Abarat: The First Book of Hours

buying the Great Zigurrat at Soma Plume and deconsecrating it, then turning it into a second city the size of Commexo.

Despite the fact that his public face was the ever-smiling Commexo Kid, Pixler was by no means a sweetheart. Indeed, he had made it known when he purchased the painting that if John Mischief or any of his brothers ever whispered to anyone that the transaction had taken place he would arrange for the whisperer and his brothers to be silenced.

That was the real Rojo Pixler speaking.

So, Mischief and his brothers had kept their mouths shut, and the fact that the painting had gone missing didn’t even make it into the news sheets. Still, there were plenty of other crimes for which the Johns were responsible which continued to be the talk of coffeehouse and mothercake stalls alike, years after they had taken place. It was widely thought that when Mischief and his brothers were finally tracked down and brought to trial, the punishment would be death.

All of which goes to explain why Mischief, exhausted by his travels though he was, and badly wanting to stay close to Candy so as to retrieve the Key she still carried, did not dare remain near the Yebba Dim Day.

Rather than enter The Great Head in pursuit of Candy and risk being recognized inside, he waited instead in the water close to the jetty until all the dramas there were over, and then dragged himself back onto the quay (or what was left of it) in the hope of finding a boat that would carry him away to a less busy island. Somewhere the brothers could relax for a few days and plan their next move.

He was in luck. He was sitting feeding flakes of buttered coa fish to Slop when he heard a woman clap her hands to get the attention of all who were on the dock and announce that: “We need someone who can dig!”

With one voice, his brothers all said: “He can dig!”

And not for the first time, Mischief found himself volunteered.

Five minutes later a two-masted sailing ship called Belbelo left the Yebba Dim Day and headed into the currents of the Straits of Dusk.

The man in charge of the vessel was one Captain Hemmett McBean, a bear of a man who had sea salt in his blood. There were four other occupants of the Belbelo, besides the eight brothers. First there was the person who’d called for a digger, a black woman-warrior by the name of Geneva Peachtree, who was obviously in charge of this mission, whatever its purpose. Besides her and the captain, there were two other diggers: one a creature who hailed from the Island of Spake, called Two-Toed Tom; the other a large, brutish fellow, bald but for three black curls, called “Kiss Curl” Carlotti. He had been a gambler of some notoriety, but had lost his tongue and his middle toes in a bet many years before and had sworn off gambling thereafter. The last member of this unlikely band—but by no means the least important—was a waif-like girl, no more than thirteen, with long, white-blond hair and dark, eloquent eyes. Her name was Tria, and she sat at the bow of the Belbelo most of the time, staring out over the waters of the Izabella.

Those waters soon became very much more turbulent, as McBean’s little vessel left the Straits and headed out into the open sea. There were thunderheads moving down from the heights of Hap’s Vault, and Hemmett had already warned his passengers that the storm was going to be ferocious. The clouds were now moving over the sea, spitting lightning down at the seething water.

The girl, Tria, seemed completely unperturbed by the way the Belbelo rode the increasingly violent waves. She simply gazed out toward the darkened islands ahead, and now and again whispered something to Geneva. The girl’s instructions were in turn passed to McBean, who was piloting the vessel in whatever direction Tria’s instincts indicated.

As they traveled, Two-Toed Tom, who boasted a fine array of spiral tattoos, sat on the starboard side of the boat, with a yellowed and much-folded map in his hands, studying its contents with a large magnifying glass. Geneva Peachtree stood in the center of the boat, occasionally giving orders, but most of the time scanning the horizon. Now and again she would go over to consult the map with Two-Toed Tom.

The Johns were far too curious not to wander across and ask what was so interesting about the document they were studying. As soon as they approached, Two-Toed Tom hurriedly began to fold the map up. Then Geneva said:

“It’s all right, Tom, I know the brothers.”

“You do?” said John Pluckitt.

“By reputation only,” Geneva Peachtree replied with a smile so lovely that the Johns all fell a little in love at the same moment.

“Then if you know us,” said John Moot, “you probably don’t trust us.”

“No. Quite the reverse,” Geneva said to Moot. “The only people I really trust are those who have nothing to lose.”

“Ah,” said John Pluckitt. “Then that’s us.”

“Nowhere left to run,” said Fillet, rather wearily.

“Here’s my promise to you, brothers,” Geneva said. “If things go well on this expedition, I will give you a home where I promise you the law will never touch you. A place where you can start a new life.”

“Where’s that?”

“On the Isle of the Black Egg,” Geneva replied. “It may not look like the most inviting of places. Four in the Morning is a dark time. The moon’s gone down and the sun’s nowhere near showing its face. But there’s more to my island than darkness and death.”

“Really?”

“Believe me. Sometimes when life looks to be at its grimmest, there’s a light, hidden at the heart of things.”

She looked away as she spoke, and John Mischief knew that she wasn’t just describing the mysteries of her island. She was talking about the here and now: this voyage and its purpose.

This seemed as good a time as any to ask exactly what that purpose was.

“What have you got planned for us?” John Fillet asked. “Why do we need a digger, for one thing?”

“Tell them, Tom,” Geneva said.

Two-Toed Tom looked a little reluctant.

“Go on,” Geneva urged.

“I don’t want to frighten them off,” Tom said.

“I don’t think John Mischief is the nervous kind somehow,” Geneva replied. “Nor are his brothers.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so,” Geneva replied. Her words, however gently delivered, were indisputably an order. And having given it, she left Tom and the Johns to talk, and went to consult with Tria again.

The Johns watched her go.

“It happens quickly, huh?” Two-Toed Tom said.

“What?”

“Falling in love with Geneva. One look, really. That’s all it takes.”

The Johns all looked back at Tom. Sallow, Drowze and Pluckitt were blushing.

“Don’t worry, she has the same effect upon everybody. Even me. Do you have a lady?”

“No,” said Mischief. “You?”

“I have a strange household,” Two-Toed Tom said. “Do you want to see?”

“Please,” said Mischief.

Two-Toed Tom took out a much-thumbed photograph of five individuals. One was Tom himself, with a two-headed Idjitian Jenga curled up at his feet. Beside Tom stood a big, scarlet-skinned man with long braided hair, who had a miniature blossom pig in his arms.

“I see what you mean,” Mischief said. “A strange household indeed. Do you miss them?”

“Of course; all of them. We’ve been together a long time. But this mission is important to me. They understand that I had to come.” He very carefully put the picture away. “And they know I might not come back.”

“What did he say?” John Pluckitt asked.

“I heard what he said,” John Drowze replied. The whole horn on which Drowze grew leaned forward as he addressed Tom. “Let me get this straight,” John Drowze said. “Are you saying we could get killed?”