by Luke Norris
Oliver laughed heartily at something Targon said but didn’t turn. How could he laugh, and be so carefree after what just happened?
As they exited the train, Shael couldn’t see any zewka, but she was certain that the officer had recorded them. He was probably circulating their image at this very moment. Would they have to wear disguises?
By the time they reached Targon’s apartment, Shael had worked herself into a surly mood, and it frustrated her to know she was acting like a petulant teenager.
“Oliver, you don’t know who this group is,” Targon said, “and what lengths they are prepared to go to too, to make an example. You have no idea who you are dealing with.”
“Targon. Look at me!” Oliver commanded. “Do you really know who I am?”
The older man looked up at Oliver shaking his head. “I see your point.”
“And,” Oliver continued, “I do know the zewka, not them per se, but their type. You don’t think what they represent is something new under the mountain do you?”
“I guess so,” Targon agreed but looked unconvinced.
“Oliver, those men will hunt us ruthlessly now!” Shael said. “It’s possible that officer managed to get a recording of us. If that happened, they’d plaster our faces over every part of their organization.”
Targon was acting as a translator.
“Yes, I made sure he got a recording of my face,” Oliver replied calmly. “The zewka are not good for my plans. If I continue to let them operate unchecked, they will be a problem.”
“You let that man get a recording of your face?” she said aghast. “What are you completely insane? Or just partly?”
“Don’t worry, the both of you were not recorded,” Oliver said dismissively. “You see, corruption hinders progress. The zewka represent corruption. You have advanced far, I am proud of you, but there still needs to be significant development. The zewka will have to be eliminated.”
“Oh thank you so much, your highness, for being proud of our little society here, and the progress we’ve made. You’re so gracious.”
Targon went to translate, but Oliver held up his hand smiling. He’d gotten the gist of it. Good. Shael was glad he understood sarcasm.
“Have you not heard what I’ve been saying?” she said exasperatedly. “And Plans? What plans could you possibly have, apart from getting back to your home?” Why was Targon nodding eagerly, it was disconcerting. What had they been discussing together? “Oliver, don’t we deserve the truth now? And Targon you are grinning like an eager schoolboy. I don’t know what he promised you, but you cannot indulge this schizophrenic crazy person. He has to promise to have no more interaction with the zewka.”
“It’s okay, “Oliver said, “I will lay low for a while. I need to do some things and require privacy for these. Also, I will need to visit some places, some of the old sights. That will take us out of harm’s way, for a while. We need one of those aircraft, Shael. Like the ones that we flew in from the monastery.”
“Ah yes, of course, your highness,” Shael said, furious at his audacity. “I will just commandeer one of the wasps for you.”
“Good,” Oliver replied. “The first place is the Sharaq capital. Some… things of mine are at the palace there.”
6
A PROMISE
“There is no such city as the Sharaq capital,” Shael said smugly. “And no such palace.”
Targon looked thoughtful. “The city of Shar in the east is built on much older foundations Shael, perhaps that is what he means.” He spread the map on the table. It depicted the three great meandering rivers and many dozens of great cities. “Here Oliver, can you show me where you are talking about?”
“It must have been here, on this bend on the black river,” Oliver said, placing his finger on a bend on the easternmost river.
It was as Targon predicted, right where the word ‘Shar’ was. The old man scanned the shelf running his fingers along the book spines. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a map and unfolded it on the table. It was an enlarged view of the region which contained several cities, including Shar. It was detailed enough to have labeled some main roads.
Oliver examined the shape of the river. “The palace should be right here.” His finger landed on the word ‘Concert Hall’. “That’s where it once was. Hopefully, the foundations are still there at least. That is where my possessions are.”
“Ah, I should have guessed my boy,” Targon looked at the map enthusiastically. “This concert hall building is very old. They say it is from the first epoch, and during the Skalien wars, it was not raised to the ground. Because of its fortified nature, Skalet used it as his base of operations. It still stands as it did then. It has been reappropriated of course, and I dear say much more extravagant looking than when it was constructed, two hundred or so years before the second epoch.” Targon patted Oliver on the shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry, but that is still two hundred years after the unification. I don’t think your palace exists.”
Oliver looked thoughtful. “Have you seen this concert hall with your own eyes, Targon?”
“I have, many years ago. Well before you were born my boy.”
Oliver smiled at the comment, and that caused Shael to roll her eyes at him. “Have you forgotten Targon, his highness is five hundred and twenty years old, and comes from ancient Hajir.”
“Actually I’m not from here at all,” Oliver admitted, “But that’s another story altogether.”
Shael folded her arms across her chest. “Targon, tell him that if he is going to stick with the King Oliver delusion, at least stay with the semi-plausible legends, not the ‘he came from the heavens’ version. As sure as the mountain’s shadow, I will throw him out of this house.” Shael declared, giving Targon a wink.
Targon ignored the quarreling, not to her surprise, and continued on. “But, I didn’t visit the hall in my capacity as an archaeologist, I attended a theatre piece there.”
Shael still stood arms crossed, glowering at Oliver.
