Lostlander

by Dean F. Wilson

   They continued on, zig-zagging back and forth in the cat-and-mouse chase. They entered a sand tunnel and looped around it as they marbled onwards. They passed through a field of fake cacti with electrified needles, where they were both forced to slow down after one or two accidental jolts. Some systems conked out, which others kicked in from the surge of power. Why, it was just how Porridge liked it.

   Then they entered a dug-out maze inside a plateau, where they rolled this way and that, turning here and there, not only trying to find their way through, but find each other. It wasn't so much a cat-and-mouse game then as a game of hide-and-seek. And they were both hiding. And they were both seeking. It wasn't clear at all if they were going in the right direction until they cleared the exit.

   When they emerged from these obstacles, they were back out in an area of pits and pathways, as if they'd made no progress at all. There was an old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees. Well, when you were down here, you couldn't see the arena for all the obstacles that made it. And with night staring down, you were lucky if you saw anything at all.

   They rolled across a convex curve in the desert wall, fighting gravity with the power of their engines. If they didn't keep rolling upwards as well as forwards, they would've tumbled down into the deep ravine below. It didn't matter what you fought gravity with down there.

   Then Rassa's marble began to dip, and Nox knew he was having trouble with the engine.

   “He's fallin',” the Coilhunter said.

   “Oh! Let him!”

   “No,” Nox said. “He's just another one of the lost.” He grabbed the controls for the mechanical arm and swiftly moved it into place. Outside, it grasped the rim of Rassa's vehicle just in time before it slipped over the edge.

   “Got 'im.”

   “Oh, you've got him, alright, peach,” Porridge said. “And he's got us!”

   The weight of the extra marble was a bit too much. They started to drift towards the edge.

   “Nox!” Porridge cried. “I can't stop it!”

   “You have to.”

   “I can't, plum! I can't! Oh!”

   Nox stared down at Rassa's marble.

   “You've got to drop him!” Porridge said.

   Nox didn't reply. He tried to calculate how to drop the marble and then catch it again when Porridge had regained some ground. He tried to tell himself that Rassa was probably bad, that he deserved to die. He tried to see if he could remember the path to the castle if Rassa couldn't lead the way.

   Then he tried to hang on for dear life as both marbles tumbled over the edge.

  27 – THE ARENA BELOW

  The darkness smothered them. The fall felt like forever. Maybe that was how death felt. No one ever came back to tell you. So, maybe you fell. Maybe you kept on falling. Maybe life was like waking from a falling dream.

   Then the impact came, and it was surprisingly cushioned. As soon as they struck, they tumbled again, down and around a spiralling slope. All of this was in darkness, but they could feel it, could feel their heads in a spin.

   Then it stopped.

   Then the lights came on.

   There they were, both marbles largely intact, deep underground. The path continued on ahead of them, illuminated by many more lights. Except these weren't oil-lit lanterns like the ones above. These were powered by electricity. It seemed the Man with the Silver Mane wasn't so frugal after all.

   The chase continued now in the labyrinth of tunnels, with lights coming on as they approached, and turning off as they left. It was economical, Nox'd give it that. It was the kind of economical you'd attribute to the Dew Distributors or the Treasury, who had a way of making that economy work in their favour. Now the Man with the Silver Mane was doing the same with a new kind of currency: power. Not the power of kings and emperors, but boy could it get you that too.

   As they advanced, Nox spotted something on the ground. Rollers. He wondered for a long time what they were for, until it dawned on him. They were another way to generate electricity, using motion. Every time a vessel passed over them, they spun, and the Man with the Silver Mane converted that movement into electricity. He had to. He needed as much power as he could muster. He was using everything—and everyone—to get it.

   So, you didn't fall, Rassa, Nox realised. You led us onto the hamster wheel.

