Delivery to the Lost City

by P. G. Bell

  “We assume it’s a curse placed on the book by the original owners to stop us hanging on to it,” said Neoma. “They might have been happy to let us borrow it for a few hundred thousand years, but it seems they’re serious about getting it back.”

  “Except that nobody knows how to find them,” said Suzy flatly.

  “Surely there’s something in your records that can help?” said Wilmot. “Or a label in the book, perhaps.” He tried to pry the cover open, but the metal clasp held it shut.

  “You’re wasting your time,” said Frederick. “It’s sealed with magic. There isn’t even a key.”

  Suzy’s dad put his hand up. “Sorry, but how do people read it if you can’t open it?”

  “They don’t,” said Frederick. “As far as we know, it’s the only book in the tower that’s never been read. We hardly know anything about it at all, really, except its title and where it came from.”

  Suzy frowned. “But that’s the only thing we do need to know, isn’t it?”

  “Knowing what you’re looking for and actually finding it are two different things,” said Neoma.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t solve if we put our minds to it,” said Wilmot. “Now tell me, where exactly do we need to take this book?”

  Before Frederick could reply, another voice, as low and thin as the sigh of wind through an old cave, spoke. “Take me back to Hydroborea.”

  Everyone froze. Suzy felt the hairs on her arms bristle.

  “Did that book just speak?” her mom whispered.

  “Yes,” said Neoma, her face hardening. “Yes, it did.” She stood up and unholstered her pistol. “What are you?” she demanded, addressing the book.

  “I am overdue,” the book intoned. “Take me back to Hydroborea.”

  “Hydroborea?” said Wilmot in an awed whisper. “But that’s impossible.”

  “We’ll take you anywhere if it stops you from eating your way through our library,” Neoma replied. “Just tell us how to get there.” When the book did not reply, she prodded it with the muzzle of her pistol. “Hello? Are you listening?” She turned her furious gaze on Frederick. “You didn’t tell me it could talk.”

  “Because I didn’t know!” he shot back. “It’s never done it before.”

  They were interrupted by Mr. Trellis, who slapped his hand down on the desk. “Wilmot, lad! Your satchel!”

  Wilmot looked down and gave a cry of dismay at the thin coils of inky smoke working their way out from beneath the flap of his satchel. He tore it open and pulled out a handful of blank papers. “Oh no, my delivery forms!” he cried.

  A second later, Suzy’s mom leaped to her feet as though she had been stung. Black smoke curled out of her trouser pocket, and he reached in and pulled out her phone. The smoke was lifting away from the screen.

  “What’s it doing to my apps?” she said. “My messages! My emails!” She swiped desperately at the screen, but Suzy could see the icons melting away beneath her finger-tips, leaving blank spaces behind in the phone’s background wallpaper. Then even that was gone, leaving the screen white and empty.

  “And my merchandise!” said Dorothy as the rack of T-shirts was sucked clean.

  There was a hissing sound, like breath being drawn in through teeth, and the lines of black smoke arrowed toward the book. Neoma picked it up and held it at eye level.

  “That’s enough!” she barked. “Stop this.”

  “I cannot,” said the book. “I have been asleep for so long and I am hungry. This is the penalty for an overdue return.”

  “Then you leave me no choice,” said Neoma. She turned to the glass cylinder she had left on the desk, prized its lid open, and dropped the book inside. “Stand back, everyone,” she ordered. “And cover your eyes.”

  “Wait!” said Frederick. “What about—?”

  But it was too late. Neoma snapped the lid shut and pressed a big red button on the cylinder’s top. Suzy just had time to shield her eyes before the cylinder lit up like a small sun. There was a fearsome roar of noise and Suzy’s mom grabbed her so tightly it hurt.

  “Get down!” cried her dad. Suzy felt him throw himself against them, knocking them off their feet as the atrium disappeared in a blinding flash.

  5

  TALE AS OLD AS TIME

  For a few seconds, all Suzy could sense was the crushing weight of her parents on top of her and a faint ringing in her ears. The sound resolved itself into shouts and screams of consternation, echoing back and forth around the atrium.

