Sunlight made the whole thing seem more insane still. It was harder
to believe in magic once he was back in the cold light of day. He
shook off the dislocated feeling. The Underworld was so beyond his
sense of reality that the whole thing had seemed hyper-real,
intensely different. The sheer mundane normality of real life was
like coming out of a sci-fi movie into the 6pm news.
A cool morning breeze swept over him, and he raised his head
blearily. He hadn't opened the window, had he? The night before,
Vincent had never been happier to see his bed. He walked into his
room, and fell forward, pitching face down on top of the blankets,
asleep before his head hit the pillow. He still hadn't changed from
his work clothes...
And then he saw the wind-up lantern on the bedside table. It was made
of polished metal, and stitched together parts. All the indicators of
a Lostkind creation.
The hand lantern was working as a paperweight for a scrap of paper
taken from his own notepad.
Thanks for the lotion. Send more. --Y
Vincent smiled, but didn't feel happy. It was all true. He had the
proof right here in his hand. He turned the key absently, making the
gears turn, and the light glow.
Vincent took the lantern with him to the kitchen, not bothering to
turn the lights on, or pull up the shades. The Light of the Lostkind
was enough.
The hand-sized lantern was flat and round, with what looked like an
old style light bulb, about the size of a Christmas light in the
centre, but the glass was colored oddly. The lantern was made, or at
least covered in brass and velvet, with a Victorian era windup key
coming out of the top. The light gave off a soft blue glow that
reached further than the size of the bulb would indicate.
Vincent didn't know how it worked, but the light in the bulb faded to
nothing after a few minutes. He turned the key again, and the glow
brightened. He held the lantern up close to his ear and could hear
something moving inside.
Taking it with him, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup
of coffee. The coffee machine looked bizarre, though he'd seen it
every day since he got this apartment. Compared with the elegant and
mysterious devices of the world he'd emerged from, something so...
plain and factory produced seemed somehow less than it was before.
Nevertheless, he needed coffee.
His apartment was small, though this was not unusual in New York. The
brownstone was old, though it wasn't by any stretch broken down. His
apartment was on the opposite side of anything resembling a view. The
only thing he could see from his windows was the opposite wall of the
alley. Being four stories up, on the top level of his building
offered him privacy from his neighbors, and if he really wanted to
see more of the city skyline, he could climb the fire escape to the
roof.
The morning sun shone on the opposite side of the building, the
afternoon sun blocked by the opposite building. The darkness of the
hallway was normal, but today it gave him a chill. He remembered the
Market Tunnel, where there were people in every corner. He looked
over his shoulder despite himself, expecting to see things vanish
into hiding places.
Nothing.
The phone rang.
The phone was right next to him on the wall, fifteen inches from his
ear, and Vincent jumped half out of his skin and spilled coffee all
over his hand.
Hissing in pain, and feeling foolish, he answered it. "Hello?"
"Oh, you are
there." Gill said smugly. "I called you twice last night,
and there was no answer, I figured you must have gotten a better
offer."
"Gill." Vincent said his name with a rush of air. "No,
I... I was ignoring the phone."
"Yeah right."
Vincent was in no mood for this. Eugene Gillard, who preferred 'Gill'
as any man with such a name would, had been his friend since they'd
started working together at the City Planner's Office, but he did
tend to grate when he was enthusiastic about something. "Is
there a reason you're calling?"
"Wanted to know if we were still on for poker tonight."
Gill said, as though he could take it or leave it.
"Actually, I was..."
"Oh, COME ON!" Gill exploded, but Vincent wasn't a bit
surprised or put off. He'd been Gill's best mate for too long to take
his emotional outburst seriously. "I'm in the zone! On a hot
streak!"
"That's what you said when you went to Vegas." Vincent
retorted. "I had to wire you cash for new shoes."
