Ferdwick stepped forward, followed by the ponderous form of Lady Mutokah, who was preceded by her hateful glare.
Mutokah looked at Nolan, then Avina, and then her eyes landed on Cherry with the force of a hammer.
Cherry leapt across the room as Mutokah was already in motion, fists out in a blur that no human could ever match. Before anyone could speak—or move—Nolan dug deep in his heavy muscles, sprang across the floor, and tore the blade Thirst from its protection, the edge singing as he twisted and accelerated hard across the floor.
Mutokah’s massive hand crunched into Cherry’s neck, but it was a glancing blow, and Cherry spun free, lashing back with a heel kick that landed with the sound of breaking rock. Staggered, Mutokah whirled to face her opponent, and her huge hands flashed out in a streak, pummeling Cherry before she could get out of range. One-two-three, the punches landed, cracking Cherry’s facial housing even as she brought an elbow up with enough force to lift Mutokah off the ground.
They fell together as Mutokah locked her thick hands around Cherry’s neck and began to methodically tear her head and processing unit free in a series of shuddering jolts.
“Nope,” Nolan said, driving the blade straight into Mutokah’s spine, then sawing back and forth in three quick cuts even as he jerked savagely on the huge woman’s braided hair.
The head came off with a whiff of electrical char and a blue flash, and Mutokah went still.
“Cherry?” Nolan asked.
“Give me a minute.” Cherry seated her head again with a pair of clicks, then she blinked with exaggerated slowness. “Yes. I’m back. She almost had me.”
“She?” Balant asked.
He was the first human to speak in a room full of them—except for the two androids, one now separated into pieces.
Nolan stood, groaning, then tossed Mutokah’s head toward Corra’s throne. “Not a she. Not technically.”
Vondaar retched. Radwill smiled like he’d solved a puzzle, and Corra lifted a thin brow, asking every question in the world with that small gesture.
Balant just stared, then cleared his throat. “You were saying?”
Nolan toed at Mutokah’s former body. “About that. You guys got anything to drink? I think we might need it.”
“We do indeed, and you are?” Corra asked.
“Nolan. That’s Cherry, and Avina, your majesty. Permission to ask another question?”
“I think you’ve certainly earned it,” Corra said.
Surprising everyone, Nolan stepped to Ferdwick and placed Thirst at the man’s throat, the point hovering over his pale skin. “Tell me about the river cables, you oily little shit, and don’t leave anything out.”
Corra and her Court
North
The table was long and roughly made—a place for work, not show. Nolan, Cherry, and Avina sat on one side, while Corra’s people occupied every other chair. Nearly all of the Janusians watched Cherry with thinly disguised fear. During their move from the main hall to the smaller speaking chamber, few people had made a sound.
The destruction of Mutokah had been a revelation.
The fact that Nolan did it was alarming. The sudden expansion of their world had been a blast of chill wind, unwelcome and harsh, and now, settled before each other, the air was thick with foreboding.
Balant broke the ice, poured clear wine into sturdy glasses, then settled his bulk on a chair, the wood creaking in protest. He was a big man, and his hands made the cup look like a toy. With a glance to his queen, he received a hidden signal, then turned to Cherry and said one word. “Begin.”
Cherry gave an elegant nod. “Mutokah was a construct of an earlier model, possibly some eight centuries old, given my scans. I am newer, although I’ve only been in this body for a matter of weeks. My frame is eighty years old, give or take.”
Corra turned her glass in long fingers, then lifted one brow. “Your . . . frame?”
“Yes, your majesty. My body is a machine. My mind is not.”
Radwill leaned forward, nervous energy radiating from him in waves. “Are the rest of you, ah—”
Nolan waved a thick arm. “I’m real. So is Avina. Cherry was my—companion. She arrived with me.”
“From orbit?” Corra asked. “On one of the fallen ships?”
Nolan froze, then cut his eyes at Avina, who shrugged. Cherry said nothing, her eyes scanning the room.
“We’re not complete rubes, Nolan, despite what it looks like,” Corra said mildly. “Bring it out.”
