Hap. The stuff in that strongbox was stolen from Umber in the first place. He told Barkin to use any means necessary, short of violence, to bring it back.”

  “So it was perfectly justified,” Barkin said. “Not to mention fun. I felt like such a scoundrel! Now, I wonder what’s inside?”

  “Old papers, I think,” Hap said.

  “More than that,” Barkin said. “Listen.” He tilted the box one way and the other. Something thumped against the side, rolled back, and thumped again. “Wonder what that is?”

  “A skull, knowing Umber,” Welkin said. He tired of holding the ale for Barkin and downed half of it in a gulp.

  “We’ll find out soon enough. Assuming Umber can get this open,” said Barkin.

  Welkin rolled his eyes. “You didn’t bring back the keys?”

  “Couldn’t find them,” Barkin said. “I’m sure Lord Umber will manage.”

  Hap nodded, knowing there would be no problem. Umber had a key that could open any lock in the world—one of his remarkable magical possessions. No, unlocking the strongbox was not the trouble.

  Umber himself was the trouble.

  “Lord Umber?”

  Hap searched the gardens at the top of the Aerie. Umber was not in his usual haunt, on the bench under his favorite tree, which was bursting as always with a variety of fruits and berries. And he was not on any of the other seats or benches, or leaning on the balcony. The door to his little, round rooftop tower was shut and locked, but the window to his study high above was open, with the shutters flung wide. A curtain billowed, animated by a passing breeze. He must be moping in there, Hap thought. He considered leaping high to sneak a look, but decided against it.

  Shortly after their return from Sarnica, where they’d recovered a cache of stolen dragon eggs, along with a living infant dragon, Umber had slipped into this hopeless melancholy. There were triumphs on that journey—a kingdom liberated, tyrants deposed, mysteries unraveled. But upon their return they were met with dreadful news: Prince Galbus, a good man who stood to inherit the throne from the ailing king, had died. It was that news, and everything it meant to Umber’s hopes for the kingdom, that had sent Umber tumbling.

  Umber was a man of extremes. Most often his mood was one of giddy, wild-eyed, fearless exuberance. But too often something—a reminder of the devastation he’d left behind in the world he’d escaped, or dreadful news such as the death of Galbus—would d
rive him into a suffocating sadness. His spirit flagged, his energy vanished, his appetite failed, and he refused all companionship.

  “Lord Umber?” Hap called again. He stepped backward and finally saw the top of Umber’s head as he sat slumped in the chair by his desk. “Barkin is back. He brought a strongbox that must contain your archives. We can finally learn about the Meddlers. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Umber’s head listed to one side.

  “But the strongbox is locked,” Hap said. He looked around to see if anybody else had followed him onto the terrace. “I’m sure you can get it open, though . . . if you understand my meaning.” He waited, but no reply came. His hope that the news might nudge Umber out of the gloom began to fade. He stomped his foot, aching to see what secrets the box contained. “Or maybe I could open it, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  Umber stood up and moved toward the window. Hap’s heart seemed to pause in its rhythm. He thought Umber might say something to signal the return of his happy nature. Or at least he might toss the key down for Hap to use.

  Instead Umber reached out for the shutters and pulled them closed. Hap watched the drawn gray face vanish from sight, a face devoid of joy or cheer.

  CHAPTER

  2

  “He didn’t care at all that Barkin was back with the lost archives?” Balfour asked.

  Hap shook his head. “He ignored me.”

  Sophie sighed and lowered the side of her face into her palm.

  “I’m sick of it,” Balfour said, smacking his hand on the table. “Sick of this helpless waiting. Umber tumbles into these pits of gloom, and we just sit idly by, week after week, hoping he’ll suddenly emerge. Or we bring him cake and coffee, as if he can eat or sip his way out!”

