The End of Time (17 page)

Photograph,
Hap thought. He had seen photographs before, on Umber’s remarkable computer. It was an image of perfect fidelity—not a painting by an artist, but the object itself, captured and reproduced by a technology that did not exist in this world. This photograph showed a woman’s face and shoulders. He stared with his nose just inches from the picture. The woman was beautiful, but underneath the beauty Hap could sense an aching sadness.

“Yes . . . photograph,” Willy said. “Of her. The only one I cared for.”

Umber’s eyebrows contorted, and he turned the picture to look at it again. “
This
woman? You knew
this
woman?”

Willy shook his head weakly. “Never knew her. Learned of her. Later, when it was too late to save her. That is the joy of your world, Umber . . . memories live forever, preserved in your photographs and films, newspapers and magazines . . . and your computers. I did not know her, but I learned to love her, just the same. Umber . . . do you know who she was?”

Umber looked sideways at Hap with an expression that shouted
this is crazy
. “Of course I knew of her. She was famous. Everyone did. And a lot of them felt the same as you. They loved her from afar. And pitied her.”

“Her life . . . her death . . . such tragedy.”

“Yes, it was. But what does this have to do with us, Willy?”

Willy reached up, groping at air. Umber offered his hand, and Willy grasped it. “This is what I ask,” Willy said. “All I ask. If the boy saves your world . . . save her as well. Give her . . . a better life.” Willy raised his other hand toward Hap. Hap stared at it with his lip curled on one side.

Willy reached farther, groping toward Hap. “Happenstance, how can you refuse? I offer the chance to save billions. To head off unspeakable death and destruction, starvation, murder, and madness. This . . . the only thing I ask in return. One small thing. Take my hand, Happenstance. Vow that you will save that woman when you save the rest. Umber will tell you who she is, how to find her.
Make your vow
.”

Umber drew in a great breath and held it. He raised his free hand to Hap, offering to complete the circle. Hap stared at the hand, and kept his own by his sides. “Fine. I vow to save her. But what’s the point? I can’t even do what you’re asking.” He turned and left the room, without bothering to slam the door.

 
CHAPTER
22

A familiar sound cut through Hap’s
dark contemplation: carriage wheels rolling over the stone causeway, and the hollow applause of hooves. Every set of wheels had its own voice, and Hap had heard this one before. When he looked out his window he was not surprised to see the royal coach approaching the Aerie.

He wondered who was inside.
Could it be Loden?
The thought filled him with sharp, sour anger. Or could it be Fay . .
. and Sable?
That notion conjured up strangely mixed feelings, particularly where Sable was concerned. He was shocked to feel a surge of unease over wanting to see her again, and found himself touching the place on his lips where Sophie’s kiss had landed.

The carriage entered the gatehouse without offering a glimpse of its passengers. Curiosity propelled Hap down the stairs. He made it to the grand hall just as Dodd stepped in to announce the visitor—something Lady Truden would have done if she were still alive.

“Loden’s pet lizard, here to see you,” Dodd whispered to Umber.

Hap’s spirits curdled, and he retreated out of sight, a few steps up the curving staircase.
Larcombe,
he said to himself, picturing that sinewy, angular man with a perpetual look of disdain on his pale face. Larcombe was cold and ruthless, and he had certainly murdered at least once to help his master seize the throne. His arrival could hardly mean glad tidings.

Hap heard the clack of boot heels. Larcombe was not alone; there must have been two or three of the new king’s guard with him. It was easy to picture them, with the royal crests on their surcoats, short green capes hanging over their shoulders, and swords at their sides.

“Larcombe,” Umber said.

“Umber,” Larcombe replied, rudely omitting Umber’s title. “I bring news from His Majesty King Loden.”

Umber’s reply was cool. “I am eager to receive it.”

There was a rustle of parchment. “The king wanted me to read it aloud to you. And so I shall: ‘Whereas we have taken into consideration the best interests of the glorious nation of Celador and its loving subjects, we hereby declare it to fit our Royal Will and Pleasure: First, the Umber Shipping Company and all of its associated enterprises, and the full value of its treasuries, assets, profits, and holdings, are as of this day the property of His Majesty King Loden.’” The paper rustled, and Larcombe paused.

“The king is taking my ventures away from me,” Umber said. He sounded almost in awe.

“There is more,” Larcombe said, with thinly veiled pleasure. Hap had not heard him speak much before, and now the sound of his thin, grating voice made Hap want to plug his ears with candle wax. “‘Secondly, all of Lord Umber’s remaining movable-type printing presses shall be surrendered for immediate destruction, and any printed materials created by said presses shall likewise be delivered to the palace, where they shall be reviewed and, if the king so wishes, destroyed, so that the minds of the common folk and the young and unwary may not be contaminated by exposure to corrupting influences.’”

