The Lost Puzzler Read online

  “Yes, Master Goran,” Rafik answered in a small voice.

  Satisfied, Master Goran led Rafik to a nearby table and sat down.

  He poured himself a drink and offered Rafik a mug of cold water.

  “So, our newly acquired talent . . .” Master Goran said once more, watching Rafik as the boy drained his mug. Then he slammed his own mug down on the table. “I think it was a grave mistake to spend all of our resources on you. A grave mistake.”

  Rafik didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent, holding his empty mug.

  Master Goran sighed and shook his head. “What’s done is done. Now, come show me your hand.”

  Rafik obeyed without thinking; so many people had examined his hand in the past few weeks that he’d overcome the instinct to conceal his marks. Master Goran held Rafik’s tattooed hand and examined his three fingers closely under a pair of glasses he balanced on the bridge of his nose, which, he explained, made objects look bigger. The white gloves felt extremely odd on Rafik’s skin—he’d never felt such material before but decided not to try and satisfy his curiosity. Master Goran examined Rafik’s tattoos closely, taking measurements of them, his fingers, his hand, and his arm with a measurement rope. Rafik didn’t need glasses or a measurement rope to know that the symbols on his fingertips had doubled in size since he’d left his home village, covering all his fingers and the middle one reaching into his palm.

  After each measurement, Master Goran turned and tapped his fingers over a thin slate that reminded Rafik of Sweetheart’s screens. He kept asking Rafik many questions about his tattoos: how big they were when he first saw them, when did they start to grow, did they tingle, and even how many puzzles had he solved. Rafik tried to answer each question quickly and correctly, because every time he hesitated Master Goran tapped his foot impatiently.

  Eventually Master Goran let go of Rafik’s hand, got up from his chair, and walked slowly to a set of shelves filled with all kinds of metal, where he rummaged for a while. Rafik was left alone at the table. For some reason, his thoughts wandered to his home village, his family and best friend, and the autumn festivities that would be going on now. He felt his heart sinking into his chest, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. Rafik was so deep in his memories that he didn’t notice Master Goran’s return to the table.

  “Missing home?”

  The question startled Rafik. Could Master Goran read his thoughts as well?

  “I was thinking about my brother’s wedding,” he answered. “It must have happened by now.”

  “No use trying to hold on to the past, Rafik. What you should worry about is the future.” Master Goran held a rectangular puzzle box. Rafik could easily recognise them by now. Like Jakov’s puzzle boxes, it had a time-measuring display, but this particular box also had two dozen thin wires coming out of it. Master Goran followed Rafik’s gaze.

  “By now you know that you are different even from the tattooed, Rafik, and what this is.” Master Goran laid the puzzle box gently on the table. “You know you are a Puzzler, that you can solve puzzles, and that people find you valuable, but this is all you know, nothing else. You are a raw talent, unskilled, untrained, unrefined, blind to the subtleties of puzzling, innocent in the face of what you will be up against—which means you will be dead less than an hour into your first shallow run, and it would take even less time for you to perish in a deep run, into the City within the Mountain, something Lord Keenan will undoubtedly push for as soon as possible. You are a novice, even worse than a novice, because you know so little and think you know a lot, and everyone’s enthusiasm is misleading you. You know nothing of what you are expected to do. Unfortunately, since we have spent all of our wealth acquiring you, your death would mean the destruction of this guild. I must train you as hard as I can, because your fate entwines with ours.”

  Rafik was too frightened to speak, but something in his eyes must have radiated defiance. “You think I’m lying.” Master Goran’s smile was not kind. “You think I’m just trying to hurt your feelings? You think I’m just an old fool, perhaps?”

  “No, I don—” The slap caught Rafik midsentence and brought him to his knees. His eyes filled with tears. His face was burning.

  Master Goran hovered above him. “Get up.” It was an order. Rafik’s legs worked of their own accord.

  “Good. Did the slap hurt?”

  Rafik shook his head. Was it out of pride?

