The End of Time (15 page)

Willy nodded.

A flood of terrible memories jarred Hap’s brain. He saw, as vividly as the night he first encountered it, the awful face of Occo the Creep—a vile being who plucked the eyes from others, human and animal, and planted them in the sockets that dotted his own face. Occo had hungered for the green eyes of a Meddler, and almost taken Hap’s.

“Occo was a child. This one—this Executioner . . . older. Larger. More formidable,” gasped Willy. “Already has a Meddler’s eyes . . . more than one pair, in fact. And that gives him a Meddler’s powers—something Occo did not have. The Executioner sees the filaments. Can follow you anywhere, even into the Neither . . . appear out of nowhere . . .”

Hap gaped at Umber—but Umber was looking at the confused faces of the sisters. “Laurel, Lily,” he said gently. “Don’t mind his ravings. But if you don’t mind, Hap and I should talk to Willy alone.”

Laurel nodded, but the quizzical look remained. “He is weak, Lord Umber. Don’t keep him too long with your questions.” Lily stood and followed her out, and they eased the door shut behind them.

“Willy,” Umber said, “if this Executioner has Meddler eyes, why isn’t he just a Meddler—a mischief-maker—like you?”

“He is no Meddler. His nature is too strong . . . a murderous thing, always thirsting for new eyes. . . . So the boy must escape to your world, Umber. Are you ready, Happenstance?”

“I’m
not
ready,” Hap said, slouching in his chair.

“Very bad news,” Willy said. “You don’t have . . . much time.”

“How much time
do
we have?” Umber asked.

Willy’s head doddered from side to side. “Can’t be sure. . . . He will take time . . . to absorb my eyes . . . let their powers sink in. . . . Days? A week? I do not know.”

Hap seized his own hair. He stared at the floor and stifled a moan. Occo was terrible enough. But a larger version, with the ability to read the filaments? He could not imagine surviving an encounter with such a creature.

“Can you see them now, Happenstance?” Willy asked. “Are the filaments here? You tell me: How long do I have?”

“I don’t see them,” Hap muttered, his voice thick with dread. “I don’t know how to make them appear.”

“You need more . . . experience . . . adventure . . .”

Hap bolted out of the chair with such violence that his heels left the floor, and the chair crashed onto its back. “
More
adventure? Do you
know
what I’ve been through?”

“Not enough, whatever it was,” Willy said. “Don’t know how much it will take. . . . There has never been a child Meddler before . . .”

Hap rushed at the bed. He wanted to grab Willy by the collar and shake him, but the Meddler looked so fragile that he just slashed at the air with his hands, a frantic display that Willy couldn’t see. “No? Never a child Meddler before?
Then why did you do it this time!
Why me?
”

It was the question he needed to ask more than any, and he’d finally gotten it out, expelling it like a poison. His chest heaved with great, gasping breaths, and he waited for the answer.

Willy turned his face toward Hap. That weak smirk returned. “Why you? Because the signs told me . . . you were the only one who might be able . . . to do it.”

Hap felt the hard rock wall against his shoulder blades. He had backed away from Willy, barely conscious of his motion, until he was on the other side of the small room. “To do
what
?”

Willy’s grin was ghastly. “The task, of course. The thing Umber has asked of you.”

Hap looked at Umber and saw dread in his expression.
He’s afraid,
Hap thought. Umber was terrified that Hap would be unable to do—or would refuse to do—what Umber desperately wanted him to attempt.

“I don’t believe you,” Hap told Willy. “Why would I be the only one?”

The Meddler’s head sank back into the pillow. “I don’t know why. But I searched everywhere for you. I read countless filaments. The Meddler who would cross to that other world had to be powerful. Gifted beyond the ordinary. And . . . what is the word I am looking for?” Willy paused and licked his parched lips. Umber sat on the stool by his bedside and poured a sip of water into his mouth.

“Benevolent,”
Willy finally said. “And so you are. But you cannot blame me for choosing Julian Penny, Happenstance. Blame Julian’s filament.
Your
filament. It told me you were the one.”

Hap thumped the wall with his fists. Umber looked back and patted the air, asking Hap to calm himself.

“Willy,” Umber said, “did your meddling have anything to do with what happened in my world? The way everything went wrong?”

Willy laughed again, and it turned into another violent cough. “Think it’s my fault, do you? That world of yours needed little help to come crashing down. But you can blame the nemesis, more than me . . .”

“The nemesis?” Umber narrowed his eyes. “Yes, that’s how you Meddlers operate, isn’t it? Always two of you, locked in battle, working toward opposing purposes.”

Willy clucked his tongue and shook his head. “We are not supposed to share our secrets with ordinary folk.”

“You’ve broken enough rules already, it seems to me. And besides, what else can they do to you now? I should point out: You’re not even a Meddler anymore.”

Willy’s mouth twisted. He sniffed wetly and groaned. “Salt in my wounds. Hurts to cry,” he said, waving his fingers above the cloth. “But how right you are, Umber. Nothing left to lose. Yes, we opposed each other. That is the game we love to play. One tries to start a war, the other stop it. Make one people flourish, make another fall. Bring a man love and fortune . . . bring him heartache and destitution.”

