The Lostkind

by Matt Stephens

  "Oh come on. Don't kid a kidder." Gill scoffed. "I'm damaged goods now." He said it with detached calm, but Vincent could sense the deep regret underneath.

  Vincent bit his lip. "I'll see what I can do."

  ~oo00oo~

  Davidson held up both hands, placating him. "Vincent, I don't have a problem with Gill. Everyone's got their problems, and I don't think anyone should be punished for them. But he tried it here. He did it in the staff only bathroom. He was found by one of the reception staff!"

  "He's got some bridges to build, I don't deny it." Vincent said. "But if he never comes back... none of the others will get past what happened either."

  "That's thin, and you know it."

  "Maybe." Vincent conceded. "You just said you don't think people should be punished for their problems. He screwed up, no mistake, but it was because of something personal, not professional. His private life..."

  "Stops being private when he tries to kill himself on company property. Y'know, we all knew he gambled too much."

  "So did I." Vincent conceded.

  Davidson sighed. "Does he want to come back?"

  "Yes."

  "Is he willing to clean up his act?"

  "I've already got him into Gamblers Anonymous. His problems are not unique. If anything's going to give you a little clarity on your life, it'd be waking up in hospital." Vincent nodded, sensing victory.

  Davidson licked his lips. "Well, Owen's good, but he's here as an intern. He's looking to gain points on the college transcript."

  "Little old for college." Vincent was surprised.

  "Not by much. I think he went back to school to get another degree." Davidson considered. "Well, we can afford to keep them both on. I don't imagine Owen will want to stay forever."

  Vincent was about to answer when his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

  "Vincent, it's Connie here." A familiar voice called. "I hate to keep calling you, but Lizbeth called in sick..."

  Vincent sent his boss a glance, and Davidson nodded, ducking out. Their business was concluded anyway, and Vincent sat down at his desk, lowering his voice a bit. "She always does on Fridays. She's not sick, she's going clubbing." He said. "A little obvious, but it's hard to snap at volunteers for not being generous enough in their time."

  "I hear that." Connie nodded. "Right now it's me; and you know things can get when you're here on your own."

  Vincent was smiling at her voice but didn't know why exactly. "See you at six thirty?"

  "I'll keep your seat warm."

  ~oo00oo~

  Yasi made her way through the Labyrinth as normal, when she heard a noise coming from the darkness. She was familiar with all the sounds that her home could produce, and there were plenty of them. Steam moving underground through pipes, concrete settling because of the temperature, rats crawling along... This was something else, and she had to take a look. Pulling out her Lantern, she crept up on it, edging around the corner.

  The lantern flared into life; as Yasi caught a glimpse of something moving, a flash of metal, and she just reacted, her reflexes making her strike out.

  Her fist struck something, and she heard a grunt of pain. The shape moved again, hard to define in the light that was flashing around crazily.

  Yasi felt herself get taken in a tackle, and bent with it, wrestling her attacker to the ground. He was surprisingly strong, and as agile as she was. Whoever he was, he'd been trained.

  He was fast, she was faster. She shifted backward like a dancer, moving just out of reach as he swiped at her, both of them moving more on instinct than sight. The second his fist passed by her, she pounced forward and let loose a flurry of short fast jabs, high then low, then high again, too fast for him to block, too many for him to handle. It was a technique she had used in battle before, and there were few who could stand up to it. The mysterious warrior fell back, and Yasi let out a heavy spin kick.

  Dorcan came running down the tunnel behind her. "I heard..." He noticed the motionless body on the ground. "Who's that?"

  "I don't know." Yasi admitted. "But you got great timing; I'd hate to have to drag him back alone."

  Dorcan picked up the lantern and shone a light on their mysterious guest. "He's Lostkind. Not one of ours, but definitely Lostkind."

  Yasi took Dorcan by the wrist and aimed the light lower. "I don't recognize these glyphs."

  The warrior was marked with tribal tattoos, similar to Yasi and Dorcan. He was not part of their Secret City, but he was of their world.

  ~oo00oo~

  The Chapel was the Lostkind Hospital. Dozens of sleeping cots in a wide art deco space; though only a few of them were occupied. Hooded figures moved back and forth between the patients, wearing large face-masks that made them all look like enormous birds.

