by Rachel Ford
She glanced toward the Atupalans, then grimaced. “Well, I guess we know what the signal was. We better step on it.”
The taxman gulped as she cranked the throttle, and the airship puttered forward even faster. But he didn’t protest. He had no desire to be intercepted by a flotilla of fire-breathing dirigibles.
They navigated the border of Atupal, the rest of their ships close behind them. Soon, they were in the airspace over the island. The buildings and charming byways Alfred had seen before were all exactly as he remembered them. Except now, they were less charming. They carried a sinister air, a quiet kind of menace. They were the homes of genocidal killers, the quiet walkways where the feet of murderers tread. They were the meadows and lakes where bloodletters reveled. The mansions harbored monsters, the parks sheltered madmen.
A few confused voices wafted up to the airship from below, but the words were lost to the distance. Nance was moving for the central compound at a dizzying pace. Alfred could feel the airship shudder under him, the gondola rock or tremble now and then all around.
There were problems with their plan that began to present to the taxman’s mind. They were about to siege a bunker with a handful of men. Granted, Trajan’s prohibition on the mainlanders developing airships meant that this was likely not something he’d anticipate. Still, there had been armed guards there when they’d visited earlier in the day. Presumably, they’d still be there.
But it was more than that. They would need to disappear into the bowels of Atupal to pull this off. Even if they managed to succeed, there was no guarantee their airships would still be waiting for them when they resurfaced.
What if facility guards found the ships? What if the dirigibles now in pursuit destroyed them? They’d be trapped on Atupal, with a furious Trajan. The man was already capable of genocide.
What would he do when they destroyed his ability to control the island?
Alfred didn’t know, but the more he thought about it, the more ominous their situation seemed. Still, he kept these musings to himself. Nance had more or less mastered the ship’s controls, and was throwing her full attention into delivering them safely to the center of the island.
Chancellor Irma and the rest of their mini fleet was right behind her. The bunker came into view: the same squat, unprepossessing structure he’d visited earlier. This time, rather than traveling by rail through the portcullis, they passed over the walls. Nance set the airship down in the courtyard just outside the building. Irma and the others followed.
Alfred wondered where the guards were. There had been men on patrol earlier. He didn’t remember how many, or precisely where he’d seen them patrolling. But their brightly clad forms were hard to miss.
And now, they were nowhere to be seen. Nance opened the gondola door, and Alfred touched her elbow. “Babe, where are the guards?”
She frowned in thought, throwing a glance around the empty yard. “I don’t see any.”
“Exactly. There were men here earlier.”
“Maybe they were sent below, to the city?”
“Or maybe they’re setting up an ambush for us.”
She nodded. “Waiting inside? Could be.”
Irma, meanwhile, had touched down and was already out of her airship. “This is the place?” she called.
“It is. But, Chancellor, there were guards here earlier. They’re not out in the yard anymore.”
She shook her head. “No. I expect they’re waiting for us inside. Think they’ll surprise us.” She flashed a grin, her dark eyes twinkling. “Well, let’s see about that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chancellor Irma was far more excited about the prospect of an ambush than the taxman. She and her retinue of guards took point, telling Nancy and Alfred, “You two stay back. You know how to get to the crystal. No matter what, you have to stay alive.”
Then, one of the guardsmen opened the door, and, a pistol in either hand, she stepped inside. Alfred saw the flash of igniting powder and heard the blast of a shot firing. A second later, the press of bodies swept Irma out of sight. But the shots did not stop.
He threw a glance in Nance’s direction to make sure she was still set on this madcap scheme. She flashed him a nervous smile, and they stepped forward.
The shooting had mostly stopped by time they entered. The taxman was a little surprised by that, and by how still and silent the interior was.
It was not, however, as bad as he feared. This was no site of a massacre. There was one slumped form in a far corner, but Irma stood grinning, the four barrels of her pistols smoking, as her men held half a dozen of Trajan’s soldiers at gunpoint. “These cowards haven’t had a real fight in their lifetimes,” she explained. “No attacker has stepped foot on Atupal in hundreds of years. And when they harass Inbalibrab, it’s always from the air. Like the cowards they are.”
This last bit was said with a sneer in the surrendered men’s direction. Now she turned back to them, though. “They put their hands up almost as soon as the bullets started flying.”
Irma was well and truly pleased with herself and the situation, and Alfred tried to mirror something of her level of enthusiasm. He managed a, “Well, good work. That, uh, sure showed them.”
“And, by Jove, felt damned good into the bargain,” she agreed. “I feel I might have misjudged the pair of you. I’ve wanted to do this for…well, gods know how long. And now – thanks to you – here we are, on Atupal.” Her grin grew. “Now, let’s find that swine of a king.”
“We need to get to the crystal,” Nance reminded her. “That’s the only way we can be sure to stop him.”
“Aye, of course. But you can deal with the crystal. Trajan is mine.”
A shout of support rose from the guardsman at her back, and Alfred shivered. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the direction the Katarians were headed much more than he liked where Trajan had meant to go.
Still, there was a city to save, and so he tried to focus on that. He’d deal with the Trajan problem when they came to it. “The elevator’s back this way,” he said, gesturing in the direction they’d followed earlier.
