The Forgotten City (26 page)

Eli lunged for the closest horse and touched its scaly side. It shied away. He moved faster, grabbing its mane and dragging himself onto its back. Ismail was doing the same, and was only half on when the horses bolted, galloping through the water fast with feathery fins, curling tails and hoofed feet. Eli clutched two handfuls of mane to stay on, as they thundered down the rapids, water spraying in his eyes and mouth. He yelled to Ismail, “We have to get to the Superior Hall in Nineva.”

Ismail whistled to the horses and they whinnied.

“What did they say?” Eli asked.

“They said ‘hold on’!”

Eli noticed then that the rapids had flattened out and there was a dull roar coming from up ahead of them, growing louder as they closed in fast on a waterfall. As they reached the edge, Eli clenched his teeth and squeezed the horse’s sides with all his strength. The herd catapulted out of the river and for a moment hung in the air, before tumbling at a nightmare speed down the falls. They crashed into the water below and Eli was ripped off the seahorse’s back. A hand grasped his arm as the herd propelled themselves back upward to the surface. Eli gasped in air and Ismail dragged him up behind him onto his horse. The waterfall joined the river with an ocean, and an underwater current grabbed them and dragged them out further and further away from anything resembling land. The sea swelled and the razor-fin sharks kept coming, leaping down the falls. Waves rose up like gigantic beasts all around the seahorses and the creatures ducked under the surface. Eli felt the pressure of the waves breaking over their heads like a giant’s pounding fist. He blinked through the salt water and saw hundreds of glowing lights below them. Instead of resurfacing, the horses propelled downward toward the light.

T
he Old Docks in Saint Boniface Borough was a meeting spot, a place to congregate, to find someone or lose yourself in a crowd. It wasn’t exactly rough. Grays took their families there all the time to socialize and watch the Fleetships and other flyers entering and leaving the Saints’ Door. It was the only way in or out of the city. Still, the docks weren’t exactly brawl-free either. Rowdy pubs lined the main stretch of gridway, crowded places where people gathered for a good time which occasionally ended badly. It was also one of the largest pick-up points for daily rations. Being a Controller, Croy could have had her packages delivered to her house or the Tower, but she preferred to go for them herself.

The Docks had always been her favorite place in the city. Her one dream and ambition, since childhood, was to become a Fleetsman. She’d taken the test over and over, thought she passed many times, but failed every one. It had been nearly two annums since she’d last tried out. She wasn’t ready to give up the dream. It still called to her like a desperate hunger, but the constant knockbacks had taken their toll. She couldn’t completely explain the desire to fly – except that maybe John L had brainwashed her from an early age with all the stories about his time in the Fleet. All the adventures in the outer tunnels – the dangers, the excitement, the animals, the foods, the relationships – even the Drays. He’d become an expert on their enemy, yet he’d never spoken about them with any malice. Croy could remember not feeling any surprise when John L had been accused of conspiring with the Drays and sentenced to death. Terror, but not surprise.

On most of her trips to the Docks, she’d throw on her gray cloak and go undercover, but after everything that had happened this dayturn, she didn’t feel in the mood for being jostled and manhandled by an overcrowd of edgy Grays, so she kept on her black uniform cloak and the crowd peeled open in front of her. Silence had a way of preceding her steps, but she was used to it. The Grays didn’t trust the Corps, the Corps didn’t trust the Grays and no one trusted the Purple Wings, who were so busy bribing and backstabbing each other they barely noticed anyone else existed outside their circles. Today there was a feeling in the air – strangers were interacting, talking to each about the fallen
Teriscoria
. It was the temporary banding together before the inevitable falling apart. Across the drop space, along the New Docks, Fleetsmen were harnessing up the city’s third-largest ship, plus an army of smaller guard ships that would be escorting it. Seeing this mass assembly Croy couldn’t help but wonder if all their defenses were being drawn out on purpose.

She reached the ration stores and went through the door, nodding to the row of Tower Guards keeping the crowds in check. There was a line-up, which she bypassed, heading directly for the counter. The stores manager, a short man with a twitchy moustache who was almost wealthy enough to leave Gray status, had her package waiting by the time she reached the desk.

