Abarat

It was Tria—the ever-observant Tria—who pointed out what had happened to the rest of their belongings. The things that they'd attempted to save from the monsoon, and had successfully carried back up the slope, only to lose them again when they'd tumbled back down, were all in one spot. They had been gathered together, it seemed, by the large, serpentine tendrils of an enormous plant that sat in regal solitude at the bottom of the incline.

They went to examine it. The plant was continuing to grow and thrive, its huge seedpods shiny green with health. They creaked as they grew, and gave off the pungent smell of all green growing things. The plant was like a little grove unto itself, its outer layer a knotted thicket of freshly sprung and interwoven flora. It was here that articles from their encampment had been brought by the water. Now they were part of the elaborate network of tendrils, as though some ambitious intelligence in the plant was attempting to turn them into bizarre blossoms.

Beyond the thicket—at the heart of this miniature forest—the foliage grew considerably denser. So dense, in fact that it almost hid from sight an enormous seedpod, dripping with the juices of its recent creation.

'Will you take a look at that?' said Tom, parting the veil of tendrils.

'There,' Tria said. 'He's in there.'

'Mischief?' Geneva asked her.

Tria nodded.

The other three exchanged confounded looks.

'Here, Captain,' Tom said. 'Lend me a hand, will you?'

They began to pull at the outer layer of the thicket, and the tendrils uncoiled and wrapped around their hands and arms, around their legs too. They were too thin—perhaps too playful—to do any real harm, but they still slowed the men's advance.

'I wish I had a knife,' the Captain said.

'Oh, let me at it!' said Geneva. 'You two will be fighting that stuff all day!'

She stepped between them and started to pull at the tangled mass. Now all three of them were in the midst of the green coils, and pieces of flora were flying in all directions.

But Geneva was a better tactician than the other two. She ducked down under the great mass of thicket, and then—once she was on the other side—pushed it out, like two enormous doors, which Tom and the Captain grabbed hold of, creating a passageway into the heart of the grove.

They were all breathless now, fragments of the leaves stuck to the sweat on their faces and caught on their eyelashes and in their hair.

They stood aside as Tria entered through the opening they'd made and approached the pod that all this foliage had been protecting.

'Be careful,' Tom said to her.

He'd no sooner spoken than the pod—which was hanging from a great looping network of vines—began to move. Small tremors ran through it, as though something inside was having a little fit. Its seam began to split with a sound of tearing canvas, spitting gobs of sweet juice as it did so.

Tria turned and looked at the adults.

'See?' she said, an expression of delight on her face, a rare sight indeed.

The top of the pod now flew open like the lid of a casket. And there, lying in a mess of mud and water, but cushioned by the leaves and the coiled tendrils that lined the pod, was John Mischief and his brothers.

Their eyes were still closed, but something—perhaps the light suddenly falling on their upturned faces when the lid rose—now stirred them.

John Moot was the first to open his eyes. He blinked hard. Then he frowned and let out a little laugh.

'What happened?' he said.

'You're awake…'said Tom.

John Drowze piped up next. 'So am I!'

It was like watching the stars come out at night, as now—one by one—the John brothers opened their eyes and the light of full consciousness returned into their puzzled faces.

Mischief himself, however, remained comatose, even though in a short time every other one of his brothers was awake.

'We should lift you out of here,' Tom said to them, 'before the greenery thinks about swallowing you up again.'

'Don't bother,' said Serpent. 'We'll wake him, and then he can climb out himself.'

'You might have difficulty,' said Geneva, peering closely at Mischief. 'He's showing no sign of stirring.'

'Don't worry—' said John Sallow.

'—we do it all the time when he's dozing,' John Slop said.

Then, looking at his brothers, 'Is everybody ready?'

There were murmurs of affirmation from both antlers.

John Serpent took the countdown:

'Three. Two. One—'

And as a single voice, the Johns all yelled:

'MISCHIEF?'

At first there was no response, absolutely none. They held their breath; Fillet, Sallow, Moot, Drowze, Pluckitt, Serpent and Slop included. Then there was the tiniest of twitches in Mischief's left eyelid and a moment later his eye opened. His right eye followed a heartbeat later.

'What am I doing lying in this plant?' was the first thing he said, and rolled out of it, onto the rain-sodden, root-covered ground. He winced as he fell.

'Damn fool, Mischief,' John Serpent said. 'Will you be more careful? This body of ours is wounded , remember?'

'The dragon…'John Mischief said.

'You remember?' said Geneva. Mischief nodded. 'Well, that's good.'

'Of course we remember,' John Serpent said. 'A thing like that you don't forget.'

''I just don't know how I got from there to here,' Mischief said.

'Well, that's for us to tell and you to listen,' Geneva replied with a smile.

'Give me a hand up, somebody,' Mischief said, offering his arm to Tom.

'I've got you,' Tom said, hauling the brothers to their feet.

The greenery was still burgeoning on every side, so they all stumbled out of the grove together, picking pieces of tendril and shredded leaf out of their hair and from inside their clothes. The sun was bright and warm; there was not a cloud in the sky. Even the deepest of the puddles was rapidly soaking into the ground.

'Welcome to the Nonce,' said Tom to the Johns. 'You were as close to death as anyone could get and still come back.'

'We're not going anywhere,' John Mischief said, carefully stretching in the warmth. 'We've got a lot of adventuring to do. Dragons to fight. Finnegan to find.'

'What is that music?' John Sallow said.

'It's the snakes of the Nonce singing,' Tom replied.

A broad grin spread over John Mischief's face. 'See?' he said, making a tiny shake of his head. 'That's another thing we've got to do. We've got to listen to the snakes sing.'

33. ALL THINGS IN TIME

Candy ran, and kept running, without daring to look back over her shoulder at the Fugit Brothers. She didn't need to. They kept up an almost ceaseless exchange as they came after her. 'She doesn't