Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3)

by Alexander, MK

  I turned to look outside again. The water had risen halfway up the tower by now. “Everyone outside was wiped out,” I said.

  “It only seems that way from our vantage. They had plenty of time to prepare.”

  “We may not,” Lothar said quietly.

  “Are we sinking?”

  “On the contrary, sea levels are rising again,” Mr Q replied.

  “Again?”

  “We could be in for quite a flood.”

  “Quickly now,” Lothar shouted and rushed from the door. Water started seeping in and moments later we were knee deep. The giant pointed to a large metal structure with a series of valve handles attached. “Grab a wheel and turn it as fast as you can.”

  “Which way?”

  “Counter-clockwise.”

  We took positions, though the handles were surprisingly difficult to move. I was using all my strength but the gears barely budged; they only clicked slowly as if old and rusty. Lothar made quick work of his however, and started in on the next one. I could see Mr Q struggling as much as I was. Overall, I had the feeling we were lowering some giant gate or a huge wall— the garage-like door closed as well. Lothar finished another valve and rushed over. A bit too zealously, he pushed us aside. I fell into the pooling water and Mr Q fared worse, knocking his head against a nearby bench.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forceful.”

  “I’m alright,” Mr Q called back, though it may have been a lie. He had a nasty gash on his head and was bleeding into the water.

  “Please, please, bring him upstairs as fast as you can…” Lothar said in a panic. “I must secure things… or we’re likely to die.” He started back to the giant valves. “I’ve got to get the pumps going or all will be lost.”

  “What’s going on?” I yelled back.

  “The building is largely sealed and waterproof, but it’s necessary to flood the courtyard or the whole structure might collapse.”

  As I dragged Mr Q upwards to the next level, I began to understand why there were massive iron doors at such a height. He leaned on me for support and was staggering a bit. We went even higher, and moments later Lothar appeared with an armload of ledgers. He pointed to a box of provisions. “Bring those,” he said. “Quickly, up, up, quickly now.”

  Eventually we huddled at the top of the tower, the observatory. There was hardly room for one person let alone two and a goliath. Poor Lothar had to twist himself into a very awkward position with his neck bent and his head pushed right against the glass ceiling. We could hear the water coming closer, making a kind of slurping noise. Soon enough it swirled at our feet. I started to consider how long I might be able to swim, or at least stay afloat, and I wondered if there were many sharks in the area. I glanced at my companions. They didn’t seem especially panicked, and just then I noticed the water level was beginning to drop. Mr Q gave off a sigh of relief and Lothar let go a laugh.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Well, we can’t leave just yet... must wait for the sea levels to lower a bit.”

  “How long will that take?

  “Several decades, if last time is anything to go by.”

  “You’re going to have to explain this.”

  “Water sequestration. Engineering on a planetary scale.”

  “What?”

  “Several projects come to mind. The Chinese are most ambitious, turning the Gobi Desert into Lake Gobi, as it were. The Australians are also involved… their plans seem modest in comparison. And similar schemes are in play in the Sahara, and Arabia. Even your country…”

  “My country?”

  “American engineering: pumping water into the southwest… Some even dare to hope it will quell a massive eruption at Yellowstone. Though at best, they’re able to recharge the aquifer. The key is to funnel the water deep underground.”

  ***

  “Well you have no other option now, Mr Jardel, but to travel back and attempt to find Fynn.”

  “No. I’m going to stay in the present for now.”

  “That choice has already been made. You won’t find Fynn in this present, which is now your future.”

  “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  “Ah, you’ve been with us for quite some time.”

  “And?”

  “Lothar?” Mr Q called out. “What’s today’s date?”

  Lothar calculated silently, then said, “February the twelfth, twenty-one sixty-nine.”

  “What?”

  “Time travels quite slowly this high up, but quite quickly outside.”

  “Wait a second, back at the Library, I remember leaving and slipping back into the present… it was a little gooey but it was definitely the present.”

  “Yes, but things work a bit differently here. Time flies as they say… but outside these walls. The present is gone, long gone.”

  “I guess I missed my flight.”

  We followed the water down as it ebbed and finally returned to the boat room. Lothar raised the heavy doors again and deftly prepared the craft for launch. It splashed down into the pristine water a few minutes later and we all climbed aboard.

  “Welcome to the future, Mr Jardel.”

  “Flying cars?” I asked.

  “No, no flying cars. We have a flying boat instead.”

  An engine may have started but it could hardly be heard other than a soft whirling. Soon enough the sleek craft was skimming across open water and the wind bordered on untenable. We were traveling south by east towards Australia, and according to Lothar, it was about a day’s hard sail.

  “Sail? That’s hardly the word I would use,” Mr Q said, though he may have been joking.

  “How fast does this thing go?”

  “A hundred knots on a calm sea.

  “Knots?”

  “Ha, yes, an archaic term. Lothar can convert it to kilometers per hour.”

