“The Komitopis family is descended from the original colonists. I suppose most Kyattese are, if you go back far enough, but this family has been important throughout the islands’ history and has led the government at times. They’ve also had this land since the beginning, and there are a lot of interesting secrets in their attic.”
“You’ve been up there?”
“I’ve not been invited.” Mee Nar chuckled. “We get along admirably enough, but they’ve known from the beginning that I send reports back to our government. I’m retired ostensibly, and my Kyattese wife and our daughters don’t know I’m still in contact with the Great Land, but I’m often able to supplement the embassy’s reports, giving them information about things that happen outside of the city. In other words, I keep my ears open.”
“And you’ve heard about this attic. Any chance my lodestone might be in it?” Yanko did not truly expect that, but allowed himself a wishful smile.
“I wouldn’t be shocked if it was stuffed in a box on a shelf up there. If nothing else, you might find old journals or newspapers that aren’t in the library, the information that could lead you to the artifact.”
“Written in Kyattese, I suppose.” Yanko desperately needed an ally he could trust who could read the language.
“Old Kyattese, if you’re talking about the era around their founding.”
“Oh. Can the average person here read that?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose you can.”
Mee Nar chuckled softly. “Even after twenty years, I can barely read the newspaper.” He patted Yanko on the shoulder. “You’ll have to find your own way to do that research, but I’ll wish you well and that you haven’t been sent on some farcical errand. I would love to see our land brought back to its former power and glory.”
“Thank you. One more thing?” Yanko added when Mee Nar turned away.
“Yes?”
“Do you know who Dak is?”
“I have some guesses, but that’s the only name I’ve heard anyone mention.”
Before Yanko could ask about those guesses, he sensed that they weren’t alone any more. He gripped the hilt of his sword, then immediately let go. He recognized the person. With dread curdling in his stomach, he walked around the earthen building until he came face to face with Dak.
The lights behind him kept his face in shadows, but his tense stance told Yanko he had heard... far more than Yanko would have wished.
* * *
Yanko sat in a chair in a book-filled study while Dak and Mela argued back and forth over his head in Kyattese. Dak had already spent fifteen minutes arguing with someone through a communication orb before Yanko had been brought in. That conversation had been in Turgonian, though not many of the words had been audible through the door, not that Yanko would have understood them, regardless. He was going to have to get a book on languages—maybe Akstyr would loan him the one about complimenting women—
if
he survived the night. He didn’t know yet how much Dak had heard, and he didn’t think his conversation had been terribly condemning, but he also doubted Mela was going to invite him up into the attic.
He lifted his gaze toward the timber-planked ceiling, wondering if he would ever get the chance to snoop and wondering if it would do him any good, with the language barrier.
“It’s my history, Dak,” Mela said, switching to Nurian. “Not yours.” She walked out, shutting the door hard, leaving Yanko alone with his bodyguard. His big Turgonian bodyguard who appeared even less pleased now than he had when he had shown up by the distillery.
Dak leaned against the desk, his fist on his hip, and stared down at Yanko. Yanko thought about standing, so he wouldn’t feel he was in such a meek position, but what would it matter? Dak still towered over him.
“The neighbor you’d never met?”
“What?” Yanko asked, though he understood just fine. Dak was calling him an idiot for confiding in a stranger. He might be right.
“I can understand not sharing your secret mission with me, but with a random man you just met? A man who’s been a spy for decades?”
“Well, he was a random
Nurian
man.”
“A Nurian man. So automatically, he’s your ally. Yanko, there are about eight different factions vying for power in your country right now. You have no idea which one he’s reporting to. Even if he talks to a legitimate government operative, there are spies all over your capital right now. Why do you think there’s an assassin trying to shove a dagger up your ass right now? I highly doubt Zirabo decided to send those people along to incentivize you.”
Eight
factions? Yanko had been thinking of these rebels as a single entity. How was it that his foreign bodyguard knew so much more than he did about what was going on in his own country?
Because your bodyguard is a spy, idiot.
Yanko rubbed his face, wondering again why the prince had thought someone so young and—yes, he had to admit it—
sheltered
would be the right choice for this mission.
