by Eyal Kless
LoreMaster Harim nodded. “I have paid you plenty of hard coin for your services, Jakov, and I will tell you about the way we can all get our hands on priceless artifacts, but please let my companions go now. You want them to cooperate willingly.”
Jakov shook his head. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
LoreMaster Harim stepped towards Jakov, and I felt myself tense. My guard must have sensed it, too, because he shoved the muzzle of his rifle against the back of my head with renewed intensity. But my LoreMaster just laid two hands on Jakov’s shoulders, and surprisingly the merchant seemed to calm down.
“Jakov, my brother, we have been through so much, you and I,” LoreMaster Harim said. “Now I need you to trust me. Let them go and I will explain everything.”
Jakov took a big breath, then shrugged and ordered, “Take a step back, lads.” He looked straight at Vincha and said, “But one brave move from any of you, and my guards will shoot.”
My first reaction was to rub the point where the rifle’s muzzle dug into my skull. Galinak got to his feet and brushed himself off. He looked ready to kill but kept his composure. The guard who’d been holding Vincha from behind stepped in front of her with his pistol aimed and ready.
“Okay,” Jakov said, “now please tell me why we are all here.”
61
“I was just a toddler when my parents packed our belongings and decided to brave the perilous journey to the City of Towers,” my LoreMaster began.
I found a solid-looking crate and sat myself down.
“Like everyone coming to the city, we were desperate, but we managed to create a community that further explored the wonders of the city. What we found was, at least then, the biggest treasure trove in post-Catastrophe history. Yet my parents did not live past forty winters. I’ve seen close to sixty springs, and I’m planning to see more. While in other places throughout the land people die before they see thirty years, the City of Towers protected us from the harsh weather, and the nodes we found supplied us with medicine along with weapons.
“As the city grew in power, and with the help of Gadgetiers, we were slowly progressing as a race.”
My LoreMaster sighed heavily. “As you all well know, one day it all stopped. Several of the nodes never opened again, many of the machines powering the city stopped working, most of the Tarakan lights of the Middle Plateau winked out, the lifts began to malfunction, and accidents happened. The city is now a shadow of itself, and it is obvious that the city, along with its inhabitants, is in decline.
“Soon after, we lost contact with the Hive in Tarakan Valley, and we later learned it was destroyed. Actually, I believe it was exactly the same time, to the day. Something happened in the City within the Mountain that affects us until today. What we do know now is that Nakamura brought Rafik to the City within the Mountain believing that it was ‘the best of all possible futures.’ Whether he really was an oracle of sorts or a deranged Troll, Nakamura’s actions began a chain of events that brought us once more closer to barbarism.”
LoreMaster Harim turned to Vincha. “Your story confirms my theory that there is a connection between Rafik and our current situation. But the second reason we were looking for you is far more important than a lesson in history. A few years ago I overheard two merchants from the Upper Towers talking about one of the old machines they had in their tower that suddenly powered up. The machine was still useless; nothing that we know of could be done with it, and only one sentence appeared constantly on its screen. I didn’t think too much about it at the time. It seemed to be, at most, a Gadgetier kind of problem. But as they kept talking about it I got curious. I bought the gentlemen a few drinks and by the end of the evening, they took me to see the machine. The screen was blank except for that one sentence. I offered them the service of my friend”—he nodded at River, who nodded back—“but unfortunately, our experiment resulted in the total demise of the machine. Still, something bothered me about that sentence, and after searching through my notes I remembered why.”
My LoreMaster produced a small scroll case from the inside of his belt, took out a diminutive scroll, unfolded it, and showed it to Vincha. “The message was simple. Your name, a set of five numbers and three letters, and another name at the end: Rafik.”
Vincha’s jaw actually dropped a little.
“Luckily, as you mentioned, we had met during my expedition to the Valley. It was a long time ago, but you were quite a memorable young lady. River’s theory was that this message could have been just an echo of the past, a sentence that was lost and found its way into the grid of the City of Towers, but I decided to find out if there were more such occurrences in the city. River is a fine Tinker, and he had plenty of customers in the Upper Towers and below. In the past three years he found forty-two—”
“Forty-seven,” River corrected.
“Sorry, forty-seven such incidences. After checking some more, and hiring a marked Gadgetier, I am now confident the messages are recent.” My LoreMaster paused, most likely just for dramatic effect. “But the rest is just patchwork. I tried to find out who you were and who Rafik was, eventually made the connection that he was the Puzzler whose death ruined the Keenan guild, and realised he was the Puzzler who was now sending messages to you.”
“The numbers and letters between our names,” Vincha said weakly. “It’s a bandwidth, a very specific one.”
The LoreMaster nodded. “I know. And I’ve been told it was a seldom-visited frequency. I hired three different CommTrolls who heard only white noise. The last Troll told me the frequency was coded to merge with a specific brainwave pattern; meaning this message could be for your ears only, Vincha.”
Vincha’s reaction was almost dismissive, “I’ve been vegan for years, my old gear’s long gone—”
“But your plugs are still inside your head,” Jakov was quick to answer, almost too quick. “So what we need to do is hook you up—”
“No rusting way.” Vincha’s furious response was so dramatic, some of the guards trained their weapons on her.