  “It seems like we’ve tried everything,” Sophie said. She sat on the floor with her legs folded under her dress, dropping bits of fish between the bars of the cage that held the rescued dragon. The hatchling, which had grown to the size of a small dog, snapped up the morsels and squealed for more with her neck craned and her head jabbing. She snorted, and Hap thought for a moment he saw a wisp of smoke pour from her nostrils.

  “We have not tried everything,” Balfour replied. Hap noticed a glimmer in Balfour’s eye. The old man had something in mind. Even Oates, whom Hap had assumed was asleep on the sofa by the hearth, lifted his head to listen.

  “Do you know what Umber needs? An adventure,” Balfour said. Hap felt his heart deflate, and he groaned inwardly. Less than a week had passed since his ordeal with a slew of monsters, both human and otherworldly. He was sure he’d earned a rest.

  Balfour punched his palm with his fist. “That’s what jolted him out of it last time, wasn’t it? The Creep kidnapped him, and soon he was his old self. So an adventure it must be.”

  The sofa creaked as Oates sat up. “That isn’t going to work. Umber won’t do anything but mope on the terrace. He’ll just order you to leave him alone.”

  “We’ll drag him along anyway,” Balfour said.

  Oates squinted. “But you can’t disobey him. He’s Lord Umber!”

  Balfour stood, wincing at one of the countless aches in his aging limbs. He leaned forward with his knuckles on the table. “Is he really? That grim ghost haunting the terrace, that’s the Lord Umber you know? Because that creature is a stranger to me. Our Lord Umber is locked somewhere inside that moping imposter, a spirit shackled and trussed. We know how to set him free—shouldn’t we just do it?” He looked from Oates to Sophie to Hap, waiting for someone to agree. But before anyone replied, footsteps were heard climbing the stairs, and Lady Truden—the tall, dour, silver-haired woman who ran the household of the Aerie—appeared. Her expression was severe as usual, but her brow was also wrinkled.

  “Visitors have come, asking for Umber. They say they know him, but I have never seen them or heard their names before.” She sniffed and raised her chin. “Pretenders, I imagine. I should send them away.”

  Balfour sighed, miffed at the interruption. “Who are they, Tru? How do they know Umber?”

  “They claim to have met him in Sarnica. A woman named Fay. And a girl.”

  “Sable!” cried Hap, leaping up from his seat.

  Sophie stared up at him. Something about her expression made Hap’s collar feel like a snake constricting his neck.

  Lady Tru frowned. “So you know them after all? Well. They don’t appear reputable to me. And if you ask me, that Fay looks like a—”

  “Let them in, Tru,” Balfour snapped. “Umber was waiting for them to make it to Kurahaven.”

  “Lord Umber is in no condition to receive guests,” Lady Tru replied.

  “Lord Umber would want them treated like royalty,” Balfour corrected. “Never mind. Come on, Hap, we’ll let ’em in ourselves.” Oates ducked into the kitchen, leaving poor Sophie alone with a fuming, red-faced Lady Tru.

  They were met with a luminous smile from Fay and a squeal of delight from Sable, who didn’t wait for Hap to come all the way down the stairs. She raced halfway up and nearly knocked him over with her embrace. “Hello!” Hap said, laughing. “Welcome!”

  There was something different about Sable and Fay since he’d last seen them. There was a new ease in their expressions, and when Hap looked closer at Fay, the reason for the change occurred to him: The fear they’d known for so long in Sarnica was finally gone. The dangerous men who’d ruled them were nothing but memories, and they had come to a friendly shore, filled with the hope of new beginnings.

  Balfour took Fay’s hand and bowed. “Welcome indeed, my lady. I am Balfour, Lord Umber’s friend and servant. Umber told me you were lovely, and now it seems the Lord of the Aerie is also the master of understatement.”