“Do you even perceive the irony, Larcombe?” Umber said while Larcombe paused. “That proclamation is printed on one of those presses, which was my gift to the previous king.”

Hap stepped back into the grand hall, barely aware that he was moving, but magnetically compelled to stand by Umber’s side. At the same time, he saw Balfour come out of the kitchen, moving likewise toward Umber with his jaw thrust forward, defiant. Sophie was already next to Umber, with her arm inside his elbow.

There were three guardsmen with Larcombe, all gawking at the soaring roof, mighty pillars, and endless curiosities on the shelves and walls of the grand hall. Larcombe was focused solely on his prey, Lord Umber. He slid his tongue across his lips and read on, smiling. “‘At Lord Umber’s urging, construction has begun on halls of education in the hinterlands of our nation, solely for the misguided aim of spreading unfortunate ideas among the common folk; these projects are hereby canceled, and those schools at an advanced stage of construction shall be converted to garrisons for the king’s expanded armed forces. The whole of Lord Umber’s other initiatives are likewise suspended, pending the review and approval of the royal court.’”

“Pathetic,” Umber said.

“Ah, but I’m not finished,” Larcombe said. “‘The court does not by these actions wish Lord Umber to think his talents are unappreciated. Rather, his ingenuity needs only to be properly channeled, and thus he will henceforth serve His Royal Highness under the direct supervision of the king’s appointed representative.’”

“And that is who?” Umber said.

“That is me,” Larcombe replied. “The new Lord of the Aerie. Your lordship is to be revoked, but that is a matter for another proclamation. Yes, Umber, I’ll be taking possession of your beloved hollow rock very soon. In fact, I think I should like that rooftop tower of yours for myself; it’s quite charming. You will remain on these premises, where I can keep an eye on you. But as for the rest of this riffraff . . .” He grinned at Sophie, Balfour, and Happenstance, showing a row of small, widely spaced teeth. “They’ll have to go, of course. To make room for my retinue and my guard.”

Sophie gasped and tightened her grip on Umber’s arm. Hap looked up at his guardian, who gazed back at Larcombe with a pleasant expression, except for the flare of his nostrils.

“Unacceptable,” Umber said.

The guardsmen behind Larcombe stopped eyeing their impressive surroundings and stared, narrow-eyed, at Umber. Larcombe laughed. “Did you think you could get away with it, Umber? With your open disdain for King Loden? With your wild accusations, blaming him for the deaths of his brothers? Yes, we know you’ve been asking questions about the king.”

“Don’t be so modest. I blame you, too,” Umber said.

The mirth vanished from Larcombe’s face. “You are a man who doesn’t know when to close his mouth.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Umber said. Hap wanted to hide behind Umber’s back, but he willed his trembling legs to stay where they were.

Larcombe’s men stepped forward. Swords whispered as they were drawn from their scabbards, and metal glinted in the light. “The fact that you believe you can order me to do anything is almost comical,” Larcombe said, giving his lips another reptilian lick.

Heavy steps on the stairs behind them drew the attention of Larcombe and his men. Hap looked over his shoulder and saw Oates lumber into the grand hall. Oates had strapped his muzzle across his mouth—probably, Hap figured, so he wouldn’t blurt out the news of Turiana’s escape. Oates had his enormous battle-ax in one hand. In the other was a mace, a club with a spiked head that looked as big as the full moon. Any other man would have struggled to lift either weapon, but Oates wielded both with the ease of a quill pen.

The men gave one another uneasy glances, and their swords wavered in the air. Larcombe looked at them with his nose curling, as if he smelled something foul. He turned to Umber and his grin returned. “A shame you had to be so rude, Umber. After all, I had an invitation for you.” He paused, waiting for Umber to ask the obvious question, but Umber refused the bait. “To King Loden’s wedding, of course,” Larcombe said. “Just three days from now. A king must have a queen. I think you know who the fortunate woman is. Despite your differences, the king would have loved for you to attend.”

Hap’s fists trembled with barely contained rage, and his head shook from side to side.

“How absurd,” Umber said. “He must know she doesn’t love him.”

“But you should have seen how she wept when he proposed,” Larcombe said. “Tears of joy, I’m certain.”

Umber’s face went crimson. “Get out,” he said. Oates clashed his weapons together, producing a gong that echoed through the grand hall. The guardsmen hopped back and widened their stances.

Larcombe held his ground and clucked his tongue. “Really, Umber. Is this how you choose to handle your fall from grace? With one brave moment that will cost you so dearly for years to come? Or are you only this foolhardy when that trained bear of yours is near to keep you safe? I would be more respectful if I were in your position.”