"Vegas." Gill scoffed. "I lied to you. I spent that
shoe money on a Poker Game and I won big. You know why? Because I
didn't go back to the casinos. Vegas is for chumps. They have all the
casinos rigged. That's why the house always wins."
"No, that's why they call it gambling." Vincent told him,
putting bread in the toaster. "You gamble too much, Gill."
"You sound like my ex-wife." Gill waved that off quickly.
"See you at the office."
~oo00oo~
"Ugh." Yasi complained. "I need a haircut. I hate
that. Noale keeps cutting it way too short."
Dorcan glanced over. "Looks okay to me."
"It looks fine, but it's getting long enough that it'll get
completely messed up when I take a subway ride."
Dorcan smirked.
Yasi caught it. "And we're still not telling anyone how often I
do that, right?"
Dorcan held up both hands. "Hey, have I ever ratted on you boss?
This is me talking. I'm your guy; always have been."
Yasi smirked, pleased with that, and knuckled his shoulder.
Dorcan fell into step behind her. "And speaking of being 'your
guy'…" He added casually. "I was thinking, it's been a
while since the lieutenant's post was filled…"
"We've been fine without one so far." Yasi brushed it off.
"I can handle it by myself."
"Yeah, but it's still not good to leave the post open for too
long." Dorcan pressed doggedly. "And let's face it, you're
not going to find anyone better."
Yasi looked at him sharply.
"Really? You
want to be my second in command?"
Dorcan grinned. "Yeah. Who would you prefer? You telling me you
never thought I might want to work closer with you?"
"No. Never." Yasi admitted.
Dorcan snorted. "Well as long as you've taken the time to
consider the matter from all angles."
Yasi flushed, realizing too late what her mouth had gotten her into.
"Sorry, that came out wrong. It's just… you never seemed
interested before."
"Well, now I am." Dorcan shrugged. "Can you think of a
reason to say no?"
"Nope." Yasi admitted. "I have to run it by Keeper and
Archivist, but it should be fine."
Dorcan nodded. "Great." He licked his lips as they reached
an intersection and went in opposite directions. A beat later he
turned and called after her. "Yasi? Don't… I mean, if your
hair gets cut short again, don't stress. You have a pretty neck."
But Yasi hadn't heard him call her back. She was gone, and Dorcan was
relieved to see it. "Stupid, stupid." He told himself
quietly.
~oo00oo~
Vincent called up the relevant information about Keist
Telecommunications once he reached his cubicle. Their plan was
unchanged, but the staff email account had a few extra messages
coming in about requests for an answer, or new developments on the
offer. He ignored them and looked at what they wanted. Archivist and
Keeper were right. Refurbishing the old steam pipes to take
Fiber-Optic cable would require tunneling, as well as rooting out
several of the pipes in question, to check for structural weaknesses
and collapses.
If the Lostkind were using those tunnels for their own ends, they
would almost certainly be discovered. Who knew what kind of additions
they might have made to the hidden networks over the years?
Unable to help himself, Vincent opened a web browser and began
searching. Looking for 'secret city' led him to a few sites about
subterranean dwellings and stores in Montreal and Australia.
Searching for 'lostkind' brought him to a few music groups, and some
Role Playing Games…
Vincent sat back in his chair a moment before going to the City
Planners Office's own database and doing a search. He had the names
'Werner', 'Wells' and 'Camden', and he did a search for them. They
had records in the patent office; they had records in the Banking
Industry… Nothing after the 1920's… A few news stories that
suggested they had committed suicide, as so many millionaires did in
the days of the Great Depression…
From their own records, there was no sign of anything.
Davidson, his immediate superior in the department tapped on the
frame of Vincent's cubicle. "McCall, I wanted to ask you about
Keist Telecommunications. They wanted to know when they would get an
answer. There's no great rush of course, and I'm aware it'll take a
while to get the information together, but it would get their PR guy
off my back if I could tell him when to expect word."
"I'm actually looking at that now." Vincent nodded. "Give
me two or three days. I'll go through the records, see what I can
shake out."
