The Adventures of Benjamin Skyhammer (18 page)

Commercial and industrial districts fully took over on the other side of the park. Big wide doors allowed passers-by to peer in and watch the carpenter or the baker at their work. Skyhammer shuddered to think what would happen if there was a fire here. The town would be ash in an instant.

Higgins stopped another child, a young man this time, and asked him for directions to a paper shop. The kid wore grubby shorts and a collared shirt. Dirt streaked his bare feet.

"I'll take you!" he said, staring open-mouthed at Higgins.

"It's not necessary but we really appreciate it," Higgins said, smiling.

"It's Waterfest and we want to welcome all our visitors to Kulik and make sure everyone has a good time," the kid recited.

"What's your name?" Skyhammer asked.

The kid started, as if noticing Skyhammer for the first time. He stared at the Relic hunter for a moment. "I'm Daniel." He paused. "The shop is this way." He led the way through some darker back streets that cut between the west and south roads.

Distracted by a street performer, he and Higgins dawdled a few steps behind their guide, who had just turned a corner. They quickened their pace to catch up. When they stepped around the corner after him, he was gone. People packed the street but Daniel had disappeared.

Chapter 17

Countdown to ceremony: 8 days

A flash of anxiety twisted Skyhammer's stomach. Had Daniel recognized them? What if he told an adult and they were attacked again? He looked at Higgins. She seemed unconcerned.

"Let's keep walking." She slid her arm through his.

Halfway down the street Skyhammer saw a sign hanging off a building, a few scrolls sketched on the wood.

"There." He pointed.

They crossed the street and entered the cool darkness of the paper shop.

Skyhammer blinked as his eyes got used to the darkness. He looked around. The store was very small in depth but the ceiling soared three stories high. A counter ran in front of him, slicing the room in two, leaving a small space for customers to stand. On the walls behind the counter hung long strips of paper of every imaginable colour and texture, a stunning paper mosaic. The only light came from the two windows on either side of the door, their paper covering filled with letters and numerals of all shapes and sizes.

A door in the right wall opened and a well-groomed man bustled through. "How can I help you?"

Higgins stepped forward. "We're looking for some paper."

The man frowned "Sorry, we don't sell that here. You'll have to go down the block." At the surprised expression on Higgins' and Skyhammer's faces, the man guffawed. "Ha, ha! Just kidding! You've come to right place! Pulp's Paper Emporium has everything for your paper needs." He stroked his chin. "Now, what did you need? Something to send to a mother? A scented sheet for a lover? A businesslike missive for your business partner? A new window for the marriage bedroom?" He leered at Higgins. "I am Mr. Pulp, the proprietor of the finest paper establishment in Kulik."

"We need your cheapest paper, Mr. Pulp." Higgins contemplated the wall of paper as she spoke.

She ignored the leer with grace, Skyhammer noted. He wanted to punch it off the little peacock's face himself.

An offended look crossed the man's features. He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. "Our paper is all high quality," he stuttered.

"The King himself has given us a task to complete and your paper is a key component in completing it." Higgins leaned across the counter. "If your paper helps us be successful in our mission, Pulp's Paper Emporium could become very well-known indeed."

Mr. Pulp rubbed his hands together. "Because of the course the King would want to know where the paper came from!" His voice rose with excitement. "So you need some cheap paper. Just something that can be written on by a normal writing implement."

Skyhammer stepped forward. "We'll need a brush and paint. We want to make sure it's highly visible. The one who will read it, uh, doesn't have great . . . eyesight."

Higgins nodded. "Can you procure a brush and paint for us as well? And we need paper that takes paint well. Just black paint will do. And not too big a brush."

The proprietor nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes. My gods, the King! Just give me a minute. . ." He bustled out the door. "Donna! I need help with this order. Now!" The door swung shut behind him and they were left in the relative silence of the cool shop.

A few seconds later, the door opened again.

"Who did you say you were?" Mr. Pulp, hands on his hips this time, regarded them with suspicion. "You say you are on a mission from the King. Do you have papers to that effect?"

