Delivery to the Lost City Page 11

  At first there was nothing but static. Then, tinny and broken, came a voice.

  “Hello?” it said. “Mr. Stonker? Ursel? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

  “It’s the Postmaster!” exclaimed Stonker. He shouted into the phone, “Postmaster, we understand you’ve got Suzy with you. Is that correct? Are you both all right?”

  There was more static, then Wilmot’s voice again. He sounded out of breath. “Hello? Can anyone hear me? It’s a bad connection. I don’t know if anyone’s even receiving this. I’m not getting anything at this end.” His voice was half-swamped by a series of loud bangs and thumps.

  “We can hear you, Wilmot!” said Suzy’s mom. “What about Suzy? Are you both safe?”

  Wilmot’s voice faded in and out, swamped by interference. “Suzy,” they heard him say. “I don’t think this is working.”

  “Keep trying!” came Suzy’s voice, very faintly. Suzy’s parents clung to one another.

  “Suzy!” cried Suzy’s mom. “We’re here, darling!”

  There was a pause, and then Wilmot spoke again.

  “Mr. Stonker. Ursel. If either of you can hear me, we made it to Hydroborea’s world, but we’re under attack from some sort of sea monster, our molecular bifurcator’s burned out, and we’ve lost power. We need help, urgently. Please send someone!”

  “We hear you, my boy!” said Stonker. “Keep your chin up. We’ll get you out of there just as quickly as we can.”

  And then, through the crackling fizz of the line, they heard Suzy’s voice again.

  “It’s pulling us under!”

  There was a squeal of interference and the line went dead.

  * * *

  Frederick and the others clustered impatiently around the phone as Stonker dialed Wilmot’s number. When there was no response, he did it a second time, and a third, but once again, the phone just rang and rang. At last he hung up and shook his head. “They’re not answering.”

  “What happened to them?” said Suzy’s mom. “What are we going to do?” She looked around frantically, and her eyes met Frederick’s. “You! You must know someone who can help.”

  Frederick felt his cheeks burning. “Not really,” he said. “Neoma and the other library staff already have one crisis to deal with, and Lady Crepuscula’s out hunting for Aybek and Tenebrae somewhere.” He was fully aware of how inadequate he sounded, which only made his blush deepen. “I didn’t think it would turn out like this, all right?”

  “There’s no use apportioning blame right now,” said Stonker. “We need to decide a course of action.”

  “But what can we do?” asked Suzy’s dad.

  Ursel reared up behind him. “Hrrrrunf grrrrunk,” she grunted.

  “Quite right,” said Stonker. “We mustn’t waste time looking for help elsewhere. We’ll have to go after them ourselves.”

  “Through the void storm?” said Frederick.

  “Precisely,” said Stonker. “It won’t be an easy journey, so let’s think about this logically. What are the facts?”

  “We know the H.E.C. is disabled,” said Suzy’s mom. “They need a new … what was it called?”

  “Rrrolf,” said Ursel.

  “Yes, a molecular bifurcator,” said Stonker. “It processes the H.E.C.’s fuel. A vital part, and not an easy one to replace.”

  “Easy or not, we’ll have to do it,” said Frederick. “Otherwise the H.E.C. is going to be trapped out there forever.”

  “But a new molecular whatsit isn’t going to do any good if we can’t get it to them,” said Suzy’s dad. “How are we going to do that?”

  Frederick chewed on his lower lip. “We’ll obviously need some kind of ship to get us there,” he said.

  “But if we can do that,” said Suzy’s mom, “why do we need a new bifurcator at all? Why don’t we just bring Suzy, Wilmot, and the Chief aboard the new ship and all escape together?”

  “Because the bifurcator gives us two chances,” said Frederick. “What happens if our ship gets damaged, just like the H.E.C.? Then we’ll all be trapped, the book will never get delivered, and the Union will spiral into a Dark Age. But if we take a new bifurcator with us, we know that, even if something goes wrong, we’ll at least be able to get the H.E.C. working again.”

  “The boy has a point,” said Stonker. “Our first order of business has to be getting a new bifurcator. Ursel, do you know where we could find one?”

