by Jack Conner
Eyes glinting feverishly, the Prince coiled his arm, thrust again.
Lynch stumbled back onto the landing, just out of range. He meant to pass through the door and into the servants’ hall, where he would have the room he needed to use his rifle -- no time to go for the pistol -- but his back bumped against the door. Damn! The guard he’d killed at the doorway had slumped up against the door and was preventing him from opening it.
“Ha!” the Prince snarled and hurled himself forward.
The sword whistled as it clove the air. The Prince’s eyes glittered like those of a jungle cat, and his body was lean and toned.
Lynch hurled himself to the side, slamming against the stone wall. The sword sailed past -- sliced his arm and embedded in the door. The Prince yanked at it, but it remained stuck in the thick wood.
Lynch and the Prince exchanged a look. The Prince’s eyes were not so confident now.
Lynch tossed down the rifle -- the quarters were too close to use it -- and snatched out his pistol.
Michael yanked his sword free. Coiled his arm to thrust --
Lynch shot him in the chest. The Prince fell backward. Lynch shot again, the gunshot loud in the stairwell. The Prince landed on the pile of bodies, blood bubbling from his wounds. Some burst from between his lips. He still lived, though, and he tried to crawl backward, reaching for one of the guards’ weapons. Lynch, remembering the Prince’s miraculous recovery, aimed at Michael’s head.
“Bastard!” Michael said. “I can’t believe I’m being killed by a -- a goddamn cripple!”
The gunshot echoed for a long time.
***
Panting and sweating, blood cascading from his right arm where the Prince had sliced him, Lynch forced open the door and staggered through the suite. His breaths came fast and labored.
When he returned to the living area that let out onto the terrace, the dirigible was just lifting off.
“No you don’t,” he said.
He raised his rifle and stumbled out onto the terrace. Cold wind whipped at him, but he barely felt it. He saw only the black shape of the dirigible against the stars, rising from the terrace.
He shoved the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, aimed at the balloon, and fired until the gun clicked empty. Even as he threw it down and reached for the pistol, the dirigible sagged. He laughed, not entirely sane.
Self-preservation stealing back over him, he backed away. The airship dropped to the level of the terrace -- he was glad it didn’t sink too fast, he didn’t want Eliza to be hurt -- then, strangely, halted.
That made no sense. The dirigible should have continued sinking.
Soldiers aboard the craft took aim, and Lynch ducked behind the cement bed of one row of Michael’s plants. Guns fired. Chips of cement flew, and bits of vegetation filled the air. Lynch jumped up, took a shot, then two, at the balloon. Still it refused to deflate. He ducked as more rounds sought him, scooted down and popped up again. This time the tall, white figure of the Queen had stepped forward, and she waved the troops back.
“The hell with it.”
Lynch aimed at her face -- her perfect, beautiful face.
She waved her arm in his direction, and suddenly a blast of hot air enveloped him. Scalded him. He screamed. Another blast of superheated air struck about him, and he hurled himself behind the concrete bed. Flowers burst into flames. The stench of scorched plants filled the air. Fire erupted all about. The glass windows shattered.
Lynch dashed through the broken doors of the terrace. More gusts of hot air whipped about him. Fire burst from couches and drapes. Walls spurted gouts of flame.
He glanced back, once, to see the dirigible rise back into the air, then he ran, as swift as he could down through the tower. Fire chased him. He was panting and sweating by the time he ascended Queen Fontaine’s spire. The two soldiers that guarded her suite he shot until they quit moving, then he wrenched open her door and shouted for her to come. Deathly-white, she appeared, already holding a handbag.
“That’s my girl!” he said.
“I was on the balcony . . .”
He grabbed her free hand. “Then let us be off.”
She turned ashen as she stepped over the bodies of her guards, but she said nothing, and Lynch led her down through the Palace even as it burned around them. Ceilings collapsed, and flame roared down proud hallways.