“Controller Croy – the Saint!” he announced loudly. “Always an honor!” He gave a slight bow.

Croy grunted and took the package. She liked a polite person, but an arse-kisser couldn’t be trusted. She noticed how much larger her ration package was compared to that of the Grays at the counter beside her. They noticed it too, but no one commented. She handed over her tokens, but the manager tried to refuse them, clearly wanting to be in her good favor.

“It’s the law,” Croy said, forcing the tokens back across the desk, to his obvious disappointment.

She shoved the package into her bag and left. She could have shared her food with the family beside her, but then what about all the others in the line? Acts like that could start a riot. When the time came and food ran out, she’d make sure whatever she’d been stockpiling went first to the Gray children – to feed as many as she could for as long as it lasted. Until then, she needed to keep up the status quo.

Croy limped back out onto the Docks and felt twinges of pain radiating down from her scars. That shocked her. She’d just had a fix – it should leave her pain-free for several turns at least. She’d been injured before she had memory, just after her parents had died and John L had adopted her, and she’d carried the pain always, but it’d never been this bad – and it was getting worse. The thought left her shaky – but more than anything she was hungry. An all-consuming starvation threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t wait any longer. She rushed to the edge of the stores building and squeezed herself into the dark space between it and the pub next door. She ripped open the package and dragged out handfuls of overflat bread, shoving it into her mouth. The walls of the pub trembled with the sounds of music and dancing, laughter, and games of darts and darrows. Whether it was denial or a lack of understanding that made these people celebrate during their descent into a nightmare, Croy didn’t know, but if it kept them from panicking it was worthwhile.

Urged by thirst, she stopped eating and dragged out the decanter of water. It was pitifully low. She held the bottle up and eyed the contents, her thoughts jumping to Victoria Kilner’s body floating at the end of the jetty. She lowered it without drinking and looked over the food, startled to see she had already all but demolished it. Her stomach strained uncomfortably full and yet somehow she still felt hungry. The possibility occurred to her that she was getting sick – or at least, more sick. She just wanted to go home and sleep. Croy gathered up her bag and dragged herself out of the space, stepping back into the crowd.

A harsh, jarring sound immediately seized her attention. In the crowd up ahead, two men rushed at each other, grappling for a second before the stronger one slammed the other to the grid and started bashing his head into the steel. A boy rushed in to help the man and the attacker punched him away. A girl and a woman screamed. Croy grabbed her Firestorm from its holster and ran to the fight. She barged through the onlookers and dragged the aggressor off the victim. She kicked his legs out from under him and he went down to his knees with a clunk. Then he started to rise, glaring up at her, with a look in his eyes that chilled her nerves. He looked blind with rage, completely lost to his anger. Croy positioned herself in front of the victim as the attacker stood and drew a crudely made shank from his pocket. He started toward her and Croy aimed her Firestorm at his head.

“This is a warning. Stop where you are. Lower your weapon or I will shoot you,” she said.

He kept coming. Croy held her place and repeated, “Drop the weapon now or I’ll shoot you.”

Still he kept coming, shuffling forward, past fearful onlookers, until suddenly he lunged.

Croy pulled the trigger and blasted him back. The attacker landed dead on the ground, half his face and head missing. Croy turned immediately to the victim. His wife and children had gathered around him; the boy’s nose was broken and bleeding badly. Croy checked the man’s pulse. He was still alive, but had a terrible head wound. She didn’t like his chances, but occasionally people were surprisingly resilient. She grabbed some gauze out of her kit and pressed it to his wound.

“Hold here,” she said to the sobbing wife.

Croy tapped her I-Sect and connected with the Tower.

“This is Croy. There’s been an incident at the Old Docks – one dead, one unconscious, one injured. I’m off duty.”

“Back-up dispatched,” the switchboard informed her. She tapped out of the connection, then stood and faced the crowd.

“Anyone see what happened?”

No one spoke. They were all Grays – all wearing the same deliberately blank expression. They’d just seen her shoot and kill one of their own, so she didn’t blame them for not trusting her.