Davidson nodded. "I'm sorry to dump this on you, Vincent. But
this Fiber-Optic deal has the potential to either be a great source
of revenue for the city, or a hideous boondoggle that'll cost someone
their job over there."
"And lucky me, I get to figure out which one." Vincent said
with grim understatement. He bit his lip. "Hey boss? Where would
I look if I wanted to find out about the original steam pipe system?
I mean the very original plans?"
"All that stuff would have been converted to digital format...
But if you mean the original hard copy, I suppose that would be in
the Archives Room somewhere. Under about thirty feet of crap and
dust. I don't think the archives have been opened for twenty years."
~oo00oo~
Davidson was correct. When Vincent went downstairs himself, he
started coughing before he got within three feet of the Archives Room
door.
Vincent stared at the room for more than a full minute once he got
the door open. The room had probably been organized at one point, but
was now clearly a dumping ground for the employees. The door wasn't
even locked, and within a few feet of the door were piles of boxes,
which clearly were not city property, a few kids' bikes, and behind
them, row after row of shelves and filing cabinets. It was the most
crowded mess that Vincent had ever seen, even without the sheer
volume of dust that made it seem like it had been snowing in here; or
the huge cloudy weaves of spiderwebs.
Gill came crashing in behind him, coughing on the dust. He stopped
short when he saw the room and gave it a dark glare. After a long
moment, he offered Vincent his professional opinion as an engineer.
"Well… this is daunting."
"No kidding." Vincent agreed grimly.
"God, I thought the boss was making a joke when he said you were
down here. Has this place even been opened since the Office went to
computers?"
"Probably not. For sure it hasn't been dusted." Vincent
looked down at himself and waved at the thick layer of dust that had
clung to him.
"What on earth could you possibly be looking for?"
"I'm..." Vincent waved obscurely. "You know, the
Fiber-Optic Deal."
"We don't have all that on computer? Somebody would have
transferred it surely."
"Yeah, but I wanted to see the original." It was a thin
story. Paper thin. There was no way anyone would buy that.
"Why?" Gill asked in confusion. "What are you looking
for?"
"The reason they suggested the steam pipes in the first place."
Vincent said. "They can't believe the pipes will actually save
them money, do they?"
Gill shrugged. "Who cares? It's their money to waste."
Vincent bit his lip. "Right." He coughed.
"Lunch?" Gill offered.
"I should get into this."
"Really?"
"It's not that bad…"
"No, I'm sure it's not." Gill said with sarcasm. "Once
we get a few more boxes of crap stuffed in here, everything will be
fine."
Vincent went to the nearest filing cabinet and pulled the top drawer
open. Something inside it screeched like a rabid animal at being
disturbed, and both Gill and Vincent jumped back with a girlish
squeal as the drawer slipped shut again.
The two friends had a moment of silence.
"So. Lunch?" Gill said finally.
"Lunch." Vincent agreed, and they both fled the Archives
Room.
~oo00oo~
Vincent had mostly gone along with the Lunch idea to get Gill away
from the records before he noticed something, but he was glad he'd
come. Grabbing lunch with Gill, like he did every day, had given the
day a dose of normality that it so desperately needed.
It finally dawned on
Vincent: The world hadn't changed, he
had. Gill
was proof of that. He was still talking like he always did, still
griping about the results on yesterday's horse races, buying a pack
of menthols from the vending machine like he always did.
The difference wasn't his world, it was him. He had changed. He was
suddenly more aware of everything.
"...at the very least I had to get off the full tar. I mean
forget what they do to your lungs, they make everything you eat taste
like..."
The old woman feeding the birds in the plaza, a million odd pigeons
gathered around her. The kid sitting on the curb, fiddling with the
storm drain. Vincent's eyes noticed all of them now.
Are they more than they
seem? He
thought to himself. Hiding
in plain sight?
