“Very rough.”
“Yes.”
“Frenzied.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’d better hold on tight, hadn’t you?”
Before another word could be exchanged, the boat entered the cave. The passage into the cave forced the foaming waters to climb and quicken, quicken and climb, until the top two feet of the boat’s mast were snapped off as it scraped the roof. For a few terrifying moments it seemed the entire boat and those aboard would be scraped to mush and splinters against the roof. But, as quickly as the waters had risen, they subsided again without any further damage done. The channel widened and the racing current eased.
Though they had already been borne a considerable distance into the body of the island, there was a plentiful supply of light, its source the colonies of phosphorescent creatures that encrusted the walls and stalactites that hung from the roof. They were an unlikely marriage of crab and bat, their bizarre anatomies decorated with elaborate symmetrical designs.
Directly ahead of them lay a small island, with a steep wall around it, and rising in a very sharp gradient, a single hillock covered with red-leaved trees (that apparently had no need of sunlight to prosper) and a maze of whitewashed buildings arrayed beneath the garish canopy.
“We’ll need rope to scale that wall,” Malingo said.
“Either that or we use that,” Candy said, pointing to a small door in the wall.
“Oh . . .” said Malingo.
Ruthus brought the boat around so that they could step out of the vessel and through the door.
“Give my love to Izarith,” Candy said to Ruthus. “And tell her I’ll see her again soon.”
Ruthus looked doubtful.
“Are you sure you want me to just leave you here?” he said.
“We don’t know how long we’ll be with Laguna Munn,” Candy said. “And I think things are getting chaotic. Everyone’s stirred up for some reason. So I really think you should go back and be with your family, Ruthus.”
“And you, geshrat?”
“Where she goes, I go,” Malingo replied.
Ruthus shook his head.
“Crazy, the both of you,” he remarked.
“Well, if things go badly for us, you have nothing to blame yourself for, Ruthus,” Candy said. “We’re doing this in spite of your good advice.” She paused, smiled. “And we will see you again.”
Malingo had already climbed out of the boat and was squatting on the narrow step, trying the door. It opened without any forcing.
“Thank you again,” Candy said to Ruthus, and stepped out of the boat, heading through the small and roughly painted door in pursuit of Malingo.
Before she stepped over the threshold, though, she glanced back down the bank. She had no chance to call good-bye to Ruthus. The possessive waters of the Izabella had already seized hold of the little boat and it was being carried away from the island, while the winged crabs applauded the boat’s escape with a mingled ovation of wing and claw.
Chapter 7 The sorrows of the Bad Son
A STEEP, NARROW- STEPPED PATH wound its way up from the door in the wall through the trees. Candy and Malingo climbed. Though there was a wash of visible brightness through the orange-red canopy, very little of it found its way down to the path. There were, however, small lamps set beside the steps to light the way. Beyond their throw the thicket was dense and the darkness denser still. But it wasn’t deserted.
“There’s plenty of eyes on us,” Candy said very quietly.
“But no noises. No birds chirping. No insects buzzing around.”
“Maybe there’s something else here. Something they’re scared of.”
“Well, if there is,” Malingo said, speaking with a fake clarity, “I hope it knows we’re here to cause trouble.”
His performance earned him a reply.
“You say you’re here to cause trouble, geshrat,” said a young voice, “but saying it doesn’t make it true.”
“Why are you here?” said a second voice.
“The sons,” Malingo murmured, the words barely audible to Candy, who was standing a single step away from him.
“Yes,” said the first voice. “We’re the sons.”
“And we’ll hear you,” taunted the second, “however quietly you whisper. So don’t waste your time.”
“Where are you?” Candy asked them, slowly climbing another step as she did so, and scanning the shadows off to their right, from which direction the voices had seemed to come.
In her hand she quickly conjured a little ball of cloud-light; a cold flame she had learned to call up from Boa. It had been, Candy vaguely thought, one of the earliest pieces of magic Candy had filched from Boa’s collection. Candy squeezed it tightly.
The moment would come when she had one of Laguna Munn’s boys close enough to—
There! A shadowy form moved across her field of vision. She didn’t hesitate. She raised her arm and let it go. It blazed yellow-white and blue, its illumination spilling only down at the figure Candy had willed it to illuminate. The cloud-light did its job and Candy saw the first of Laguna Munn’s boys. He looked like a little devil, Candy thought, with his stunted horns and his squat body made of shadow and shards of color, as though he’d stood in the way of an exploding stained-glass window, which hadn’t hurt him because his body was made of Dark Side of the Moon Jell-O.
When he spoke, as now he did, his voice was completely mismatched with his appearance. He had the precise, well-cultured voice of a boy who’d been to a fancy school.
“I’m Mama’s Bad Boy,” he said.
“Oh really? And what’s your name?”
He sighed, as though the question presented huge difficulties.
“What’s the problem?” Candy said. “I only asked your name.”
There was something in her plain, unpretentious Minnesotan soul that was not taking to Laguna Munn’s self-proclaimed Bad Boy.
“Oh, I don’t know . . .” he said, nibbling at his thumbnail. “It’s just hard to choose when you’ve got so many. Would you like to know how many names I have?”
She didn’t.
“All right, I’m listening. How many?”
“Seven hundred and nineteen,” he said rather proudly.
“Wow,” Candy said flatly. Then, even more flatly, “Why?”
“Because I can. Mama said I can have anything I like. So I have a lot of names. But you can call me . . . Thrashing Jam? No, no! Pieman Hambadikin? No! Jollo B’gog! Yes! Jollo B’gog it is!”
“All right. And I’m—”
“Candy Quackenbush of Chickencoop.”
“Chickentown.”
“Coop. Town. Whichever. And that’s your geshrat friend with you, Malingo. You saved him from being the slave of the wizard Kaspar Wolfswinkel.”
“You’ve certainly done your homework,” Candy said.
“Homework . . . homework . . .” Jollo B’gog said, puzzling over the word. “Oh. Work given to students by their tutors in your world,