Delivery to the Lost City

by P. G. Bell

  “I think you made him angry,” said Frederick.

  Suzy’s mom gave a shaky laugh. “Serves him right,” she said. “Who does he think he is?”

  Frogmaggog gave a dull roar and began stamping his way around the throne room. Hydroboreans leaped clear as his tongue lashed out and struck the crowd again and again, and the tide of people began to turn. Panic spread, and more and more civilians fought their way back toward the tower’s entrance, desperate to escape Frogmaggog’s appetite.

  “Don’t just stand there, Kecker!” said Frogmaggog. “Put this rabble in their place. I want my throne room cleared.”

  Kecker ducked the last of the flying plates that elderly newt was throwing at him. “Yes, Your Greatness!” He raised his trident, and the newt hitched up her skirts and ran. More Watch Frogs fell into line beside him, and together they advanced, driving the crowd before them.

  As the crush of people intensified, more Hydroboreans took refuge with Frederick and Suzy’s parents under the bath. Amlod, Stonker, and Fletch were among them.

  “Things don’t seem to be going terribly well, do they?” said Stonker.

  “It’s Frogmaggog,” said Amlod. “He’s too big to fight. We need something to even the odds.”

  “Like what?” said Fletch.

  A piercing whistle cut through the noise of the throne room.

  “What was that?” asked Suzy’s mom.

  “It almost sounded like a train,” said Stonker. “But it wasn’t ours.”

  The sound came again. A moment later, a tunnel mouth opened in one wall, and a streamlined silver carriage burst out of it, skidding across the polished floor until it came to rest with its nose against the bathtub.

  “That’s the Silver Zephyr!” said Frederick, jumping up. “The Ivory Tower’s private train!”

  The Zephyr’s doors burst open, and a squad of Lunar Guard piled out, plasma rifles at the ready. Neoma strode out after them, her cape billowing.

  “Hello, people of Hydroborea,” she said. “We come in peace, unless your name is Frogmaggog, in which case I’m just looking for an excuse to blow you to atoms.” She looked up at the gigantic figure standing over her. “I guess that’s you,” she said.

  Frogmaggog’s face stretched into an ugly snarl, but before he could take a step toward her, another tunnel mouth opened in the opposite wall. There was no train this time, but a tramp of heavy feet as a team of Lady Crepuscula’s statues marched out of the darkness into the throne room. Lady Crepuscula herself followed, carried in the talons of her pet gargoyle. It beat its stone wings until she was level with Frogmaggog’s startled face.

  “I understand you’ve been causing trouble,” she said, before she was cut off by the sound of a bugle issuing from a third tunnel, which had opened in the rear wall. Instead of a parade of troops, a group of elderly trolls shuffled out into the light. They wore old-fashioned postal uniforms and leaned on a variety of canes, crutches, and walkers. Most of them were chattering animatedly with one another.

  “… and so I asked him, ‘What are you looking for?’ and he said, ‘I’m a meteorologist,’ and so I went and got him every book we had on meteors, but was he happy? ’Course not.”

  “Typical academics. They never know what they want.”

  Gertrude, Dorothy, and Mr. Trellis stood at the head of the group, which fell silent as Gertrude held up a hand.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” said Frogmaggog.

  “We’re the Old Guard,” said Gertrude. “Former posties and current librarians. We’re here to bring mail thieves and book thieves to justice.”

  Mr. Trellis shuffled forward, leaning on his cane. “And that means you, sonny.”

  Frogmaggog clenched his fists. “It’s a conspiracy,” he said. “Outworlder interference in Hydroborea’s affairs.”

  “You bet it is,” said Neoma. “Now stand aside and let us retrieve the book.”

  “Never!” said Frogmaggog. He leveled a finger at her, quaking with rage. “Watch Frogs, attack!”

  As one, the army of Watch Frogs inflated their throats and let out their wailing siren cry. Then they raised their tridents and charged.

  28

  THE LAST POST

  Suzy’s hands cramped from clutching Ursel’s fur so tightly, but she didn’t dare loosen her grip. The great bear jumped and swerved, drifted and jogged her way down through the twisting city, the raging waters surging around her knees. Suzy heard Wilmot cry out behind her as a fragment of the city’s roof fell in and flattened a building up ahead. Ursel dodged left into a side street to avoid the shower of masonry, which rattled and cracked against the surrounding houses.