   This truth presented a dilemma: If they stopped the chase, they would stop fuelling the machinery above—and whatever dark aim was meant by it—but they would never find the way into the castle of sand. If they kept going, they would be unwitting accomplices in the Man with the Silver Mane's evil plan. Well, Nox assumed it was evil. It could've been a plan to heal the world, but if you did it with slaves, then, by default, it was evil. Some folk said that about the Wild North as a whole. Well, by default, Nox was a hunter.

   So, the hunt continued, because without the hunt, there was no Coilhunter. Some said there was no such thing as settled life in the Wild North, because you were always on the run. You ran from the law, or you were the law, and you ran after the wicked. If it weren't for the fierce winds, you'd see a lot of criss-crossing bootprints in the sand.

   They tumbled across more rollers, but some of these were armed with spikes, which would've punctured the tyres of the motorbike gangs. Luckily for Rassa, the monowheel had landship treads, which crunched and crushed those spikes, which was lucky for the Dandyman, as there were enough openings for those spikes to pierce through.

   They approached a passage that alternated between steps and slopes. If you waited long enough, which wasn't long, you'd see the steps collapse down into a smooth surface. Either was an obstacle, depending on if you were rolling or running. Rassa didn't time his ascent right, so when the steps popped up, they forced him back down, right into the Dandyman, which was knocked back in turn. Then Rassa used the grapnel launchers attached to the monowheel to get him back up again, using the Coilhunter's weapons against him. That hurt Nox's pride, sure enough, but you didn't get to do that long before the Coilhunter hurt you back.

   Porridge made the climb up that slope, and it was definitely a climb for the second half, because the steps came out. He had to chug up one step at a time using the propellers for leverage. The Dandyman was a vessel built out of a bit of everything, which made it the right vessel for a bit of everything as well. Stairs or slopes. Sky or sea. It'd keep on rolling.

   The walls grew narrower, tearing off a propeller as Porridge slammed into a turn. They were losing Rassa in the labyrinth, and could only follow him by the glimmer of light up ahead, which was quickly fading. If they lost him completely, it was anyone's guess how they'd find their way, or get out at all. Maybe the Man with the Silver Mane would keep them rolling forever, generating energy for him, his own little pet hamsters. It was a defeating thought for Porridge, but for Nox it was an encouraging one. He knew just how well his own pets did.

  28 – THE BITS LEFT BEHIND

  Bitnickle rolled up to Duck, who just sat there gawking. She turned her radio on, which was her voice, and tuned into various Regime channels.

   “We must find them,” she said, and it was the voice of General Newman of the Regime, speaking about the hunt for Rommond and Taberah of the Resistance. It was part of a regularly scheduled appearance by the general, who had gained an element of celebrity among the Regime.

   Duck stared back blankly.

   “I have formulated … a plan,” Bitnickle said, using snippets from a broadcast from one of the Regime's top munitions experts, discussing new weaponised gases in the works, and back to the same show by the general, who had a new plan of capture every week. It became a running joke among some Resistance fighters, who nicknamed him General New-plan. It wasn't a popular joke though, because too many had faced Newman, and they didn't come away laughing—if they came away at all.

   Duck stared back blankly at the clockwork construct.

   “Follow m
e,” Bitnickle said, and this time it was a broadcast from the Iron Emperor himself. The voice was powerful and hypnotic, like the voice of a god. It was no wonder that so many followed him. It was no wonder then that Duck, who continued to stare back blankly, waddled after Bitnickle, as if she were the Coilhunter himself.

   The two little mechanical creatures wandered far across the desert, following tracks and signals, until they found Old Reliable on the trail. He looked a little dejected, even a little resigned, but he had some of the Coilhunter's determination in him. He'd smelled Chance Oakley on him, and that'd brought back all those fond memories. He wasn't just going to live. He was going to live up to his name.

  29 – A SMALLER KIND OF HUNT

  The lights ahead finally faded to nothing, and Nox and Porridge knew Rassa had escaped. The Dandyman rolled on for a moment, following the path of guesswork, which wasn't much of a path at all. Then the Coilhunter commanded Porridge to halt the vehicle.

