Abarat: The First Book of Hours

went to a large advertisement on the opposite side of the street. It showed a deliriously happy boy, drawn in a cartoony style, with baggy striped pants and a big curl of blue hair, like a wave about to break, in the center of his head. He was animated by carefully laid lines of neon light and was walking on the spot, waving as he walked.

Beside him, on the wall, was a sign that read:

The Commexo Kid says:

For Everything That Ails You,

From Toe-Rot to Taxes,

Try the Panacea.

Candy laughed, her mood—which had been darkened by her memories of the events on Highway 94— lightening again.

And then, from the corner of her eye a figure appeared. A man dressed in a blue coat, wearing a spotted all-in-one suit underneath, stepped into view.

“I saw you,” he said.

“You saw me do what?”

“Take the pastries.”

“Oh, dear.”

“It’s okay,” the man said, sitting down on the wall beside her. “As long as you share.”

He was smiling as he spoke, so it seemed the threat, such as it was, carried no weight. Candy pulled the scone out of her pocket and broke it in half.

“Here,” she said, handing one half over to her new companion.

“Most generous,” he replied, rather formally. “And you are?”

“Candy Quackenbush. And you are?”

“Samuel Hastrim Klepp. The Fifth. Here.” He fished a little pamphlet, printed on coarse brown paper, out of his pocket.

“What is this?”

“Klepp’s Almenak; first published by my great-great-grandfather, Samuel Hastrim Klepp the First. This is the new edition.”

Candy took the pamphlet and flicked through its pages. It was rather chaotically designed, its illustrations in black and white, but it was packed to the margins with information. There were maps, gaming rules, a page or two of astrology, and a few pages of pictures of what the author described as New Animals, which was an interesting notion. Further pages listed Celestial Events (the times of meteor showers and eclipses), even a collection of recipes. And interspersed between these relatively commonplace pieces were articles with a rather more Abaratian twist: “The Cat’s Hair Cathedral: Myth or Reality?” “The Dung-Jewels of Efreet: A. Gatherer’s Tale.” And “The Golden Warrior: Alive or Dead?”

“So you publish this?” Candy said.

“Yes. And I sell it here in The Great Head and in Tazmagor and Candlemas and Kikador. But there’s not much of a market for it any longer. People can get all the information they need from him.” He jerked his finger, rather rudely, at the Commexo Kid.

“He doesn’t exist, does he? I mean that kid?”

“No, not yet. But take it from me, it’s only a matter of time.”

“You are joking?”

“No, not at all,” Samuel said. “These people over at Commexo City, Rojo Pixler and his gang, have plans for us. And I don’t think any of us are going to like what they have up their sleeve.”

Candy looked at him blankly.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Where are you from?” Samuel said.

“Oh… here and there.”

Samuel put his hand on her arm. “Tell me,” he said. “I can keep a secret.”

“I guess there’s no reason why you shouldn’t know,” Candy said. “I came over from the other world. You call it the Hereafter.”

A broad grin came over Samuel Klepp’s face. “You did?” he said. “Well, isn’t that something! I thought when I first laid eyes on you stealing those cakes: there’s something about that girl…” He shook his head, his expression one of delight. “You see, a lot of people think the Hereafter is a myth, but I’ve always believed in it. So did my father and my father’s father, all the way back to Samuel Hastrim Klepp the First. Tell me more, please. I want to know everything about the Hereafter.”

“Really?” said Candy. “I don’t think it’s very interesting.”

“Well, it might not be to you, because you were born there. But my readers need to hear about your world. They need to know the truth.”

“But if people think it’s all just a myth, how will you make anyone believe it?”

“Put it this way: I think it’s better to try to get them to believe in new things than just to be content to have Commexo run their lives. Curing everything from toe-rot to taxes! I ask you! How ridiculous can you get?”

There was a new commotion from farther down the street, as more drowned or nearly drowned people were brought in from the docks. Klepp made a face.

“I’ll never be able to hear you talking over that din and hulla-baloo. Why don’t you come back to the Press with me—?”

“The Press?”

“The place where I print the Almenak. I can show you a little of my world, while you tell me about yours. How does that sound?”

“Sure,” said Candy. She was happy to get off the street, to be away from all the noise and confusion, so that she could gather her thoughts.

“Then let’s depart, before the pastry cook comes back and counts her scones,” Samuel said mischievously, and led Candy away up the long stairs to the heart of the city.

18. The Tale of Hark’s Harbor

They passed several more images of the Commexo Kid as they made their way to Klepp’s Press. He was on a poster advertising his cinematic adventures: The Commexo Kid and the Wardogs, and there were several more advertisements for his Panacea. His face was on the T-shirts of children who ran by, and the toys they were playing with were plastic versions of the Commexo Kid.

“Do you have anything like this in the Hereafter?” Klepp said.

“Things like the Kid?”

“Yes. You can’t escape him.”

Candy thought about this. “Not one thing,” she said. “Not like the Kid. He seems to be everywhere.”

“He is,” said Klepp grimly. “You see the Commexo Company has this promise: they will take care of you from the cradle to the grave, literally. They have Commexo Kid Maternity Hospitals and a Commexo Kid Funeral Service. And in between, while you’re living your life, there’s nothing they can’t supply. Food for your table. Clothes for your back. Toys for your children…”