“I’m Bink. At your service.” Bink moves off and Allan worries what it will do. What will it be good at? What will any of them do now that they have no chains holding them down?
Inside Mizzi’s home there’s a note on the table. ‘Allan, I’ve begun preparations for Jibbawk’s confinement. I couldn’t wait for you. Follow the map and meet me at the Field of Marrow next to the Tower of Stepps and the Lichen Lake. I’ve drawn a map on the back of the note. Be careful. You must not fail.’
Chapter 17
Time Won’t Last
Allan looks at his legs. He has less than two hours of battery life remaining. Time. All he feels is the passing of time. Time is his constant companion, and like a parasite, it feeds off his beating heart.
Allan looks at the ground below Mizzi’s door. It’s far, but not for his mechanical legs. Allan leaps from the tree and lands on his feet. He runs through the mushroom forest, leaving a trail of oil drips behind.
Deep shadows are everywhere and Allan can’t see very well. If not for the three moons, he’d be blind. Fireflies leap away when Allan pushes through the bushes; butts burn bright then fade like dying sparks. Allan tries to retrace his steps to the city by following the obvious drag marks. The path dredged by Allan when Mizzi pulled him to safety flattened and uprooted tons of baby mushrooms and small plants. It’s only when Allan comes to a couple different trails that he gets confused.
Allan tries to read Mizzi’s map, but it isn’t as specific as it needs it to be. Mizzi designated the mushroom forest by drawing squiggly lines, and the line to the city is an arrow. But which way is the arrow pointing?
“Come on, Mizzi. Ever thought of inventing a compass?” Allan says, frustrated and tired of being alone in the dark. He knows, just knows, that something is going to jump out of the shadows and eat him alive.
As Allan continues, the forest becomes increasingly dense, forcing Allan to zigzag around stalks that tower over him and thick, spike-covered bushes. There are more bugs now. Allan smacks them away as they incessantly nag his face and eyes.
He walks for a long time.
A beep alerts him to the belt. The mechanical legs have an hour left. Allan starts to jog. Panic sits underneath his skin like lava in a fissure. If he starts to panic, he’ll shut down. What did his dad used to say? “I count.” Warren had said at Allan’s first swim competition. “You swim hard and you swim fast. Exercise engages the mind in something other than the cycle of fear. Your brain actually likes to focus on your movement. It drowns out everything else.” Allan’s dad was so smart. At that swim meet Allan had won his first trophy.
Allan moves faster. His pulse rises and his breathing increases. He pushes through tall furry bushes and past fallen branches that are covered in scales. Faster, he moves. Soon, his mind isn’t focusing on anything but movement.
Allan reaches Dantia’s tall and forbidding outer wall. It is still a welcome site. He forces himself to catch his breath so he can creep to the river, expecting guards. There are none.
The water is as still as glass and reflects the moon and starlight with perfection. There are flowers on either side that he’d not noticed before. They are deep purples and light blues. Some are round and large and some are soft and small. Some lean toward the moons and the others are heart-shaped buds. They might be the same shooting buds Allan ran across when the balloon creatures dropped him in the river. He’ll stay clear of them. He’s getting the hang of traveling through dangerous places.
The stars above pack the sky. There are so many other solar systems out there. Is Earth up there? Did the balloon creatures travel through some kind of worm hole? Maybe. The chill of the air prompts him to cross his arms. It’s beautiful here, but a long ways from home.
Allan follows the water and thinks about Rubic. Is he alive? If the cruelty of fate comes bashing through his life again then his uncle will be dead. He’ll have only his grandmother and some cousins left, but he doesn’t know them very well.
The river is diverted under the wall in places, but not here. Here the wall and the river do not intersect. The mechanical legs beep. Thirty minutes left on the clock. In desperation, Allan swims across the river to the wall. He searches the stone. There are gaps at every brick and long trailing vines that might hold his weight. Allan starts to climb. His shoes fit into the small cracks, and the vines are indeed thick and strong. He climbs and climbs and climbs. As he nears the top he looks down. Dizziness overwhelms him and forces him to squeeze his eyes shut. He’s so high up. Too high up and with no way to turn back, he continues on.
