The Lost Puzzler Page 27

  The crude goggles I wore were disorienting, and the mouthpiece only partially blocked the smoke that wafted up. At best I would have had a heartbeat to avoid collision with a moving Tarakan lift or be sheered in half by a cable. I focused on Vincha, who was just below me, and, as instructed, kept my arms and legs spread wide to maintain stability. I humbly disagree with my LoreMaster about people doing this for fun in the Pre-Catastrophe era. This was not easy or exhilarating. It was an awful, frightening experience in which too many things could have gone wrong. But somehow, this time, we were lucky. I pressed the button in the palm of my hand a little too late, almost hitting Vincha, but stopping a hair’s breadth from solid ground. She glided majestically until she landed next to me and helped me up.

  “Now that was fun,” for once, her eyes were shining with laughter.

  Even in the Pit, whose inhabitants were naturally tolerant to the uncommon events, the landing of nine people wearing antigrav suits caused a stir, which meant we had to move fast. The ShieldGuards would soon venture into the Pit to find us, and certainly a bounty would be set.

  LoreMaster Harim led us, walking briskly and with the assurance of someone who knew these streets well. Again, although I’d only ever seen him in the stately halls of the Upper Towers, I was not surprised.

  I have no idea how we got to our destination, but we ended up in the smallest, smelliest little cabin I’d ever seen. It was not a human-built makeshift hut like the one I’d interviewed Vincha in only a day before, but a Tarakan-built structure of a sort I did not recognise. Originally it must have been partly open, with only three walls and a roof, but someone added a wooden wall and a door and did a decent enough job of it. It was now empty, and I had a pretty good guess why. The residents of the upper parts of the City of Towers enjoy the superb amenities of Tarakan plumbing. Refuse flowed away from the upper parts of the city to somewhere else, and by the smell of things it surfaced right beneath us. Nine of us barely had room to stand. Blissfully, two were quickly dispatched for guard duty and a third man was sent off on some other mission with barely a nod. They all looked relieved to leave and we ended up with a little more leg room.

  LoreMaster Harim was lighting an oil lamp and I was getting my bearings, trying to figure out what would be the next plan, when Vincha spoke. “I know you,” she said to my mentor. “I’ve seen you before in the Valley. I wasn’t sure before, but now that I can see you better, I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes, we met, a long time ago.” LoreMaster Harim smiled and carefully shut the oil lamp cover. The light in the room was barely enough to see faces at arm’s reach, and I was too damn tired to use my sight, so I sat down in the gloom and listened.

  “I was leading an investigation team; we needed protection and interviewed a few individuals. You were one of them.”

  “I remember,” Vincha said. “You chose a cheaper escort.”

  “As I remember it, we chose individuals not pumped up on Skint.”

  Vincha inhaled deeply, and I thought she was going to retaliate, but instead she spoke again, calmly.

  “Ain’t blaming you for passing. I was off my wires then. New gear, implants in my head, background noise, everything was too much. If you managed to hire a clean crew then good for you, because pretty much everyone at the outpost was riding the green dragon.”

  “Yes.” LoreMaster Harim’s silhouette nodded. “It was not an easy task, and in the end it turned out to be an expensive waste of time, since we didn’t find what we were looking for. But I remembered you and that chance meeting is the reason we are here today. I am glad you chose to come with me, Vincha, but now you have to make another difficult decision.”

  We all looked at each other but no one said anything until Vincha spoke again.

  “Why do I get the feeling I won’t really have a choice?”

  “Oh, but you will. No one is going to coerce you or make any threats.”

  I lowered my face but somehow knew LoreMaster Harim was looking reproachfully in my direction.

  “You are going to need to explain yourself better, LoreMaster, or whatever the fuck your name is.” Vincha was reaching the end of her patience.

