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

plagued by the occasional melancholy. I even took some medicines for it.
 But . . . coming to this world transformed me in some fundamental way. I mean, I was always curious and lively. But not the way I am now. I do get reckless at times, don’t I?”
    Hap coughed and nodded, thinking about all the moments he’d spent on the brink of death, owing to Umber’s mania.
    “Something to ponder, at any rate,” Umber said, ending the sentence with a powerful yawn. “Time for bed, I think. Does it bother you, Hap, that you never sleep?”
    Hap shrugged. “I don’t see the advantage of it, I suppose. It’s like dying for a little while.”
    Umber’s head rocked back. “ There’s a lovely thought to comfort my dreams. You want advantages? Well, if you have a rotten day, it’s a chance to turn the page. You fall asleep and tell yourself the next one will be better. And it helps you mark time. Does it all blur together for you?”
    Hap considered that and nodded. “It’s all been a blur. From the start.” He said good night and left the room, bringing Caspar’s journal to read during the lonely night.
    “I see it now,” Umber said.
    The Verdant Isle was on the horizon. Hours of sunlight still remained; Sandar had gotten the Bounder there even faster than promised. The island was modest in size and hilly, with vegetation thicker and wilder than any Hap had seen before.
    “Looks like a jungle, doesn’t it?” Umber said.
    “I suppose,” Hap said. He’d never seen a jungle. “Lord Umber, who is this man we’re going to see?”
    “A friend of mine with a particular expertise: botanical wizardry. His name is Fendofel. You’ve seen those remarkable plants on my terrace, like the tree of many fruits? Most of them came from Fendofel. If anyone can identify that thorny nut, it’s him.”
    “How long have you known him?” Hap asked.
    “A while—we met soon after I got here. He’s a dear old man, and I owed him a visit long before this. Things have been hectic since we met you, though.” He turned and called to Sandar with one hand cupped beside his mouth. “Not too close, Sandar, or that living weed will foul her rudder!”
    “I remember,” Sandar said, frowning at a memory. The Bounder reduced sail until it nudged forward with the island looming ahead. “That’ll do—drop anchor, boys!”
    Hap stared at the island. It had no beach—the thick and tangled vegetation reached to the sea and formed a formidable barrier along the island’s perimeter. But on the shore just ahead he saw a stone ramp that emerged from the growth and sloped into the water. I guess that’s where we land, he thought.
    The Bounder’s jolly boat was lowered, with Umber, Hap, Oates, Balfour, and Sophie on board. Oates rowed them closer to the island. Hap’s fear of water was not as intense as it used to be, but he still wasn’t fond of the sea, especially in a small vessel that bobbed so vigorously in the waves. He looked over the side, hoping to see the bottom close below. Instead a forest of seaweed swayed and rippled a few feet below. He gasped as the weeds sprang to life and broke the surface, surrounding the boat. The passengers lurched as their progress was abruptly stopped.
    “This again?” groused Oates. The weeds were wrapped around both his oars. When he tried to raise them from the water, the weeds tugged them back down. The boat shook from side to side, a sudden motion that felt like a warning.
    “Be calm, Oates,” Umber said. “This isn’t your first time here, for heaven’s sake. You know how it goes.” He leaned forward and gazed at the edge of the jungle.
    “I wish someone would tell me how it goes,” Hap said quietly to Sophie.
    “I thought you knew,” she said. “Don’t worry. Dendra will be here soon.”
    “Dendra? Who is Dendra?”
    Sophie smiled. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
    Hap pouted back at her. “You’ve been hanging around Umber too long.”
    The edge of the heavy