   “The chase is over,” he said.

   “But I thought you never gave up the hunt, plum.”

   “I don't.” Nox untethered himself and stretched. “Rassa was only important to help us find the door. Well, we've found it. We're in the door now. We just need to find a way to open it. The real hunt is for the Man with the Silver Mane.”

   Even here, Nox could feel the faint presence of that villain. He wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, and it wasn't strong enough to follow. If anything, you'd think twice about following the breadcrumbs left behind by a Magus. You never quite knew where they'd lead.

   “Now that we're not rolling,” Porridge said, stepping awkwardly over the strewn junk inside his vessel, “I feel a lot less at ease. What if we're stuck here forever, cabbage? Oh! The thought of it!”

   “We'd die before forever,” Nox said calmly.

   “You're not helping, peach.”

   “Well, they'll die before we do.”

   Nox stepped out of one of the missing windows. Porridge followed, almost slipping on the rollers. He grabbed Nox's arm for support.

   “What are we looking for?” Porridge whispered. Nox smiled at the fact that he whispered. They'd more than announced their arrival. The Coilhunter was fine with that. And he was fine with not getting there too quickly either. He wanted to make the bad guys wait. He wanted to make them fester, to stew in the broth of fear. After all, that's what they did for the Wild North.

   “A way up,” Nox said in time. He inspected the walls, running his gloved fingers through the cracks. This was the kind of villain who had a lair, so Nox wouldn't be surprised to find secret passages. He had some of his own back in his workshop. He didn't like the idea that the good and the bad thought the same.

   “Oh! We'll never search all these tunnels!” Porridge exclaimed.

   “Not alone,” Nox said. He reached for his belt and tossed a box to Porridge with such speed that the trader thought he'd been gunned down. It was lucky it was a box, and he was lucky he was a good guy—of sorts—or the thought might've been more real.

   Nox pulled another box from his belt and used both hands to push all four buttons on either side at the same time. It opened, and out fluttered a small mechanical bird. He repeated the same process, while Porridge inspected his box. In time, three little canaries perched on Nox's index finger.

   “I used to just bring two of these,” he rasped. “But you can bet on finding three passages more often than two. Well, I ain't no bettin' man. I'm a learnin' man.”

   He hooshed the birds away, and they fluttered off down different tunnels. Nox watched the blinking red dots on his tracker, between glances at the walls, ceiling, and floor.

   “But plum! There are more than three passages here.”

   “Well, let that be my learning-mark for next time, as the tribes say.”

   “Yes, honey, and the Lost Tribe has their own saying: to live is to be lost. And oh! I want to live, strawberry. But not down here. Oh! Not lost down here.”

   Nox spotted one of the dots pulsing erratically. “Well, you don't have to.” He led Porridge to where the canary was pecking at a wall. Nox felt around the crevices and spotted a small hole at the bottom, just enough to poke a finger through.

   “A wall,” Porridge said, rolling his eyes. “Oh! What a find!”

   Nox pulled a matchbox from his belt, slid open the cover, and delicately took out the tiny mechanical mouse inside. A mouse with a tiny dark chamber made into its back, allowing it to take black and white photographs. It was novel technology in Altadas, the product of a deal with old Five-pence Tully, who wandered the Wild North with her camera, showing people what they really looked like—for a price. She was an enterprising woman, so she sold her technology to the Coilhunter, and sold him photographs and intel from her travels. Nox was pretty sure she sold the same to the bad guys too.

   Nox widened the hole in the wall as much as he could, then let the mechanical mouse scurry through. They waited for a moment, Nox resting against the wall, practising his draw. Porridge pressed his face against the floor and his eye against the opening, but couldn't see much bar a pinprick of light on the other side.

   “You're a man of wonders, plum,” the trader said, sitting back with a handheld mirror to fix his hair. “How do you have the time for all these toys?”

   “How do you have the time for all those clothes?” Nox replied.

   “I make the time.”

