Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series

by Maggert, Terry

  It was time to negotiate.

  “What do you want, Orli? And, perhaps even more important, who do you want it for?”

  In answer, she stood and retrieved a wooden box from her desk, which was low and flat, and made from dovetailed hardwoods. “Do you know what this is?” She opened the lid and lifted something gleaming from within.

  “A gear?” He knew them from the winch systems of his nets, but never that size, and never made from metal, if that’s what it was. The surface was dull, ivory in color, and reflecting the fire with surprising detail. If it was clay, it was a variety finer than anything he’d ever seen in all his travels, being smooth and flawless with a buff finish.

  She handed him the toothed wheel with one finger, placing it in his open hands. He flicked a finger against it, eliciting a high, keening ring.

  It was near to weightless and hard as stone.

  He lost control of his emotions, if only for a second. The gear was metal, of that much he was certain, but it was nothing he had ever seen before. The machining was beyond anything his finest anglers could make, regardless of the materials they had to work with.

  Whatever he held, it was valuable. It was also beyond human engineering, and deep inside Ferdwick’s mind, a memory unfolded, stiff with disuse. This thing is why I was. . . sent here. Yes. I was sent, but forgot why, for some reason. He suspected she was about to explain why, and thus, the reason for their meeting would become clear.

  “There are other rivers in the world, we think, but ours is the only one that matters. You’ve seen gears because you use them, but the one you hold is the most important piece of machinery in the entire river valley because it is the heart of every cable station,” she said.

  “The wheels?”

  “Correct. That gear is capable of incredible strain, pulling klicks of line in high winds, spinning under the pressure of a river current that can run hard enough to drown a River Child in seconds, and it will do so for years on end. Even for centuries, though we don’t know how or why.”

  “Because you didn’t make it,” he stated flatly, fishing a bit. But the answer was already on her face, and she was unhappy.

  He revised his opinion after studying her for a moment. She was worried. The two moods, for a guild leader, were quite different things. Ferdwick knew he was looking at a person who had run out of answers and was close to losing control over something more important than any petty squabble he could use to his advantage. He grew still as possibilities unlocked in his mind, each one worse than the last.

  “If not you, then who?” he asked.

  “I have suspicions and nothing more. That’s why you’re here,” she admitted. After refilling their glasses, she sat down again with the air of a funeral attendant. “What I admit to you now never leaves this room, or everything you know will fall apart overnight. Do you understand?”

  He knew the importance of control. He had thousands of anglers and their families under his protection, along with the largest fleet of ships in the entire world. His only answer was a terse nod, just one professional to another. Equals, for the moment.

  “We’ve never identified the metal, or the source. Each gear will last up to two centuries, but what you hold in your hands is the last of our reserves. There are no more, and if one island wheel fails—”

  “The entire cable fails,” he finished.

  “All of them, instantly. Every ship stranded to fight the river on its own, every crew hurled back to the deltas with only their sails to counteract all that angry water. Thousands dead. Easy commerce, gone. Starvation. A complete collapse of everything in all the kingdoms, and as to the deltas, well . . .” She trailed off, lips twisting in disgust. The delta penchant for war was unquenchable. They would fight, swim, or sail their way north to reduce everything from Marwai onward to smoking ruins. It was nothing less than the end of the world, and it all hinged on a single piece of metal that may as well have come from the stars.

  Ferdwick exhaled, leaning back in the chair like an avalanche pushed down on him. The situation was beyond dangerous. It was apocalyptic, and it was only as far away as a cracked gear on a random island. It could happen tomorrow, or a hundred years in the future, but it was going to happen, and Orli knew it.

  That meant he had no choice but to ask the question and see where their linked futures would lead. “If you don’t know how to fix this, then who does?”

  Her answer was immediate, meaning she had been considering it since the moment he arrived, and probably well before. “In all the river lands, there is only one person who might know, but he’s far from here and there is no guarantee he can be trusted at this time.”

  The why would reveal the who and the where. Ferdwick hated wasted words, so he asked the only question needed. “Why?”

  “Because their king and queen are dead, and any action on our part might be seen as collusion with the killers,” she said.

  “North or south?”

  “Sindelaar. They are the oldest of all kingdoms, and the most likely to know about things from before the Cabler’s guild was in power. My people have taken a dim view of information that might paint us as anything other than eternal,” she admitted.

  “So you’ve burned every document from Silence southward that can reveal the source of your control? Ill-advised of you, it would seem,” he chided her.

  “It was a bad policy that haunts us still. Penman Olrute might know, and even more importantly, he might share the information if he understands the gravity of our situation.” Orli’s eyes pointed skyward, beseeching something unseen for help, but there were no answers there. Her own guild was to blame for the meeting with Ferdwick, their years of secrecy and intimidation finally catching up in the form of a small piece of equipment that was familiar and elusive.

  “And you need me to go north because your presence would cause too many questions, of course,” he said. It was the truth and he knew it, but seeing her discomfort was worth the effort of restating the obvious.

