Abarat: The First Book of Hours - Barker Clive - Страница 59

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“I really hate that little man,” said Candy.

“There’s a lot worse than him, I’m afraid,” Jimothi replied.

“Such as…?”

“Try the Criss-Cross Man,” Jimothi said. “The list of his crimes is so long we could be here till the sun comes up over Ninnyhammer.”

Candy licked her parched lips and went back to studying the glyph. It was still polishing itself, much to her frustration. Malingo was also staring hard at it, as though he was trying to will it to finish its autocreation.

“What about you, Jimothi?” Candy said to the tarrie-man. “If we get away, what happens to you?”

“I’ll be fine and dandy,” Jimothi said. “Houlihan won’t touch me. He knows where to draw the line.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” said Jimothi. “Don’t worry about me. Oh, A’zo. He’s coming.”

Candy returned her gaze to the ridge. Houlihan and his gang of mires had vacated their glyphs and were approaching, confident—thanks to Wolfswinkel—that they had nothing to fear. Houlihan wore a long purple coat with a blood-red lining; his face was faintly jaundiced, and there seemed to be a checkerboard design tattooed upon his cheeks. The seven mires that followed on his heels were all bigger than he was, the largest nearly twice his size. Like all their vile species they were patchworks of flesh and fabric, all crudely sewn together. Their heads, however, were of inhuman design: like the skeletal remains of devils, with horns and snouts and vicious teeth. They all carried elaborately configured blades; three of them carried one in each hand.

All in all, it was a terrifying spectacle.

“How much longer?” she asked Malingo.

“I don’t know,” the geshrat replied. Then, with a little puff of pride: “It’s my first.” He glanced up at the approaching posse. “I suppose we could get in it now, but I’m afraid it would decay, and we’d fall out of it.”

At this juncture, there came a shout from Houlihan.

“Candy Quackenbush?’’ he hollered. “You are under arrest, by order of Christopher Carrion.”

Jimothi laid a light hand on Candy’s shoulder. “I’ll get the tarries to do what we can to delay him,” he said. “Safe voyages, lady. It is my sincerest hope that we meet again when matters are not so… rushed. Good-bye, Malingo. A pleasure, truly.”

So saying, he started away, then returned to tell Candy: “If you should get caught—now or at any time—take courage. I don’t believe Carrion wants your life. He has some other purpose for you.

He didn’t linger for a reply. There was no time. Houlihan was no more than thirty strides away.

“Brothers and sisters,” Jimothi called. “Come to me. Come.”

At his summons the tarrie-cats appeared from the gloom and followed on his heels. They were only a dozen or so at first, but then, miraculously appearing from the long grass, came two or three dozen more.

Jimothi Tarrie positioned his feline soldiers directly in Houlihan’s path.

The Criss-Cross Man raised his hand and brought his mires to a halt.

“Jimothi Tarrie,” he said. “Surprise, surprise. I didn’t expect to meet the scum of High Sladder here. I thought they’d rounded up all you strays and put you out of your misery.”

Jimothi ignored the insult.

He just said: “You can’t have her, Houlihan. It’s as simple as that. She’s not going to Carrion. I won’t let you take her.”

They spoke, Candy thought, like the most ancient of enemies, their words steeped in the curdled blood of old feuds.

“She’s a trespasser, Tarrie,” Houlihan replied, “and a thief. And the Lord of Midnight demands that she be delivered directly to him.”

“You don’t understand, Houlihan. The girl is not going with you.”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t understand, animal. This is the law. She’s under arrest.”

“Under what warrant?”

“Midnight’s warrant.”

“Ninnyhammer isn’t part of Carrion’s empire, Criss-Cross Man. You know that. His laws mean nothing here. So you go back to him and tell him… whatever you like. Tell him she slipped away.”

“I can’t do that,” Houlihan said. “He wants her. And he won’t be denied. So stand aside, or I’ll have to take her by force.”

“Tarries!” Jimothi yelled suddenly. “Take down the mires!”

The animals needed no further instruction. They surged through the grass like a striped tide and leaped upon Houlihan’s faceless crew, climbing their bodies by digging their claws into their coats and attacking their hooded heads. The mires let out no sound in response, but they used their swords with terrible efficiency. Several of the bravest tarrie-cats dropped into the grass, slaughtered within seconds. It was a horrible sight. The fact that her presence had brought this battle about tore at Candy’s heart.

“I have to stop this,” she told Malingo. “I won’t let this go on. I’ll just let Houlihan take me.”

“No need,” Malingo said. “Look.”

He pointed to the glyph. The process of its construction was finally completed. The vehicle was steaming lightly in the cool evening air, warm from the fever of its creation.

“Come on,” Malingo urged. “Climb in!”

As Candy climbed into the vehicle, she yelled to Jimothi Tarrie. “Call the tarries off, Jimothi!”

He instantly threw back his head and let out a high-pitched yowl. The cats, having done their brave work, and having in several cases paid the ultimate price, now retreated from the battlefield.

Houlihan led the mires unopposed toward the glyph, his teeth bared, his eyes blazing.

He pointed straight at Candy as he approached.

“Don’t move, girl!” he roared.

“Quickly, lady!” Malingo urged. “Say the words!”

“What words?”

“Oh, yes. Nio Kethica. It means: Answer My Will.”

“And then what?”

“It will answer. Hopefully.”

“I have you, girl!” the Criss-Cross Man was yelling. “I have you!”

Houlihan was ten strides away, but one of the mires, whose headpiece resembled some monstrous bird, had moved ahead of him, clearly intending to stop Candy and Malingo. Luckily, he had lost his weapon in the short battle with the tarrie-cats, but his arms were enormous, like claws, in fact, with curled, silvery talons.

There was no response from the glyph.

“Nio Kethica,” Candy said. “Nio Kethica! NIO KETHICA!”

The mire was almost upon them. Reaching out—

Suddenly, the glyph shuddered. A noise escaped its engine, like the sound of an asthmatic taking a painful breath.

Candy saw the mire’s talons inches from her ankle. She lifted her leg to avoid its grip, and as she did so the glyph miraculously obeyed her instruction. It shuddered and began to rise slowly into the air. The mire threw itself forward and caught hold of the craft as it ascended. In a matter of seconds the vehicle was twenty, thirty, forty feet off the ground. But the mire wasn’t about to let go. It hung on tenaciously, throwing its body back and forth in a deliberate attempt to unbalance the craft.

“He’s trying to overturn us,” Candy said, grabbing hold of the glyph’s armrests.

Malingo seized her arm. “I won’t let you fall,” he said.

It was a sweet promise, but in truth it was little reassurance. The mire was throwing its body around, making the vehicle-rock back and forth more violently by the moment. It was only a matter of seconds before its assault succeeded and the craft flipped over.

“We have to shake him loose,” Candy said to Malingo.

“What do you suggest?” Malingo replied.

“First we have to get that wretched helmet off him. He’s on my side, so you hold on to me.”

She leaned over the edge of the vehicle and grabbed hold of the vicious beak of the mire’s headpiece. The creature could do nothing to fend her off. All it could do was cling to the glyph as it tipped and rolled like some lethal fun-fair ride.

“Pull!” Malingo yelled.

“I’m doing my best!” Candy yelled back. “I need to go farther over the side.”

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