“Why? Was Columbus bad at his job?”
“The cap’n? He done every job he was given quicker’n a maid-in-waiting loses her britches. Fast, I mean. There was a hitch though. You see, the captain had a daughter.”
“Ah,” Nyx said, suddenly understanding.
“She was a flower too. One he hoped to marry off for a price. She went everywhere with us, set up in a posh cabin like a princess, though she was no dandelion. Truth was she could handle steel or wheel better’n any man aboard. Then Columbus come along. One look at the two of ‘em together and even the hardest sea dog had to admit true love was real.”
Fanucio smiled fondly at the memories. Then his smile faded.
“Near a year later, we come under attack by pirates. Our crew fought valiantly, but we was outnumbered and heavy with provisions. When the ship caught fire, Columbus tried to find her, but there was no time. When he and I made it to shore, we found we was the only survivors.”
“So that’s why he refused to take me on? He can’t bear the thought of losing another woman on his watch?”
“No, lass. It’s more than that. You see, you are the spitting image of her. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’ta believed it.”
Nyx’s eyes widened, and she turned to face him.
“Fanucio, I have something to tell you. I never knew my father. I was raised on an island by my mother. Last spring, she came to me and told me she had to go away, but that she would be back by the end of the summer. When summer came, and she hadn’t returned, I went crazy with worry. She’d never broken her word to me before. I knew something must have happened to her, so I went to my teacher, Mansa, for help. Fanucio, this is the most fearless man I’ve ever known. But something about my mother’s disappearance frightened him. He refused to go after her. Instead, he said I needed to seek out Christopher Columbus, someone I’d never heard of before. You don’t think…?”
“That Columbus is your da? No, I don’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the woman I speak of died ten years before you were born.”
He watched the girl deflate, and it took a small part of him with it. “Oh, I suppose it’s possible he sired you by some other. He’s had his share. But I got trouble believing any God would be so cruel as to give you the bearing of his one true love. I’m sorry.”
Nyx wiped another tear. “What was her name?”
Fanucio hesitated. He hadn’t spoken it aloud in many, many years. “Lizete,” he said at last. “It means, ‘consecrated to God.’”
“My mother’s name is Horacia.”
“A pretty name. She’s still missing, is she?”
“Yes,” Nyx said with a sigh.
“The siren attack today,” Columbus said, eager to bridge the silence that had come between him and Elara. “You said it’s rare for them to go out in daylight, and yet there were so many.”
Elara nodded. “Even a squadron of Gadeir trespassing into their territory wouldn’t normally draw those numbers.”
“Is it possible they were compelled by something else?”
“Such as?”
“The music perhaps? I know this might sound foolish, but when you and Nyx were playing the organs, I felt something. Like a force guiding me, as if I was a part of something bigger than myself. It sounds crazy.”
Elara didn’t look as if it sounded so crazy. “We have always considered the sirens feral creatures—barely more than beasts—but our history says they were beautiful once. I find this very hard to believe. And yet if men can be enchanted by their song, is it so outlandish to say they can be enchanted by another?”
Columbus nodded faintly, her words had grown thin. A familiar tickle fluttered in his chest and his eyes kept returning to the Void. When he looked back at Elara, he realized she’d said something.
“I’m sorry?” Columbus said.
She shook her head. “You’re tired and have had a long day. Tomorrow bodes to be even longer. I should let you rest.”
As she turned, he reached out for her hand.
“Wait. Don’t leave. Not yet. Tell me something else. Tell me…about that bridge. It’s strange, isn’t it? How it stands there in defiance of gravity. In defiance of the Void.”
Elara looked uneasily in its direction.
“The Garden of the Blest used to extend several leagues to the south. It is said its beauty once rivaled Eden itself. To reach it, you had but to cross that bridge, a right that was reserved for only the most prominent citizens of Atlantis.” She paused, lost in a memory herself.
“You know of the Athenians. How they were captured and enslaved after Atlantis fell. What you don’t know is the cruelty they suffered in bondage. For a thousand years, my people forced them to build everything you see around us. They built our towers, grew our crops, served our whims, all while living in the most insufferable of conditions. To their credit, they never rebelled nor complained. They considered their punishment just, for we both lost everything in that war.
“But where we flourished—mostly on the fruits of their labors—they suffered, and no one asked if it came at a cost. When the quakes began, and the Void started to shrink, we refused to consider it was punishment for our actions. All the while, the slaves were secretly at work, building their prophecy, creating an endgame by which we might be saved. Only when they were done did they finally ask for their release. Our king, my ancestor, laughed at them and told them the only thing that would free them was death.
“So, one day, with all the city watching, they crossed that bridge, and they entered the gardens for the first and only time. They did not stop to drink from the rivers. Nor did they stop to taste the grapes blooming on the vine. They did not stop until they walked one by one into the Void and whatever awaited beyond.”
“You almost make it sound like you were there.”
“I was. This is the past I asked the Fates to show me.”