  “Indeed. I will try to explain things to you. It won’t be the whole story but you’ll be able to see the outline of what lies ahead.” My mentor shook his head. “It’s only my theory, based on what I’ve been able to deduce from ruined archives, books, Tarakan pads, and a lifetime of travel and research.”

  Galinak stretched on the floor and yawned, closing his eyes.

  “First, we must understand who the Tarkanians actually were,” he began, “and surprisingly, it is easier to find books and reliable sources about events that happened five hundred years ago than occurrences that led to the Catastrophe. Many people today, especially in far-off places, believe that they were creatures from some kind of hell sent by God to punish us for our sins. I have heard the claim the Tarkanians came from the stars and enslaved us. The popular belief is that the Catastrophe was the result of a brave but perhaps foolhardy human uprising against the Tarkanians, yet my own research has led me to the conclusion that this is not what really happened. I believe the Tarkanians were human, but they were so far advanced, compared even to other people in Pre-Catastrophe time, that the Tarkanians could very well have become something that was more than just human.”

  LoreMaster Harim began to pace back and forth in the tiny cabin. “Throughout history people did not just live like we do today, in tribes, villages, or even independent cities, but rather joined together in larger entities called kingdoms, which then evolved into states. The strongest of states, with the most land, military might, and metal, were called empires, and they usually emerged when a technological breakthrough was reached. You invented something that gave you an edge over all others: steel-tipped spears, a war chariot, longbows, a cart that moved without horses, and suddenly the world fell at your feet. That is, until another nation found a better technological advancement, and your own empire crumbled to dust. That happened through thousands of years of human advancement, and in essence it’s also what happened to the Tarkanians. But when Tarakan fell, it resulted in the Catastrophe.

  LoreMaster Harim surveyed the gloom, either to focus his thoughts or to make sure we were still awake. “According to my research, the earliest mention of the word ‘Tarakan’ is close to two hundred years before the Catastrophe and refers to a guild or a company, but after a few decades it was referred to as a state, then as one of the strongest of states, and eventually stronger than all of the other states combined, a true empire.

  “What makes Tarakan different from most other empires in history is that it was comparatively small in size, yet still immensely powerful. Its influence was felt everywhere. Tarakan used this influence to attract the best and the brightest from the other nations, tempting them with metal, better living conditions, and other such promises. There was nothing they could not do, from curing disease to making crops grow faster or even creating machines that could think for themselves.”

  My master paused for a short spell before continuing. “I know this sounds like a legend or a children’s tale, but if the City of Towers and the wonders of the Valley and City within the Mountain are not enough proof of Tarakan power, then I suggest you make a trip to the far south, as I did. It is a dangerous voyage and you’ll have to keep your distance, because the air is still poisonous. But when you see the Tarakan Star Pillar, which reaches the heavens, you’ll know that there was nothing they couldn’t have done.”

  I heard the enthusiasm in LoreMaster Harim’s voice as he talked about the Star Pillar, and I made a mental promise to myself to visit that place one day, a laughable notion considering our current situation.

  My master continued, “The transition of Tarakan from a company to a state is actually an interesting tale that could hint at possible reasons for the conflict which resulted in the Catastrophe. A deadly disease known as the purple plague broke out in several corners of the world. T
arakan scientists quickly found a cure—some said too quickly—but for their help, the Tarakan leader, a man I believe was called Falkner or Folkner, demanded that Tarakan would become independent, free from paying tribute to any other state. Tarakan Valley, the City within the Mountain, and even the relatively distant City of Towers became a part of the Tarakan state. Not everyone was happy about this change, and I believe the seeds for the events that destroyed the world were planted at that time.

  “At the height of its power, Tarakan developed a series of tests in the form of puzzles, which they believed helped find the most gifted, smart, and creative people. I imagine that parents all over the world trained their kids from infancy, using Tarakan puzzle boxes. The puzzles were such a success that Tarakan soon began testing their veteran citizens as well. If you wanted to get ahead in Tarakan, you had to solve puzzles.