“At once, Majesty,” Radwill said. He pointed to a door, obscured by thick carmine wall hangings that depicted a hunt. The door opened, and a young man came out, wearing the bib of a leatherworker. In his hands, he held a small box, and without making a sound, he placed it on the table in front of his queen, who gave him a bright smile.
“Thank you, Golston.”
“Majesty.” The youth melted away, and the room was silent again until Corra opened the box without fanfare and emptied an array of items onto the table in a musical clatter. “Do you see anything you recognize?”
Nolan did. There were mainframe chips and a small energy weapon—clearly cooked off—as well as a screen and tools and a comm unit that looked at least two hundred years old, its plastic spalled and grimy. The last item was the crown jewel, and Nolan raised his brows, asking for permission to pick it up.
You seeing what I’m seeing? Cherry asked.
I’d say I know what the Cablers need, if I know anything about engineering at all. Bet it’s precious, eh? Nolan answered.
When his hand remained in a hover over the item, Corra gave a small nod. Yes.
“You know about—well, what do you know, exactly, Majesty?” Nolan asked.
She grinned, and some of the frost melted between them. “We call these items ghosts because they remind us of things forgotten, and things we can’t use, or destroy, or even leverage against the Cablers, who clearly have technology from beyond our orbit. As I said, we’re not naïve or stupid. We’re trapped, but this information would do far more harm than good if we were to—”
“Let the people know just what the Calabrians are doing here,” Avina finished.
“Quite so,” Corra said. “We know of the agents and the Pox. Some of us are inoculated. Most of us never are, and what you get is my realm. A place of sorrow and war, and no end in sight because we can’t build ships to break orbit.”
“And we won’t leave our people to those bastards like Rukisa, either,” Balant growled.
Nolan toasted him at that. “Agreed. A question?”
“Please,” Corra said.
“What are you going to do about it?”
His words hung like a knife in the air, then Corra smiled. “I think we could put a plan in motion, now that the Cablers have been exposed beyond doubt. Get that little vermin out here, if you please.” Corra’s tone was conversational. Her expression was anything but friendly. “He’s had long enough to ripen.”
Ferdwick was bustled out, rubbing his arms where Cherry had bound him. He’d been sitting in a chair outside the hall, stewing in his own righteous indignation, and now he was entering the second phase of his fall.
Raw anger. Surprise had come first—powerful people never think they’ll answer for their crimes—and now he was purpling with rage as two guards bustled him in, his bare feet tripping on the chilled flagstones.
Ferdwick began speaking as soon as his gag was removed. “You fucking amateurs. Do you think Mutokah was our only asset? We will—”
Nolan’s backhand split Ferdwick’s lip in a flash, rocking the small man’s head back like a broken toy. “Did the queen ask you a direct question, you thieving pig?”
Corra inclined her head. “Thank you, Nolan.”
“Majesty,” Nolan said, warming to the role of gallantry. He focused on Ferdwick with the gaze of a predatory bird. “I wanted to bleed you in the other room, but they convinced me to wait. I can’t use the monoblade on you, but I’ve got some
thing even better. Can you swim?”
Ferdwick sputtered. “Of course I can swim, you idiot. I’ve spent the last two decades on that stinking river.”
“Ahh. Notice he said on,” Cherry quipped.
“I did notice. Interesting. Master Balant, are there any, ah—predators, in the river?” Nolan asked.
“Many. This far north, they’re more coldwater than down south. As always, the River Children rule, but even they fear the mottled cod. A vicious species, if good eating. About the size of . . . this table, in fact. Oddly attracted to the scent of animal fat. Our fisherfolk use linen bags with Turgat trimmings to lure them up from the depths. It’s quite a sight,” Balant said with a frigid smile.
“For fuck’s sake, enough with the juvenile threats. You won’t use me as bait because you need—”
Nolan opened his hand, where the last item from Corra’s off-world stash had been hidden in his wide palm and long fingers. A flat, round object fell onto the table with a soft bonk.