  A touch of red colored Fay’s cheeks. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Balfour. We just arrived this morning. This city . . . that palace . . . this tower...I never imagined such places.” She looked around the bottom floor of the Aerie, with the river gushing through its stone channel and the strange contraption that could carry passengers to the upper levels. Seeing Hap on the stairs, she smiled. “And hello to you, my young rescuer. It is wonderful to see you. We have something of yours.” Beside him Sable grabbed Hap’s wrist and dropped a silver locket into his palm. It was shaped like a seashell, and Hap knew what was inside: an enormous pearl.

  “We did not need to use it on our journey here,” Fay said. “But you were kind to offer it, and I kept it close to my heart, as I keep you.” Her gaze went past Hap to the top of the stairs, searching. “And how is Lord Umber? Is he here?”

  Balfour cleared his throat. “Er . . . yes, he’s here. But he’s not well at the moment.”

  Her smile vanished. “Not well? What is the matter?”

  Balfour stretched his mouth wide and tickled his throat before answering. “Um . . . how to say it? Lord Umber is plagued by the occasional bout of melancholia. He comes out of it eventually, given time, but while he is, er . . . afflicted, he prefers to be left alone.” The old fellow forced a smile and rubbed his hands together. “However! He mentioned that you two might come, and we have arranged for you to stay in a splendid inn—Kurahaven’s finest, in fact.”

  “I would like to see Lord Umber,” Fay said, summoning a tone of surprising authority. Hap felt Sable’s arm slide inside his own and clamp down.

  Balfour exhaled heavily. “Please, my lady. Perhaps in a few days . . . or weeks . . . he’ll be in a better frame of mind.”

  Fay folded her arms. “Balfour, my niece and I have traveled across the sea, waiting anxiously for the day when we could thank Lord Umber for what he did for us and for all of Sarnica. Don’t deny me that chance. It can’t do any harm for me to see him. Even for a moment?”

  Balfour looked at her again, melting under her dark-eyed gaze. Hap looked too. Her dress—the one she’d worn during the escape from Sarnica—was tattered at the hem and sleeves, and her curling brown hair had been tossed by the wind, but her beauty was undiminished. Her inner steel, which Hap had observe
d during their harrowing escape from the cruel tyrants of Sarnica, came shining through. “And isn’t it possible that my visit might improve his spirits?” she asked.

  “It would improve mine,” Balfour admitted, more to himself than her. He walked to the water-powered lift and pushed the lever that engaged its machinery. Ropes squeaked and pulleys turned, and the wooden platforms began their clattering oval journey. “Come, my lady,” Balfour said, offering his elbow. “You are right, it can’t do any harm. Hap—take your friend to the grand hall, while I bring the lady to see Umber.”

  A curious thing happened as Hap and Sable went into the grand hall. Sophie saw Sable by Hap’s side, clinging to his arm, and before Hap could introduce them, Sophie went up the stairs without saying a word, keeping her damaged arm, which ended at the wrist, tucked out of sight.

  “Who was that?” asked Sable, her lips pursed.

  “That’s Sophie,” replied Hap, frowning. “I don’t know why she left.”

  Oates was leaning against the kitchen door. “You don’t know because you’re stupid about girls,” he said.

  Sable waved madly with the hand that wasn’t holding Hap’s arm hostage. “Hello, Mister Oates! How good to see you again!”

  “Hello, small girl,” Oates replied. Hap was relieved to see the big fellow push his way back into the kitchen. Oates was gifted with otherworldly strength, but he was also cursed, for unknown reasons, to always speak the truth. His unflinching honesty usually resulted in acute embarrassment.

  “What a home you have!” Sable cried. She pulled Hap along as she turned a circle in tiny steps, gaping up and down at the wonders of the grand hall: the carved pillars, the maps and paintings, and the thousands of artifacts that cluttered the shelves and bureaus. Her bedazzled expression reminded Hap of his own arrival at the Aerie. She leaned close, and her lips almost touched his ear. “Everything about you and Lord Umber is so mysterious. Especially you, Happenstance. Will you tell me all about you?”