City of Thirst

by Carrie Ryan

  She was right. The closer they drew to the Wall, the more impressive it became. Its face gleamed in the sun, a brilliant labyrinth of polished stone and sparkling glass and the occasional dull gleam of black metal. The entire city was completely vertical. Buildings atop buildings atop buildings, a patchwork quilt of stacked skyscrapers stretching so far up that the highest towers were practically lost from view.

  All across it, the giant gears jutted out like shelf mushrooms growing on an old tree, half visible, half buried in the Wall. Some seemed carved from glass; others were steel and bronze; still others seemed to sag and rise with each breath of the wind. A few of them stayed motionless, hosting lush, dangling gardens and rows of carefully buttressed buildings.

  But most of the gears moved. Some spun so fast they blurred into a whir. Others, so slowly that there were still buildings atop them being ground into the Wall as the gears turned into it. The rubble from those structures tumbled down like waterfalls, only to be caught by long ropes and cranes before they could reach the mass of docks floating below.

  Fin realized with a shock that the whole city was sinking. If he looked at one place long enough, he could see the buildings sliding down the face of the Wall, only to be picked apart and carried back to the top again. The city was a maze of motion and commotion, constantly falling, and constantly being rebuilt from the top once more. Only the gears, anchored into the Wall, remained constant.

  Fin shook his head. Of all the wild places he’d seen on the Pirate Stream, he’d never come across something so marvelous.

  But as they sailed closer, the city didn’t look quite so spectacular. As amazing as the higher parts were, the bottom had been picked clean. Fin could make out huge frames where beautiful windows had once been hung, a few shards of colored glass still stuck around the edges. In one place, he saw an outline that had once been a grand marble fresco. All the way down to the waterline—and no doubt beyond—the remains of amazing buildings had been stripped down to bare dullwood supports.

  He whistled. “Look at this boneyard.”

  “Seems like they took all of the good stuff back up,” Marrill said, wrinkling her nose.

  “This is… wow.” Remy’s eyes were huge as she took it all in. “I think I need to sit down.”

  “I know, right?” Marrill beamed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” She turned to Fin. “So what now?”

  “Exploring?” he offered. “Mayhem? Fun?”

  “Escaping from the evil death ship? Solving the mystery of the Iron Tide?” Remy suggested. “And then, I don’t know, getting us home?”

  Marrill seemed to deflate a bit. Fin instantly felt his shoulders sag at the thought of her leaving the Stream. “Right. All that.”

  “Well,” Ardent said, swinging one leg over the railing. “I’m declaring this place Iron Ship–free… for now at least. Let’s see what the locals know about this Iron Tide.” He paused mid-dismount. “Iron Ship… Iron Tide… oh my. That’s a bit of a coincidence. A bit too much of a coincidence…” He trailed off, shook his head, and leapt to the docks.

  Marrill brightened. “I’m coming, too!” she chirped, chasing after him.

  Remy popped out of her chair so fast it made Fin’s head spin. “Oh no you don’t. Not without me, anyway. No way you’re getting lost again.”

  Suddenly, she stopped and whirled around. “And there was another one,” she muttered. “Marrill, and…” Her eyes landed on Fin. “Umm…”

  Fin’s heart stopped. She was looking right at him. She saw him. He was sure she hadn’t remembered him earlier. His pulse quickened. Could everyone from Marrill’s world remember him?

  “Fin,” he offered. “I’m Fin. You… remember me?”

  Remy shrugged. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. You don’t make an impression. But northern Arizona’s best babysitter does not lose a kid. There’s Marrill plus one—that’s all I need to know.”

  Fin couldn’t contain his excitement. Close enough! “All right,” he cried. “Let’s go exploring!”

  A moment later, they were over the railing and plunging into the crowd. The hodgepodge of dullwood walkways and drifting planks buzzed with life and bobbed with every motion of the tide. The docks were a floating city all their own, covered with stalls and huts constructed of whatever scrap was around, and swarming with all sorts of creatures, from tall gangly insects to bowlegged dworks. There were even a few barbarian plantimals, savage and green as they soaked in the sun.

  Fin practically strutted as they wormed their way through the throng, thrilled to be even partway remembered. He nudged Marrill as he caught sight of a scaly orange head popping out of the crowd on a long, coiled neck. “Check it out! A giraffalisk!”