  The second slap caught him on the other side of the face and was even more powerful. This time he stayed sprawled on the cool floor, tasting blood in his mouth, whimpering softly. But still the order penetrated the ringing in his ears: “Get up!”

  Trembling with fear, he pulled himself up again.

  “Did it hurt?”

  He nodded, his face feeling as if it was on fire.

  “Good. The first slap was to make a point; the second one was for lying. Lie again and you will suffer consequences graver than what you just experienced.” Master Goran grabbed Rafik’s arm and pinned it to the table with a metal brace that was screwed into the tabletop.

  “The pain you are feeling now is a soft tickle compared with the pain you will feel just before you die on a deep run. Hold on to that, Rafik, let it be your inspiration to excel in what I am about to teach you.”

  Master Goran slid the puzzle box onto Rafik’s fingers. He then attached the wires to different parts of Rafik’s hand and arm, speaking calmly as he worked, as if he had not violently hit the boy twice just a few moments before.

  “There are too many things to teach you and too little time, so I will begin from the end. The Tarkanians had cities and outposts all over this world, but what is called ‘the City within the Mountain’ was their centre of power. As its name suggests, it is built inside a mountain range, overlooking Tarakan Valley. We do not know how many Tarkanians lived in the City within the Mountain, but there are millions of Tarakan buildings just in the Valley itself, from the smallest cottage to towers as high as the ones we have here in this city. Whatever terrible weapon killed the Tarkanians, it left most of those buildings standing, and in almost every such building you can find puzzle boxes. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it was a way to educate people, or something to do with their religion, or maybe they just liked games, but here’s the important bit: the Tarkanians must have known that the Catastrophe was imminent, and they prepared for it.

  “Throughout the Valley there are underground bunkers—we call them nodes—filled with all kinds of equipment that would help the survivors of such a war, from sophisticated and lethal weapons to pills that can nourish your body for days, power tubes and clips, all kinds of ammunition, goggles that allow you to see in the dark, vehicles, and all manner of technology we can still use but have no idea how to make ourselves. These nodes replenish themselves periodically—we have no idea how, or why, but they do.

  “To the best of my knowledge, the City of Towers has seven such nodes, which are barely able to supply the ShieldGuards and the upper crust of society. The Council makes sure there are always at least two Puzzlers in custody at all times to keep the flow of supplies going. Tarakan Valley, on the other hand, has hundreds of nodes that supply everything you could possibly dream of and more. But the real treasure troves lie deep in the City within the Mountain. Armoured vehicles, communication devices that let you speak to other people hundreds of miles away, and many artifacts we still have no idea how to use, are all there, waiting for us.

  “So here’s the catch.” Master Goran leaned closer, his mouth uncomfortably close to Rafik’s ear. “Each node has a door, and each door has a lock, and that lock is a puzzle, and only a Puzzler can open these locks.” He chuckled without merriment. “Believe me, they’ve tried looking into alternatives. There are none. Only a Puzzler will do, and this is what they will expect you to do: to open the magic doors so they can collect the goodies.” As he hooked up the last of the wires Master Goran added, “The puzzle locks in the City of Towers and even in the Valley c
an be difficult, but the ones in the City within the Mountain are lethal.” Satisfied, he straightened up. “Now let’s see how good you really are.”

  Master Goran pressed a button on the puzzle box, and Rafik felt the initial sting before finding himself in the familiar black void. For a few heartbeats he floated in complete darkness, trying to calm himself. But in the blink of an eye a puzzle appeared before him and Rafik did not hesitate. The first few puzzles were easy, and his fear turned into excitement, even into a cautious confidence. He managed to solve the first strain of puzzles and woke up feeling good about himself, but Master Goran’s face was sombre. He shook his head as his hand moved over a Tarakan pad. Rafik had only a few moments to recuperate.

  “This next set has a time limit,” warned Master Goran, “so complete them as quickly as you can.” With the press of a button the world winked away.

  It was a more complex version of the last puzzle, not as big as some that Rafik had tackled during his time on Sweetheart, but its three dimensions made it confusing. All he could do for a while was hover above the sea of symbols, trying desperately to latch on to a pattern. He managed to grasp half of the pattern when a sudden flash of pain coursed through his entire body. He heard his own voice shouting in agony from afar, increasing in volume until it was ringing in his ears when the hall suddenly reappeared.