  At least no one was in there, Suzy thought. They had passed the tail end of the exodus one level up, and had been racing through empty streets for several minutes now.

  “Where are we?” asked Wilmot.

  “The upper end of the Midtwist district,” said Suzy. “We’re almost at the Baleen Ballroom.”

  “And how much farther from there to the H.E.C.?”

  “That depends how high the floodwaters have risen,” she replied.

  They soon had their answer. As the shattered hulk of the ballroom loomed up on their left, Ursel found herself plunging through water that now reached her shoulders.

  “Huuurnk!” she panted.

  “Too deep?” said Suzy. Ursel nodded.

  “Head for that rooftop,” she said, pointing to an angular island of tiles breaking the surface a short distance ahead. Ursel pushed off the bottom and swam for it, fighting to keep her snout above water until she was finally able to claw her way up its slope and collapse, panting for breath. Suzy and Wilmot slid off her back, and Suzy wrapped her arms around the soaking fur of her friend’s neck.

  “You’re brilliant,” she whispered. “Stay here and rest. We’ll be right back.”

  “Ronk,” Ursel replied with a weary smile.

  Maxwell wriggled out of Suzy’s pocket, unfurled his wings, and zipped around them at head height. He made a buzzing rasp that sounded a bit like a purr, until Suzy realized he was talking to himself.

  “… seveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteen…”

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Counting raindrops,” he said. “Stop distracting me.”

  The waters of the flooded lagoon in which the H.E.C. had arrived had risen to swallow half the city. The friends were surrounded by drowned buildings and flotillas of wreckage, and to Suzy’s alarm, she could actually see the water level rising. It was already creeping up the rooftop on which they stood, and in another few minutes, it would have consumed it entirely. Streetlights still shone here and there beneath the surface, but they flickered out one by one as their bowls cracked and the neon fish scattered into the depths.

  “It’s risen so far already,” said Wilmot, awed.

  “And we need to stop it rising any farther,” said Suzy. “We just need to find Aybek.”

  Wilmot scanned the rising flood and pointed. “There’s the H.E.C.,” he said. Suzy saw the caravan bobbing, half-submerged, some distance in front of them. And there, paddling toward it on a makeshift raft of driftwood, was Aybek, with Ina still in the grip of the infant kraken beside him.

  “A little help?” she shouted to them.

  Aybek saw them and started paddling faster, scooping water with both hands. Suzy jumped in without hesitating, closely followed by Wilmot. The water was ice-cold, and the shock of it almost squeezed the breath from them both. Suzy forced herself to kick and flail, half dragging the spluttering Wilmot with her. They made a lot of noise and foam, but they also made progress. They were gaining on Aybek.

  When he was still a few feet from the H.E.C., Aybek pulled the silver conch he had tricked the Watch Frog guard into giving him from inside his robes, raised it to his lips, and blew. The shell emitted a long and mournful note that made the surface of the water fizz like lemonade.

  A kraken tentacle surfaced almost immediately an
d fixed its large green eye on Suzy and Wilmot. Four more tentacles quickly followed.

  Aybek reached the H.E.C., scrambled onto its roof, and turned to them with a look of smug triumph. “Who needs engines when you’ve got an obedient sea monster?” he said. He blew on the shell again, and one of the tentacles scooped Ina up and dropped her onto the roof beside him.

  “Let me go,” Ina protested, trying in vain to wriggle free of the infant kraken’s hold.

  Suzy tried to call out but swallowed a mouthful of seawater by mistake. “We’re not going to make it,” she choked.

  “Wait a sec,” said Wilmot, clinging to her in an effort to stay afloat. He held up the kraken caller he had found in the throne room and blew hard on it. The note he made in the few seconds before he sank beneath the surface was high-pitched and wavering, and when Suzy reached down and fished him back up again, he spat an arc of seawater.

  “Did it work?” he said eagerly.

  Suzy shook her head. The kraken still reared over them. It didn’t even seem to have heard the conch.