  She forced her way out from beneath her parents and blinked away the splodgy blur on her retinas to find that everything looked just as it had a few moments before, except for the glass cylinder on the reception desk, which was now full of a writhing mass of bright light, like bottled lightning.

  “Mom? Dad? Are you all right?” she asked, helping them both to their feet. They looked shocked and ashen-faced, but they both nodded.

  “What sort of a library is this?” said Suzy’s mom. “They’re insane!”

  “I think I agree with your mother,” said Suzy’s dad.

  “Stop overreacting, you two,” said Neoma, leaning against the reception desk as though nothing had happened. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Frederick emerged from behind the two Lunar Guards, his hair badly ruffled. “To be fair, Neoma, you could have given us a bit of warning. You’re not supposed to operate a quantum shredder without full protective gear.”

  Wilmot, Mr. Trellis, Gertrude, and Dorothy popped up from behind one of the piles of blank books. “Is that what this is?” asked Wilmot, taking a few nervous steps toward the cylinder.

  “Yes, it breaks down any object to the subatomic level,” said Neoma. “I use it for all the boring paperwork I don’t want to deal with.” She hit the button on top of the shredder, and its glow began to fade.

  “That’s a pity,” said Wilmot. “This would have been our most important delivery yet.”

  Suzy couldn’t say that she felt the loss as keenly as he did. The voice from the book had unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite identify. It had been old and powerful, and it had made her feel very small in comparison. But as her heart rate slowed, she realized that her most persuasive argument for remaining a postie had just been vaporized. Worse, it had scared her parents half to death in the process. So much for my plan to win them over, she thought glumly. They’re never going to let me be a postie after this.

  “I am not boring.”

  Suzy flinched. The low, hollow voice came from inside the shredder, and everyone turned to stare at it as the last of its glow faded. The book was still inside it, completely unscathed.

  “Impossible!” said Neoma, wrenching the lid open. She pulled the book out and shook it. “You’re supposed to be a subatomic vapor by now.”

  “You said I was boring paperwork,” said the book. “But I am not.”

  Neoma gripped the book so hard its leather creaked. “Then tell me what you really are,” she demanded.

  “I am overdue,” the book replied. “Take me back to Hydroborea.”

  Wilmot stared at the book in wonder. “Is that really where you’re from?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said the book.

  “Gosh,” said Wilmot. “That’s fantastic.”

  “Why?” said Suzy. “Where’s Hydroborea?”

  “Oh, come on,” said Frederick. “Don’t tell me this is another stupidly obvious thing you’ve never heard of.”

  Suzy scowled at him. “Then why not help me learn, Mr. Expert?”

  “Hydroborea,” he said. “The lost city? You really don’t know about it?”

  Suzy folded her arms. “I’m listening.”

  Frederick sighed. “When the Impossible Places first came together as a union, the people built two towers—one a stronghold of knowledge and the other a stronghold of justice.”

  “You mean the Ivory and Obsidian Towers.” Suzy rolled her eyes. “I’m not a complete beginner, Frederick.”

&nb
sp; “I know,” he said. “But some of the stories say there used to be a third tower, built long before the Union was formed. The Gilded Tower. A stronghold of magic.”

  Suzy felt her brain fizz with sudden curiosity, but not wanting to give Frederick the satisfaction, she did her best to hide it. “And?”

  “They say the tower was part of an ancient city called Hydroborea,” said Frederick, “and that the people who lived there were the very first to discover magic, back in the dawn of time. They became the most powerful sorcerers who ever lived, and ushered in a golden age of peace and prosperity. They helped found the Union and shared their powers with the other Impossible Places.”

  “My mum used to tell me bedtime stories about Hydroborea,” said Mr. Trellis with a wistful smile.

  “Ours did, too, didn’t she, Gert?” said Dorothy. “According to the stories, every Hydroborean house was made of solid gold, and there was so much magic in the air that the people only had to wish for something to make it real.”

