By Richard Ferrone, Clive Barker, HarperAudio
A trip past mind's eye is set to spread. . . . It starts within the so much uninteresting position on the planet: Chickentown, U.S.A. There lives sweet Quackenbush, her center bursting for a few clue as to what her destiny may carry. whilst the reply comes, it isn't one she expects. Welcome to the Abarat.
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Additional info for Abarat (Abarat, 1)
It blessed every nail and board from prow to stern, every grommet, every oar, every pivot, every fleck of paint, every inch of rope. It touched the women too, inspiring fresh life in their weary bones and warming their icy skin. All of this took perhaps ten seconds. Then the clouds began to close again, cutting the moonlight off. Just as abruptly as it had begun, the blessing was over. The sea seemed doubly dark when the light had passed away, the wind keener. But the timbers of the boat had acquired a subtle luminescence from the appearance of the moon, and they were stronger for the benediction they had received.
Miss Schwartz had picked on her one too many times. She was a ridiculous woman anyway, with her endless snide remarks and her ludicrous obsession with chickens. ” Candy said, her voice echoing down the empty passageway. The door at the end of the corridor was open. Through it she could see the sunlit yard, and beyond the yard the school gate and the street. It would be so easy, she thought, just to walk out of here right now and never have to hear Miss Schwartz pontificate on the Glories of Chicken Farming ever again.
Which way now? she thought. She couldn’t wait at the intersection forever. And then the decision was made for her. A gust of wind came down Stillman Street from the direction of the chicken factory. It stank of chicken excrement and worse. I’m not going to take Stillman Street, she thought to herself. So that left Lincoln. Without another thought, she turned the corner, and as soon as she’d done so she knew that was the decision she was supposed to make. Not only did the foul smell disappear almost completely, but there—at the far end of the street, where Lincoln ran out of houses and gave way to the prairie—was a cloud, vast and shaped like some enormous flower, blossoming as the wind carried it south, away from town.