  Keeper entered the Chapel at a quick march and traded a nod with the Healers. Yasi and Dorcan were standing over their prisoner.

  "He followed me home. Can I keep him?" Yasi quipped brightly.

  "Oh, is that all it takes?" Dorcan commented under his breath.

  Keeper strode over to check. "What do we have here?"

  The unconscious intruder had been tied to the cot; but that didn't bother the Healers, who looked him over from behind their long full-face masks.

  "We should post a few Shinobi guards." Dorcan offered. "To make sure he doesn't escape."

  "Would be a lot easier if we knew the Healers would watch him outside the Chapel." Yasi commented.

  "Y'know, my whole life, I've never got that." Dorcan complained idly. "Why do the Healers never leave this place?"

  Yasi shrugged. "It's their way. Why do the Riverfolk always stay below the waterline?"

  "Because they know you'll kill them if they come up for air." Dorcan retorted.

  "Enough, both of you." Keeper cracked. "We have an Intruder. The first time in our history that we have an Intruder. Look at him, he's not a New Yorker, he's not a tourist... He came here for a reason, and he found a way into the Labyrinth."

  "Yeah, but he couldn't find a way out of it." Yasi snorted. "I took a look, and he found one of the dead end tunnels. I don't know how long he's been down there, but long enough to get lost, set up a sleeping bag and eat at least three meals."

  ~oo00oo~

  Kamy hummed a Lostkind Lullaby, as Archivist read over her shoulder. "Very good Kamy, your penmanship is improving."

  Kamy was gripping the pen tightly, trying to keep her fingers level. The rest of her class had already done this; but Kamy had trouble with her handwriting. "I don't need to know this." She groused, as only a four year old girl could. "Watchers only need this for reports; and I'm not going to be writing reports yet."

  "If you go to the surface, you need to know these things." Archivist told her, not for the first time. "Plus, you're far too young."

  "I already know where all the entrances to the Labyrinth are in Central Part." Kamy half-whined.

  "Park. Central Park." Archivist corrected with affection. "This won't mean anything to you, dear; but I've taught five generations of Lostkind from your age up. Everyone wants to dance with the Upside. But suppose you get lost and can't find Central Park? What other ways home do you know?"

  Kamy looked down, not having an answer.

  Archivist raised his voice. "Tecca?"

  Across the shelves, out of sight; Tecca shouted back. "Yessir?"

  Archivist boomed over to him without moving. "Tell me a Midtown Entrance."

  "The Empire State Building." Tecca called back without hesitation. "The foundation goes 55 feet below ground, there's a way in hidden there; but you only use it when you're dead sure you aren't seen."

  Kamy gave an envious smile, despite herself.

  Archivist chuckled. "He's not much older than you Kamy; you've got plenty of time to get in over your head and do crazy irresponsible things. Until then, be patient, help our at the Market; listen to everything the Borrowers don't tell you; and work on your lowercase 'a'; they're a little squashed."

 
; Kamy dutifully picked up the pen again; and Archivist moved past the shelves to the other side of the Whisper Gallery; to join Tecca.

  "So, I know my stuff, and I can write okay." Tecca rubbed his eyes painfully as his tutor came over. "Do I have to do this?"

  Archivist chuckled. "You want to be a Watcher, you have to keep the records. Our records are more than just the history of this place; but of the city. Things even the press, or the police don't know. More than a few of these volumes were penned by your grandmother, and if you intend to take over when she retires..."

  Tecca nodded, having heard it all before. "I know, but... my hand is cramping up." He yawned and adjusted the lantern on the desk before him. "I wish we used computers."

  Archivist laughed. "Rule Three: Be Beautiful. How can a computer be beautiful, when it is obsolete so fast? Electrical power comes to us in secret, young one. We could have any toy the Upsiders play with; but how long would it be of use to us? We try it; and we'll be noticed, so much expensive equipment disappearing, so much more power needed..."

  "Well..." Tecca picked up his pen stubbornly again. "Maybe one day."