“Where the—where did you—” Ferdwick spat, then closed his mouth with a sharp click.
Nolan gave him a smile bleaker than winter’s heart. “Bit late to stop chatting, Guild Emperor or whatever you call yourself. Appreciate the confirmation, though. I’m guessing those aren’t made of material from this planet, or any other for that matter—at least not any the Prelate can access. And you need those for the big wheels out there on the river, spinning away for . . .?”
“Thousands of years, at least,” Cherry said.
“No one really knows how long the Cable has been,” Balant said. “But it certainly controls much of our lives.”
“Not anymore,” Nolan announced.
“Maybe not ever again, if I can get a detailed analysis,” Cherry said.
“Ceramic? Maybe?” Avina asked, turning the gear over in her hands. “Light as air. Tough. Definitely not anything I’ve seen on a ship. Or in a FabHub.”
“You know, I might recognize this. Or at least—Cherry, remember that automated system that was crawling with mechanicals? They were stripping the inner worlds of metal and sending slag into a long orbit for collection,” Nolan said.
“Proximus Ghost. Quarantined zone. I wondered how those heavy-material slings could run at that speed. We never saw them stop hurling tons of slag at escape velocity. They were clearly using magneto accelerators, but everywhere I’ve seen them, they’re tricky. They wear out.” She tilted her head at Ferdwick, who bathed her in a feral glare. “With these gears, you could reduce an entire system on automated settings and come back for the profits at your leisure. Of course, that’s illegal and would leave a barren wasteland of rocky cores.”
“That’s assuming they didn’t kill off any life on those worlds, either industrial or pre-industrial,” Avina added.
“You’re saying the—who are Ferdwick’s people, just to be certain?” Corra asked.
“We think it’s the Calabrian Prelate, Majesty, but in a roundabout way. The subterfuge is so thick, not even the agents may know they are agents. About four thousand years of villainy, all in one corporate structure. The true scum of our galactic arm. And beyond,” Nolan said.
Corra stood, placing her hands on the table, fingers spread. When she looked at Ferdwick, something had changed. She was still young, but now there was iron in her gaze.
And Ferdwick, the master of an ancient crime with countless victims, looked down.
“Nolan, I would like to ask you a favor,” Corra said.
“Anything. Except leaving orbit, I think.”
“Fair enough.” Corra’s smile was luminous. “Do you agree that in order to save people and free this world, we must control the river?”
“I do.”
“And do you agree that Rukisa, the so-called Desert Witch, is likely a common thief, working for the Calabrians?” Corra continued.
“Yes, Majesty.”
Corra gave a sharp nod. “Balant, Radwill. We have one hundred and fifty-eight days until the Feast of Falling.”
“What’s that?” Cherry asked, curious.
“Our major holiday. We celebrate every year, and then every twenty-six years, we celebrate twice—the Feast, and the Arrival. This year, we have two feasts. I’ve noticed that around Falling, there are always new faces. Many, in fact, and they always seem to be close to the guild or other places of power. Isn’t that interesting?” Corra asked Ferdwick, whose face went pale at her innocuous barb.
“Multiple landings,” Avina said. “Agents. All at once. To increase the chance of success and infiltration.”
“I would say you’re right, Avina. Which leaves us with one more item of business before we go about saving the world,” Corra said.
“Which is, Majesty?” Nolan asked.
“Bring the second one,” Balant said in a low rumble.
In seconds, Vondaar stood before them, and there was no fight left in the boy. He was—empty. Cowed.
Afraid.
“Where is Rukisa?” Corra asked.
Vondaar hesitated for a second, and Ferdwick watched the mild rebellion, smiling at the fact that the fop had any steel in him at all.
Cherry ended the moment, then stood, stepped up to Vondaar, and placed a hand gently on his thigh. She smiled, and the gesture made gears whir inside her neck, a tinkle of bright, alien noise.
Nice touch, Nolan said.
Always wanted to be an actress. Watch this.
“There is an old saying, that in order to make peace, you must first make blood. How much blood is in you, My Count?” A thin tool slipped from her finger, pressing into the skin of Vondaar’s leg.