  “It would seem you have the upper hand.”

  “Only in a sense. If I refuse and the cable fails, the world will fall soon after, which means you’re about to offer me something like a suspension of all cable fees in the future,” he said.

  “A considerable offer, given the amount of money at stake, but yes. That very thought crossed my mind.” She sipped her wine and waited, knowing the negotiation was only beginning, but distrustful of the clever fisherman and his slippery history. If they could avert the oncoming collapse, it would make no sense to assume a subservient role to their oldest rival. There would be too much opportunity in the uncertain days ahead, and she was no fool.

  His face went hard, all semblance of the friendly tradesman gone in the blink of an eye. Orli saw him for who he really was: a steely operator who was about to make a counteroffer that she would find toxic at best and fatal at worst. Her guild could not survive the deal if she didn’t remain calm for the next few minutes, but her position was tenuous, and Ferdwick knew it.

  She braced for impact, a bland smile on her placid features.

  “It’s easy to give away something that isn’t yours to begin with, but if I find the information your guild needs, there will be no payment,” he said.

  “None?” She tried to keep the derisive note from her voice but failed.

  “Payment is simply not enough,” he began, and his smile went wide. “A partnership, however . . . that seems much more appropriate.”

  “Partnership,” she said, stunned into a single word as response. “Partnership?” When she repeated the outrageous term, it tasted of vinegar. In one word, he presented the end of everything she knew, regardless of whether the world survived. It wasn’t the money—the flood knew there was enough of that to go around. It was the loss of control. The compromise, the inclusion of others in a sacred power structure that stretched beyond the dimmest recesses of known history.

  “A two-way affair. Your guild will share control of the Cable, and
we will share control of the river. Between us, not one ship will move without our permission, and the city councils will fall at our feet in supplication, their day of power ended with the stroke of a pen. All you need do is agree, and we can become more powerful than any governing body in all the history of the world.”

  Orli knew that when the flood was coming, you got in the first boat to come along. With a small nod, she stood, extending a hand. “On behalf of the Cablers, I accept.”

  He took her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m glad we could reach this accommodation.”

  “Shall we draw up the contract, to be verified by at least three members of each guild?” She asked.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, given the nature of our collective crisis. I’ll leave for Sindelaar immediately, after sending word to my guild. I can be there in—”

  “Regarding that?” she interrupted. “While it’s true I cannot leave here to go north, I have a solution that will go a long way toward quelling any doubts I might harbor regarding the depths of your commitment.”

  His eyes widened when her intentions became obvious. “You don’t mean to—but of all people?”

  “I do, and I insist. Lady Mutokah, if you would?” she called out in a bright voice.

  A moment later, the door slammed open, filled with the Mutokah’s shape. “What is it, lady?” she asked, her tone just short of insolence.

  “Pack a bag. You’re going to Sindelaar. I’ll explain when you return here with your kit, and be swift. Before the sunset, you and our new partner, Ferdwick, will be heading upriver on the fastest skiff we can find.”

  Mutokah revealed nothing but irritation at this career change. “We will be off cable?” There was concern in her tone, if not outright worry. Despite being a fearsome warrior, she knew the river cared little for her skill with a blade. She expected assignments that ended at a cable island, not the wild unknown of the open river.

  “Off and on. Fastest trip possible, and the more air you waste speaking, the farther north you could be. Away.”

  Mutokah bathed the room in a final glare before stalking off, her boots punishing the floor with each angry step.

  “She’s quite a delight,” Ferdwick said drily.

  “I’ve always found her charms to be misunderstood, but I have every confidence the two of you will find a rhythm and be the very best of friends.” Orli’s smile was bright with malice.

  “Your pet may come along, as long as she doesn’t get in the way, but I caution you about letting her harass me without limits,” he said.

  “She won’t harass you at all. She’s to help in whatever way you might find her particular skills to be of use.” Orli’s eyes fluttered with innocence.

  Ferdwick tilted his head with suspicion before rewarding her with a smile of his own. “Make certain she does, because no matter how strong she might be, she won’t be able to fight her way out of a fishing net filled with stones.”

  Orli’s only answer was a brief nod. They were understood, and for now, that was the best each guild could hope for.

  Outside, Diane hovered, her microphone recording every word. Every curse.

  Every secret.

  Drone Download: Report 4

  Nolan, we have information on the origin of Janusia, and why we feel that a political collapse is imminent, Diane said via Cherry’s subroutine.

  Nolan was in that curious place between sleeping and wakefulness, which was a perfect time for intrusions. Like now. The Calabrian Prelate is using a memetic disease to pillage the planet and keep people stupid. Oh, and at war. How does that sound?

  Much more complete than what we have, but yes. They have agents here, and they’re dangerous. They are extremely concerned about the entire system failing, which will kill millions due to everything from starvation to war. Are you going to try to make inroads here, on the river?

  Eventually. Turns out there is at least one colony AI here. I’m on my way to it, or at least, I will be when the sun is up. There are a lot of people here who’ve survived what we did. Came down the well, so to speak, but this is still two completely unique situations.

