The End of Time Read online

  “But Lord Umber is right. Fendofel needs help,” Sophie whispered. “He’s gotten so forgetful.”

  “Why doesn’t somebody stay here with him?” Hap asked.

  “Umber has tried that,” Balfour said. “He’s sent people to assist Fendofel and keep him from getting lonely. But after a while that vine starts to unnerve the assistants. Dendra becomes jealous and threatening. So Fendofel remains alone.”

  There was more silence, until Balfour thumped the bench with his fist. “Scares the life out of me how an old man’s mind can start to slip like that. My aching bones are bad enough. I don’t need my wits falling to pieces along with my joints.” He dropped his head, cupping his jaw with one palm.

  Hap was going to say more, but he saw the tall grass near them moving, and caught a glimpse of one of Dendra’s arms. It stopped there, mostly hidden. The others noticed, and the conversation died. Under the tree Oates went on snoring, oblivious to all.

  As night fell, Hap saw dim lights appear throughout the garden. Flowers were glowing in the dark. Something moved at the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a small shrub boost itself out of the soil and creep toward the moat on roots that looked like spider legs. When it neared the pond, the foremost root reached out and slurped water.

  “It is an amazing place, isn’t it?” Sophie mused.

  Voices caught Hap’s attention and broke the spell. Umber and Fendofel ambled into the garden, with a pair of Dendra’s arms slithering beside them on either side.

  Fendofel squinted toward Oates. “Oh dear. I should have warned him about that tree. Those flowers have put him to sleep.”

  “Oates doesn’t need any help with his naps. He excels at dozing,” Umber said.

  “This is different,” Fendofel said, wagging his beard. “He won’t wake for hours no matter what you do.”

  Balfour stood up and stretched. “Well, that’s a problem. That man’s as heavy as an ox. How can we drag him back to the boat?”

  Dendra’s long arms glided over the ground. They wormed their way under Oates’s neck and the small of his back, and curled around his knees and ankles. With no effort they lifted Oates, who never stopped snoring.

  Hap realized that the vine was wrapped around Oates just the way it had been wrapped around the deer, and his chest clamped down on his heart.

  “Fendofel?” Umber said, his voice cracking a little.

  “Eh? Oh, don’t fear—Dendra will just carry him to your boat,” said the wizard.

  “I think Dendra wants us to leave,” Sophie whispered sideways.

  “I’m not going to argue,” Hap said, barely moving his lips.

  Umber put his hands on Fendofel’s shoulders. “My friend. What are we going to do with you? You can’t stay here forever.” The great vine by his feet twitched, and the leaves trembled for a moment.

  “But this is my home, Umber,” Fendofel said. “Go on, now. Get back to . . .” His face grew pinched. “Back to . . .”

  “Kurahaven,” Umber said.

  “Yes, Kurahaven. I would have remembered if you hadn’t said it.” Fendofel looked at the others, and his face twisted with concentration as he looked at Hap. “And . . . good-bye to you, young man. And you, and you,” he said to Balfour and Sophie.

  Umber and Balfour took the oars, with Oates still unconscious and drooling at the bottom of the jolly boat. The lantern lights of the Bounder bobbed in the night, drawing closer with every stroke.

  “Will Fendofel be all right, Lord Umber?” Sophie asked. She had the elatia cradled in her lap.

  Umber’s shoulders rose and fell. He wore a defeated expression. “I don’t know what to do. His memory is fading and his body is failing. But he won’t leave. And nobody can stay with him, because of Dendra. It’s his home, but it’s turned into a trap.” He shook his head. “We’ll just have to check on him as often as we can.”

  Hap looked at the bulging pack. “You didn’t learn anything about the thorny nut, Lord Umber.”

  “No. And back where I come from, we’d call that a ‘bummer.’ But I think Fendofel knew something that his mind couldn’t retrieve. Maybe it’ll come to him eventually.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  Unfriendly winds made the voyage home longer than expected, but the Bounder finally sailed into Kurahaven Bay. Hap was glad to see the familiar soaring palace, the colorful marketplace, the busy docks, and most of all the Aerie, with his own room high in one corner, within the great carved face with windows for eyes.

