The Cumerian Unraveling Trilogy (Scars of Ambition, Vendetta Clause, Cycles of Power)

by Jason Letts

  Lowell’s stomach turned as he thought of how desperate the man must’ve been. The Titans showed no emotion as the old man assented, shut his eyes, and opened his mouth. For every tooth he lost, the auction master gave him one Madoran coin. By the time four teeth had been chipped away, blood dribbling from the man’s mouth, he could barely stand. Four coins could feed a couple kids for a few days, maybe a week if they stretched it, but apparently that wasn’t enough.

  The old man suffered through two more lost teeth before he began to wail and rock in place. He insisted on another, such was his love for those children who made the dolls, and the auction master had to hold him in place and forego the wedge in order to do the job. But his grip on the robe slipped, and the impact from the hammer knocked the man flat against the stage. His hand full of coins burst open, and a few of them spilled over the edge into the sinkhole.

  A few men carried the old man offstage while the auction master called for the next volunteers. About a dozen hands from the crowd of several hundred still went up. Lowell rubbed his eyes and scratched his neck as he turned to leave the auction stands.

  “Something needs to be done about these people.”

  As horrible as the socially-sanctioned violence was, Lowell thought the economics of the system were even worse, reminding him of the worst parts of the Cumerian business culture that conspired against him and threw him out of his own country. Like the Wozniaks, Carlisle Empry, and Arnold Keize especially, the Commerce Titans saw an economic benefit from their cruelty. Their harsh demeanor went hand in hand with the scarcity of goods, and the laws of supply and demand were rewritten to say that the stingier they were, the more dependent people would be on their resources.

  If there were a stock market for morals, Lowell knew he’d never have any difficulty finding people who saw an upside to shorting sincerity, cooperation, and trust.

  But Lowell was asking an awful lot of his Madoran supporters as well. Some of them had given up everything and were living in lean-tos for him, spending every waking hour constructing a full-scale version of the half-finished palace model they made. No foundation, less steel than Lowell would’ve used to make a doghouse, and nothing more than a hallway and a throne room that would be showable. And they were doing all this on Lowell’s hunch that this sham would pay off in boatloads of construction materials and food. If he were wrong, the Brackens wouldn’t be the only ones to pay for it.

  But doubt was never worth investing in, and Lowell had to move quickly to find a way to make sure a giant construction project in the middle of town wouldn’t attract the attention of the Commerce Titans. The darkness and the time didn’t stop Lowell from getting together a couple of the Madorans who were hit hardest by the loss of Dedrick, including Agjam’s burly husband, Milorka, and another guy who hunted in the nearby bogs. They made the circuitous trip to the only one around who might be able to help.

  When they finally found someone to take them underground and lead them to the Mind, they gave their best pitch as to why they needed to start fighting back against the Commerce Titans.

  “The first offense was when they attacked and destroyed our market. The second was killing Dedrick. The third will be to sabotage our meeting if we don’t do something to put the pressure on them. You know just as well as I do that Madora will never thrive as long as these thugs are strangling the economic activity in this city!” Lowell urged amid entreaties from his companions.

  The Mind, in its usual spot behind a computer, refused to reply in Cumerian, but it did get into a conversation with Lowell’s companions before typing something into the computer. All of a sudden a young woman appeared at their side, beckoning them toward an unfamiliar tunnel. This one had a slope, leading them farther below the surface. The temperature continued to cool until it was chilly enough for goosebumps. When they reached the bottom of the slope, Lowell noticed he was walking on metallic plates. Lights were few and far between, but it seemed some sort of stockpile existed down here in the Mind’s labyrinth.

  Their guide pulled a door open and said something to them. She flipped a switch and a flood of light scalded their eyes. What Lowell saw inside the room was nothing short of incredible. His jaw dropped and he staggered into the long metal room with tables lining each side. One row of tables upheld all manner of dated technological devices, from cameras to phonographs, lawn mowers to projectors. Lowell hadn’t set eyes on some of these relics since he was a kid.

  On the other row, a startling array of weaponry took up space on the tables: various guns, sticks of dynamite, crates of ammo, grenades, and more. Swords, maces, crossbows, and spears were pinned against the wall, all waiting to do the one thing they’d been designed to do.

  Lowell had been given access to the Mind’s hidden arsenal to fight back against the Commerce Titans. A sly smile crept onto his lips. This was going to be fun.

  About ten miles north of Madora, the road to Iron City passed through an area where tons of sand had collected and driven back the sea, effectively creating a desert of dunes marked only by wind-carved rock formations jutting high overhead. No vegetation grew, and hardly a soul called the place home.

  Lowell crouched on the backside of a hill overlooking the road, not far from a great concave section of cliff that the wind had sandblasted over millennia. While the land and the sea met miles to the east, great air currents clashed right overhead. Lowell pulled his hood tight to keep out the biting wind and the stinging sand it carried.

  The caravan was coming right on schedule. The sound of a couple horses pulling a wagon full of supplies, a few handlers riding alongside, snuck through the whipping wind. The moonlight had enough strength to pull their grim faces out of the darkness, but in a moment they’d learn just how terrifying light could be.

