Abarat

'Our friends appear to have nowhere left to run, Brother Tempus.'

'So it would seem, Brother Julius. So it would seem.'

There was another gust of wind from the sea, and its coolness made Candy unglue her gaze from the approaching assassins and chance a look toward the water. The wind had thinned the colorless mist that hung over the waves. And through it came a patch of bright red.

Red.

'A boat!' Candy yelled.

'What?'

'Look! A boat!'

The mist parted, and a simple little vessel, with a single mast and much mended sail, came into view. It had neither captain nor passengers.

'Ha !' said Malingo. 'Will you look at that?'

They raced down to the water and strode into the mild surf. The wind was coming in stronger and still stronger gusts. It filled the patchwork sail until the ropes creaked under the strain.

'Get in!' Candy said to Malingo. 'Quickly! In !'

'But the wind's just blowing the boat back to shore!' Malingo said. 'Back to them!'

The Fugit Brothers had followed them down to the water's edge. They too had read the direction of the wind, and had apparently decided they had no need to get their feet wet. All they had to do was wait. The boat would come to them.

Candy glanced back at them as a large wave came in, wetting her all the way up to her neck. She let out a little yelp of shock, much to the amusement of the brothers.

'Please,' she said to Malingo. 'Just get in. Have a little faith.'

'In what?'

'In me.'

Malingo stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and clambered in a rather ungainly fashion into the boat. Candy stole a moment to offer up a little prayer to the women of the Fantomaya. Surely it had been they who'd sent the boat. But what was the use of a boat without the right wind?

'Help me ,' she murmured.

And as she spoke the sail of the boat snapped like a flag in the wind, and Candy looked up to see the women—all three of them—standing in the boat. It was a vision intended for her eyes only, it seemed. Neither the Fugit Brothers nor Malingo responded to the sight.

Malingo offered his hand to Candy. She caught hold of it, and he hauled her onboard.

She had no sooner set foot on the timbers of the little boat than Diamanda lifted her hands into the air. They were clenched tight, Candy saw. White-knuckled fists.

'Travel safely ,' the old lady said.

Candy nodded. 'I will.'

'And don't breathe a word of any of this ,' said Joephi.

'I won't.'

'What is this Iwill, I won't stuff?' Malingo said. 'Are you talking to me?'

Luckily Candy didn't have any need to tell a lie, because at that instant Diamanda unclenched her fists. As she did so the wind abruptly shifted, swinging around so fast that Candy could feel it move over her face: blowing against her left cheek one moment, and two seconds later blowing hard against her right.

The boat shook from bow to stern. The ropes creaked. And the old patched sail filled with a fierce wind that now came from the landward side, a wind so strong that its gusts fattened the canvas to near-bursting point.

Candy looked back over her shoulder at the Fugit Brothers, who were now wading into the frenzied surf in pursuit of the escapees. But the waves broke against them with no little force, slowing them down. Tempus lunged forward, attempting to catch hold of the boat before it was beyond his reach, but he was too late. The wind bore the little vessel away at such a speed he missed his grip and fell facedown in the water.

Candy smiled up at the women. They did not linger more than another moment. Just-time enough to return Candy's smile. Then they were gone, their delicate forms blown away by the very wind Diamanda had summoned.

'That was a close call,' Malingo said. He was watching the diminishing figures of the Fugit Brothers, neck high in the surf. They were hoping, presumably, that the wind would veer and carry their quarry back to them.

But theirs was a lost cause. The gusts quickly drove the little vessel away from the island, and very soon the mist that always hung around the Twenty-Fifth Hour covered the sight of the rocky shore.

Exhausted but happy, Candy turned her back on the island and faced the open sea. There would come a time when she would think very closely about all that had happened to her in the labyrinths of the Twenty-Fifth Hour. About what the women had said and shown her: the visions of tomorrow, the mysteries of yesterday. But she was too tired to think such weighty thoughts now.

'Do you have any clue where we're heading?' she asked Malingo.

'I just found this old copy of Klepp's Almenak in the bottom of the boat,' he said, proffering the sodden pamphlet for Candy to study if she wished. She shook her head. 'I think there's a sea chart in here somewhere,' Malingo went on. 'The trouble is, half of the pages have rotted together.' He delicately worked to tease the pages apart, but it was a nearly impossible task.

'I guess we're just going to have to trust to the Izabella,' Candy said.

'You make her sound like a friend of yours.'

Candy trailed her hand in the cold water and splashed some up onto her face. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue.

'Why not?' she said. 'Maybe she is a friend of mine.'

'Just as long as she treats us nicely,' Malingo said. 'No twenty-foot waves.'

'We'll be fine,' Candy replied. 'She knows we've been through some hard times.'

'She does?'

'Oh sure. She'll carry us somewhere nice.' Candy lay her head on her arm and let her hand trail in the water. 'Like I said: have faith, she'll bring us where we need to go.'

34. DIFFERENT DESTINIES

Once before, at the beginning of her adventures in the Abarat, Candy had been told to entrust herself to the care of Mama Izabella. On that occasion she'd needed some extra help to survive her journey. This time, however, safe aboard the nameless boat that had come to find her on the shore of the Twenty-Fifth, she let the sea carry her where it wished to; and all was well. There were some provisions on the boat, plain but nourishing. And while she and Malingo ate, the wind carried them away from the Time Out of Time, and off between the islands.

As they traveled—having no idea of where the tide was taking them, nor any fear that it would do them harm—there were people across the archipelago who would have significant parts to play in Candy's destination who were about their own business.

At Midnight, for instance, Christopher Carrion was wandering the mist-shrouded island of Gorgossium, plotting, endlessly plotting.

He was like a ghost haunting his own house. People were afraid of encountering him, because lately the