T he sea of izabella was considerably colder than Candy had expected. It was gaspingly cold; iced-to-the-marrow cold. But it was too late for her to change her mind now. With the ball knocked out of the cup by Mischief's bullet, the Sea of Izabella was retreating from the jetty at the same extraordinary speed at which it had first appeared. And it was carrying Candy and the John brothers along with it.

The waters seemed to have a life of their own; several times the sheer force of their energies threatened to pull her under. But Mischief had the trick of it.

"Don't try to swim," he yelled to her over the roar of the retreating seas. "Just trust to Mama Izabella to take us where She wants to take us."

Candy had little choice, she quickly realized. The sea was an irresistible power. So why not just lie back and enjoy the ride?

She did so, and it worked like a charm. The moment Candy stopped flailing, and trusted the sea not to harm her, the Izabella buoyed her up, the waves lifting her so high that on occasion she caught sight of the jetty and the lighthouse. They were already very far off, left behind in another world.

She scanned the waters looking for Shape, but she couldn't see him.

"You're looking for Mr. Shape?" said John Slop.

He didn't need to yell any longer. Now that they were a good distance from the shore, the waves were no longer so noisy.

"Yes, I was," Candy said, spitting out water every five or six words. "But I don't see him."

"He has a glyph ," Mischief said, by way of explanation.

"A glyph? What's a glyph?"

"It's a craft; a flying machine. Well, actually it's words that turn into a flying machine."

"She doesn't understand what you're saying, Mischief," John Sallow said.

Sallow was right. Candy was completely confused by what Mischief was telling her. Words that turn into vehicles? Despite the look of incomprehension on her face, Mischief pressed on with his explanation.

"The better you are at magic, the more quickly you can conjure a glyph. For the really expert magician, someone who knows his summonings, it can be almost instantaneous. Two or three words and you've got a flying machine. But it will take Shape several minutes to conjure it. He's not a bright fellow. And if you get the conjuration wrong, it can be very messy."

"Messy? Why?"

"Because glyphs get you up in the air," Mischief said, pointing skyward. "But if they fail for some reason—"

"You fall," said Candy.

"You fall," Mischief said. "One of my sisters died in a decaying glyph."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Candy said.

"She was being abducted at the time," he said rather matter-of-factly.

"That's terrible."

"We later found out she'd arranged it all."

"I don't understand. Arranged to be abducted?"

"Yes. She was in love with this fellow, you see, who did not love her. So she arranged to be abducted so that he would come after her and save her."

"And did he?"

"No."

"So she died for love."

"It happens," said John Fillet.

"And what of you, lady?" said John Drowze. "Do you have any sisters?"

"No."

"Brothers? Mother? Father?"

"Yes. Yes. And yes."

"I don't see you mourning the fact that you may never see them again," John Serpent said, rather sharply.

"Be quiet, John," Mischief snapped.

"She may as well hear the truth," John Serpent replied. "There's a very good chance she will never see her home again."

Something about the expression on his face suggested to Candy that he was taking pleasure in attempting to scare her. "We're going to the Abarat, girl," Serpent went on. "It's a very unpredictable place."

"So's the Hereafter," Candy said, not about to be intimidated by Serpent.

"Nothing to compare!" Serpent said. "A few tornadoes? A few poxes? Inconsequential stuff. The Abarat has terrors that will turn your hair white! That's even assuming we reach the islands."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Mama Izabella contains a wide variety of beasts that will have you as an appetizer."

"Enough , Serpent," Mischief said.

"Does he mean sharks?" Candy said, not wishing to exhibit too much nervousness, but already scanning the waters for a telltale dorsal fin.

"Sharks I'm not familiar with," Mischief replied. "But the Great Green Mantizac would certainly swallow us whole. We're not red, you see."

"Red?"

"The creatures in the Izabella leave the color red alone. That's why all the ships and boats and ferries on the Sea of Izabella—every single one—are painted red."

Candy was listening to this, but in truth she was only half hearing it. The flurry of events on the jetty hadn't given her time to properly think through the consequences of what she was doing. Now she had committed herself to the waters, and there was no way back. Perhaps she might never see her family again.

What would it be like in the house, when the family realized that she'd gone? They would surely assume the worst: think she'd been abducted or simply run away.

It was her mother she was most concerned about, because she'd take it the hardest. Hopefully there'd be some way to get a message to her when she reached their destination.

"You're not regretting that you came, I hope?" Mischief said, his expression suggesting he was feeling a little guilty for his own part in this.

"No," Candy replied firmly. "Absolutely not."

The words had no sooner escaped her lips than a big wave lifted her up and wrenched her away from the John brothers. In just a couple of seconds, she and Mischief were carried away from one another. She heard three or four of the brothers yelling to her, but she couldn't make sense of what they were saying. She caught sight of them in the dip between the waves, but the glimpse was brief. The next moment they were gone.

"I'm over here !" she yelled, hoping that Mischief was a stronger swimmer than she was and would be able to make his way back to her. But the words were no sooner out of her mouth than another wave of substantial size came along and carried her even farther away from the spot where they'd been parted.

A little twitch of fear clutched her stomach.

"Don't panic," she told herself. "Whatever you do, don't panic." But her own advice was hard to take. The waves were getting larger all the time, each one carrying her a little higher than the one that preceded it and then delivering her into an even deeper trough.

However much she told herself not to be afraid, there was no escaping from the facts. She was suddenly alone in an alien sea, filled with all kinds of—

Her panic stopped in its tracks, shocked out of her by a sight of such peculiarity all other concerns were forgotten.

There, squatting around a small table at the bottom of the next wave were four card players. The table around which they were sitting was apparently floating freely a couple of inches above the surface of the water, and the players were squatted around it, the very picture of nonchalance.

Candy just had time to think, I've seen everything now .

Then another wave caught her, and she was carried down its steep blue slope into the midst of the game.

T he four players were a mixture of species. Their skin was scaly and had a silvery-green gleam to it, while their hands, in which they held fans of very battered playing cards, were webbed. Their faces, however, possessed all the features of a human face but seasoned with a hint of fish. The game they were immersed in seemed to be demanding their full attention, because not one of the four noticed 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."