The Lost Puzzler Page 25

  “Hey, Rafik” he heard Commander Doro call.

  He found himself turning before he knew what he was doing. He saw the commander looking straight at him.

  “There’s space over here,” Commander Doro pointed next to himself, where Bernard was sitting. “Come.” He beckoned.

  When Rafik reached the bench, Commander Doro made everyone shuffle so Rafik could squeeze is between himself and Bernard.

  When Rafik was seated, Commander Doro turned and extended his hand in greeting. “So you are the Puzzler everyone is talking about. Respect.”

  “Respect, Commander,” Rafik answered weakly and watched as his hand was encased by Doro’s enormous palm. He was half-expecting the Commander to begin examining his markings in front of everyone, but Doro let go of his hand and offered Rafik some hot bread instead.

  Despite sitting next to each other, they did not exchange any further words before the Commander got up and bid everyone good night.

  All the trainees spontaneously got to their feet.

  “Keenan, Respect!” the hall rang with the cry as Commander Doro left.

  On the second day of the Commander’s visit, the teachers held several demonstrations to show off Rafik’s capabilities. The demonstrations weren’t fake, but even Rafik knew that he’d already tackled harder puzzle locks and that he would never have succeeded in beating Naava in hand-to-hand combat if she’d been allowed to attack at will. Master Goran watched the demonstrations but did not comment about them when they met in the lair. Actually, he didn’t say more than he needed to for Rafik to understand his will. He seemed distant and preoccupied, and the training was finished earlier than expected.

  On the third day of Commander Doro’s visit, just as Rafik and Master Goran were beginning their Puzzler practice, the metal door of the lift slid open and House Master Prushnik stepped out.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Master Goran,” he said coolly, “but I was asked to bring the young Puzzler for an interview with Commander Doro.”

  “That is impossible,” Master Goran replied immediately. “I need the boy here, for training. Tell the Commander he can interview the boy later, when I’m done.”

  House Master Prushnik nodded, and there might have been a hint of satisfaction on his face when he said, “Commander Doro anticipated your reaction, Master Goran, and with Mistress Furukawa’s blessing has asked me to inform you that either I bring the young Puzzler to his chambers or he will make his way down here now.”

  Master Goran’s face hardened. There was a short pause, where the three of them stood in silence, but finally Master Goran snapped, “Fine, take the boy.”

  With several sharp movements he unfastened Rafik from the metal brace and called after him as the boy began following the House Master, “You’d better come back immediately after your chat. No idling about, you hear?”

  It was the first time Rafik had entered the lift, and he watched with curiosity as House Master Prushnik hovered his finger above one of the buttons, which lit up blue as the door slid soundlessly closed. He felt the slight upward surge, and in no time he found himself on the upper floor of the guild house for the first time.

  Heart pounding with excitement, Rafik followed the House Master until they reached a set of double doors. The House Master knocked lightly. Immediately there was a buzz, and the doors slid apart. Commander Doro was just turning around from the fireplace, a steaming teapot in his hand.

  “Ah, thank you, Prushnik. I see that my threat worked wonders on the old goat.”

  The House Master tried his best to hide his smile “Yes, Commander. It was exactly as you anticipated. I will come back to fetch the boy.” He turned and left the room.

  “Come, join me at the table,” Commander Doro said to Rafik as he moved towards the small, round, stone table standing near the window.

  Commander Doro’s room was the largest Rafik had ever seen. He passed a large double bed; on top of it lay several personal weapons, all cleaned and oiled, together with several dozen power clips. The blanket was on the floor near the bed.

  “Don’t mind that,” the Commander laughed when he caught Rafik’s stare. “Spend two moons in the Valley and you won’t be able to sleep in anything as comfortable as this, either.” He extended his hand and, as before, they shook as equals.

  “I see you still have the bracelet on,” he added.

  Rafik blushed. It was as Master Goran had anticipated. All of the trainees had passed the removing of the bracelet ceremony, meaning they became sworn members of the Keenan guild and were trusted not to run away anymore. All but Rafik. He was too valuable to be trusted.