   Nox smiled with his eyes. “Well, I do too.”

   What he didn't say was why. He sectioned off a part of his day for what was once his old job as a toymaker, and now had become a kind of ritual. He used the assembled parts in his workplace, or whatever he could find on his travels, to make a little something. Maybe it couldn't do much. Maybe it was just for show. Maybe it was a reminder of the way things used to be, when he made toys for his kids, and toys for other kids too. Far too often it became something else. An idea, sparked by his hidden fuel of rage, turned those cute little creatures into something more. There was a time when being a plaything was enough. Now they had to be more. Now they had to be useful. Now they were just another soldier in the war.

   They heard a squeak, and the mouse returned. Nox placed it back in the matchbox, which was more than it seemed, and waited for the film to develop. In time, he had several one-inch photographs, which he inspected with an eyeglass. Some of them were too blurry or too dark to show much, but one was clear enough. There was a giant wheel on the other side, leading to a hatch in the ceiling.

   “Well, now,” Nox said. “We've found our way up.”

   He couldn't help but add a little something in his thoughts: The real hamster wheel.

  30 – THE WRECKING BALL

  There was a way out, sure enough, but there wasn't yet a way to get there. Sometimes when you were in the maze, you saw the centre through the hedges, but no matter how close you were, you knew you'd have to go farther away to find it. Often that was when you knew you were truly lost.

   But the Coilhunter was the lawmaker, and that meant he made his own rules. If you were one hedge away from the centre, then you trimmed that hedge. If you were one wall away, then you knocked down that wall. Some said that made him just as bad as the lawbreakers, but folk tended not to say that around him.

   “How do we get through?” Porridge asked. “Oh! Don't take me for a mouse, dearie!”

   Not a mouse, no, but he sure did squeak like one. It was lucky that this was not a mission of stealth, even though it probably should've been, or Porridge's high-pitched squeals would've echoed up to the Man with the Silver Mane. No. He knew they were coming. It made Nox second guess his plan. Most villains didn't invite him back for a visit.

   “Do you have explosives?” Nox asked, pointing back to the Dandyman, which typically had a bit of everything in its holds, or netted to the walls, or nailed to the ceiling.

   “I had,” Porridge said with a pout, “but I cast my dynamite
out before we started this game of marbles. Oh, I didn't want us blowing up! Oh! The thought! And oh! The irony that we'd need it now, sugar. One gorgeous, leather boot forward, two steps backward! Oh!”

    Nox wasn't entirely surprised, though often he was more surprised at what he did find in Porridge's eccentric vessel. Some called Nox the Guru of Gadgets, but Porridge was the Guru of Oddballs and Oddthings. Sometimes you'd find not quite what you wanted, but what you needed there.

   “Don't you have any of your own?” Porridge enquired.

   “No,” Nox said. He wasn't the type for fireworks, though he'd developed some small explosive devices in his workshop. He knew well the power of it, having fought TNT Tom, and having pulled down posters for Soasa Sanders, the so-called Dynamite Lady of the Resistance. Few exceeded her skill with explosives, and the Regime had lost many important crossings to her handiwork.

   “Oh!” Porridge cried, with the back of his hand against his forehead. “We're forsaken!”

   Nox was silent for a moment. “How durable is the Dandyman?”

   “What's that, plum? Durable? Oh, why it's a veritable fortress!”

   “Good, because—”

   “As long as you don't bash it against something.”

   “Ah.”

   Porridge toyed with his mouth. “I'm assuming that's the plan then.”

   “Unless we can think of a better one.”

   “Oh, my spinning cogs! My mind is frazzled, dearie. Look to me for something pretty, not for ideas! Oh!”

   “Well, then, let's get this ball movin' again.”

   “But there's no space here to get a proper run-up, sweetie. How will we create enough force to break the wall?”

   “We'll use it like a wreckin' ball.” Nox said.

   “Oh! But how, plum?”

   “The arm. It'll give us leverage.”