Abarat: The First Book of Hours - Barker Clive - Страница 43

• Предыдущая
• 43/77
• Следующая

“Why not?”

“Because the love she felt for him poured out of her. Love that deep couldn’t be hidden, not from people who knew her well, like her father. He soon saw through our little arrangements.”

“And what did King Claus say when he found out?” John Moot asked.

“At first he was in a rage about it. How could the Princess contemplate falling in love with a man of such questionable birth? ‘Half this and half that,’ I remember him saying. But that all changed very quickly.”

“Why?”

“Because he met Finnegan.” Tom made a small, sad smile. “You couldn’t know Finnegan for more than two minutes and not see how good a man he was. How gentle. How compassionate. So certain in his opinions and so profound in his feelings…” He sighed heavily. These memories were obviously bittersweet. “So anyway, King Claus sanctioned the union and a wedding was announced. It was to be held on the Nonce, in the Old Palace of Bowers. Believe me, there was never a woman as happy as the Princess in those months leading up to the ceremony. Her love for Finnegan illuminated everything she said and did.” Tears welled in Tom’s eyes and, brimming, ran down his cheeks. “I have one consolation,” he said, his voice raw with sorrow. “That she was the happiest soul in creation, until the last moment of her life.”

“So you were there in the Palace when it happened?” Sallow said.

“Oh yes,” said Tom. “I’m afraid I was. I was standing perhaps ten yards away from her when the dragon’s tongue took her.” He fell silent, as a picture of this horror entered his mind’s eye. “It dragged her out through the Palace door before we even knew what was happening. Finnegan was the first to go after her. But he was too late. She was dead by the time he got outside. Ten, twelve seconds maybe, from standing at the altar with Finnegan at her side, to lying out in the dirt, gone from us. Even now as I think of it, after all those years, it scarcely seems believable.”

A great roll of thunder shook the boards of the boat, and the first drops of icy rain started to splatter against their faces, mingling with the tears on Tom’s face.

“What’s all this got to do with this little fishing trip we’re on?” John Mischief said.

“I’ll tell you. For nine years after he lost his Princess, Finnegan went looking for the family of the dragon that had killed her. He needed answers, you see. He knew the murder of his beloved hadn’t been the actions of a rogue worm—”

“Worm?” said John Serpent.

“Yes, sir: worm,” Tom replied, with deep contempt. “Dragon is too noble a term for these things.”

“Wait,” said Mischief. “I don’t think I’m quite following this. Are you saying that Finnegan was going after these dragons—these worms—to interrogate them?”

“Worms have tongues,” Tom said. “And many of them are very eloquent. A few are poets.”

“Really?” said John Sallow. “I never knew that.”

“Any of it any good?” said John Moot.

“Ordure, muck, excreta,” Tom replied.

“Just wondering,” said Moot.

“So, Finnegan assembled a band of folks who were ready to help him find these worms,” said Tom. “There were eleven of us back then. Twelve, including Finnegan. McBean, Kiss Curl, Geneva and myself are all that I know for sure are left of the band.”

“Lordy,” said Slop.

“Dragon hunting isn’t a job for the people who are interested in living long lives.”

“I assume Finnegan had already killed the dragon that murdered his beloved?”

“Oh yes. Finnegan killed it right outside the Palace. Climbed into its mouth and struck a sword blow to its brain. It was a famous worm too. Perhaps you heard of it? Gravainia Pavonine.”

“That’s impressive,” said Mischief.

“They’re entirely ridiculous creatures when you have them cornered,” Two-Toed Tom said. “All that din and self-importance, and they have not a breath of love or honor in them.”

“But intelligent?” said Pluckitt.

“Oh, certainly. Marvelously intelligent, some of them. But intelligence without love is an empty thing, I think.”

“Well said,” John Sallow remarked.

“Believe me, I’ve been nose to nose with several worms in my time, and they are a vicious, vain and cruel species. Even the crowned heads.”

“You met royalty?”

“Oh yes. Gravainia Pavonine was fourth in line to the Scaly Throne. Only his brothers, Nemapsychus and Giamantis, and his sister, Pijirantia Pavonine, were before him. And all still alive, I’m afraid to say.”

“What about Finnegan?” said John Moot. “You were telling us about him and you got lost with all this wormy talk.”

“Ah yes. Finnegan. That’s where she comes in,” Tom said. He pointed to the small girl still sitting in the bow of the Belbelo, braving the waves. Geneva had put a coat around Tria’s frail shoulders, but she seemed not to notice the downpour. “Our little friend Tria has an uncanny ability to find people; often people who’ve been missing a long time.”

“And when did you all last see Finnegan?” Mischief asked.

“About six years ago,” Tom replied. “He went off on his own.”

“Why?”

“Because his quest for the family of Gravainia Pavonine had taken such a terrible toll of lives. He didn’t want anybody else to die on his account, so he slipped away while we were on Efreet, leaving a note saying we should all get on and live our lives. Forget about him, he said. As if we could ever do that.”

He glanced up at Geneva, who at that moment happened to be looking in his direction. She clearly knew by the expression on his face what tale he was telling, and with a little nod of her head encouraged him to finish it.

So Tom went on.

“We all tried to obey his instructions, for his sake as much as for our own. We went our separate ways and tried to live our lives. But Finnegan was never very far from our thoughts. How could he be? We had shared his quest and his company for years. We all knew he was out there somewhere among the islands alone.” Tom shook his head. “We hated to think of that. We listened for news of him, and sometimes we’d hear something—he’d been seen here, he’d been seen there—but never anything certain. And then, about seven weeks ago, Geneva met Tria. And apparently the child knew immediately that there was somebody Geneva wished to find.”

“So she knows Finnegan’s alive?”

“So she says.”

“For certain?”

“For certain. But she has a sense that wherever he is, he’s buried.”

“Ah-ha!” said Mischief. “So that’s why you needed a digger!”

“You won’t be alone, believe me,” said Geneva, breaking into the conversation. “We’ll all be digging beside you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Mischief.

Geneva turned to Tom. “Will you try and persuade Tria to go below for a while? Maybe she’ll listen to you. At least until this storm is—”

She was interrupted by the sound of something grating along the underside of the Belbelo. The vessel shook.

“Have we hit something?” John Serpent said in alarm.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come on this trip!” John Pluckitt muttered. “Crazy…”

Mischief ignored his brothers and peered over the side of the boat, to see if they had struck a rock. But no; what they had struck—or rather, what had struck them—was moving through the thrashing waters. And it was no small object.

Tom looked up at Mischief, an expression of profound concern on his face.

“I think we found our first dragon,” he said.

• Предыдущая
• 43/77
• Следующая