The Lostkind

by Matt Stephens

  Yasi nodded. "The whole time."

  "Is he alive?" Vincent demanded of the Shinobi Captain.

  "He's not comfortable, but he's more or less in one piece." Yasi promised.

  "Tell him." Keeper said impatiently to Yasi.

  "Tell me what?" Vincent asked Yasi.

  Yasi sent Keeper a glare. "I was trying to ease into it."

  "Tell me what?" Vincent repeated.

  "You've never eased into anything." Keeper retorted.

  "Tell me what?!" Vincent shouted.

  "About Wotcha." Keeper sighed finally. "They got her, Vincent."

  Vincent stared blankly. "What do you mean they 'got' her?"

  Yasi sighed hard, and spelled it out for him. "He means, Vincent, that the men who attacked you killed Wotcha."

  "Wotcha?" Connie whispered. "From the kitchen? She's involved in this?"

  "Not anymore." Keeper said bitterly.

  Connie shivered. "Vincent... We have to get back."

  "Vincent isn't well enough to move yet." Yasi countered.

  "People are going to notice we're gone." Connie protested.

  From somewhere in her leather vest, Yasi drew a picture. The photograph of him and his girlfriend, taken off his desk, right out of the frame. "Vincent, when we met, I promised I wouldn't let any harm come to you. I haven't forgotten."

  Vincent looked to Connie, feeling open sympathy for her. The poor woman looked overwhelmed. He sent Yasi and Keeper a look. "Can I have a few minutes?" His eyes went to Yasi, seeking understanding. "I never told her about you. Any of you."

  Yasi bit her lip, but Keeper nodded slowly. "No, that's fair. Yasi, I know there are questions that need answers, but Vincent was invited. Connie was kidnapped. Give them a moment."

  Yasi and Connie were staring at each other openly. Finally, the ninja gave a curt nod, and strode away. "Rest. Both of you. We'll talk soon."

  She left them then. Connie looked borderline terrified by her surroundings.

  ~oo00oo~

  The only light that shone underground was what they made for themselves. The Underside was not a dark or dreary place; but every light was there by design. The deepest point of the New York Underside was The River, and if there was anything below that, nobody had ever come back to talk about it. But even there, the lights were always on for those that needed it. The only part of their world kept forever in darkness was the labyrinth; the maze that sat between their world, and the entrance to the world above.

  Yasi had told Vincent of the Rhythm of the Underside, the natural flow of movement at any given time of day. There were no cars, but there was constant traffic. Everyone lived somewhere, they worked somewhere else. Hidden from the sky, there was no day/night cycle, so the Underside never slept, never went quiet. The most trafficked places had the most light. Where Lostkind went, there was light; and where there was light, the Lostkind followed.

  But there was one corridor, carved in the strongest stone, that had few lights. It was the only place in the Underside that was important, isolated, and kept in the dark.

  Archivist made his way to this, the darkest part of The Underside, letting his footsteps, and the tap his cane echo off the smooth walls. The only features in the dark hallway were the hatches in the floor. The heavy oaken circles were seven feet across, on huge brass hinges, with heavy iron rings, like large door handles.

  "Has he said anything?" Archivist asked.

  "Not a word." Dorcan promised. "We put a splint on his leg, and chained his good one to the floor."

  "Where's Yasi?"

  "Checking in on her pet."

  "You don't like Vincent, do you?"

  "It's not that. It's just... he's not Lostkind. He doesn't belong here."

  "Not all of us are Natives, Dorcan. You and Yasi were born here, but a lot of us weren't. And this place owes a debt to Vincent. We can afford to give him our protection for a while." Archivist glared. "Especially since at this point, we're protecting ourselves as well."

  Dorcan nodded, accepting that. He was still Shinobi, and protecting his secret home was what he did for a living. "Riverfolk in New York. I thought they couldn't go up to the surface."

  "They can't." Archivist agreed. "They'd never survive the pressure change. When they were building the Brooklyn Bridge in 1871, the workers who had to go underground to lay the foundation got the bends. We're used to it; and we've rigged the Labyrinth to ease the transfer from here to the surface; but the Riverfolk have been too deep too long."