Bit theatrical for me.
I killed in Virtual Stage Realms. Other AIs said my Sycorax was menacing and real, so no criticism, thank you. A girl’s gotta dream, Cherry said.
As you will, Lady Macdeath. Nolan’s smile was barely contained.
Ha. And ha again. Okay, back to work.
Vondaar looked at Ferdwick, who tried to sneer but failed. It was over, and he knew it. The former Count’s shoulders fell, and he uttered three words. “The Fallen Port.”
“We know it well,” Corra said, smiling brightly.
Vondaar took her expression as a sign of hope, but that faded when Corra motioned to Cherry and Nolan that they should hold Vondaar still.
“Open his mouth, if you please,” the queen said, hand slipping into her dress pocket.
“Wha—wait, what are you—” Vondaar spat, but Cherry’s inhuman fingers pried his mouth open like a remorseless vise.
Don’t break him. Yet, Nolan said.
I won’t.
Corra leaned close, holding a small vial. “Allow me to return the favor, My Count.” With a deft snap, she opened the massive dose. “Breath of Ursa, in case you’re wondering. You won’t die, but you’ll wish to. In larger amounts, you’ll remain in twilight, awake, alone, and when you fight your way through, this world will no longer belong to you or the vipers you call friends.”
Vondaar inhaled, gagged, and screamed.
As he slumped, Corra fell inward from the weight of her revenge.
“You didn’t kill him,” Avina said.
“No, I did not,” Corra answered, tired beyond her years.
“Leave his death to me,” Nolan said, lowering Vondaar to the floor.
“Why?” Balant asked, his face lit with real curiosity.
Nolan stared down at the boy, then flicked a glance at Ferdwick, who recoiled at the look. “There won’t be room for Calabrians—even those who know very little-- when we’re done. So, where is this Fallen Port, and how do we get there?”
Chapter Fourteen
The Clockstones
“This looks challenging. Is it challenging?” Nolan asked amiably. “I’m only curious because it looks like the first ten thousand feet is—what’s the word—”
“Gentle,” Cherry offered.
“Pastoral, even. But see, those jagged rocks and winding path up really make me long for a space cow or
three,” Avina added.
“Space cows?” Balant asked in mild bewilderment. He shared a look with Radwill and several other capable people, all arrayed around Corra in a defensive arc.
“He means Turgat, I believe, and he is not incorrect. They do make paths, and we could use one, eh, old friends?” Corra asked. Every gesture and word of hers was—seasoned. That was it. She wasn’t old, and she wasn’t young. She had a seasoned touch, and it made Nolan want to see her on the throne.
That meant going up.
“Nolan, use your eye, look nine degrees below the summit,” Cherry said to only him. “See it?”
He did. The scar was barely visible, but it was there, so high up that the frost-rimed lip was obscured to bare smudge. A cave.
“I do,” he said, then spoke to the entire group. “Your majesty, I see a cave, and it looks—undisturbed, as you wanted. If we make it, and if we find what we need, and—”
“If we survive the trip back down, then the next step is simple, sir. We turn south to the Fallen Port, and we attack the Desert Witch. She’ll be there because we are here, and her spies will have told her so.” Corra shrugged, and for a moment, she was young.
“My thoughts exactly. Do you see that ledge, some distance up? Before the snows?” Nolan asked.
“I do.” Corra had a hand over her eyes, flattened to block the sun.
“I’ll ask you all to come with us—Cherry and me—and Avina will stay with you there. We’ll go up as fast as possible and carry all we can. If we have to, we’ll do it twice. But only Cherry goes up with me.”
Balant bristled. “To the depths with that. You’ll do no such—”
Nolan patted the air, then a thought occurred to him. “You’re a powerful man, yes?”
Radwill and others chuckled, all turning to look at Balant’s massive shoulders and arms. He was built like a bull. Only Corra remained silent, her curiosity bubbling to the surface in a half-smile.
“I am . . . not weak,” Balant said.
Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series Page 26