Delivery to the Lost City Read online

  “But how?” asked Ina.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Suzy. “The palace is a fortress. We can’t force our way in, and if we hand ourselves over, Frogmaggog will eat us on sight. We need another plan, and fast. We’ve only got a few hours left to unbind the book before it keeps all the words it stole forever.”

  Ina looked perturbed, but before she could reply, there was a loud crash from the courtyard as the doors to the street burst open.

  “Secure the building!” shouted a voice that Suzy knew all too well: It belonged to Commander Kecker. The rapid tramp of Watch Frog boots poured into the courtyard, and they heard the front door to the building give way with a splintering of wood.

  “Oh dear,” said the Chief. “We can’t seem to stay out of trouble today.”

  Amlod’s fronds turned a sickly yellow with fear. “We’re all going to get eaten!”

  Outside the apartment door, the building rang with the sounds of the Watch Frogs’ search: doors being kicked in, people shouting in confusion, glass shattering.

  “Everyone is under arrest!” shouted Commander Kecker. “Leave the building and assemble in the street for processing. No exceptions!”

  The sound of Watch Frog boots approached the bedroom door, which shook as someone pounded on it. “Open up in there!”

  Ina’s pink speckles paled. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Suzy hurried to the window and peeked through the curtain, but the courtyard was already filling with Hydroboreans as the Watch Frogs marched them, protesting and struggling, out to the street. “We’re too late,” she said. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Open up or we’ll smash it down,” came the voice outside the door.

  “Just a minute,” Amlod shouted back. “I’m, er … getting dressed.” He turned to his sister and hissed, “Think of something!”

  Ina tugged on the ends of her fronds in frustration, then caught her breath. “I’ve got an idea,” she said, her face lighting up. “Are you scared of heights?”

  “Why?” asked Suzy, but Ina had already thrown open the window and climbed out. At the same instant, the door to the room cracked under a vicious blow and would have burst in completely if not for Amlod, who threw himself against it.

  “Go!” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

  “But—” Suzy started.

  “Quickly!” Amlod gritted his teeth as the door began to splinter behind him. “If even half the stuff you’ve told me is true, then Ina needs that book, so go and get it!”

  “He’s right, Suzy,” said the Chief from inside his skull. “There’s no time to waste.”

  With a last pained look at Amlod, Suzy followed Ina out the window. She expected the clammy webbed hands of the Watch Frogs to seize her immediately, but the courtyard was in such chaos that, for a few seconds at least, nobody even noticed her.

  “This way, Suzy!”

  She looked up and saw Ina climbing an ornate drainpipe toward the roof. She followed, her hands slipping on the wet metal, and had not got far before she heard the door to Ina’s apartment give way with a crash. A few seconds later, the cry went up from below her: “It’s the outworlder! Stop her!”

  Suzy didn’t look down but kept climbing, past landings on which people jostled and fought with the Watch Frogs, until she finally pulled herself, panting and shaking, onto the sloping scallop-shaped tiles of the roof.

  “Where’s Amlod?” Ina looked down over the edge and cried out in shock. Suzy did likewise, and saw Kecker climbing grimly after them.

  “Amlod stayed behind to buy us time,” said Suzy breathlessly. “We have to go, now!”

  “No!” Ina looked stricken. “I can’t leave him. He’s all I’ve got!”

  “Give yourselves up!” Kecker’s voice reached them from below. “Surrender immediately!”

  Suzy grabbed Ina’s hand and squeezed it hard. “If we stay here, they’ll catch us, too, and he’ll have done it for nothing.” She tried to pull Ina with her up the slope of the roof, but Ina resisted. For a horrible second, Suzy thought she was going to hand herself over to Kecker, until she began stamping on the top of the drainpipe, where it met the guttering.

  “Don’t just stand there, help me,” Ina said.

  Realization dawned in Suzy’s mind and she joined Ina, kicking down hard on the guttering. It was old and rusty and began to separate from the roof just as Kecker’s furious face rose into view.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted. “Stop! That’s an order!” He reached for them, but it was too late—the drainpipe peeled away from the wall, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, taking Kecker with it. Suzy took great satisfaction in the look of helpless fury on his face as he receded from them, toppling into the courtyard and landing in the central flower bed with a crash.