  "Then who the hell killed Wotcha?" Dorcan demanded.

  "I don't know; but they were very serious about making sure we didn't recognize them." Archivist declared; clearly bringing the conversation to an end.

  "You want to talk to him?" Dorcan jerked a thumb back at the hatch.

  Archivist shook his head. "Let him sweat a while. Yasi gets to have first crack at him. Security is her jurisdiction."

  Dorcan nodded. "He couldn't have been working alone." He said finally. "Whatever he was after, it was for a reason."

  Archivist nodded. "No prizes for guessing that one."

  "So this was round one." Dorcan said seriously. "Wherever this goes... They've been planning it for three years at least. The first shot just got fired. That was round one."

  "Yes." Archivist agreed darkly. "It was."

  EIGHT: The Ultimate Kingmaker

  "Tell me about Connie."

  "She's nice." Tecca said dutifully. "She works at the Free Clinic, and volunteers with Vincent at the Kitchen. She takes care of kids who don't need people to take care of them."

  "The kids?" Archivist asked.

  Tecca nodded. "She takes the bookings, and comes out from behind the desk to sit with the kids when their parents meet the doctor. She tells them stories, and gives them cookies."

  Archivist rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm."

  Tecca looked down, sullen. "Can I go now?"

  Archivist gave the boy's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Yeah."

  ~oo00oo~

  Connie never left Vincent's side. For the better part of a day, Vincent lay still, recovering. Yasi came by from time to time, but they had little to talk about.

  Connie couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She kept glancing around, and every time her gaze swept the room, she could catch glimpses of something retreating, vanishing into hiding places she couldn't guess at.

  A hand rested gently on her shoulder, not threatening, but unexpected, and with her nerves already frayed, the paranoid Connie jumped violently.

  "Excuse me." Archivist said kindly. "Didn't mean to startle."

  "I'm getting used to it." She assured him.

  He just looked at her. "So you say… But are you really?"

  "No." Connie confessed, resting one hand on Vincent's arm. "I don't mean to offend you Archivist, but… this place scares me."

  Archivist smiled warmly. "When I was in college, I took a semester abroad. I absolutely fell apart after one week in India. The weather, the crowds… I nearly had a nervous collapse." He took her free hand in his. "I've been to over a dozen different cities in my life. In all of them, there's a different pace. People speak at different volumes, walk at different speeds, drive with different attitudes… The Underside is like any other place. It has its own nature, its own soul. If it doesn't fit with yours… that's nothing against either."

  Connie relaxed; his easy tone and honest concern putting her at ease. "Vincent… I love him dearly. You should have seen it when I moved in with him. His bookshelves are full of travel memoirs. Stories of people who travel to faraway lands… He never travels, but his head is always in other places." She waved a hand up at The Angel. "This place… is what he's been waiting for. A mystical, mysterious world…And he doesn't have to go anywhere to find it. This place is everything he wants."

  "And you?" Archivist asked kindly.

  Connie shivered. "I feel like I'm being watched every second. I don't know if it's paranoia, but-"

  "B
oo!"

  Connie levitated clear out of her seat, and spun around to find Dorcan sitting on the opposite side of Vincent's cot.

  "Dorcan." Archivist chastised her. "Be nice; that's the sort of thing Yasi would do."

  The Shinobi Lieutenant nodded an apology to Connie.

  "And speaking of that…" Archivist suddenly seemed to have a great idea. He rose smoothly to his feet and held out a hand to Connie. "Why not come take a walk?"

  Connie send the sleeping Vincent a nervous look, and Dorcan sat down next to him pointedly. "He's in no danger here."

  Connie hesitated a moment longer, and went with Archivist.

  Dorcan turned to Vincent once she was gone. It was unclear how much of that he had heard; drifting in and out of consciousness. After a while; Vincent half-woke and asked for some water. Dorcan brought him a cup; and spoke while Vincent sipped. "So, things with Connie worked out then?"