At the top Allan reaches for the top of the wall. He can’t quite reach the last stone. Allan reaches again. No good. He’s too short.
Allan bends his knees, his feet crammed in a gap in the stones, and he’s holding tight to a vine. He leaps, trying to jump to the top of the wall. The mechanical legs overpower his jump and he goes over the top. Allan panics and tries to turn, but can’t. He falls feet first into the darkness below.
His feet touch down easily in a soft mound of moss, and his hand lands on the ground, keeping him from falling forward. The moss is as cushy as a foam mattress. Allan rolls back on his butt and laughs. Clearly he has nine lives.
Now inside the wall, the brightness of Dantia’s lanterns welcomes him. Allan stands and brushes off mud and clumps of moss. Movement catches his eyes. It’s a dog standing across the canal. It has long matted fur and long ears that point straight up like a rabbit’s ears. The dog’s head turns to the side in a curious manner, and then it barks.
Behind the dog is a tall building with lots of windows and doors and stairways leading to other levels. The dog spins in circles while barking ferociously and flinging foam from its jowls. Torches are lit and lights flip on. People come to their windows and yell and point.
Everyone has heard of the Boy from the Waiting Place, and now the alarms have been triggered. Allan turns to the left. The canal makes a hard right and heads into the city. At the turn, there’s a building built against the wall. People and strange-looking creatures come out of the ground level door. To the right is another building, and the dog is across the canal in front of him. He has nowhere to run to. From the left comes a boat. It has a motor of some kind. A spotlight turns on him. A garbled voice, projected from a crude cone, orders him to stay where he is. The last thing he needs is to be taken into custody. But even if he had a direction to run, his legs are going to give out at any minute. He might as well give up. Maybe Mizzi can come bail him out of jail. But will they take him to jail? He might be sold, tried like a criminal, or beaten. They’ll take the key from him and who knows what else. He can’t give up. There has to be somewhere to go.
A snail, the size of a baseball, crawls up the side of the wall. Its body glows from bioluminescence. The shell is thick and spiral and black with white stripes. The snail’s slimy body and sticky optical tentacles turn to Allan. Then it shrieks and snaps its head into its shell. It falls off the wall and rolls into the canal with a splash. Allan jumps into the water, grabs the glowing snail and swims down as hard as he can. He used to be a fast swimmer, the best in his age group. His brain awakens that dormant part of his brain and he powers through the water. He coordinates his arms and legs, maximizing his speed, like it was only yesterday he was competing at the Local Swimming Committee. Chills erupt from his skin.
The snail lights Allan’s way in the dark water. He sees pipes leading every direction. The streets and buildings aren’t built on solid ground, but on dark, algae-covered columns. The water flows in many directions, all of which are bad options.
Something spears into the water. It looks like an arrow, but has hooks on the back of the point. If it hits Allan he will be pulled out of the water like a fish. Allan grabs onto a pipe to keep himself still. He can’t breathe, but he can’t surface. They’ll get him. His lungs pull on his mouth and throat as they try to force him to breathe.
He looks at the pipe and sees a small bubble rise from a seam in the pipe.
A bubble! Allan pulls on the pipe then kicks it. The seam widens. Large bubbles rise to the surface. Allan puts his head into a bubble and sucks it in. It’s air. He expected it to be stinky or even gassy, but it’s just air.
He takes a deep breath and follows the pipe. It leads him deep under the buildings where it is dark. Allan grips the snail that peaks out of its shell. It looks more at ease and even curious because it had not been eaten. Then Allan’s legs stop kicking as the battery dies. He pulls on the pipe again until it cracks. He sucks from the crack, filling his lungs full of air. He pulls himself along the pipe, slower now that his legs can’t kick. And now the leg harness threatens to drag him down. Allan pulls on the belt. It won’t unlatch. He tugs on the leg straps, but they’re too tight.
He needs another breath so he pulls on the pipe to crack it. He can’t get a bubble. Below him is darkness and death. The snail doesn’t even want to go there.
