Atlantis in Peril

  Today, however, not even a trickle poured from Rainbow Falls. Its entire supply of water had been dammed or diverted to help move tailings and other waste products into the pool. The river’s disappearance did, in fact, annoy Reocoles—not because he felt any remorse, but because he needed more water for his expanding businesses.

  “Have you done it?” barked Reocoles to his foreman who had joined him on the platform—Karpathos, who still wore a long, curled mustache. “Have you located another water source?”

  Karpathos nodded. “Yes, Master. And you will be pleased to know—”

  “I won’t be pleased,” interrupted the machinist, “until we no longer face such mundane obstacles to meeting our demands!”

  Karpathos nervously pulled at one end of his mustache. “Nor will I, Master.”

  “So where is this new river?”

  “As I was starting to say, Master, it lies only a short distance inside the forest. We found it during the expansion survey.”

  “Good. When can you start to build the dam and redirect its flow?”

  Karpathos swallowed. “Well, er . . . Master, there is a slight problem.”

  Reocoles’s glare could have ignited a torch.

  “It’s that cursed forest, Master. As you know, the survey is the first time we’ve actually entered there, going past the trees at the very edge.”

  “Get to the point, you fool!”

  “Well,” continued the foreman, “the trees in there are denser and taller than anyone expected, slowing our progress. And Master . . . there seems to be some uncooperative wildlife.”

  “What?”

  “Animals, Master. Ferocious ones! They are resisting our efforts to do what needs to be done. Just yesterday, one of my men—er, sorry, your men—was gored by a wild boar. And our lead surveyor was attacked for no reason—by a flock of fierce little birds he likened to those fictional things called faeries.”

  “Zeus’s thunderbolt!” cursed Reocoles. “That forest is my nemesis!”

  He cast a steely eye on his foreman. “That, however, will soon change.”

  “How, Master?”

  “The same way anything changes—through hard work and determination. As well as a good supply of weapons, tools, and machinery.”

  Reocoles limped over to the side of the platform nearest to the wide swath of green that stretched to the horizon. “The local urchins call it the Great Forest,” he sneered, “as if it were a true place deserving a name.”

  Karpathos frowned. “But no one lives there.”

  “Correct. It’s only an untamed mass of trees and whatever beasts inhabit them.” Reocoles paused, gazing at the distant greenery. “And it is also something more.”

  “What?”

  “A treasure chest,” declared the leader of the Greeks. “Trust me, Karpathos! Once we cut whatever swaths are needed to open it up—to lift the lid of the chest, you might say—we will find resources beyond anyone’s imagination.”

  He gestured at the mining pits. “Look how much coal and iron and gemstones we’ve already found just outside the forest. Why, I’ll wager Apollo’s chariot that there is more, much more, under all those trees.”

  Eagerly, Karpathos added, “As well as much useful timber.”

  “Correct. We can always use more wood.” He lowered his voice. “Which someday we will use to build not just one ship, but a whole fleet of them! To trade those resources, as well as my inventions, throughout the world. And to extend the reach of what will one day be called the Empire of Atlantis.”

  “You will make this island rich and powerful, Master.”

  “Yes.” He grinned slyly. “And it won’t do me any harm, either.”

  Karpathos twirled the end of his mustache with mounting excitement. “I have also heard, Master—not from anyone reliable, mind you, just monks and other native folk—that there is also another kind of treasure to be found in those trees.”

  Reocoles raised an eyebrow. “What treasure is this?”

  “Magic. The locals swear that—”

  “Blast the locals!” said Reocoles dismissively. “There is only one kind of magic in the world. Human ingenuity. Yes, and only one source of that magic—the human brain.”

  “Of course, Master.” The aide nodded anxiously. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”

  “Good, Karpathos.” Reocoles tapped his fingers on his leg brace. “Because if I ever thought you did, I would have to demote you for such superstitions. You wouldn’t want to spend the next several years working at the waste pool, would you?”

  “N-n-no, Master.”

  “Then see that no more obstacles slow our progress. If you meet animals, kill them. Trees, fell them. Boulders, move them. Do you understand?”

  Karpathos bowed. “Yes, Master.”

  Glancing down at the yellow waste pool, Reocoles said, “If we are to open that new pit on schedule, and also accommodate our growing supplies of resources and the chemicals needed to process them, we will need to enlarge that holding pond. By at least threefold, I estimate. How long will that take?”

  Furrowing his brow, Karpathos calculated for a few seconds. “Six to eight months with the workers I now have.”

  “Too long!” fumed the machinist. “I want you to bring on more men and women—as many as you can handle. Scour the City for them! Offer them bonuses for beating your timetable. Make them taste the wealth that could be theirs if this project succeeds.”

  “Excellent plan, Master.”

  “I don’t need your flattery, Karpathos. I need your success!”

  “I understand.” Karpathos tugged on both ends of his mustache. “We will succeed.”

  “No,” countered Reocoles firmly. Seeing his foreman’s surprise, he added, “We will triumph.”

  Quietly, the machinist added, “And our triumph will be felt across the world.”

  “Shall we lower you down?”

  “Yes. Make it fast. I have too many projects back in the City to dally here any longer.”