  Vincent reacted, surprised by that. "You know Connie?"

  "Not exactly." Dorcan took the cup back. "Tecca and Wotcha know her. Knew her. We send our children up Above to get vaccinations, check-ups… You live tightly packed in a room with a bunch of people, one gets the flu, the whole town gets it minutes later. We look after our health as best we can."

  Vincent suddenly realized. "Connie's a medical receptionist."

  "Yep. We know the free clinic she volunteers at. She helped out the homeless, kids in poverty… We actually thought about recruiting her. She was great with the kids at the clinic. But you've seen how she lives. She'd never fit with us... She met a few of the regulars at your soup kitchen, when Tecca brought them into the clinic. He mentioned her to Wotcha, who came in and… well…"

  "Wotcha talked Connie into coming to volunteer at the kitchen." Vincent finished. "Explains why she seemed so nervous her first night there."

  "Wotcha is… was, a hopeless romantic." Dorcan summed up, rising to his feet. ""Yasi asked me to check in, see how you were doing. I think she was a little surprised to see things with Connie going so well."

  "Two years is a long time." Vincent said, feeling something akin to guilt, but he wasn't sure why. "I... I knew I was never going to see Yasi again."

  "Nor would you, had things stayed as they were. So you can thank Owen for the hooded looks your girlfriend is giving you." Dorcan rose. "It's been two years, and Yasi moved on too, but I think she would be happy to know that you're happy."

  ~oo00oo~

  "Do I look happy to you?" Yasi snarled.

  Owen pulled his head back as far as the chain would allow, her sword still close enough at his throat to give him a shave. "No. No, you don't look happy at all."

  "A sane person would be begging right now. What the hell is your problem?" Yasi growled. She placed herself at the edge of the shadows cast by the hatch to the oubliette. A position that let her eyes catch the dim light, but not her face, making her eyes glow in the dark. "Who are you working for?" She demanded.

  Owen said nothing. He didn't even seem nervous. He just looked back at her.

  "You're not Lostkind, I can smell the surface on you." Yasi snarled ferociously. "So what do you care about any of us? What's your interest? Profit? Revenge?"

  Owen just shrugged. "Well, you're the Top Cop in this town. You should have a brain in that hat-rack of yours. Figure it out."

  "Oh, I will." Yasi promised him, not a trace of doubt in her voice. "And the second I do, you will cease to be of interest or use. When that happens, you... most of you at least, will be shipped out of here. Seems we're not the only ones who have an axe to... grind." She smiled toothily, and crouched low, gathering herself for a leap. With one powerful jump, Yasi had managed to gain enough height to catch the edge of the pit, and pull herself up without pause.

  "How's Vincent?" Owen called after her.

  Yasi paused, still at the edge; but she didn't turn.

  "He's alive, but it's obvious you didn't get to him in time or he would have got his girlfriend out before I got there, and if you were protecting her after hacking apart my escort then he must be here." Owen continued, with calm, brutal logic. "I imagine Connie was a surprise. He's really quite taken with her."

  The hatch closed with a heavy bang, and Yasi kept moving. Was that a dig at me? She wondered to herself, looking for all the angles. If it was... how did he know it would work? What does he know?

  ~oo00oo~

  "My god, what is this place?" Connie asked in awe.

  "This is Twelfth Level. Years ago, this is what we showed Vincent." Archivist told her warmly, pushing the small boat along. "But this is not our destination."

  "There's more?" Connie said in surprise as the small boat passed into a small tunnel.

  "You have entered the Great City by Night." Archivist intoned, weaving a spell with his voice. "Every one of those clustered chambers encloses its own secret."

  "Dickens." Connie recognized the quote.

  The older man dropped the spooky voice instantly. "Oh, you know that one."

  "Tale of Two Cities. Which, I suppose, is appropriate." Connie nodded, as Archivist guided the boat toward their destination. Connie felt like she was in Phantom of The Opera, being guided down the misty underground passages to the light of Victorian lanterns.

