The Lostkind

by Matt Stephens

  Yasi did not respond at first, but had to follow when Vandark left the Twelfth Level. She peeked over her shoulder past the Wildmen, and saw the Lostkind running forward, eager to eat. She caught a glimpse of more of the Borrowers coming in, walking carefully to keep the cargo level.

  More food. Vandark isn't letting anyone go hungry. Yasi found herself almost smiling, and a thrill of mortal fear went through her. If they were hungry, they might fight back.

  ~oo00oo~

  "I feel like half of New York just fell on me." Keeper croaked.

  "It was worse than losing the Duel." Yasi was on the floor next to her cot; hugging her knees to her chin. "Keep, we got a real problem here. People are getting more under Vandark than they did under us. Better food, more stuff… Keep, he's going to do it. He'll have bought their loyalty inside six weeks. Even if we think of a way to fight him… It'll be our guys that fight for him."

  Keeper smirked crookedly. "Look behind you."

  Yasi very slowly turned to look. Kamy was at the other end of the Chapel, casually walking away from a hastily scrawled slogan on the wall.

  Three Rules, Always!

  Yasi grinned. There was still resistance here. The invaders had broken the Three Cardinal Rules; and the Lostkind could forgive the invasion faster than that.

  Keeper nodded; knowing what the Shinobi was thinking. "You're worried, because Vandark can improve living conditions. But that's like eating an entire Pizza. It tastes good, it's easy; it's fast. But it'll make you sick, because you're working contrary to what's good for you. Vandark's breaking the rules. That's a hard thing to keep going, and a hard habit to break."

  "Keep, doing what's easy and enjoyable, but bad for you... is the wrong way to live; but there are still plenty of people who live that way, and don't care what the consequences are." Yasi sighed morosely. "It's my fault. You and Dorcan and Archivist were right: I froze everyone out. They hate Vandark; but they don't particularly like me. The one reason they all had to follow me anywhere was the certainty that I would protect them... And I lost."

  "Maybe so; but the game ain't over yet. Time will tell." Keeper was drifting again, low on energy.

  Yasi looked back at the slogan Kamy had painted. Kamy is six years old. She didn't come up with this on her own. Somewhere out there; someone is still fighting.

  ~oo00oo~

  Days passed; and things moved quickly, in both the Underside, and New York.

  In the Underside, Yasi slept in the Oubliette, and spent her days under guard by Vandark's side at every step. The Underside had been rebuilt; and the Labyrinth passages cleared. The doors had changed from what the Shinobi knew.

  Yasi had asked Keeper where the bodies were put; and nobody seemed to know. Yasi was allowed to visit Keeper; and was quietly made aware of a few facts. The surviving Shinobi had escaped capture; nobody had heard from them since The Duel.

  Vandark had made an effort to find them, and failed. Yasi hesitated to grin; knowing that the resistance was the only reason she was alive. In the week since the Victory of the Wildmen; the Resistance had done nothing more than put up the slogan; like the Resistance Fighters of old: Three Rules, Always!

  Those were the only rules that Vandark was breaking.

  The food kept coming; and it was excellent. The Watchers brought in new information that tabloids would kill to get, and Vandark began stockpiling it. The Archives and the Whisper Gallery had to be reopened as a result.

  The Riverfolk had become Vandark's police force; and had the run of the Underside. One or two took advantage; causing trouble for the Lostkind. Vandark's few Wildmen put a stop to it, permanently; and the Riverfolk behaved themselves.

  To all appearances, it was peaceful. There were no riots, demonstrations, or brawls with the Invaders. Vandark's rule had gone out of its way to make the Lostkind comfortable.

  On the surface, things were happening quickly. Drew and his friends made their trip, collecting the items on the list. Vincent's friends, a network of people that nobody else wanted, were eager to help someone who had gone out of his way to treat them with respect and kindness; gathering information the same way the Watchers did.