“I needed someone who spoke and read the language,” Yanko said straight to... Dak’s chest. He had not vetted Mee Nar well, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit Dak was right, not out loud.
“And the spy next door was the obvious choice.”
“My first thought was Akstyr, because I doubted he would care one way or another about Kyattese history, but I didn’t think he would be able to translate anything that didn’t involve women.”
“
Akstyr
was your first thought?” Dak coughed. “If Akstyr and the spy next door are your choices for confidants, it’s clear the prince didn’t choose you for your ability to find and utilize allies.”
“No.” Still staring at his chest, Yanko muttered, “I haven’t figured out why he chose me.”
Dak sighed and started pacing.
Yanko took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “I may not know why he chose me, but he did, so I have to do my best to find what he wants and bring it to him. It’s hope for my people, and I’m bound by my family’s honor, by
my
honor, to obey the Great Chief and his kin, to help the Great Land. Or to die trying.”
“And what happens when obeying the Great Chief isn’t what’s best for the Great Land?”
“I... do not know that I’ll ever be fit to judge the Great Chief, but I would have to put helping my people first.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Dak said softly.
Was he? He didn’t sound sarcastic, not like before, but Yanko couldn’t imagine a Turgonian caring one way or another what happened to Nuria.
The door clicked open, and Mela walked in with a yellowed newspaper in hand.
“I thought you weren’t going to help,” Dak said.
“I wasn’t. I’m not. Even if I wanted to help the Nurians, which I don’t, my daughter would be the one you would want on your team to hunt for artifacts.” She had started out speaking to Dak, but now, she was addressing Yanko.
He sat straight in the chair, looking at her and resisting the urge to squint at the newspaper, but he couldn’t deny the curiosity—and hope—that burned in his chest. Might they help him, after all?
“Your story reminded me of something from when I was a girl,” Mela said. “At the Polytechnic, we’ve long taught history, archaeology, philology, cartography, and other subjects useful in finding old things. We have fielded some of the most renowned archeologists in the last couple of centuries, but...” Her mouth twisted wryly. “We’ve also fielded some of the most infamous relic raiders too.”
Mela held the front page of the newspaper up so Yanko and Dak could see.
“Uhm, I need a translation, please,” Yanko said.
“Heanolik Tomokosis, better known as the Mausoleum Bandit, was an archaeology student who turned into a pirate and a relic raider. He made a fortune unearthing ancient treasures and selling them to the highest bidder. But apparently, hunting in remote jungles for booty wasn’t enough. Seventy years ago, he staged his biggest heist ever, bringing in his team of pirate underlings to rob the Kyattese Interpretive Museum, the home of countless historical documents and artifacts from our own history.” She laid the newspaper on the desk, grabbed a pencil, and circled an item in a list.
“What does that say?” Yanko leaned forward, hoping she had the answer he wanted.
“Old lodestone, gold.”
“Descriptive,” Dak said.
Yanko was not sure whether to feel optimistic or disappointed. He had no idea what the artifact he sought looked like, not that the newspaper article had a picture, anyway, and he also had no idea how many gold lodestones had been lurking around that museum. The only lodestones he had ever seen had all been grayish black. Was a golden one rare, or had altering their natural colors been trendy a few centuries ago?
“If it’s the artifact I was sent to find, would they have had it out in a display case in a museum? If it could lead people to a continent that your ancestors didn’t want anyone to find again... at least not for a long, long time...” Yanko searched Mela’s face, wondering how much of the story she knew. Was she like the librarian, who might have been lied to her whole life and had no concept as to where her people had truly come from?
“It came out of the vault under the museum, not a display case.” Mela pointed at the second paragraph of text. “All of the pieces the raider stole were from the vault, and there have been numerous expeditions sent out in search of the pieces over the years. My daughter even went on one about ten years back. That’s why I thought of this story when Dak mentioned a lodestone.” She tapped the newspaper.
Dak squinted thoughtfully at Mela.
“What happened to the pirate?” Yanko asked.
“Turgonian warships took down his vessel about six months after this heist. It sank to the bottom of the ocean with his bones aboard.”