  “Yes, and they made the sky above the city shine a thousand different colors,” said Gertrude. “And not a drop of rain ever fell on their heads.”

  “It all sounds wonderful,” said Suzy. “So what happened to it?”

  Frederick turned his hands up and shrugged. “That depends on which story you want to believe,” he said. “Some say there was a natural disaster. Others claim that the Hydroboreans let their magic get out of hand, and it overwhelmed them. But whatever happened, the city—and the world it was on—just disappeared without a trace one day. No one’s seen or heard from Hydroborea in almost five hundred thousand years.”

  “Then how do you know it even exists anymore?” said Suzy.

  “I don’t,” said Frederick. “No one does.”

  Suzy’s mother spoke up. “You can’t possibly expect Suzy to deliver the book to a city that isn’t there. Do you even have a map?”

  “We had lots of maps,” said Frederick. “But the book ate them.”

  “They were very interesting,” said the book. “So much changed while I slept. There are so many new places and pathways to explore, and yet Hydroborea is not among them.”

  Neoma scowled at it. “You mean you don’t know where it is either?”

  “I do not,” said the book. “I was sent away from the city before it disappeared. Now you must find it again and take me there.”

  “Of course,” said Neoma dryly. “But here’s another question—why shouldn’t I just have the crew of the Express drop you in the deepest, darkest hole they can find? That would solve our problem pretty quickly.”

  “Because the penalty for the overdue return will only be lifted once I am delivered to Hydroborea,” said the book.

  This made Frederick stand up straighter. “You mean you’ll give back all the words you’ve taken?”

  “Once the magic binding me is lifted,” said the book. “And you only have one day in which to do so.”

  “Why?” said Suzy. “What happens after that?”

  “The penalty becomes permanent,” the book replied. “Your words will be mine to keep.”

  Frederick went even paler than usual.

  “That settles it, then,” said Neoma, turning to Wilmot. “I don’t care what it takes; I need you to deliver this book. Can you do it?”

  Wilmot drew himself up to his full height, which was a good two feet shorter than Neoma, and puffed his chest out. “We’ll give you the absolute highest priority, most guaranteed service the Express can offer,” he said solemnly. “It’s called the Gold Stamp Special.”

  Gertrude, Dorothy, and Mr. Trellis all gasped.

  “Wilmot, no!” said Gertrude.

  “Think of the risks, lad!” said Mr. Trellis. “It’s not worth it!”

  Suzy looked from them to Wilmot in confusion and mounting alarm. “What are they talking about?” she whispered to Wilmot. “What risks?”

  “Never mind that,” said Neoma. “What does this Gold Stamp do that’s so special?”

  Wilmot wet his lips. “It dedicates the Express and her crew to your delivery, and your delivery alone, in perpetuity,” he said. “In other words, we guarantee never to undertake any other delivery until yours has been successfully completed.”

  “Wait,” said Suzy. “That means if we can’t find Hydroborea…”

  “Then we’ll have to keep searching until we do,” he replied, his face carefully impassive. “Yes, I know.”

  “But what if Hydroborea isn’t out there to be found?” said Gertrude. “You could be searching for the rest of your lives!”

  “Remember the Night Flier, my boy,” said Mr. Trellis, shaking a finger at Wilmot. “When I was a lad, it was the fastest Postal Express train in the Union. The crew were national heroes. But they signed up for a Gold Stamp Special and spent the rest of their careers trying to deliver a grocery bill to the Grand High DJ of Discopolis, all because he’d enchanted his house to teleport away whenever anyone rang his doorbell.”

  Suzy thought she saw a flicker of doubt cloud Wilmot’s eyes for a second. “I know,” he said. “But this is an emergency. If Hydroborea still exists, we’ll find it.”

  “Does it guarantee that the book never comes back here, whatever happens?” said Neoma.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  She scowled and drummed her fingers against the butt of her plasma pistol. “All right,” she said. “Do it. You’ve got one day to find Hydroborea, wherever it is, and return the book. Or spend the rest of your lives keeping it at a safe distance.”