  When they disembarked, Umber kept Hap from stepping into the carriage with the others. “Come with me, Hap. I have an errand in the market, and then I want to stop by the shipping offices.”

  “I’ll get my hat,” Hap said. He fished it out of his pack and pulled it low over the unusual green eyes that drew so many curious stares.

  The tents of the marketplace were drenched with sun and awash with the salty breeze. There were rows upon rows of goods from all over the known world, and the chatter of people filled the air like birdsong. Umber led Hap through the maze of byways, and paused where a young woman stood by a cart packed with flowers. “These are lovely,” he told her, burying his nose in a lavish blossom.

  She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord. My family grows them.”

  “What I would like,” Umber said, digging into a vest pocket and pulling out silver coins, “is for you to assemble the biggest bouquet you can fit in a vase, and deliver it to the palace for me. I’ll give you a note to include with the flowers. Can you manage that?”

  “Of course, my lord!” The woman’s mouth hung open at the sight of the coins tumbling into her palm. “But this is more than I would ask.”

  “That’s all right. It’s what I wish to pay. Could it be sent right away?”

  “My brother will take it, quick as lightning,” she replied. “He’s just run over to get some pie.”

  Umber pulled notepaper and a pencil from his pocket, scratched out a message, folded it in half, wrote something else on the outside, and handed it to the woman. “Put this on the bouquet. The flowers should go to the person named on that note.”

  “Within the hour, my lord,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.

  Umber smiled and bowed. “Onward,” he said to Hap, and broke into a brisk stride.

  Hap trotted beside him. “Were those for Fay?”

  Umber smirked and ignored the question. He patted his stomach with one hand. “She had to go and say ‘pie.’ Now I can’t stop thinking about it! I’ve been ravenous ever since I emerged from my funk. How about a slice of . . .” Umber came to an abrupt stop and drew up straight. His eyebrows strained high, and his mouth formed a gaping circle.

  “What is it?” Hap asked.

  Umber didn’t answer. He turned in one direction, and then another—not looking, but listening with hands cupped behind his ears. Hap tried to guess which of the many sounds in the crowd had caught his attention. “What do you—”

  Umber cut him off with a violent wave. He shut his eyes and sang along to a tune that was being whistled not far from where they stood.

  “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don’t care if I

  never . . .” Umber’s eyes sprang open, and his hand shot out and seized the front of Hap’s shirt. “Hap—quick! Help me find that whistler!”

  At first it wasn’t easy to tell where the sound was coming from, with all the noises that surrounded them. Hap pointed. “The other side of those tents, I think.” Umber sprinted down the narrow space between a pair of merchants stalls. Hap followed, wondering what had gotten into his guardian. Whatever the tune was, it wasn’t familiar to him.

  They burst into the open space on the other side of the byway. It was the farmers area of the market, cluttered with barrels and boxes of fruits and vegetables. Hundreds of people milled about the lane. Chickens clucked and ducks quacked in their pens. A cart went by with screeching wheels. Still, Hap heard the song cut vaguely through the din, somewhere to their right. />
  “Who’s whistling?” Umber shouted. Heads turned his way, and recognition dawned on many faces when they saw the kingdom’s most renowned citizen.

  From the corner of his eye, Hap saw someone duck inside a tent. Near that spot, people’s heads turned to look at where the man had been, as if they might have heard someone whistling there a moment before.

  “This way!” Hap said. He sprang ahead of Umber as a voice cried out inside the tent. “What? What are you doing in here? Stop that! What are you up to?”

  Hap rushed in, under a hanging board with the words BART THE BEEKEEPER and a painting of a dripping honeycomb. Pots of honey sealed with cork lined the shelves inside the modest space. A short, round, curly-haired man in a yellow apron stood with his back to Hap. His fists were on his hips as he glared at the other side of the tent. Hap was about to say something when Umber burst into the tent and plowed into him. They tumbled to the ground, side by side.