  “I congratulate your effort, Master Grunt,” said Aybek. “But it seems my beast isn’t impressed by your musical abilities.”

  Wilmot blinked water from his eyes. “I wasn’t calling to your beast,” he said, and pointed to Ina.

  Aybek turned in time to see the infant kraken release its hold on her. Suddenly free, Ina jumped to her feet and kicked the shell from Aybek’s hands. It sailed out over the water and disappeared with a splash.

  “No!” he cried. “What have you done?”

  “You stole my book,” Ina said, grappling with him. The H.E.C. pitched and rolled beneath them as they struggled.

  “Well done, Wilmot” said Suzy, towing him toward the caravan. He grinned, accidentally swallowed more water, and spat it back out again.

  “Mom made me take trombonamaphone lessons when I turned seventy,” he said. “It looks like they finally came in handy.” He threw his own kraken caller as far into the waters as he could. “Now Maxwell is the only one who can take the H.E.C. anywhere,” he said.

  “Hopefully he won’t need to,” Suzy replied. “Let’s just get the book, the form, and Ina, and then head back to the tower before things get any worse.”

  At that moment, there was a bellow of thunder from overhead, and a jagged section of the city roof, five hundred feet across, fell in. It plunged into the water nearby, throwing up a wave that almost swamped the H.E.C. and broke over Suzy’s and Wilmot’s heads. Without Aybek’s conch to command it, the kraken retreated into the depths as an avalanche of water crashed in through the wound in the city’s shell.

  Suzy and Wilmot resurfaced, coughing and spluttering. “Quick,” said Suzy. “We need to get on board.”

  The two friends scrambled up the H.E.C.’s side and onto the roof, where Ina and Aybek were hanging on grimly. It was like riding a bucking mule, as the waters churned around them.

  This wasn’t just a flood anymore; it was a tsunami, rushing up through the city like a gigantic bulldozer, smashing buildings and peeling off roofs. Suzy looked for Ursel, but the roof on which she had been standing was already gone.

  “Ursel!” she shouted. “Maxwell! Where are you?”

  A furry red bullet whistled past her ear and began circling her head.

  “… onebillionsevenhundredandninetysixonebillionsevenhundredandninetysevenonebillionsevenhundred-and … oh, you made me lose count!” snapped Maxwell. “Now I’ll have to start again. Onetwothreefourfivesix—”

  “Get inside,” Suzy said. “And where’s Ursel?”

  “Do you mean the big, loud, yellow one?” said Maxwell. “She’s behind you.”

  Suzy turned and, to her immense relief, saw Ursel clinging to the roof with her claws.

  “Frunf,” Ursel said, spitting water. She pulled herself up and swept Suzy, Wilmot, Ina, and even Aybek in through the sunroof, before squeezing in after them. It looked like an uncomfortable procedure, and when she landed inside, she left almost no room.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Aybek, who was wedged up against the front window. “Moments away from achieving my life’s ambition, and now I’m going to die in a caravan, asphyxiated by a bear.”

  Suzy clambered over Ursel’s back and pulled the sunroof shut. “Maxwell,” she said. “We need the engines working. Can you do it?”

  “Show me,” he replied.

  Wilmot ducked under one of Ursel’s forelegs and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, revealing something that looked like a big hourglass lying on its side. Instead of sand, the glass bulbs were full of purple steam that sparkled and fizzed. A small metal plate divided one bulb from the other, and set over it was a charred stump of ruined machinery. “Here,” said Wilmot. “You can see where the bifurcator’s burned out.”

  Maxwell leaned forward on his perch and eyeballed the bulbs of steam. “What a mess!” he said. “There’s no order to these molecules at all.”

  “But can you fix it?” said Suzy. “Because we’re going to get smashed to pieces if you can’t.”

  Maxwell settled on the burned-out bifurcator, took a moment to make himself comfortable, then looked down at the glass bulbs and tutted. A crackle of electricity snapped from one of his horns to the other. As it did so, the metal gate dividing the two glass bulbs of the machine flickered. It seemed to disappear for a split second, and then it was back. “That’s a bit better,” he said. “But still so much to do.”

  “What just happened?” asked Wilmot.

