Read Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1) Online
Authors: P. W Catanese
Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1)
HAPPENSTANCE
FOUND
Also by P. W. Catanese
The Thief and the Beanstalk
The Brave Apprentice
The Eye of the Warlock
The Mirror’s Tale
The Riddle of the Gnome
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2009 by P. W. Catanese
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ALADDIN and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Karin Paprocki
The text of this book was set in Bembo.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Aladdin hardcover edition January 2009
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-7519-9
eISBN-13: 978-1-4391-5337-6
ISBN-10: 1-4169-7519-5
Table of Contents
HAPPENSTANCE
FOUND
CHAPTER
1
The boy felt as if he’d emerged, fully
conscious and wholly formed, out of nothing. Not out of darkness, or chaos, or mist or murk. He was sure he’d sprung from
nothing
, and now he was lying in a strange place with rough stone pressing against the back of his skull.
He began to notice peculiar things. A strange taste painted his throat. His clothes were damp, especially the thick cloak. And he couldn’t see, because something was across his eyes: a cloth, tied behind his head. When he reached for it, someone spoke.
“Don’t touch that.”
The voice was unfamiliar. Of course it was—it was the first the boy ever remembered hearing. The man had spoken briefly, but the boy detected something in those three words. Amusement. Or eager anticipation.
“Who is that? Who are you?” asked the boy. He pushed himself up until he sat on the stone floor.
“Never mind about me,” said the man, nearly singing the words. The boy heard a patter of stealthy feet, a scuffle of shifting cloth. When the man spoke again, his voice was closer. He’d been standing before; now he must have been kneeling. “I’m curious about you, though,” the man said. “How do you feel? What do you know?”
“What do I
know
?” the boy asked. The question was strange, the answer even stranger. Because, in fact, he knew very little. At the moment, anyway, knowledge seemed to arrive bit by bit, as he needed it.
What is this I’m sitting upon? A stone floor. What is around my eyes? A blindfold. What is on my feet? Boots. What is it called when I open my mouth and draw in air? Breathing.
A spring inside his mind surged forth and filled his head with words and notions. But when he called on the spring to tell him one particular thing, there was no response. The boy gasped.
“My name!” the boy cried out. “I don’t know who—”
“Hush!” cried the man. “Listen!”
The boy heard nothing at first. He turned his ear, searching. His senses hinted that he was in a confined space, surrounded by walls. But the space wasn’t entirely enclosed, because a sound came from one direction, distant but growing.
“Best be quiet for a moment. Until the worm passes,” the man whispered, so close that the boy felt warm breath on his ear.
Worm?
That word had more than one meaning, the spring of knowledge told him. There were the worms in the ground, the tiny, wriggling things that were feasted on by birds and in turn feasted on all things dead. Then there were the other worms. Beastly and dangerous.
He heard the thing coming—but was it one thing, or an army of things? A massive bulk scraped across a rocky surface, and there was an incessant clacking, as if hundreds of talons scrabbled over the ground. The noise grew until it became a roar as the creature passed a narrow window or door, just a few strides away.
The boy felt a single finger across his lips, and the knowledge came to him: It was a sign that he should be quiet. His shoulders quivered as the scraping, tapping sounds went on for longer than he could believe. Finally, they began to fade. The worm was gone, propelling its vast bulk—a many-legged bulk, the boy decided—through the adjacent corridor or passageway.
When the sound died, the man spoke. “Well. I hope the worm doesn’t eat them.”
“Eat
who
?” asked the boy.
“The ones who are coming for you. Where are they, by the way? They should have been here by now. Hold on—they’re getting close. Yes, that’s them. And
he’s
with them. I knew he would be.” Something in the tone of the voice made the boy think the man was grinning. “Don’t be afraid. I want you to trust them.”
“I don’t understand. Who are these people?” asked the boy. The man didn’t answer. “Hello?” The boy pushed the blindfold over his forehead. The room was dark, but his eyesight pierced the gloom. The man was not there.