"...told him that didn't make any sense, but you know what
Bookies are like. Hey? You okay?"
Vincent was startled out of his observations. "What?"
"Vincent, what's wrong? You've been off with the pixies all
day." Gill laughed. "Everything all right?"
Vincent shook his head. "Fine, just fine."
Lunch was a sandwich stall at the entrance to the subway. It was
close to their office, the prices were cheap and the sandwiches were
good enough that they didn't bother to go elsewhere.
They left the stall, Vincent glancing back at the station entrance
despite himself, and they sat on a bench to eat.
"...steered me wrong before, and you've floated me a loan when I
needed it, so I figured I'd return the favor. You in or out?"
Vincent suddenly refocused. "Sorry, what?"
Gill sighed hard. "Are you going to tell me what's on your
mind?"
Vincent bit his lip. "Um... no." He changed the subject
quickly. "But you were saying something?"
"I got a hot tip and..."
Vincent rolled his eyes, having heard it all before.
"...and
I want you to come along." Gill persisted. "The race is
this afternoon. Kindled Fire at six to one odds. Come on, it's a sure
thing!"
"You gamble too much, Gill; and I'm not helping you do it
anymore."
"What is this aversion you have to free money?" Gill
taunted him.
Vincent noticed a boy with a dirty face slip out of a narrow alley
and snatch a pigeon. The boy was wearing a set of flight goggles on
top of his head, and was barefoot. The pigeon didn't seem to have a
problem with being carried, and the boy vanished back into the alley
instantly.
His pet? Carrier pigeons?
Tonight's dinner? Vincent
wondered. How
is it possible nobody ever notices any of this?
He noticed a homeless woman holding out a paper cup to people passing
by. "Spare change?" She croaked out. She had lines in her
face, etched in black dirt and grime. It was hard to tell how old she
was. Her eyes were red, and she was wearing many layers.
Gill followed his gaze. "Mm. They shouldn't let people like that
wander around this part of town. Who knows what they'd get up to?"
Vincent was floored for a moment. "What do you mean 'this part
of town'?"
"You know what I mean. I have as much sympathy for the Homeless
as you do, but if they need a place to sleep, they can go to the
bloody shelters, get themselves a hot meal. They won't find it here.
And if they come here, somebody will make trouble for them. People
around here don't like being hassled for money." Gill drained
his coffee. "We better get back. Coming?"
Vincent bit his lip. "I'm… going to get a coffee myself. You
head back."
Gill nodded. "Last chance? Kindled Fire, six to one?"
"No deal."
Gill scoffed. "Just remember, I gave you the choice."
Gill headed off and Vincent bought a coffee and another sandwich from
the sandwich stall, making his way toward the woman.
"Spare some change, Mister McCall?" The woman held out her
cup to him.
Vincent put some money in her paper cup, and offered her the sandwich
too; not at all surprised she knew his name.
"Yum, roast beef." She seemed very pleased with that as she
took a bite. "You don't remember me, do you?" The woman
said after a moment, her voice suddenly a lot more aware and alert
than a moment before.
Vincent grimaced around his coffee and looked down. "You're her,
then? The one out the front of my apartment building."
She tipped her hat to him coyly. "Wotcha, at your service."
"Wotcha." Vincent repeated. "As in 'Watcher.' Because
you... watch."
She cackled. "We all have our parts to play. The ones that came
from the Upside pick their own when they find their place, because
the only thing we really bring with us is our name."
Vincent glanced over. "Then you... and Keeper and Archivist..."
"Are all from your world, yeah." Wotcha took a bite big
enough to puff her cheeks out, and she went silent a moment as she
chewed.
"You're not worried about... I don't know, being noticed?"
Wotcha just looked at him like he'd just drooled on his shirt.
"Please. Nobody notices."
"Nobody notices homeless people, but... Well..."
"One having a conversation with a 'normal' person gets seen?"