  One of the Gremlins came running in, and pressed a small slip of paper into Archivist's hand. The child ran out without another word, and the older man read the note quickly. Keeper had sent him a quick summary of recent events, and a drawing of the glyph the stranger had tattooed. "Interesting."

  Tecca looked up. "What is?"

  Archivist turned to the shelves of volumes, look for a specific tome. He found it and drew the large hardcover book down from the shelf. "Tecca, if you want a break, can you bring me an Index please?"

  The Index was the thickest of all the volumes in the annals of the Underside. It kept track of each reference to each topic. Tecca went looking for one, as Archivist brought over his own selection. When the boy joined him, the older man was carefully leafing through the book, comparing his sketch to the many pages of drawing within. "What's this?"

  "This..." Archivist explained absently. "Is a record of all the Clan markings in all the known undersides, as well as Gang Signs, assorted Secret Societies..."

  Tecca stared at the drawing Archivist had been delivered. "Where'd you see this Glyph?" The boy asked.

  "Someone was brought into the Chapel today. I'm trying to find out where he came from."

  Tecca nodded. "Any luck?"

  Archivist brought a hand down to point at one of the pages in his book. "As a matter of fact, yes."

  ~oo00oo~

  "We don't know that it's a risk." Yasi pointed out. "He could just be immigrating here. Something brought him to New York, and he decided to check in... We're not exactly easy to find; even for other Lostkind, and the Labyrinth did exactly what it was supposed to do."

  Archivist came striding in. "I found it." He said. "The glyph tattooed on his neck is the mark of a Lostkind Warrior Clan out of Berlin Below, called the ‘Wildmen'."

  "Wildmen." Keeper murmured. "Never heard of them."

  "I have." Yasi said grimly. "The Sensei said that they were pretty fierce. He said that during the Second World War, the Nazis found a way into the Berlin Underside, and the Wildmen held off a whole Regiment so completely that nobody ever knew where they went."

  "That was sixty years ago; do we have anything since then?" Keeper asked.

  Archivist shook his head.

  "What is a Wildman Warrior doing in our Tunnels?" Yasi demanded quietly. "He took one hell of a wrong turn."

  "Maybe when he wakes up, we can ask him." Keeper suggested lightly.

  Kamy came running into the Throne Room, forgetting to stop at the door. She made it halfway to the Triumvirate, remembered her manners sharply and quickly turned back, scrambling to the door. She was knocking swiftly.

  The Triumvirate was amused by that. Without turning, Archivist spoke. "Hey guys, I think Kamy has something she wants to say."

  Keeper chuckled thinly. "Come in little Gremlin, what is it?"

  "The Healers sent me." Kamy came running in. "The stranger is dead."

  ~oo00oo~

  "You never leave the Chapel!" Keeper roared at the Healers. "You'd think one of you would be watching when we brought something interesting in!"

  Yasi was far more restrained, but equally furious. "Dorcan? Explain."

  Her Chief Lieutenant looked properly ashamed of himself. "I screwed up Captain, no mistake. I was... He took poison of some kind, he might even have done it before you found him in the labyrinth if it was slow-acting."

  "Oh, don't even go there!" Yasi snapped. "I left you to watch him, and he managed to kill himself. How did this happen?"

  "I was..." Dorcan surrendered. "You're right. It is my fault, I take full responsibility."

  Keeper joined them. "The Healers say they checked when he came in; there was no poison. They say it was fast acting stuff. I assume you checked him for concealed vials of poison?"

  "Checked him for everything." Yasi promised. "If he'd been awake, he would have been humiliated at how thorough I was."

  Keeper let out a breath between her teeth. "Then somebody must have smuggled it to him." She looked at Dorcan expectantly, and the Shinobi managed to shrink further.

  ~oo00oo~

  "I heard Gill is recovering."

  "Owen, its six thirty."

  "Mr. Davidson spoke to me about my job here; and he's right. I'm here for credits. I could be gone tomorrow, I could be here a year from now. Depends on a lot of things."

  Vincent yawned. "Yeah. Like I said, it's six thirty, and..."

  Owen jumped up. "Oh, sorry, am I keeping you?"