  It was time.

  A flash washed over the caravan, spooking the horses and making the riders flinch. It never subsided completely, instead congealing into the shape of a massive face, stories tall, floating above them near the concave side of the cliff. The face, undulating with the wind and the swirling sand into a cyclone, was that of an old bald man whose eyes were wild and terrifying. His lips peeled back, revealing a mouth missing half a dozen teeth.

  The laughter was quiet at first and then grew into a cackling roar, catching the wind and turning every gust into an echo. The riders were mesmerized by the threatening apparition accosting them among the dunes and the haunting laughter that went on and on. At the sound of a whinnying horse, one of them looked over his shoulder and saw that the wagon had caught fire. The flames were spreading everywhere, casting reddish hues on their terrified faces.

  It was hard to know who was more spooked, the men or the horses, but both bolted as quickly as they could. Having never even drawn their swords, the men rode in the direction of Madora, leaving behind the horses leading the flaming wagon that eventually veered from the path and turned out of sight.

  The men might lose their heads for returning without their supplies, but not before spilling the tale of the colossal menace that had appeared along the road.

  Lowell finally stopped cranking the hulking projector, providing relief to a tired arm that seemed ready to fall off. It had been harder work than he’d thought, but it did the trick. Up top above the cliff, Milorka let the phonograph wind down until the incessant laughter vanished within the howling wind. The frog hunter with the fire arrows, who went by the name of Leeser, was positioned on the other side behind another dune. All three poked their heads up and began to cheer.

  The old man had been all too willing to have his face and voice recorded. By the time Lowell and the others had found him, one of the grandkids had already died. It wasn’t from hunger though; the boy had been bitten by a spider while squirming in a crawlspace under a shed. The other two were with their parents, and the old man felt reasonably sure they were untraceable.

  Caravan riders were used to threats from armed bandits, but this was beyond anything they’d ever seen. One lost caravan was
n’t going to cripple the Commerce Titans, and it was possible they’d even dismiss the riders as lunatics for their story. As Lowell and the others met up and starting back to town, he saw bits of ruined squash and smoldering cloth from the wagon that no one in Madora would want. This was a start, but there were still ways to improve.

  “What do you think, guys? Not bad? I think it’s time we go after some bigger fish,” Lowell said, letting the confidence from the victory go to his head.

  In the cycles following the raid on the caravan, Lowell and his comrades didn’t hear a peep on the streets from anyone about what they’d done. Of course, it didn’t help that Lowell couldn’t understand much of what anyone was saying, but he would’ve gotten a tap on the shoulder from Milorka and Leeser if they did. Instead they went about planning their next attack, which they desperately wanted to pull off before the darkness lifted.

  No matter what time of the cycle it was, the port area of Madora was always busy. Between ships coming and going at random, the constant loading and unloading, and the people everywhere, determining the optimal way to deal another blow to the Commerce Titans was a fool’s errand that Lowell eventually decided was best left up to chance. For all his time spying on the port, the only valuable piece of information he’d gathered was that a particular spot along the dock’s wall seemed to be designated for the Titans. It had prime access to Madora’s main roadways, newer ramps, and attentive dock crews that all signaled a more organized operation.

  Lowell and Leeser commandeered rowboats from the south end of Madora, paddling far enough from shore to keep out of sight. Although it was called the Still Sea, the undulating motion and the tame waves managed to give Lowell pause. He’d heard about gigantic sea beasts and even seen wreckage that could not be explained by any known creature. It’d be a relief when he was back on shore.

  Rowing with the bulky projector was a challenge as well. The machine and its crank were on a tripod, and more than once Lowell had to drop his oars to catch the device before it tipped into the sea. Eventually they made it out in front of the port and the targeted slip, which at the moment was empty. Lights from a couple of galleons out to sea signaled they were headed this way, but there was no guarantee they would dock in the right spot or even arrive before the sun came up.

  Hours passed. The time spent in the tiny rowboat was mind-numbing, but there was never a complaint out of Leeser. Who knows how Milorka was spending his time on the roof of the three-story building closest to the water. All Lowell had to do was make sure the rowboat didn’t drift too far one way or the other and keep an eye on the dots of light slowly approaching the port.

  The sound of the galleon cutting through the waves was music to Lowell’s ears. He roused himself, took a deep breath of sea air, and prepared to get to work. No doubt the massive vessel would be drawing its wavering sails soon as it slowed into port. Lowell and the others had to get started before that happened.

  The deck of the ship was twenty or thirty feet above water, high enough that Lowell couldn’t see anything other than the mast and the sails. It cruised right toward them, necessitating some paddling to get out of the way. Lowell stood on the rowboat and clasped the crank, ready for his ruse to begin.

  Although he couldn’t see it, he heard when Leeser successfully slung a pack of firecrackers onto the deck. The man had a strong arm, that was for sure. The snapping led to shouts and cries on board, as well as a flurry of movement. Someone fired a gun in the confusion. Smoke rose from the firecrackers, and Lowell began to crank the projector, which came to life and cast the images of the old man against the ship’s middle sail.

