The End of Time by P. W. Catanese, David Ho Page B

“But Balfour wasn’t there. You were. I want to hear it from you.”
    Hap hugged the ancient books to his chest. “We . . . we went back to the island of Desolas, where your brother was trapped by the curse of the bidmis. A man who was chasing us fired an arrow at Umber, but it struck Caspar instead.”
    Smudge twisted his beard. “Did he suffer greatly?”
    Hap felt a lump form in his throat. They had all agreed that Smudge should never learn what happened next: that they had brought Caspar’s body to be devoured by the soul crabs, so those awful creatures could speak in his voice and reveal the location of the archives that he’d stolen from Lord Umber. They did it because the fate of another world might depend on the retrieval of those secrets. But now they had to live with the terrible notion that they might have committed Caspar’s soul to an even darker fate.
    “No,” Hap said, when he was able to respond. “That was the end of his suffering. I think he was relieved, in a way. To finally escape the bidmis.”
    Smudge smoothed his beard, coughed, and raised himself out of his perpetual hunch. “I see.” Something else was on Smudge’s mind, Hap could see, and so he waited.
    “I suppose I am Umber’s archivist now. For good, I mean. Since Brother Caspar will not come back.”
    Hap inclined his head. “Yes, I suppose you are.”
    Smudge squeezed his eyes nearly shut and scratched inside his ear. “Is it wrong to be glad about that, while I also mourn the loss of my brother?”
    “I suppose not,” Hap said, uncertain of his own reply. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

 
CHAPTER
10
    Hap was nibbling on muffins that Balfour had baked, with Smudge’s volumes pushed safely aside, when Sophie rushed down the stairs. A patch of fresh paint glistened on her smock. “Lord Umber is awake, but I think something’s wrong with him!”
    Lady Truden shot up from her chair. “What? What’s the matter?”
    Sophie gulped and averted her eyes. “You should come up and see.”
    Tru dashed for the stairs, running with the sides of her gown bunched in her fists. Hap and Sophie followed, not daring to pass her. Hap heard Balfour and Oates rushing to join them.
    When they reached the terrace, they were startled to hear Umber hooting and laughing. He was shirtless, standing behind one of the largest planters on the terrace with a shovel in his hand. Dirt was flung all around him, and the small tree that previously occupied the planter had been uprooted and cast aside. Umber climbed onto the waist-high planter to stomp down the fresh pile of dirt. Oates snorted out a laugh. It was clear then that Umber was pantsless as well as shirtless, and in fact was entirely naked except for the striped socks that reached to his knees. He began to sing loudly, drawing out the notes and laughing: “Oh give me a home, where the buffalo rooooooaaaaam!”
    Sophie turned away, blushing. Lady Truden cried out and covered her face with her hands, though Hap was pretty sure he saw her peering out from between parted fingers.
    “What’s the matter with him?” Tru shouted.
    “At least he’s not depressed,” Balfour said, chuckling.
    “This isn’t funny, you old fool,” Tru shot back. “What sort of plant did that idiot wizard give you?”
    “You’re the one who made the tea,” Oates reminded her.
    Umber raised his face to the sky and howled more of the song. “And the deer and the antelope plaaaaaaay, ha-ha!”
    Tru jabbed Balfour’s chest with a finger. “Don’t blame this on me. I did exactly what you told me! I made tea from seventy leaves!”
    “What is an anti-lope?” Oates wondered.
    “Seventy?” cried Balfour. “There’s the trouble. I told you seventeen.”
    Umber held the shovel horizontally in two hands, and kicked one way, and then the other. “Where seldom is heeeard . . .”
    “You told me seventy!” Tru shouted, snarling. “There’s nothing wrong with my ears.”
    “I heard him say