Allan tugs on a metal pole that frames his left leg. The motors and shock absorbers are all connected by tubes and wires. He finds a thick tube and yanks it from the left ankle piece. Air pressure is unleashed and Allan is propelled through the water. He uses his free hand to guide himself further and further under the building. Just as the pressure spewing from the mechanical legs gives out, Allan sees a light filtering through the water. He pulls himself the rest of the way and finds the surface of the water. His head breaks into the air, and he opens his mouth to suck in much-needed air.
The weight of Allan’s mechanical legs pulls him down. He grabs the metal bar attached to his leg and pulls it up and out. The weight seems heavier than a brick of gold, and Allan’s arms are so tired. Suddenly, his other leg twitches at the knee. The belt is registering more power. Disconnecting one of the legs gave the other more time. He lifts that leg easily out of the water and finds himself at the bottom of a narrow stairwell. The railing looks more like a sculpture. It goes up and down and splits and converges, but it is still a railing, and it will help him up the stairs. A single lantern at the top illuminates the steps. Water trickles down, feeding algae and moss. Spider webs span the stairwell making it obvious these stairs have been abandoned.
“This is better than being speared by one of those hooks,” Allan mutters. He uses his working leg to step up, dragging the leg that doesn’t work behind him. The crazy railing is sturdy and it braces him. One step at a time, Allan ascends.
When he gets to the spider web, Allan looks around. The web is thick. Water drops that hang on its silky thread reflect the light and bend it making the drops look like diamonds. The spider crawls out from under the ornate metal hand railing. It’s larger than his fist and has thin legs three times its body length. Its little eyes look at Allan and study him.
“Come on! Get outta my way!” Allan blurts out. His voice echoes in the narrow stairwell. Responding to Allan’s obvious advantages, it scuttles back into the shadow of the railing. Allan takes off the jacket he’d stolen and throws it over the web, knocking it down. He continues upward. The stars become visible, and there are only about three stories more to go. Every time he has to lift the unusable leg he wants to scream out. His arm shakes and his lower back throbs. Keep going, just keep going.
At the top, the fresh air fills his lungs. He’s conquered the steps and is now on the roof of one of the tallest buildings. He can see most of Dantia and it is big. Hundreds of tall buildings line the horizon. They are intermingled with smaller ones, pointy ones and some very crooked ones. Lights fill some windows, but most are dark. Allan hobbles to the edge of the roof. He can see the intersection three blocks away where he ditched the authorities. Spotlights illuminate the roads as they search desperately for Allan.
Then, as if prompted by some twisted cue, his usable leg dies. He crumples to the roof of the building. Allan’s brain feels like a beaten lump of play dough. It occurs to him how impossible it will be to find Mizzi. He couldn’t read his map at the mushroom forest, and now he’s so far from where he should be that Mizzi won’t be able to find him. This city is definitely not handicapped accessible, and maybe he should have stayed in the water where it was easier to move.
Allan takes the pin-up girl pin from his pocket. When his uncle gave it to him, it had reminded him of his father. But as he touches the smooth surface, it reminds him of Rubic. Tears come to his eyes. He doesn’t want Rubic to die. He did all he could to get back to him, to get help, but he failed. Now Rubic continues suffering because of him. Why am I being punished?
Allan listens to the night. All he hears is the drip of the water that runs off him. He wants to sleep, rest up, and then seek an answer. He takes the glowing snail out of his pocket. It’s as bright as ever. He sets it down and watches it slowly make its way down the steps. “You’ve got a long way to go, but thanks for the help.”
Sometime later, Allan awakes to a loud thunk. He’s heard that noise before. He looks up and sees Asantia’s airship hovering over him. Her tow cable anchors her ship to the roof. A small door opens on the bottom of the craft and down slides Asantia on her automatic handles. She stops just above the roof and then hops down the rest of the way.
