Delivery to the Lost City Read online

  “You lot certainly know how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that,” the Harbor Master said. He was a stocky man with a graying Afro, bright red overalls, a clipboard, and a square metallic pack on his back. “You destroyed two whole cargo nets of magma berries, dented the city’s hull, and got a fine for illegal parking before any of you put a foot on deck. That’s sort of impressive.”

  “Sorry about that,” said Frederick. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

  Below them, Stonker and Ursel were pacing around the train, examining the damage. There was plenty of it—the cab’s roof was badly crumpled and had shed a lot of its tiles, the Belle’s chimney was cracked, and the windows of the sorting carriage were all broken. Added to which, the whole train was still coated in a layer of sticky orange magma-berry pulp.

  “How’s it looking down there?” called Frederick.

  “Frowlf,” Ursel replied.

  “Ursel’s right,” said Stonker. “It’s certainly not pretty, but all the essentials seem to be intact. The two of us can conduct some quick repairs while the rest of you hunt down a bifurcator.”

  “Are you sure we’ll find one here?” asked Suzy’s mom. She was on the hangar floor with Suzy’s dad, admiring the swans. She kept just out of snapping length, so they glared at her imperiously instead.

  “Propellendorf’s the greatest free port in the Union, ma’am,” said the Harbor Master. “If you can’t find what you want here, it’s not worth looking for.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Frederick. “A lot depends on it.”

  Their attention was drawn by a strange squelching noise approaching from across the hangar. A moment later, Fletch appeared around the rear of the dirigible. He was soaking wet and left a trail of soggy boot prints behind him.

  “You made it, then,” he said. Then he saw the battered Express and drew his breath in through his teeth. “Blimey. What have you lot done to her this time?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Stonker.

  “Grrrolf?” said Ursel.

  “Yes, good point,” said Stonker. “How did you get up here?”

  “Got to the Tie-Dye Desert, then hitched a lift from a bloke with a griffin,” said Fletch. “Simple, really.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Suzy’s mom. She looked Fletch over disapprovingly. “Why are you so wet?”

  Fletch sniffed dismissively, but his eyes darted away from her. “Stepped in a puddle,” he said.

  “In the desert?” she demanded. Her eyes widened. “Wait! Was the puddle in our house? What have you done to our plumbing?”

  “Nothin’!” Fletch protested. “I just had to make a few adjustments to get to the boggart, that’s all. Everythin’s still in one piece. More or less.”

  “Well, which is it?” asked Suzy’s dad. “More or less?”

  Fletch scowled. “More in some parts an’ less in others. But it’ll all be up an’ runnin’ by the time you get home. I left instructions for the kids to follow. There’s no way they can mess it up.”

  “Kids?” Suzy’s dad regarded Fletch with consternation. “What kids? What are you talking about?”

  “Youth apprenticeship engineers,” said Fletch. “Young trolls in trainin’. I volunteer with ’em sometimes an’ thought they’d probably like a break from helpin’ to rebuild Trollville, so they’ve agreed to finish the job while I’m here. Honestly, you’re makin’ a big fuss over nothin’.”

  Frederick was pleased to see Suzy’s parents look a little embarrassed.

  “Oh. Well. That’s different,” said Suzy’s mom. “But you still shouldn’t have left a group of troll children in our house, completely unsupervised.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Fletch. “They’ve got their probation officer with ’em.”

  “Their what?” said Suzy’s mom.

  Fletch was saved from having to answer by the Harbor Master, who cleared his throat. “As much as I’d love to stay for the reunion, I’ve got a Berserker dragon rider to deal with in hangar three.” He scribbled his signature on a form on his clipboard, tore off a strip at the bottom, and handed it to Frederick. “Here’s your docking permit,” he said. “Try and stay out of trouble, yeah?” He winked at Frederick, then pressed a big red button on his belt and four mechanical dragonfly wings sprang out of the pack on his back. They flickered into motion, so fast they were just a blur, and he shot into the air. The hangar doors yawned open, revealing the inkblot patterns of the desert far below, and he flitted outside and out of sight.