  “Frunk,” said Ursel, shaking her head. “Grrronk.”

  “Ah, good point,” said Stonker. “Fletch is the chap to ask. He can rustle up any spare part you care to think of. I’ll set a course back to your house.”

  “Can’t we just phone him?” asked Suzy’s mom.

  “I’m afraid Fletch doesn’t hold with mobile phones,” said Stonker. “Won’t touch the things.”

  “He doesn’t need to,” said Suzy’s mom. “He’s still at our house. We can just call our home phone.”

  “Good thinking!” said Suzy’s dad. He took the phone off the mantelpiece and hastily dialed the number. The phone rang for a long time before being picked up.

  “’Ello?” said Fletch’s voice. “Who’s this?”

  “Fletch!” said Suzy’s dad. “It’s Calum Smith. Suzy’s father.”

  There was a pause on the line, during which they could all hear the unmistakable sound of running water. A lot of running water. In fact, it sounded to Frederick as though Fletch was taking the call from behind a waterfall.

  “Is, er … is everything all right there?” asked Suzy’s dad, clearly thinking along similar lines.

  “More or less,” said Fletch a little stiffly. There was a loud crash in the background on his end of the line. “Watcha want?”

  Suzy’s dad visibly fought the urge to ask what was happening. “It’s quite a long story, actually. You see, it all started at the Ivory Tower…”

  Frederick realized he couldn’t stand to hear Suzy’s dad recount the whole misadventure from the start, so he marched over and snatched the phone from him.

  “Fletch? It’s Frederick. We need your help. Suzy and Wilmot went to another world in the H.E.C. and they’re stuck. We need a molecular bifurcator to help get them back again. Where can we find one?”

  “Tricky,” said Fletch. “There used to be half a dozen scrap dealers in Trollville who could’ve got you one no trouble at all, but since the quakes, nobody’s got the parts.” He sucked his breath in through his teeth. “There might be somewhere else, mind.”

  “Where?” said Frederick.

  “You ever been to a city called Propellendorf?”

  “No,” said Frederick. “Never.”

  “I have!” said Stonker. “Capital idea, Fletch.”

  “I make no promises,” said Fletch. “But talk to the right people an’ you can find almost anythin’ in Propellendorf.”

  “All we have to do is find it,” said Stonker. “I’ll get onto rail traffic control straightaway and see if they can give me the city’s current coordinates.”

  “Current coordinates?” said Suzy’s dad. “I don’t understand.”

  “Propellendorf moves around,” said Frederick.

  “Of course it does,” said Suzy’s mom flatly. “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “You said we need to talk to the right people, Fletch,” said Frederick. “Can you give us some names? We’re in a big hurry.”

  “Well, let’s see…” There was a sound like falling masonry down the line. “There’s One-Eyed Talyesin, although he’s not been the same since he walked into that turbine last summer. Terrible thing, that lack of depth perception. Or you could try Anna Poon, if she’s in town. She might still be out prospectin’ in Autopolis, mind you.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Suzy’s mom. “Can’t we just take Fletch with us?”

  “I thought you wanted this boggart dealt with,” said Fletch.

  “The boggart can wait,” said Suzy’s dad. “Suzy and Wilmot can’t.”

  Stonker tugged
at the ends of his mustache. “I’m afraid they’re right, Fletch. Time is of the essence, and you could save us a great deal of searching.”

  “Yeah, I s’pose,” said Fletch. “Where are you right now?”

  “Frrrrarf,” said Ursel.

  “Blimey,” Fletch replied. “It’ll take you ages to reach me from there. Just send me the coordinates for Propellendorf when you get ’em and I’ll make my own way.”

  “How?” asked Stonker. “We didn’t leave you any transport.”

  “Ways and means, Stonks. I’ve got a few favors I can call in.”

  “As long as you’re sure,” said Stonker. “We’ll see you at Propellendorf, but please hurry. The future of the Impossible Places depends on the Postmaster and Suzy. And right now, they’re depending on us.”