Wotcha grinned. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"How?" Vincent asked curiously, but she was already moving.
She walked out into the sidewalk and started screaming at the top of
her lungs. "EVERYONE! Listen to me! THERE'S A SECRET WORLD
LIVING UNDER YOUR FEET! A WHOLE SECRET CITY!" Wotcha started
grabbing people at random as they passed by. "I'm telling the
truth! They're everywhere! Right under your feet! A WHOLE CITY!"
Vincent felt his jaw drop open. Sure enough, nobody was stopping,
nobody was listening, nobody was even making eye contact. Further
along the street in both directions people were noticing, and
crossing to the opposite side of the street without hesitation,
turning around and walking the other way.
Wotcha didn't try to hold on to any of them, moving on before any of
them could fight back or break free. After several seconds of this,
she lost interest and returned to Vincent's side and took the last of
his coffee from him. "Thanks for the sandwich."
"That's my coffee." Vincent pointed out.
"But you only bought it so you'd have an excuse to stay here
when your friend went back to work. You didn't want it, you just
wanted to see if I was homeless, or Lostkind." Wotcha grinned
and toasted him with the cup. "Waste not, want not."
Vincent grinned and went back to work.
~oo00oo~
Six hours later, he was still staring at the offer from Keist on his
computer screen.
They are down there illegally. The Underside is a deathtrap...
Wouldn't it be better to have the place discovered? There are kids
down there, living so deep there is no way it could be healthy for
them... Wouldn't it be better if they rejoined the surface? Nobody
lives that far underground that long because they're afraid of the
sun.
Vincent looked at the lantern Yasi had left him. Something special,
admittedly...
He thought of Wotcha. He had
seen her for the first time. He had treated her like a person for the
first time. She had been on his doorstep for a week, and he only
looked in her direction when he knew about what was down there... if
the whole world found out about it, maybe the Underside would be
closed... but maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would just make people
realize as he had; make them notice
things, as he had…
Keeper's voice came back to
him. "If
you won't help us, there's nobody else who can. And all this will be
remembered. And being remembered is the worst thing that could happen
to us."
No. Vincent
decided finally, and began typing. The
place is... magical. I can't just let it die.
~oo00oo~
To:
Keist Telecommunications
CC:
New York City Planners Office
Re:
Fiber-Optics Approval Still Pending
Dear Sir,
The original plan to lay the Fiber-Optic through the now defunct
underground steam pipes is not as cost effective as first thought.
The pipes are only convenient in their locations, networked through
five boroughs.
With the added costs of reactivating the network distributors, and
replacing all the hardware to protect your Fiber-Optics, plus the
inevitable corroded pipes in various locations around the city,
maintenance costs will be far higher than previously thought.
Also, it should be considered that the steam pipe network is still
active in some places and non-existent in other, newer neighborhoods
and buildings.
It is the opinion of the NYC Planners Office that a newer network is
far more affordable. Adding your Fiber-Optics to existing pipes still
in city-wide use is far less practical for your company, and your
investors.
~oo00oo~
That's it, Vincent. He
told himself. Do
it quickly, don't think about it.
Davidson tapped on the frame of his cubicle, the wedding ring making
a loud clinking sound. "Hey. You still here?"
Vincent stood up automatically. "Yessir. Just finishing up the
proposal for Keist Telecommunications."
"Already?" Davidson seemed impressed. "They only came
to us two days ago. You got it done that fast?"
Vincent only shrugged, but inwardly he kept the reason to himself. He
got through it quickly because he'd started with the conclusion he
wanted and found the evidence, instead of actually weighing the
options.
"Well, good work." Davidson said finally.
"Sir?" Vincent called before his boss could leave. "Can
I ask... why did they even bother to come to us?"
Davidson smirked. "Noticed that, did you?"
"The whole plan makes no sense." Vincent said simply. "They
want to protect communications, why not start with the cell towers?