  “Jump forward another century, and Tarakan is now feared as much as it is adored. This is where I started to read about references to ‘Angels.’ Some kind of people, or machines, or a mix of both, who were not conceived in the natural way people are made. I do not know what they did—maybe they replaced manual workers. What I do know is that their militant version were called Guardian Angels, and they were formidable, Troll-like warriors, possessing powers that make the tattooed pale in comparison. The Guardian Angels were fitted with many augmentations, and despite their relatively small size, they were an army to be reckoned with. There is enough evidence to suggest that Tarakan fought several wars outside its territory and that the Guardian Angels were especially feared and despised.

  “To protect itself even further, Tarakan produced terrible weapons that could kill millions of people in a heartbeat. I believe many of Tarakan’s enemies also possessed such weapons. We’ve all heard and read the stories of the Catastrophe. How fire and death rained from the skies. We’ve visited the ruined cities and learned to avoid the lands where, even after all these years, the air and water are still poisonous. These are the remnants of the terrible effects of these weapons.

  “I don’t know what actually triggered the Catastrophe, who decided to attack and why. Maybe it was a miscalculation, a terrible mistake, or, more likely, one side feeling it had a chance to deal a mortal blow to the other. But we live in the aftermath of that war. Our ancestors who somehow survived the onslaught soon discovered that most of their technology was destroyed. Machines everywhere simply ceased functioning, and the knowledge to rebuild them was gone. There are plenty of those machines even in the City of Towers, intact but dead and useless, like frozen corpses.

  “In my experience, the farther I travelled from Tarakan centres, the worse the damage became. I’ve been to places where people live in caves and on the tops of trees, reduced to using sticks and stones for tools. The Tarakan cities remained whole, but as far as we know, every living Tarkanian perished in the Catastrophe. Yet I believe the Tarkanians had a plan in place in case of such a disaster.”

  “I don’t get what this has to do with me,” Vincha exclaimed. “I mean, your lecture is interesting, Master of the Lore, but—”

  LoreMaster Harim didn’t wait for Vincha to complete her sentence. “Have you ever asked yourself why the nodes were created, or why the items we salvage replenish themselves? Or why tattooed individuals keep showing up, all over the world, even in the most remote places? In all my research I have not read even once about them appearing before the Catastrophe.”

  Vincha fell silent again.

  “Someone is still fiercely defending the inner sanctum. Someone is replenishing the nodes, making sure only puzzle-solving people can benefit from them. I believe Tarakan is alive, and the Tarkanians will come back. They will rebuild what we cannot.”

  I held my breath. Never before had I heard my Master connect all the dots this way.

  “If what you say is true, then they should already be walking among us,” Vincha countered. “But that hasn’t happened.”

  My LoreMaster shrugged in the gloom. “I don’t know why they haven’t reemerged. I can only guess that the Catastrophe was more powerful and devastating than they expected it to be.

  “I once asked a Gadgetier how she learned to decipher the mechanical codes on the Tarakan devices. She said she had no explanation; somehow, she just knew what the item was and how to manipulate it. Sometimes she felt her marks tingle when she touched Tarakan devices and artifacts. That sensation always made her feel at peace. It is obvious that the Gadgetiers, as well as all the marked, are intrinsically connected to the Tarakan artifacts, but Puzzlers are the only marked who can open puzzle-locked nodes. They must be the key, the first step in the return of the Tarkanians. Only with the Puzzlers can we hope to restore humanity to what it once was.”

  “Fine,” Vincha interrupted again. “Let’s say your wild tale and assumptions are true. I still don’t understand what it has to do with me.”

  “The Salvationist era was as close as we got to glory.” There was true regret in the LoreMaster’s voice. “Thousands of artifacts were coming into the city every month. We were opening nodes on a regular basis, conducting research, attaching Tarakan artifacts to our bodies, and manipulating technology. Some used this newly found power to gain influence and rule over others—this is human nature—but others studied the technology, and little by little, we were ascending. Then a young Puzzler came to the City of Towers and was sent to an outpost in Tarakan Valley, and everything changed.”

