LITMIR.BIZ

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Candy until she came barreling down the flank of the wave and all but collided with their table.

      “Hey! Watch out!” a female among the quartet complained. “And keep your distance. No spectators!”

      Three of the players were looking up at Candy now, while the fourth took the opportunity to take a surreptitious peek at the cards held by the players to his left and right. As soon as he’d done so, he concealed his cheating by feigning a great deal of interest in Candy.

      “You look lost,” said the cheat, who was a male of this hybrid species. His accent seemed vaguely French.

      “Yes, I suppose I am,” said Candy, spitting out water. “Actually, I suppose I’m very lost.”

      “Help her, Deaux-Deaux,” the cheat casually said to the player on his left. “You’re going to lose this game anyway.”

      “How do you know?”

      It was the fourth player, a female, who offered up the answer. “Because you always lose, my dear,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Now go and help the girl.”

      Deaux-Deaux glanced at his hand of cards, and seeming to realize that he was indeed going to lose, tossed them down onto the table.

      “I don’t see why we can’t play water polo like everybody else,” he complained, with more than a hint of piscatorial pout.

      Then he drained the liquor glass that was sitting on the table in front of him and did something that defied all expectation. He got up from the table, and using his enormous feet, he skipped over the water to Candy, then squatted down again in the sea beside her. The smell of his breath was potent, and he seemed to have some difficulty fixing his focus on her.

      She was familiar with people in this condition, and it irritated her, but she was happier to have company in the water than to be alone.

      “I’m Deaux-Deaux,” the creature said.

      “Yes, I heard,” Candy said. “I’m Candy Quackenbush.”

      “You’re from the Hereafter, aren’t you?” he said as they bobbed up and down together.

      “Yes, I am.”

      “If you’re thinking of going back, it’s going to be a long trip.”

      “No, no, I don’t want to go back,” Candy said. “I’m headed for the Abarat.”

      “You are?”

      At the mention of the Abarat, there was a show of interest from the rest of the table. Two of the three other players threw in their hands, leaving the cheat protesting that this was unfair because he had the winning hand.

      “That’s because you cheated, Pux,” one of the females said, and getting up in the same casual fashion as Deaux-Deaux, skipped over to Candy. Unlike her partner, she was not drunk. Indeed she studied their human visitor with a curious intensity, which put Candy in mind of the look Mischief had first given her.

      “Are you by any chance responsible for this occurrence?”

      “Which occurrence would that be?” Candy said.

      “You are, aren’t you?” the female said. “I’m Tropella, by the way.”

      “I’m very pleased—”

      “Yes, yes,” Tropella said impatiently. “You called the Izabella, didn’t you?”

      Candy saw no reason not to tell the truth. “Yes,” she admitted. “I called the sea. I didn’t realize what I was doing when—”

      Again, rather rudely, she was cut off. “Yes, yes. But why? It is forbidden.”

      “Oh, let the girl alone,” Deaux-Deaux said.

      “No, but this is not to be taken lightly. The waters were never to go back to the Hereafter. We all know that. So why—”

      “Look,” said Candy, interrupting her questioner with the same curtness she’d received from Tropella. “Can we have this conversation later? I have a friend somewhere in the sea. And I’ve lost him.”

      “Oh Lordy Lou,” said Deaux-Deaux. “What’s his name?”

      “Well, there’re eight of them. He has these brothers and they live—”

      “On his head?” Deaux-Deaux said, leaning closer to Candy, his eyes wide.

      “Yes. You know him?”

      “That can only be John Mischief,” Tropella said.

      “Yes, that’s him.”

      At the mention of John Mischief’s presence hereabouts, the remaining card player abandoned their table and skipped over to Candy. She had all their attention now.

      “You know John Mischief?” Tropella said.

      “A little.”

      “He’s a master criminal,” Pux chimed in. “Wanted on several Hours for grand larceny and the Lord alone knows what else.”

      “Really? He didn’t seem like a criminal to me. In fact, he was very polite.”

      “Oh, we don’t care if he’s a criminal,” said Tropella. “The laws of the land aren’t like the laws of the sea. We don’t have courts and prisons.”

      “We don’t have a lot of thieves,” Pux said, “because we don’t have much to steal.”

      “We’re all Sea-Skippers, by the way,” Deaux-Deaux explained.

      “And you?” Tropella said, still studying Candy with that odd intensity of hers. “You were not wanted there, perhaps?”

      “I’m sorry?”

      “You weren’t wanted in your world. Your business is in the Abarat.”

      Tropella didn’t seem to require Candy to confirm or deny this; she was simply informing her of something she’d already decided.

      “I wonder if we could do something about finding Mischief?” Candy said, looking from face to face.

      “Deaux-Deaux,” Pux said, “you have the largest voice.”

      “Oh. My pleasure,” said Deaux-Deaux.

      He clambered somewhat unsteadily onto the surface of the water and skipped up the side of the next large wave. Having reached the top, he stood there and hollered, confirming the fact that he did indeed have a voice of operatic proportions.

      “Mister Mischief!” he yelled. “We have your girlfriend and we will eat her in two minutes with a small side salad, unless you come here and save her.” He grinned at Candy. “Just kidding,” he said. “Well, Mister Mischief?” he yelled again. “Where are you?”

      “He is joking?” Candy said to Pux.

      “Oh yes,” said Pux. “We wouldn’t eat an important person like you. Sometimes we’ll take a sailor, but—” He shrugged. “—so would you if it was always fish. Yellow fish, green fish, blue fish. Fish with funny little eyes that go pop in your mouth. It gets so boring, eating fish. So yes, we eat a sailor now and then. But not you. You we will see safely to your destination. On that you may rely.”

      Deaux-Deaux was still hollering, running up waves like a man running up a down escalator so as to stay at the top.

      “Hey, Mischief! We are very, very hungry.”

      “I think the joke’s—”

      Candy was about to say over. But she never finished the sentence. Before she could do so, John Mischief erupted out of the water behind Deaux-Deaux and grabbed him around the waist. Deaux-Deaux toppled

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