“And the worst is still to come,” Candy said.
“Another war?”
“That’s what the Council thinks.”
“Abarat against the Hereafter? Or Night against Day?”
Candy caught a few suspicious glances coming her way. “I think we should continue this conversation somewhere else,” she said. “I don’t want any more interrogations.”
“Where do you want to go?” Malingo said.
“Anywhere, as long as it’s away from here,” Candy said. “I don’t want to have any more questions thrown at me until I’ve got all the answers straight.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
Candy threw Malingo an uneasy glance.
“Say it,” he said. “Whatever it is you’ve got on your mind.”
“I’ve got a Princess on my mind, Malingo. And now I know she’s been there since the day I was born. It changes things. I thought I was Candy Quackenbush from Chickentown, Minnesota. And in a way I was. I lived an ordinary life on the outside. But on the inside, in here,” she said, putting her finger to her temple, “I was learning what she knew. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Boa learned magic from Carrion. And then I took it from her and hid it.”
“But you’re saying that aloud right now.”
“That’s because she knows now. There’s no use to play hide-and-seek, not for either of us. She’s in me, and I know it. And I’ve got everything she knows about the Abarataraba. And she knows that.”
I would have done the same thing, I don’t doubt, Boa said. But I think it’s time we parted.
“I agree.”
“With what?” Malingo said.
“I was talking to Boa. She wants her freedom.”
“Can’t blame her,” Malingo said.
“I don’t,” Candy said. “I just don’t know where to start.”
Ask the geshrat to tell you about Laguna Munn.
“Do you know somebody called Laguna Munn?”
“Not personally, no,” Malingo said. “But there was a rhyme in one of Wolfswinkel’s books about the woman.”
“Do you remember it?”
Malingo thought for a moment or two. Then he recited it:
“Laguna Munn,
Had a son,
Perfect in every way.
A joy to see at work time,
And bliss to watch at play!
But oh, how did she come by him?
I cannot bear to say!”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Supposedly one of her sons was made from all the good in her, but he was a dull child. So dull she wanted nothing to do with him. So she went and made another son—”
“Let me guess. Out of all the evil in her?”
“Well, whoever wrote the rhyme cannot bear to say, but yes, I think that’s what we’re supposed to think.”
She’s a very powerful woman, Boa said. And she’s been known to use her powers to help people, if she’s in the mood. Candy reported this to Malingo. Then Boa added, Of course, she is crazy.
“Why is there always a catch?” Candy said out loud.
“What?” Malingo said.
“Boa says Laguna Munn’s crazy.”
“And what—you’re Candy, the sane lady? I don’t think so.”
“Good point.”
“Let the mad find wisdom in their madness for the sane, and let the sane be grateful.”
“Is that a famous saying?”
“Maybe if I say it often enough.”
The geshrat talks a lot of sense . . . for a geshrat.
“What did she say?” Malingo asked Candy.
“How did you know she said anything?”
“I’m starting to see it on your face.”
“She said you were very clever.”
Malingo didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, I bet she did,” he said.
Their route took them back to the harbor via a selection of much smaller streets than those by which they had ascended to the Council Chamber. There was an air of unease in these narrow alleys and tiny yards. People were going about anxious, furtive business. It was, Candy thought, as though everyone was making plans for what to do if things didn’t turn out right. Through partly opened doors that gave access into shadowy interiors she even caught a glimpse of people packing up in preparation for a hurried departure. Malingo clearly interpreted what they saw the same way because he said to Candy:
“Did the Council talk about evacuating The Great Head?”
“No.”
“Then why are people getting ready to leave?”
“It makes no sense. If anywhere’s safe, it’s the Yebba Dim Day. Lordy Lou! This is one of the oldest structures in existence.”
“Apparently old age isn’t what it used to be.”
They walked on in silence then, down to the harbor. There were a dozen fishing boats or more trying to find docking places so that the cargo of detritus could be unloaded.
“Bits of Chickentown . . .” Candy said grimly.
“Don’t let it bother you. The people here have heard so many things about your people over the years. Now they’ve got something to actually hold in their hands.”
“It looks like trash, most of it.”
“Yeah.”
“What are they going to think of Chickentown?” Candy said sadly.
Malingo said nothing. He hung back to let Candy go on ahead to examine the stuff the fishermen had scooped from the waters of the Izabella. Did the people of the Abarat think any of this was of value? Two pink plastic flamingos, washed away from somebody’s garden, a lot of old magazines and bottles of pills, some bits of bashed-up furniture, a big sign with a stupid bug-eyed chicken painted on it, and another that announced the subject of the Sunday sermon at the Lutheran Church on Whittmer Street: The Many Doors of God’s Mansion.
Somebody among the crowd, a golden-eyed, green-bearded individual lubricated by several bottles of the Kid’s Best Ale, had decided to take this opportunity to pontificate on the subject of how dangerous humankind and its wicked technologies could be. He had plenty of supporters and friends among the crowd, who quickly provided him with a couple of fish crates to stand on, from which perch he let loose a venomous tirade. “If the tide carried their treasures here,” he said, “then it’s going to bring some of their owners too. We need to be ready. We all know what the people of the Hereafter will do if they come back. They’ll be after the Abarataraba again.”
He had only got that far when Candy heard somebody nearby murmur her name.
She looked around, and quickly found a friendly face, that of Izarith, who’d taken the trouble to look after Candy when she’d first ventured into the chaotic interior of The Great Head. She’d fed Candy, and given her a warm fire by which to dry herself, even given Candy her first Abaratian garments to wear. Izarith was a Skizmut; her people