  As the aides secured the straps, Reocoles looked gravely at the swath of trees that bordered the complex. You shall not stand in my way, he vowed.

  Shifting his thoughts, he mused about the name he’d chosen for his ship: The Control of Nature. In ancient times, primitive times, those words meant that nature controlled man. But now, a new era had dawned. Thanks largely to his own superior talents!

  “Soon,” he muttered to the deep green forest, “it is I who will be in control.”

  Seconds later, the men lowered him down from the tower. As his feet touched the ground, he waited impatiently to be unstrapped, wobbling slightly on the uneven turf. Then he noticed one of his workers who, unlike everyone else, was not working hard at his assigned task.

  No more than ten paces away, the man lay on his back in the dirt, wheezing loudly. Each breath he took was a labor. A wet rag covered his face. His hands twitched for no evident reason.

  Reocoles gestured in the man’s direction. “Why isn’t he working?”

  “Fell sick,” an aide replied. “He’s a digger at the waste pool. Been there several months now, but yesterday he started complaining about his head and his breathing, that sort of thing. Then this morning—he just fell over in a heap.”

  The aide shrugged. “Didn’t want him tripping up the other diggers, so I just dragged him up here.”

  Reocoles scowled at the sick worker. “Weakling.”

  Turning to the aide, Reocoles commanded, “Put him in that supplies vehicle over there. Bring him back to town come nightfall and dump him somewhere. We don’t want his bad example to spread among the others, do we?”

  “No, Master.”

  “Good. Now get back to work.”

  As Reocoles limped to his waiting vehicle, one word kept echoing in his mind. It was a word that seemed closer to
reality than ever before, a word that inspired him like no other.

  Triumph.

  CHAPTER 30

  Poison

  Shangri thought long and hard about what she should do after seeing Reocoles’s map. The words Great Forest Plan alone would have been troubling enough, for all its underlying assumptions of aggression and domination of a place that had always been wild and sacred—as well as magical. But when she remembered, as well, that phrase about an empire, on top of Reocoles’s penchant for control . . . she knew that she had to act.

  But how?

  Telling her father what she’d seen would surely spark his outrage. Yet without more hard evidence, it would simply be the word of a teenage girl against one of the City’s most powerful men. And without that sort of evidence, they simply wouldn’t be able to rouse the support of their fellow citizens—let alone the Divine Monk.

  No, too many people (including His Holiness) were much too comfortable with their hot baths and big ovens to raise any concerns about Reocoles. They’d rather not rock the boat. Which was just what the master machinist was counting on.

  The only thing that could change that balance, Shangri knew, was if she could provide some facts too compelling to deny. And the more she thought about it, the more she felt sure that those facts could be found out in Reocoles’s mining area across the river canyon. Problem was, nobody who worked at the mines would talk about it. They’d been sworn to secrecy—or they’d lose their jobs.

  So if nobody will tell me the truth, she concluded one morning as she walked back to the bakery after finishing her deliveries, I’ll jest have to go find the truth myself.

  She gulped, knowing it wouldn’t be easy or safe: Reocoles wouldn’t be pleased to have any intruders. But, she told herself, it must be done.

  She chose a day when her father was planning to close the bakery so he could barter for new spices and other ingredients, which meant he wouldn’t be needing her. Of course, she couldn’t tell him about the dangerous plan she’d hatched for that day, since he’d surely object.

  The other person she couldn’t tell was Lorno. He, too, would object—and if he couldn’t convince her to change her mind, he’d insist on joining her. But the last thing she wanted to do was to put him—and his whole future as a famous bard—at risk. No, this was a job for her alone.

  On the chosen day, Shangri waited for her father to go to the market square. When she felt certain that he’d gone, and that Lorno was hard at work writing upstairs, she slipped away unnoticed.

  She darted through the alleyways to one of the bridges across the Deg Boesi. As always, the river crashed through the chasm below, sending up towering plumes of vapor. But she was surprised to see that Rainbow Falls, which she remembered clearly from the last time she’d crossed that bridge, wasn’t there at all.

  On the river’s southern bank, she faced an open plain that stretched to an endless swath of green hills—the Great Forest. On the plain, it wasn’t hard to find the way to Reocoles’s mines, since a wide and rutted road cut across the land, snaking around boulders and deep gullies. What few trees had once grown on the plain had been cut down, and the sight of those lifeless stumps made Shangri’s heart sink. Much of the topsoil on both sides of the road had washed away, so hardly even a tuft of grass could be seen.

  This, thought Shangri as she walked somberly along, is what Reocoles is callin’ progress.

  Suddenly she heard a loud, screeching sound. A vehicle! Hidden by a big boulder, the vehicle was fast approaching—and just seconds from turning the bend where the driver would certainly see her. But where could she hide?

  Unable to get to the boulder in time, Shangri did the only thing she could. She dived into one of the muddy ruts on the side of the road. No sooner had she flung herself facedown in the rut, her long red hair splayed across her back, the vehicle appeared.

  It was a heavy mining cart, powered by a coal-fired boiler, loaded with coal and iron ore. Concentrating on avoiding the deepest ruts, the driver barely noticed the unusual splash of color—something red—on the side of the road. He kept driving, splattering Shangri’s back with mud as he passed.

