Читать книгу Abarat - Clive Barker, Clive Barker - Страница 16

MISCHIEF INSTANTLY GRABBED Candy’s arm and pulled her down into the long grass. His eyes were neither wild nor sly now. They were simply afraid. His brothers, meanwhile, were peering over the top of the grass in every direction, and now and then exchanging their own fearful looks. It was most peculiar for Candy to be with one person, and yet be in the company of a small crowd.

“Lady,” Mischief said, very softly, “I wonder if you would dare something for me?”

“Dare?”

“I would quite understand if you preferred not. This isn’t your battle. But perhaps Providence put you here for a reason.”

“Go on,” Candy said.

Given how unhappy and purposeless she’d been feeling in the last few hours (no, not hours: months, even years), she was happy to listen to anybody with a theory about why she was here.

“If I could distract Mendelson Shape’s attention away from you for long enough, maybe you could get to the lighthouse, and climb the stairs? You carry far less weight than I, and the stairs may support you better.”

“What for?”

“What do you mean: what for?”

“Well, once I’ve climbed the stairs—”

“She wants to know what she does next,” John Slop said.

“That’s simple enough, lady,” said John Fillet.

“When you get to the top,” said John Pluckitt, “you must light the light.”

Candy glanced up at the ruined tower: at the spiraling spire of its staircase, and the rotting boards of its upper floor. She couldn’t imagine the place was in working order, not in its present state.

“Doesn’t it need electricity?” she said. “I mean, I can’t even see a lamp.”

“There’s one up there, we swear,” said John Moot. “Please trust us. We may be desperate, but we’re not stupid. We wouldn’t send you on a suicide mission.”

“So how do I make this lamp work?” Candy asked. “Is there an on-off switch?”

“You’ll know how to use it the moment you set eyes on it,” Mischief said. “Light’s the oldest game in the world.”

She looked at them, her gaze going from face to face. They looked so frightened, so exhausted. “Please, lady,” said Mischief. “You’re our only chance now.”

“Just one more question—” Candy said.

“No time,” said Drowze. “I see Shape.”

“Where?” said Fillet, turning to follow his brother’s gaze. He didn’t need any further direction. He simply said. “Oh Lordy Lou, there he is.”

Candy raised her head six inches and looked in the same direction that Fillet and Drowze were looking. The rest of the brothers—Mischief included—followed that stare.

And there, no more than a stone’s throw from the spot where Candy and the brothers were crouched in the grass, was the object of their fear: Mendelson Shape.

The sight of him made Candy shudder. He was twice the height of Mischief, and there was something spiderish about his grotesque anatomy. His almost fleshless limbs were so long, she could readily imagine him walking up a wall. On his back there was a curious arrangement of cruciform rods that almost looked like four swords which had been fused to his bony body. He was naked but for a pair of striped shorts, and he walked with a pronounced limp. But there was nothing frail about him. Despite the lack of muscle, and that limp of his, he looked like a creature born to do harm. His expression was joyless and sour, filled with hatred toward the world.

Having got herself a glimpse of him, Candy ducked down quickly, before Shape’s wrathful gaze came her way.

Curiously, it was only now, seeing this second freakish creature, that she wondered if perhaps she wasn’t having some kind of hallucination. How could such beings be here in the world with her? The same world as Chickentown, as Miss Schwartz and Deborah Hackbarth?

“Before we go any further,” she said to the brothers, “I need an answer to something.”

“Ask away,” said John Swallow.

“Am I dreaming this?”

By way of reply, all eight brothers shook their heads, their faces for once expressing the same thing. No, this is no dream, those faces said.

Nor, deep in her bones, had she expected the answer to be any different. They were all awake together, she and the brothers, and all in terrible jeopardy.

Mischief saw the sequence of thoughts crossing her face. The doubt that she was even awake, and then the fear that indeed she was.

“This is all Providence, I swear,” he said to her. “You’re here because you can light the light. You and only you.”

She did her best to put the fear out of her head and to concentrate on what John Mischief had just said. In a curious way it made sense that she was here because she had to be here. She thought of the doodle she’d made on her workbook; the way it had seemed to brighten in her mind’s eye, inspiring her limbs to move. It was almost as though the doodle had been a sign, a ticket to this adventure. Why else, after living all her life in Chickentown, should she be here—in a place she’d never been before—today?

This must be what John Mischief meant by Providence.

“So, lady?” Mischief said. “What is your decision?”

“If I’m not dreaming this, then perhaps it is Providence.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Yes, I’ll go,” Candy said simply.