Hap crossed his arms. “And who was your nemesis, Willy?”

Willy perked up at the sound of Hap’s voice. “His name, you mean? Why, it was Pell Mell, of course.”

“Of course,” Umber said. He smiled at Hap, but Hap’s bitter expression remained.

“Happenstance, Willy Nilly, Pell Mell,” Hap said. “It’s all a joke to them. They toy with words. They toy with fate.” He pushed himself away from the wall with his elbows and stepped closer to the bed. “But Pell Mell is dead, isn’t he?” He pointed an accusing finger that Willy could not see. “Or blinded, like you. Because you used his eyes to make me!”

Willy seemed to melt into the bed. His voice was weaker still, a puff of air barely forming words. “Was . . . the only
 way . . .”

Hap’s anger flared, white-hot. “You’re a monster. You murdered him to make me,” he shouted. “How many have died because of you?”

“Hap,” Umber said gently.

“Lord Umber, it wasn’t just Julian and his parents who died. What about all the people in your world? What about them, Willy?
How many are dead because of you?
”

“Hap, he can’t hear you. He’s unconscious. He needs to rest.”

Hap sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Willy Nilly’s head had rolled to one side, and his mouth hung open. “I bet he’s faking. I hate him so much.”

“Let him rest. We’ll talk later. There’s more we need to know.”

There was a knock at the door. Hap opened it and saw Laurel’s stern face. “There was shouting,” she said. “The patient must not be agitated.”

“You can have him,” Hap said, earning a disapproving glance from the physician as he brushed past her, out of the room.

 
CHAPTER
19

Hap couldn’t stand to be near Willy
Nilly, not even on the same floor. With the stench of illness haunting his nose he went up to the terrace, eager for the cleansing air of the sea. The tip of the sun had just cleared the horizon. He glanced toward the thorn tree, and the exclamation flew from his lips: “Oh!”

The tree was dying. That didn’t bother Hap at all. The ugly thing had filled him with unease since it sprouted, and he was relieved to see its leaves brown and shriveled on the terrace floor and its roots cracked and dry.

He walked toward it with small, cautious steps, eyeing the eleven fruits hanging from the drooping limbs. They had tripled in size since he’d seen them last, as if all the life in the tree had been channeled into those hideous swollen things. The mottled skin of the fruits was stretched tight. As Hap watched, with disgust percolating at the bottom of his throat, he saw the nearest fruit twitch and convulse. Something inside was stirring to life, pressing against the skin.

Umber’s voice piped up from behind him. “Holy smokes!”

“This one’s moving,” Hap cried, pointing.

“They’re all starting to move,” Umber replied, rushing to Hap’s side. “I wonder if we should get the others.”

Before Hap could agree, the nearest fruit split open at the bottom. A cloudy fluid oozed out like honey, and then the tear opened wide and something large and solid spilled onto the terrace floor with a moist, heavy plop.

“What do you suppose . . .” Umber sank into a squat, staring down at the green, dripping thing on the stone. It was contorted into an oval shape, but parts of it began to pry loose. A thin appendage quivered and straightened, and revealed itself as an arm with a knobby elbow.

Umber goggled at the thing with his fingers digging into his cheeks.

“It’s . . . a little man,” Hap said. The legs that were bent tight against the chest trembled and unfolded. They looked thin and weak, while the body was grotesquely swollen. The head was tucked down, out of sight, as the creature lay curled on its side.

“Look!” Umber cried. He pointed at the fat body, which had begun to twitch and convulse. “It’s pumping liquid into the limbs—making them stronger! Like a new butterfly does to its wings.” Hap could see the belly shrinking, even as the arms and legs expanded and the muscles took shape. There were thorns sprouting as well, rising to a needle-sharp point on every inch of its body. As the thing transformed, Hap could hear watery sounds from within, squishing and squelching.

A second fruit split open, spilling another balled-up creature onto the terrace. Then a third, and then the rest fell as one.

“Lord Umber—what are these things?” Hap asked.

“Thornies.”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“No, but we have to call them something, don’t we?”

The first creature straightened its neck and lifted its face. It had milky white globes for eyes, set close together. The mouth was a nightmarish thing: a round, pulsing membrane surrounded by a circle of thorns. It had no ears or nose, and a cluster of tendrils grew where a man might have a beard.

Umber straightened from his crouch as the thornie pushed itself to its feet with its long arms. The quivering of its limbs had stopped. The swollen belly was now lean, and the limbs sculpted and strong. The thing looked up at Umber from half his height, and turned to peer back at its fellow creatures, revealing the taller thorns that ran down its spine. Hap heard high-pitched sounds, like cricket calls. The membranes that covered their mouths vibrated as they chirped back and forth.

“Hap. Maybe you ought to get the others. Especially Oates,” Umber said. There was a mild edge to his voice.

“Um . . . why don’t we both go and get him?”

Umber waved him away. “I’ll be fine. Just get the others. And hurry.”

Hap backed off three steps and then bolted down the stairs. “Oates! Sophie! Balfour! Anybody!” He burst into Oates’s room and found the big fellow just rousing himself from sleep.