  “I’m sorting,” said Maxwell, without taking his eye off the glass bulbs. His horns crackled with electricity again, and the gate flickered and reappeared. “Tidying up the fuel molecules. Now, shush! This is tricky.”

  He stared intently at the bulbs, and his horns snapped and crackled with energy every few seconds. The gate became a constant flicker that Suzy found impossible to focus on. Slowly but surely, the fuel in one of the bulbs was turning red, and the fuel in the other blue.

  Suzy snapped her fingers. “It’s thermodynamics!” she said. “The different types of molecules have different amounts of energy, so by separating them out…”

  “He ends up with one bulb of high-energy molecules and one of low energy,” Aybek finished for her. “This is all very basic.”

  The fuel in the bulbs suddenly ignited with cherry-red and ice-blue glows, respectively. There was a hum of power, and the lights on the console flickered on.

  “He’s done it!” said Wilmot. “He’s got the power back. Maxwell is the new bifurcator!”

  Maxwell was ignoring them entirely now. He leaned forward in his seat, his eye wide and unblinking, darting back and forth between the two bulbs. His horns crackled ceaselessly now, and the metal gate was flickering so quickly it was virtually invisible.

  “Get us out of here, Wilmot,” said Suzy. “This flood’s about to hit the throne room and we’ve got to get there first.”

  Wilmot shuffled out from underneath Ursel and jumped at the controls. “Hold on,” he said. “This might be rough.”

  He pressed the launch button and the H.E.C. leaped upward, blasting clear of the flood waters in a pall of flame. Wilmot gripped the console and steered their course up through the city, weaving between buildings and punching headlong through sheets of falling water as the tsunami crashed at their heels.

  “Ten minutes left,” said Suzy, checking her watch. “Have we got enough power to reach the palace?”

  “More than enough,” said Wilmot. “I’m just not sure we’ve got good enough brakes to stop when we get there.”

  * * *

  The tide of battle in the throne room was shifting. The Lunar Guard and Crepuscula’s statues charged at the Watch Frogs together, breaking their ranks and keeping them away from the civilians, while Frederick helped Suzy’s parents, the Old Guard, Fletch, and Stonker shepherd as many new civilians as possible in through the entrance to the tower.

  At the same time, Neoma and Crepuscula were doing their best to distract F
rogmaggog, alternating between blasts of plasma-rifle fire and icy magic. A stray shot had broken Tenebrae’s cage open, and he joined the attack, swooping at Frogmaggog from above and striking with his talons.

  “I’m going to eat the lot of you,” Frogmaggog said, trying to stamp on Neoma. “I don’t care how much indigestion it gives me.”

  He came within a few inches of swatting Crepuscula’s gargoyle from the air, when the shockwave from the collapse of the Midtwist district hit the throne room, throwing him off balance. The blast was followed by a rush of cold air and the steady roar of the approaching tsunami.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Suzy’s dad, helping a procession of elderly frogs across the threshold. “Is there any sign of the others?”

  Frederick fought to see out over the heads of the crowd. Apart from the last few stragglers outside, the grand boulevard was deserted. “Not yet,” he said.

  The ground shook, the wind blew stronger, and a wall of dirty seawater thundered into view around the curve of the boulevard. Frederick felt his heart drop into his stomach—the wave stretched from the road to the city roof, tearing open buildings as if they were made of paper.

  “Close the doors!” shouted Stonker.

  “But what about Suzy and the others?” said Suzy’s mom, carrying a young newt girl to safety. “They’re still out there.”

  Frederick pulled the last refugee—a frog in a pin-striped suit—inside as the throne room doors started to swing shut, but it was a painfully slow process and the water was already halfway along the boulevard. Then he spotted a bright flash amid the carnage. There, riding a trail of fire in front of the wave, was the H.E.C.

  “It’s them!” cried Frederick. “They’re coming!” And then, in a sudden panic, “Hold the doors!”

  The gates paused, three quarters closed, and Frederick had to will himself not to look away as the H.E.C. hurtled toward them. The gap was barely large enough.

  “Got you!” In all the confusion, Neoma had taken her eyes off Frogmaggog for a second, and he stooped down and picked her up. She struggled against his tightening grip.