Mischief smiled again, only this time, they all smiled with him. Eight grateful faces, smiling at her for being here, and ready to chance her life. That was what was at stake right now, she didn’t doubt it. The monster moving through the grass nearby would kill them all if he got his claws into them.

“Good luck,” Mischief whispered. “We’ll see you again when you come down.”

And without offering any further instruction, he and his brothers darted off through the grass, bent double to keep out of Shape’s sight until they were clear of her.

Candy’s heart was thumping so hard she could hear her pulse in her head. Ten, fifteen seconds passed. She listened. The grass hissed all around her. Strangely enough, she’d never felt so alive in her life.

Another half minute went by. She was tempted to chance another peep above the surface of the swaying grass, to see whether Mendelson Shape was limping in her direction, but she was afraid to do so in case he was almost upon her.

Then, to her infinite relief, she heard eight voices all yelling at the same time:

“Hey, you! Mendelson Shmendelson! Looking for us? We’re over here!”

Candy waited a heartbeat, then she chanced a look.

Shape, it seemed, had indeed been looking in her direction, and had she raised her head a second earlier would have seen her. But now he was swinging around, following the sound of the brothers’ voices.

At that moment, Mischief leaped up out of the grass and began racing away from the lighthouse, diverting Shape’s attention.

Shape threw open his arms, his huge, iron-taloned claws spread as wide as five-fingered fans.

“There. You. Are!” he roared.

His voice was as ugly as his anatomy: a guttural din that made Candy’s stomach churn.

As he spoke, the configuration of crosses on his back shifted, rising up like featherless, metallic wings. He reached over his shoulders and grabbed two of the blades, pulling them out of the scabbards in his leathery flesh. Then he started through the grass toward his prey.

Candy knew she could not afford to delay. The brothers were chancing their lives so that she could attempt to reach the lighthouse unseen. She had to go now, or their courage would be entirely in vain.

Candy didn’t watch the pursuit a moment longer. Instead, she set her eyes on the lighthouse and she began to run, not even bothering to try and conceal herself by staying below the level of the grass. Simply depending for distraction upon Shape’s terrible appetite to have the John brothers in his grasp.

As she raced through the grass, she became aware that the great rain cloud that had first caught her eye was now directly above the lighthouse, hovering like a golden curtain over the drama below.

Was this part of the makings of Providence too? she wondered as she ran. Did clouds also have their place in the shape of things?

By the time the thought had passed through her head, she had reached the threshold of the lighthouse. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder at Mischief and his pursuer.

Much to her horror she saw that her brief period of protection was over. Shape had given up chasing the brothers—realizing perhaps that the pursuit was just a diversion—and he had now turned his attention back toward the lighthouse.

His eyes fixed upon Candy, and he let out a bloodcurdling cry at the sight of her. He spread his arms wide, and with swords in hand, he began to move toward her.

He didn’t run; he simply strode through the grass with terrible confidence in his uneven step, as if to say: I don’t have to hurry. I’ve got all the time in the world. I’ve got you cornered, and there’s no escape for you. You’re mine.

She turned away from the sight of his approach and pushed on the broken door. The hinges creaked, and there were a few moments of resistance, when she feared that fallen timbers on the other side might have blocked it. Then, with a deep grating sound, the door opened and Candy slipped inside.

Though there were plenty of holes in the walls, and the sun came through in solid shafts, it was still far chillier inside than it was out. The cold air stank of rotting wood. Large fungi had prospered in the damp murk, and the boards beneath her feet were slick with mildew. She slipped twice before she had even reached the bottom of the stairs.

The prospect before her looked dangerous. No doubt once upon a time the spiral wooden stairs had been perfectly safe to climb, but that was decades ago. Now all but a few of the railings had collapsed, and the structure which had supported the staircase had been devoured by woodworm and rot, so that it seemed the stairs themselves had virtually nothing to depend on for their solidity.

She peered through one of the holes in the wall, just to confirm what she already knew: Mendelson Shape was still advancing toward the lighthouse.

Unlikely as a safe ascent seemed, there was no way back now. Shape would be at the front door in just a few seconds. She had no choice but to try the stairs. She put her hand on the shaky bannister and began her cautious ascent.

Outside in the long grass, the John brothers watched the silhouetted form of the lady Quackenbush as she started up the stairs.

“She’s something special, that one,” Drowze murmured.

“What makes you say that?” Moot remarked.

“Look at her!” Drowze said. “Not many creatures of this wretched Hereafter would be so brave.”

“She’s half mad,” said Serpent, “that’s why. I saw it in her eyes, right from the beginning. She’s a little bit crazy.”