  * * *

  The H.E.C. tilted alarmingly, throwing Suzy out of the air lock and onto the pullout sofa. A second later, Wilmot landed beside her, upside down.

  The hull groaned as the creature squeezed it tight. Through the gaps between the mass of flesh covering the windows, Suzy saw that they were already several yards underwater.

  “It’s taking us down to the depths to feast at its leisure, no doubt,” said the Chief. “A true adventurer’s death.”

  Suzy wished she could order him back into his skull, but his glow was now the only light in the cabin as the waters around them darkened.

  “Nobody panic,” said Wilmot, regaining his feet. “I know this isn’t ideal, but I don’t think the creature can break through the hull.” He fussed nervously with his cap. “At least, I hope not.”

  “A void storm, a reality fracture, and now a sea monster,” said Suzy. “At least things can’t get any worse.” But as soon as she had said it, a new, horrible idea occurred to her. “Wilmot?” she said slowly. “How long will our air last?”

  The sudden look of horror on his face was all the answer she needed. “Oh,” he said. “Oh dear.” His eyes darted around the cabin, making a quick calculation. “Without power to the oxygen generators, we’ve got less than an hour of breathable air left.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t need my share,” said the Chief. “A little ghostly humor to lighten the mood there. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Suzy did mind but was too terrified to say anything as her future prospects had just been narrowed down to drowning, asphyxiation, or being eaten alive. She and Wilmot clung together as the creature dragged the H.E.C. down into the frozen darkness.

  12

  THAT SINKING FEELING

  The ocean depths were inky black, and the only light in the H.E.C. came from the Chief’s pallid glow and a sickly phosphorescence given off by the lidless eyes of the creature, which were still staring in through the windows.

  Suzy tried not to meet their gaze but couldn’t help a shudder of discomfort. It felt as though she and Wilmot were being studied, like specimens under a microscope. But through her fear, she felt that infuriating itch in her mind again. “How deep are we now?” she asked. The beast had been dragging them down for several minutes, and the H.E.C.’s hull was giving off a series of alarming pops and creaks as the weight of water outside grew ever greater.

  “I don’t know,” said Wilmot. “The instruments are still dead. Chief, can you see anything outside?”

  The Chief obligingly drifted up through the H.E.C.’s ceiling, returning a moment later with a shake of his head. “We’re too deep to see the surface,” he announced. “I’d wager we’re at five hundred fathoms at least.” His glow flared. “I know! I’ll see if I can spot the bottom.” He flipped over and stuck his head through the floor. It only took a few seconds for him to pop back up like a cork, his face a picture of astonishment.

  “Did you see it?” asked Wilmot.

  “I saw something all right,” said the Chief. “But I’ve no idea what.”

  “I think I can see something, too!” said Wilmot. He pointed to the front window. It was still angled downward, and through the small gaps between the tentacles and the eyes, Suzy saw something new: a faint light in the darkness far below them.

  She pressed herself against the glass, trying to suppress her revulsion at the close proximity to the squirming creature, and looked out. Sure enough, a light had dawned on the seafloor, which spread out below them like a vast plain covered in dirty gray snow. But there was something else down there, too. A monolithic shape, as tall and wide as a mountain, although Suzy knew immediately that it couldn’t be anything of the sort.

  “It looks like a gigantic snail shell!” she said.

  “Gosh!” breathed Wilmot beside her. “I think you’re right.”

  The shell might have been gold once, but was now pitted and tarnished with age. Its ridged slopes rose in a tightening spiral toward the summit, on which a tall spire stood, its tip glowing fitfully, like a guttering candle. Suzy caught her breath. She knew that spire—she had seen it in her vision as they entered the reality fracture. Could this really be it? “Hydroborea,” she whispered to herself.

  The light from the tower shone in through the windows as the creature dragged them down toward the base of the shell. There, half-buried in sediment, Suzy saw a circular opening, wide enough to hold several jumbo jets, wingtip to wingtip. The creature headed straight toward it.

  “This must be the beastie’s lair,” said the Chief. “Where it no doubt feeds. I’d just like to offer you both my sincerest condolences. And if you’re lucky enough to come back as ghosts, it would be my pleasure to help you both settle into the afterlife.”