“The bottom of the ocean?” Yanko slumped back in the chair. “A
deep
part of the ocean?”
“About five hundred feet or so, actually. It was inaccessible until the Turgonian
flugnugstica
came along.”
“The what?”
Mela shrugged at Dak. “Is there a Nurian word for them yet?”
“They’re calling them underwater boats.”
“Regardless, my daughter’s expedition went down in one, searched the entire wreck, and didn’t find any great treasures. This wasn’t surprising, given that months had passed between the date of the heist and the date that the ship sank. Many historians believe that the Mausoleum Bandit had multiple hideouts and caches all throughout the island chains in this part of the ocean. Booby-trapped and difficult to find. As far as I’ve heard, nobody has discovered any of them.”
If countless historians and archaeologists had not found the pirate’s stash, how was Yanko supposed to do so? For that matter, how was he supposed to know if this was even the right lodestone?
“What else was stolen at the same time?” Dak pointed to the list.
Mela bent back over the newspaper. “A book of maps, a sextant, a journal, a sure-sight artifact, and the broken wheel from one of the founder’s ships.”
“Sounds like the shopping list of someone going hunting for something.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Mela agreed. “If the pirate only wanted to add to his wealth, there were more valuable items he could have stolen from the museum.”
Yanko leaned forward again. “Meaning that seventy years ago, someone undertook my quest?”
“Someone else may have decided it was time to check on Kelnorean,” Mela said.
“Kel-what?”
“The lost continent.”
Yanko gaped at her. She
did
know. Dak stirred but did not say anything. He was watching Mela intently.
“Except it was never rediscovered,” she said, “at least not publicly. Maybe the pirate was on his way to search for it when the Turgonians caught up with him.”
“The stolen items would have been on his ship then,” Dak said.
“Ah, a valid point. Maybe he had already hunted for the continent but hadn’t found it. Or maybe he never intended to use the artifacts to search for it. He might not have even known what he had, though that does seem unlikely, given his background.” Mela yawned and straightened up, grimacing and grabbing her back. “It’s beyond me to guess. This is a game for younger, sharper minds.”
Dak asked her something in Turgonian.
Mela smiled. “Yes, he was there. They went hunting for it together.”
“Did they?” he said, speculation in his eyes. Yanko wished he knew what Dak had asked. “And they still couldn’t find the cache?”
“They only searched briefly. They put most of their time into finding and salvaging the old ship.”
“I see.”
A distant boom-pop came from somewhere outside. It was after midnight, so Yanko couldn’t imagine what it might be.
Then a cheerful voice yelled, “They’re here. Our invaders are here!”
Yanko’s stomach twisted into a knot. The trouble he had hoped wouldn’t follow him to this home had found him.
Chapter 15
T
he dining room table must have been dubbed the control center, because the twins, Mela, and family members Yanko had yet to be introduced to had all gathered there. A fancy communications orb glowed at one end, its ornate wooden base and size—nearly as large as a man’s head—suggesting it did more than simply allowing conversations over distance. The cat figurines on the map had been moved, and two on the road leading onto the property glowed.
“They’re coming in runabouts,” Agarik said, a distant look to his eyes. “Two large parties of people. I think they’re armed.”
“We’re ready for them,” his sister said and dropped her hand onto the top of the orb. “Activating the deterrent system.”
Yanko would have assumed that first boom he had heard had been the deterrent. Mela watched the goings on with tense eyes. She must not be a practitioner, so she could only stand back and observe. And worry.
Yanko had left Dak in the study, but he must have gone out at some point, because he strode up to the table fully armed, with two rifles in hand, in addition to the pistol and sword at his belt. Yanko eyed the longer weapons curiously, wondering if they were the repeating firearms the newspapers had mentioned the year before, an upgrade to the earlier one-shot models that the Turgonians had used against the Nurians in previous wars. Yanko had seen one of the percussion-cap rifles as a boy—bringing them home as war booty had been a popular endeavor—but nobody back home had ever used the weapon. His people had always sneered that a good archer could shoot more accurately and load more quickly, but the newer firearms supposedly nullified the weaknesses of the old.