Candy had been facing the tower throughout this conversation. Only now, as Mischief retreated from her, did she realize what a change had come over the world in the brief time in which she’d been unconscious.
A ramshackle jetty had appeared out of the ground, and at its far end large waves were breaking, their weight sufficient to make the structure creak and shake down its entire length. Beyond the breaking waves the Sea of Izabella stretched off toward a misty blue horizon. Minnesota—at least as Candy had known it—had apparently disappeared, overwhelmed by this great expanse of invading water.
“How…” Candy said, staring at the panorama slack-jawed with astonishment. “How is this possible?”
“You called the waters, lady. You remember? With the cup and ball?”
“I remember,” she said.
“Now I must go home on those waters,” Mischief said. “And you must go back home to Chickentown. I’ll return, I promise, when it’s safe to do so. And I’ll claim the Key. In the meanwhile, you cannot imagine what service you do to freedom throughout the islands by being the keeper of that Key.”
He bowed to her again and then—politely but firmly—he nodded toward Chickentown.
“Go home, lady,” he said, like a man attempting to send home a dog that didn’t want to leave his side. “Go back where you’re safe, before Shape gets down from the tower. Please. What you carry is of great significance. It can’t be allowed to fall into Shape’s hands. Or rather, into the hands of his master.”
“Why not? What happens if it does?”
“I beg you, lady,” Mischief said, the urgency in his voice mounting, “ask no more questions. The less you know, the better for you. If things go wrong in the Abarat and they come looking for you, you can claim ignorance. Now there’s no more time for conversation—”
He had reason for his urgency. There was a loud noise from out of the tower behind them, as Shape attempted to clamber back down the broken staircase. Judging by the din from within, it wasn’t an easy job. His weight was causing yet more of the structure to collapse. But it would only be a matter of time, Candy knew, before he navigated the remnants of the staircase and was out through the door in pursuit of them all.
“All right,” she said, reluctantly conceding the urgency of her departure. “I’ll go. But before I go, I have to have one proper look.”
“At what?”
“The sea!” Candy said, pointing off down the jetty toward the open expanse of bright blue water.
“She’ll be the death of us,” Serpent growled.
“No,” said Mischief. “She has a perfect right.”
Mischief grabbed hold of Candy’s hand and helped her up onto the jetty. It creaked and swayed beneath them. But having dared the tower’s stairs and balcony, Candy wasn’t in the least intimidated by a little rotten wood. The jetty shook violently with every wave that struck it, but she was determined to get to the end of it and see the Sea of Izabella for herself.
“It’s amazing…” she said, as they proceeded down the length of the jetty. She’d never seen the sea before.
All thought of Shape and his claws had vanished from her head. She was entranced by the spectacle before her.
“I still don’t see how it can have happened,” she said. “A sea coming out of nowhere.”
“Oh, this is the least of it, lady,” Mischief said. “Out there, far off from here, are the twenty-five islands of the Abarat.”
“Twenty-five?”
“One for every hour of the day. Plus the Twenty-Fifth Hour, which is called Odom’s Spire, which is a Time Out of Time.”
It all sounded too strange and preposterous. But then here she was standing on a jetty looking out over a sea that hadn’t existed ten minutes before. If the sea was real (and real it was, or else why was her face cold and wet?), then why not the islands too, waiting where the Sea of Izabella met the sky?
They had come to the end of the jetty. She gazed out over the waters. Fish leaped up, silver and green; the wind carried sea birds the likes of which she had never seen or heard before.
In just a few seconds Mischief and his brothers were going to be gone into these mysterious waters, and she was going to be left to return to her boring, suffocating life in Chickentown.
Oh, God! Chickentown! After all this, these wonders, these miracles: Chickentown! The thought was unbearable.
“When will you come back?” she said to Mischief.
“Wait, lady,” Mischief replied.
“What?”
“Stay… very… still.”
As he spoke, he went into the outer pocket of his jacket and he pulled out—of all things—an old-fashioned pistol. It was a small weapon, and it looked as though it was made of brass.
“What are you doing?” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Doing what I can,” he said softly, “to save our lives.”
She saw his eyes flicker over his shoulder, in the direction of somebody on the jetty behind her.
“Shape?” she murmured.
“Shape,” he replied. “Please, lady. Don’t move.”
So saying, he suddenly stepped to the side of her and he fired.
There was a loud crack, and a plume of purple-blue smoke erupted from the barrel of the pistol. A moment later there was a second sound, much less loud, as the bullet struck its intended target.
Candy knew immediately what John Mischief had done. He hadn’t shot Shape. He’d fired at the cup on the top of the pyramid, and the ball had jumped out of it. She could instantly sense the massive change in the air around them.
“Nice shot!” said Sallow. “Though why you couldn’t have put a bullet through Shape’s eye defeats me.”
“I take no pleasure in putting holes in living things,” Mischief said, pocketing the gun.
Candy glanced over her shoulder. Shape was standing about halfway along the jetty, glancing back toward the tower. It was clear that he too knew what Mischief had done. How could he doubt it? The air was vibrating with the news.
“The tide’s changing, lady,” Mischief said. “And I have to go with it. Shape will follow me, all being well, because he believes I have the Key.”
“No, wait!” Candy said, seizing hold of Mischief’s arm. “Don’t do this!”
“Don’t do what?” said John Moot.
“I don’t want to go back to Chickentown.”
“Where else can you go?” said John Sallow.
“With you!”
“No,” said John Serpent.
“Yes,” said Candy. “Please. I want to go into the water.”
“You have no idea of the risks you’d be taking.”
“I don’t care,” Candy said. “I hate where I live. I hate it with all my heart.”
As she spoke she felt the wind change direction. The waters around the jetty had become highly agitated now; almost frenzied, in fact. The tide was turning on itself, and in the process making the antiquated boards of the jetty rattle and shake. She knew she only had a few seconds to persuade Mischief and his brothers. Then they’d be gone, into the water and away with the tide; away to Abarat, wherever that was.
And what chance did she have of ever seeing them again, once they’d gone? Sure, they’d tell her they’d come back again, but what was a promise worth? Not much, in her experience. How many times had her father promised never to slap her again? How many times had she heard him swear to her mother that he was going to give up drink forever? None of it meant anything.
No, once they were gone, she might very well never see them again. And what would she be left with? A memory, and a life in Chickentown.
“You can’t do this to me,” she told Mischief. “You can’t leave me here, not knowing if you’ll ever come back.”
As she spoke she heard the jetty creak behind her. She looked around, already knowing what she would see. Mendelson Shape was coming down the jetty toward them. For the first time she saw quite clearly why he limped (and perhaps why he hadn’t been quite agile enough to catch hold of her). He was missing his right foot. It was severed at the ankle, and he walked on the stump as though it were a peg leg. If it gave him any pain he didn’t display it. He wore his arrowhead tooth grin as he approached his victims, spreading his arms like an old-style preacher welcoming them into his lethal flock.