The door squeaked. A feminine face, eyes narrowed, peered through the crack. Skyhammer sighed. Of course. His wife had popped Mr. Pulp's rosy dream of fame and asked him to prove these people were who they said they were. He stepped forward, placing one hand on his sword hilt and one on the counter.

"Mr. Pulp. Do you know about the Retrograph Sorcerer?"

"Yes," the store's proprietor said. "
My
Retrographs have been tampered with." He shivered in disgust, then tilted his head to one side and looked at Skyhammer. He gulped as recognition dawned.

Skyhammer smiled.

"The Keeper," Mr. Pulp choked. "Benjamin Skyhammer."

"That's me. Now, the King has kindly asked us to find this Retrograph Sorcerer. We are in the midst of doing that but we need some paper. Do you know anyone, Mr. Pulp, anyone at all," he leaned over the counter until their faces were inches apart, "that might be able to help us?"

Mr. Pulp stepped back and wrinkled his nose.

Higgins placed a hand on the counter and hopped lightly over, landing next to Mr. Pulp. He shrank under her fierce glare.

"I have the perfect paper for you. Donna!"

His wife came through the door.

"This is my most excellent partner, Donna. Donna this is the Keeper of the Retrograph Vault, and of course," he turned to Higgins, "this must be Higgins."

Skyhammer kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Mr. Pulp, there may be people who are certain that I am the Retrograph Sorcerer. I assure you it is not true." He rattled his sword. "If word ever gets out of our visit here, I will personally come back with my weapon in hand."

Mr. Pulp inclined his head.

"Charmed, I'm sure." Donna did not smile. Instead, she fetched a stepladder from the wall opposite the door, then picked up a long pole with a hook at the end. She thrust the hook high into the upper reaches of the room, caught something, and then pulled. The mosaic of paper covering the back wall swung away, revealing two columns of thin drawers.

Mr. Pulp climbed another ladder. His arms snaked above his head and he stood on his toes to pull out one of the drawers. He lowered it down to his wife who placed it on the counter.

In length and width, the drawer approximated the size of a desk but was about five inches deep. Higgins and Skyhammer crowded around it with Mr. and Mrs. Pulp.

Gray and lumpy sheets of paper lay inside.

"Perfect!" Higgins exclaimed. "You're sure they'll take the paint well? Leave well-defined lines?"

Mr. Pulp nodded.

"And you can get us some paint and brushes?"

Mr. Pulp nodded to his wife, who left and returned with a bag of brushes and a few small pots of paint.

"What do we owe you?" Higgins felt in her jacket for her bag of coins.

"No charge." It took the businessman some effort to say those words. His wife glared at him. "No charge for servants of the King."

Higgins laid a few coins on the counter, at least worth three quarters of the price of the paper, paint and brushes. "Consider this a gift then. Thanks from the King and his . . . minions." She grinned.

Donna started to roll the paper for them.

"Not necessary." Higgins held up her hand.

The Pulps stared at her.

"We'll use your counter. Sit down in the corner over there where we can see you. Please."

"But we have a business to run!" the proprietor protested as Skyhammer locked the door. "And there will more customers for the festival. We can't afford to close for . . . however long you wanted us to close. How long?"

"An hour, Mr Pulp, that's all. Maybe less. The sooner you let us do our job, the sooner we're out of here." Skyhammer got the paintbrush and pots out and set them on the counter. Mr. and Mrs. Pulp retreated to the corner.

"What are we going to say?" he asked.

"Exactly what we discussed before." Higgins unscrewed a lid.

"Well, you should write because my handwriting is atrocious."

"Fine." Higgins already had a brush and pot in her hands. "Could you hold the paper steady? Big letters will take a few sheets."

Skyhammer held the corners of the paper down with his fingers and Higgins got to work. He read aloud as she painted.

Spark. We know you're changing the Retrographs and trying to tell us something. We don't understand your message. Please communicate with us another way or tell us where you are so we can come speak with you.

If you can't tell us where you are, please put this paint pot at the beginning of a sentence to indicate yes and at the end to indicate no in to answer our questions.