“You see what happened?” she asked the victim’s son, who was holding a piece of fabric to his bleeding nose.

“No,” he said thickly. “That guy started on Dad for nothing. Will he be alright?” He blinked back tears.

“Who is he?” Croy nodded to the dead attacker.

The boy shook his head. “No one we know.”

Above them came the drone of draggers closing in fast. The Controllers burst through from the gridway above and the crowd stepped back as they lowered to land. Controllers Mirth and Sirsha touched down and jumped off their rides. Croy knew them quite well – they’d graduated the same annum from training.

“The Saint.” Sirsha slapped her hand in a flashy way. The guy was always showing off and dropping names – harmless, but obnoxious. It was as though he’d never quite gotten over the shine of being a Controller, as though every day was his first day. Mirth was far more grounded, but unfortunately seemed to have been born without a sense of humor. She had a permanent offended scowl on her face, as though someone had just farted and she was smelling it.

Croy indicated with her Firestorm. “This one went this one with no apparent provocation. He turned on me, I gave him two warnings – then I put him down.”

“Got it,” Mirth said, then spoke to the crowd. “All of you back up, unless you want to join him.”

The crowd pushed back and she went to inspect the dead man. Sirsha stayed beside Croy, standing with his arms crossed as though they were on a social outing, “There’s been a few of these random attacks this turn – people must already be twitching.”

Croy ignored him, annoyed he was chit-chatting while the victim was bleeding out beside them. She crouched back down with the family. At most, the Controllers would drop him at the local healer, but a local wouldn’t be able to do much for him. He’d need a Tower surgeon if he was going to have any hope, but he was just a Gray and didn’t have the right to access a surgeon – unless he was part of an investigation.

She spoke to Sirsha, “Take this man and his family to the Tower. Have him seen to immediately. Tell them I need him for a case.”

“Whatever you say, Saint Croy,” Sirsha said. “Whatever you say.”

Mirth returned to help her partner. As the body baggers were flying in, Croy slipped away into the crowd.

D
iega lunged into the cell and tried to break up the fight between Caesar and Shawe, but they were locked together, their hands around each other’s throats. Shawe was cursing and K-Ruz snarling, with his nose wrinkled up like a wild cat. His shadow lion paced the wall behind them, tearing at the air.

“Stop!” Diega hissed, jumping on Christy’s back, trying to wrestle him away, but with no success. Even kneeing him in his wound did nothing. She toppled off and jumped up to try again when something caught her eye. In a patch of light thrown from the door, she saw a hand. Fear lurched through her, and she had to force herself forward, peering into the dark corner of the cell.

She saw him then – Copernicus – slumped against the wall. His heavy muscles had eroded, his skin sagging around painful boils erupting all over his body, spreading out from the festering wound in his shoulder. His handsome face had sunken in like a skull. The sight slammed into Diega, driving her to her knees. The sounds of the fight behind her stopped and Shawe appeared at her side. He was staring at Copernicus, looking at him full in the face, not avoiding the pain. Since her sister had vanished, Diega had never felt this much agony when nothing was physically wrong with her. If she’d had any drugs on her, she would have smashed them down without hesitation. This was too much –
it’s not him … it’s not him.

“Save your tears, he’s still alive,” Shawe said.

Shocked, Diega scrambled forward. She placed a hand to his chest and felt it rising. Copernicus stirred faintly under her touch. With an immense struggle he lifted his head and opened his eyes and she could see he was still there, still fighting. She automatically grabbed for her weapon belt, but it had been taken. She had no serums or painkillers to give him. Shawe was leaning in closely.

“Mate, you look like you’re three quarters done,” he told him. “But apparently there’s some river close by with healing plants. Me and your girlfriend here will get you there.”

Copernicus moved as though he was trying to stand, and Shawe grabbed him by the shoulders, hauled him up and held him there. Copernicus’ boots slid out from underneath him and he staggered, fighting hard just to keep upright. It was very clear he would die fighting, but would die all the same if they didn’t get him immediate help. Diega fought her own weakness and stood, going to support Copernicus’ other side, but Caesar stepped in.

“Don’t hold him like that,” he said. “You’ll rip the wound further open and speed up the poison.”