  The pandemonium of the crowd lessened momentarily as everyone stopped to watch him. He staggered to his feet, his helmet askew, and spat a wad of plant mulch from his mouth. “Stop those two!” he said, pointing a shaking finger at Suzy and Ina. “They’re enemies of Hydroborea!”

  Suzy couldn’t resist giving him a little wave good-bye. Before either of them could turn to leave, though, a new voice reached them from the crowd.

  “Run, Ina!” It was Amlod, being dragged toward the gates by a couple of Watch Frogs.

  Ina gasped. “Let him go!” she cried. “Somebody, please help him.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he shouted, digging his heels in as best he could. “Go and get the book. And if it has any power, use it to help us!” Then he was through the gates and hidden from sight.

  “Amlod!” Ina cried.

  Kecker signaled with his trident, and a group of Watch Frogs broke away from the crowd and began climbing the remaining drainpipes. Suzy pulled Ina away from the edge.

  “We can’t stay,” she said.

  “I know,” Ina replied. Her face was set in a determined scowl. “We need to open the book. It’s the only way to save everyone.”

  She gripped Suzy’s hand and led Suzy up the roof into the gathering dusk.

  21

  WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS

  The inside of Frogmaggog’s stomach was hot, dark, and smelly. In fact, Wilmot noted, it felt a little like being sealed in a damp and spongy sleeping bag—not exactly fun, but not fatal either. At least, not so far.

  I wonder if I’m causing him indigestion, he thought, and secretly hoped he was.

  He was just wondering whether it would be even more uncomfortable for Frogmaggog if he tried jumping up and down, when the stomach walls enveloping him quivered. There was a gurgling rumble from all around him, a moment of pressure, and with a sudden rush, he was propelled up and out of Frogmaggog’s gut. He sailed from the cavernous mouth, tumbled through the air, and landed on a cold, hard floor that knocked the wind out of him.

  Wilmot waited for the fireworks inside his skull to clear, then warily opened his eyes.

  Frogmaggog loomed over him, wiping a string of drool from his chins. “You’re still with us, outworlder,” he boomed. “Good. I wasn’t sure which stomach you’d ended up in. I’ve got two of them, you see.” He patted his great belly. “One for storage and one for digestion. I was aiming for storage, but I sometimes miss.”

  Wilmot sat up and looked about. They were no longer in the throne room, but a smaller, darker chamber of rough-hewn pink stone. The ceiling was low enough that Frogmaggog had to stoop to avoid scraping his head, and the space was lit by the flickering glow of pure magic. It leeched out from between the stones to form wavering balls of light that bobbed through the air, hissing and fizzing away into nothing. Their restless light glinted off an array of jars that filled the shelves lining the walls. Wilmot caught fleeting glimpses of their contents: a collection of bulbous eyeballs clustered together like frog spawn, wriggling wormlike creatures, bright red starfish, shark teeth, and countless other things that he couldn’t even identify. He also saw that he and Frogmaggog weren’t alone—a handful of Hydroborean
s, both newts and frogs, cowered in the chamber’s gloomier recesses, trying to look inconspicuous.

  “Well?” said Frogmaggog. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

  Wilmot got to his feet and straightened his uniform, doing his best to ignore how damp and sticky it was. “Quite the opposite,” he said. “You have impeded two Impossible Postal operatives in the course of their duties and stolen an item of registered mail. These are criminal offenses that can result in a fine or even a custodial sentence. Now, I’m willing to let the matter drop if you will return the book and reunite me with my deputy postal operative so we can complete our delivery.” He fixed Frogmaggog with what he hoped was a commanding look, although he couldn’t stop the tips of his ears from trembling nervously.

  Frogmaggog narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need your permission to take what’s rightfully mine,” he said. “And it’s not too late for me to eat you for real.”

  Wilmot did his best to keep his fear in check. “You could have done that already,” he said. “But you brought me here instead, which means you must need me for something.”

  Frogmaggog grunted. “You’re a smart one, I’ll give you that. This is the Sanctum, at the top of my tower. It’s the source of all the city’s magic.” He looked around the chamber, causing the Hydroboreans to whimper with fear. “Where’s the sorcerer?” he demanded. “I need him.”