  Seconds later, after the vehicle had left, she lifted her head. When she felt sure the driver wouldn’t look back and see her, she pulled herself out of the rut. Mud dripped from her hair, her freckled cheeks, and her bakery apron, which she’d forgotten to remove. But otherwise she was fine—and more determined than ever to see those mines.

  Shangri crossed the road to the other side where the ruts looked deeper, in case she needed to dive for cover again. She rounded another bend and then—

  Froze. The new vista almost knocked her over backward, as if a mining vehicle had rammed right into her.

  As far as she could see stretched gigantic pits with enormous piles of rocks all around. Huge vehicles with metal jaws, spouting clouds of black smoke, dug the pits steadily deeper. Meanwhile, other vehicles, plus dozens of workers with shovels, toiled to rip out rocks and bushes around the edges to widen the mines. Several buildings jammed the area between the pits, belching more smoke from their chimneys.

  People moved everywhere, like a colony of ants, carrying rocks and tools, pushing carts of ore or stoking bonfires of timber. Every worker was busy—except for the men who wore brown tunics with sea-blue arm bands, the same uniforms she’d seen men wearing at Reocoles’s building. Hefting whips in their hands, the uniformed supervisors watched over groups of workers, shouting commands.

  Then Shangri saw someone else—a woman crumpled by the edge of a rock pile. Hunched as she was, her face buried in her hands, she was either coughing or sobbing. It was hard to tell which.

  Just then Shangri caught the scent of something horrible. It might have been the decaying body of a dead animal . . . but no single animal could possibly smell that bad.

  Puzzled, she wiped a clump of mud off her nose and sniffed the air. What in the name o’ the Divine Monk’s beard is that?

  Deciding the smell was coming from behind one of the huge rock piles, she darted off the road and up a huge mound of dirt where she could see better. Aware that the higher she climbed, the more visible she’d be to the supervisors, Shangri made sure to duck behind any stray boulders she could find. At last, she stood high enough to see the source of the putrid smell.

  A yellow lake. She shook herself, unable to believe her eyes. The lake seemed unnatural—even poisonous. How could somethin’ like that happen?

  Then she saw, pouring into the lake, a stream of yellow liquid. It flowed out of one of the smoky buildings. Whatever they were doing in the building was producing that foul liquid!

  By the side of the putrid pool, she glimpsed a strange shape. All at once, she recognized it—the carcass of a young bear. Poisoned by the lake!

  Hovering over the carcass was a small flying creature. At first, Shangri guessed it was a blue-winged moth. Then, in a flash, she realized what it really was. A faery! Perhaps the faery had been a friend of the cub, and when it had gone missing from the forest, went to find it—only to discover that the bear had died a horrible death. Even from such a distance, Shangri could feel a wave of sorrow emanating from the grieving faery.

  Shangri’s mind spun. If that deadly pool had killed the bear, what were its fumes doing to the workers nearby? And what might its poisons do to the ground, to the neighboring forest, and maybe even to the water used by people in the City?

  I’ve seen jest about enough, she decided. All I’m needin’ now is a quick look inside that place where the poison’s bein’ made.

  Stealthily, she started back down the mound. But as she descended, her foot kicked loose a small rock that rolled downward. Seeing it, she caught her breath, hoping no one else would notice.

  The rock tumbled downward, gathering speed. Shangri watched, standing rigid. As the rock neared the bottom, it looked likely that it would fall harmlessly into a
ditch. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Just above the ditch, the rock hit a lip of stone and bounced higher. It flew through the air—and smacked the shoulder of a supervisor who was facing the other way. He whirled around.

  Seeing Shangri, he shouted, “Intruder!”

  Several uniformed men bounded up the mound. Even as Shangri started to dash away, strong hands caught hold of her and threw her to the ground. Grabbing her clothes, as well as her hair, they dragged her down the hillside. Laughing and shouting in triumph, they dropped her at the feet of their foreman, Karpathos.

  Hearing the commotion, the faery by the carcass looked over and sized up the situation. A whir of blue wings—and the faery flew back to the forest.

  Karpathos, meanwhile, twirled one end of his mustache, chortling with delight. “Well, well,” he said. “Look who has paid us a visit! The red-haired wench who recently insulted our leader so rudely—when all he was offering was kindness.”

  “He offered nothin’ like that,” spat Shangri. “He’s a greedy monster! An’ when people hear what he’s really doin’ out here—”

  “That won’t happen,” declared Karpathos firmly. Smoothing his mustache, he explained, “People won’t be hearing anything from you, my dear. Ever again.”

  He bent lower, so that his face was practically on top of hers. “I know exactly what to do with you, wench. There will be nothing left of you, no evidence at all.”

  Allowing himself a grin, he added, “The master will be very proud of me.”

  Though his words made her shudder, Shangri rose to her feet and faced him squarely. “You won’t succeed,” she said bravely.

  “Really? Just wait.”

  Raising his voice, Karpathos commanded, “Take her to the waste pool! Tie rocks around her limbs. Then . . . give her a swim.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Rising Wind