As he’d guessed, the room was small. The walls were chiseled blocks, fitted tight, and the floor was made of paving stones. At the near end of the room a narrow archway led to a broad corridor where the worm had slid by. He turned to the opposite end. There, a wider archway opened into another gloomy space.
The boy pushed himself to his feet. His short leather boots squished when he stood, and water dripped from his cloak. He wondered why they were so damp, and why he wore such a heavy garment at all—it was warm in this place, almost uncomfortably so. He shrugged the cloak off, revealing a dull red tunic and brown trousers underneath.
He turned to the far end of the room again because a dawning orange light was filling the archway there. There were footsteps and voices. Faint echoes bounced off the walls.
The first voice he heard was deep, as if born from a thick and powerful chest. “Is this the place? Fine. Get the thing, whatever it is, and let’s get out of here.”
Another man spoke in quick and eager tones. “Hush, Oates. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I think this is it, Lord Umber.” That was a third voice, female and young. The light flickered, disturbed by their shadows.
One of them has a lamp,
thought the boy.
A trio appeared in the archway. They froze and stared at the boy. The largest was a towering, slab-jawed, burly man who scowled down with dark, narrowed eyes and tightened his grip on the long spear that he carried.
That’s the deep-voiced one—Oates,
the boy guessed. On the other side was the young woman. A girl, really—surely not yet seventeen. She was tall and gangly, with hair pulled back from a fragile face. The boy felt a pang in his heart when he saw that her right arm ended at the wrist. Where a hand should have been, there was a three-pronged piece of metal holding the lamp.
The man in the middle, who had to be Lord Umber, held a parchment in two hands. He was slight of build, with a wide-eyed, small-chinned face under a mess of sandy hair. His eyebrows wandered toward his scalp, and he tilted his head to one side and smiled. The smile showed every tooth, and it formed effortlessly; the boy got the feeling that it always did for this man.
“Well,” Umber said, chuckling. “We didn’t expect to meet anyone down here.” He looked back at the corridor. “This is the place. The map couldn’t be clearer.” Umber let go of the parchment with one hand. It was inclined to curl, and so it rolled up instantly. Umber stuffed it into one of the bulging pockets in his vest.
The big fellow, Oates, jabbed his elbow into Umber’s side, hard enough to make the smile falter for a moment. “Umber … his eyes!” Oates whispered.
“Oates, your manners,” Umber hissed at the big fellow.
The boy touched the corners of his eyes, wondering if he was injured. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing, young friend,” Umber said, shooting a peeved look at Oates. “They’re remarkable, actually. Quite striking.”
“They’re weird. I don’t like them,” said Oates, thrusting his sizable jaw forward.
Umber pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’ll do, Oates,” he said grimacing sideways. “One more comment like that and you’ll be muzzled. I’m serious.” His expression brightened again as he turned toward the boy. “Actually, young man, we came here looking for something.” Umber’s gaze darted around the barren room. “I don’t see anything, though, except for you. What’s your name?”
The boy opened his mouth to reply that he didn’t know, but the question was answered for him. “Call him Happenstance,” the voice said, from somewhere out of sight.
Oates gripped the spear with both hands and raised it. “Who’s that? Who’s there?”
Umber put his hand on Oates’s heavy shoulder. “Let’s not make primitive threatening gestures at every stranger we meet, Oates.” He peered around, trying to find the source of the voice. “Hello, stranger. Come out and talk to us. You have nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear but something to lose,” the singsong voice replied. “Happenstance himself is what you came for. Take him, Umber. Keep him with you. You’ll need him, if you’re serious about that task you have in mind.”
The girl looked at Umber. “What task is that, Lord Umber?”
Umber shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest,” he said, but for an instant the boy saw an uncertain look in the man’s eyes. Umber raised his voice to address the stranger again. “You know me, but your voice is unfamiliar. Do I know you, sir?”
“Not by name or face,” came the reply.
Umber scratched the back of his head. He turned as he spoke, not sure where the stranger hid. “I don’t think I understand. Tell me, sir—was it you who sent me that note, about the treasure I’d find in the buried city?”