  "Well, it's true. Every room has its own history. They all have their own secrets, their own story. Every dark shadow, every tunnel. They aren't there by accident. If they've been forgotten then it means they weren't needed any more. But they're all there for a purpose."

  "It's very... elegant, here." Connie nodded as she stepped out of the boat. "Nothing need be added, and nothing to take away."

  "Elegance born of purpose." Archivist nodded. "We have to climb now. Up to it?"

  Connie chuckled, despite herself. "Yeah, I'm up for it."

  There were stairs, then ladders, then more stairs, then an elevator like something you'd find in a mine shaft. Connie wasn't sure how high they went, but she knew she wasn't moving quickly, so distance was hard to guess. "Where are we going now?"

  Archivist pulled the control level back and the elevator stopped. "Above the Twelfth Level." He said, his deep voice leading her through the dim passage, bouncing off the walls. "Above the Throne Room, above the Round Table. But far below the subway, far below your world. This is the highest point before leaving the Underside. For all that, there's only one way to get here yourself. The entrances and exits all moved, found better locations." They had reached the end of the passage, and Archivist held up his lantern. It was a huge ornate oak door.

  Archivist drew a large brass key from a chain around his neck and put it into the lock. "You aren't wrong; the whispers do echo all over the place." He told her. "This room is where they all come from."

  Connie didn't know what to say to that. Archivist opened the door, and she felt her jaw drop open, yet again. The first thing that hit her was the heat, the room was much warmer than the rest of the Underside. The second thing to hit her was the sound. The whispers were louder in here, grander. There were thousands of them, voices whispering out of the walls, from every direction, going non-stop. Connie actually had to raise her voice to be heard over them, but she couldn't begin to guess at where they were coming from.

  The chamber Archivist had led her to was large, and filled with shelves, Shelves in rows, more on the walls; more shelves than any library, packed together so tightly that Connie had to turn sideways. They were covered in books. Thousands of them, on their sides to stack higher and heavier. First editions, paperbacks, collectibles. Of all languages, all styles, all ages. The dusty tomes were all over the place, most of them with some kind of visible damage or stain, but all of them were beautiful.

  And rising into the high domed ceiling of the chamber, was a thousand brass pipes, secured to each other like an enormous tree trunk. The pipes came from the highest point in the ceiling, and branched off from the main trunk, off into all directions, going straight into the walls. It was a secret Lostkind library, at the roots of an enormous bra
ss tree.

  Connie walked slowly into the room, her head turning non-stop in an effort to see everything. Her eyes lingered on the endless shelves of books. "Archivist." She said his name finally, soft as a psalm. "As in, the one who keeps the Archives."

  The older man nodded, pleased. "These archives have the combined history of the entire New York Underside; plus the books that have been collected and passed into our collective ownership, plus what the locals have created or dreamed. It's all in my keeping."

  Connie ran a hand over the large leather-bound volumes. "Moisture must be a nightmare this far underground."

  Archivist nodded. "In some places. The Dewcops keep a close eye on it."

  "Dewcops?"

  "They harvest the condensation; keep it off anything that can be bothered by it. On some nights; you actually get rainfall in the Twelfth Level. For the bigger stuff, like the flooding in 2012? The place is designed to channel most of that floodwater down as far as the River; or back into the Sewers. We actually tapped all that raging floodwater for Hydro power."

  Connie leaned against one of the shelves and tilted her head, listening upwards. "The whispers are stronger here too."

  "The Steam Pipes cover half the city above, and they provide us with our air circulation, which is a rather serious matter this deep underground. Heat isn't so much the problem as fresh air. The pipes also form a natural echo, like listening through an air vent. There's very little strength behind it, but the sound carries through. It's strongest here, because this is where the most pipes are together. This room is my Whisper Gallery."

  Connie shut her eyes a moment, letting herself hear the sound properly, not suspicious of it for the first time. The moment stretched, and Connie almost started to smile.

  Archivist's cane began to tap slowly, and Connie opened her eyes. He was moving back down the shelves to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Connie, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. My home is your home. I have to take care of a few things."

  "I..." Connie swallowed. "I'll never find my way back."