  Ardent had seen it, too; he stopped and rubbed his beard. “Most peculiar,” he mused. “The entire giraffalisk population died from a single nasty head cold years ago. Stuffy nose can be fatal when you breathe fire, I understand.”

  As they made their way toward the Wall, Fin noticed more and more things that seemed out of place. Here was a short, spiny creature sporting the sigil of the now-fallen Khesteresh Empire. There a dark shadow of a woman sat on a bucket, merrily plucking an ancient melody on an even ancienter stringspoon, as if both were brand-new. It was like the creatures here had fallen out of time.

  Just then, Marrill jabbed him sharply in the ribs. “Is that… ?” Across a narrow gangplank was a squat dollop of a man squished into a chair that was way too small for him, sipping on a long straw as he stared out at the marshes. His bulk overflowed the armrests. But that seemed appropriate, since most of the features on his face overflowed his head.

  Fin recognized those too-big features, that too-jutting jaw. “It’s Pickled Pate!” he gasped.

  The resemblance was unmistakable, but whoever had drawn Pate for those metal plates had been very, very kind. In person, he looked even lumpier. And it was like the word patchy had been invented to describe his hair.

  It suddenly occurred to Fin that the “Pickled” part of the man’s name might come less from a penchant for strong drink than from his strong resemblance to an overgrown pickle.

  “Mr. Pate?” Marrill cried, running over to the man. Fin raced to catch up.

  Pickled Pate looked up at them from his seat. “Ayup,” he said. He licked his hand, then smoothed it over the few tufts of hair sprouting from his temples. “That’d be me.” With a grunt, he tried to push himself up. But the chair, wedged as it was, didn’t seem to want to budge from his behind.

  After a few more heaves, Pate gave in and rocked back down onto the dock. “Pleased ta make ya howsits.” He held out his hand. A thick web of spit still glistened between his outstretched fingers. “Who are ya ta be?”

  Unfortunately, Fin had forgotten how quickly Marrill could think on her feet. She made a curtsying motion and fluttered backward, like it was all part of the same movement, leaving Fin between her and their new friend. “I’m Marrill. This is Fin. You should definitely meet him first.”

  Before Fin could do anything about it, Pate’s slimy paw slapped against his palm. “Ah, pardon, young man. Didn’t even recognize thar was two of ya.” Fin gave him a halfhearted smile and slipped his hand away. The slime smelled like asparagus.

  Fin glared at Marrill, who struggled valiantly to keep her grin in check. “So,” Fin said, “you are Pickled Pate? As in ‘The Colloquy of Pickled Pate’?”

  “Blathersnabble!” Pate snapped. He pushed himself back, rocking the chair on two legs. “I ne’er been a fan of ka-lilly tea, and whoever told ye diff’rent’s a filthy liar.”

  “No, no, my good man-thing,” Ardent said, stepping forward with a swish of his robes. “Colloquy. What this… young man?” He cocked an eye in Fin’s direction as if confirming. “Young man! What this young man is saying is that you seem to be the main character in a rather aged story.”

  “Ah,” Pate said, like that cleared it up. “And yer ta be?”

  Ardent pull himself up straight. “I am
the great wizard Ardent.” He swept into a bow. “Perhaps you have heard of me?”

  Pate struggled against his chair, but it stayed firmly glued to his posterior. He leaned forward, peering at Ardent. “Anope,” he said. The wizard deflated slightly. Fin suppressed a giggle.

  “We read your poem,” Marrill added quickly. “We came here looking for the Iron Tide you talked about!”

  Pate rubbed his nose vigorously as he considered the statement. “Anope twice. Ya must have the wrong Pickled Pate. Poemin’s not really my style. An I ain’t heard of no Iron Tide, I fear.”

  “But… you went to the place where the water bends, right?” Fin tried. “The Shattered Archipelago?”

  Pate scratched at his chin and then scraped his nails clean on his teeth. Fin stifled a shudder. “Tha’s how I got yere, sure’s stuff.”

  “And then you saw it coming at creeping stride,” Marrill continued. “The doom what fears you, the Iron Tide?”

  Pate licked his palm, running it over his head again. “That’s where ya lose me. Though I do like yer rhymin’.”