  The giant smiled and ushered us down into a cozy but cramped cabin. He struggled with the ceiling and laid himself out across one side of a long bench. From that odd repose, he was able to set a kettle going and passed around sandwiches. I could see from the windows that the boat was flying through the water, but there was barely a feeling of movement inside, except for some occasional jostling.

  “So, where are you thinking of going?” Mr Q asked.

  “Paris.”

  “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

  “Intuition.”

  “Well, it’s not what it used to be.”

  “Meaning?”

  “How’s your Arabic?”

  “Why?”

  “Most of Europe speaks a kind of Arabic these days.”

  “Oh, if only Sheik Abbas were here…or even Sonny Ming…” Lothar offered. “Do you have a knack for languages, Patrick?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

  “You do understand English is little-spoken these days,” Mr Q cautioned.

  “What is?”

  “Oh… Cantonese, Mandarin, Hindi…”

  “What about America?”

  “Yes, I suppose they speak a form of English. I doubt you’d understand it anymore.”

  “Things have changed that much?”

  “There are enclaves of what you would call civilization… the rest has gone to the dogs, anarchy…” Mr Q looked forward and adjusted our heading on a control panel. “Would you like Lothar to accompany you? He can be invaluable sometimes.”

  “That’s a very generous offer, but it’s up to him.”

  Lothar smiled at me from his casual recline.

  chapter sixteen

  future lies

  Living in the future was complicated and I did not like it much. Call me old fashioned. I suppose it was inevitable that we’d become slaves to technology, though not outright slaves. It was an insidious process, yet eventually our gadgets became indispensable, and imagining life without them was impossible. I wondered who they served: us, the individual, or something larger and mo
re sinister.

  Lothar and Mr Q were surprisingly vague about what to expect. They spoke of enclaves, presumably that meant civilization; and other places, wild places where people had chosen a different sort of life. I’m not sure wild is the right word though. It conjures up nature and glorious isolation. From what I could tell in my cursory travels, these places were wastelands, on the fringe of the habitable cities— shanty towns, ghettos, slums, all teaming with millions upon millions of people on the very edge of survival. Outlanders, they were called.

  How we came to this state is completely unknown to me. I didn’t live through it. I had an inkling though, greed, rampant short-sightedness and a general lack of empathy for others seemed to be chief among the suspects. I did not like this future, but for now I was stuck here. And I didn’t really know what to do next. I don’t remember ever feeling such despair.

  Enough to say I did make it back to Paris. It seemed like the best place to go— but I’m not even sure why— I guess it was a geographical instinct. Some part of me knew I should at least be in the right place, even if it was the wrong time. Yet now, I had doubts about this decision and would have been happy to stumble across a tarot card— that indicating Lilly or her sister was somewhere nearby.

  I flew here in some sort of hyper transport, something akin to a commercial jet liner. The whole journey took just an hour or so. The sky turned purple, and nearly the whole earth was visible below… well, I could see it curve off to the horizon of outer space. At one point the sun hit in just the right spot and I noticed a blinding glint from the Sahara Desert. A huge solar array, someone explained to me: powered most of Europe. Okay, some things about the future were pretty cool.

  Before I left, Lothar fitted me with a five inch sleeve. It felt like stiff cloth but also dug into my skin rather painfully. He explained that it was what everyone wore in this time period. On the outside of the armband were a few simple function buttons and indicators. On the inside, at the wrist, was a small handle about the thickness of a pen. When I pulled on it, a sheet of paper unfurled, well, not paper really, more like a digital screen. And it stayed in position until I tapped it back in. I was able to type on it, scroll and select things.

  I watched other people using this device and could tell they were practiced experts. With their screens unfurled they used both hands, one to type, and the other doing a kind of finger dance at the top edge of the screen, presumably accessing some of the more advanced features. I would probably never get that good. It seemed a bit like playing a musical instrument.

  With this hi-tech bracelet, I was at least able to survive. I had the proper identification. It connected me to the central net where I could read sanctioned information, though I could find very little written in English. I could talk to anyone I wanted, and had plenty of funds to access as needed, as well as all necessary travel permissions— Lothar had assured me. There was however, no one to talk to, not for me.

  I started to plan… maybe I could track down Pavel, or Madeline, or even Anika… They might still exist in some form or another. I could only hope. Otherwise, I was lost. My only other idea was to make a wild jump back in time and pray for the best. I also started thinking about astronomy… Maybe there was some kind of app that could help, a sky map showing the constellations. I had nothing else with me, neither a functioning cane, nor Edmund’s compass.

  For now, I had checked into a small hotel and then sat at a sidewalk cafe in a nearly unrecognizable city. The Eiffel Tower was still standing, though oddly, it looked to be listing a bit. I also noticed a great many glass and steel pyramids dotting the streets, maybe Metro stations. And the previously white city now seemed ashen gray, as if a pall of smoke had smirched the whole place and stained the buildings.