  Rafik found himself doubled over the large table, gasping in pain, desperately trying to pull his fingers free from the puzzle box. But it was impossible to do so with his arm pinned to the table. Master Goran’s face filled Rafik’s field of vision.

  “You know what’s the difference between a Gadgetier and a Tinker?” Master Goran did not wait for a reply. “A Gadgetier is marked, he has the talent, the raw instinct, the knowledge is already inside him, while a Tinker is just someone who likes to shove his nose into alien machinery. I am a Tinker but you are a Puzzler, you have the talent.”

  Master Goran’s voice calmed, and his eyes became distant, flat, as he continued. “Our last Puzzler also had talent, and he thought the boxes were just games—fun, fascinating games, but not very important. He was too preoccupied with learning to use his gun to spend time training like he should have. Then we went to the Valley, and he still pulled through, because he was very talented. When we entered the City within the Mountain he even bested the first lock, and a few locks after that, but what happened next . . .” Master Goran looked away from Rafik. “Most of us died there, or got severely wounded, and what was left of our crew brought the Puzzler back foaming at the mouth. He screamed for days and had to be force-fed. When he finally awoke, he was a shadow of what he once was, and his natural ability was burnt out of him.” Master Goran turned his head and looked deeply into the boy’s eyes. “Are you scared now?” he asked.

  Rafik swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Good. Try the puzzle again.” Master Goran quickly pressed the puzzle box and Rafik was inside the puzzle again. This time his mind froze in terror. The memory of the terrible pain was still fresh. He did worse than his first attempt. He couldn’t focus on the task, and the puzzle was far from being complete when pain jolted through his body yet again.

  “Again,” ordered Master Goran.

  “No, please,” Rafik begged, but it was too late. He lost precious time trying to find a way out of the puzzle dimension, and the pain he suffered made even breathing an agony.

  He was too weak even to try and pull away this time. He just laid his head on the table, panting, tears of fear and shame running down his face.

  “Again.”

  After two more failed attempts Master Goran decided it was enough and released Rafik from the puzzle box. The boy withdrew his hand as if it were on fire and fell backwards onto the floor, then crawled away from the table until his back hit the wall. He inspected his hand, expecting his fingers to be bleeding or burned, but his hand seemed whole and intact, and there were no marks on his forearm.

  Master Goran limped over until he towered above the boy. “That was a level-five lock at three minutes,” he said, looking down. “A shallow run, to a Tarakan node in the valley, would bring you to locks up to level eight with around the same time limit. The outer doors of a deep run are level fourteen with less than a minute to work out what to do. The Tarkanians were no fools. The better the loot, the harder the lock.”

  Rafik looked up, still holding his hand to his chest. “But why would they do that?” he wailed. “Why would they want to hurt you if you do not succeed?”

  “Most of the puzzle locks will just freeze for a fortnight if you fail,” admitted Master Goran, “and then you can go back and try again. But some puzzles are lethal. The pain you felt is my own addition, to put you under pressure, and it worked. Every time you tried you did worse than before.” Master Goran walked back to the table and picked up the puzzle box. For a moment Rafik thought he was going to make him try again, and only sheer terror kept him from jumping to his feet and running away. But Master Goran walked slowly to the shelves. He didn’t stop talking as he placed the box among the other objects.

  “During a shallow run you might have to open a lock while your crew is fighting. Don’t be fooled by the word ‘Lizards.’ They are called this because of their green skin colour and long snouts—but these are extremely lethal creatures, almost an adult human in size, much more powerful and often very cunning. They have claws and teeth that would rip you to shreds, and are able to kill an unarmed man in a heartbeat. Many of the nodes are in Lizard-infested areas, and even with the cleaning crews we send out, somehow they reproduce fast enough to come back again and again.