Or the regular phone lines? Fiber-Optic is usually for cable TV and
Internet, and there's no reason to make it go underground."
"Truth is... I don't know. Maybe there's more to it than we know
about, maybe somebody read the idea in a sci-fi novel somewhere and
figured money was no object."
Just then, Vincent's phone rang.
Davidson nodded and stepped back. "Get some sleep, McCall; it's
getting late."
Vincent answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Vincent McCall, you poor dumb loser!" Gill shouted
cheerfully. "Kindled Fire! Six to one! What did I tell you!?"
Vincent pulled the phone away from his ear at the noise. "Gill,
are you drunk?"
"God, I ho'p so, or I've wasted an awful loot of money on
schotch!" Gill shouted. "Listen, the Barten'r says I can't
drive. I tried showing him my license, but he won' belie' me, so I
can't getim to gimme my keys back. Can you come'n get me? I'd take a
cab, but I can't remember where I live."
Vincent snorted. "I'll be right there. How much did you win?"
"Ooh, a bundle, I've been showing it off all night. These people
love me. Right?" A cheer came through the phone. "Yeah,
they love me. All you gotta do is wave a big wad of money around and
everyone wants to be your friend."
Vincent stood up quickly. "On my way." He knew where Gill
would be. There were only a few bars that close to the track.
As he headed for the elevator, he glanced out the window to check the
weather, and noticed Wotcha across the street.
Biting his lip, he grabbed a pen and a post-it note off the nearest
desk and scribbled down a note.
~oo00oo~
He waved down a cab as soon as he left the office. He asked the
cabbie to hold on a moment, and went over to Wotcha.
"Spare change, mister?" She grinned at him.
Vincent pulled out a fifty dollar bill with a post-it note attached
and put it in her cup. He went back to the cab without a word.
Wotcha smiled at the note and vanished into the darkness without
looking back at him.
~oo00oo~
"Come on, make it interesting at least." Dorcan challenged.
Yasi smirked, but didn't turn. "Three in the centre...
blindfolded."
Dorcan pulled the blindfold down over his eyes and notched an arrow,
aiming his longbow at the target on the far side of the Chamber. The
Shinobi were trained in the dojo, but at this time of night there was
rarely anyone there. One or two came to use the workout equipment.
Yasi came to train, and maintain her equipment. Dorcan had been
stopping by while she was there, polishing his skills with the bow.
Thwapp! Dorcan released the arrow, and it speared across the large
chamber, to the targets set up at the other end. Dorcan rapidly
notched another arrow and let fly, then a third before the second had
even reached its target.
Pause.
Dorcan lifted his blindfold. "Did I?"
Yasi didn't even turn to look. "Of course you did, you always
do. How often do you miss?"
"Not often." Dorcan admitted proudly.
Yasi went back to methodically sharpening her sword, but looked up as
she heard someone coming to the entrance to her chamber. "Come
in."
Archivist came up from the ropes to her room and smiled at her. "We
got word from Wotcha."
Yasi sat up straighter. "And?"
Archivist handed her a note.
Yasi-
It's done. You're safe.
-Vincent
Yasi let out a breath in relief. "Good."
"Wotcha tells me he's undergone something of a revelation. She
says if the personality change sticks, he might be worth recruitment
after all." Archivist considered her a moment. "If he'd
gone the other way… If he'd decided to out us all to the world…
would you really have done it?"
Yasi didn't answer for a moment. She drew her sword and ran the stone
down the length, sharpening it carefully. "I'm supposed to
protect these people from those that would treat us as freaks. A week
ago, he was just like all of them. Blind, closed-minded, cold… The
First Duty of the Shinobi is to protect The Secret. Yes, I would have
done it." She drew the stone across her blade again. "But
I'm always glad when I don't have to."
~oo00oo~~oo00oo~~oo00oo~
If you're enjoying 'The Lostkind', but don't want to wait for the next chapter, you can get the whole thing here in ebook and paperback format.