  “Have all the lunatics come to the market today?” shouted the man, who must have been the beekeeper himself. He seized a cane and raised it over one shoulder, ready to strike. But his complexion paled when he saw Umber’s face. “Lord Umber!” Bart squeaked. He tried to hide the cane behind his back.

  “Hap,” Umber said, panting. “What did you see?”

  “A man ran into this tent,” Hap said, scrambling to his feet and picking up his fallen hat. “Didn’t he?” he asked Bart.

  “Yes, a moment before you. Thought he was going to rob me! He wiggled out under the tent, over there.”

  Umber ran to the spot, dropped to his belly, and wormed his way under the flap. Hap looked at the beekeeper, who seemed a little dazed.

  “You have the strangest green eyes,” Bart said.

  “Excuse me,” Hap said. He tugged his hat down and dove under the flap. Behind him he heard the beekeeper’s voice falling away: “Young man, tell Lord Umber I’d be honored to sell him some honey. At a discount, of course!”

  Umber was in the middle of the next lane, whirling about. “Did anybody see a man climb out from under this tent?” The people nearby shook their heads. Umber stomped his foot. “Hap, what was he wearing? Did you notice?”

  “I only saw him for a moment,” Hap said. “I’m sorry.”

  Umber blew air from the corner of his mouth as he looked at the many narrow lanes between stalls and tents. “It’s a labyrinth. No chance of catching him now.”

  “The beekeeper got a better look at him,” Hap offered.

  Umber brightened. “Yes he did!”

  Bart the beekeeper had barely seen the man’s face, and what he could recall—light tunic, dark trousers, a thin man who was neither tall nor short—wouldn’t have distinguished the whistler from a thousand other men in Kurahaven. Umber and Hap left the tent with little useful information and a small pot of honey crooked in Hap’s elbow. Hap wiped his palm on his leg, because he’d shaken Bart’s hand before they left, and it was the stickiest handshake he’d ever shared.

  “Lord Umber, why did you want to catch the man who whistled?”

  Umber looked left and right as they walked through the market, and dropped his voice to answer. “That song he was whistling—it was from my world, Happenstance. The one I left behind. Do you know what that means?”

  Hap considered the question. “You think someone else from your world is here?”

  Umber’s mouth was bent in a tight, tense frown. “It’s the only explanation.”

  “Maybe you whistled it once, and someone learned it from you?”

  “Good theory. But I haven’t given that tune a moment’s thought in ten years.”

  “Maybe someone here wrote a song that sounds just like it?”

  “But then why would the whistler run like a thief when he realized I was after him?”

  Hap furrowed his brow. “This is strange, Lord Umber. If someone else from your world is here . . . well, they might realize that you were one of them. Because of everything you’ve done.”

  “Right you are. The inventions I’ve introduced, the works of Mozart and Beethoven . . . I’ve been sending signals out for years, for anyone to notice. So why run away? Why not make yourself known to me? If I learned of someone else from my world, I’d seek him out immediately!” Umber plowed his hand into his scalp, and his hair stuck up between his fingers. “I can’t believe it, Happenstance. I always assumed I was unique. And now . . . it seems I have company.”

  Hap noticed the pie-man’s tent. “Did you still want pie?”

  “Lost my appetite,” Umber said. “Let’s go to my shipping company.”

  Hoyle, the squat, domineering woman who oversaw Umber’s business interests, pounced the moment they walked up the marble steps and through the tall doors of the Umber Shipping Company. “So you’re better, eh?” she said to Umber. She tried to scowl, but Hap could see the relief in her eyes.

  “I am.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll forgive Balfour for borrowing one of our ships, and getting the mast clawed by a dragon so that it will have to be replaced, at no small expense.” She took a longer look at Umber, and pursed her lips in dismay. “But look at you—gaunt as a scarecrow. You need to eat.”

  “And I will, like a pig,” Umber said. “I just stopped in to make sure all is well with our ventures. I know I haven’t been attentive these past weeks.”

  “You say that as if you are ever attentive at all. Of course things are fine. Do you think I’d ignore business matters? That’s more your style, I’d say.”

  Umber rolled his eyes. “Anything important I should know about?”