“What do you care?” Shawe growled.

“He saved my boy’s life – I owe him.”

“You owe him now, do you?” Shawe mocked. “You’re all honor, you are.”

Caesar snarled, flashing sharp incisors.

“Shawe, if he wants to help, then let him,” Diega said. She looked him in the eye and said, “Please.”

His savage expression held for a moment, but then he relented. He looked away and that was as much agreement as he was going to give.

“K-Ruz is right. Holding him up like this is just going to speed the blood circulation and cause the wound to hemorrhage faster,” Diega said. “We have to carry him with the least amount of contact.” It felt wrong talking about Copernicus like he was a victim, but there was no other way. “If you two lock hands he can sit between you and you can carry him like that.”

Shawe looked her up and down and said, “You’re crazy, right? You really think me and him are going to hold hands?” Both he and Caesar snorted, like two big boars.

“Yes!” Diega said. “For Copernicus! Because
you
would never have found your brother without him … and
your
son would be dead.”

The two gangsters stood in uncomfortable silence, staring at each with rippling animosity. Shawe made the first move and held out his hands. Caesar grabbed onto them savagely. They both flinched with disgust and fury, but kneeled down so that Diega could help Copernicus to edge back and sit on their linked arms. They lifted him up.

Scuffing footsteps sounded outside the cell. Diega lunged for the seal while the others backed into the shadows. She inched the split open and peered out.

“Drones,” she told the gangsters. “A lot of them.”

“Already?” Shawe asked. He and Caesar came forward with Copernicus and peered out around her. “Trutt, there’s millions of them. How are we going to escape with that lot tagging along?”

“More easily than if it was just us,” Caesar said. “They’ll make a good cover.” His sharp eyes moved over the scene, formulating strategy with every glance.

Diega pulled back the seal and the others maneuvered out. She followed them, coming to stand in front of Sesame, leading a multitude of ragged, starving Neridori and a number of other random creatures.

The drone whispered into her face, “I told them … I told them we don’t have to stay where we’re put.”

A sudden violent roar trembled the ground and walls and everyone instinctively ducked for cover, Shawe and Caesar balancing Copernicus between them.

“What the trutt is that?” Shawe cursed as the sound and vibration came again. Diega recognized it.

“Snoring,” she said.

“Rest time,” Sesame spoke up. “After the last meal, just before the Anvil sets, the queen naps and all the workers rest.

“Good. I’m going to go cut her up,” Shawe growled and Sesame winced.

“No,” Diega said and she turned to the drone. “Time to fly. Assemble your people.”

“Fly?” he and the other drones chorused.

“Yes, fly. That’s why you have wings!” she said, “Start stretching them.”

Sesame hesitated, then whispered, “I have to go to the queen’s chamber.”

“Why?” Diega demanded.

“Our brothers, the chosen, we can’t leave them. We have to get them out as well.”

“We can’t risk it,” Diega said.

“I have to!” Sesame insisted, staring at her with fearful eyes. “Their death is worse than ours and I won’t leave without them … Neither will the others … I’m sorry.”

Diega glanced at Shawe and Caesar. Neither offered any immediate alternative and she could think of none herself. They had no choice but to help him. They needed the drones for their escape and couldn’t risk Sesame bumbling into the chamber alone and raising the alarm before they were clear of the Hive.

“Fine,” Diega said. “I’ll go with you.”

“Trutt that,” Shawe said. “I’m going.”

“No, you need to carry Copernicus. If I get caught you two can still go on.”

His face said he didn’t like it, but he saw the situation for what it was.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he told her.

“That’s like one raindrop telling another not to be wet,” Diega snorted. It was an Ohini Fen saying that lost some of its shades of meaning in the translation.

Shawe smirked and arched an eyebrow as though she’d just said something suggestive. “I don’t think it’s the time or the place, sunshine.”

She just sighed and shook her head. Caesar looked like he wanted to vomit on both of them.

“If we’re not back in five minutes, or if anything goes down, fly out without us,” she told the gangsters. She took one last look at Copernicus and saw his eyes were on her, then she turned and left.