  Fin furrowed his brow. It did seem impossible that this could be the same person—after all, the metal plates were thousands of years old. But then, what were the odds of there being two Pickled Pates, at the same odd place, getting here the same odd way, and having the same oddly shaped nose?

  Ardent leaned in, inspecting the swollen little man. “How long have you been here in… this place…?”

  “The Grovel?” Pate offered, looking around the docks. “Or are ya meanin’ Monerva proper?” He gestured up at the walled city.

  “Monerva,” Fin and Marrill breathed as one. Like the Syphon of Monerva.

  Pate shrugged. “’Sbeen a bit. Long ’nough that I’ve had ta sell off mosta ma ship as scrap. But I still got a few good solid chunks left out there.” He pointed to an arch of timber, nearly sunken in the marsh. “I’d say I’ve another few weeks afore I’m driftwood proper. But don’ bother a feller too much. We’s all trapped here together, ain’t that right?”

  “Oh dear,” Ardent said. He twittered his fingers.

  “Oh no,” Marrill breathed.

  Fin glanced up at the gargantuan city above them, its turning gears, its ever-falling debris. “Um,” he said. Apparently no one else was going to ask. “Is that right?”

  Pate slapped his knee, struggling to stand with the chair still wedged on his behind. He spread his arms wide. “A’course it’s right. I reckon you folk are new arrivals, huh?”

  They all nodded.

  “Well, welcome to Monerva,” he said. “Hope ya like it. Bein’ as how ya can’t never leave.”

  CHAPTER 11

  A Reunion (About Time)

  Little bubbles of dread floated up through Marrill’s gut like fizz in a soda. “What does that mean, ‘never leave’?” Remy asked beside her. “That doesn’t mean, like, ‘never leave,’ right? That’s, like, weird-person talk for ‘have a pleasant stay,’ right?”

  “Nah, means you’re here forever,” Pate croaked. “Anyways, nice makin’ yer acquaintance and what for, but if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of some good water-staring.” He jammed a finger at the marshes. Without another word, he popped his chair up and swiveled away from them on one rickety leg.

  “Oh,” Ardent said, “of course. How rude of us.”

  “Hold on.” Remy planted her hands on her hips. “Just wait a second. We’re here forever?” But no one answered. The only sounds were the groan of the sinking city and the bustle of the crowd.

  Marrill gulped. Forever was an awfully long time.

  Ardent reached over to Coll and squeezed the young captain’s shoulder where the end of his knotted-rope tattoo peeked out above the collar of his shirt. “We’ll figure it out, my friend.”

  The expression on Coll’s face was startlingly severe. He sighed and mumbled something about heading back to the ship just in case.

  “Oh, come on,” Fin interjected, breaking the tension. “What does this yokel know?” Pate swiveled back around sharply. Fin pointed to a six-legged centipede of a man who’d just ambled past, tossing his long dreadlocks from side to side. “Can you believe that centipede guy just called you a yokel? Some people.”

  Pate frowned, muttering something about “more legs than brains.”

  Marrill shook her head. Sometimes she forgot how easily Fin could get away with stuff. Then again, with Remy hovering over her like a prison guard, it occurred to her that maybe being forgettable wasn’t so bad after all.

  “He may not have manners,” Ardent declared, “but that manipede had a point. The Pickled Pate of legend clearly left Monerva, or there would be no legend of Pickled Pate. Whether our friend here is the same person or not, there is more afoot than he knows.”

  Pate grunted. “Ah, ’sfair enough. I don’t know fer much. Ya could try further up the Wall, I reckon. There’s smart folks and all up there, I hear. Even a wizard come in just a few weeks ago, and headed up that way.”

  Ardent clapped his hands. “Another wizard? Why didn’t you just say so?” He turned to Marrill and Remy with a huge, satisfied smile. “This is excellent news. We wizards are seekers of knowledge and collectors of secrets. Even the least worthy among us—coughStagadortheBaldcough—would know far more about this place, and I daresay the Iron Tide, than anyone down here.”

  He turned quickly back to Pickled Pate. “Sir, if you will point us the way upward, we will trouble you no more.”

  Pickled Pate looked at them suspiciously. Slowly, he pointed one finger toward the sky.