“The second epoch was not my area of focus at the time,” Targon said. “I was obsessed with all things pre-first epoch, and unification, so I didn’t pay close attention.”
“Did the concert hall look something like this?” Oliver took the graphite stick, turned to a clean page on Targon’s notebook, and sketched a rough outline. It was a wall with four parapets, two taller ones on the outside.”
“Yes yes, that’s it,” Targon agreed. “I see you’ve been there.”
“I believe this hall is much older than you think,” Oliver told him. “I’m glad that is hasn’t been destroyed. Hopefully, my things are still there.” Oliver stayed with his head down, leaning over the desk thinking. “Shael when can we get one of your Wasps?”
“You don’t need your own private wasp,” Shael said. “You can just travel with a public carrier, or take the ion train. Do you need a private wasp for your royal entourage, Highness?”
“I need to transport some items of a private nature,” Oliver replied unperturbed.
Shael waited for more explanation. That was it? Oliver stood there as if the statement he’d given was completely sufficient. That was all she was getting. He was impossible. Shael laughed an exaggerated, overblown laugh as if to make her point. Damn it was a little too excessive, she sounded hysterical. She could rescue it. “Where should I begin Highness. Firstly, I’m not helping you get a wasp, because I am not indulging your fantasy anymore. Secondly, I don’t own one of those machines. And lastly,” her voice was crescendoing, “even if I did, I don’t know how to fly one.”
“If you help me, I will purchase one for you,” Oliver added patiently.
Shael was silent. Did he just say ‘buy her one’? She hadn’t actually asked Oliver about his financial situation. She’d helped him recover, that had been the priority. She had not even thought to pry into that part of his life. Could he be from a wealthy family? He was obviously well traveled and had studied. Well, it probably wouldn’t astound h
er now to learn that Oliver was extremely wealthy, with all the crazy events surrounding the man.
“You can purchase a Wasp?” Shael asked dubiously. “Oliver those things are hundreds of thousands of groties, plus all the running cost, and someone to pilot it.”
“It would allow you to get to archaeological dig sites on your own Shael,” Oliver said. “You could lead your own expedition teams. But you will have to front the costs to Shar. Do that, and I will keep my end of the bargain once we get my things from Shar.”
If she had her own wasp to command, she could get back up to the monastery. That’s exactly what she would do. More and more the burial chamber she’d stumbled across had been on her mind. With the parchment that Ander had found and mention of King Oliver, Shael was questioning if she had in fact uncovered the final resting place of the famous mythical monarchs. This would be the biggest thing in archaeology, well ever.
Ander had still not released any information about the document’s contents, which meant that his team was having difficulty translating it. That’s because the only expert on ancient Hajir, in all Laitam is Targon, Shael thought smugly, and they haven’t presented it to him yet. Well… I guess there are two experts on the planet. She instinctively looked at Oliver, who was still watching her waiting for her answer. Maybe Oliver could help translate it.
Shael was getting ahead of herself. She had neither the money nor the leverage, to acquire a wasp for a trip. She‘d managed to get herself on the last trip with a few shrewd maneuvers.
That entire expedition to the monastery had serious financial backing. Ander had not explicitly said who the benefactors had been, but they had some deep pockets. He had a real talent for it. Shael had pushed Ander for more information, but it had made him cagey, and Shael wasn’t going to irritate the man who’d just let her join the trip.
Here was Oliver talking of chartering a wasp and pilot, for just the three of them! Simply impossible. Why was she entertaining the idea anyway? This man was promising to purchase a wasp. He didn’t even have his own set of clothes! Who was he to promise such things? Shael was getting angry again, she’d momentarily got her hopes up. Well, she may be a scientist, but she wasn’t a robot, she couldn’t base all her feelings on pure logic.
“I will back the trip financially,” Targon said, looking eagerly at Shael and Oliver.
Shael was dumbfounded. “Targon, you will do no such thing!” she said sternly. “The cost for such a mission would be most of your savings. Why are you even entertaining the idea of funding a deluded person, who is by all professional accounts completely bonkers? If he’s not crazy, then he’s a con artist.”
“Firstly my girl,” Targon said, still smiling. “It’s not your choice what I do with my money. This old man has worked a long time, Shael, and I have the right to spend it how I like. I’ve been around for a long time, seen a lot of things under the shadow of the mountain, and I’m a pretty good judge of character. Apart from choosing one headstrong understudy, who always thinks she knows better than me?” he chuckled. “There’s something more. Oliver’s knowledge of the unification and ability to speak the lost Hajir dialect are remarkable. Shael, I’ve been studying these things all my life, and Oliver makes my abilities look elementary. The man’s only in his mid-twenties.” Targon shook his head. “If he went to such extreme academic lengths to become the best in the world in the field, just to dupe us, then at which point does the con become real and no longer a con? But, he is no con artist, or swindler, Shael. You know that in your heart too.”
Targon was right, Oliver was not trying to purposely dupe them, but that only left the other option. He’d lost his mind, after spending too long in the jungle.
“Shael,” Targon put his hand on her shoulder, “my heart is telling me that fate has put something in our path, and we have to see this journey through. What’s more,” he added cheerfully, “It’ll be an adventure!”