  Connie worked with Vincent when Tecca wasn't watching. Connie knew most of the same Homeless people Vincent did; both from the Soup Kitchen and the Free Clinic; and took messages for him. She was more than a little surprised to see Tecca had stayed when she went home. Her apartment had a spare room, and Tecca had nowhere else to go. Every night she would come home and find him waiting for her. The two of them had slipped into domesticity with surprising ease.

  After a week, Connie knew they were rapidly approaching the point where it couldn't last; and Tecca did too. They had carefully avoided all mention of the future; but it was time to force the issue.

  ~oo00oo~

  Gill was parked out the front of Connie's building, with Vincent in the passenger seat. "Vincent." He said quietly. "Are you sure?"

  Vincent didn't answer right way.

  Gill turned to look at him properly. "Once you do this; there's no going back."

  "I know." Vincent decided finally. "But I have to try." He held out the folder. It was bulging with printouts; scraps of paper with addresses and various other notes written in various scrawls. "Everything I could find in the archives; everything I could get from memory, everything that my friends below the Poverty Line could find in time. It's all here. Every entrance to the Secret City that we can find." He gave Gill an intense look. "You understand what I'm giving you?"

  Gill nodded respectfully. "I'll do the job Vincent. I'll do it right; I swear."

  ~oo00oo~

  "Tecca, there's something I want to discuss with you." Connie said quietly as she placed the hot chocolate in front of him.

  Tecca looked up at her over the rim of his mug, instantly on guard. "What?"

  Connie stayed calm. She had spent years with the kids at the Clinic. Children from the streets, or from rough homes were always on guard, had a very good grip on the harshest parts of reality. Any conversation with them was done with a measure of suspicion.

  Connie spoke briskly and professionally. She was negotiating a tough deal. "I like having you here. But sooner or later, somebody's going to notice."

  "Nobody sees a Watcher." Tecca scorned.

  "Even so, it's been a week." Connie pressed on. "I was wondering, if you'd be willing to do me a favor."

  "What kind of favor?"

  "Well, there's something I never told you about me and Vincent..."

  "You wanted kids, and he didn't." Tecca cut in. "You think it was because part of him was hoping to go back to the Underside."

  Connie paused. "Yes." She said simply. "Thing is... I'm not as young as I used to be... Having a kid is hard enough at the best of times. So I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor and be sort of a trial run."

  Tecca bit his lip. "What do I have to do?"

  "Well, basically you'd pretend I was your mom. You know, like that woman who always brought you into the Clinic. You had me fooled for three years before I found out about the Underside. You seemed like a natural."

  "You want me to pretend to be your kid?" Tecca seemed stunned.

  "I think it'd be good for you. You'd be able to go to school, you'd be able to graduate... You'd be able to stay here as long as you wanted."

  "I can go to school?" Tecca's head tilted. "I've never been to a school before. Archivist teaches the kids in the Underside; I remember some of the Watchers telling me about when they were kids. Seemed interesting." He kept his jaded eyes on hers. "Different to what I'm used to."

  Connie nodded, and slid a plate over. "Have a cookie."

  Tecca looked at the plate like there were strings attached, but took one. "Food's good here." He admitted finally.

  Connie held her breath and pulled a few folded pages out of her pocket; setting them down on the table.

  "What are they?" Tecca asked around a mouthful of cookie.

  Connie took a brea
th. "Adoption papers."

  Tecca froze mid-chew, and swallowed thickly. "Why are you doing this?"

  "That's not an answer." Connie said gently.

  Awkwardly, Tecca began to answer her; when there was knock on the door. Connie gave Tecca an imperious look. "Saved by the bell."

  Despite himself, Tecca smiled back at her.

  Connie opened the door to Vincent who gave her a steady look. "Show time." He said simply.

  Tecca froze. "What do you mean?"

  Vincent gave Tecca a level gaze. "We're going back."

  Connie looked stricken, and Tecca rose to his feet smoothly.

  ~oo00oo~

  The Throne Room had been repaired too. Where once there was a table that everyone gathered at, and three seats for her, Keeper and Archivist… now there was just Vandark's Throne.

  He had held court every morning, taking reports from the Borrowers, giving orders to the Watchers; mediating disputes, and answering questions. Very few were willing to ask questions, and Yasi was slightly sick to see that they were coming to him at all.