  Commander Doro patted the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Sit down and let’s have a talk.”

  When Rafik was seated, Commander Doro poured liquid from the pot into Rafik’s cup.

  “This is called Tea,” he explained. “It’s very rare in the Valley, so I make sure I purchase a large stock of dried leaves when I’m here. With all respect to the nourishment pills, this keeps me warm . . .” Commander Doro smiled to himself as he poured into his own cup, “and sane.”

  Rafik peered into his cup. “I know what this is. In my village the elders brew herbs.” He tasted the liquid, it was bitter in his mouth and it must have showed, because Commander Doro laughed.

  “You’ll get used to it quick. They say it’s more addictive than Skint.” He took a long draught from his own cup, closed his eyes, and sighed, “That’s better. Now, Rafik, tell me about your home village.”

  The question surprised Rafik. “Master Goran keeps saying the past is not important, only the future.”

  The same applied to praying to the Prophet Reborn. Rafik now understood that life outside his village was very different from the way he’d been raised, especially regarding Tarakan infidels such as Dominique, Captain Sam, and even Khan and Master Goran. But praying to the Reborn was something he still felt a deep need to do. It was not strictly forbidden but was definitely frowned upon by his peers. Master Goran thought that praying wasted precious time that should be devoted to “real study,” and he allowed Rafik to pray only before bedtime.

  Commander Doro shook his head. “The old goat might be right about many things, but all that we do here, all of this”—he gestured towards the weapons on the bed—“is about finding out about our past. So how about we start with you telling me about yours.”

  Rafik was uncomfortable and wary at first, but Commander Doro was patient and kept asking questions. In a short while Rafik found himself talking about Eithan, their silly games of Warriors and Infidels, and the tattoos that suddenly appeared. He even found himself recounting the incident with his father in the barn. When he spoke about the way to Newport, Rafik realised he was finding it hard to remember his brother’s face. Without thinking about it, his hand slipped into his pocket and touched Fahid’s blade.

  The story continued to flow. Some details he told while others he kept to himself. When he was done he felt sad but also, oddly, relieved. Commander Doro stayed quiet for a while. Eventually he got up, moved his chair, and placed it in front of Rafik’s. When he sat back down, his huge frame completely filled Rafik’s vision.

  “I do not need to tell you who you are or that soon you will be shipped out of here,” he said evenly, his dark eyes searching Rafik’s. “You have some good instructors, but even if you stayed here for another three years you would still find the Valley to be a challenge. By now you’ve figured out that the guild bought you like merchandise and seeks a return on its investment.” He waited for Rafik to nod, then continued. “I want to tell you that what I do—” he lowered his voice and leaned forward “—what we are about to do, is even more important than refilling the guild’s coffers. When we open a node or go on a deep run we find medicine, technology, schematics, books containing knowledge we can’t even begin to comprehend, machines that repair other machines, weapons, and energy clips and tubes. But more important, we find pieces of history—with every item we
salvage, we learn about who we once were.”

  The Commander’s eyes shone with excitement as he continued, “You hear stories about the time before the Catastrophe when ordinary people could do extraordinary things. They could fly high in the sky and drive carts deep into the ocean. Any person could communicate with almost any other person, anywhere in the world, and all questions had answers. People lived for a hundred years or more, and there was no sickness. I know it sounds too good to be true, but when you come to the Valley, when you see the buildings—the vast number of them, the sheer height of some of them, the awesome technology that was used to create them—it crosses your wires. When I come back to this city, to this building”—his hand gestured to the room—“what do I see?”