  The Hydroboreans all looked to a painfully thin newt woman, who, after a few moments’ hesitation, shuffled forward into the light. She held a spiny silver sea urchin in her hands.

  “Please, Your Greatness,” she said, her voice shaking. “Here he is.”

  “Give him to the outworlder,” said Frogmaggog.

  Wilmot, not knowing what else to do, accepted the urchin from the terrified Hydroborean, who immediately retreated. The urchin’s spines prickled his palms. “This doesn’t look much like a sorcerer,” he said.

  “Not yet,” Frogmaggog replied, and snapped his fingers. The urchin erupted in a flash of light that made Wilmot screw his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he wasn’t holding an urchin but a warm, wrinkled human hand, poking out of a dirty white shirtsleeve. The hand, the shirtsleeve, and the arm inside it belonged to a small elderly man with a lined face, an unkempt beard, and a shock of silver hair that stood on end, much like the spines of the urchin had. His eyes were sharp and keen, and they darted around the room before settling on Wilmot.

  “Oh no,” said the man. “Not you.”

  Wilmot released his hand and recoiled in shock. He recognized the man only too well, although he looked far scruffier than the last time they had met, and the beard was a new addition. Someone would have to update the Wanted posters. “Lord Meridi—” he started, before correcting himself. “Aybek! What are you doing here?”

  “Wilmot Grunt,” Aybek replied. “I could ask you the same question.”

  Frogmaggog squinted down at them. “You two know each other?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Aybek, attempting to pat his hair into some sort of order. “Be careful of this one, Your Greatness. He’s a troublemaker.”

  “Me?” said Wilmot indignantly. “You’re the most wanted criminal in the Impossible Places.”

  “Nonsense,” said Aybek. “As I explained to His Greatness when I arrived here last week, I am the Chief Librarian of the Ivory Tower and the foremost magical practitioner in the Impossible Places. My reputation is exemplary.”

  The hollow voice of the book spoke from inside Frogmaggog’s fist. “You are Aybek Aranrhod,” it said. “Formerly Lord Meridian. Wanted for conspiracy, espionage, high treason, and sundry other offenses. Reward for information leading to capture.”

  Frogmaggog opened his hand to reveal the book on his palm, and Aybek’s mouth dropped open. “But how…?”

  “It’s alive, it talks, and it absorbs information,” Wilmot replied. “Including your Wanted poster.”

  Frogmaggog laughed at Aybek’s look of astonishment. “I always know a liar when I see one,” he said. “That’s why I’ve been keeping you as a crustacean when I don’t need you.”

  Aybek looked devastated. He put a hand to a metal collar fixed around his neck and grimaced. “It’s an echinoderm, actually,” he said. “And what do you need me for now, exactly? More childish enchantments?”

  “I want the magic inside this book,” said Frogmaggog. “You, this new outworlder, and these other miserable wretches are going to break the spell holding it closed.” He picked the book up between thumb and forefinger and thrust it at Aybek.

  “But that’s mail tampering,” said Wilmot, aghast. “No self-respecting Postmaster would ever consider such a thing.”

  “Then start considering it,” said Frogmaggog. “Because your lives depend on it.”

  Aybek accepted the book with a weary sigh. “There’s no use arguing, Master Grunt. I’m afraid he’s left us little choice.” He raised his eyes to Frogmaggog’s. “We’ll do as you order, but I can’t promise quick results. The binding spell is extremely strong. People in the Impossible Places have been trying to break it for thousands of years without success.”

  Frogmaggog gestured at the crackling energy bobbing through the air around them. “You’re surrounded by pure magic,” he said. “If this isn’t enough power to reverse the spell then why do you bother to call yourselves sorcerers?”

  Wilmot, who thought it safest not to mention the fact that he’d never claimed to be a sorcerer at all, kept his mouth shut. The book, however, was less diplomatic.

  “I will not open for anyone but Ina,” it said. “Take me to her.”

  Frogmaggog reddened. “I’m the Master of Magic, not her,” he growled. “That means whatever’s written on your pages belongs to me and nobody else.” He was becoming so angry that fat beads of sweat were breaking out on his skin.