  It is, as is the technology running the cable. It’s not anything that can be manufactured, Nolan. The Cablers are using stolen technology. Of that, we’re almost certain. There are mono-edge blades, gears, and other items that aren’t human.

  What about the creatures in the river? Are they the makers?

  The River Children are free of technology except for minor convenience items. We have no evidence of them even doing anything as complex as writing. They understand the cable system, but they also hate it. Jack and I have compiled our data, Nolan, and the news is not good. If you plan on intervening on this planet, you will have to do it here. In the river area. One thing of concern, though. There is evidence of radiation sickness among some of these people, and of a severity that is beyond what a natural deposit could cause.

  Like from weapons-grade shit? Nolan asked in alarm. If there were nukes here, then the situation had gone from weird to worse.

  Almost certainly. We do not have a source pinned down, but we have reports from various people of what can only be radiation sickness in the river, and in the desert. Whatever is causing it, it is in more than one site, Nolan. The Calabrian Prelate has much to answer for here.

  I’ll say they do, the scum. Okay, what’s the city where Corra is located?

  Sindelaar. I will locate it on the map for you. Memorize it in case you lose access to this connection, Diane said.

  Got it. Here’s where I’m at—I know I have to come east, because I won’t let this place fall into some kind of civil war, not when I have Cherry and you two. Look for me in Sindelaar.

  When?

  I don’t know. But I can tell you this. When I show up, be prepared to film. You don’t see coronations every day, Nolan said.

  Yours, or Corra’s?

  Nolan gave a mental snort. I’ll let you know.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nolan and Nani

  “How are we going to play this?” Avina asked.

  Tipp said nothing, her face a pale mask of fear as they stood in the shadow of a sheer black rock face. The mountain was—not a mountain. It was a tall mound, flat on one side, with dangerous, jagged edges made slick by the constant salt wind. The ocean was just over the dunes, a spit of brine that ran northward like a knife, cutting into the continent to a depth of a thousand kilometers. Here, in the dividing line between east and west, was the end of the Starway.

  And the beginning of something else. A deep fissure of ocean, midnight blue in the middle and green at the edges, lined by rolling dunes and covered with small waves. The wind was mild, the sun bright, and the shadows stippling the hill were hard-edged and endless.

  “This rock is alive,” Nolan said.

  “Not a rock.” Avina reached out delicately and ran two fingers down a glassy edge. “Like obsidian.”

  Nolan could see his reflection in the surface. She was right. It was a hill of glass, tortured by heat and—

  “Atmospheric entry,” Nolan muttered.

  “Looks like it to me,” Cherry agreed.

  “Shit, you’re right.” Avina lowered herself to the bright sand and dug along a seam in the hill. She revealed, with some effort, an edge, deep enough to stick her thumb into.

  Tipp coughed, her nerves getting the best of her. “The Vikun won’t even approach this. Why the hell should we?” None of the scouting party were within five hundred meters, having found other things to do.

  “How do we get inside?” Nolan asked, his head tilted in thought.

  “That would be by invitation only,” came a female voice.

  As one, they all whirled to face the speaker, only to see her smiling at them in the patient manner of grandmothers and caregivers.

  Nolan recovered first. He sized up the woman, who appeared to be in her later years, short, and stout. A gold wrap twined about her body, ending over on arm. The colo
r shifted with the breeze, and her smile only deepened as he turned to her in surprise.

  “The Consult, I presume?” Nolan asked in a flash of gallant manners.

  “One and the same, but for the purpose of this visit, call me Nani. Less fussy that way.”

  “Nani it is. A human name?” Nolan asked.

  “Indeed. An old one, given me by my granddaughter, who wrote my code.”

  “Code?” Avina asked.

  Nani looked down. She stood at the edge of the ship’s impact area, her feet on a flat, hard surface. It was the deck of a ship, and sand trickled in, bullied by the wind even as the seconds went by. “I’ll explain in here. You’ll understand.”

  Nolan looked around. “Do we go in? No offense, Nani, but—”

  She waved his concerns away. “Of course. If I can scare the Vikun, I must be evil. Right?”

  Nolan laughed. “Good enough for me.”

  “I’m in,” Avina said. “Tipp?”

  “No.” Her answer was short and clear. “I’ll go—back over there. With them.”

  “Suit yourself.” Nolan stepped forward into the passage, a perfect square of two meters. Avina followed, and Nani retreated even as soft light began to glow along the floor and ceiling. “Ship lighting, but very old.”

  “You have no idea,” Nani said, her pace even and unhurried.

  “How far are we, ah, going in?” Nolan asked.

  “Just here,” Nani said.

  They were on the bridge of a ship, and around them, the space yawned away into gloom. It was cavernous—and silent.

  Nani waved at two chairs but remained standing. “What questions would you like answered first?”

  Nolan hesitated, but Avina didn’t. “Is this a colony ship? From—”

  “Earth? Yes.”