  Vandark was polite, reasonable, patient... And Yasi hated every minute that she spent there; hands bound. He'd used her as a coat rack; putting his cloak around her shoulders as he held court. Despite herself, she found she was nodding along with him; agreeing with half the things he said.

  The Watchers were given new orders; no longer following the Homeless and the urban Explorers; now turning their eyes on the wealthy. Powerbrokers all over the city now had shadows that they did not recognize. Their homes were being invaded and searched with practiced skill. Each Watcher knew the penalty against his or her loved ones. The Powers Above were having all their dirtiest secrets and hidden loves collected and cataloged for later use.

  Vandark took time after each ruling to explain his reasoning, and this was no exception. "Over the last few days, our people have been eating well." He pronounced.

  They're not your people. Yasi thought silently.

  "They received Gourmet food from the finest chefs in the city. In New York, that's world class." Vandark continued. "Some have asked where it all came from; and now I'll tell you. The right piece of paper in the right office can give us access to huge amounts of money. A few moments with a phone and the right set of numbers can make people jump in this town. Taking a driver's uniform gives us secrecy; and just like that; we all eat like Kings." Vandark took a moment to let that sink in. "Why the hell haven't you guys been doing this all along?"

  Because we can't get away with it for long. Yasi thought silently.

  "The Chief of Surgery at St Luke's is considering retirement; and his staff are angling to impress him. The right bit of blackmail at the right moment could be the decider. My faithful servant Owen is, at this moment, meeting with one of the Candidates, securing a supply of the most innovative medicines New York can offer, in exchange for his rivals secrets. Your Eyes can decide the rise and fall of empires. Imagine what your dedicated Healers can do with more medicines coming in. We can start by improving our lot in the world; but that's only the beginning."

  Our lot only needs improving because you burned it all down. Yasi retorted silently.

  Vandark dismissed the Local Lostkind; and turned to his Wildmen Warriors. "Don't worry; I won't forget you. You've followed me; and we have prevailed. And as Victors; we are entitled to the spoils of war." he went through his team, one by one. "Dagny. Pepsi will win the Cola Wars within the year."

  Dagny grinned; and his teams chuckled in a good natured way.

  Vandark went to the next. "Nutt; the next time Manchester United is in town; you have free reign."

  "They'll never win a World Cup again!" Nutt crowed; and everyone laughed.

  "What about you sir?" One of the Wildmen called to their Leader.

  Vandark grinned over at Yasi. "I have all the Prize I need."

  And then, suddenly, a voice whispered gently from the walls, echoing from all directions. "Three Rules, Always."

  Vandark stiffened, as did everyone else in the room. Yasi struggled not to jump to her feet.

  It was Archivist's voice.

  "Our homes have been invaded, and our hiding place burned out." Archivist declared, his voice resonating from the steam pipes. "We have accepted these things quietly because we have been allowed to stay in our chambers, and our lot has improved. On the surface, there is relief."

  "The Whisper Gallery." Vandark took his cloak from around Yasi's shoulders, and swept it around his shoulders as he stalked toward the door. "Bring her."

  Yasi was pulled roughly off the floor by two of the Wildmen, dragged along behind him.

  "Relief that the horrors our imaginations conjured have not come to pass. But many oppressors have come with the promise of friendship. Never forget how many of our friends the Wildmen have slain. Never forget that they burned our children. Never forget that we have lived in secret for a hundred years, protected by safeguards that the Invaders have overturned in a day of violence and murder. Three Rules, Always!"

  Yasi glanced around as she was practically dragged behind Vandark. The words were going through the pipes, as they did when Vandark challenged her. Everyone was hearing this.

  ~oo00oo~

  Vandark made his way to the Whisper Gallery and found Archivist half-collapsed over the stack of Archives. He looked wounded; but unbowed, a light sheen of sweat across his determined face. He turned to face Vandark, and ignored him completely, eyes focusing instead on the young woman dragged along behind him forcibly.

  "Yasi!" He called out in joy; despite Vandark's approach. "Thank god your ali-"

  BANG!