  “Bit flash, that,” said Fletch, watching him leave. “I might pick some up myself while we’re here.”

  Frederick tried to blot out the image of an airborne Fletch zooming about the place. “The Union’s got enough problems to deal with,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

  * * *

  A levitating platform carried Frederick, Fletch, and Suzy’s parents from the hangar deck to the streets of Propellendorf, although “streets” didn’t do them justice, Frederick decided. The city consisted of a series of aerial walkways and bridges, crisscrossing each other at various elevations. Slender streamlined buildings were threaded in between them, many of which boasted observation platforms and rooftop gardens. They were all overshadowed by the four towering spires at the city’s corners, whose enormous lateral rotor blades provided a comforting background purr to the city, as well as a cool downdraft that cut through the hot desert air.

  “Stay close an’ let me do all the talkin’,” said Fletch. “We’ll have this bifurcator in no time.”

  They followed him to a row of mechanics’ workshops grouped around a launchpad, on which a dart-like rocket steamed and hummed with energy. The workshops were filled to overflowing with boosters, fuel pumps, energy crystals, and any number of parts that Frederick couldn’t even begin to identify, but almost half an hour later, it was clear that the one thing none of them had was a bifurcator.

  “I just don’t understand it,” said Fletch. They had left the launchpad behind and paused at a busy intersection overlooking one of the city’s main landing strips. “Even if we couldn’t find a bifurcator, I’d have expected to find the parts for one by now.” He puffed his cheeks out. “What can I say? Some days the parts are out there and some days they’re not.”

  “You can’t give up now!” said Suzy’s mom. “Not when we’ve come all this way. What about Suzy? What about Wilmot and the Chief?”

  “Don’t forget the fate of civilization as we know it,” Frederick added. “I’d quite like to do something about that as well.”

  “Gimme time to think, will you?” snapped Fletch. He chewed distractedly on the corner of one thumbnail for a minute before finally shaking his head. “It’s no good. Propellendorf just isn’t givin’ us the goods today. I say we get back on the Express and head somewhere else.”

  “But how long will that take?” said Suzy’s dad. “Suzy needs our help right now.”

  “They’re right, Fletch,” said Frederick. “There has to be another answer.”

  Fletch folded his arms. “Go on, then, clever clogs.”

  “I don’t know.” Frederick screwed his eyes shut and thought hard. “If we can’t find a bifurcator, then maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” asked Suzy’s mom.

  Frederick rubbed his temples and did his best to ignore the noise of a gyrocopter taking off from the landing strip. Then an idea hit him. “Maybe we could build a new engine,” he said excitedly. “A totally different one that doesn’t even need a bifurcator at all. Could we do that?”

  “You’re a bright lad, but you’re no engineer,” said Fletch. “We could cobble an engine together, but it wouldn’t be compatible with the H.E.C. The whole vehicle’s designed around that bifurcator.”

  Frederick felt his newfound hope wither. “Why?” he said. “What does it do that’s so important?”

  “It bifurcates the molecules in the H.E.C.’s fuel,” said Fletch. “Divides ’em into different types so the engine can use ’em more e
fficiently.”

  “And there’s absolutely no way the H.E.C. will run without one?” said Suzy’s dad.

  “Not a chance,” Fletch replied. “Which means the sooner we start lookin’ somewhere else, the better. C’mon. Let’s get back to the hangar decks.”

  Frederick trailed disconsolately after him, unwilling to let the question go. Surely there was something they hadn’t thought of yet? He had the frustrating sense that an answer hovered tantalizingly within reach, if only he knew how to grasp it. Fletch was right to say that he was no engineer, but that shouldn’t matter, because he was a librarian, and anything he didn’t know, he could usually find out. He was certain that he’d read something about magical molecular filtering lately—some strange little snippet of information that he’d chanced across when looking for something else. If only he could remember what it was …

  He wished he could call the Ivory Tower and ask Jim-Jim or one of the other library assistants to dig out a few likely volumes in the fuzzics-and-engineering section. Unfortunately, The Book of Power had wiped the magical science floors clean. But then, he hadn’t spent any serious time on those floors for ages anyway, so he couldn’t have read that little snippet there. If it hadn’t been in a fuzzics book, where had he found it?