  “Hmph.” Hoyle folded her arms. “Well, Nima is due back soon with a cargo of silk and spice. There’s a shipment of your beloved coffee beans just arrived—yes, I knew you’d be happy to hear that, you can wipe that ridiculous grin off your face. The new fleet is coming along in the shipyards; not as fast as I’d like of course. And . . . well, I’ve decided to put off any ventures within a day’s sail of the Far Continent.”

  Umber’s head tilted. “Why? Trouble with those ruffians?”

  “More than the usual trouble,” Hoyle said. She looked around her, and then dropped her voice. “We always try to steer clear of those savages. But a few weeks ago Captain Sylvan’s ship, the Gull, was blown off course by a fierce wind and ended up within sight of that coast. She came upon what was left of a ship from Vernia. It had been shattered into pieces. All the crew was lost except for two, floating amid the burnt wreckage. They spoke of something that came after them—a monster in the sea. It hurled smoke and fire from a great distance, destroying their ship instantly.” Hoyle shivered and stretched her mouth wide. “Terrible. Umber, what do you suppose that was?”

  Umber gnawed at the back of his thumb. “I . . . I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “Dragons?”

  “No. Not so far from Chastor. Perhaps I could guess, if I spoke to those survivors.”

  Hoyle shook her head. “You can’t. One died from his wounds, and the other disembarked at a port along the way.”

  “A shame,” Umber said. “Well . . . whenever one of our ships comes back, ask the captains if they’ve heard anything else about this monster, or whatever it was. They’ll be the first to know.”

  “I already thought of that,” Hoyle said.

  “How clever of you,” Umber said out of the side of his mouth. “Since my wisdom is apparently superfluous here, Hap and I will return to the Aerie. Contact me if you need anything.”

  “Frankly, things run more smoothly when you’re not around,” Hoyle said. “I’ll get the carriage for you.”

  “You know, I think we’ll stroll,” Umber said.

  Umber walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his brow furrowed. Hap wondered which mystery preoccupied him more: the whistler in the marketplace, or the ship that had been destroyed.

  “Lord Umber, what is the Far Continent? I’ve seen it on your maps, but I don’t know much about it.”

  Umber looked up, emerg
ing from deep thought. “Eh?

  Oh . . . it’s an enormous landmass several hundred miles to the west. Well beyond Sarnica. Soon after it was discovered, it became a haven for pirates, outlaws, and warlords. The king has worried about those folk forever, but our ships can sail circles around theirs, so they haven’t been much of a threat.” He lowered his head and went back to brooding.

  When they were halfway up the causeway, where the River Kura surged under the road and splashed into the bay, Umber stopped to stare at the churning collision of water below. Mist rose up, and Hap felt cool drops on his face. Umber took a deep breath of moist air and exhaled slowly. “I hope Fay likes the flowers,” he said.

  “Are you . . . you know. Fond of her?” Hap asked.

  Umber gave Hap a crooked smile. He had to speak a little louder to be heard over the roar of water. “And what if I am? Romance is problematical for me, Hap, for many reasons. One is that computer up in my tower. Nobody can learn about the true source of my inventions, and so I can’t let people get too close to me. And those dark moods of mine . . . it’s hard to expect anyone to put up with that.” He leaned down, picked up a small stone, and flung it into the bay. “Listen to me, spilling all this to a boy. But you’ve pegged it: I do like her. If nothing else, I have to pry her away from Loden. The poor woman just escaped one foul prince; we can’t let her fall into the clutches of another, can we?” Umber started up the causeway again, at a brisker pace.

  Hap felt a wave of hot, prickly anger as he thought about Prince Loden. “Lord Umber, do you really think Loden murdered both his brothers?”

  “We’ll never know that for sure, unless a witness comes forward,” Umber said. “But I think he did, to clear his path to the throne.”

  “What are you going to do?” Hap asked.

  “There’s not much I can do. Let’s just hope King Tyrian’s health improves, and he stays on the throne for years to come.”

  “But he’s sick, isn’t he.”

  “Very. Odds are we’ll be bowing to King Loden before long. And won’t that be a dark day for all of us.” Umber sighed heavily, and slowed.