  “And they are not the only danger in the Valley; there are lethal traps, wild animals, even rogue crews who prey on each other. You might need to solve a puzzle while you are surrounded by enemies, under fire, or even wounded. The knowledge that your life and the lives of your group are in your hands must not cause you to make mistakes.”

  Master Goran came back, leaned down, and grasped Rafik’s shoulders with his hands. “Your training here will make the difference between life and agonizing death,” he growled, “yours and your crew’s.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” Rafik said, trying not to burst into tears. “I never wanted to do this. I just wanted to stay home, in my village.” He sniffed and felt his chin tremble uncontrollably.

  Master Goran simply shook his head, still holding Rafik by his shoulders. “You cannot go home,” he said gravely and gestured at Rafik’s silver bracelet. “This bracelet tells the training officers exactly where you are, and it can even incapacitate you if you try to leave the training grounds. You think you’re the first recruit who wanted to leave? The only difference between you and the others is that the guild will not ceremonially cut this bracelet off your arm after a month or two. You are too valuable. Our war with the Sabarra has cost us a fortune, and Mistress Furukawa bought you with all we have left.” Master Goran sighed softly, “It was a bold move, I admit, but it has brought our guild to the edge. We might soar or we might fall, depending on the outcome of your training. Worse, the guild needs a return on its investment as soon as possible, otherwise we are exposed. Lord Keenan is a great warrior, but perhaps exactly for that reason he is a firm believer in trial by fire. You’re going to be sent to the outpost soon, much too soon. I bought you a couple of months, maybe ten, maybe a year, but no more. Your only chance of survival is to train with me as hard as you can before they send you to Tarakan Valley.”

  Master Goran sought Rafik’s eyes with his own. “You have to understand, it’s not about discovering where we came from, or figuring out who the Tarkanians were, or what happened in the Catastrophe—it’s about coin and power and who controls the future.” He walked back to the table and leaned heavily on the high stool.

  “Still thinking about escaping?”

  Rafik didn’t dare lie, so he nodded.

  “I don’t blame you, but you won’t do it, and not just because of the bracelet. You might just be resourceful enoug
h to find a solution to your problem, the same way I did.” Master Goran’s smile was genuine this time. “But even if you escape this place and find your way down to the ground level, and somehow escape the manhunt and manage to leave the city, you will eventually end up back in Tarakan Valley. You know why?”

  Rafik shook his head as Master Goran slowly peeled the glove off his left hand and spread his fingers in front of the boy’s face. Rafik could just make out the markings. Master Goran’s tattoos were so small they fit on his fingertips and were so faded you could have mistaken them for an ink smudge. Still, Rafik could make out a triangle and one crescent moon.

  “Because you are a Puzzler, Rafik, just like I was, before my mistakes killed my crew and I became a mere Tinker. My talent was burned out of me that day, but I still remember the pull of the Valley. You cannot run away, because Tarakan Valley draws you in, the same way it drew me and others of our kind. Only in Tarakan Valley will you feel at peace, as if you belong there, even if the place ends up killing you.”

  35

  Rafik tried to move as quietly as possible and still gain ground, a difficult task considering the corridor was almost completely dark. A battle was still raging outside, and although he was already well inside the building, explosions, gunfire, and even an occasional scream reached his ears. It was not a good sign.

  At least his cut finally stopped bleeding. He gingerly felt the bloodstained cloth wrapped around his forearm before continuing to inch forward, feeling the wall with his free hand while holding a blaster with the other.

  There was occasional chatter in his earpiece but it was too garbled to be understood. It could have been either the thick walls that blocked the weak signal or, as he feared, enemy interference, which meant he had to move fast and find the door. Rafik turned into another corridor, which was thankfully slightly more lit than the one he came out of. A few paces later he saw the puzzle lock, smiled to himself with relief, and uttered a soft prayer to the Prophet Reborn for his good luck. He did not forget caution, though, and found the pressure plate just as he was about to step on it. There was no time to waste, nor did he trust his rudimentary skills in disarming traps. Instead he approached the puzzle-locked door from a different angle, marking the pressure plate with a cloth torn from his blood-soaked bandages.