  While he tried to remember the books he’d been reading over the past few weeks, he looked over his shoulder to make sure that Suzy’s parents were following, and saw them clutching one another’s hands tightly as they walked.

  At least they’ve stopped arguing, he thought, then realized it was probably because they were both still angry with him instead. But when he looked at them again, he didn’t see any trace of anger in their faces—just worry. He tried to remember if he had ever seen his own parents look so concerned for somebody. For him. He couldn’t think of a single instance.

  He became so preoccupied with the thought that he almost walked straight into the back of Fletch, who had stopped abruptly in front of him.

  “What’s wrong?” Frederick asked.

  Fletch said nothing but pointed at the large gray figure that loomed over the other pedestrians up ahead. It was a statue, more than six feet tall, carved to resemble a knight in armor, and it was wrestling clumsily with a roll of posters, a bucket of paste, and a brush.

  “Oh no,” said Frederick. “What’s that thing doing here?”

  Suzy’s parents reached them and followed Frederick’s nervous gaze to the statue.

  “Wow,” said Suzy’s dad. “Is that one of those living statues Suzy told us about?”

  Frederick nodded. “It’s one of Lady Crepuscula’s guards from the Obsidian Tower,” he said. “But it’s unusual to see them alone like this.”

  “Is it dangerous?” asked Suzy’s mom, inching in front of Suzy’s dad to shield him.

  “That depends who you ask,” said Fletch. “But I guarantee it won’t be friendly. We’re better off steering clear of it.”

  “I think it’s putting up more of those Wanted posters,” said Suzy’s dad, peering over his wife’s shoulder. “Like the ones we saw at the station.”

  Sure enough, the statue had stopped in front of a billboard mounted to the walkway’s handrail and was pasting up copies of the Wanted posters featuring Aybek and Tenebrae.

  “Does that mean Lady Crepuscula’s here in Propellendorf?” asked Suzy’s mom.

  “Nah, she probably just sent this stone goon out to do the hard work for her,” said Fletch. “This isn’t exactly her sort of place.”

  “And what, pray tell, is my sort of place?” said a voice like cut glass behind them.

  Frederick felt his spirits drop into his boots. Very slowly, he turned to meet the steely gaze of Lady Crepuscula. She was a small old woman in a heavy black-lace dress. She leaned on her silver cane and waited for Frederick’s answer with the barest hint of a self-satisfied smile on her face.

  “Oh,” said Frederick, going bright red. “Hello.” When Lady Crepuscula didn’t reply, he said, “What are you doing in Propellendorf?”

  “My job, thank you very much,” she said. “In case you’d forgotten, my reprobate brother and his feathered accomplice are still at large. Somebody has to find them before they cause any more trouble.”

  Frederick watched the statue at work with the posters. “Do you think they’re here?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, with obvious annoyance. “But so far they haven’t been anywhere else I’ve looked either, and I’m running out of options. In fact, for all the success I’ve had in tracing them, they may as well have stopped existing altogether. Which I’d be perfectly happy with, incidentally.” She glared at them all in turn. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Fletch.

  “Then don’t tell me,” she said. “Because I haven’t got time. Given your track records, I’ll simply assume there’s been some sort of disaster that you’re desperately trying to remedy.” She took in their awkward expressions and nodded. “Yes, I thought so. I just hope you’re not expecting me to ride in and save you all the last minute, because I have other things to do. Good day to you.”

  With a sharp nod, she turned and hobbled away toward her statue, swatting passersby aside with her cane as she went.