Half an hour later he smoked a cigarette and drank coffee on the lawn of the palace while fire engines futilely attempted to douse the conflagration. Fire licked the grandiose towers, the scorched remnants of the dome -- the glass had cracked some time ago and only skeletal arches remained -- and, as Lynch watched, one of the towers burst and shattered. Sparks erupted brightly.
Activity buzzed around Queen Fontaine. The grounds swarmed with soldiers, cops, and members of various secret services. A host of Parliament members had turned out as well, and Lynch scowled at the Prime Minister.
“What’s the word, old girl?” Lynch asked Queen Fontaine as he walked over to her.
Sipping a scotch without ice or water, she looked up at him from her chair. She looked remarkably composed for an old woman that had just lost her son and had been burned out of her home -- even better for a monarch that just survived an assassination attempt and then had her ancient, storied palace burn to the ground.
“It’s not good,” she said. “Word’s just arrived that every plane we send against them falls from the sky. The dirigible plows on, undisturbed. It’s the damndest thing.”
“And no anti-aircraft shells can hit them?”
“Not a one.” Fontaine took another long sip of her drink. It was very good stuff. Lynch had liberally diluted his coffee with it.
“They’re still headed toward the mountains?” he asked. When she nodded, Lynch turned to the southeast as if he could see the peaks from this distance. “I wonder, what’s there? I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”
“You still intend on going with them?” Her voice was sharp.
He nodded to the army men even then mobilizing for war. “I do. It’s been some time since I served your queenship in uniform, but I remember enough to survive the trip. Don’t eat the rations -- rule number one.”
“The offer still stands, if you wish to be reinstated. After what you’ve done for me . . . saving my life, my crown . . . preventing Casveigh from being handed over to the Third Reich . . .”
He sucked on his cigarette. “No thanks, mum. I’ve had it with the uniform. Besides, I don’t think I saved Casveigh at all.”
“No?”
“No. No one tried to stop her when she set fire to the Palace. I’m sure they fear her, but beyond that I think they simply didn’t need Michael anymore. They’d seduced him just so they could get access to the Sarcophagus. When they had her, they were done with him. Whatever they want the Queen for, I’m afraid it’s much worse than forcing Casveigh to surrender.”
Queen Fontaine looked distressed, and he patted her on the back.
“Buck up, mum. I’ll sort things out -- after I hitch a ride with your boys to the mountains.” He took another drag, and the end of his cigarette glowed. “And whatever’s waiting for us there.”
Chapter 20
Wind whipped Eliza’s hair and misted her eyes as she piloted the dirigible toward the mountains ahead. Dawn bathed the jagged peaks in a red, bloody glow. Being this close to the Front made her nervous -- Casveigh soldiers fought the legions of the Count not far away -- but she was more nervous about what lay at her destination. Of course, she had little idea beyond that it was a city of some sort, if it was, but if so that it was likely akin to the underground one. Nevertheless, her imagination ran wild.
“Bear south-by-southeast,” Lord Wilhelm instructed, guiding her as they passed over the first mountain peak. Densely wooded slopes and rocky crests rolled away below. She saw a distant squadron of fighter planes and realized she was much closer to the Front than she’d thought.
“You’ve been there before?
” she asked.
“Make this thing go faster, would you.”
“What will she do there?”
“Perform the Ascendance. Faster, I said.”
She checked her impatience, adjusting the speed. “Is she human?”
“Once. She’s transcended humanity. She can manipulate magnetic fields, superheat air, and that is just the tip of it. She is, for all practical purposes, a goddess -- and you would do well to treat her as such.”
He guided Eliza deep into the mountain range and at last to a particular mount. The peak they approached reared higher than the others, and its summit looked strange to her; it was not formed by nature, she saw, but was carved by man. Vast ruins crowned it.
“There,” Wilhelm said, pointing to a certain area. “Moor it there.”
Many people drifted amongst the ruins, but they gathered at sight of the dirigible.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“Ours, of course. The City Below was Site One. This is Site Two.”
She oversaw the mooring process, casting off ropes to the people on the ground, who pulled the airship down and tied the ropes off. The gangplank was thrown down and Lord Wilhelm marched out amongst the ruins to issue a brief announcement. At the climax, he gestured grandly behind him.