  Suzy looked to Gertrude and Mr. Trellis for support, but they seemed every bit as shocked as she did.

  Wilmot, meanwhile, appeared to be caught somewhere between terror and excitement. “Right,” he said, forcing a nervous smile. “Um … I’m afraid the book ate all the words off my delivery form.” He produced a blank sheet of gold paper from his satchel.

  “Forget the paperwork,” said Neoma. “Get it delivered and I’ll sign anything you want once you get back.”

  Wilmot’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “I suppose a verbal agreement would do until then,” he said. “Oh, and the most important thing, of course.” He delved back into his satchel and withdrew a small oblong of gold foil, roughly five inches long. “It’s not a Gold Stamp Special without the special gold stamp,” he chuckled. “It’s supposed to have a picture of King Amylum on it, but I suppose that got sucked up, too.”

  “It did,” said the book. “His image had an unusual taste, but I think I like it. Do you have any more?”

  “I’m sorry, but these stamps are very rare,” said Wilmot. “I just hope this one still works.” He peeled the stamp’s adhesive backing off while Neoma removed the book from the shredder and set it down on the desk. Very carefully—almost reverently—Wilmot applied the stamp to the upper right corner of the book’s front cover.

  Suzy moved to Wilmot’s side and watched as the stamp’s gold foil glinted in the light. Then, quick as a flash, the glint raced out beyond the edges of the stamp and across the book’s cover before disappearing.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Magic,” said the book. “But not my own. This is a new spell.”

  “A postal spell,” said Wilmot proudly. “It’s an anti-tampering field, connected to the delivery form. You are now the official responsibility of the Impossible Postal Service and will remain in our protection until the form is signed by the recipient.”

  “Whoever that turns out to be,” said Frederick. “And isn’t a protection spell a bit redundant? The book’s already indestructible and nobody’s been able to open it for the past few hundred millennia.”

  Wilmot sniffed. “It’s just part of the service,” he said defensively. “Plus, the stamp has a tracking spell that will allow Neoma to chart our progress wherever we go. With this!” He delved into his satchel again and withdrew a magnifying glass with a thick metallic handle. He pressed a button on its side, and a glowing image of the moon sprang to life inside the lens. �
�You adjust it like this,” he said, twiddling a dial at the base of the handle. The image zoomed in until it displayed a representation of the Ivory Tower, and a gold speck glowed brightly halfway up its length. “That’s us,” he said, handing the device to Neoma. “Wherever we go, you’ll be able to find us.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Now, if that’s all taken care of, get that book out of my tower and never bring it back.”

  Suzy saw the haunted expression shared by Gertrude, Dorothy, Mr. Trellis, and her parents, and knew exactly what they were thinking: What if none of us are ever allowed back?

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Suzy, her parents, and Wilmot were hurrying back across the concourse of Center Point, with Frederick in tow. The book was stowed safely out of sight in Wilmot’s satchel, but it wasn’t enough to stop the destinations on the departure board, the nearby platform numbers, the wanted posters, and even the numerals on the face of the clock above the ticket office, from vaporizing. There were cries of consternation and alarm from the crowd as the vapor spiraled across the concourse and was vacuumed straight into the satchel.

  “Oh dear,” said Wilmot, flushing with embarrassment as people pointed and stared. “It’s going to do this everywhere we go, isn’t it? And we don’t even know where to start looking for Hydroborea.”

  “Don’t the stories give any clues?” asked Suzy.

  “None,” said Frederick. “That’s the thing about lost cities. They’re lost.”

  Suzy glowered at him. “If you’re going to be this helpful, you might as well have stayed behind.”

  “But I’m afraid he’s right,” said Wilmot. “Whatever happened to Hydroborea, it didn’t leave a single trace behind. It vanished and took its whole world with it.”

  “Brilliant,” said Suzy as they turned onto the platform where the Express was waiting. “So what about the place where its world used to be? Do we know that much at least?”

  “Not really,” said Frederick. “People have come up with lots of theories over the years, but all we know for certain is that it was somewhere in the void.”