  "Not exactly. It's not like we have to lock up or anything..."

  "Got a hot date?"

  "I'm just wondering what keeps a young man here on a Friday night."

  "Trying to catch up with my esteemed peers." Owen quipped. "Gill's got eight deals and permissions and feasibility studies cooking. So I've been looking through some old files, trying to figure out what he'd say."

  Vincent was surprised by that. "Why?"

  Owen looked embarrassed, ducking his head a little. "Look, I'm only a temp, and I don't want him wondering how I screwed up when he gets back. It's not my place to make decisions he disagrees with."

  Vincent was stunned, and more than a little touched by the show of character. "I appreciate that. Gill will too."

  Owen nodded. "Can I ask... About this deal a year or so back?"

  "Which one?"

  "Keist Telecommunications. Something about running Fibre-Optic cabling through steam pipes or something."

  Vincent felt his heart give a solid thump. "What about it?"

  "Well, it's a little out of character with some of the other deals Gill signed off on around that time. For the most part he lets people go right on and spend their money, at least where it won't interfere with other people... This one he said it was a waste of their time."

  "Well, that was me." Vincent confessed. "I looked into it. Too much money for too little benefit."

  Owen shrugged, taking that at face value. "Fair enough." He seemed to remember himself suddenly as Vincent let out another enormous yawn. "Oh, sorry. You were trying to get out of here weren't you?"

  "S'okay."

  Owen started collecting his things. "Think anyone will care if I take the paperwork for a night?"

  "Don't see why anyone would." Vincent said, not really paying attention. He was already late.

  Owen walked out with him. "I agree with you about Keist by the way." He said as they walked. "Seemed like a ridiculous waste of money."

  Vincent didn't rise to the comment. "I... I don't really remember. It was what? A year ago?"

  "About that. Thing is, it's not your money. That cash goes into the city. I can't imagine anyone around the City Planner's Office having a problem with that."

  Vincent felt a sudden spike of worry. This had crossed a line from casual small talk to an actual discussion. "All I can tell you is that I did what I always do. I evaluate the expense, t
hen the benefit; and I put both in a memo. After that, it's not my department."

  Owen shrugged, not concerned at all. "Well, whatever. So, who's the lucky girl?"

  "That's the second time you've asked me that." Vincent retorted.

  "You're yawning, and have been most of the afternoon, but you bought aftershave and used it during the lunch break. Getting spiffed up for the subway, or you going somewhere else first?"

  Observant too. Vincent noted to himself. "As a matter of fact, yes." He admitted. He tried not to read anything into the fact that he had, in fact, bought new aftershave to wear to a soup kitchen.

  Owen smirked, and headed off. "Have a good night."

  It was hours later before he realized that Owen had just changed the subject.

  ~oo00oo~

  Around half the adult homeless population had a chronic mental illness, and while they rarely caused trouble for those who tried to help them, it often made the volunteers nervous to be there on their own.

  And at the head of the line, with a smile on her face and her long black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, was Connie Harnell. She smiled when he came in, but then she was almost always smiling. "Hey."

  "Connie." Vincent smiled, suddenly self-conscious. It was less than twenty four hours since he'd been trading longing looks with Yasi, but he knew in his heart that the exciting warrior woman wasn't a smart choice.

  Connie came over to join him at the serving counter, and hip-checked him aside gently. "I got this, you go handle the Anti-Christ."

  Vincent smiled at Connie's nickname for the Coffee Urn. A mistake on her first night volunteering had left her somewhat scalded, and terrified of the large battered pot for the rest of her time there.

  One thing Vincent had told his friends over and over for the last year was that charity had provided more clothes than could ever be used, because that was what people gave away. More than clothes, people in need were desperate for food. With more than half the country on food-stamps, food was a blessing, but an expensive one to give.

  Helping out in the Kitchen was sort of like being in a high school cafeteria, where people stared at their food unless they had a friend sitting close by. The majority of them hadn't had a good meal in a few days, hadn't had a shower in longer. They had dignity, but little else. Some of them were twitching and muttering to themselves, which put off a lot of the newer volunteers. Those with staying power had serious respect from the people coming in.