With fitting imperiousness, Queen Iasolla stepped down from the airship while those that had gathered bowed to her, and Eliza saw that they were the same mix of workers and troops she had grown accustomed to at Brookshire. There did not seem to be many scientists or doctors among them, but rather more archeologists and diggers. They looked dusty and tired, perhaps even on edge. It must be stressful working this close to the Front, seeing bombers go by constantly, hearing distant explosions and gunfire.
Wilhelm kept them bowing for a long minute before he released them. The Queen’s attention had already wandered. Her gaze swept the mountaintop. Without another word, she set off, and Lord Wilhelm hastened at her side.
“Well, shall we, sir?” Fieglund said, gesturing at the gangplank.
“We shall,” Lars Gunnerson said, and led his man from the dirigible.
Eliza, having no place to go and needing some sort of briefing, gave final instructions to her crew and set off after Lars. Cold wind blew across the mountaintop. Gooseflesh crept up her arms and legs, and she found herself holding her arms across her chest as she gave chase to Lars and Fieglund, who in turn gave chase to Lord Wilhelm, who hurried after Queen Iasolla.
The Queen led forward, but not quickly. She moved thoughtfully, her gaze studying every crevice and crack. Eliza had time to look around her. In the dawn light she saw intriguing ruins, partially unearthed by the diggers -- she could see the mounds of dirt and rubble -- but still covered in large part by soil. Grass grew up their sides, sprouting through the cracks. A few gnarled trees grew on their faces. Yet through the grime and years Eliza saw what must have been a fantastic place, a jade city on the mountain. The jade buildings came in all different sizes and colors and shapes, and she knew she was only seeing the corpse of a once proud metropolis. In its heyday, with functioning Atlantan technology, she could only imagine what this place would have been like. In her mind she saw beautiful men and women strolling among glowing jade palaces, the women’s quicksilver dresses gleaming, the men all bold and dashing, exotic gardens wafting with heady, intoxicating perfume . . .
The Queen wandered among the ruins, slowly, untiring. She made a complete pass around the circumference, then started inwards, going up and down the streets, the alleys. At last she wound up a tall, grassy rise -- Eliza saw steps beneath the earth and grass and wondered if the rise may have once been some sort of flat-topped pyramid like those found in Mexico and South America. The Queen reached the summit, found a boulder to sit on, and Lord Wilhelm approached cautiously. Eliza caught up with Lars and Fieglund and they stared up from the base of the pyramid while Wilhelm spoke with her in that ancient language. They spoke for some time.
At last Lars began to mount the pyramid, his shadow trailing.
Against her better judgment, Eliza followed.
Above, Wilhelm gestured at the ruins, likely describing the fall of the city to the queen. A great weight seemed to settle on Iasolla, and a great pain. For the first time, Eliza saw a real expression on her face. Her exquisite features screwed up in misery, and she wept. Loud, wracking sobs shook her. They were not the quiet, stately tears of a modern queen. She cried and beat her breast and spat out words that may have been curses. Tears spilled down her perfect cheeks. She gathered them in her fingers and flung them, and where they struck smoke flashed up.
Eliza and Lars exchanged a glance.
“What exactly happened here?” she whispered.
“The same thing that happened in the City Below,” he said. “Their former slaves found them and annihilated them.”
Once again Eliza thought that however advanced the Atlantans may have been, they must have been equally abhorrent to engender such hate.
The Queen stood up suddenly. Wilhelm leapt back, wary. Hate and fury blazed in her eyes, as well as pain. She said something declaratory, and Wilhelm murmured what sounded like agreement. He said something else, and she looked at him sharply. He nodded and they exchanged words in quick succession. In short order he showed her down the pyramid and to the center of the city. The Queen had not finished her spiraling tour and so had not come to the center yet. Eliza fell in behind them, Lars and Fieglund with her.
“Can you understand their language?” Eliza asked.
“Bits and pieces,” Lars said.