  “Oh, for…” Ardent rubbed his forehead. “What I meant was, how do we get up the Wall from here?”

  Pate clattered in his chair thoughtfully. “Sure, sure. That ’un’s easy at least. Only ’un way up the Wall. Someone from up there has ta cast a line down fer ya.”

  “And how do we get someone to do that?”

  Pate considered. “Reckon you go up there and ask.”

  Marrill scratched the top of her head in troubled confusion. “But how can we go up the Wall to find someone to help us if we have to find someone to help us before we can go up the Wall?”

  Pate nodded in sympathy. “Reckon that would be whatcha call a dilemma.”

  Remy threw up her arms in frustration. “So we really are stuck here.”

  “Lizardwhiskers,” said Ardent, ushering them away. “Let’s take a closer look before we declare defeat. I’d wager there are thousands of ways up that Mr. Pate here has never even contemplated.”

  As they neared the Wall, Marrill felt even more like an ant at the base of a skyscraper. Only this skyscraper was more like a jungle gym. It was all sheer boards and stripped wood, the naked bones of the city above, stretching back to the gray stone of the Wall before them. As they watched, it sank eternally into the marshes below.

  At the edge of the docks, Ardent studied the swirling water. “Fascinating. It looks like we’ve found the source of the whirlpool in the Shattered Archipelago. Something beneath this Wall is actually sucking in the Stream!”

  “Super,” Remy said drily. “The city’s thirsty. Now how do we actually climb this thing?”

  Fin slapped his hands together as he surveyed the bare wood. “Let’s see, rough surface, plenty of handholds, lots of ledges… yeah, I got this.” He cracked his knuckles and nodded to Marrill. She raised an eyebrow.

  Without warning, Fin took off. He leapt to the nearest board, then jumped again moments before it hit the waves. Marrill held her breath. His foot barely even landed before he bounced away again, up onto a crossbeam, then tossed himself to a nearby ledge and scrambled across it.

  She could see the sweat on his brow as he shimmied up the frame where a window had once been, pounded up a flight of stripped-bare stairs, and leapt heroically over a massive gap. He just barely made it, wrapping his arms around the broken base of a column on the front of a once-majestic building.

  Casually, Marrill reached out her hand. Fin took it, still panting, a
nd stepped back onto the dock. For all that effort, he had barely kept pace with the sinking city.

  “I repeat,” Remy said. “So how do we climb this thing?”

  Ardent adjusted his hat. “Hmm… it appears I’ll simply have to find a way to contact this other wizard—”

  Before he could finish, a loud WHOMPWHOMPWHOMP sound rushed through the air. Something bright and gushy exploded against Ardent’s shoulder, showering him in thick orange goo.

  “Agh, slimed!” he shouted.

  “Or she could find you,” a voice called from above.

  Globs of sludge dripped down Ardent’s robe as his eyes grew wide in disbelief. “It can’t be,” he whispered.

  A woman floated down through the air like a whirling dandelion seed on the breeze. She looked just a little older than Marrill’s mom, but taller, her limbs long and elegant. Her skin was a deep amber, her dark eyes both serious and gentle over her high cheekbones. Black hair hung in braids down her back. The robe she wore had a high neck and a flowing hem, unlike Ardent’s frumpy purple getup. But even so, it left no doubt (if the floating wasn’t clue enough): She was a wizard.

  Fin leaned toward Marrill. “Do we know her?” he asked under his breath.

  With a jolt, Marrill realized that she did. “I think it’s…”

  “Annalessa,” Ardent gasped.

  The woman strode toward Ardent, a wide smile breaking across her face. When she reached him, she touched a finger to the goop dripping from his sleeve. It burst into a flock of bright-winged moths, scattering up into the sky.

  “You’re out of practice,” she told him. “You’re getting slow.”

  Ardent’s voice came out nearly a whisper. “You’re here.” And then he grabbed her. The old wizard seemed to melt into her as he pulled her into a tight hug.

  As they made their way back to the Kraken, Ardent explained everything that had happened in a gush, with Marrill, Fin, and even Remy chiming in along the way. From the quest for the Bintheyr Map to Everywhere, to the battle aboard the Black Dragon, to Serth’s end in the Pirate Stream, right back through their recent encounter with the Iron Ship.