“Your position is about to be horizontal and airborne,” Umber said through his teeth.

Larcombe’s lips mashed together. “This will end on my terms, very soon.” He turned to the guardsmen behind them and gestured toward the door that led down the stairs to the gatehouse. The guardsmen exhaled, all at once, and tried to mask their relief with stoic expressions.

“Make sure they find the door, Oates,” Umber said. But Larcombe and his men hurried down the stairs before Oates could take a single step.

Around the long table in the grand hall, they gathered: Umber, Hap, Balfour, Oates, Sophie, and Dodd, who’d come up from the guardhouse to see why Larcombe had departed in such an agitated state. They exchanged uneasy glances until Umber broke the silence.

“We seem to be in dire straits.”

“We are almost always in dire straits,” Oates muttered.

“Aren’t we, though?” Umber said, plucking at the tabletop. “But never like this. We’ll have to leave, I suppose. Slip away in the dark. They may have seized my shipping company, but I’ll find a craft to transport us. You can all come with me, of course. Unless anyone would rather stay. Dodd, if you and the boys don’t want to join us, I’ll have a generous parting fee for all of you.”

Dodd shrugged. “I’ll talk it over with Welkin and Barkin.”

“Where will we go?” asked Sophie.

“I’ll figure something out,” Umber told her. “We’ll track Nima down and impose on her for a while. Bear in mind, my friends, I am still a man of considerable resources, with friends far and wide. There will be a place for us.”

An acid voice rose from the floor. “What a sorry gaggle of cowards. And you’re the worst, Umber.”

All eyes turned down toward the tiny figure on the floor, a bearded man the size of a mouse. “Thimble!” Hap blurted.

Dodd popped up from his seat on the other side of the table and leaned over to gape. “By gad, there’s the tiny man you’ve all talked about! So that’s the mighty Thimble!”

The little recluse sneered back. In his hand was a spear the length of a dinner knife, and he thumped its end on the floor. “Don’t speak my name, any of you, you band of quitters.” He turned his head and spat an almost invisible fleck of spit on the floor.

Umber smiled in spite of the dark mood and leaned down with his elbows on his knees. “Thimble, I’ve become an enemy of the king. Any minute now I’ll be tossed into a dungeon. Then I’ll be put to death, as soon as Larcombe moves in and discovers that the sorceress has escaped. I don’t think a change of scenery is such a cowardly idea under the circumstances. You can come too, you know.”

“Bah!” cried Thimble, thumping his spear again. “I say we fight!”

Umber laughed. “Fight the royal army? There are many thousands of them.”

“This place is a fortress,” snapped Thimble. “And the black door can’t be broken. Barricade yourselves and dare them to attack!”

“They’d surround us and starve us out. Besides, a life under siege is a bore, Thimble,” Umber said, raising his hands. “No, we’ll have to leave. And soon, too.”

“What about Smudge?” Balfour asked, prompting a groan from Oates.

“Ah, Smudge,” Umber said. “He can join us if he wants.”

“You all make me sick,” Thimble shouted. He pointed toward the door with his spear. “Go on, get out. The sooner the better. And when those others move in, I’ll stick their ankles with poison, one by one!”

“Start with Larcombe,” suggested Oates.

Umber rolled his eyes and leaned a little lower. “Come with us, Thimble. It won’t be safe for you here.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Thimble said. “I can fend for myself.” He stomped off and disappeared into the crack in the wall that he called home. Umber watched him go with a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll really leave all this behind, Umber?” Balfour asked. Hap looked around at the countless artifacts on the shelves, the paintings and maps on the walls, and the statues, relics, and other mementos of Umber’s remarkable journeys. He thought about the thousands of ancient documents in the archives, the works of art in Sophie’s studio, and the books that Umber had written and printed on his press. They could carry away only a tiny fraction of those wonders. The rest would fall into the unworthy grasp of Larcombe and King Loden.

“No choice,” Umber said, pushing his chair back and rising. “And Thimble is right. The sooner the better. But if there’s any way to steal Fay and Sable away from the palace . . .”

“Lord Umber.” Barkin had come up from the gatehouse, and the look in his eye told Hap that something was amiss.

“Barkin?” Umber replied.

“Larcombe is back. With a hundred men,” Barkin said. “We dropped the bars to keep them from entering. He’s . . . he’s demanding your surrender.”

Umber ran his hand down his face and tugged his chin. “That was quick. I guess I’ll go talk to him.”

Hap reached for Umber’s arm. “You won’t give yourself up, will you?”

Umber patted Hap’s hand. “No. I’ll tell him I need two days to put my affairs in order. By then we’ll be long gone.”