  I realised LoreMaster Harim was the only person still standing in the cabin when he stepped forward and stood just above Vincha.

  “And now I need to ask you a question, Vincha. What happened to that Puzzler?”

  Vincha looked up at my mentor. I couldn’t see her eyes, but her voice was thick with emotion when she said, “He died, along with the rest of my crew.”

  LoreMaster Harim shook his head in frustration and blew air through his nose, the way he always did when thinking about an unsolvable problem.

  “Did you see him die?”

  “Like I told you, I was there.” But there was a subtle change in her tone of voice, and I suddenly knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth.

  LoreMaster Harim must have felt the same, because he pleaded quietly, “Please, Vincha, it is important, more than you know.”

  “It was years ago. The boy is dead.”

  “How did he die?” LoreMaster Harim implored. “Please, Vincha, I need to know . . .”

  Vincha leaned forward and hid her face in her hands for a long moment before uttering a soft sigh of acceptance and leaning back again. Looking at my mentor she whispered, “I didn’t see it happen. I was running for my life. But I heard him scream one last time, and I’m telling you, no one who screams like that survives.”

  39

  Rafik’s thumb hovered above the hilt of his brother’s knife. He was about to touch the button that would spring the sharp blade yet again, a habit he’d acquired in rare moments of solitude in the Keenan guild house, when Bayne, the lead guard of Rafik’s escort, suddenly snapped.

  “Stop it, boy.” Then he added in a low tone, “You’ve been playing with that rusting blade since we sat down.”

  Rafik shrugged and tried to hide his annoyance, but he still said, “It’s not rusty. I keep it clean and sharp.”

  Bayne breathed out slowly, regaining his composure, “I appreciate that, boy, but you’ve been drawing too much attention as it is.” Rafik turned his head around, catching fleeting glimpses in his direction. He pocketed the blade, but kept his hand wrapped around it, feeling the calming weight of the hilt. He briefly wondered how his brother was faring, if his younger sisters still made fun of everything they saw, and whether Eithan had already found a new best friend. Feeling his emotions rise, Rafik shook his head as if to erase the images.

  Bayne, who had not taken his eyes off Rafik since he was delivered to his care by Mistress Furukawa, said, “Don’t you worry. Soon we will be on our way,” then, perhaps trying to cheer up the boy, added, “I’m sur
e you will like it there. Tarakan Valley is a place of wonder and adventure.”

  Rafik didn’t respond. Frankly, no one knew when the Northern Long Tube would move, because no one controlled it. They’d been sitting in the stuffy cabin for almost half the morning. The Northern Long Tube usually left at high noon, but on occasion it would leave before the designated time or not leave until the next morning. Since no one wanted to risk losing their place, the cabin would fill up as early as sunrise and passengers would simply wait inside.

  Bored, Rafik surveyed his surroundings. Everyone seemed to want to go to Tarakan Valley. Heavily augmented Trolls, crews identified by their guild insignia, independent mercenaries, merchants, Gadgetiers and Tinkers, mechanics, Menders—the Northern Long Tube was filled with sweaty humanity. The few seats not preassigned to the Guilds were sold weeks in advance. Rafik was sitting in one of those precious seats, surrounded by hundreds of strangers who all eyed him with curiosity at one stage or another. Many of them wore power armour and sported Tarakan augmentations. Weapons had to be stored in a secure hold during the ride, but everyone looked imposing and warrior-like, though it was easy to differentiate between those who, like Rafik, were on their way to the Valley for the first time, and the veterans. The first timers were looking around with agitation; they chattered constantly, exchanging stories. Their gear shone from metal wax, and smiles of false confidence were spread on their faces. The veterans were wearing well-maintained but clearly used gear, and all of them were in various stages of sleep.