She filled two pages with questions about the Wall, the Byndari, the ceremony, the Retrographs.

Skyhammer continued reading as she painted.

Does the danger come from the Wall? Does the danger come from the Byndari? Is the King in danger? Is the Retrograph Vault in danger? Did you kill Hermit -

"Whoa!" Skyhammer cried. "Are you sure you should be putting that question in there? What if she gets pissed off?"

"It's a part of the whole mystery. She can say no if she wants. Hopefully she didn't kill him."

"I don't think that question is relevant," Skyhammer protested.

"Well, too late," Higgins snapped. "I wrote it down already."

Skyhammer didn't read any more of the questions aloud.

When she was done, Higgins held up each page in order so Skyhammer could clearly observe each one. When he had recorded the six pages as Retrographs, she rolled them up and stuck them in her bag. An extra paint pot and brush went in as well. She looked at Skyhammer. "Well, let's go."

"Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Pulp," Skyhammer called as he closed the door. "Remember, we were never here."

* * *

East of the swathe of forest that swept through Quasianti, the plains began. Miles and miles of tall green grass sprinkled with blue and yellow flowers. Skyhammer felt like dancing. It was so good to be out in the sunshine again. No fungus, no tree branches, no Floatilla. No fussy clothes. Just the wind and the light. He inhaled deeply. "Thank the gods." He patted the sweaty neck of his horse.

Higgins twitched her reins, frowning. "She still hasn't contacted us."

"It was a long shot anyway." Skyhammer had checked his Retrographs obsessively since they left Kulik. No reply from Spark.

"I was thinking that we'd go as far north as we could. The crossing will be shorter."

"Yeah, that's the thinnest part of Nasuchu country. We'll have to follow the border on the other side to get back to the trader road."

Higgins thought for a minute then said, "We'll have to spend at least one night in the Deadlands, right?"

"We could just keep walking. But then we'd be so tired that if Nasuchu attacked, we wouldn't be able to fight them off." Skyhammer trailed his hands through grass that was almost tall enough to hide the horses .

"What do you mean, if?" she joked. Her bottom lip was red from gnawing.

She looked really nervous, Skyhammer decided. That was unusual. "We've fought these guys before, tons of times. We'll be fine." Lucky for them, Nasuchu country was a relatively thin isthmus at this point. He figured it would take them sixteen hours of hiking to get through. More time lost in travelling, which was unfortunate. But the horses couldn't fit between some of the boulders and definitely couldn't clamber between the ground and the boulder tops.

"Who knows what they've learned since then?" Higgins' voice quavered. "We could encounter any warrior band that has eaten any race and learned new tactics."

"We can handle them," he said firmly. "Don't think about it right now."

"There'll be humans on the trader route. We'll need a ride through Flyer country if we want to make good time. What if no one will give us a ride?"

Sighing, Skyhammer faced Higgins. Where was all this negativity coming from? "I know. But they're traders. They choose to spend most of their time away from Floatilla. They're sensible. Stop worrying!" He rode on.

* * *

Only a shallow stream separated the grey boulders of the Deadlands from the grassy plains of Quasianti.

Higgins and Skyhammer squatted to refill their water bottles. No patrols were in view. The King's Guard who protected the region had permission to shoot on sight.

All species feared the Nasuchu. They captured and ate the bodies of other creatures. Their species' magic power meant that they acquired all the skills and memories of any creature they ate. Luckily, they could only do this within their Royal Circle.

No living person had seen their capital, if they had one. The Nasuchu were said to come from human stock, aeons ago. Grey-skinned and hairless, they were otherwise the same size and shape as humans. They were very long-lived, supposedly, and had few children.

The Deadlands consisted of huge grey boulders the same colour as the Nasuchu's skin. No moss or plants grew anywhere. Narrow passageways wound through the boulders and it was possible to travel on top of them as well, if you were sure-footed.

Unfortunately, the only way to reach the Flyer and Aridizan countries lay through the Deadlands.

"We'd better get going, partner. The border patrols could be coming by soon. It's better they don't see us." Skyhammer stepped across the stream. They had set the horses free in the plains and he missed his already.