“Vincha . . .” my LoreMaster tried, but she was not in a listening mood anymore.
“This is a load of rusting metal. That frequency could be nothing—”
My LoreMaster stepped in front of her. “Believe me, I checked and double-checked. This message appears repeatedly; it’s the only message that appears. River has assured me—”
“I don’t care what your rusting pet Tinker told you.”
“Vincha, Rafik is calling out for you—”
“I’m not hooking up again,” she shouted. “It took me years to get off Skint, to stop dreaming of it . . . It can’t be Rafik . . . He was chewed up by thousands of Lizards.”
“Yet this message gives us hope.” LoreMaster Harim was trying to reason with Vincha but I could see this was not going to be resolved with words. I was not the only one who reached that particular conclusion. Without warning, Jakov shot Vincha with a stun ray, and only the quick reaction of the masked guard standing next to her stopped her from hitting the floor.
The stun gun’s muzzle turned immediately towards Galinak. “Are you going to be brave?” Jakov waited for Galinak to shake his head before lowering the weapon. I looked at Galinak’s battle-worn face and wondered whether he had stopped being Vincha’s protector and secret admirer. Was her story too dark, containing too many betrayals? Were the consequences of her actions too severe even for this tough old Salvationist?
“Good,” Jakov’s face twisted into a half smile and he holstered the gun.
“That was uncalled for,” my LoreMaster said quietly.
“Oh, it was called for, Harim, it was. We have a lot to do and very little time to do it. We have a med chair set up. These are not perfect conditions, but your guy River is a Tinker, right?”
River glanced at LoreMaster Harim before nodding.
“Good, so it’s better if he hooks her up.” Jakov turned to his guard and said, “Bind her to the chair.”
“Vi
ncha won’t do it.” I found my voice. “Even if you hook her up, you still need her to willingly cooperate.”
Jakov turned his attention to me, and for a brief moment I knew how Rafik must have felt as a child, facing off against the half man, every muscle in my body tensing under his scrutiny.
“Oh, but she will,” he said. “One way or another, we are going to find out where this message is coming from.”
62
Jakov wasn’t lying. Sewers were not the kind of place you’d want to have a procedure done to your head. The med chair looked worn, stained by countless patches of blood, but at least it was, by River’s admission, well stocked.
By the time Vincha regained full control of her body she was strapped to the table and her head was firmly locked in a brace. She did try to struggle, though, and did not hold back on the profanities.
River was trying to shave her head, but even tied up Vincha was making enough of an effort to make the task difficult and bloody.
Jakov motioned for River to stop and he leaned close to Vincha. His metal hand was poised close enough to her face to make her stop writhing.
“I ain’t doing this, you rust bucket,” she hissed, sweat pouring down her face.
“Oh yes, you are,” Jakov answered coldly. “And I’ll tell you why. LoreMaster Harim here will try to convince you to do the right thing for the sake of humanity, or for your conscience, even for Rafik, the very same boy you betrayed—but you and I are alike, and we’re not the honourable type. What you are, Vincha, is a survivor. You lie, cheat, kill, steal, have sex with strangers, betray anyone around you, overcome Skint addiction, and give birth in a dirty shack somewhere only to give the infant away to be raised by others. You do what you have to do to survive, am I right?”
Vincha remained silent.
“I’ll spare you the specific threats. You are going to cooperate with me, Vincha. It is the only chance you and yours have to survive, and I can see in your eyes that you understand. So, stop struggling and let the man here wire your plugs.”
Vincha’s slumped down on the med chair.
With the smallest of gestures Jakov indicated to River that he could resume his work.
“Stay absolutely still,” River warned. “I need to do some drilling here and clean the plugs before I rewire you.” He powered up the hand drill.
I turned away, having experienced enough blood and gore recently to last me a lifetime.
Galinak was stuffing the bowl of a short pipe with leaves. He only glanced at me when I sat down with a sigh.
“This ain’t the Upper Towers, eh, Twinkle Eyes?”
“Pretty much as far down as you can find yourself from the Upper Towers.”
“Oh no, son.” Galinak lit his pipe from a small flame maker. “We can still fall farther, believe me.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said as the sound of hammering replaced the drilling.
“What can I say? I’m a man of bad habits.”
“It’s just that we’re sitting on crates filled with explosives, so I thought I’d mention it.”
He blew a long line of grey smoke. “Not the worst way to go.”
We sat in silence for a little while, watching River prepare then insert the Comm device into Vincha’s skull. Her leg twitched and shook to the point that a masked guard had to hold it down firmly.
“I can’t pay you any more than the sum I gave you,” I said when it was obvious Vincha was still alive, “and what I paid you no longer feels adequate.”
Galinak took a really long pull from the pipe. “Yeah, you pretty much reached the limit of your funds when we jumped from the Guild’s Plateau.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you left now.”
Galinak chuckled. “Twinkle Eyes, I didn’t think you were that dim.” He waved his pipe around for emphasis. “No one’s walking away from this. So, I guess you’ll just have to owe me.”