He knew she must have been affected by that vision because he’d experienced the same thing. Seeing the history of Atlantis—the catastrophe it and his people had suffered—made him question how he could succeed in the fate of such overwhelming odds. Was he mad to believe he could waltz in here and do what no one else in history could do? The idea daunted him, and that was not a feeling he liked.
“And the present?”
“How we might make amends. I believe that is why the bridge still stands. Not in defiance of gravity or the Void, but in defiance of us. I am young, but I know this of life at least. To have a future one must first be free of the past. Are you free of yours?”
Columbus looked down, unwilling or unable to answer.
Chapter Fourteen
Only one true of heart can save a people.
Columbus bolted awake to find the walls rattling. He heard Nyx shriek from the adjoining room. He leaped from bed, banging his knee as he pushed through her door and found her clutching her sheets tightly, her face rife with worry.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Another earthquake,” Columbus answered. “It should subside soon.”
He was right. A moment or two later, the shaking stopped, though Nyx didn’t look any more relieved. Columbus’s instinct was to go to her and comfort her, but he dismissed the notion as Vespucci and Fanucio appeared.
“Oh, my bleeding head,” the first mate cried. “All the ‘vances these idiots got, you think they’d be able to fix a head dry o’ drink.”
“Go back and sleep it off,” Columbus said.
“Not without you seeing this first.”
They moved out onto the balcony to see a dozen cones of black smoke broiling up from the sea.
“A fissure opened up last night,” Vespucci said. “Teams of soldiers have been coming and going all night.”
The smoke trailed in their direction, marring the rising sun.
“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Nyx asked.
Columbus nodded grimly.
“Captain,” Fa
nucio said, “even with this key business, how do we get home? We got no ship.”
Columbus looked to Vespucci. “The Pinta and Niña were still seaworthy when we went down. Let’s assume at least one of them survived. Any chance they would stick around?”
Vespucci shrugged. “The crew was given strict orders to wait four days should I or Juan Niño take leave of the ship. This was assuming we disembarked on land, not dragged to the depths by a monster that could return at any time. Were I in their position, I would have set back for Spain with all haste.”
Of course, you would, Columbus thought.
“That said, I believe the Pinta suffered at least moderate damage in the fight. It’s not inconceivable to think they stayed to make repairs.”
“In your estimation, how long would those repairs take?”
“I’m not a carpenter, but factoring in damages, as well as losses to the crew, I’d give it the same four days.”
“Which leaves us two days to find the trident and a way out of here. That’s assuming we can all work together.”
He locked eyes with Vespucci.
“You needn’t worry about me, Columbus. I want leave of here as badly as you do.”
“And afterward?”
“Back to Spain, of course. Given the manner of your exodus, I understand your reticence to return, yet I suspect Ferdinand would look quite favorably on the man who discovered Atlantis.”
Vespucci didn’t say who that man would be, something Columbus took note of.
“Someone’s coming,” Fanucio said.
A moment later, a bell sounded, and the door opened. Elara entered. She was back in her Gadeir uniform with her back straight, her hair plaited. Gone was all trace of the woman he’d been with the night before.
“You’ve seen the smoke?” she asked.
Columbus nodded. “We assume the tremors opened a volcanic rent in the seafloor?”
“The largest one on record. My people have been working all night to contain it. They’ll need a few hours more. In the meantime, our meeting to discuss the retrieval of the second key has been postponed.”
“How long?” Fanucio said.
“An hour or two, no more. Your people can have morning meal in the garden, or I can have it sent up here.”
“Here would be fine,” Columbus said. “If yesterday’s mission is any indication of things to come, we could use all the rest we can get.”
“Actually, I need to borrow you briefly.”
Columbus traded glances with the others. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“So, where are we headed?” Columbus asked as they strode down an empty corridor.
“My chambers,” she answered. “And before your primative upper-world brain begins to conjure any lewd or distasteful fantasies, let me assure you nothing is going to happen. This is purely a research outing.”
“You wish to research me. Got it. I am your willing subject.”
“Columbus,” she groaned, as if scolding a child.
“And just to let you know, if nudity is required, I am more than willing to suffer through my shame again in the name of Atlantean science.”
“Of that I am certain,” she said, hitching a thumb toward the transport tube.
“Ah, your water chutes. I must admit, I’m still confused how these work.”
“Simple enough,” she said, stepping inside and on a round platform before she signaled Columbus to follow. “Step inside, enter your coordinates…” She tapped out a series of symbols on the hub surface. “And you’re off.”
Liquid appeared at their feet and quickly began to rise.
“And no one’s ever gotten hurt in one of these?”
“Only those without gills,” she said with a wink.
Columbus’s eyes widened as the water spilled over them and they shot upward with a whoosh.
They arrived at the southeastern most tower, the liquid sloughing off like quicksilver, leaving them completely dry. Columbus stepped out into an ornately decorated hallway with three grand sets of doors.