  Frederick breathed a sigh of relief. “That could have gone a lot worse,” he said.

  “It could have gone a lot better,” said Suzy’s dad. “She wasn’t even interested in helping us.”

  “Trust me, life’s easier when she stays out of the way,” said Fletch. “And I’ve never trusted those big stone idiots either.” He shot a disdainful look at the statue, but only once its back was safely turned. “Why couldn’t she have adopted kittens as her evil henchmen instead?” he grumbled.

  Frederick tried to imagine Lady Crepuscula surrounded by gamboling kittens, but the image was so unnatural it refused to materialize. As their group started back toward the hangar, he idly wondered what sort of pet would be a natural fit for Lady Crepuscula. A poison-quilled terror turtle, perhaps? Giant grabantulas? One of the more disagreeable species of demon?

  He stopped so suddenly that Suzy’s parents almost walked into him.

  “Careful,” said Suzy’s dad. Frederick hardly heard him. He finally had the answer he’d been racking his brain for.

  “Fletch, wait!” he said. “I think we can fix the H.E.C.’s engine without a bifurcator.”

  Suzy’s parents clasped hands. “Really?” said Suzy’s mom.

  “That’s impossible,” said Fletch. “How?”

  “It’s a bit of a long shot,” said Frederick. “But does Propellendorf have any pet shops?”

  17

  THE MASTER OF MAGIC

  The S-Cargo Unit climbed the mighty spiral of Hydroborea, cutting a V-shaped wake through the steady flow of water gushing down the streets. Suzy, held firm by the miniature kraken in the detention trailer, turned her face to one side in an attempt to keep the rain out of her eyes and wondered if she would ever be dry again. Every layer of her postal uniform was wet and clinging, her hair was a sodden mess. She tasted salt water whenever she swallowed.

  If I live through this, she told herself, I’m going to spend the rest of my life indoors, wrapped in a heated blanket drinking hot chocolate.

  Beside her, Wilmot appeared to be having an equally miserable time. He was doing his best to maintain a dignified silence, but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the rain that kept dribbling down his nose and making him sneeze every few minutes.

  At last Suzy couldn’t take it anymore and raised her head to glare at the Watch Frog Commander, who was still standing over them in the trailer.

  “Why is this taking so long?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t we be there by now?”

  “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you,” the Commander replied, barely glancing at her. “This is a one-way trip.”

  A sharper cold than the rain cut through Suzy, and she wished she had never spoken. They were rushing toward Frogmaggog’s tower, and wha
tever fate awaited them within its walls.

  “It’ll be okay, Suzy,” Wilmot whispered. “We’ll get the job done. We’ll save the Ivory Tower and the Express.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said the Chief, who was still hovering above them. “Never say die. Unless you already have died, of course.”

  The spiral of Hydroborea’s great shell tightened and narrowed the higher up they went. Suzy got the impression that the streets were funneling into one another until at last they culminated in a single wide avenue. The buildings overlooking it were even more grandiose than their counterparts in the lower reaches of the city. Signs above their doors said things like BANK OF HYDROBOREA and MINISTRY OF NEWS, and the pavements outside were busy with frogs in fine robes and large colorful umbrellas, all of whom pointed and stared as the vehicle passed. There seemed to be no sign of their newt-like counterparts at all, and it was clear to Suzy which of the two species wielded power in the city.

  She only had a moment to ponder this before the S-Cargo Unit drew to a halt. She couldn’t see what had stopped them, but she heard a voice from somewhere up ahead call, “Who goes there?”

  “This is Commander Kecker of Frog Team Four,” the Commander called back. “We’ve captured the outworlders. His Greatness wants to interrogate them personally.”

  Suzy and Wilmot exchanged a nervous glance.

  “He’s expecting you,” came the answer. “Proceed.”

  The Commander pulled a small silver conch shell from his belt and blew into it. Whatever note it produced was too high for Suzy to hear, but the kraken released its hold on them and curled up, as if stung.