“Cuff them, boys. We’ll come back for them later,” Irma decided. Trajan’s men thus restrained, she turned to the taxman. “Lead on, Favero.”
He did, and, his heart in his mouth with each step, Alfred headed for the elevator. No enterprising guardsmen leapt out to ambush them, though, and they reached the cab without incident. He punched the button to summon it to the ground floor, and in a moment it trundled into place.
Then, they all packed inside and began the long descent. The excitement of the Inbalibrab crew seemed to grow in direct proportion to his and Nance’s nervousness. She would throw him a worried glance, and he squeezed her hand anxiously. Irma and her troops, meanwhile, reloaded. “Cover Nancy and Alfred,” the chancellor said. “They’ve got to get through to that crystal. They’re the number one priority. But after that: it’s Trajan.”
A round of cheers filled the packed elevator, and the taxman again felt a sense of foreboding. But the carriage rumbled down the shaft unaware of his inner turmoil, and eventually came to its final destination.
The doors pulled back, and he braced for a firefight. So did the troops, who pressed their own bodies in front of him and Nance, and in front of the chancellor. But the cavern lay empty, its chandeliers casting the great expanse of stone in brilliant light. There were no guards here. There was no one here at all – except a solitary figure, in the center of the room, in the control booth. It was King Trajan, decked out in a blinding combination of velvety green and orange.
Irma seemed to notice the same thing at the same moment, for she scowled. “That son-of-a-”
“Bunny,” Alfred felt compelled to interrupt. He’d flown in an airship, been fired at, and had to figure out how to destroy a bizarre crystal contraption. His day was decidedly bad enough. He didn’t need that kind of language on top of everything else – chancellor or no chancellor.
She b
linked at him. “What?”
“Son-of-a-bunny.”
Her brow creased. “That’s not the saying.” Then, she shook her head. “Regardless, do you see what he’s wearing?”
The taxman shook his head. Striped orange and green trousers, and a velvety purple jacket with a checkered waistcoat: it wasn’t quite on the level of genocide, but it was definitely a human rights’ violation. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”
“They’re the battle colors of Atupal.”
Alfred’s lip curled. “They are?”
“Yes.”
“Who picked them? A colorblind two-year-old?”
“It’s tradition, going back to the founding of the nation: green, for new lands acquired; orange, for the fire that razes rebellion; and purple, to signify the so-called majesty of these island tyrants.”
“Well, they might have chosen something a little less repulsive,” he decided.
Irma ignored the comment. “Where’s this crystal? Let’s destroy it, so I can put a bullet through his heart.”
“Woah,” Alfred said. “You’re going to shoot him?”
She paused to survey the taxman, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. Better to let him die on my blade.”
“Do you have to kill him?” Nancy wondered. “I mean, we’re going to send his island back to the south pole. Isn’t that enough?”
“It won’t bring back the dead,” she returned.
“Neither will killing him.”
Irma’s frown returned. “Why would you defend him, Favero? He left you to die along with all of us.”
“Defeating him is better than killing him,” Nance intervened. “I mean, if you kill him, he’s a martyr to his people. But if you defeat him, he’s the disgraced king who lost Atupal’s ability to fly. Right?”
Slowly, a grin replaced the scowl on the chancellor’s features. “Now that’s brilliant. I won’t kill him.”
Alfred loosed a breath of relief. “Good.”
“The people of Atupal will. He’ll meet the same end Thaddeus the Third met.”
He blinked. He was afraid to ask what end that was. So, instead, he prompted, “He…will?”
She nodded briskly. “After he lost the battle of Aran Court: the people stormed the keep, and dragged him out to face justice for his failure. They threw him to his own hounds, and cheered as he was torn to pieces.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
This did nothing to allay the taxman’s concerns, but Irma considered the matter closed. “Come on: show us this crystal, so we can get on with it.”
Had the island not still been descending, Alfred might have argued. But it was, bearing further and further down on the city below; and so he did not argue.
He and Nance led the way to the subterranean chamber, and the panel that controlled access to it. They’d crossed a good quarter of the way when Trajan spotted them, and his voice, booming from unseen speakers, echoed out throughout the chamber. “Gods’ toes, Favero? Abbot? What are you doing here? And Irma? Faugh! You’ve brought that sea snake, that toad’s slime, that skunk’s droppings, here?”
“I flew here, on one of your precious balloons,” Irma answered, before Alfred had formulated a response of his own. “I’ve come to end your tyranny, you swollen jackanapes.”
Alfred could see the king’s expression darken. Irma’s barbs – somehow – had struck their target. He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to be so effective, as the entire exchange seemed a bit silly to him. “You upstart,” Trajan hissed. “You ridiculous little upstart. How dare you step foot on this place? How dare you speak to me like so? By the gods, I’ll hang you from the battlements and use you for target practice.”
Irma laughed, but there was an edge of irritation to her tone, as if these words had hit home too. “You’ve swallowed too many of your precious oils, Trajan. It’s effecting your brain. Your taunts are weak, and feeble – even for such an old man as you are.”