  Vandark promptly shot him down.

  "NO!" Yasi fought her way free of the Wildman holding her chain with a scream, and threw herself down at her father's side.

  Archivist was still, and already growing cold. Yasi looked him over. He had been bandaged expertly. Someone had helped him make it this far after he had fought... She pressed on the wound quickly; but it was already too late. Vandark was a crack shot; and Archivist never knew what hit him.

  Yasi cradled her father for a moment, hot tears running down her face. A moment later her fingers tightened on him savagely, and her eyes blazed at Vandark; who had the gun pointed at her instantly. "You've still got one parent at my mercy Yasi." Vandark said simply, not raising his voice. "Not to mention yourself."

  Yasi bared her teeth at him, half feral from the rage.

  Vandark turned to the trunk of pipes and spoke to the Underside. "In my time as your leader; I have brought you much. I do not forget those who help me and show loyalty. I do not ignore the hard work you have shown already. Instead, I have rewarded it. Look around, and you will see that I am right. But I do not have mercy for those who defy me. If you have a problem, bring it to me. It's better than starting a riot; and the only way you can challenge me without losing your life."

  The pipes always brought the whispers; from the city, from the Underside... With the right pipes closed off, and others opened, he could control the flow of the heat, and the whispers that went with them. From the Underside and the listening Lostkind, there was only silence.

  Vandark pressed the moment. "I have killed to claim this place as my own. What do you think I would do to keep it?"

  "Vandark." Yasi said darkly. "May I ask a question?"

  The Invader was surprised. "Yes."

  "Do you know why we don't use guns?" Yasi said, her voice almost unrecognizable under the weight of her anger.

  "They're volatile." Vandark nodded. "In enclosed spaces, curved walls, lots of stonework; they can be far more dangerous to friendlies." He held up his own. "That's why mine is the only one you'll find down here."

  "No." Yasi said coldly. "We don't use them... because they break the rules. Be Invisible. Be Daring. Be Beautiful. Guns are loud, cowardly, messy, gawd-awful things. They have no beauty; they have no respect; they make killing a game, and they are just bad." She shook her head. "You're alone in the world n
ow Vandark. Even the Riverfolk know to follow the Rules. The Underside is not forgiving to those who do not keep her Rules."

  Vandark had provided the Lostkind with food, improved and rebuilt their homes, answered their fears with respect and behaved honorably toward his prisoners; but this made him scoff dismissively. "Hm. I'm sure."

  "Mark my words, my lord." Yasi said bitingly. "The Underside is like any other city. It has a pulse, a soul. It has a Rhythm. And you have made Her your enemy. The Secret City Herself is your enemy now. You're already beaten; you just haven't fallen down yet. Your reign here is finished."

  And through the steam pipes that spread through the Underside, carrying the whole conversation in both directions to all the Lostkind; a silent roar went between them.

  Nobody ate the food Vandark brought them that night.

  SEVENTEEN: Rule One: Be Invisible

  In the Archives room of the City Planner's office; Gill and Vincent had been busy. The two of them had converted the back of the room into an open space, large enough for their purpose.

  Vincent was working from memory, but it was a fair approximation of the projectors in the Round Table Room.

  "Two projectors and a smoke machine to create the hologram." Vincent began pointing them out. "Two cameras, circa 1950 to record and transmit the image being projected in real time. The cameras are pointed at me here; and the Projectors intersect over the smoke at the other end. When someone is projected there; we now have the ability to have a conversation. It's the only outside line the Underside has; at least that I know of. It's the only way they talk to other communities like them."

  "So, they're listening to us right now?" Gill guessed, looking at the smoke.

  "No; we're not transmitting. The cameras and the transmitter are all fifty years out of date, so there shouldn't be anyone else on that frequency. It's like watching an analogue channel on a digital TV."

  "What if they've changed frequency?" Gill asked carefully.

  "Jeez, Gill; I'm just glad we're transmitting at all. The only way the plan works out as a happy ending is if I can get a message through. The fewer liberties we take with this, the better. That's why I needed original equipment."