Abarat: Absolute Midnight

One last bend of brightness flew from it, and struck the top of the Pyramid. Unlike those messengers of light she’d previously unleashed, it was, however, instantly extinguished. It had done its work, triggering a mechanism somewhere in the Pyramid’s belly. A profound growl shook the structure, punctuated by something akin to the beating of a vast drum.

“What’s happening?” Maratien said.

“They are being freed to do what they were born to do,” Mater Motley replied. “See?”

She directed the girl’s attention to the spot where she had sent the triggering pulse. Moon-silvered clouds were now visible with a litter of stars between them. The pyramid was opening, its sides no longer touching at the apex, but parting like a three-petaled flower. To move stone walls of such immensity was no easy task, and the blossoming above was slow. But the sacbrood sensed their imminent release.

Waves of agitation passed through their prodigious numbers. A few of those close to the roof fluttered up to the three-pointed aperture and flirted with the moonlight; some even flew up fearlessly into the night. Their escape encouraged other members of the brood that were clinging to the walls lower down the Pyramid to also take flight, so that soon the Pyramid was filled with the clamor of wings.

The shafts of moonlight were broadening as the Pyramid continued to open, but the sight of the sky only caused word to spread into the deeper and deeper hives. The floor of the massive structure, though built by masons who had known how to move blocks of stone the size of mountains, vibrated from the motion of a billion wingbeats, each striking the air with no great violence.

Midnight had arrived.

Chapter 30

Draining the Ghost

THE DEVICE THAT BILL QUACKENBUSH’S technicians, Elliot and Thompson, had hooked Candy up to was very obviously not of any parts its builder had available in the Hereafter. The portion secured to the wall behind the altar curtain was a large, messily constructed device made of equipment that had probably been taken from the big pharmacy on Main Street mingled with stuff that might have come from a garage or perhaps from the wreckage of the chicken factory, or both.

At its heart, however, were magical mechanisms that had not, she thought, been found in Chickentown, unless by chance the floodwaters of the Izabella had conveniently brought them here. More likely, Candy thought (no, feared) they had been supplied to him by somebody in the Abarat, which meant that trade between the two worlds had begun again. Perhaps it had never been fully eradicated in the first place and all that her father needed to do to find the parts for his machine was ask the right people.

There were two parts of the device that really carried the stamp of Abaratian technology. One was a globe of pulsing power about three feet across—the glass it was made from, full of flaws—that was set at the center of the device. It made the air smell like summer lightning: sweet and metallic. The second piece of Abaratian design was the bizarre mechanism that the globe was set upon. It looked like the innards of an old television, only slightly melted and then given to a family of tiny, white bugs to nest in and that now lived inside the guts of the thing and moved at such speed through the machine that they were blurs.

There was a third piece: a chair.

“Sit,” her father said. “Go on. And before you try any of your tricks, just remember: your mother is back at home, fast asleep. Defenseless. Do you understand me?”

Candy nodded.

“Say it.”

“I understand,” she said quietly as she sat in the chair.

“Sir, may I step outside and take a breath of air?” one of the men said, as Elliot and Thompson each uncoiled lengths of the needle tubing. “I’ve always been a little squeamish around medical things.”

“No, Futterman,” Bill Quackenbush snapped. The nervous man, who Candy only now recognized as the manager of the supermarket on Riley Street, reluctantly obeyed the preacher’s instructions. Bill grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him closer. “You will stay right there—”

“Must I? I think—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m the minister of this church and if you want to stay in the Lord’s good graces then you’d better do as I damn well say!”

Meekly, Futterman remained where he’d been told to stand. All the color had drained from his face, leaving him pasty white. Candy felt sorry for him. He looked so afraid. He seemed to feel her watching him, because his eyes flicked in her direction. Candy desperately wanted to give him some hope. She wanted to throw a thought into his head to say: It’s going to be all right. The preacher’s just a bully who found some magic hats. He hasn’t got any real power.

Candy’s concern for him distracted her from her own problems, until at a little nod from her father, Elliot and Thompson, working with well-rehearsed synchronicity, went down on their haunches to either side of the half- melted television with the white bugs in it, and unraveled from either side of it long black and yellow cables. They had at the end of them small discs with lids that the two men cautiously unscrewed.

“Now we just have to get this thing going,” Bill said.

He reached behind Candy and flipped one switch, which started a deep, regretful moan in the machine. Thompson and Elliot knew their cues. They each opened one of Candy’s hands without any need of force, and placed the discs on the palms of either hand.

“The Silter nests are in place, sir. We’re ready.”

Bill flipped two more switches, and Candy felt a creeping sickness climb through her body. The Silter nests broke through the flesh of her translucent palms and began to send fine tentacles up into her hands. She instantly started to feel the hunger of the voracious things called Silters. At once she felt weaker, as though her very life force was draining from her.

“Dad, please . . .” Candy muttered in her sleep.

“Did you hear that?” Malingo said. “She’s talking to her father?”

“Lordy Lou,” said John Moot. “That man’s psychotic.”

“She knows how to deal with him,” said John Fillet.

“Does that sound like somebody who’s dealing with things?” John Serpent said.

“She sounds as if she’s dying,” Geneva said.

“She’s just dreaming,” Mischief said.

“Look at the poor girl,” John Serpent replied. “They’re tormenting her. We have to do something!”

“I think he’s right, for once,” Tom said. “She’s obviously in pain.”

The expression on Candy’s face was becoming more and more agitated. Malingo glanced up at the faces of the John Brothers, Tom and Geneva, all looking down at Candy with echoes of her pained expression on their faces.

“You have to wake her,” Geneva said.

“But what’ll happen if we do? She’s never been like this,” Malingo said.

“Oh, Lordy . . .” she murmured. “Now you’ve got me doubting my own instincts.”

“What do you think, Malingo?” Tom said.

“I think . . .” he said softly. Then, drawing a deeper breath, “. . . I think we have no choice but to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

“Doesn’t look that way,” John Serpent said.

“She’ll be okay,” Malingo said. “I believe in her.”

Chapter 31

The Flock