Abarat: Absolute Midnight

Chapter 28

Altarpiece

CANDY? MALINGO? ARE YOU up there?”

It was a familiar voice that instantly lifted Malingo’s spirits.

“John Mischief? Is that you?” Malingo said.

“Yes—”

“We knew you’d be on one of these ferries sooner or later—” said John Serpent.

“A ferryman told us where to find you—” said John Pluckitt

“And we’re all here!” said John Drowze, eager to share the good news.

As he spoke, the brothers rose up the stairs from the deck below, followed by Two-Toed Tom and—

“Even Geneva!” said John Fillet.

“It’s good to see you all again. But please, keep your voices down. Candy’s still asleep.”

“Should we wake her up?” said a rather heavily armed Geneva.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea right now,” Malingo said.

“Why not?” Two-Toed Tom asked, emerging from behind.

“There’s something weird about the way she’s sleeping,” Malingo said.

“What do you mean?” Geneva said.

“Well, look for yourself. But put your weapons down first.”

“Why?”

“They make such noise.”

“I’d only do this for you,” Geneva said, unbuckling her belt and handing it, with sheathed swords, to Tom. “If anybody but me unsheathes those . . .”

“We wouldn’t think of it,” Mischief said.

“No, no, no, no, no . . .” the brothers all murmured. “We’re just concerned for our Candy.”

“Keep your voices down, please,” Malingo said. “She mustn’t be disturbed. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. She just shouldn’t, I think.”

“Look at the expression on her face,” Geneva murmured. “She’s in pain.”

Malingo nodded.

“Yes. I think she probably is.”

“If she’s having a nightmare, shouldn’t we wake her?” Geneva said. “Look at how troubled she is! How pained!”

“I know,” said Malingo. “I don’t like seeing her like this either. But wherever she is right now, and whatever she’s doing, it’s something important. And I think we’re better leaving her to do it. When she dreams like this she goes to Chickentown to see her mother.”

“She doesn’t seem very happy about it,” Geneva remarked.

The frown on Candy’s face deepened.

“Lordy Lou! She looks terrible,” John Serpent remarked. “Are you sure she isn’t dying?”

“No,” Malingo said after a length of silence, “I’m not.”

Candy counted eleven people, including her father, but not herself, now assembled within the church. They had emerged from the shadows and they could all see her, a feat no doubt made possible by her father’s stolen magic. Candy recognized almost all of their faces, though she could name only a few. One was Norma Lipnik, who had once (a long time ago, in another life) showed Candy the haunted room in the Comfort Tree Hotel. It was she that had told Candy about Henry Murkitt, the ghost of Room Nineteen. Seeking out his legend was what brought Candy, for better and for worse, to the spot where she now stood. Now, Norma was dressed in all her best Sunday clothes. She even gave Candy a smile as though there was nothing remotely odd about seeing Candy’s dreaming presence.

Also among the small group were two of Melissa Quackenbush’s friends. One, she remembered, was called Gail, an overweight woman who always wore an excessive amount of sweet perfume in an attempt (which failed) to mask the unpleasant smell that her body exuded. The other was a woman, named Penelope, who lived a few doors down from them on Followell Street. She knew by sight several of the others too; one was the janitor at her school, though like all the others she didn’t know his name. Each one of them in turn locked eyes with her, unblinking, and smiled—puppet smiles, painted on puppet heads.

“Today is a special occasion. My daughter is here in her dreaming state,” Bill was explaining to the small gathering of his worshipers, “but it should be no more difficult to get what we need out of her in this form as in her real body. Knowledge is shared between the dreamer and the dreamed, after all. They’re still connected. Norma, the curtain please.”

Norma Lipnik offered Candy one last forced smile, then went to do as her minister instructed, drawing aside the milky blue curtain behind the altar. There was a peculiar kind of machine standing nine feet tall, perhaps ten, behind the altar.

“I know what you’re wondering, witch,” said Bill. “You’re thinking: who made that impressive piece of machinery?”

“You’re right,” said Candy, doing her best to fake an appreciative smile. “I mean, who else . . . ? It’s . . . amazing!”

Behind the flattery, she was all panic. This was bad. Very bad. She had no idea what this monstrous machine did, but if it was Kaspar Wolfswinkel’s brain-child—and it certainly wasn’t her father’s, so that only left the wizard who had stolen the hats her father now possessed—then its purpose could not be benign.

“I can’t take all the credit,” Bill said. “I was inspired by this.” He stroked his vest of many colors. “But my mind understood it instantly. You know why?”

Candy shook her head.

“Because you were born for greatness, lord of lords.”

The speaker was a woman whose presence Candy had missed until now. Now, however, she stood up. Her head was bowed, but Candy recognized her immediately: it was her former teacher, Miss Schwartz. Oh, how she had changed. Her hair was no longer scraped back from her face and held hostage behind her head. Instead it fell free, long and shiny, framing her pale face.

“Nicely put, Miss Schwartz,” Bill said.

The woman looked in the direction of Candy’s father, but did not raise her head.

“I’m glad it pleases you, sir,” she said.

Her passivity—her downcast eyes—her pitiful gratitude—were distressing. This wasn’t the Miss Schwartz Candy had despised. Her father had broken her. Broken her and stuck her back together again so that she was fragile and afraid.

“Mr. Thompson, Mr. Elliot, why don’t you prepare my daughter for our little science experiment? And be quick about it. I want this over and done with.”