“You’re not thinking of actually going yourself?”
“You would deprive an old man of an adventure? Shael, if anybody has insecurities about flying in a wasp, it’s not me.”
Targon was in good spirits, and she didn’t want to be a wet blanket. Oliver had somehow won the old man’s affections and was about to convince him to spend his life savings on a whimsical expedition. Targon was not wealthy, he had his modest little pension fund. Far less than what he deserved for his contributions to archaeological science.
Shael took Oliver firmly by the arm and stared straight into those keen brown eyes. “You’ve somehow convinced Targon to charter a private wasp for you. You realize he is sacrificing everything for this trip because he thinks you can buy a wasp to run our own expeditions? I swear by ponsy’s hammer, this is not a joke anymore.” To be honest, it had stopped being funny when he’d made them zewka enemy number one. “You’d better be telling the truth Oliver, or I will push you out of the wasp myself.
*
The wasp’s four rotors droned louder, as the aircraft dipped in a pocket of low air pressure. How could the others possibly sleep? Targon and Oliver lay on the bench seats, that ran down both sides of the fuselage. It was dark outside the wasp and had been for hours since they took off from Naharain. There would be no sleep for Shael, despite the flight scheduled to take the entire night.
She looked at Eorol sitting it the cockpit humming to himself. He had to fly this wasp, so somebody had to make sure he didn’t fall asleep, right? The others didn’t seem to care about that. Typical. Eorol caught her watching him anxiously, through the small passenger mirror on the window crossbar.
“Everything alright back there?” He smiled into the mirror.
“Top notch,” Shael said, raising her thumb.
Chartering a wasp had not been easy, even despite Targon fronting the enormous cost for the several days. In fact, the cost didn’t seem in proportion to its use. Admittedly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was friends with Eorol, it probably would not have been possible. He’d pulled some serious strings. The wasps were at a premium, and who got to use them was controlled by some powerful people it seemed.
Shael leaned toward Eorol so he could hear her. “Why was the wasp so difficult to get?” she asked.
Eorol shuffled uncomfortably. “You know, they use these aircraft for the blackstone mining operations,” he replied. “Those places are pretty inaccessible. Like the monastery, you know?”
“That doesn’t make sense. There are plenty of wasps in Naharain, the mining operations can’t have them all spoken for.”
“Operation,” Eorol corrected her.
“You telling me that one single mining operation has the entire fleet of wasps in Naharain under their control? How can that be possible? What about the other ones?”
“Come on Shael, don’t be so naive!”
“Zewka!” Shael realized. “Of course. That’s why it was not a question of money. They wanted to ensure that other mining operations weren’t trying to get there hands on one.”
“Zewka have all but pushed the other players out,” Eorol said. “They will soon be a monopoly in the blackstone sector.”
“The blackstone sector!” Shael exclaimed. “But that controls everything. Transport. Fuel. Sweet Verity, I never realized that their tendrils reached so far. Does the government even have any control?”
“The government? Huh,” Eorol simply chuckled, shaking his head.
“They’ve basically muscled every other player out,” she said.
“That’s putting it kindly,” Eorol acknowledged. “You don’t want to hear some of the stories, trust me.”
And we have antagonized the biggest ‘organization’ in Naharain, Shael thought to herself. Just great!
“But how did Ander always manage to charter these with such ease for the expeditions?” Shael asked.
Eorol looked at her for a few moments. “Really Shael?”
“Ander is…?” It clicked in her brain. For a scientist, she was not feeling very astute.
<
br /> “He doesn’t wear the suit, or shave the lines in his hair,” Eorol shrugged. “I guess he has a certain image he wants to project to the public.”
Shael glanced back at Targon sleeping. If he knew the expedition to the monastery had basically been a zewka operation, he would have forbidden it. Targon made his views very clear to her about not engaging in their business, no matter what perks they offered. And Oliver, well she didn’t want to think what he’d do.
“Eorol, are you…” she began.
“No, I’m not zewka Shael,” Eorol said. “But in my line of work, it’s impossible to not be involved in their operations. I do a lot of flights for their surveyors.” He was silent for a few moments. “You know, it has its perks occasionally, I get to do trips like this—clean work.” He smiled at Shael.
That at least was a relief. Even if Oliver was telling the truth about being wealthy, and being able to purchase their own wasp, his intentions were hollow if the zewka controlled the market. This was a corruption ring that ran even deeper than she had imagined. And Ander! she thought, as her stomach knotted. I even entertained the idea of us…
Well, Shar was a different province, as far as Shael knew they didn’t operate there. For the next couple of days at least she could cast them from her thoughts.
7
AN ANCIENT PALACE
Before Oliver had gone into hibernation, he had made visits to certain locations across the four kingdoms. Sharaq was the last capital he had made a visit to, one of the places he’d left provisions for when he woke.
The medieval capital was still fresh in his mind, the smells of animals, fresh cooking, and effluent. What surrounded him now was unrecognizable. A modern green metropolis, interwoven with canals that had been diverted from the great Sharaq river, now called the black river. The waterways provided an irrigation system for the city, making it lush.