  The haunting specter of the old man didn’t fit the shape of the sail quite perfectly, but his eyes, nose, and mouth were visible enough. It was hard to tell what kind of a reaction the sailors had, but there wasn’t any attempt to take down the sails or stop the ship, which continued to cruise the last remaining hundred yards to the port.

  To help get them there a little faster, the sea swelled underneath the rear of the galleon after Leeser had ignited and tossed a stick of dynamite into the water. The burst and the ensuing wave pushed the galleon and the rowboats alike closer to shore. Lowell struggled to keep the projector pointed at the sails while the waves rocked him back and forth.

  A shout caught his attention, and he looked up to see someone staring down at him from the side of the deck.

  “Damn,” Lowell groaned, letting go of the crank so that the projector died down. The man who’d seen him was shouting hysterically as the ship continued to careen much too fast toward the long wall. Lowell had no choice but to pick up his oars and work on closing the distance to shore before all the action left him behind. With any luck the final act would take care of the man who had caught him.

  Frantic calls echoed across the water from dockworkers, sailors, and people on other docked ships. The galleon was certain to ram against the wall, unable to swivel because the dynamite had damaged the rudder. The shouting gave way to a loud crack of the ship’s hull crashing into the concrete wall.

  Lowell and Leeser rowed closer, having dramatically less fun than the first attack on the caravan. They’d been spotted, the ship wasn’t yet flush against the wall, and the projector wasn’t even running. Once they were a little closer, Lowell heard the hiss of a fuse and looked over to see Leeser fling another stick of dynamite toward the ship’s rear starboard side, resulting in another submerged blast that pushed the back of the boat against the wall.

  Now it was time to finish the job.

  While Lowell resumed his task of cranking the projector, again displaying the video against the sails, Milorka started running the phonograph from the top of a nearby roof. The old man’s cackling rang through the air, and after tonight anyone who heard it would shit themselves out of fear.

  With the video and the sound running perfectly, Leeser went about lighting a few more sticks of dynamite and throwing them at the boat. Lowell gritted his teeth as he saw the fuses soar through the night and bounce off the side of the ship into the water. If any sailors weren’t already trying to get off the ship, the three explosions lifting the vessel and pushing it against the wall were sure to help.

  The goal had been to use enough dynamite to lift the ship and have it capsize onto the expansive stone and concrete dock area right in front of the long street, but all the weight against the side rubbing against the wall was too much. The hull cracked against the concrete, the dynamite ruptured the bottom of the hull and filled it with water, and the whole thing never got the height it needed to tip over completely. As it was, the ship was lurched against the wall, stuck there thanks to a long crack in its side.

  The final stroke was left to Milorka, who was no stranger to killing after working as a guard and now had the best view of the deck from the nearby roof. Crewmembers were still trying to flee, and dock workers, most likely those working for the Commerce Titans, were attempting to rush aboard and salvage the ship’s cargo. It was Milorka’s duty to clear them all out. Lowell watched the man, barely perceptible through the night and the chaos, light the fuse on a stick of dynamite and throw it at the deck.

  Lowell was on the wrong side and couldn’t see, but he could hear well enough when the explosion ripped a hole in the deck and sent everyone flying. With any luck, that guy who had seen him would be wiped out in the blast.

  Once the explosion went off and the contents of the ship were sitting there for the people of Madora to scavenge, the time had come to exit the stage. Lowell picked up his oars and started rowing south for his life, hoping to be out of there before any other ships came through or anyone caught on to what was happening. At the very least, Lowell was sure no one could recognize him between the darkness and the Madoran robes he wore.

  Continuing to row south, he watched the scene he’d created recede behind him. The port was mobbed with people now that it had become clear the explosions were over. There was no doubt the Titans would feel a pinch from the loss of not just the carg
o but also the entire ship. The work had been sloppy, but between Lowell, a couple of Madorans, and the Mind’s trove of weapons they’d pulled it off. With any luck it’d keep the Titans preoccupied until they sealed the trade agreement with the Wozniaks and the Illiams.

  A sudden urge to stay and watch the Madoran people scavenge the wreckage struck Lowell. He’d have to make sure not to tell Tris he was starting to feel attached to this city and its people. But staying wasn’t an option, not unless they wanted to lead their enemies right to their front door. If they stuck around to enjoy the fruits of their labor, the fruit was certain to spoil.

  CHAPTER 8

  The strange man named Tommack with the dirty blond hair and stubbly face sat against a boulder in the shade somewhere in the arid Plagrass wastes, where the land was cut into sharp cliffs and plateaus of various reddish hues. Nemi had a never-ending fascination with the stranger that Sierra reluctantly admitted mirrored her own. When the dragon flew over and landed at his feet, the injured man eyed him suspiciously. Sierra could understand. It took a lot of staring for Sierra to believe the dragon was real. Tommack reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of water, undid the cap, and set it down beside his leg for Nemi.