“I hate owing people.”
“And I’m a nasty debt collector.” Galinak took a long pull from the pipe.
“It’s just that I’m also not sure I will have any funds for the foreseeable future.”
The old mercenary’s stare was unwavering. “We’ll think of a payment plan when the time is right.”
“If I were a romantic I would think you’re doing this just for the adventure.”
He snorted a laugh. “If you think that, you’re not as smart as I thought.” But then he gave me another side glance. “I’m worth rusty metal at cards, but I’m good at this, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years: sometimes walking away is not the right answer.” He emptied the contents of his pipe to the ground. “Too many loose ends can creep back and bite you in the ass when you’re not looking.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” I said.
“Speaking of which, the old wizard is looking for you.”
As I rose to my feet Galinak said, “Say good-bye to him for me, Twinkle Eyes.”
My legs were moving before I understood what he’d said, and I contemplated turning around and telling Galinak to stop talking nonsense, but with each step I took towards my LoreMaster I realised that something was up. He stood rigid, his robes neat, his backpack shouldered, and his entourage of guards packing behind him.
“You’re leaving?” I hated the surprise in my own voice.
My LoreMaster patted my shoulder. “If the recent jump from the Upper Plateau taught me anything it’s that I’m an old man with bad knees. Whatever happens next, I can’t keep up. I can be of much better use elsewhere.”
“But Jakov will . . . could . . .”
“Jakov is blood of my blood and a . . . complicated man, shall we say. He is a better man than he used to be, and a better man than he shows. Trust him—” LoreMaster Harim paused to dwell on his own words, then added “—to a point. He gave me his word, and you’d be surprised how solid his word is. He won’t kill you unless you do something stupid, so make sure you don’t.”
“But where will you go? The Council and the guilds are looking for you.”
“I know how to hide, and even if they catch me, I still have some clout in the city.” He laid a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “I won’t be tortured—not at first—and I’ll try my best to steer them in the wrong direction. This is why I should go now. There are things I’m better off not knowing.” He let that sink in for a moment, then added, “Whatever happens next, I would like you to go with Jakov. I know it’s a lot to ask, but someone must record this for the sake of the Guild of Historians. Find out about Rafik, and try to correct the course of humanity.”
“I’ll try, LoreMaster.”
He grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it tight. “I owe you a great apology.”
I lowered my head, “No need for that, LoreMaster,” I mumbled.
“Oh, but there is. I have underestimated you greatly. When I sent you to find Vincha I saw only a young, naive man who read too many Salvo novels for his own good. I did not believe that you would actually succeed. When I read your message and realised you were getting close to finding Vincha—and in this city, of all places—I panicked and sent a team of mercenaries to grab her. They waited for you to get out of Margat’s Den but lost you in the mayhem, only to track you down in the hut.”
The realisation struck me like a fist to the stomach, “The crew that attacked us were yours?”
“Yes. They were supposed to grab Vincha but leave you—”
“—so it would look as if someone else took her, even to myself.”
“Exactly.” LoreMaster Harim nodded towards Galinak. “But you chose wisely when hiring this bodyguard. I was so sure of your ineptitude, I did not consider the implications of what would happen if you defeated the crew. The incident alerted the Council and the Sabarra guild, and most likely directly caused the raid on our guild house.”
He shook his head in sorrow. “My failure in seeing your true potential, my pride, has brought ruin on the Guild of Historians, and I will bear the bu
rden of my colleagues’ death for the rest of my life.”
He took my hand, and I felt a tiny scroll holder pressed into my palm. “You, on the other hand, must succeed in this mission. Do all you can for humanity and rebuild the Guild of Historians. Once you come back, visit the places on this list. These are safe havens I have established. There are items there that would help you rebuild the Guild. I am not Nakamura—I’m no oracle, if he ever was one—but if the City of Towers continues to be just a drying oasis in a desert of ignorance, we will never rise again.”
Was he seriously dumping the responsibility for human ascension on my shoulders?
“I’m just . . . a secondary scribe, LoreMaster,” I protested.
For the first time since I approached him, my LoreMaster smiled, perhaps misunderstanding what I meant. “Oh yes, we must correct that. You have more than proven your worth.”
Without remembering how, or even what was said exactly, I found myself on my knees in front of my LoreMaster, and as Jakov and his goons watched with open amusement, I was anointed Associate LoreMaster of the Guild of Historians.
In my entire life, I have never been prouder, or sadder.
63
“She’s coming around.” We gathered around the chair and waited in silence. River assured us that the wires were successfully attached and Vincha was not badly hurt, but she sure looked pale to me. There was a lot of blood, and her breaths were shallow, rapid.
Vincha eventually opened her eyes. The first thing she said was “Water” and River got her some.
As she gulped slowly, he said, “You’re all wired up. The Comm is good stock, barely used, but your old plugs—” he shook his head “—they did a rusty job, and I’m no Mender, so I didn’t dare try to fix them. There will be pain, I’m sorry.”
“I can help with the pain,” Jakov said.
“No Skint.” Vincha shook her head as River released the brace.