  His hand clenched into a formidable fist. “Parasites. That’s what I see. This city operates itself, and we live on it, not in it. We latch ourselves onto it and suck every bit of energy from it that we can, but we cannot build another city like it. We salvage the technology, learn how to use it, but only a few of the marked know how to manipulate it, and not one of the marked that I’ve met can duplicate it. Even the nodes we raid, we have no idea how they work, how or even why they get replenished, nothing. We live off the carcass of a destroyed civilisation, slowly devouring what’s left of it. If the nodes stopped functioning, we would all go back to using sticks and stones. But as long as we are in the Valley, there is hope for the future. Our chances rise with every item we salvage, with every schematic or info pad we ship back. Maybe someday, someone, somewhere, will truly understand and we could become the people who our ancestors were.”

  “Everyone tells me I’m going to die there,” Rafik said weakly. “They say I’m not ready, that I’m too weak.”

  Commander Doro nodded slowly. “I cannot promise you a peaceful life, but if you trust me and do as I say, I can promise you a life worth living.” He got up and Rafik jumped to attention, almost toppling the small table beside him.

  The Commander smiled and extended his hand again. Rafik gingerly shook it.

  “Go back to your duties. I’m sure the old goat is waiting for you with all kinds of questions and comments. Learn from him and from the others as much as you can. I’m afraid I will be seeing you sooner rather than later.”

  Rafik hesitated, then saluted in Keenan fashion, turned smartly on his heel and left the room. He descended to the lair the normal way, still thinking of Commander Doro’s words when he entered. To his relief, Master Goran was not there. Rafik rummaged through the countless puzzle boxes until he picked a box he knew to be a challenge and hooked himself up. This time he connected the pain-delivering wires, even though Master Goran forbade him from using them alone. When he came out he was completely exhausted. Master Goran still wasn’t there—which was odd—but Rafik was too tired to be curious. He lay down on the narrow bed in the corner, and soon sleep came. He half-expected to find himself in front of a wall of symbols or, considering his conversation with Commander Doro, in a visit to his village. Instead, on that night, and every night from then on, he experienced a terrible nightmare.

  36

  The four of us stopped at the entrance to the Keenan compound. “What was the nightmare about?” I asked.

  “Tell me what we’re doing here and I might answer your question.” Vincha looked around suspiciously.

  I couldn’t blame her. The Guilds Plateau was once where the most powerful guild houses were located and no doubt used to be the most popular area of the city, with some of the best taverns and definitely the best brothel, but no more. The last guild war and the mountain of shit that erupted in Tarakan Valley took care of that.

  The Plateau was now practically deserted. The once famous steel gates to the Keenan compound were missing, taken down long ago for their metal. My vision made it easier for me to see the scorch marks and bullet holes that bruised its walls. After the massacre in the Valley the guilds began to lose power, and it took very little time for their weakness to turn into aggression. Accusations flew back and forth, delicate alliances were broken, and even more delicate egos were bruised. Assassination attempts followed. Some succeeded, others failed, and in the blink of an eye the City of Towers was in the midst of the last, and bloodiest, guild war ever. It decimated the entire Plateau and drove half the population away from the city.

  It was then that Sirbin Sammuel, the rubber stamp Council leader, finally grew a pair. He allegedly offed the former head of Sabarra, Mauricious Altenna, then took charge and restored order to the city, using the troops given to him by the guilds themselves. The majority of the ShieldGuards held their vow to the Council and took hold of the city when the surviving guilds were too weak to pose a threat anymore. The guild leaders were forced to bow their heads to the Council and never regained their former status. When the guards were called back from the fields to fight the war, it took the farmers only a week to stage a revolt. Weakened as it was, the Council had to sign an agreement with the farmers that gave them freedom and rights and also made it impossible for any guild to completely control the food supply. By then the Keenan guild was already decimated. Lord Keenan himself died from a lethal poison dart as he dined, as the rumours go, with several of his concubines.

  After the onslaught no one bothered to try and rebuild the Guilds Plateau. It was too far up from the city centre, and the guilds that survived the war were ordered to move to the Upper Towers, where they could be better protected—or, in other words, easier to watch.

  By the following season, even the vagrants had left the ruins. There was simply nothing to steal and no one left to rob.