The buildings opened out into a broad plaza surrounding a tall central building, the most fantastic yet. It had to be the palace of whatever lord had lived here. It was all of red jade, and it was mostly a ruin now. All but one tower had collapsed, and the tower that remained was covered in earth and ivy. Just the same, the parts of its surface that were visible sparkled under the light of the rising sun.
Lord Wilhelm led the Queen through the high main doors of the palace -- the doors were missing -- and into the great chamber beyond. Much of it was open to the sky, but a section of the jade ceiling remained. The air shimmered redly. Long tables had been placed in the center of the chamber, and upon these were what must be various artifacts of the ancient city dug up by archeologists. Eliza saw chipped plates, broken glasses, an ornate urn that seemed to be made of crystal but was cleaved down the middle, and much more. Queen Iasolla stalked to the tables directly and ran her eyes and her hands over the artifacts, one by one, seemed to be looking for something. At last she paused.
With her white, delicate hands she plucked up a box containing what looked like various jewels and sapphires. She picked out a red ruby and stroked it. Like an ember shining through opaque red glass, it began to glow.
Queen Iasolla smiled, found a chain and attached the ruby to it, and snapped it around her neck.
She turned to those that had followed her.
“Kneel before me, slaves.”
She had spoken in her own tongue -- something like a softer, prettier version of Greek. Eliza had heard the words in her ears. At the same time, she had heard the words’ meaning in her head.
Shaking, she fell to her knees on the cold jade floor -- covered mostly by earth so that she could only see the jade in patches -- and the others knelt beside her.
Lord Wilhelm cleared his throat uncomfortably.
They waited.
“Rise.”
They rose. Lars and Eliza exchanged a glance.
“We are yours to command,” Lord Wilhelm said. “Now, may I show you to your quarters? We have made the highest room of the one remaining tower into a bedroom for you, with all due lavishness.”
“I need sustenance.”
“Of course. The people here would have begun preparing a meal as soon as the dirigible approached. I am sure it is near completion by now. We’ve only had to guess as to what foods you enjoy, of course, but I think you’ll find -- ”
“No.
I am weak and need my strength.”
“Ah. Yes. We anticipated that need and have many prisoners for you to feed from. We, too, are so cursed, though our situation is not temporary like yours.”
“Actually, we were hoping you could help us with that,” Lars said suddenly, stepping forward.
The Queen looked him up and down, and Lord Wilhelm shot him a glare.
“We crafted a serum inspired by the notes we found from your civilization, but alas it was only a paltry imitation,” Lars Gunnerson said. “We are still . . . enhanced. But we are slaves to our need for brain and spinal fluid. The prisoners we have here are not just for you alone. We milk them like cows for their fluids. Sometimes we must take one from the towns of our enemies. We would be honored if you could teach us the true serum, teach us how to be authentic Atlantan supermen and rid us of our weaknesses.”
She looked at him a moment, and smiled. “I like a man who tells me what he wants. Unfortunately for you, I like you weak.”
“We could serve you better if we were strong.”
“I will make you this deal: once my ends are met, I will see to it that your serum is corrected.”
Lars nodded. “Very well.”
Lord Wilhelm swallowed. “And your ends . . . they are in line with what we discussed?”
“Help me unearth my son and together we shall trigger the doomsday device he was working on.”
Eliza couldn’t help herself. “Doomsday device?”
The Queen’s voice rang like a shot: “Yes. We had heard of our former slaves massing to attack us. To forestall them, we began construction of a mighty device. I drew plans and sent them to him, and he began construction -- here. It was the bigger facility and he is a remarkable engineer. My plans involved experiments and one of these poisoned me in my haste. I installed myself in the sarcophagus of my own design, hoping, praying that the device would be ready in time to save us all. Clearly, it was not. The wretches overran first my city and then Azzara -- this city, his city. I believe he would have sealed himself into a living tomb and that, if found, he can be awakened. I know where to search for his tomb. He must have been nearly finished with the device when he was overrun. He would have had time only to install himself in his tomb before the wretches swarmed over the walls. Help me find him, awaken him, and he will complete the device. Then I will initiate the final sequence, and it will be done.”