  “Dare I ask who Ina is?” Aybek whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  “It’s a long story,” Wilmot replied. Which was true, he supposed, although even if it hadn’t been, he wasn’t about to trust Aybek with the truth about Ina.

  “You don’t understand,” Frogmaggog shouted at the book. “Without the magic of the founders, we’re all doomed. Hydroborea is crumbling and nothing else can stop it!”

  Wilmot looked at the titanic figure in bewilderment. His sweat was beginning to give off thick, greenish steam, and the more of it that rose into the air, the smaller Frogmaggog became. He was shrinking before Wilmot’s very eyes.

  “Oh no!” cried Frogmaggog, looking down at himself in horror. “Not again! It’s too soon!” He reached for Aybek, who stepped calmly out of range. “Help me!” Frogmaggog implored. “I need more potion.”

  “I’ve warned you,” Aybek replied. “The more you use the potion, the quicker it wears off.”

  Frogmaggog turned his desperate pleas on Wilmot. “You!” he blubbered, a burst of steam escaping from his mouth. “You can make it for me, can’t you?”

  Wilmot retreated several steps in alarm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “What’s happening?” He looked around for support, but neither Aybek nor the Hydroboreans made any move to help.

  At last, with a final pathetic gasp of steam, Frogmaggog pitched forward onto the floor, unconscious. He was already half his normal size, and his body continued to shrivel.

  Wilmot stood rooted to the spot, wondering what to do. Should he try to help, or to escape? Before he could make up his mind, the wizard clapped his hands for attention.

  “Come along, ladies and gentlemen, you all know the drill. The sooner we get this thundering oaf his potion, the sooner he’ll be back on his feet and out the door. We all want him gone, don’t we?”

  The Hydroboreans sprang into action, pulling jars from the shelves, hurrying to workbenches, and emptying ingredients into frying pans and mixing bowls.

  With a feeble hiss, Frogmaggog finally stopped shrinking, and the steam dissipated to reveal a figure that was barely larger than Wilmot himself.


  “He looks like a normal Hydroborean,” said Wilmot.

  “Because that’s precisely what he is,” said Aybek. “You didn’t think he could grow to such a gigantic size naturally, did you? He uses the enlarging potion that he forces us to make in this magical sweatshop of his.”

  “Is that what this place is?” asked Wilmot.

  Aybek nodded. “The Sanctum is a prison for anyone in Hydroborea who displays even a hint of magical ability. They’re put to work providing His Greatness with whatever spells and enchantments his ego demands, including this nasty little contraption.” He indicated the collar around his neck. “Speaking of which, why not make yourself useful and bring me Frogmaggog’s signet ring?”

  Wilmot shuffled on the spot, instinctively mistrustful. “What do you need it for?”

  “To facilitate our escape from this dreadful place, of course,” Aybek replied. “The ring gives Frogmaggog a psychic link to the collars. As long as he’s wearing it, he can transform his prisoners in almost any way he pleases. He’ll be coming to soon, so I suggest you hurry up. And don’t let any of the others see you. They can’t all be trusted.”

  Still trying to keep one eye on Aybek, Wilmot stooped down beside Frogmaggog and pretended to examine him. As discreetly as he could, he pulled the ring from the Master of Magic’s unresisting finger. It had shrunk along with the rest of him, but it was still heavy and hummed with hidden power. “I don’t understand” he said as he slipped the ring behind his back to Aybek. “Why does Frogmaggog need prisoners to do his magic for him? I thought he was already the most powerful sorcerer in the city.”

  Aybek gave a humorless laugh and slipped the ring into his trouser pocket. “My dear Master Grunt, you probably have more magical ability in your little finger than Frogmaggog has in his whole body.”

  “Me?” said Wilmot. “But I’m hardly magical at all.”

  “Precisely. Frogmaggog’s a fraud. Even basic spells are beyond him. His only real power is fear, and he’s hanging on to that by his fingertips.”

  Aybek crossed to an empty workbench some distance from the others and picked a strip of dried seaweed from an open pot, knotting it into a rough circle. Then he drew a stick of coral from a rusty old can full of them, raised it aloft, and caught a passing ball of magic on its tip. With a flick and a whispered incantation, he tapped the coral against the seaweed, which immediately began to reshape itself. Within a few seconds, it had become an exact copy of the signet ring.