  River busied himself with one of his gadgets, and the area lit up so suddenly I was momentarily blinded. I blinked and looked away from the light as he busied himself scanning the area ahead. I turned to Vincha. “Have you been here before?”

  She shrugged. “Why would I have? I was never a Keenan, never got along with the whole guild-rusting propaganda, you know, the whole lord worshipping and political infighting. I was an independent”—she smiled to herself—“you know, playing all sides of the table.”

  “I just thought, well, you went and looked for Jakov after you came back, and went to his village . . .” I let my voice die long before the sentence was done.

  She shook her head and laughed bitterly. “By the time I shook off all my addictions, the war was over and so was the Keenan guild. Besides, I had no quarrel with them. They bought the boy fairly, treated him like a prized possession, and tried to train him to do the job he was born to do. The way he told it, he was not mistreated or abused here. Sure, they were tough, and that Goran guy sounded like a real ass-rust, but you didn’t survive the Valley by being nice and cuddly.”

  “Clear,” River announced, looking more relaxed as he pocketed the scanning gadget. “Not a damn soul.”

  Vincha turned back to me. “You still haven’t told us why we’re here.”

  “We’re here to meet someone,” I said. “Someone who can explain things better than I can.”

  “Fine.” Vincha made a point of rolling her eyes. “Be dramatic if you wish, but can I at least have my weapons back?”

  “No,” all three of us answered in unison, as I walked past the entrance.

  Nothing in the compound but its size hinted of former glory. There was barely a trace of the upper level on the main building, and all that was left of five guard towers were mounds of rubble. The sixth tower was barely standing, with battle damage scorching its features. The place reeked of gloom and death and the aura of emptiness you get in places where bloody battles occurred. We walked in silence to the main courtyard, and River placed an oblong heating stone on the ground. The dark metal began to glow red and eventually conveyed enough heat and light to make us a little more comfortable. We gathered around it and sat on the ground while River placed a few more of his arsenal of dangerous toys around the perimeter, just to be on the safe side. I liked River. He was a thorough kind of guy.

  I could have easily fallen a
sleep right there and then. The events of the last two days and nights had used up every reserve of energy I had and then some. The last part of my journey actually felt like a dream. Galinak was the first to lie on his back in the dirt, hands supporting his head. He closed his eyes, his breath already slowing. I didn’t know if he was awake or not but guessed, or hoped, that he still retained some form of battle awareness, even in his sleep.

  As tired as I was, I could not afford a rest. The last time I dozed off, at the Blade, it almost cost me River’s life. Instead I asked Vincha about Rafik’s nightmares, knowing that her story would keep me from succumbing to exhaustion. I knew she was testing me with half truths, checking to see how far she could manipulate me. I certainly didn’t buy her claim about not having visited this place before. Something in the way she’d walked in betrayed familiarity. At first Vincha didn’t answer my question. She kept staring at the heating stone, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking gently back and forth. When I persisted, she tried to toy with me, rebargaining for her weapons, but it came down to the fact that Vincha was as tired as I was. Talking about Rafik and visiting this place had mellowed her just enough, which was the main reason I chose to bring all of us to this godforsaken ruin.

  “He didn’t tell me about the dream immediately,” she said suddenly. “It took him a while to open up, to trust me enough.” I caught her smiling bitterly to herself as shadows danced across her face. “But to be honest, his dream made me anxious. He told me it began with a figure of a man standing far away from him. The man was covered in a dark robe and his head was hidden in a hood. Only a four-fingered, scaly hand with sharp talons hinted at what was hidden from view, and that human claw was grasping a thick staff. Rafik always felt absolute terror when he saw the figure, which was usually standing in the midst of a mighty sandstorm, but sometimes also in a dark cave. Rafik said he would try to turn and run away in his dreams, but an invisible hand would grab him from behind and drag him kicking and screaming toward the figure until he was close enough to grasp its dark robe. The figure would then lean down, and Rafik could see his face.”