  The street was filled with open-air chocoterias and chai houses all crowded with men wearing headscarves. Coffee, I soon learned, was available and legal at least, though very expensive. Mocha beans were grown only in Ethiopia, it was explained to me by a very patient concierge.

  It was soon apparent that being pale was being a minority. And, I felt conspicuous not wearing any sort of hat. People stared at me openly as I passed, and whispered in some unknown language— something between French and Arabic, I supposed.

  I hadn’t sat long when an old man came to my table and plopped down across from me uninvited. He looked to be about seventy. He was hooded and robed with a scraggly white beard and a fairly dark complexion. I glanced up at him with no particular interest.

  “It’s quite dangerous for you to sit out in the open drinking coffee, you know.”

  I was surprised he spoke English so well.

  “Why is that?”

  “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, the way you’re dressed, your pale skin, your ethnicity… and drinking a forbidden beverage that probably costs a month’s salary for most of the people here.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have a beard, and I’m appropriately attired. Besides, no one pays much notice to an old man.”

  “I know you.”

  “Of course you do.” He threw back his hood.

  It was Mortimer.

  Oddly, I was glad to see him, though somewhat surprised. “How did you just show up here?”

  “It seems that way to you, but I’ve been waiting quite a long time. And I’m here to offer my assistance. You must learn to trust me.”

  “How long have you been waiting?”

  “A number of years it seems to me.”

  “Did you guess I’d be here, or what?”

  “I heard tell you visited the Quantifier. It seemed more than likely that you’d find yourself in the future.” Mortimer gave me a thin smile. “And, I know about your fondness for coffee.”

  “Who told you all this?”

  “Is it really important?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Mortimer paused to look me up and down. “Perhaps you’ll buy me a cup of tea?” He motioned for the waiter. “Very well, if you must know, it was Lilly.”

  “You know her?”

  “We’ve met once or twice.”

  At this point, I decided to consider everything Mortimer said to be a lie. It seemed like a good idea, but I also grew more suspicious of Lilly and her sister Chloe. Another thought struck me. “What about Drummond’s daughter?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “Zalika mentioned something about her.”

  “Queen Zalika?” Mortimer asked. “Well, she runs a good part of Africa these days. Quite the little fiefdom, and the envy of half the world.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. By all accounts it’s a bastion of civilization. Not too surprising. She’s cornered the market on mocha beans and done quite well for herself.”

  “Coffee, you mean?”

  Mortimer glanced at my cup. “Except for the crazy Sufis, coffee as you call it, is forbidden to all other muslims.” He chuckled slightly. “Though even that religion seems to be on the wane these days.”

  “What’s taken its place?”

  “Well, not science, I’ll say that much.” Mortimer thought for a moment. “I’d say it’s a kind of politick at present.”

  “In place of religion?”

  “Yes, factions, voting blocs and alike. Very strong beliefs and generally impervious to facts, like any good dogma… and just as impotent.”

  “What about god?”

  “You do have a lot of questions, Patrick.” Mortimer smiled. “I will only say it is an extremely cruel deity that grants sentience to creatures such as ourselves.”

  “And Zalika?”

  “A virtual goddess indeed.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, I see… well, honestly, she’s reviled for being benevolent and just.”

  “Reviled?”

  Mortimer shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a kind of jealousy.”

  I felt frustrated and sharpened my words: �
��Zalika said Drummond’s daughter is looking for me. I don’t suppose she’s around anywhere?”

  “Not in this present.”

  “But you know her?”

  “I remember Drummond mentioning her.”

  “She shouldn’t exist. Fynn and I stopped Drummond from doubling in the first place.”

  “You may have prevented him from duplicating, but not from procreating.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “So, there’s a Drummond out there, just like a normal dad living in Texas?”

  “No. I’m sure he’s long since dead. But perhaps there was…”

  “And he never traveled?”

  “Probably not.”

  “But, you saved her somehow?” I took a wild guess.

  “Why would I want to save Drummond’s daughter? I loathed the man to be honest, and his sons were even worse.”

  “I’m confused… you do know her, or you don’t?”

  “Our paths may have crossed.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Rather nice, I thought. She has a pleasant smile.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mortimer’s cup of tea arrived and the waiter looked at me. I held up my wrist and the armband vibrated slightly. A light flashed; he nodded and departed into a sea of crowded tables.

  “I’d like to know exactly which Mortimer I’m dealing with.”

  He threw his head back and laughed till a coughing fit took hold. “Which Mortimer indeed. Professor Mallinger, Doctor Valenti or Count Remitrov? Well, I wish it was as easy as all that.”

  “You can’t tell me?”

  “Not precisely, no. I can tell you the times I remember meeting you. Perhaps that will help?”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Sand City, wasn’t it?” Mortimer said.

  “At the Quarry… you jumped and nothing happened.”

  “Jumped? I was pushed off the ledge, if I recall.”

  “Yes, right after you stabbed Fynn in the ribs.”

  “I may have done that. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “But you didn’t disappear, you splashed.”

  “Quite baffling, isn’t it?”