Allan moans and rolls his eyes. His luck has truly dried up. There’s not an ounce of fight left in him. “Just take me. Put me up for auction, put a collar on me or sell me for new blimp parts. I can’t take anymore!” he cries. Asantia bends over him and smiles, her expression less vitriolic and more pleasant than before. He’s taken by surprise when she holds her hand and says, “Enough with the drama. I’ve come to help.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you helped me.” Asantia wears a leather vest that buttons up the sides and is stitched together from odd shaped pieces. Her pants are black and have cargo pockets below the knee bulging with who-knows-what. A large blade is strapped to her back with the handle sticking up. Allan takes her hand. She tries to lift him, but fails. He collapses back to the roof. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere, just leave me. No one can help me.”
“Okay, let’s cut those metal legs off. They’re making you into the world’s most whiny paperweight.” Asantia uses her knife to cut the leg and waist straps. The metal and wire contraption falls, clattering to the roof. Asantia drags Allan to her cable by his hands and lowers the handles until Allan can reach them. Then she opens up a small hatch and pulls out a harness. Allan puts the harness over his head and torso and under his butt.
“Hold on tight.” She says and smiles brightly. She presses the up button. The handles hoist the two of them to her ship. When they are safe inside, the tow cable releases the roof and rolls back into her ship.
Asantia drags Allan up a narrow ramp that leads to an upper deck. Allan feels like he’s a sack of potatoes. “Welcome to my flying balloon. I made it myself.”
At the top of the ramp they enter a small living space. A bin overflowing with dirty clothes is next to a cot. A dingy shower curtain decorated by little skull prints surrounds a large metal tub. A table with one chair is against the wall, covered in maps and notes. And centered next to the front window is a control panel, which is filled with levers and dials, not with lights or flashing readouts. The windows extend from ceiling to floor and surround half the room. The other half is made of fabric, patchwork walls. There are taped up drawings of animal people, flowers, patterns and designs on every wall.
“Stop eyeing my stuff. Now, you wanna get home or what?”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all year. How did you find me?” Allan pulls himself up then leans his forehead on the window looking down at the city lights below. A sliver of daylight sits on the horizon.
“I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t know where the Lorebs, those balloon creatures, took you, but I knew they were on their way to Lan Darr. They’re departing souls. They travel through the Lan Darr Mountains every third night of the eighth month of the sixth year.”
“Wow, that often, huh? Lucky me,” Allan quips.
“Yeah, really lucky, if you think about it.” She flips
a lever and turns a dial. The ship starts to move.
“Wait. I need to give something to Mizzi.”
“Can’t. They’re looking for you. If they catch me helping you, I’ll be locked away for good.”
Allan pulls out the key he’d gotten from Baroon and holds it up. “I need to get this to Mizzi. It’ll save everyone from Jibbawk.”
Asantia takes the key and inspects it. “Been busy, have you?” she hands it back. “Fine, but we do this quick. If I have to, I’ll throw him the key from up here so we can make a clean getaway.”
Chapter 18
Carried Away
Allan takes out Mizzi’s map and hands it to Asantia. It’s still damp. She carefully unfolds it and lays it on her table. After looking at it a while, she flips it over. Then after looking at it some more she rotates it once and then again and grunts. Finally, a smile blooms on her face.
“I got him. He’s so smart and yet, so not.” She pulls a lever on her control panel and the craft turns. The ship heads toward the edge of the city where the horizon is brightest.
“I, uh, have to ask you something.” Allan bites his lip.
“Spit it out.”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“What for? Swimming in the canal washed you up pretty good. You don’t need a bath.”
“I . . . have to pee.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?” Asantia puts her arms under his armpits and hauls him up with a grunt. She muscles him to a small closet next to her bed where a small round bucket sits. “No lid to sit on. I’ll have to hold you.”
Allan rolls his eyes. “Never mind. I’ll never be able to go.”
Asantia shakes her head, “Look, when you gotta go you gotta go. I don’t want you bursting like an old garden hose and messing up my clean floors.” She lifts him up. Allan huffs at the idea that her floors are clean. After a torturous half-minute, he goes.
Surviving the Improbable Quest Page 10