“So we send a crazy girl to do our handiwork for us?” Pluckitt said. “That’s not very heroic.”

“Will you just shut your cake-holes, all of you?” Mischief snapped. “Drowze is right. There is something about the lady. When we first laid eyes on her, didn’t anybody think they’d maybe seen her before?” There was silence from above. “Well?”

“You told us to shut our cake-holes,” Sallow reminded him airily. “We’re just obeying instructions.”

“Well, I think she’s got a touch of magic about her,” Mischief said, ignoring Sallow’s riposte. He went to his belt and unsheathed the little knife that hung there. “And we have to protect her.”

“You’re not …” Moot began.

“… intending to attack …” Pluckitt continued.

“… Mendelson Shape?” Slop went on.

“Not with that pitiful excuse for a weapon?” Fillet concluded.

“Well—” said Mischief. “Unless somebody has a better idea?”

“He’s twice our size!” said Sallow.

“Three times!” said Moot.

“He’ll tear out our heart,” said Slop.

“Well, we can’t leave the lady Quackenbush undefended,” Mischief replied.

“I vote we run,” Moot said. “This is a lost cause, Mischief. At least if we get away now, the Key’s safe with us. If we throw ourselves into the fray we’re not just endangering our lives—”

“—which are very valuable—” John Serpent remarked.

“—we’re endangering the Key,” Moot reasoned. “We can’t afford to do that.”

“Moot’s right,” said John Sallow. “We’ve got a chance to run. I vote we take it.”

“Out of the question,” Mischief remarked. “She’s risking her life for us.”

“As I observed,” Sallow replied. “The creature’s half mad.”

“And as I said,” Mischief replied. “You can all shut your cake-holes, because you’re wasting your breath. We’re going to keep Shape away from her as long as we can.”

So saying, Mischief set off running through the grass toward Mendelson, his little knife at the ready.

As he came within six or seven strides of his target, Shape sensed his presence and swung around, the swords whining through the air. His mouth was wide and foamy, as though he was working up an appetite as he approached the tower. The pupils of his eyes had gone to pinpricks, giving him an even more monstrous expression. His aim was poor. The blades missed the brothers by a foot or more, simply lopping off the feathery heads of the prairie grass.

Mischief just ducked down and doubled his speed, running at the enemy.

“Everybody—” he said. “Give the Warriors’ Yell!”

At which point all the Johns loosed a cry so discordant, so insane; so bestial—

“EEEIIIGGGGORRRAAARRGUU—”

—that even Shape hesitated, and for a moment looked as though he might retreat.

Then he seemed to remember the absurdity of his enemy, and instead of backing away he came at them again with the swords. But the Johns were swift. Mischief darted under Shape’s vast hand and pushed his little blade into Shape’s thigh. The knife went in three or four inches and lodged there, blood spurting over Mischief’s hand and arm. It was enough to make the monster let out a cry of rage and pain. He dropped the blades and clutched the wound, gritting his teeth as he pulled the knife out.

Inside the lighthouse, Candy had climbed fifteen steps when she heard Mendelson’s shout. She carefully ascended another three, until she could see through a hole in the wall. She had quite a good view. She could see that Mischief was playing David to Shape’s Goliath out there.

The sight gave her courage. Instead of advancing up the stairs tentatively, as she’d been doing, she picked up her speed. With every step she took, the whole structure rocked and groaned, but she reached the top of the flight without incident and found herself in a round room, perhaps eight or nine feet across.

She’d reached the top of the lighthouse. But now that she was actually up here, where was the light? It was just as she’d feared. If there’d ever been a light up here (which she strongly doubted: this place was more folly than functional), then it had been stolen long ago, leaving just one strange item in the middle of the room: an inverted pyramid, perhaps three feet high and carefully balanced on its tip, its three sides decorated with a number of designs, like hieroglyphics. On the top of the pyramid (or rather on what had been its base) was a small, simple bowl. The purpose to which any of this obscure arrangement might have been put escaped Candy entirely.

Then she recalled what Mischief had said, when she’d remarked that she couldn’t even see a lamp up at the top of the tower. What was it exactly? He’d said something about light being the oldest game in the world? Perhaps this odd creation represented some kind of game, she thought. The problem was that she had no idea how to play it.

And now, as if matters weren’t bad enough, she heard the din of Shape beating down the lighthouse door; smashing it to smithereens in his fury. The noise reached a chaotic climax, followed by a few seconds of silence.

Then came the limping footfall of the monster himself, as he climbed the lighthouse stairs to find her.