Abarat: The First Book of Hours

“We all tried to obey his instructions, for his sake as much as for our own. We went our separate ways and tried to live our lives. But Finnegan was never very far from our thoughts. How could he be? We had shared his quest and his company for years. We all knew he was out there somewhere among the islands alone.” Tom shook his head. “We hated to think of that. We listened for news of him, and sometimes we’d hear something—he’d been seen here, he’d been seen there—but never anything certain. And then, about seven weeks ago, Geneva met Tria. And apparently the child knew immediately that there was somebody Geneva wished to find.”

“So she knows Finnegan’s alive?”

“So she says.”

“For certain?”

“For certain. But she has a sense that wherever he is, he’s buried.”

“Ah-ha!” said Mischief. “So that’s why you needed a digger!”

“You won’t be alone, believe me,” said Geneva, breaking into the conversation. “We’ll all be digging beside you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Mischief.

Geneva turned to Tom. “Will you try and persuade Tria to go below for a while? Maybe she’ll listen to you. At least until this storm is—”

She was interrupted by the sound of something grating along the underside of the Belbelo. The vessel shook.

“Have we hit something?” John Serpent said in alarm.

“I knew we shouldn’t have come on this trip!” John Pluckitt muttered. “Crazy…”

Mischief ignored his brothers and peered over the side of the boat, to see if they had struck a rock. But no; what they had struck—or rather, what had struck them—was moving through the thrashing waters. And it was no small object.

Tom looked up at Mischief, an expression of profound concern on his face.

“I think we found our first dragon,” he said.

25. Mischief Undone

A dragon it was; a worm of the seagoing variety. It rose up twenty feet above the seething waters, the back of its head spread like the hood of a cobra, and lined with foot-long spikes. Its very appearance rocked the Belbelo so violently that it nearly capsized.

“A’zo and Cha!” Mischief said. “Look at that thing!”

“Get the child!” Geneva yelled.

Two-Toed Tom immediately raced up the length of the rocking vessel to claim Tria from the bow. Even the sudden arrival of the great serpent had not disturbed her from her meditations on Finnegan’s whereabouts. But she put up no protest when Tom took her from her vulnerable position and brought her into the little cabin.

The dragon, meanwhile, was speaking.

“These waters are mine,” it said, its voice deep and smooth; its tone quite equitable. “I demand a toll from anyone who sails through them” Its head swooped low as it scanned those upon the deck of the Belbelo. “Today, I will be generous. In return for your trespass here, I will only take… let me see, what will I take?” It sniffed, its head skimming the creaking boards of the boat. “I shall take a girl-child,” it said. “Where is she? Don’t hide her away.”

The dragon’s head drew closer to the cabin door.

“Bring her out!” the dragon demanded. “Come on! Let me have her and I will guarantee you safe passage.”

He turned to Carlotti.

“What is your destination, sir?” the worm said, all politeness.

Carlotti shook his head.

“Don’t deny me now” the dragon went on, its terrible teeth perilously close to poor Carlotti’s head, as though in an instant it would behead him.

“You’ll get no answers from him,” said Geneva, glancing around to locate her sword. “He has no tongue.”

“Ah,” said the dragon, turning to Geneva. “Then you tell me, woman. Where are you headed? To the Nonce is it?”

“Maybe.”

“I can work up a current with my tail that will get you there in half the time.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Geneva, pulling her sword out from the heap of garments where it lay.

“Just give me the girl-child,” the dragon said, breathing so hard on the cabin doors they shook.

“Not a chance,” said Geneva, poking the side of the dragon’s throat with her sword, drawing its attention away from the cabin.

The beast threw its cadaverous gaze back toward her.

“Now don’t incense me, woman,” the worm said. “Just let me have my toll.”

“You heard me, worm,” Geneva replied. “Not a chance.”

“Damn thee, woman,” the dragon said. “Take this!”

It made a foul retching sound and suddenly regurgitated the contents of its five stomachs in a noisome torrent that struck Geneva with such force it threw her across the deck. Her sword went out of her hand and spun across the boards.

Geneva pulled herself to her feet, her boots sliding in the slime of the dragon’s stomach juices. Twice she slipped, but on the third attempt, she succeeded in standing upright. She had picked a new weapon—one of the bigger bones the worm had spewed up. Racing back across the deck she beat the bone back and forth against the snout of the dragon, and when the bone shattered, she picked up another, continuing to strike at the thing until that bone, like its predecessor, was smashed to smithereens.

“How long is this little game going to go on for?” the dragon said, putting on a show of weariness. “I’m getting irritated.”

Mischief and the brothers were standing watching all of this, not knowing whether to hide or fling themselves over the side.

“I’m not going near that thing,” John Serpent warned.

“You of all people, Serpent,” said John Pluckitt, “should be happy in its company.”

The exchange had drawn Geneva’s attention.

“Mischief!” she yelled. “Distract it!”

“Do what?”

“You heard me: distract it!”

“How?”

“Use your imagination!”

So saying, Geneva went down on her knees in the stinking filth that had been expelled from the worm and searched for her missing sword.

“The grappling hook!” said John Moot. “Mischief! Listen to me! Get the grappling hook.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind us!” said John Drowze.