“Come on, Oates, we need you on the terrace! Get up!”

Oates smacked his lips and raised his head an inch off his pillow. “What now?”

“The fruit on the thorn tree opened up and little monsters came out!”

“Of course they did,” Oates said, wiping sleep from his eyes with his knuckles.

A faint scream from above drifted down the hall. It was Umber, calling their names and crying for help.

Oates whipped his blankets aside and rushed for the door, grabbing his favorite ax again. Hap raced after him and saw Sophie in the hall with her bow under one arm and a quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder.

Hap bounded ahead of them all. When he leaped up the last flight of stairs he saw Umber on the ground, pale-faced and wide-eyed, with one arm clutched tight to his stomach and the other hand pressed on his neck. Two thornies stood over him, swatting with their prickly three-fingered hands and driving him backward. Their high-pitched squeals made Hap want to plug his ears with his fingers.

Umber saw Hap and shouted. “They took my key—and they’re in my tower! Where is Oates?”

“Here,” Oates answered as he mounted the last step. He glowered at the waist-high creatures and they stared back, bristling with thorns.

“Careful—they’re dangerous!” Umber held his hand up, and Hap could see blood trickling from a dozen scratches.

“Can I kill ’em?” Oates asked, spinning the great ax in his hand.

Umber hesitated and bit his lip. A noise came from the window of his tower room—objects overturning and crashing. Normally, when faced with some exotic creature, even a deadly one, he was seized by a breathless joy. But this time fear was etched on his face. “They’re after something—we’ve got to stop them! Do what you have to do!”

“Finally,” Oates said with a grim smile. He stepped toward the thornies and swung the ax at the level of his knees. With shocking speed, they sprang up and over the whooshing blade and clawed at his face. Oates threw his elbow up to block them, and his sleeve tore open as the thorns raked across it. One of the thornies landed behind him and wrapped its limbs tight around his legs. The other leaped once more, clawing for his eyes. The creatures were too close for Oates to swing the ax again, and so he used one arm to backhand the jumping thornie. The thing tumbled through the air and over the balcony, heading for the rocks far below. The second thornie clung tight to his leg until Oates reached down with a bleeding hand to grab its throat. The thornie hopped off and scrambled away on all fours. Oates swung the ax again, producing sparks as it struck the terrace stone, but the thornie leaped back. Its head rocked from side to side, and it waved its hands in a taunting gesture. Its screech sounded like a laugh.

An arrow whistled through the air and pierced the creature’s side, so deep that the arrowhead emerged under its other arm. The thornie staggered sideways and stared down at the thick white fluid that drizzled from the wound. Its head snapped up, and it searched for the one who had harmed it. Hap saw its gaze land on Sophie, who was already stringing another arrow.

The thornie rushed at Sophie. Oates swung his ax again, so quickly that its blade was a silver blur. The thornie’s head tumbled off and rolled to a stop with its eyes still moving and its tendril beard wriggling. The headless body ran on and nearly reached Sophie before it wobbled and sprawled on the ground with its limbs still thrashing.

“What do they want?” Hap cried.

Umber looked back with an expression filled with dread. He’d found a long-handled shovel near one of the terrace plantings, and he wielded it like a spear.

They can’t be after Umber’s computer,
Hap thought.
How could they know about it—and what would they want with it?

“Oates, the rest are in my tower—come on!” Umber cried.

“You’ll let me in there?” Oates said, disbelieving. But as Umber raced to the tower door, Oates followed.

Umber vanished through the threshold, but scrambled back with a pair of thornies at his feet, swatting at his legs and inflicting them with tiny punctures. The rest of the thornies spilled out from the tower as one. The last had something tucked under its arm. It wasn’t the computer that they’d been after, Hap saw. It was a familiar pale box made from a material that looked like bone.

“The talismans!” Hap cried.

Umber swung the shovel at the thornie with the box, but it dodged the blow and tossed the box to another creature. Oates swung his ax again, but the agile things eluded him. Another one of Sophie’s arrows flew by and pierced one of the creatures in the shoulder, but it barely slowed.

The thornies bounded toward the stairs. “No!” cried Umber, and he and Oates pursued them, but the nimble creatures were too fast.

Hap gathered himself and leaped high, soaring over Umber and Oates. He’d aimed himself well, and was about to land with his feet on the thornie that carried the box, but the creature sensed him coming and tossed the box to its right. Hap came down with both feet on the back of his first target. The thornie crumpled under his weight but grabbed Hap’s boot as it fell. Hap tumbled to the ground, thumping his shoulder and elbow as he rolled.

The threshold was ahead, and nobody was there to stop the thornies from escaping, until Balfour and Lady Truden appeared, with a kitchen knife and cleaver for their weapons. “Stop them!” Umber screamed. Lady Tru swung the cleaver at the first thornie, and it struck the box, breaking it open. Amulets, rings, and charms spilled down the stairs. Every thornie that remained screeched and leaped on Lady Tru. She lurched back, crying out as the thorns pierced her skin. Her heel missed the step behind her and she lost her balance slowly, awkwardly, with arms wheeling. Balfour reached to save her, but his fingers only brushed the end of her long sleeve before she fell.