“The chance exists,” the stranger sang. Every time he spoke the three of them looked in different directions, trying to find the source of the voice. Oates looked ready to hurl the spear if the stranger showed his face.
“No time for questions now. There’s a note in the boy’s pocket,” the stranger said. “You’ll find some answers there. As for you, Happenstance—farewell! Good fortune!” The stranger didn’t stop speaking; instead, the voice faded until it could not be heard.
Oates glowered, and the girl shifted nervously from foot to foot. Umber pursed his lips and finally cleared his throat. “So,” he said to the boy. “Your name is Happenstance?”
“I … I guess so.”
Oates grunted. “You guess so. You call that an answer? Umber, I told you the boy was weird.”
“Oates!” snapped Umber. He clenched his fists, and then shook the fingers loose and pointed toward the archway that they’d entered. “Sophie, take Mister Loose-lips and step outside for a moment. I’d like to talk to … er,
Happenstance
before Oates makes a permanent bad impression.”
“Come, Oates,” Sophie said, tugging his sleeve. When they turned, Happenstance noticed the other weapons they carried. The girl had a quiver of arrows on her back, and a short bow strapped there as well. Oates had an ax dangling on one side of his belt, and a thick-headed club on the other. They left the chamber, taking the lamp with them.
“Don’t mind the dark, Happenstance,” said Umber. He had a pack slung over one shoulder and he opened its flap and reached inside. “I have my own light.”
“It’s all right. I can see,” said Happenstance. He wondered why Umber needed more light. Everything was plainly visible to him.
Umber froze with his hand inside the pack. “You can? But it’s pitch-black in here.”
Happenstance nodded, and then realized that Umber couldn’t perceive the gesture. “I can see very well.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” said Umber.
“Five, if you count the thumb,” said Happenstance.
An expression came to Umber’s face, one that Happenstance would see many times in the days to come. Umber’s eyes grew wide and round, and his mouth burst into a toothy, delighted smile. “Nocturnal vision!” Umber cried. “What a world! But I’m blind as a bat down here.” He pulled a jar from his pack. It held a dozen fat wormy things, each gleaming with soft light in shades of yellow, orange, and red, while feeding on a scattering of leaves and mushrooms. Using them to light his way, Umber sat with his legs folded, face-to-face with Happenstance. “Glimmer-worms,” Umber said, tilting the jar. “Now then, Hap—do you mind if I call you that?
Happenstance
takes so long to say.”
Hap shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Neither name had any meaning or felt familiar. He looked toward the corridor where the others waited. “Would you tell me something, please? What’s the matter with my eyes?”
Umber smiled. “Ah. That’s one of the things I wanted to discuss. Nothing’s wrong with your eyes, Hap. But I’ve never seen a pair quite like them, and I’ve seen a lot. They’re an unusual shade of bright green. And they practically sparkle, here in the dark.” He put the jar of glimmer-worms on the ground between them and rested his elbows on his knees. “That big fellow, Oates? Let me apologize for him, Hap. He—how do I explain this?—has this compulsion. He’s compelled to speak his mind, with absolute honesty, at all times. Sometimes he has to muzzle himself, believe it or not, for his good and ours. However, this compulsion—well, it’s a
curse
, really; I’ll explain it some other time—makes him a most trustworthy servant. On the other hand, it makes him nearly unbearable to be around much of the time. I don’t recommend a steady diet of pure honesty, frankly. You’ll be out of friends by the end of the week.”
Hap nodded. He wondered if all people were as odd as this trio.
“Anyhow, I hear you have a note?” Umber said. His fingers waggled.
Hap patted his tunic and leggings, but found nothing.
The cloak
, he thought. He picked up the soggy garment, ran his hands along its sides, and then found a pocket in its inner lining. A short scroll was tucked inside. It was rolled tight and sealed with a green glob of wax, with words in dark brown ink under the seal:
For the Eyes of Umber Only.
“I’ve seen that seal before. Notice the letters, WN? That was on the scroll that brought me here,” Umber said, patting the pocket where he’d stuffed his parchment. “May I?” He held out his hand. Hap looked at the scroll for a moment, and then gave it to Umber.