  Suzy flinched. If she died down here, her parents would never know what had happened. The thought was so awful she could barely stand it, and she shrank back from the windows as the creature dragged them into the opening. The interior of the shell was clearly hollow and deep, because the creature didn’t slow for almost a minute. Then it jerked the H.E.C. violently, pitching Suzy and Wilmot onto the floor again. The tentacles slithered and scraped across the hull.

  “This is it!” cried Wilmot, as darkness closed around them once again. “I’m going to die with undelivered post!”

  Suzy screwed her eyes shut and waited for the creature’s killing blow. It didn’t come.

  When Suzy opened her eyes again, she saw that the tentacles had vanished from the windows. More than that, they were no longer underwater—droplets ran down the outside of the glass, and the floor bobbed gently underfoot once more.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “Where did the creature go?”

  “I don’t know,” said Wilmot. “Chief, would you mind taking a look outside for us?”

  “Good idea, m’boy,” said the Chief. “I’ll see if the beastie’s lurking in wait.” He bobbed up through the ceiling but was only gone for a moment before he returned, grinning from ear to ear. “The coast is clear,” he said. “I think you’d better come up and see this. And don’t forget my skull, will you?” He shot back outside.

  Suzy stuffed his skull into her satchel while Wilmot unfastened the sunroof. Then, standing together on the folding table, they climbed out onto the roof and looked around.

  It was dark and raining, but the Chief’s glow was enough to show them that the H.E.C. had surfaced in the middle of a flooded street, deep inside the mountainous shell. Ruined buildings lay half-submerged all around them, their walls encrusted with barnacles. The street climbed uphill away from the water, curving out of sight into the downpour. Water gushed in curtains off the rooftops and foamed over the pavements. No lights shone anywhere. The whole street looked abandoned.

  “Where are we?” Suzy wondered aloud.

  The letters of a street sign attached to one of the nearby buildings melted into smoke and were absorbed by the book.

  “Coelocanth Drive,” it announced. “In the seventh ward of the Lowertwist district. We are in Hydroborea.”

  Wilmot was so surprised that he opened his satchel and addressed the book directly. “Are you sure?” he asked, being careful to shield it from the
rain. “What’s it doing at the bottom of the ocean?”

  “I do not know,” said the book. “Nevertheless, this is Hydroborea. We have arrived.”

  Suzy pushed her sodden hair out of her face and looked around the ruins with a newfound sense of wonder. “We did it!” she said. “We actually did it. We found the lost city.”

  “Discovered it, my dear,” said the Chief. “Or should I say, as the first of our little expedition to set eyes on the place, I discovered it.” He toyed with his beard. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got the knack after all these years.”

  “But what have we discovered?” said Wilmot. “This is supposed to be the most magical city in existence.” He pulled his standard-issue Impossible Postal Service clockwork flashlight from his coat pocket, wound the key sticking out of the bottom, and flicked the switch. The flashlight’s powerful light cut through the darkness, and Wilmot played it over their surroundings.

  The crumbling buildings must have been like miniature palaces once, Suzy realized. They were tall and ornate, decorated like wedding cakes with twists and flourishes of intricately sculpted stone. Flakes of brightly colored paint still clung to some of their facades, but their windows were broken and empty. There was no life left in them.

  “What happened here?” asked Suzy. As she spoke, a few drops of rainwater ran into her mouth and she recoiled. It was freezing cold and very salty.

  “This isn’t rain,” she said, spitting the taste away. “It’s seawater!”

  Wilmot wiped the moisture from his face and pointed the flashlight straight up. High above the rooftops, barely illuminated by the beam, they saw the interior curve of the great shell. It was smooth and pearlescent, shimmering with subtle rainbow colors, but it was also riddled with cracks, through which fine jets of water sprayed.

  “The city is leaking,” said Wilmot.

  “The city is drowning!” said Suzy, and checked her pocket watch. “We’ve got a little less than six hours left before the book digests all the words it’s taken. We need to find someone to sign the delivery form.”