“What a ride!” he whooped.
Elara shushed him and pulled him forward.
“Wake the king,” she said, “and your next one will be far less fun.”
“These are the royal quarters? Why are there no guards?”
“They are helping with the rift,” she hissed. “Now, be quiet.”
She crept toward the left set of doors.
“You know, most palaces have secret doors for just these occasions.”
“I’m not sure what occasions you’re referring too.”
“Sneaking boys into your room.”
“I am not…I have never—”
“You mean I’m your first?” Columbus said loudly. Elara shushed him, which only made Columbus snicker. “Relax, Princess. I understand this is purely a research outing.”
“That won’t stop my father from killing you if he finds you here.”
“Which is why I live by the philosophy that it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Hard to ask for either when your tongue’s been removed.”
“You do that here?”
“What do you think you had for breakfast?”
Columbus swallowed as Elara pulled him into her chambers and closed the door.
Only a few seconds later, another whooshing sound filled the antechamber before two small figures plopped out on the floor.
“Exceptional!” chuckled Monday. “We must have a set of these for our village.”
“But our village is only seven huts,” said Tuesday.
“Should cut down our construction time.” He looked around. “Hmm. Three doors. Want to flip for it?”
“Yes.”
They grabbed each other by the shoulders and began to wrestle until one of them was flipped toward the central set of doors.
Light spilled across the marbled floor of the darkened king’s chambers as the Pygmies padded through the foyer, shoving each other as they bumped into ancient vases. They mocked a powerful sculpture of the king holding the world on top of his shoulders.
The corridor fed into a grand sitting room full of strange artifacts and timeworn antiquities. Stepping in front of a mirror, Tuesday was stunned to see his form change into that of a chiseled Titan with a giant sword and a bevy of scars. Monday shoved him out of the way only to see himself become a pregnant female Pygmy. Tuesday laughed, and Monday pummeled him.
On the floor sat a sleek box with a single button. Like a curious child, Monday depressed the button and shrieked when he was encircled by insubstantial, ghostlike figures of himself. He stomped on the box until it fizzled, and his doppelgangers vanished.
Tuesday called out at the same time, holding up a skull made of crystal. The two began tossing it, leaping off furniture, and sliding across the floor. Then, it skipped off Tuesday’s fingers and hit the ground with a large crack, rolling through an open doorway at the far end of the room.
Monday picked up the skull’s broken jawbone and went to retrieve the skull. He signaled Tuesday when he heard heavy snoring inside.
There, in a bed of incredible size was King Atlas, shirtless, mouth open under silken sheets. Monday pointed at his prodigious belly and giggled. But Tuesday’s attention had been drawn to something else.
High above the bed was a disk made of bronze. Tuesday recognized it as the one their sailor captain had lost. He thought it might be a nice gesture to give him another one. He was destined to be eaten in their village after all, and happy meat always tasted better than the alternative.
Tuesday went to the king’s bedside and climbed onto its gilded headboard. He straddled his way to the center and reached for the disk. He came up short. Monday giggled down below. Tuesday went up on tip toes, craning, when his feet began to slip.
King Atlas sat up, blurry-eyed, bed shaking. Another damn quake no doubt. His Gadeir had informed him of the new rift hours before, but they had pleaded with him to get some sleep.
; As his legs fell over the side of the bed, he had an eerie feeling he was not alone. He looked around but saw no one. With a sigh, he rose, completely unaware one stranger was hanging from the chandelier over his bed while another was hiding under it.
The king padded to a water closet, his feet stopping in front of a water cistern. Soon, a heavy stream echoed through the room, punctuated by a robust fart that had Monday and Tuesday covering their mouths to keep from laughing.
A few moments later, the king was reentering his room when he stepped on something and let out a shout. He bent over and picked up a glass crystal jaw. What the hell was that doing there? Confused, he looked around. That’s when he heard what sounded like giggling children and the closing of a door. Must have been the wind, he decided, as he scratched his backside and returned to bed.
In the adjoining suite, Columbus followed Elara into her chambers. The decor was minimalist. A sitting area. A table with a basin. A bed. On the floor were a large number of weapons and a few discarded uniforms.
“Not as clean as I would have expected,” Columbus said.
“I don’t spend much time here.”
Columbus looked at the bed and was about to make yet another remark when Elara said, “There are weapons within reach.”
“Point taken,” Columbus said. “Metaphorically speaking.”
Elara led him toward the back of the room where a large portrait hung. In it, a young, vibrant man in uniform stood regally with his hand on the shoulder of a severe but beautiful woman seated in a chair. The woman wore a crown atop her auburn hair and looked very familiar.
“My mother and brother,” Elara said. “Atreal was killed while raiding a stronghold with his vanguard. His death devastated our parents and our people. My father used his sacrifice to rally the kingdom to him, but my mother never got over it. She died when I was five.”
Christopher Columbus and the Lost City of Atlantis Page 19