Nance, meanwhile, tapped the taxman’s arm. “Alfred,” she whispered. “The crystal: let’s get it now, before Trajan realizes what we’re doing.”
So, while the king shot back a few lines about vapors deluding Irma’s reason, and she returned her own theory about his parentage, the pair headed for the crystal.
They’d nearly reached it when Trajan’s voice rang out. “Hold on. What are you up to, Favero, sneaking around like that? If you think you’re getting in here, the door’s locked. You’d need an army to break it down.”
“We’ve come to destroy that damned crystal,” Irma shot back.
Alfred had no idea why she said it. Giving away their secret attack plan seemed, well, counterproductive to the taxman. But she was standing there proudly, grinning at the king.
“The crystal?” He scoffed. “So you betray me, then, Nancy? You betray me, Alfred? And after everything I did for you?”
“You did try to kill us,” Nance pointed out.
Trajan paused, then nodded. “Fair enough, I suppose. But you’ll never get to it. Only I know the sequence.”
“Sugar cookies,” the taxman said.
“Shit,” Nance added.
That was an aspect of the plan they hadn’t thought through. But, as the taxman went over the events of earlier in the day, he remembered Trajan punching in a sequence of symbols before the chamber opened. He had no idea what they’d been, though. “Sugar cookies,” he said again.
“So you see, toad,” the king smirked, “your trip here was in vain. All you’ve done is give yourself a front row seat to the destruction of your city. And when it’s done, my men will arrest you, and I’ll try you for treason.”
The chancellor snorted in turn. “You think we’d have come here, if we didn’t know how to get to the crystal?” She laughed. “You’re a bigger fool than you look, Trajan. Isn’t he, Nancy? Alfred?”
The taxman chuckled nervously. “Right. What a fool.”
“You see? They know your precious sequence.”
“Impossible.”
Alfred was inclined to agree with the king, but Irma’s confidence compelled a kind of desperate silence. “Come on, Nance,” he whispered, taking her by the hand and closing the last few steps between them and the control panel.
“What are we doing?” she asked in hushed tones. “We don’t know the code.”
“You’re smart, Nance: if anyone can hack it, you can.” They had reached the panel now, and he stood aside to let her access the buttons. There were ten of them, with various runes painted onto their faces. “Go ahead,” he prompted.
She, though, turned despairing eyes to him. “Babe, there’s ten buttons. We don’t know how long the code is. Even if it’s only four or five characters long…do you know how many permutations we’d have to run through? We could be here for the rest of our lives.”
Alfred blinked. “You mean…you can’t hack it?”
“Of course not, babe. You can’t just brute force a code like that.”
“See?” Trajan’s voice boomed. “They’ve lied to you, Irma. They have no idea what they’re doing.”
“Go on,” the chancellor prompted. “Show this monkey in tights that he’s underestimated us – again.”
Alfred licked his lips, finding that they had suddenly gone very dry. “Right. Just a minute.” Then, lowering his voice again, he said, “Nance, what are we going to do?”
“What can we do?” she said, shaking her head. “We’ve got to level with Irma. Maybe we can find a way to get Trajan out of the control booth. Maybe we can make him put the code in.”
“What are you waiting for?” Irma asked.
“Let me try something first, Nance,” he decided.
“It’ll never work, babe: you can’t just guess a code like that. The probabilities-”
“I know, I know,” Alfred nodded. He did. Nance was right. If this was a random code, the chance of just guessing it was infinitesimally small. But Trajan was a man who lost chess, playing himself. Something told the taxman that he would not entrust
the power source for his nation’s mobility to a complex code. Something told Alfred that the king would use a simple code, something easy to remember.
One-two-three-four. That’s what his grandmother’s phone passcode had been, before he’d insisted she change it. And that had only led to her being permanently locked out of the phone. Alfred smiled to himself. He had a hunch that Granma Favero’s tech comfort level and Trajan’s cunning were about evenly matched. “I’ve got an idea.”
So he pressed the first four buttons of the control panel in succession. A quiet buzzing sounded, but the floor remained shut. Sugar cookies. So it wasn’t going to be that simple.
What if it’s five characters long? He tried again, this time pressing the first five buttons. The buzzer rang again, and Trajan laughed now.
“See? I told you. They’re as stupid as you, Irma.”
Alfred grimaced. As much as he hated to admit defeat – and the king’s taunts only deepened the feeling – he was running out of ideas. Trajan hadn’t pressed many buttons. If the code was longer than five characters, it wasn’t much longer. He decided he’d try the first six buttons. But, then, his hand froze over the controls. Zero-nine-eight-seven. That’s what Granma Favero had set her new phone to.
“Babe,” Nance whispered. “We’ve got to-”
“One more try,” he said.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Now, Alfred started at the end. And he whooped in delight as he pressed the fourth key, and a ding indicating success sounded.
“Oh my God, you did it,” Nancy laughed, shaking his arm. “You did it, Alfred.”
“How in the hell did you do that?” Trajan demanded at the same time. “That was unguessable.”
And Irma let loose a belly laugh. “Who is stupid now, eh?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Alfred stood, staring into the blinding brightness. Nance was at his side, staring with the same transfixed expression.